====September 12, 2013
==== C'ren, Jayanti, Sytin, Safra, V'dean; Ekerth, Ninurtath, Saevasanth
==== A short bit of demonstrative strap fussing-with in the bowl before Dhiammarath starts clutching. (Challenge log!)

Who C'ren, Jayanti, Sytin, Safra, V'dean; Ekerth, Ninurtath, Saevasanth
What A short bit of demonstrative strap fussing-with in the bowl before Dhiammarath starts clutching. (Challenge log!)
When There is 1 turn 3 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
Where Lower Bowl, Southern Weyr

Sytin-Young_Icon.jpg i07_profile.jpg safra.jpg


Lower Bowl
Cleaning efforts have made this a lively epicenter of creation and destruction alike: dross and debris have been removed to show cobblestones beneath, here in this shallow part of the bowl, quite a distance lower than the western plateau. The bowlwall itself is still dingy, though the openings to the various caverns have been covered by hide doorways or fitted with proper doors. Directly south, the crumbled area of bowlwall has been cleaned up, a gentle land-bridge heading towards the fields; a whisper of the stables can be seen through the gap, nestled against the entrance bridge.

The light may not be so good for this, but V'dean has long since finished squinting at the adjusted overlay of straps upon Ekerth's neck and now leans against the blue's shoulder watching people traffic come and go from the caverns. "Figures, sending a girl," he mutters to himself.

Safra runs into the lower bowl from the caverns trailed by the alarming jumbled careening of limbs, sails, tail and talons that is Saevasanth and comes to a panting halt in front of bluerider V'dean, "Your supplies, Sir."

C'ren is suddenly out of the barracks at the sound of crashing and careening, squinting in disapproval as his fellow weyrling comes panting up to V'dean. "Whatinell … "

Ekerth is all stoic planted legs and barely cracked eyelids as he slantingly watches the younger blue make his pell-mell way from the caverns. « Easy. »

At Ekerth's warning… admonishment… request… Saevasanth drops his rear and skids to an abrupt halt behind Safra, tail coiling in a protective berm around his lifemate, wings flaring and flapping as they slow him, head swiveling his head around Safra to peer - admonished - at Ekerth.

Ninurtath is just suddenly there, an ominously silent, crouching figure whose lip is curling up to bare his teeth in annoyance at his clumsy clutchmate.

"Get distracted shopping?" V'dean is slow to come out of his lean, an unfolding arm lifting to push his hair back as he drolls at the weyrling bluerider and edges a twitch browed look towards C'ren's arrival.

Safra blinks, "Shopping, Sir?" as she deposits the items he'd requested until they're neatly lined up before the older bluerider.

C'ren crosses his arms over his chest, surveying the group with lowered eyelids and kinked eyebrows before remembering to address V'dean properly. "Sir — clear skies to you."

Sytin wanders in from the beach, towel over his shoulder and pail in hand, whistling to himself.

Ninurtath has very impressive teeth, too, and is quite happily showing them off, despite C'ren's mental rebuke to knock it off and behave himself.

There's a really-now? smirk skewed across the bluerider's features for Safra's blinking, but he's more absorbed in reaching to juggle the leather punch up into his palm while peeking first towards whistling then scanning a look over C'ren for delivering his lazily level reply. "Clear skies, weyrling - which were you again?"

Supressing a sigh, Safra waves at Sytin, The beach sounds nice, before turning to nod impassively at C'ren and keeping a watchful eye on the young bronze, toothsome bully Ninurtath, "Do you mind if I watch, Sir?"

"C'ren, sir." He offers V'dean a proper salute on introduction before turning his attention to that all-too-toothy bronze of his to lend the recalcitrant beast some mental berating for his insistence on trying to look intimidating.

Spying Safra, Sytin wanders over and offers a boyish grin to everyone, spying the dragons and especially the bared teeth with suddenly wide eyes. "What's going on?"

« What all have you bitten with those things? » Ekerth wonders of the young bronze with a subtle glow of humor off of polished brass.

Sparks of red flicker into Saevasanth's eyes at Ninurtath's teeth and the young blue mantles his wings around Safra, tail snugging further, it is an answer of sorts to Ekerth's inquiry.

Ninurtath turns his head to look at Ekerth, suspicion waning into something like shy interest — even as he ignores Saevasanth's mantling. « Meat, most of all — and maybe that one's tail. »

Tip goes a salute from V'dean's temple in reply to C'ren as he turns to lay hands on his straps again, this time wielding the punch and a vaguely leerish twist to his smile that probably makes his answer a touch more directed to Safra than inclusive of Sytin. "By all means, watch."

Safra steps over Saevasanth's tail and under his wings to stand next to the seasoned rider and, as she does, looks up at the mature blue dragon, thinking a greeting at him, if he's listening.

C'ren squints at the jumble of leather and brass, and assumes he should join the pair at their little project with an expression that might even be hopeful. "Strap making?"

Sytin has never seen strap-making before, so this task intrigues the Smith with its mix of leather and metal, causing the Apprentice to peer to and fro at the efforts of the gathered Weyrlings, features screwing up in a contemplative expression. "Isn't it dangerous to have you guys make your straps on your own?"

« What was it doing at the time? » Ekerth asks curiously of Ninurtath regarding Saevasanth's tail, by all appearances ignoring the doings of the humans.

Saevasanth shrugs under his straps, squirming and twisting to get them settled straight, somehow he's managed in his fumbling to snag and twist one of them… or… he's managed to get his foreleg through a weird loop… « Safra. »

Ninurtath goes from crouched to stretched out in a smooth, liquid motion, claws digging the dirt beneath his paws idly. « Didn't actually bite it — thought about it. »

"Strap adjusting, as I bought these, and am switching in a new buckle," V'dean clarifies with a careless glance thrown over his shoulder at his growing audience as he positions two loose sections of leather to re-measure out a spot before applying the punch to it.

Safra's brow quirks and she looks at Saevasanth, her eyes go wide, What in the world?! she tries to surreptitiously fix the straps before anyone notices, nodding emphatically at nothing in particular.

C'ren isn't laughing at the comical sight of a dragon tangled up in his own straps — he's paying earnest attention to V'dean and his demonstration, no matter the twinkle in his eye. "Does the quality of the leather matter, sir?"

Sytin nods to V'dean's statement, offering a friendly smile as his hands tuck behind his back and he leans in to peer between the three riders in their efforts, soaking in the information for later user. "I would think it does matter, given the stresses they'll undergo in the next Turn."

There's a bit of a narrow to the elder blue's eyes as Ekerth watches the younger struggle with the straps, but he's all neat continuation of his conversation. « You go out hunting yet? »

Saevasanth croons gratefully as Safra helps him get his leg untangled, the red and yellow sparks that have flared subside.

Ninurtath is now writhing with glee at the very thought of hunting, all excited kitten eager for his first foray into adulthood. « Soon. »

The young teen's answer earns a settling of the bluerider's eye even as Safra goes, like he's just now noticed Sytin, before V'dean nods to this and C'ren's question and looks back to the end of leather he's punching. "You don't want the cheap, brittle shit that you can see stress lines in when you fold it over," is absent agreement.

Safra's eyes flicker at C'ren's question, We went over that in class, before growing serious at Sytin's casual mention of looming Threadfall, but she mentally preens at V'dean's response - she'd made her choice of leather for just those reasons.

Safra stands up bolt upright, "I forgot grommets! I'll be right back!"

Saevasanth follows with a parting wicked croon to Ninurtath hoping to fan the flames of the bronze's bloodlust, « There's a runner right there, Ninurtath… so sleek and… Mmmmmmm. »

C'ren turns to watch Safra dashing off. "Mmph."

Sytin stumbles out of Safra's way as she bolts off, having made the mistake of leaning too close over her shoulder and causing him to pirouette in unmanly fashion before he catches himself, trying to regain his dignity with a topic change: "How old are they now?"

Ekerth's laughter is just like a creak of stiff leather as he adds on to the words of both weyrling dragons. « The fields here aren't bad, and the jungles're even better. »

Weyrling dragons be ready, Jayanti is on her way, moving with a swaying step as she crosses the bowl with a flourish of skirts and a wave of her hand to the group: "Afternoon darlings; working hard?"

V'dean is squinting at his newly punched strap holes, all bereft of grommets and becoming bereft of weyrling onlookers, when darlings catches his ear and curls his smile in a way that totally corrupts the woefully beset pitch of his voice. "Terribly hard."

Question unanswered, Sytin furrows his brow as C'ren ignores him and Safra has to dash off, leaving only V'dean to answer his question; oh, and this newcomer as well! "It's my restday, ma'am."

"Restday is the best day, as they say— are you teaching the boy about the durability of well-made straps, blue rider?" Jayanti croons, flashing a feline smile to the boy and V'dean, but her attention is mainly on the blue rider, because well, Sytin clearly hasn't hit puberty yet.

It's not a quiet thing when a dragon settles to a seat, even a midling sized blue, and Ekerth does so now as V'dean turns his attention from the straps to fix a more languid smile upon Jayanti. "The kid seems to already have a few thoughts to rub together on the matter."

Jayanti gets a boyish but sincere grin, which turns a little sheepish at V'dean's comment, tumbling into a slightly embarrassed chuckle and a self-conscious hair tousle by Sytin, towel still slung over his shoulder from his beach visit. "It is indeed, miss; I'm Sytin, just passing through and such."

"They -always- have something to say on the matter, don't they?" She is quick to meet V'dean's smile with a bat of coquettish eyelash bat, before turning 'round to extend a delicate hand to Sytin, all flourished, "Well met, young man; I'm Jayanti, Weyrwoman Lendai's assistant."

A knowing hum is all that meets that first question, the bluerider occupied with tucking up his unfinished straps for the time being and watching this flourished greeting that sparks some vague and uncertain recognition in green eyes. "V'dean, Ekerth's rider," is his introduction, not to be left out.

Taking up the Assistant's hand in his, Sytin offers a welcoming grin and a firm handshake, his youthful hands starting to gain some callouses already from his work as a Smith. "I've never met so many dragons and riders in my life; it's really amazing how different Weyr life is!"

"We've met before, I believe, blue rider, and well met Sytan— trust me, the riders, the dragons, the wanton ways— you get used to it." Jayanti lets loose a soft little titter, following up her greeting to Sytan with a quick, friendly wink.

V'dean chuckles low, ambling away from his blue's side to bend and pick up the items Safra brought then left behind, not particularly accidental in brushing close past Jayanti. Allegedly to Sytin: "You may even come to revel in it, though perhaps you're a bit young for such acquired tastes."

Wanton was not a word that Sytin was particular familiar with, but it seems to have brought a look of surprise to his face as he tries to process it in context anyway, especially after Jayanti's little wink which coaxes a slightly nervous response: "Well, never say never, eh?"

The time has come; beneath the waning moons' light, the gravid white-gold queen of Southern Weyr has finally, finally taken to the sands. A ghostly, ethereal light plays across the white and black sands with few glows to cast warmth of cheery light; all are welcome as specter's to the mystery of egg laying.

Oh, and then the dragon's hum, and all those introductions are cut short. "Ah, a hatching! Off we go."

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