Who

Ca'elian, Nasrin

What

Post-Fall, some riders play with unsafe toys.

When

It is sunset of the fourth day of the ninth month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Eastern Road

OOC Date 08 Aug 2018 04:00

 

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"Not many would mind if it exploded on my watch."


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Eastern Road

Beyond a steep traverse down the eastern slopes of the Central Range, the road leading out toward Keroon becomes level and wide, a landscape of grit and sandstone giving way to flatlands and swamps near the Igen River. The air becomes thicker, the aridness of the desert succumbing to the atmosphere of the river and, further on, the sea. Eventually, this melds into the plains and foothills that define Keroon’s plateau.


If Thread could be gentle, it was the morning it fell over Keroon Hold and some of its provinces. Almost all came away without scratches, two dragons only getting grazed. Several members of Whirlwind even had the energy and hale health to practice for the next T-Tourney, leagues away though it is. Rajakhelath and Nasrin are cooped in a stand of desert pine, soaking in shade as the junior cleans the flamethrower loaned to her by a member of the local ground crew who swore it would protect her. They also are putting the time to good use critiquing the Weyrleader's wing for the performances of its browns and bronzes.

After the post-Threadfall debriefing, Ca'elian was not among those who chose to chase down the next T-Tourney dream prematurely. Instead, the bronzerider wanders alone, grumbling under his breath after some tiff between dragon and rider turned sour. The bronze isn't lurking far off, but until one of the two ceases to be quite so stubborn, Ca'elian is sans a ride home and ill-tempered as ever in spite of the day's victory. It's the lure of shade which draws him to the stand of pine, only balking for a moment at the potential for conversation with a daughter of the bazaar — not to mention the gold keeping her company. But the need for relief wins out, and the man grunts his awkward greeting as he steps beneath the canopy. "Ma'am."

With her wings in loose repose like a tzarina's cape, Rajakhelath enjoys the lick of a breeze rushing in the wind tunnels of those limbs, cooling her sides down. Nasrin lingers amid the strong smell of pine, not from the stunted trees, but the use of turpentine in flamethrower components. Her thick gloves aren't quite saturated. There's perhaps a leak somewhere. Counting resin-scented breaths, Nasrin jerks her head up at Ca'elian without anticipating him. "Ahhh, best stay back, over there," she cautions with a stern hand movement. She takes a single step back, still trying to determine the possibilities. The design is just slightly different from what she's familiar with though they're all smith grade products. "You're not playing with your wingmates?" Best to distract from any sudden combustion.

Ca'elian's dark gaze alights on Nasrin's work, and the deep furrow of his brow shifts from that ever-constant simmer of anger to a faint wariness. He has no trust in those contraptions, no matter how useful they may prove to be. "Is everything functional?" he inquires, the words colored by reluctance. "If not, perhaps I should be the one attempting to fix it." In spite of that offer, he makes no move to come closer, granting her that requested distance despite the twist of a scowl upon his lips. "I don't play, ma'am." Truthfully, his mouth looks as though it may not even know how to form a smile. He casts a look toward Rajakhelath, eyeing the gold as though a glance at her might give away the likelihood of any unexpected combustion. "I prefer the solo events."

Rajakhelath pivots her head over one shoulder to judge who's speaking to her rider. Finding Ca'elian adequate in these circumstances, the queen's sights linger before they tip back skyward, eyes an aquamarine nonpareil. Apparently the risk of fire around her rider isn't a concern. « Let it breathe. And do not ignite please. » Nasrin turns her head away from the other rider to plainly stick her tongue out at her dragon. Then looking back to Ca'elian, "it was functional and I believe still is, but there may be a leak. I'm evaluating all options, but between the two of us, I have the greater share of experience. If the second chamber isn't also leaking, we will be perfectly safe." Trust her, she's a weyrwoman. Stopping herself mid-action from sweeping hair from her face with the resin-coated glove, she pries it off, then the other, and sets them on a flat rock. Engaging the bronzerider while she can, "were you a participant this Turn?"

Tuanhjaliteth is closer now than he was before, his presence marked by low buzz of sound so reminiscent of Igen's Cantina during a busy shift. Though the bronze seems drawn by the potential for danger, he's little more than an encroaching mind for the moment. "You do have more experience," Ca'elian agrees, as amicable as his flat tone can be, "but you are also of greater value to the Weyr. Not many would mind if it exploded on my watch. You could give me instructions." The bronzerider eyes their surroundings, apparently ill-at-ease in the presence of natural growth. His jaw tightenings as he stares at the pine for a moment, before taking a pointed step away from any potential contact. "We-" a muscle jumps in his check, "-considered it, but ultimately did not."

"The Weyr feels every loss," Nasrin prompts fluently, "but it's true in my absence that would be a 50% loss of Igen's gold dragons." Simple math is hard to rebut. Rajakhelath, catching that whiff of hypothetical extermination, churrrs in her upper chest and holds the note when Tuanhjaliteth comes closer. It seems the goldrider is not accepting the offer of aid until, "you can verify for me if the seal at the base of the hose is compromised, but don't trip over the hose itself, I've already detached it from the unit." « Good girl. » Rajakhelath cozies a reaction, fanning out her left wing over a few growing scrub pines. Nasrin folds her arms, but won't stray far. "Any particular reason you refused?" Aiming for elaboration.

Ca'elian acknowledges that answer with a brief nod, the dark shadow of his brows lightening as they lift in response. "Yes." Equally simple, that answer, even if skepticism lingers in the brief shake of his head. Whatever the bronzerider's true opinion on her words, he keeps it to himself. That silence doesn't break as he moves to inspect the hose, surprisingly contained in his movements for one so hulking in appearance. He's thorough in his investigation, bearing her warning in mind. A shadow passes overhead as he studies the seal, the low swoop of a bronze body punctuated by the rustling of pine as Tuanhjaliteth claims the ground on the other side of the pine stand. His rider looks up only when the bronze has settled, claiming, "I believe it is compromised." Should they be expecting a big bang any moment now? As for his refusal, there's merely a shrug, and, "I cannot allow his ego to go unchecked."

So much for Nasrin trying to steal a look over his shoulder. She side steps around for better viewing access, nonplus about watching the rider as he works. He should be able to perform under various pressures. As Ca'elian confirms her hunch, the junior lifts her head and presses a forearm to her hairline to screen out the sun. "Communicate to the ground crew lead they will find one of their units in this location, Raja. Let them play with fire." Centering the Whirlwind rider in her vision, "our thanks for confirming, you may step away." She picks up her riding gloves, test smelling them for residuals. "I…" she spends a glance on Tuanhjaliteth, "will take your word for it. I hope you have a better advantage next Turn." With all Steen practicality.

Used to working under scrutiny, Ca'elian shows no sign of duress for the goldrider's inspection. He does, however, dutifully step away at her instruction. "You're welcome. Both of you." Dark gaze slides to Rajakhelath, somehow ill-at-ease in spite of the fact that he spends his life in the company of dragons. Tuanhjaliteth takes the opportunity to swagger — as much as a dragon can swagger — closer, until he's practically alongside his rider. "Thank you. Perhaps next turn there will be less unearned bragging." The brittleness to his tone speaks to his own disbelief on the matter, but he cannot keep the bronze from the games forever. His is a practicality born of the New Akzhan's excess, and learning which battles he can and cannot win. "Let us know if we can be of further assistance."

Nasrin nods with a modicum of sensitivity- she knows dragons can be difficult creatures. Seeing now the off-duty pairs of Whirlwind concluding their exercises, Nasrin lifts the flamethrower with its half-full cylinders and maneuvers it carefully more in the shade by an evergreen's trunk. The hose follows in a separate trip. Rejoining the gathered, she slaps the palms of her hands together to tidy them. "That's polite of you," a long look. "You could serve us by competing in Rajakhelath's flight in the upcoming sevendays." That matter-of-fact request isn't probably what Cae was implying. "Who knows, Tuanhjaliteth's ego may be fortuitous." Shrugging into her riding jacket, Nasrin grips some base straps and scales her dragon. "So long!" Her voice, hardly ever used in strength, travels well and true, almost a better sound when she yells.

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