Who

Ginger & Shokravanth, Kyriatis & Omairhuith, Rocio & Niamyth

What

Little dragons are impatient.

When

It is dawn of the tenth day of the eighth month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Training Grounds, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 29 Jul 2018 23:00

 

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"And y'all are gonna find out what kinda quirks your boys have, too. 'Cause I guarantee they got 'em."


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Training Grounds

A broad and sheltered swoop of bowl lies bare for the talons and tread of countless weyrlings that-will-be, encased by stone scoured and scarred by those-that-were. Dirt lies as neatly as dirt can lie, swept and raked daily, at the mouth of the caverns that must indubitably be the weyrling barracks. Devoid of decoration, the place stands strangely absent of presence when empty, the ever-present wind of Southern giving strange acoustics to those under the shelter of the towering bowl-wall.


Up and at 'em! Rain or shine, CatMint still has outdoor PT and the rain held off for most of it. Returning to the training grounds is Rocio dressed in her PT clothing, along with a group of junior weyrlings who look like they've been put through their paces. This morning everyone warmed up with a jog around the bowl and everyone wrapped with a jog around the bowl — hey, Ro likes consistency. "All right, y'all. Remember to stretch before headin' to the baths or breakfast or wherever you're headed." Take that as a dismissal! Meanwhile, Niamyth is busy chatting up a few dragonets who seem to be quite itchy with their straps on.

The past four-and-a-half months have built enough muscle that PT is no longer quite so much the trial it was to begin with for Kyriatis, though the increasing difficulty means there's no opportunity to slack. Damp with sweat rather than (too much) with rain, the pint-sized brunette comes to a panting halt at Rocio's direction, one hand on each knee as, leaning forward, she attempts to regain her breath. « The meat-covers feel bad, » Omairhuith tells Niamyth, specificity in language failing him. « Much better without. »

« If your rider takes my rider to run in circles, how can she oil my itches? » Shokravanth asks Niamyth, in a tone of sweet reasonableness, though there's a bit more asperity and a couple of pinkish shooting stars as he adds, « Or take these things off? » Ginger has left the young brown minding her things as she runs, and ignores the instruction to stretch as she trots over to him and retrieves a jar and a rag from her waiting belongings - apparently she was anticipating this. A few dabs under the neck strap, and, « That is much better! » Ginger rubs her hand along his neck, then leaves the oil and trots back to where the other weyrlings still are. When she stops, she's breathing heavily, but not in a state of collapse as she would have been a few months ago - all this exercise is doing wonders for her fitness.

Rocio lifts both hands to tighten her runnertail as she pivots to look over at Kyriatis, "You're gettin' better every day. Takes a while to build up endurance." Niamyth ruffles her wings as she makes her way closer to Omairhuith, her faceted eyes whirling a curious blue-green color. « You talkin' 'bout your straps?" » The green seems to scrutinize the leather that clings to blueling's hide and looks for signs of chafing, then she's looking over at Shokravanth. « Oil will get rid of the itch in a jiffy. Although it's probably time to take 'em off anyway. » Exhaling a long, slow breath, Rocio begins to stretch her legs. "Doin' okay, Ginger?"

There's the suggestion of hero-worship in the way Kyriatis lifts her head to positively beam in Rocio's direction, basking in that more-or-less praise. "It feels better, ma'am," she tells the weyrlingmaster, firmly. "Much better than it did. I'm so much stronger." Omairhuith's hide doesn't seem to be chafing: he's oiled until he gleams. Perhaps he's just sensitive (or just a big baby, maybe). « Those, » he agrees, with a gentle wash of warm water, seafoam green and white. « She says they're important but I prefer without. Too tight. » They're not, though. « We don't need them, do we, Shokravanth? »

"Yes, ma'am. Shokravanth was itching under his straps, but he's all right now." She starts her stretching routine with a deep bend, hands reaching for the ground, then looks up. "Actually, he always says the straps make him itch. Straps on, itches start, every time. Is that normal, or is he imagining it? I mean, he's not fond of them anyway." Shokravanth considers his response to Omairhuith and Niamyth. « I don't need them now. Mine says I will need them in future, but future is not now. » There's a sense of vagueness, as if he's not terribly sure when 'future' might actually be. « They don't do anything useful. They do make me itch. »

There's a mobility routine that Rocio's been using during CatMint's PT sessions and she's using a few of those stretches to loosening up her leg muscles right now. Leaning this way and then that, the greenrider finally straightens and gives a nod to Ginger, "He ain't imaginin' it. His hide is sensitive with all that growin' which is why he feels so itchy, /but./" And that's a pretty big 'but.' "He needs to get used to havin' 'em on. There's gonna be a lot of stuff he ain't gonna wanna do in life and this is just one of those things he's gotta power through." Niamyth seems to echo that statement, « They're gettin' ya ready for when your bond is able to sit 'tween your neckridges. Might feel funny now, but you'll get used to 'em. You DO need 'em. »

« I would never let her fall, » avers Omairhuith, angry rain falling down in bucketing, pelting drops at the very possibility that this could happen. « Never, ever, ever. » Wide-eyed, Kyriatis abandons her stretch to turn towards her blue, one hand lifted towards his (somewhat distant) nose. "Hey," she says. "Hey. I know you wouldn't. But we still need 'em. They won't let us fly without 'em, and— and we'd hate to miss out on that, right?"

"Oh well, he won't always be growing so fast. I guess it's a kind of curve," says Ginger the ex-would-be-mathematician. "Fast at first and then tailing off, right? Otherwise, they'd be full-sized in…" She pauses with her legs splayed wide to consider that theory and reinforce the Weyrlingmasters message with Shokravanth. Only then does she resume stretching and finish her sentence with, "Way too soon."

Niamyth ruffles her wings and peers over at Omairhuith, « I ain't disputin' that. But this is how ya learn what straps feel like and what their purpose is for. The itchin' don't last forever. » Rocio will nod to that as well. "Straps are an essential part of ridin'. What the dragons got on now will change over time as they grow. Which means, yeah. Y'all are gonna itch!" She lifts her shoulders into a shrug at the dragonets. "It's temporary, though. Just means your counterparts are gonna have to oil, oil, ooooiil like crazy." Which is nothing new at this point in weyrlinghood. The Weyrlingmaster nods at Ginger with a snap of her fingers, "That's exactly right. They're growin' like weeds right now but they'll mature soon enough. Don't rush it 'cause it goes by waaayy too fast."

Omairhuith chills a bit, having been reassured from multiple angles that negligence is not being anticipated on his part. It leaves his rider to stare at him, then at Niamyth and Shokravanth. And, "Shells, the babies are more than half Niamyth's size already— I mean, quite a bit more. Hence the oiling, I guess, and the itching. But it'll stop, and then things'll get easier. And we won't need to clean up poop eventually, I guess, or feed 'em ourselves." She sounds distinctly pleased by these prospects.

"That's what Ma always says about babies," Ginger says with an irreverent grin. "The difference being, I can't just go and have another one when the first one's grown up." Apparently the maternal pregnancy is still a sore point. Shokravanth allows his plaintive request to fill an almost-empty starscape. « Will she be riding me soon? It would make the itching worthwhile. » It's almost an admission of acceptance. Ginger chuckles at Kyriatis' words, and moves on to arm stretches. "It's better already - they mostly make it to the midden now, and the meat doesn't have to be diced fine, even if there's more of it." As an afterthought, "Lots more of it."

Rocio gives her lifemate a beaming smile full of affection as she glances over at the dainty green. "She's one of the smallest dragons at Southern and probablyyy on Pern. Y'all are gonna have way more hide to oil than I had to, so don't think I ain't got an appreciation for what y'all are doin'." Niamyth is sporting her own straps today to help prove a point that the leather won't always chafe and itch hide. In fact, straps can be quite fancy! Rocio nods towards the green again, "See how I had her straps custom made? I can fit a bow and quiver of arrows on either side without anythin' gettin' in her way." Niamyth then warbles at Shokravanth, « In the next sevenday or two, yup! » Stretching her arms now, Rocio gives a bit of a laugh and another nod to both weyrlings. "Just wait 'til they wanna hunt for their own food."

The glance Kyriatis aims at Ginger is sympathetic with a side of 'grossed-out' based on this whole maternal pregnancy thing— but truthfully she's a little more interested in the rest of the conversation, straightening abruptly, her shoulders drawn back, as she beams: "I can't wait." « I could kill a meat now. I could do it, and she could watch. Can I? May I? Please? » His rider's mouth twitches, just faintly.

Ginger is intrigued by Niamyth's special equipment. "Is that for hunting, ma'am? And I'm really looking forward to him hunting his own food - he'll be so proud of himself." Shokravanth is looking forward to something rather different: stars flash a brilliant, joyful blue in his internal universe at Niamyth's response. « Soon! Rider and dragon - it is how things should be! » Unfortunately, that glittering sky also contains a streamlined brown dragon and his redheaded rider winging their way between the stars. Shokravanth hasn't quite appreciated the need for an atmosphere yet!

Niamyth whuffle-snorts at Omairhuith as if to stamp that idea out of existence (at least this sevenday). « Y'ain't killin' nothin' til you can fly. And y'ain't gonna try flyin' 'til your lifemate is comfortable ridin'. And before THAT can happen ya gotta quit complainin' about your straps! » Logic, Nia has it. Rocio snickers a bit at the green and then nods at Ginger, "Yeah! She ain't got it on her now, but I carry a bow and quiver of arrows whenever we travel 'cause I kill her food whenever I can." The fact doesn't seem to bother Niamyth one bit judging by how she begins to preen her wings. "Ever since she was a dragonet, she's always wanted me to kill her food for her whenever I could. It's a quirk, if you wanna call it that. And y'all are gonna find out what kinda quirks your boys have, too. 'Cause I guarantee they got 'em."

Disappointment turns Omairhuith's waters murky and dark, hiding him away into a corner where he can (yes, ok) sulk mightily. « But I want to, » he insists, lifting his wings as if to flap— though the flapping does not actually occur, thankfully. "Oh, I know he's got plenty," says Kyriatis, long-suffering but utterly affectionate. "But the way he's feeling right now, I don't think that'll be one of them. He's really taken by this feeding himself thing, maybe even more than the flying thing."

"I kind of hope Shokravanth won't have that particular one - I'd rather he did his own killing, I reckon. Though it might be interesting to learn to use a bow and arrow from the air… all that relative motion." Ginger's expression becomes abstracted again: she's already drawing mental diagrams of how far ahead you'd have to shoot, given the relative speeds of dragon and dinner. She snaps out of it to add, "He's dead keen on flying, though. I keep having to tell him he can't fly to the stars." She gives a little sigh. "And then he asks me to take him somewhere so high that they're all around him, and of course I can't do that either. And when he gets over being disappointed, he forgets all about it in a couple of days and we have to go through the whole thing again." She sounds rather grieved by the repeated disappointments she's inflicting.

"Well, you tell Omairhuith that he'll be huntin' his own food soon enough. There are just a few things that gotta happen before then, 'kay?" Rocio peers past Kyriatis to see if Major Sulk over there heard what she just said. Patience is a virtue. Alas. « I know you wanna. And some day you're gonna. » The Weyrlingmaster finishes her stretching and then straightens with a half grin at Ginger, her light colored eyes glinting with amusement. "That's usually the way of it since dragon memories aren't very good." Especially as babies, but that goes unsaid. "All right, y'all. I've gotta get washed up and changed so I can get my hind end to a meetin'. Y'all good for now?" She looks expectantly between the blueling and brownling.

Omairhuith is still sulking, but at least he's sulking in a way that suggests it's at least partially for show: his waters have cleared, his wings have settled. He's good. "Thanks, ma'am," says Kyriatis, with a quick salute. "Yes— we're good. Time for us to get some breakfast in a minute, I think. Well, me, anyway. You coming, Gin?"

"Yes thanks, ma'am," Ginger replies. She pulls one arm across her body and holds it there while she tells Kyriatis. "Yes, soon as I'm finished here. Can't be long about it, though, 'cos he's getting a proper oiling before class." Which will mean the straps coming off, which will no doubt please Shokravanth greatly.

Rocio gives a little bounce before returning the weyrlings' salutes with one of her own. She then whirls around and strides out of the training grounds, leaving Niamyth behind and F'kan in charge of any further questions or issues that make known during the her absence.

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