En'rys, Vosji


Briamiorth sits, and other stories.


It is afternoon of the nineteenth day of the seventh month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Training Grounds, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 25 Mar 2018 04:00


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Weyrling Training Grounds

Here, a wide and spacious field, devoid of all but more of the glare of ubiquitous, fine white sand of Igen: not even a blade of grass dares lift its head against centuries of clumsy draconic antics. To one side, ever-present firestone bins are set, kept supplied by many a hand, while agenothree tanks line the curving angle just outside the barracks, primed and ready for use. Very often, a glimpse of classes in session or dragonets at play may be caught under the open sky under the watchful eye of diligent Weyrlingmasters and older dragons.

It is the seventy-ninth day of Summer and 120 degrees. Rukbat's heatwave has not yet let up, gripping Igen in its tight fist. Escape the heat!

There once was a boy who wanted to wander — so he did the sensible thing and got himself Impressed to a tiny green dragonet who is currently prowling (as only a kittenish dragonet can) about the Training Grounds, sniffing at various items, batting at the occasional dangling item; Briamiorth is a curious girl! And lo, sh comes upon a box! One just large enough to contain her small, ferocious self, so in she hops, chirping happily to herself as she turns round and round, settling in to her new bed. Meanwhile, the recently shorn En'rys follows like any besotted young weyrling, gently guiding her away from any thng that might damage her perfect hide. When she finds her box and settles in, he chortles softly at some comment of hers, looking into it and ofering her a gentle rub across the eyeridges. "Well, I suppose you can nap here for a little while…"

Iskanzivoth is spending his afternoon 'supervising' the training grounds, which has meant napping off and on, but it has also meant being climbed on by baby dragons. Watching baby dragons learn how sand works. Watching baby dragons eat. Baby dragons pooping. You know. It's a very Dragon Dad kind of day, though as Briamiorth first chooses her spot to sit, Iskanzivoth is asleep. It's the sound of her little chirps and her lifemate's voice that has the blue opening his eyes, lifting his head, and streeeeetching it out to get up in their space. He makes a little chuffing sound and then backs off again, apparently approving of her choice. Vosji's leaving the barracks classrom right about then, heading outside to her dragon and then just … stopping in her tracks and laughing. "Well," she says, "Someone's found a more portable couch. I don't think that's going to last very long."

Briamiorth s very bendy. And right now she's going to bend herself to look up — way up — at the big blue nose up in her space. She tries, naturally, to hiss and fails mightily for what happens is something closer to a non-threatening sneeze. En'rys puts a hand on her muzzle to quieten her, scolding, "He's not after your box, Bria! Don't hiss at him!" He tries to look serious, but really: who's going to take her seriously when she's all of three feet long and just barely out of her shell, anyway? Certainly not an adult blue long used to babies trying to look tough. "I'm sorry — she just…" He stops, blinking, to eye Vosji thouhtfully, then glances down at Briamiorth, peering intently over the edge of her little box at the Weyrlingmaster. Had she noticeable ears, they'd be perked forward almost aggressively. HER BOX; HERS! "Yes, Weyrlingmaster, she did. Nobody was using it…" Hopefully, he can convince her to get out of it long enough to cart it into the Barracks, should he be allowed to do such a thing.

Well. No one has to worry about Iskanzivoth taking her seriously, no; but he pretends to be very contrite, moving backward a little more and putting his paw over his snout. Vosji's shaking her head, really chiding her dragon and not the green or her lifemate: "Don't do that, Zivo, or she'll think she can get away with treating others like that. She can't," is redirected to En'rys. "Though she's welcome to the crate, it's kind of cute, the … hissing … I'm not sure that was really hissing, but the attempts at hissing are something you'll need to curtail. Hissing at Thread is appropriate. Hissing when proddy and feeling as if her space is being invaded is unavoidable. Hissing at her wingleader dragon, on the other hand, not a good idea. Not that he's helping." No, Iskanzivoth isn't chiding her at all because she's a tiny baby, Vosji, come on. She's so cute!

En'rys is all agreement to that. "She tried." He squints down at Briamiorth again, settling into his sternest 'Apprentice, you have failed me' expression. Briamiorth. Behave. He outranks you, like it or not." Even if he finds her tiny and amusing right now, and is definitely not helping by pretending to be threatened. She turns giant eyes to her lifemate, looking both stunned and displeased — and finally, contrite, as he continues to eyeball her with no sign of approval. She shrinks down into the box and tries her best to look exceedingly cute and harmless. "All right, Bria, but remember. You can't hiss at him. Or anyone else." He'll just keep things simple while she's so young; time enough as she grows to get in all the nuances. He returns his gaze to Vosji, looking just a little bit embarrassed by this whole hissy bay thing. "How long will it take her to understand? And I really am sorry she did that. It wasn't at all appropriate."

"It was … unsurprising," Vosji says with a wry sort of smile, "Unusual behaviors that may or may not be socially appropriate are normal for babies of all species. Or most, I suppose, I'm not sure about every species in existence. I was familiar with foals as a kid, and dragons. I think felines and canines are also kind of, er, stupid as young ones, though dragons aren't — exactly un-intelligent, they're just very un-worldly. So long as you enact the right control over her, she'll grow up fine. Remember who's in charge," comes out in that calm, soothing-but-firm Gentle Order Giving Voice that Vosji has so perfected. It relaxes people into listening to her. Of course she's right; the good thing is when it comes to weyrlinghood, she pretty much is the font of knowledge, and so there's no concern she might be wrong. "She understands the words you're saying now, I think she just doesn't understand the import of following them. Give her a few weeks, she'll grow into her brain."

"Rather like apprentices…" En'rys remembers those days when he had been charged with containing the youth of the Tannercraft in the Weyr — it'd been interesting, to say the least; so interesting he couldn't wait to get away from it all. "Only she's cuter, so… well. It's harder." Meanwhile, Briamiorth is peeking at Iskanzivoth again, with deepening curiosity. Her head pops up over the top of the box again, and she trills at him, looking as though she might try pouncing. "Don't you dare." En'rys doesn't even have to look around to see what she's up to — her thoughts came through very plainly, though the link is still new. Cats. What can you do with them. Vosji's voice is, indeed, soothing. At least he isn't in trouble for now. "So, I'll just basically have to repeat myself a million times until she's older?" Oh, hey, look at this nice ball, Briamiorth! The one En'rys somehow had secreted on his person for just such a time as this. Happily, the little green is distracted and takes to curling herself around the ball, having forgotten the big blue exists.

Iskanzivoth would also be that guy who batted back at her, but in a way that managed to be totally safe. He's good at dodging baby claws, but it's also good that En'rys is stopping the kitten-dragon before she strikes, and so Iskanzivoth doesn't have to lay low. Or use his paws. Instead of putting up defense, he croons politely and curiously at her. Welcome to the world, small dragon! "Definitely cuter than apprentices," Vosji agrees, that wryness still there. "And … yes, that sounds about right. You'll just have to redirect every time she's tempted to do something she shouldn't. If she's responsive, though, that's a good sign. That if you tell her 'no,' she doesn't push against you." A glance over her shoulder at Iskanzivoth, as if she's telling secrets of his infancy.

En'rys grins wryly, tugging one end of the ball so that the tiny green gets some resistance to her wrestling match. In a box. Woo someone crooned at her! Her thrumming gets louder, even as she bites ferociously at the tough leather ball. "Well…. so far… she likes playing tug." And apparently giving her bondmate a workout while she's at it. "Offering her toys seems to work for now." It might not as she gets older, and then — oh, boy, En'rys might be in trouble! He glances over to the blue, then back to Vosji, eyes bright with curiosity. But nope, he's not going to ask potentially prying questions. It would be rude. Besides, his arm is turning into rubber with a green dragon wrasslin' her toy for all she's worth. She is tiny, but she is strong.

"He will do that with her," Vosji gives a nod toward Iskanzivoth the crooner. "He'll take the other end of it and yank very, very gently — as soon as you've worn out, anyway. I don't think your arm will be able to keep up with a dragon for long." It's very practical advice! So is: "But if you do it every day, you'll gain a little bit of strength each day and probably be able to do so a lot longer. Does she have a particular desire to collect things?" So, so many of Vosji's weyrlings have collected things. Many dragons collect things. Even her dragon collects things, and it's something that starts young. "Sometimes you have to redirect more harmful collecting into something less … messy. Like ink pots."

En'rys will happily let Izkanzivoth take the ball — when his arm is truly rubber. Which may be very soon. He smiles, grateful. "I can't imagine a dragon harming a baby." These two, he trusts implicity — they wouldn't be in charge of bumbling hatchlings otherwise, would they. "Half of it is for me — I've got pretty strong, but.. this is.." And his arm's a noodle, for Briamiorth is now in sole possession. OUt fo the box she hops, prancing away as though she's accomplished All the Things. But she doesn't go far, plopping down to chew contentedly at the leather, her energy, for now, expended. "…different." He chuckles at his green's pride in having 'won' the toy. "Well, so far it's been leather toys. Which I seemed to have a lot of when I was with the Traders."

"Not on purpose," Vosji points out. "Dragons don't want to harm other dragons, ever, but they can, especially when they're tangles of limbs and claws that aren't very graceful. Though it's the baby dragons that are generally causing an injury to the older ones. Iskanzivoth has learned how to operate more carefully around them, but not all dragons are going to have the same instincts and sometimes they react harshly." The leather-chewing gets a small smile at first, then redirected to a thin line. "That's fine if you can make sure she can tell between toys and straps, which you really don't want her chewing on."

"Yeah." En'rys agrees, very, very sure that could get dangerous in short order if he hasn't come up with a better solution before they get to that point. "I'm trying to figure out something else. Something less… well." Something that isn't leather. "I think she knows, but I will make sure I keep reminding her that she can only chew on the things I give her, not things she might find."He's relieved that she's in the 'easily distracted' phase of life just now; hopefully when she grows into her brain, she'll be better able to discern what may not be chewed on.

"Good. And you'll have to work further on that line — since your straps, of course, are things you may give her. I hope you will use your Tanner's expertise to help teach your classmates," Vosji adds, and it seems like she's going to go somewhere further with that when Iskanzivoth suddenly sits up straighter. News from Firineth, apparently. "And — I need to go assist Aili with one of the seniors," remember Rajakhelath and Nokteryth's clutch? "But it was good to touch base. Be sure to get her back inside before she falls asleep again," is her parting advice, as she heads Northern Bowl-wards to sort out apparent minor chaos. Just another day in Weyrlingmastering.

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