Treivyshe, F'kan


F'kan takes full advantage of some candidates assigned to helping bathe dragons after Threadfall. Treivyshe was the obvious choice.


It is afternoon of the tenth day of the third month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Beach, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 10 Jun 2018 04:00



"You look like you don't mind some hard work, you ever wash a dragon before?"



An eerie mirror, the glass-quiet Sea of Azov: the clear waters stretch along the dark-pebbled shores, and along this narrow beach. Here the faintest lap of waves belies the calm beyond; here the rocks have been ground down into finest, softest sand - those observant would mark upon the similarity between it and the sands of the hatching grounds. The soft sand soaks up summer sunlight as a sponge; painfully hot during the warmer months, it is only truly pleasant at wintertime. Rocks rise to east and west, lichen-limned and green against the abyssal darkness of stone.

It is the tenth day of Autumn and 101 degrees. It is partly cloudy and everything is wet still from the recent rains.

It was beautiful for one perfect day, and then Southern's plunged again into the swelter again. A cluster of recent candidates, half of them looking dazed, are settled in a knot at the beach, apparently on dragon-bathing duty. Treivyshe doesn't seem too put out, standing a head and shoulders higher than the shorter, younger adolescents milling around him like little clouds circling a mountaintop.

With the Fall over Island River SeaHold ending in the last candlemark, those candidates will soon be very busy. One of the first to arrive on galaxy-whorled wings is the brown Quaverilth, leaning hard to the right to glide towards the sands of the beach in increasingly tight circles until his obsidian tipped talons strike ground and he settles with a flourish of his wings. From his neck, F'kan is untying his fighting straps before slipping to his lifemate's shoulder and ridding him of his harness before jumping to the sand. Pulling his helmet off, the brownrider runs a hand through sweat slickened blonde hair as his bright blues eyes come to rest on the knot of candidates. With a swagger in his step and hiking the straps further onto his shoulder he makes his way over, eyeing them each in turn. Of course his eyes get drawn to the one towering over all the rest and with a friendly smirk, he'll point at Treivyshe, "You look like you don't mind some hard work, you ever wash a dragon before?" he asks, staying downwind of the group so as not to innundate them too badly with the firestone stench.

Treivyshe seems to be pretty familiar with this gig, thus far. Fetch and carry, scrub and clean, and — in one very memorable experience just two nights ago — scream blue bloody murder at a younger candidate who stole all of his damn hair ties. "A few," he replies back to F'kan, then, going through the brief ritual of letting down his rufus mane and putting it back up in a knot. His face briefly screws up at the scent. "Not sure how you've ever gotten used to that." Firestone stench.

"You don't. I'm convinced it eventually burns away your sense of smell," F'kan says with a hearty chuckle as he looks back to his lifemate, who is striding towards the water's edge in preparation of his scrub. "Well good, then you should know the drill," the brownrider says as he finds a good spot to dump the straps for now and starts to peel out of the layers of his leathers, starting with the paldron protecting his left shoulder which marks him as a Lynx rider. "I'm F'kan by the way, and he's Quaverilth. He's not picky about his bath as long as you don't scrimp on the hard scrubbing," he explains as he continues to shed layers to get down to his shorts.

"That would do it," Treivyshe concludes after a moment's consideration. "Treivyshe," he replies to F'kan, followed-up with a really sucktastic salute ruined further by the scrub-brush in his saluting hand. "Quaverilth," he greets the brown, carefully sounding out the name and checking with one slant glance to ensure his pronunciation is accurate. "I'll wait here for your rinse." Trei glances over and gestures at one of the smaller candidates, who comes a'running with soapsand. "How was threadfall?" the larger one asks F'kan, his eyes scrutinizing the brown thoughtfully.

"Well met," F'kan responds just as he manages to get down to his shorts, the leathers now a pile on the sand that will be dealt with later, he may not have the wildling's height, but he is quite broad with well-defined muscles. Quaverilth takes his time sinking into the water and making sure all of his hide is throughouly wet for his scrub. At the inquiry on Threadfall, the brownrider holds a flat hand up and occillates it gently in the universal sign for 'so-so', "It was a little erratic and kept us on our toes, but we managed to get through ok. No deaths and I think only one serious score.." he drawls as he checks in with his brown, "Yep, just the one. So pretty decent in the scheme of things." With a warble in the direction of the people, Quav walks into the shallows, ready for his scrubbing. Grabbing an extra brush, F'kan heads in the brown's direction, nodding at Trei to follow him, "So you're not from around here I'm guessing, I bet I would have remembered seeing you before."

"Not bad," Treivyshe comments in reply to the results of the threadfall, taking the bucket from the younger lad and starting the process of wading out to the brown, following after the dragon's lifemate. "I'm actually from three candlemarks that way." He gestures with his chin, unnerringly north-northeast, his smile brief and white and rueful. "New to the weyr, though. As a resident. Traded here often… before."

F'kan actually looks in the direction of where he's pointing and squints with a bit of a puzzled look for just a moment, "That's just jungle out that way…" he starts because sometimes he's a little slow on the uptake. When realization finally dawns, he breaks out in a toothy grin, "Oh, you're a wildling then?" he exclaims, looking rather proud of himself for solving that little mystery. Wading into the water now, he pats the brown's haunch causing Quaverilth to swing his wizened looking visage in the direction of the big man, warbling amiably. "He is saying hello and that you have great hair," F'kan relays but then ralizes what he just said and quickly backtracks, "That was all him man, I mean, it's impressive. But I have a girlfriend, she's a wildling too actually." Got it Trei? The guy's straight.

"That's what they tell me," Treivyshe replies to F'kan, his grin deep and well-humoured for the brownrider's visual dawn of realisation. It's soon severed by the attentions of the brown, which require a stronger reaction: an actual bow, neat bend from the waist, respectful to the edge of reverent. Then? That grin's back, and broad. "But is her hair as nice as mine?" the big man questions, grin diminishing to a smirky little line. He starts the process of scrubbing without fanfare.

Quaverilth looks lmost impressed by the respectful way the wildling bows to him, rumbling softly in his direction before giving a pointed look in his rider's direction which makes F'kan rolls his eyes as a private joke passes between them. As Treivyshe starts the scrubbing though, it with a deeply satisfied croon that he drops his head and lids his eyes. The brownrider considers the taller man's question as he takes up his own scrub bruwsh and begins to vigorously scrub the stink from his mount's hide. "It's maybe not as spectacular, but it's so soft it feels likes silk and she keeps it very long too.." he trails off before quickly clearning his throat in case his thoughts drift a little too much. "Anyway, that is good, but even a little harder if you can. It takes a lot to get the stink out," he advises as he goes for a generous amount of soapsand

"I'd love to see it," Trei says with the low-voiced amusement of a red-blooded male. "Her hair sounds magnificent." Plus, he's always interested in picking up hair-care tips. Men just don't exchange those kind of things, but girls just seem to bubble forth with opinions as soon as he lets his hair down. He grunts acknowledgement to F'kan's direction and puts his back into it after checking to make sure Quaverilth is good with the level of intensity.

"The rest of her is even better," F'kan adds with a roguish smile before clearing his throat briefly, remembering, big as he is this guy is a candidate. And F'kan's already been a bad influence in the past on those white-knotted folks, but he's changed his ways. "Maybe you'll meet her, she's around somewhere with her clan for another little while before they head up to the Ice Hold in a few sevens." There's a bit of chagrin in his voice at that, maybe a shadow passing over him briefly before he dips his brush back in the water to rinse it off. "Does your clan stay in one place or travel around alot?" he inquires casually. Quaverilth is like putty in their hands, sinking slowly in the water with a contented rumble.

"I'll take your word on it," Treivyshe says with an expression no less than wolfish, though it's brief. He grunts at the further dialog, though, seeming to not comprehend the flash of darkness over F'kan's features. "Oh. They visit the Barrier, do they?" His voice is inscrutable. About his own people, he pauses before answering: "We travel the river." Black Rock, presumably. "From source to delta and back again."

"Yeah, they do, but it's only a quick trip between, no big deal," who exactly is F'kan trying to convince here? Turning his attention back to the large wildling, he takes a little break from scrubbing, "That's neat, what are your clan going to make of you being Searched then? I know your kind are often weary of us dragonfolk." Moving around to his browns forelimbs, he takes the time to scrub some more soap sand into Quaverilth's shoulder, bring up a rich lather, the sweet scent helping to dissipate the reek of firestone.

"Sounds convenient. So long as you don't mind the cold." Of between or the ice hold, either way. Treivyshe finishes his section and moves on to the next, crouching down to get the hide right above the waterline. "Well, they have to find someone else to trade for them, for starters." At least the wildling has progressed from four-word sentences into… conversation. "We have no troubles with dragons or the weyr." It's apparently a novel stance for wildlings, this solid allegiance to the weyr's protection against face-melting potential of certain death.

"Oh there's plenty to do in the cold to keep warm though," F'kan can't help himself with a rakish grin. At the revelation that this man's clan isn't so weary of dragonfolk, the brownrider looks genuinely surprised, "Really? Now that's interesting. Let's just say Devana's clan definitely won't be welcoming me with open arms any time soon." There's a bit of harsh bitterness in his voice as he scrubs hard at a patch on his browns neck with such fervor that it cause Quaverilth to swing his head in his rider's direction, with a sofly worried croon. Reaching out to pat his lifemate's nose, he sighs heavily, "But we make do." Because the alternative just isn't worth mentioning.

"Not arguing with you there." Treivyshe's a stranger to the cold by and large, but those few freezing nights Southern has, he's … been in agreement with F'kan's priorities. "There are many tribes who I do not understand. Who my people do not understand. Why would you argue with those who protect you?" Trei's voice seems genuinely baffled.

"Exactly! Thank you!" F'kan exclaims, as he renews his efforts with a long sigh. He goes quiet for a few moments then, industriously working away, pondering various things, which takes awhile with this particular brownrider. When he finally seems to get his thoughts organized, he muses aloud, "I should go and speak to your clan sometime. My wing, Lynx, we've been trying to improve relations between the wildling clans and the Weyr. But we're met with a whole lot of suspicion and not much else. Maybe they could give us a different perspective in reaching them. And not all of them are bad, some of the younger ones like Devana are actively trying to change them, but when you're stuck in your ways…" he trails off with a shrug as he stands back to look at their work, "He looks just about ready to rinse off," he says with a considering nod before getting back his last patch.

There's a brief smile from Trei at the sudden animation of the brownrider. He's happy to work in silence, until the man broaches speaking to the riverfolk. "I am sure my father would be happy to speak with you," he replies in measured cadence after a long moment. "Better if you brought something to him in trade. The conversation would be… bonus." They may be pro-weyr, but that makes the riverfolk — those wildlings of commerce — any less mercenary in outlook. Finishing up his last section, the man steps back, clearing the way for the brown to wade out. "But if it is something you want, I can make the introduction."

Well that's definitely sounds promissing to F'kan as he finishes the last spot and with a slap of his brown shoulder, sends Quaverilth off to the deeper waters. There's a crest of waves lapping at them with his departure as he all but disapears into the depths. "Something to trade huh?" The wheels are turning so hard in his head it's surprising that Trei can't hear the creaking, "Yeah, I think I can figure something out." And if he can't his girlfriend is a lot more clever than he, so together they should be able to think of something. Stretching his back, the brownrider groans at the various popping sounds it causes, "Ugh, as refreshing as the sea is, I think I need a proper bath in hot water." He starts trodging back towards shore and his riding gear stashed there.

"Clear skies, F'kan." Treivyshe lifts a hand, transmutes it into a shitty salute, and then goes to gather his little fellow-candidate-squire and go find the next stinky dragon to wash.

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