Who

Hy'sh, Madox

What

Madox has a run in with Sovroth and Hy'sh

When

It is afternoon of the thirteenth day of the third month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr - Lower Bowl

OOC Date 14 Oct 2017 05:00

 

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"He seems more awkward than all the other things that walk on Faranth's green earth,"


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Lower Bowl

Cobblestones sweep as far as the eye can see, a unique feature to the lower section of the bowl — but necessary, perhaps, as the stepped western bowl drains off into this high-trafficked area. The shallow bowl is bounded by craggy-black bowlwall with entrances pockmarked - and some boarded over in an effort to prevent entry from un-renovated caverns. Directly south, the wall neatly crumbles away to roll southerly into rollicking fields of soft hills; a glance of the stables can be seen through the gap, nestled against the entrance bridge that spans westward.

It is the thirteenth day of Autumn and 86 degrees. Partly cloudy, the storm seems to have almost pass, occasional short falls of rain painting the ground.


Weyrling PT is important. What's even MORE important when you're brownling Hy'sh? … sitting on one of the big boulders along the lower bowl's eastern bowlwall, sketching his lifemate who is putting himself through some grueling routine of stepping forward, crouching, jumping, moving side to side. It's obvious for anyone who watches long enough that agility does not come easily to Sovroth, and the brown's intensity marks a desire to correct that. Hy'sh, on the other hand, sketches with an idle hand, his blue eyes flickering up to the dragon and then back to his sketchpad. Thankfully, it's a period of time where rain isn't falling, though the cloudy skies threaten that any moment, that could change.

At some point, Madox has to leave the harpers' wing and obtain food. Afternoon is usually one of those points and indeed, he comes out of the living caverns with a meatroll in one hand and a bubbly pie in the other. Seeing dragons around everywhere is something that one becomes accustomed to mighty quickly when living in a Weyr, but the antics of baby dragon at least can still be unpredictable. That little brown's routine of crouching and jumping has his attention as the journeyman is going to cautiously continue his walk which is going to take him right past the pair.

Sovroth doesn't immediately seem to sense the Harper coming up, and when he pivots sharply to the left and bounces forward a step, the potential exists that his wing might pop WHAP! straight into Madox' food. Hy'sh, glancing up in one of those spare moments of his, can see it all unfolding like in slow-motion: "Hey!" his heavy Bitran brogue cries, "Watch out!"

Today is really not Madox's day. First his gitar met a tragic end due to some students rough housing while he was out of the room and now, now, suddenly there is a dragon wing coming towards his food. He tries to back peddle out of the way. Tries, but it's one of those things where everything slows down and you can almost see the slow motion "NOOOOOOOOO!" That comes out of his mouth as the dragon wing does indeed hit his food. That bubbly pie is going to do a very cinematic spin as it falls and plops into a mud puddle. Time resumes it's normal speed and Madox just stares at the now soggy and muddy pie. "Too late." For the warning.

Hy'sh hops to his feet, shoving his sketchbook into an oiled canvas messenger bag: he slides the strap over his head on the go, hopping over a mud puddle and under Sovroth's neck to anxiously… run his hand down that burnt-leather spar, the path of his fingers tracking charcoal streaks. "Are you all right?" he asks, except it's not to Madox, it's to Sov. The brown's sigh is audible, and Hy'sh belatedly looks up. "Er…" His face screws up briefly as he looks at Madox, "Sorry mate. Are you all right?"

Madox is just going to write that pie off completely. No five second rule when pastry meets mud. He has no interest in eating mud pies. He'll eye the dragon that's still nearby and his other pie in his other hand and shuffle it so it's even further away from the young brown. Just in case. "I'm fine. The pie's not." Madox answers to the first Are you alright. It's habit. "What was he even doing with all the hopping?"

"Fuck if I even know," Hy'sh replies candidly. Sov turns and leverages his entire head against his lifemate's body very briefly: Hy'sh, twig he is, stumbles to a side, arms windmilling. "Okay, okay!" as he's getting his feet under him, baleful look sent to his brown lifemate. "He says he is very sorry and asks if he can… what? No! I'm not going and getting him a replacement pie!" Sov stares at his lifemate very seriously, eyes slowly starting to whirl with yellow preludes to a real row.

Even if Hy'sh were D'wane sized, half grown dragons are still much, much bigger than any human. That stumbling was pretty much guaranteed, twig or not. Madox is on guard now and it going to take another step back away from those windmilling arms to protect his meatroll. And also go ahead and take another bite of his meatroll. If he eats it all, he doesn't have to worry about someone hitting it into the mud. "It's okay…" That's towards the serious little brown, although he still sounds a bit morose about the whole loss of a pie. "I uh, have a class in about an hour. What about a replacement pie at a future date." When the dragon will probably have forgotten? Its not like Madox actually bought the pie. He just went into the living caverns and grabbed one.

Unless hitting Madox' meatroll into the mud equates with someone socking him in the stomach into the mud. That would suck. Just saying. Sovroth seems mollified at the compromise, nodding his atypically equine head in agreement before turning and pacing off… the better to find some space to continue his calisthenics. "Thanks," Hy'sh sotto-voices to Madox, "And really, sorry about that. He's…" His articulate hands flail inarticulately. "Awkward."

That would indeed suck and probably be the cap to Madox's terrible, horrible, very bad, no good day. The man does relax a little as it seems the dragon's heading over there, but that doesn't mean he's not going to slow down in eating the rest of his meatroll before he gets attacked by a mass of wild firelizards or something. Once he's got the last bit in his mouth, he'll wipe his hands on his pants and shrug. "What young thing isn't awkward?" The harper's full grown and gangly enough that awkward could apply to him as well.

It would indeed suck. But Sovroth doesn't want to make Madox' day any worse than it already is, and he's probably the biggest likelihood of the Harper ending up in a mud puddle somewhere, so we're all good. Hypothetically. Hy'sh reaches hands up to rub the back of his thumbs against his eyes. "He seems more awkward than all the other things that walk on Faranth's green earth," the weyrling mumbles uncharitably.

Maybe Sovroth is the biggest threat to Madox's abdomen at the MOMENT. But who knows what new threats might pop up when he least expects them today? The harper just shrugs as the weyrling complains about his lifemate. "Well, he's hasn't gotten himself killed yet, so he's doing something right?" That's as optimistic as Madox can be today.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so." Hy'sh lowers his hands and eyes Madox a minute. "I'm Hy'sh," he offers. "And the awkward bastard's Sovroth." He throws his pointy chin that way, like it's not immediately obvious exactly who he's talking about. "Are you posted here?" he questions, his brow furrowing suddenly.

Madox nods a bit absentmindedly at the introductions. He's still kinda sad about that tragic pie thing. Not even a bite was taken from it. So sad. But oh yeah, introductions. "Yeah, I'm Madox." And his Fortian accent is as abundantly obvious as Hy'sh's Bitran brogue. "Yes, I've been posted here for about two turns now. Did you do something before?" A hand is waved towards the calisthenic practicing dragon.

And Madox isn't even the type that could use to go without a bubbly … all the more tragic. He could have USED those calories. Alas. Hy'sh nods along. "Aye, I was supposed to be part of the posted journeymen coming in. The green peas. Hyshaen," he provides his full name. "Mixed media arts."

RIGHT? Oh well, maybe Madox will be able to tell the sob story of his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day to one of the kitchen workers later and get a WHOLE pie or something. And honestly, Madox probably should have spent more time paying attention to the list of new names, but since Hy'sh was only there like two days before impressing and a completely different specialty, the name didn't stick out, but the harper does ahh when that is mentioned. Maybe some bells are ringing in his head. "Did you study at Fort? With Dagny any?"

"Dagny? Aye, a bit. She's more… stodgy than my style." Hy'sh shrugs his shoulders amiably. "Good harper by all appearances. Did ye ever have Ancei as an apprentice? He's my… was my mentor." Despite his obvious devotion to Sovroth, there's a tiny twinge of mishap to his voice, as if he has just the shade of a second thought.

Madox nods rather crisply and runs a hand through his hair. "Stodgy can definitely describe her. Dagny's my mother." And she's the more approachable of his parental figures. Part of the whole reason why Madox has been running as far away from Harper Hall as he can. "Ancei? I've seen his work some… but I really didn't spend too much time with the arts. Focused more on teaching and history." But he can paint, a bit.

The color that blooms on Hy'sh's face nearly matches the dark-red of his hair when Madox drops that little truth bomb. "Oh shit," he says unguardedly, as open as he seems: "Sorry, mate, I didn't mean — she really was a great teacher," he finishes off lamely. "History, huh? That's some…" even stodgier shit, "…deep stuff right there."

Lucky for Hy'sh, that is by far nowhere near the worst thing Madox has heard about any of his parents and so the harper just laughs at the blushing and the apology. "She is definitely good at technique but style…. her's isn't for everyone." Although her stodginess seems to fit plenty of conservative lord holders that want murals or other works. "History. And law." He shrugs a bit. "It can be deep. But it goes well with teaching." Gotta know that history to be able to teach said history.

"So you teach here?" True curiosity creeps into the colorful patina of Hy'sh's voice, the young man tilting his head at the other. "How'sat working out? Are they little hellions?" This coming from the boy who grew up in the streets of Bitra.

Madox nods. "Yeah. Mostly the older kids, a turn or two away from going to their own apprenticeships. Sometimes candidates…" He takes a moment to look closer at Hy'sh as if trying to recall if he actually taught this particular man as a candidate. Probably not due to the timing and with the mandatory haircut, could he really recognize him if he had? The little hellion comments gets a truly pained sigh from the man. More so than any pain from the demise of the pie earned. "Today… today they were hellions. I got called out to the hall for a couple minutes…. and they ended up breaking my gitar!"

Probably not. Hy'sh probably would have got a waiver for them, considering he would have otherwise been helping teach them, grunt work being what it is. What the Harper says though has his eyebrows raising. "Holy fuck," he says in a reverent voice. "A good one?" His fingers twitch involuntarily, a cringe in the making.

And wasn't he only a candidate for like two days? He had a lot of robe sewing to do in that time. And probably some mucking because it's a rite of passage or something to do before weyrlinghood when it becomes a fact of life. Madox is just going to nod in response to Hy'sh's question, his own hands are probably balled up a bit, but they're now tucked in his pockets so can't really tell. "Yeah…" There's a bit of a pause. "Had it for turns. Was originally a gift from my father." Back before said father became very, very vocal about how much of a disappointment he thought his son was. Master Maihal is a dick. A dick with very, very loud lungs.

Yeah, a day and THREE QUARTERS if we're getting precise here. That period of time went very fast. Kind of a blur. Then Sovroth happened and Hy'sh doesn't quite remember anything that happened before it… "Fuck," he says again, his voice a little bit in awe. "I'm so sorry." It's probably more genuine than some condolences for family deaths that Hy'sh has given over the years.

First his gitar, then his pie. It's not exaggeration about how bad Madox's day has been. He might fully be expecting a dead body to pop up from somewhere that requires another months long investigation at Southern Barrier or something. Cause that would be icing on the cake. Madox just nods along with the condolences. "It's getting worked out. I'm getting another one. And have my zither until then…" So lessons continue and instrument will be replaced, even if any sentimental value of it might not be. It had mixed feelings anyway.

Poor Madox. "Well. Hopefully the one you get it replaced with is a better one," Hy'sh says, before — out the corner of his eye — Sovroth accidentally lurches towards a poor kitchen worker taking a stroll on break. "ACK!" he sounds like a squawking parrot, "WATCH OUT!" and then with an apologetic backward glance to Madox, the brownling is chasing down some poor girl before her skull does permanent damage to his precious Sovroth's wingspars.

Hopefully that poor kitchen girl isn't carrying a tray full of fresh hot pies or else Madox might really begin to be suspicious of the baby brown. As it is, he'll just give a wave as Hy'sh is darting off after his charge. "Thanks. And good luck!" Because he's probably going to need that more than clear skies for a while yet. The harper is off to either go back to classes or maybe find a second pie that won't end up in the mud this time. Moral of the story: Don't eat and walk.

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