Who

E'gus, Miel

What

E'gus can't escape forever! And it's his unfortunate day that he is caught by a proddy Miel who has more than enough energy to deal with his stubbornness…

When

It is sunrise of the twenty-second day of the eighth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Weyrling Training Grounds, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 05 Apr 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.


Despite it being in the morning, it's still staggeringly hot outside. There's a stillness in the air, as well, that's indicative of a sandstorm slowly brewing that may hit several candlemarks from now. But, for the moment, the air is calm and sand-free. It's just burningly hot. Szokanith, well-fed for now, is currently traipsing slowly around the grounds with an exaggerated hip waggle that still has her looking a lot more ungainly than she ought to. She's a big girl, after all, and she's still getting used to all her curves and awkward weight distribution. She's trying her best to be sulky at the moment, sending out serious shady glances at her rider, E'gus, along with her usual wheedling tone when she wants something, « It won't take more than a candlemark, to be sure. It's so boring here - I deserve the best, you know. » E'gus is busy following along in the wake of his green, eyes periodically scanning the skies with a serious expression. "No - feels like a storm," is his grunted yet terse reply to his lifemate, who he gives a level stare at. E'gus must be suffering in this heat, though is doing his best not to show it. His thick deep red hair is plaited into a wide braid that reaches to his mid-shoulders and his red-gold beard is as bushy and epic as ever. Someone is too stubborn to follow through with the dire warnings of trimming said hair yet.

What was proving to be already a marginally unbearable day due to the heat and still air is made all the more by that storm lurking in the distance. Already charged with an abundance of energy, Miel is feeling it doubled now, as Ivaenth’s condition builds and the green’s flight looms closer. It would explain why the vibrant electric green is no where near the grounds but outside of it and nearby in the bowl. Too busy calling the boys to her yard, so that she can systematically dismiss some and entertain a few promising candidates. Luckily for E’gus, Miel’s temper is much the same; she hardly changes in her proddy state. Unluckily for E’gus, is that she’s as super-charged as her lifemate and all that restless energy has to go somewhere. Which may spell Bad News if he decides to put up a fight… because Miel’s all to happy to chase him around if it comes to that. Surely he won’t debase himself that much, though? “Good morning, E’gus! Szokanith, you’re looking well.” Cheery greetings meet a too-sweet smile as she dips her head respectfully to the young weyrling green, only to then peer at her weyrling. A tsk’ing click of her tongue warns of mild disapproval. “… didn’t we talk about this.” Fingers gesture vaguely to her own chin, to indicate his beard. Hair will come next, of course and thankfully HER hair, plaited and tucked into a tight bun, is hidden beneath a headscarf made of the same light fabric of her whole uniform; sturdy enough to withstand being around Weyrlings but not so heavy as to boil her alive.

Szokanith attempts another traipsing step, though her over-curvy hips waggle a bit too much and she ends up nearly doing a faceplant. At least by this point she's used enough to this that she catches herself and merely ends up doing an ungainly belly flop instead. Thus the green dissolves into grumbling and colorful swearing at the misfortune, a wall of icy chill sweeping out from her mind in a rush of pitch black water, « That would not have happened if you'd just let me go swimming! You can be intolerable sometimes. » E'gus merely twitches his lips in a bit of amusement, the motion mostly hidden behind the bushiness of his beard. "You're fine," he grunts in reassurance, stooping slightly to inspect the green's foreleg critically, "Swimming later. After the storm." His voice is the usual basso rumble and full of little emotion. He's somehow able to stand strong against the wiles of his lifemate .. for now. Miel's voice has the short, stocky Weyrling straightening, his back stiff. He stiffens even more at the gesture, one hand going protectively to the luxurious whiskers on his face, "Thought it could wait until we had to actually fly." He tries to inject reason, of course. Maybe thought the Weyrlingmaster staff would conveniently /forget/. Szokanith, too, seems to pick up on E'gus' discomfort and rustles her wings irritably, « His face-hair is the best of all of them - it should stay the best. »

There’s a wince from Miel when Szokanith belly-flops but as E’gus is on the ball with checking on her and nothing seems overly amiss, she’ll pretend not to have ‘witnessed’ the little misstep. They’re still young, but not that young now that they don’t have to continuously rush over. “You’re worried about that storm? That’s hours out yet.” she offers (not so) helpfully and, on the heels of that, snatches away ANY hope of escape now. Laughing, she shakes her head and grins broadly to him. “Nice try but no… That’s not how it works! Come with me, E’gus. We can do this one of two ways. Easy, which would be either me or you doing the work — or difficult.” From the way her eyes light up, she’s hoping difficult! “And I’d really not like to have to chase you around first!” Such a liar, she is! “It’s way, way too hot for that. Miel gestures to where there’s an appropriate place for E’gus to sit. The result of the supplies are no doubt already stored there or easily accessible. Much of the grooming has likely been done outside rather than in. Easier clean up and not as stuffy. Blinking at Szokanith’s comment, she chuckles heartily but it’s Ivaenth who answers the green with a mind filled with electric humming and the cool, silky touch of cold metal. Neon reflects off the surface, while distantly the pulse of bass can be heard. « Hair grows back swiftly! She is good with a shaving blade… she will do right by yours. He’s in good hands! »

E'gus simply freezes in place, seemingly rooted to the spot like a small animal being caught in a bright light. It's almost possible to see the calculations flitting through his head, though he keeps his expression schooled and calm on the outside. Szokanith is the one that probably betrays his actual internal feelings, as the green rises to her haunches, flickers of orange creeping into the blue-green of her eyes, « I care not that it grows back. It is marvellous now. Why change it? » The deep waters of her mind swirl and churn, restless and agitated and bone-numbingly cold. Likely a bit of it begins to crackle as it encounters the electricity of Ivaenth’s mindscape, sputtering and flickering, « If yours ruins mine's face-hair, I shall be most displeased. » E'gus eventually seems to break from his trance with a forceful shake of his head, beard waving with the motion - the bushy extravagence must be long enough to even be braided on its own at this point. "You don't have to shave it off completely?" he asks with a hesitant tone, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He does take a tentative step or two towards the spot where he's supposed to sit, though he eventually stops in his tracks. Maybe he won't have to be chased, but he may have to be dragged at this point.

« Because it will still be marvellous! Not all change is bad. Embrace it, Szokanith! » Ivaenth’s tone is more soothing than it is chiding, despite the electric buzzing lurking beneath. Proddy though she may be, she is still grounded in essence. There IS amusement there too, as though the older green is merely observing the fit of a toddler child. « Oh, just you wait! I think you will be both pleasantly surprised… » she all but purrs in dual flanged tone. Miel’s not going to embarrass him by dragging him like a recalcitrant child, but she will step to his side and, so long as Szokanith and he don’t mind, her arm will slip about his shoulders as though they were the best of friends right now. “Would it put your mind at ease if I said no? But with the amount of hair you have now, any trimming is going to be short, E’gus. And a shock!” Necessary evil, however. Should he not resist her, he’ll be guided to that spot and made to sit, no matter how many attempts or how glacially slow it’ll take to get there. At least she doesn’t order him to stay, like a good dog? Trust will be extended when she has to briefly step away to gather the necessary instruments of —torture— grooming, but it won’t be long before she’s readied. “All set, then? Because once I start, I need you to sit still and not move. Better to let me finish than to keep interrupting…”

If Szokanith could look skeptical, she would. The green lowers herself to the ground, eyes awhirl with varied colors as se mulls over this information. Her mindscape is still dark and brooding, a vast ocean of pitch black water. Is that a flash of something fanged in the darkness? It flitters out of sight almost as soon as it appears, « We shall see. » This said in an ominous sort of tone, full of an underlying threat of what is to come. Then she considers again, a glimmer of neon color flitting through the darkness, « If he allows his face-hair to be cut, do we get something in return? » Her voice switches from barely concealed anger to sweet, honeyed tones rather quickly, accompanied by a flurry of dazzlingly bright fish. E'gus is rather like a solid stump of a man at this point. With starts and stops he'll be sort of half pushed to the seat - he at least doesn't dig in his heels or anything, but his steps are faltering. He's almost acting like a man headed towards his untimely death. He sits ramrod straight, face pale and jaw set. Even his fists are clamped over his knees. "Don't shave it all off," he manages to force out, just the barest hint of pleading in his voice. It's as though Miel were about to rip away a favored puppy from a child at this point. Likely the man has never shaved since his first bits of beard hair came in.

« Gratitude? » Ivaenth’s not quite in the mood to barter deals of any sort, as the restlessness that courses through her makes her somewhat unfocused. « He will gain compliments? And if he is complimented, it extends to you. » Or so the green views it. It’s offered with enough confidence though that maybe one could believe it! Miel isn’t a monster, she’ll give E’gus a moment to come to peace with the change he’s about to endure. “I’ll go with what suits you,” is all she’ll promise, with a gentler tone and not so broad a grin. A small pat to his shoulder and a warning spoken: “Here we go!” Scissors will be the start… she needs to trim much of the excess hair before she can really get at it. All the while, she may idly chat with him or even hum as she sets about undoing Turns of growth. “Not so bad, is it? Probably going to feel funny…” she murmurs, while moving on to shaving. “How in Faranth’s name did you stand the heat here, with all of this? I’m impressed, E’gus.” When all is said and done? His beard has been trimmed down to just an inch of length. It’s there and has been nicely contoured to favour his facial structure as naturally as possible (and within Miel’s skill range, which is not novice work). His hair though… alas. She had started chin length but it looked too off and so that will be cut back more severely. Not clipped short but he… won’t have to tie it back anymore? “There’s a small mirror there, if you’d like?” Miel offers at the end, while she steps back to clean off tools and her hands (and clothes, ugh) of bits of hair.

« Gratitude? » Szokanith scoffs mentally at such things, adding a flittering of tiny bubbles through her watery mindscape, « We deserve much more than that. Much more. I'll ponder on it and have E'gus bring you a list of our demands for dealing with this injustice. » That is if she even remembers this come tomorrow, but who knows. She'll settle back to watch the proceedings coolly, her mindscape echoing the emotions coming from her rider - wavering sheets of bone-numbingly cold water, flickers of monstrous eyes or teeth in the darkness, glimmers of muted colors hidden by a roiling swirl of water. E'gus, for his part, decided to stay ramrod still during the entire operation with his eyes shut tightly closed. It's as though he's steeled himself for this and has decided to go through with it, but has to force himself to not react. There may be a few twitches here or there at the feel of so much hair coming off him, but it soon subsides. He only responsd to Miel's attempts at chitchat with grunts, grumbles or one-word answers. "It was easier not to cut it," is his rumbled response to how he could stand the heat. Or he was just too stubborn to cut it anyhow. When the process is finally over, he ventures to open his eyse into a skeptical squint and tentatively reaches up to rub at his cheeks. There may be a brief grunt of relief that /some/ hair is still there, though the relief soon turns to shock and dismay as his palm sweeps back up over his shorn hair. He'll take the mirror and stare at himself, obviously in shock at his appearance. His lips are actually visible now and there's no hiding his expression behind hair anymore. At least he's got a handsome enough face to cover it. "I … " he begins, staggering to his feet, " .. it's … different." He sets the mirror down with a thump as he staggers to his feet, seemingly unbalanced, "Does it have to be this short .. forever?" Szokanith adds in her blunt opinion, « Yours made his head look smaller. »

Ivaenth chuffs from where she’s currently holding court to one bold suitor. « You’d be surprised what gratitude can do for you! » She corrects, while merely brushing off the rest of Szokanith’s ‘threat’. None of that bone-numbing water will chill this green out! Her mind remains neon-buzzed and humming with energy. Miel watches E’gus from the corner of her eye when he gets the shock of the first glimpse in the mirror and when he staggers to his feet, she’ll be there to place a calming hand to his shoulder. If he isn’t against the contact, she’ll try to brush some of the hair from his other shoulder with her free hand. “You’ll be surprised how fast you adjust to seeing yourself like that. I know it startled me the first couple of times when I had to cut my hair back. And no, it doesn’t have to be forever but you may find that you like the lack of beard!” Chuckling, she steps around to face E’gus and glance down at him with a sympathetic smile. “We don’t do this to torture you guys. It’s necessary, but will only be done this once. Unless it grows back like wildfire… in which case?” She grins now, almost teasing. Same time, same place in a few months?

Szokanith snorts, sending a bit of sand flying from the training ground floor, « Gratitude now gets me nothing, as far as I can tell. » Not that she's super knowledgeable on the world at the moment. But she totally understands leverage and being owed things. Slowly getting to her feet, Szokanith ventures over to her rider and whuffles at his face experimentally, before snorting in displeasure, « It barely moves now! It was so much fun before - it did funny things in the wind! » Cue the annoyance and internal grumbling, her mindvoice still awhirl in icy cold water nd dire threats. E'gus doesn't do anything to shrug off Miel's touch, apparently either not caring or still too much in shock to really parse the touch. It's the feel of Szokanith's breath on his newly shorn face that has him blinking several times, seemingly breaking free of the trance. "My face and ears feel cold," he grunts with a scowl that can no longer be hidden by hair, one hand going to scratch at the short bristles on his cheek. And 'cold' in this weather is probably a boon, though E'gus seems focused on whatever negatives he can glean from this situation. He narrows his eyes thoughtfully as he squints at Miel, "Bet you didn't have as much to chop off, though." He makes another noise in his chest - a grumble of some sort that likely echoes his dragon's almost, "If it grows back fast, I'm not telling /you/." As if he could hide such a beard sprouting from his face. "What's the point, if not torture?"

« You’ll learn just how far you can push with someone owing gratitude. » Ivaenth continues to string Szokanith along, if not to just keep the young green occupied and less prickly over her rider’s new-do. « It will grow back! » Further assurance, before her attention is distracted as a blue challenges her to a bit of friendly rough housing. Miel laughs, “Cold is good, E’gus! It means you won’t keep risking heat exhaustion. Shards, man! You’re gonna really dig into this, aren’t you?” She says it with enough mirth to take the edge off from her tease-chiding and her hand will pat his shoulder once or twice before she steps back again. “Oh-ho? How long do you think my hair is?” Hard to stay, given it’s covered and Miel’s not about to pull back her headscarf now. She’ll let him take a guess! “You won’t have to tell me,” she quips back, smirking in smug satisfaction. “I’ll know just by looking at you! And the point is, is that you lot need to focus on training! Easier to do that and not worry about hair flying in your face when you’re learning, or hair catching fire…” A hand flicks in a so-on, so-forth manner.

« It will be less fun until it grows back. » Szokanith grouses, sending out a ripple of annoyance and chilly water. Some glimmers of neon color flick into place, though, as she considers, « At least he still looks good. » E'gus eyes his green at that last comment and snorts in response, though doesn't verbally make a comment. He seems to be unable to keep his hands away from his face, as though if he rubs at his cheeks enough the hair will return to its former glory. Frowning, he eyes Miel's head thoughtfully, as though assessing what might be under that particular head covering, "Can't be longer than what I had - got to set an example for us, right?" He continues rubbing at his cheek and chin, fingers making a raspy noise against the shortened beard bristles. Then his hand stops short at Miel's mention of 'fire', his expression turning to shock. "Someone's beard's caught on fire?" he asks in his basso rumble, a hint of disbelief in his voice. Maybe he's having second thoughts on the benefits of losing his beard hair now.

« That’s the spirit! » Ivaenth chimes in belatedly, once she can focus on Szokanith and not the blue she’s in a harmless shoving match with. Miel’s grin broadens as E’gus takes a guess but his answer only brings a mild shake of her head. “Close enough, I suppose…” And her hands lift to begin to push back her head cover, only to stop and adjust it back into place. “Guess you’ll just have to take my word for it, hmm?” A small wink and then her mood completely sobers. “… yes, actually. Burns are something you will all have to learn to avoid. Thread is not the only thing that will harm or kill out there, during a ‘Fall.”

E'gus moves his hand from his cheek and rubs it across the top of his head in one sweep before letting out his breath in a gusty sigh, "Should've just said my beard might catch on fire in the first place." He cloees his eyes and gives a rough shake of his head, as though trying to dispell the image. Szokanith is there to keep the image going, as she plays with the image of a man with a flaming beard in her mind, « I like the shock factor, but I preferred your face-hair, to be sure. » There's a bit of humor in her tone and a bit of a bite, as well, a touch of chill still in her watery mind. She sends a watery lance to Ivaenth, « I still think you owe us something! More than gratitude. » She dissolves back into grumbling at this point, lingering bits of displeasure rippling through her watery mindscape. Thankfully, though, all this anger is enough to tire such a young green out - Szokanith's latest internal grumblings are interrupted by a huge draconic yawn. E'gus, primed to this behavior from day one, straightens up and forcefully tears his mind away from fiery beards to move to his green's side, "Back to the couch. No sleeping during a sandstorm." Because the stillness in the air is not going to be so still soon enough. E'gus begins to make his way towards the barracks, shooing a drowsy Szokanith in front of him, who's still grumbling. "Be careful in the storm," is E'gus' parting words to Miel. He's not yet recovered enough to say 'thank you' for the beard trimming.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Miel’s grin says it all and maybe she was lying about the ‘torture’ bit. Maybe this is her payback for the hell they’ll all drag her through when the months progress? « There’s little I can give you, Szokanith except for advice! » Ivaenth quips back again and the green has the energy to keep up this volley until either sleep claims the younger one or Ivaenth is too distracted. Not expecting a ‘thank you’, Miel will not keep E’gus from bringing Szokanith back inside the barracks. “Rest well, you two! Storm should pass soon enough.” And speaking of, she has duties to attend to and to make sure no one is caught out in it. But first? She has a mess to finish tidying here and plenty of energy to take care of all those tasks. Woe be to the weyrlings, when she ends up in the barracks with them to wait out the storm!

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