==== October 22, 2013
==== E'don, Nora
==== Nora has a basket of goodies for the weyrlings and E'don gets to try them first.

Who E'don, Nora
What Nora has a basket of goodies for the weyrlings and E'don gets to try them first.
When There are 0 turns, 11 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
Where Upper Bowl, Southern Weyr



Upper Bowl
The graceful sweep of spacious bowl lies scoured clean by an easterly breeze. Detritus is whisked neat to the eastern steppe of the bowl that lies several feet lower than the western plateau. White walls contrast the rough granite of the rivercliffs: the giant maw of the Hatching Cavern lies in the thickest part of the western wall, sheltering the training grounds and weyrling barracks lying nor'west. Directly north lies the leadership courtyard, heavily humid and subtly scented by intrigue.

-- On Pern --
It is midmorning
It is 8:39 AM where you are.
There are 0 turns, 11 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
It is Summer and 95 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.

The doldrums of Junior Weyrlinghood tend to wear on those that enjoy their freedom to wander. And with the restrictions of a baby dragon dictating where you can go, it would not be surprising to find many of the weyrlings doing their chores outdoors. E'don has forfeited the confines of his dragon's couch and the comfort of the reasonably cooler indoors for the midmorning sun, parked along the northern curve of the bowl with an oil pot, stool, and Qianvaelth. The little bronze has one delicate wing pulled forward for accessibility, and the bronzerider massages oiled fingertips between the spars and sails. "Where else?" The rider asks, pausing once in a while to scratch viciously along his arm or neck, before dipping hands back into the pot and lathering them along the same locations of his dragon. Communication! They have it!

All those poor weyrlings, trapped! Someone has taken pity on them, someone has been thinking about them, and whether or not that person was actually Nora, it's the assistant headwoman who will happily carry out the job of delivering a little present in the shape of an oversized basket with a few spread napkins covering its lumpy contents. She hefts it along in both hands, squinting into the sun and already breaking out in a nice glow — because ladies don't sweat. And oh, but look, she's not made it to the training grounds yet, but she's found one already, that impossible-to-miss sight of a teeny dragon and the young in his attendance. And so with a broad smile, she turns her steps in E'don and Qianvaelth's direction, her "Hey there," blithely interrupting whatever communications they were having.

The task of pinpointing a dragon's itch based on Qian's method of point and tell, that is point mentally and make E'don itch on his own body, must be pretty challenging, so much so that the weyrling fails to notice Nora. Rather, Qian is the one that greets the Assistant Headwoman, turning his homely muzzle towards the basket with a hiccupped huff. And then he moves, an unwieldy paw reaching with slow determination towards Nora, which is something his rider isn't expecting. The extended wing moves upwards in the motion, fwaping E'don right in the face. "Hey Qian stop mov-pftt." One very oily wing, right to the face, it's only then that E'don turns to look at Nora, startled. "Ma'am."

The dragon's beginning of an approach has Nora's neat wedge sandals drawing to a halt in the dirt. "Watch out," she warns the create with a sing-song in her voice, her weight drawing away just faintly. "You're very oily. And pretty girls don't like when their clothes get stained." There's a bit of a smirk marring the conspiring look she has for E'don, who now glistens so nicely. "The kitchens have a gift for you," she tells him. "They're calling them Wake Up Muffins." She arches a brow over merry eyes, as if these muffins are very exciting indeed. If, and only if, Qianvaelth appears not to be a threat to her crisp white blouse or her pale skirt, she'll hold the basket out for him to take a sniff.

Qianvaelth's curiosity would be no threat to Nora if his ham of a paw were coordinated. But it's not as he reaches up towards that basket with the most curious of croons, wings clacking together with unbridled enthusiasm. If the trajectory would continue, the little bronze would probably rend the basket from the woman's hands. But this is why E'don is here, presumably. To keep baby dragons out of mischief. "Oy! Qian, no!" He tugs the little dragon back, causing the bronze to squeal with indignation, sharp and startled. "Well much obliged headwoman," he finally huffs, running an oiled palm across his cheek with a sigh. "I think I need one of those. No, I think I need FIVE of those." He motions towards his dragon, who has stilled, tree-like, unmoving. "I haven't slept a full nights in a fortnight."

"No no, careful," Nora chides sweetly when she sees that paw coming, a shuffled step pulling her away from impending disaster, or at least trying to. It might be E'don's tug that really saves the day, and the muffins. She chuckles a bit when the crisis is averted, so it would appear she's a little less fussy about the basket than the tidiness of her clothes. And to E'don, eyeing his fresh smudge of oil, she grins, "Perhaps I should have brought napkins, too." But she didn't, and so all the has to offer him in a muffin, pulling the covering back on a pile of darkly hued baked goods that release their delightful aroma into the air. "Is he the one who keeps you up or is it someone — something — else?" With a twist of fingers, she presents him with his snack. "I should let everyone get one first," she tacks on. "But if there are extra…" the lift of her smile says she'll be back for him.

"If you give me two, I won't tell." E'don quips back with a lopsided smile, the smudges of oil and the hint of needed napkins completely lost on him. "Ah, who needs napkins. My fingers are clean enough." He leans forward to pluck one muffin from the basket, examining it with a soft 'hm' before stuffing it, all of it, into his mouth. "Eferyfing keefs me uf," he replies around a mouthful of muffin, before finally swallowing. "Qian snores. Loud. And that's been taking some getting used to. But the whole barracks are full of grunts and farts and pooping and the like. You can barely think." Brows crease together at the thought, "And don't get me started on the smell in there. So, what I'm saying is that if you give me the basket, I'll save you the effort of having to go in there and see for yourself what I'm talking about." Sneaky. Very sneaky.

"See if you like them first," Nora says with a twist of amusement. Because the muffins, they do pack a punch. Lots of fresh klah grounds and a hint of peppery heat, a nice crispy top of half-caramelized sugars. Wake up, indeed. The assistant headwoman has a pretty watchful eye as the whole thing gets crammed into E'don's mouth. Of course, his chosen descriptions of the barracks colors her expression into something rather more dubious, a wrinkle over her lifted brows, a pinch of her mouth. "Well that sounds delightful," she drolls back. "Will they give you anything? A bit of tea to help you sleep or… some lemons to hold in front of your face?" Her little laugh might make it seem like she's joking, but there are schemes hatching behind her eyes. And maybe, as he reminds her that she will be walking into such a delightful setting, there's a bit of consideration. Sneaky, maybe, but the weyrling might have a point. Nora has to worry her teeth into her lip as she thinks it over.

Wake Up muffin indeed. The kick of pepper in the back of E'don's throat causes the teen to sputter crumbs belatedly, and he pulls a fist up to thump his chest, eyes squinting with sudden discomfort. "Shards and shells. Those-those things are wicked." His head shakes in response to Nora's question, and he takes a moment to let loose a wheeze, catching his breath. "Na, none of it. The Weyrlingmaster is pretty good, but tough. So we're supposed to just, you know. Suck it up." Qianvaelth in his own measure is sniffing about the ground, dog-like, forked tongue dragging along the ground to pick up any wayward muffin pieces. "You know, they don't know how to poop on their own. They just kinda-go." E'don is going to give you another wonderful snippet of weyrling life, Nora. Wonderful, wonderful snippet. "They usually do it in the couches, but they're babies, yeah? So sometimes, just, *BOOF* right in the middle of the walkway. Near the door. Near the latrines. Pretty much everything in that barracks is covered in poop."

"Not used to heat?" Nora guesses as that bit of pepper brings water to E'don's eyes, grinning because, well, she did try to warn him. As for the sleeping arrangements, she cants her head to the side, letting her gaze drift off for a beat. "Sleep is important. Without enough sleep, its harder to handle stresses, changes." And so maybe that little pinch of her mouth is a bit disapproving of the fair Weyrlingmaster. "I don't see why you're all expected to adjust immediately." A shudder of her head both disagrees with the notion and shakes it off at the same time. Meanwhile, E'don's continued descriptions of the barracks is just so lovely, Nora has to laugh. "But you clean it up, right? You don't just leave piles of poop all over the place, walk through it, roll around in it. Still, maybe I'll just stand at the entrance and call in." Because, with a lift of one foot, she looks down at her clean, open-toed shoes and there's no doubt she'd prefer not to have dragon excrement wedged between her toes.

"Not expecting it." E'don sputters back with another cough, before plopping himself back down on his stool, motioning to his dragon with the oil pot in one hand. "I suppose the sleep issue can't be solved with some tea though. It's the mindlink, see." He taps his temple for emphasis, before dipping a hand into the oil pot and then across the curvature of Qian's neck, causing the bronze to emit the faintest of coos. "I used to be able to sleep like the dead. But these guys are so noisy." Brows crease with frustration over his explaination-insufficient at best for someone who hasn't experienced it. "He thinks about trees. Or a forest-eh. I'm not really sure how to describe it. Just imagine the noises of a forest in your head all the time." Voice trailing off, he turns to give Nora an amused assessment, following her gaze down to her sandals with a snort. "No, we clean it, but that doesn't mean that things aren't shit-encrusted. I'd swap out for boots if I were you." Beat. "Or just give me the basket. I'm an honorable guy. I'll pass those muffins out to the right people."

"So, basically, there's nothing you can do," is what Nora hears. And of course, she's the last person to put any stock in that way of thinking. It might, almost, make her write him off — a fold of her arms with the basket hanging against her skirt, her glance more pointedly aimed elsewhere — but there's something about the trees that draws her back in before she complete her dismissal. "That doesn't sound so terrible a thing to sleep to," she says, her attention shifting to the dragon, like she might be able to see his trees just by watching him. Of course, she can't. It softens her expression anyway, which means the smile that comes after creeps a bit more gently. "The 'right' people. But not 'all' the people." But she's still considering it, and now eyeballing his stool and whatever oiling accoutrements he has with him. "Aren't you rather in the middle of something?"

"Well, it's not all bad." E'don acquiesces with a bit of a shrug, oily fingers kneading against the crease where Qianvaelth's neck meets with his head. "It's relaxing-but he's not really in complete control of all of his emotions. Last seven day he got a leg pinned against the wall and oil vat. He felled a lot of skybroom trees that day-in his head." Beat. "My head." Forehead creases with increasing frustration, "It's like being punched in the gut and having your heart broken all in the same moment-so, sometimes you don't sleep." Nora's further prodding about the task of muffin allocation earns the sweetest of smiles from E'don, and he pauses to give her wide, toothy grin. "Exactly. Wouldn't you rather have the right people rather than everyone? And this? Aw, nothing important" And then he suddenly laughs-"Qian says that I need to listen to you more because you are 'Wise beyond words.'"

Nora has that skeptical look, like maybe she doesn't quite believe the impact of Qianvaelth's connection, but then… what would she really know of any of that? Dragonless thing that she is. And so ultimately, she just smiles rather sweetly herself, and it grows brighter as E'don unleashes his full toothiness. "Because they're supposed to be for ev-er-y one," she annunciates with a playful haughtiness, swinging that basket away from him like a covetous child and grinning over the thin wall of her shoulder. And, of course, the flattery is well received. "Oh, I like you,' she tells Qianvaelth, chuckling with pleasure. "If only everyone was so perceptive. It's just my lot to be a lone voice of reason." She's joking, at least mostly. And with an extra squint for the glare of the sun, her expression shifts a little more seriously, regarding the new rider. "You should be care with the oil, you know. You don't need a sunburn on top of everything else."

"Aaaaahh, you're no fun." E'don waves Nora off with a flick of his wrist, turning to wipe his hands off on the one un-oily part of Qianvaelth's flank. "You sure I can't at least get one more of those? I'm sure you've made enough for everyone and then some." He takes another furtive peek towards the basket, lower lip jutting out in a mock-pout. "You and Qian would be good company to each other then. He's definitely wise beyond his turns, but don't expect him to dole it out." E'don shoots a stink eye his dragonet's way, who turns with an amused snuffle towards the headwoman, muzzle extending out to bump softly against her shins. "He tends to stay silent when you need his advice the most." Nora's suggestion garners a quizzical look, one arm extending outward. "Am I getting' red? Probably best to get inside soon, I 'pose."

There's a fair amount of fun in the way Nora narrows her eyes at E'don, particularly given the twist of her smile. And her hand does slip down to play with the corner of the napkin covering those flavorful muffins. Tease tease. "How would he?" she has to wonder of the dragon's ability to dole out wisdom, even if he wanted. "We'd need to keep you around, I guess." Her grin now is for her partner in wise words, with only a faux-flippant glance at E'don, their useful translator. And yes, she does pull out a second muffin, and it's offered toward that extended arm. "Don't tell," she bids him as an aside, before she can really consider how much pink has touched his skin. "Probably," agreement with his decision to find shade. "And I need to put this down somewhere." She has thin little arms and it is a big and full basket she's been holding all the while. Her head tip toward in the direction of the barracks, in case they should go together.

"He talks. Of course." E'don's reply is puzzled, but the distraction of a second offering of muffin causes the junior weyrling to jump to his feet, snatching the offered treat as quickly as he can. E'don, deep down, is a scavenger. "I won't tell, promise," is E'don's response, which sounds more like 'Fromofh' because he's saying it with a full mouth, muffin already half gone. "D'need me to hold that?" He offers towards the basket, scooping up the stool and oil pot under one arm. "Come on Qian-let's get you some food. And you," He tips his head towards Nora, extending one arm for her to take. "I'll formally escort you to the barracks." Does she 'formally' need an escort? Probably not, but E'don is macking for more muffins. And not the euphemism, natch. And with that, they go off to the barracks.

"Well sure he talks. But I can't hear him," Nora mentions. See how there's a bit of a problem there? Well, at least as far as she is concerned. Her brow furrows faintly at E'don's enthusiastic muffin-devouring. "Way to make it last," murmured wryly as she adjusts the hold of the basket in her hands. "I've got it. I'd like at least some of them to make it all the way to the barracks. Plus, you should probably grab your stool and stuff." She might not need formal escorting, but she grins aside at her gentleman anyway, even if his motives are rather questionable. And so off they go!

Add a New Comment