Sesa, Vosji, En'rys
Edleveth, Iskanzivoth, Briamiorth


Edleveth is starving to death. Sesa, Vosji and En'rys aren't buying it. Iskanzivoth is kind of an enabler. Briamiorth doesn't care.


It is evening of the fourth day of the eighth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Training Grounds, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 30 Mar 2018 04:00


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« But I am an endless pit of hunger, a ravenous canine for the hunt! Blood and bones must crunch between my razor teeth like sticks beneath the paws of my kind! »


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 thirty-fourth day of Summer and 99 degrees. Everything is coated in sand, but no clouds linger on the horizon.

It's just past supper time and the heat is at least bearable, and so, the Weyrlings, or at leats some of them, are out in the training yard for some fresh air and ambulatory movement. Sesa and her blue Edleveth are amongst them. Sesa sits propped against a rock, sketch pad in her lap as her azure, inkstained lifemate stretches out in the light of Rukbat's rays. She's sketching him, hand lifting occassionally to tuck her now chin length hair behind her ear, but it's never long before it slips and falls back into her face.

Oh look, it's the candidate who draws! Wait. No. It's the weyrling who draws, now; she has a blue which means she's the best kind of weyrling according to Iskanzivoth. Though he does seem to like all kinds of weyrlings (just maybe not equally). Wherever Vosji is, it's not outside, but Iskanzivoth is there — inching closer cautious step by cautious step. He doesn't want to startle Edleveth. Or step on him.

There is sunning, and there is sunning — and Briamiorth has the elegant art of taking some sun down to an art form: She's somehow managed to writhe into some impossibly uncomfortable-looking position so that her belly can get some of that sun, while managing to position her wings so that they're not going to get damaged; and then — oh, and then! The sun shines all over her cute little rounded belly, a forepaw over her eyes, a little thrum vibrating her little body. She's napping, thank Faranth! And while she naps, En'rys naps, curled up against her like a somewhat taller version of her, perhaps to keep her from going away somewhere and getting into too much mischief. What? He's got to get his rest where he can.

Edleveth is /sensitive/ to the minds around him, some would say, super sensitive, to a point. Without twitching, without moving really, saving to open one eye a slit, he leeches into Sesa's mind like spilled ink, blue and black ebbing and flowing together like ink and oil, morphing into this shape and that until they settle into ank and water images of a much larger dragon. «We have company beloved, a giant over lord who seeks to see what you apparate upon your parchment.»

Sesa looks up, eyes focusing slowly because she has been drawing since they came out to the yard. Her hazel eyes land upon Iskanzivoth and Vosji and she scrambles to a stand to salute the pair, her parchment sketchbook slipping to the ground in her haste, flipping open to an older sketch of her 'aunt' Ayla's Jhakkarath. "Good Evening ma'am!"

Iskanzivoth's waters wash up against an ironclad hull, making a soft 'thud' sound as he points out only, « The artist's hair, it looks good like that, » as if no other context is required.

The Weyrlingmaster is approximately forty-five steps behind her dragon, but they're his steps and not hers. She catches up, though, looking a little worse for wear in the hair department (it's just long enough to make a braid, because she needs a trim, and it is a truly tragic braid). "Weyrlings," she says first, and then: names. Names are important. "Sesa, Edleveth and the very wise cat-nappers." There's definite approval in her eyes even if her tone is neutral; it may be for Sesa's politeness, but also for En'rys' ability to sleep outside, because yes, when your dragon naps, you should do the same.

There's a reason most of the Traders call En'rys the 'kitty': he really can sleep anywhere — including on sandy ground outside. But at the sound of Vosji's voice he wakes, blinking sleepily up at the woman. Why is she upside down? Why is he outside — what. Oh. Because Briamiorth got this far in her fit of the zoomies and decided she'd had enough; since it happens to not be blazing hot, he took what he could get in the way of precious sleep. "Uh. Weyrlingmaster." He'll just untangle himself from his dragon and get to his feet, brushing sand from his hair and eying his dragon to make sure she's actually still asleep.

Edleveth stretches, since it seems Sesa's drawing has come to an end, he stands and shakes himself, stumbling a little before flapping out his wings for balance and succeeding before they settle around him like a rustling set of ruffled wings. He sits up on his hind legs then, neck stretching to get a better look at the larger blue in front of him. Ink blotvhes morph to dragons flying in the skies, and landing blues highlighted amongst them. «Greetings Brother! Kindred Spirit! She is quite lovely, my starlight over the seas! Is there sustenance about?»

"You just ate Edleveth! You'll burst at the seams if you eat more!" Sesa still isn't quite used to speaking silently with her lifemate yet, and she already feels as if she might burst at the seems with both meals, hers and her dragon's. Turning back to Vosji, Sesa smiles. "Is there something we should be doing ma'am?"

Speaking aloud at least includes everyone, to some extent; Iskanzivoth may not have relayed the question, if he were a dragon with a more reasonable separation from his rider. Vosji can be a bad example of mindlink control sometimes, as everything he hears leaks to her — which is not how it's supposed to be, and is part of why she's so firm on making sure her weyrlings can make boundaries. When they need to. Perhaps she thinks she no longer needs to. Instead she's just smiling a little, nose wrinkling in a sociable way as En'rys stands. "No, no, you're fine just as you are, provided you're comfortable. Getting them outside and interacting with the world is the most important part of these early weeks. Maybe you should be studying," she adds, "But I don't know how much studying you've already done today, and I have no way of knowing, so — if you don't think you need to be studying, then I'm certainly not going to tell you to. How long ago did he eat?" It is possible Edleveth needs to feed again, but then there's the idea that it might have been less than an hour ago and babies don't know how to tell time or how stomachs work.

Iskanzivoth joins in the inky presentation, painting his ironclad ship in there, and some nice clockwork pieces of fine engineering, and maybe some blueprints on top of that — but. But, Edleveth is the artist here, so Iskanzivoth's mental contributions are a little shoddy. Maybe shore up some of his lines there, little guy. « There is meat in the barracks, » he advises, sage and cool, « But I think perhaps your lifemate doesn't want you to eat again yet. »

"Oh, good." En'rys will sing back down, draping himself carefully over his young green; he's careful to arrange himself so that the brunt of his weight does not obstruct her breathing in any way, though this small green seems to be able to handle a lot of squishing — indeed, she seems to insist upon it! For she turns herself into a small ball and cuddles right up against him, all too happy to enjoy the indulgent strokes of his fingers over her wings. She is, of course, ignoring the mental conversation flowing between the two blues; nap time requires her full concentration. En'rys looks up at Vosji, wry. "It's just that she… goes all the time. Back and forth, at the run. Faranth, I'm so sleepy, I just fall aslep the second she stops moving to take a nap."

Sesa seems to relax when Vosji makes it clear she has no work for them to do, and if anyone knows Sesa, any studying she would have needed to do throughout the day is already done.. "He ate less than a candlemark ago and so did I, if there's anymore food involved I may just lose my supper all together, I feel double stuffed." A hand rests over her belly at that and she shakes her head before bending to retrieve her art supplies.

Edleveth 's inky blotches do indeed move to shore up scraggly lines, though are careful not to obstruct the original design. Red creeps in, slipping between black and blue lines to drip onto blank parchment and spread into fleeing whersport. «But I am an endless pit of hunger, a ravenous canine for the hunt! Blood and bones must crunch between my razor teeth like sticks beneath the paws of my kind! The pit within me rumbles with it's distemper, angered by the lack of sacrifice offered up to it! I shall parish should it not be fed!» So dramatic!

« So very well put, » is Iskanzivoth's return, rather than rebuke; he seems, if anything, quite pleased that his meager representation of self-as-inkblot has been steadily improved. « And yet likely not accurate. When you are as big as I, » bigger, Edleveth's lineage means he is probably going to be bigger, « You will only eat once every few days. » (Iskanzivoth)

(Though before he was reskinned, Iskanzivoth's prior incarnation was the biggest blue on the game.)

"That," Vosji tells En'rys solemnly, "is exactly how you should be doing it. While she's this young, and this flitty between active and exhausted — nap when she naps. Sleep deeply when they sleep. Maybe don't eat when they eat," is offered with a little hint of laughter for Sesa's predicament, "But the rest of it. You both have crafting skills," she adds as if this observatory non-sequitur makes sense to anyone else, which at least the bluerider is likely aware it doesn't. "Have either of you ever taught? Tanning, drawing?"

What dramatic tension is this! It disturbs the beauty sleep for which Briamiorth is known; she is cat, cat is beauty, and cat is sleep. These things are The Law. Fog rolls in, thick, nay, trenchant with subtle annoyance. There's prowling in the back of the mind, more specifically Edleseveth's (she's already learned that her human will not allow her to hiss at the adult blue nor her clutchmate. For shame!) as she makes her disapproval known. « Brother, dear. Such noise and flailing about is unnecessary.» Her tones are prissy and prune-mouthed, her nose in the air as she looks down at him. One gets the sense of a librarian scolding a naughty child. (Briamiorth)

En'rys is relieved to hear it; it's unlikely he'd stay awake when she isn't. Such is the way of raising a baby who is in all reality a toddler of sorts — a winged toddler, the stuff of nightmares for a young parent. Of course, there's the advantage of mental rappaport, once one gets it under control: En'rys sometimes fails at this still. He slides a grin over at Sesa, comiseratingly. "Do you feel like it's your belly that's empty, empty, EMPTY…" As Bria puts it. "I was a Journeyman, ma'am — I did have to teach."

Sesa scrunches up her nose when asked if she feels as if she is an empty void. "No, I feel like I've been stuffed for roasting over a turnover fire." She rubs at her belly, feeling as if it's twice the size it should be. As for Vosji's inquiries (her advice is filed away, it really is!), Sesa shrugs. "I was only an apprentice but I've helped my foster brother tutor before."

Edleveth slumps down to all four paws, in all senses, pouting, wings slumping, head lowered. «Fine. Fine. I shall just lie here and waste away then, filtering into the ether, nothing but skin and bones…» His mindscape drenches in black ink, as if a well were spilled over pristine parchment and leaks to the very edges. Woe begotten eyes turn feintly red and whirl as they turn on his clutchmate sister. «Oh but it is dear sister! Do you not see that I am famished?» Oh dear. Such Thespian dramatics from the small blue, hopefully he is over it soon.

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry," corrects Vosji, though there's no actual apology to her facial expression. It's simply something she forgot, and should really have remembered. Though — how many weyrlings does she have across two classes, Rajakhelath's close to graduating? One may be able to forgive her for not remembering every detail, though it's often enough that she doesn't partake in that forgiveness. "I believe it came up before, then, that I will expect," last time it was probably 'hope,' "that you will aid in teaching your clutchmates when it comes to making straps." Even if he hasn't ever made dragon straps before. Learn, now, and then teach everyone else! "Sesa, have you ever done anything with cartography?" The brightness to her eyes is there if one looks very close, though she keeps it downplayed.

Iskanzivoth has sympathy for you, Edleveth, really, he does. A few loose gears go rolling past Briamiorth's fogs, offering something to paw at or chase if it catches the correct light. Or perhaps entertainment for a different day, but it's like a metal tumbleweed. « Being famished gives you character, I think, » he suggests. « Something to lament in eloquent ways. »

Briamiorth yawns widely in the face of such dramatics, for the interrupt her nap — never mind that she'd been staging the exact same play just that morning at mealtime, with an operatic rendition of 'The Song of the People' involved. Right now, she intends to nap, and Edleveth is ruining it. «Clearly, you are much neglected.» Can her eyes roll hard enough? Not nearly so hard as the fog across the mindscape can roil and roll and go gray and white. Oh, wait what's that? She will indeed bat at the lovely little goose tears Iskanzioth lets loose. They're more interesting than her brother's whining. (Briamiorth)

En'rys is all innocence, even as he quells Briamiorth's more acerbic commentary aimed at her brother; nothing like sibling rivalry among dragonets! It sounds like he has his marching orders! Does she not know that he'd been a deft hand at strapmaking? Perhaps not — and he's not going to enlighten her lest she take it into her head to ask him to prove it right now. Which he doesn't want to do. There are reasons he ditched his Craft with such alacrity — far be it from him to eagerly put forth his reaosning, however. "Of course, Weyrlingmaster." Is all he says to that.

Sesa perks at the sound of a seemign assignment, she loves anything to do with art, or music, but mostly art at this point. "I've played around with it some, but there's never been a serious look into it. Why?" It's obvious she's curious, her hazel eyes lighting up a bit. There's nothing Sesa loves more than a project, and one that involves precise technique.

Edleveth settles down into a small ball, curling around his blue self, huffing. At least the Elder blue doesn't seem to be irritated with him. His inky mind settles into a liquid formation of dragonets chasing eachother across moonlit sands. His way of saying he's checked out of the conversation at hand. There's the dragonet version of a rumbling grumble before the blue closes his eyes and soaks up what sunlight there is left.

While Vosji may in fact know people who sported Daenerys Straps, she wasn't one of them, and thus she is just not sure. Yet. She will make him prove it later, just you wait — those lesson days will come. "I may have something for you to do, and then in turn impart unto others, once Edleveth is able to fly," she says calmly and enigmatically. Again, as if everything she is saying makes sense even if she knows it doesn't. "Too soon yet to discuss in detail, but you may get your turn to teach others how to perform your craft as well. Aspects of it. Though there are multiple uses for drawing - there's a greenrider in Parhelion with a knack for illustration who does drawings for the guard." Vosji shrugs and makes a little noise, because she thinks that one is particularly unusual. Riders making posters. Absurd. Whatever. "I have a meeting to get to," she then segues to, leaving them to continue to have no idea what plans she may or may not have for their crafting skills. Instead, she gives a nod and dismiss-salute, heading back to the living caverns with Iskanzivoth remaining to watch over sleeping weyrlings.

Sesa shakes her head at her blue as he forces himself into a nap, the very thing he'd kept Bria from doing. She almost wants to laugh. Vosji's mention of having work for her has her itching to ask more, but then Vosji is saluting and leaving. She salutes back and looks towards Edleveth. She isn't tired, so she'll just sink down and continue working on her sketch, mind circling around the idea of cartography.

En'rys rubs a hand over his face, watching Briamiorth stare balefully at Edleveth, heaving a very soft hiss of displeasure in his direction before she curls right up and tries this whole sleeping thing again, now it's quiet and no males are shouting into her mind all manner of silliness (she's not accusing Edleveth,even when her tailtip is pointed DIRECTLY AT HIM ACCUSATORILY.). En'rys will simply stare after Vosji, his eyes narrowing in speculation before he, too, decides to try and get more sleep along with his dragon, resting his forehead against hers. How they manage to twist themselves into these knots, only Faranth knows.

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