Who | |
What |
Wrayth gets a little far from the Weyr but it's okay. |
When |
It is the tenth day of Spring and 87 degrees. It is sunny and bright. The skies are clear. |
Where |
Clearing |
OOC Date | 06 Apr 2019 04:00 |
"So are you the one from Igen or the other one?"
Clearing
The rise from sea to Weyr is made serene by a charming road winding sand-trodden from beach below to stonecut entrance above. The path wanders among a surprisingly green valley where purple flowers bloom in charmingly unfettered profusion. The meadows themselves are often in high demand as picnic areas, for dragons are not allowed to land in the narrow valley itself. No trees nor cliff lies near to shadow the clearing, however, and the intensity of sun can be unbearable for those not familiar with the humid drench of Southern's summers.
Spring is in the air, flowers are starting to bud, vtols are buzzing and a not-so-little dragonet is frolicking in the tall grass of the clearing just outside the Weyr. Although frolicking might not be the right word….Sneaking, perhaps? In any case, there was some physical activity going on and now the result of that activity is a young queen swaying in place, her lids drooping over mismatched faceted eyes, yawning fit to unhinge her jaw. Fighting the inevitable, Ryott is putting her shoulder into Wrayth's and digging in with her heels to get her moving, "Oh no you don't! I told you coming out this far was a bad idea, and then you had to explore every square inch…" She trails off with a grunt of effort as her lifemate sways some more. Shifting tactics, she moves to her rum and puts both hands there and pushes digging her feet in for traction. But alas, the battle is lost, when Wrayth finally gives up and drops into a heap of bright golden hide, her limbs splayed and head coming to rest on a thick patch of grass and wildflowers. She's snoring in the next breath. Balling her fists up in irritation, Ryott almost throws a toddler level tantrum of stomping her foot. "Wrayth NOOOOOOO!!" Good thing there's no one around to see such an undignified response from one of the newest weyrwomen in training.
Blue-green grass is already thick underfoot and judged harshly by the man who glares at it, or else he's nursing a grievance for something else. A'kehm doesn't stray from the shade of his dragon as both fresh from the sea take the path back to the Weyr on foot. The scratch of his feet against the gravel isn't loud enough to overshadow the tantrum someone is throwing. « A weyrling pair. Introductions could be in order. » With nothing better to do, at least not until their sweep route begins, they follow the clamor to witness one of the gold duos all but buried in the rich grass. Warmth, not like the sun on one's back but an internal spread of whiskey, is Ahiardhath's mental debut as they bear near. "Thread's not 'til tomorrow, what's your hurry?" Asked with an eastern accent from across Azov.
Though she looks mostly asleep on the outside, Wrayth holds onto consciousness just long enough to return that whiskey wamrth with a soft crimson glow and a waft of seawater before her scape recedes into true sleep. Ryott for her part tenses when the bronze pair comes into view, narrowing dark eyes sharply before she gives him a slow once over, her lips pressed into a tight line. Finally, as if remembering herself, she shoots off a reluctant salute in the bronzerider's direction almost as an after-thought. "I don't know if you've just forgotten weyrlinghood completely…" she begins in her usual deadpan, spiced up wit a smidge of sarcasm, "But there's always something that needs doing." With one last look at her gold, she sighs with defeat. Ryott takes a couple steps and flops down next to Wrayth, leaning her back against her lifemate's side with a bit of a huff. From somewhere on her person, she retrieves a battered deck of cards and starts to idly shuffle them. Finally, she blinks at A'kehm and Ahiardhath as if just realizing they were still there. "Yes? Can I help you?" she asks with a lifting of a dark brow in question.
Wrayth's telepathic scent of seawater matches the very same that's drying on the bronze and his rider into flaky crusts. A'kehm brushes a small quantity off the webbing between some fingers and tastes some of it. His tongue clicks from the briny, fishy tang of it and there's no going back for seconds. "Your job is to take care of your dragon, which is exactly what you're doing. When she's awake just remember the Weyr's that way," he points with his whole arm. Bereft of his straps for his foray into the water, Ahiardhath's head sniffs the air around the juveniles, teeth pulling back to taste their aura. Ryott's brashness doesn't encourage A'kehm to respond right away. He watches clouds being pushed through the sky by a higher altitude wind, stares into that blue sky for some moments. "If I had our straps we could probably tow her."
"Thanks for the directions, I would have been totally lost without them," Ryott drones sarcastically before she sets a card from her deck to spinning in the air over her head and then down in a arc, to land in her free hand, in a well-practised move. Tilting her head to one side, she considers the man, and the rope like quality of his hair gets a lingering glance as if she's trying to figure out how exactly that works. Then her attention is turned to the bronze and a scowl appears between her brows, "Hey now! Quit it! She's not even half-grown, don't go sniffing at her like some piece of meat." Too late she realizes she's just scolded a fully grown bronze dragon, and quickly turns her attention back to her cards, pulling one from the deck and to practice her sleight of hand, making it disapear and reappear with subtle movements almost too fast to catch. "You're not dragging Wrayth back to the barracks. Her hide will get all scraped up." she scoffs with a roll of her eyes as if that's the most obvious thing ever.
"No need to thank me, I know you're new at this." Seeing as how the weyrling's been marooned for a time outside of the Weyr. "Lower your hackles, he just likes the smell of the oil," explaining Ahiardhath's behavior. "We use a fish base. Smells different." Though the bronze has an aroma like lowtide, Ahiardhath's hide is as glossy as the fish scales the oil comes from. "Well sometimes we all make sacrifices." Kehm reaches for a waterskin now still at his hip and brings it to his mouth while idly watching Ryott's illusioncraft. "So are you the one from Igen or the other one?" Because there are too many sharding weyrlings to keep straight.
Being told to lower them seems to do nothing for Ryott's hackles, but she does shoot an almost apologetic look at the bronze then his rider when the reason for his sniffing is clear. "That's fine, I guess," she allows reluctantly, the card is trapped between her palms, but when she opens them again it's gone and the card doesn't come back. Letting her head fall back against Wrayth's belly, she brings one knee up to rest an elbow on. At his question, she snorts derisively, "The one from Igen, definitely not the other one. But people more commonly call me Ryott." Or not really, but it's an easy falsehood. "And this is Wrayth," she adds, her free hand rubbing the well-oiled hide of the larger of the two queen dragonets. "And you are?" she asks curtly, before lifting her chin a bit, "And what's with your hair?"
Picking up his feet and turning about forty-five degrees, Ahiardhath reangles his body so that the broadside of it isn't facing the sun. A'kehm's patch of shade, though the edges have altered, still lays intact. "Ryott and Wrayth," Kehm chews on those syllables, adding a twist of phonetics with just the nature of his accent. "Ahiardhath," looking over his shoulder to the bronze's shin, "and I'm A'kehm." Finally the waterskin is lowered and he dries his mouth with the back of a hand. "My hair is… my hair. What's with your hands?" Turning the tables on the weyrling's ability to make things disappear. "Does that trick work on other things?" Like debt records?
The bronzerider's accent has Ryott considering him for another long moment, trying to place it, but failing miserably. "A'kehm and Ahiardhath…" she repeats with a bob of her head. his answer about his hair fails to satisfy her though as she pushes herself to her feet easily. Sauntering over, she looks up at the man and tilts her head from side to side as her sharp eyes continue her appraisal of the man and his 'do, coming closer, but not //quite invading his personal space. "It's interesting, do you just not brush it?" she asks curiously, reaching out tentatively, before pulling what looks to be a mark piece out from behind one of those locks. "Maybe you should start paying attention to it a bit more," she smirks before flipping the mark in the air and catching it in her fist, before opening it to reveal nothing. "Short answer, yes, it does work on other things," she replies evenly as she takes a step back again before shoving her hands in her pockets. "So you from Southern originally then?" she gently pries, which is only fair because he knows where she's from.
"I don't brush it." A'kehm validates when there are better things to do with one's time. As the mark is fetched from around his neck and then seemingly vanishes, he shakes the ends of his hair to see if he can coax more money out. "If more fall, they're mine." But they don't and the rider just looks like he's putting out a small fire. "I was going to bring you some ledgers to make disappear but then I may as well just burn 'em and save everyone's time." See, he can make things disappear too. "Southern it is." Acknowledging his origins but then the continent is a very large land mass and he isn't disclosing too much. Ahiardhath, perceptive with Lynx's rider agenda with help from Jedameth, imparts a sense of time to his rider. "Well sweeps don't fly themselves. We're outta here. Fair winds, level ground, pleasant dreams, all those." To shave some time back to the Weyr, A'kehm climbs some dragonflesh without the use of straps and looks down at Wrayth and Ryott and guides Ahiardhath away before taking flight.
Ryott tries not smirk when the man tries to shake some more marks loose. The talk of some ledgers though do get a rise of her brow in speculation. "Yeah, I mostly work with much smaller items," Ryott admits. His non-specific origin gets a bit of a roll of her eyes with it but she doesn't have time to ask for any further details because he is apparently leaving. "Ok then. Clear Skies I suppose," she offers with a half-hearted salute before watching the pair leave. Well that was a fine distraction while it lasted. Looking down at her sleeping gold, she sighs with resignation before finding a patch of soft grass nearby to stretch out in, deciding a nap might be a good way to pass the time.