Who

H'rik, Wendryth, Talya, A'lira, Kyprioth

What

H'rik is treating Wendryth for a light Threadscore when Talya conveniently comes around with numbweed, receives a request, and then learns about what happens when dragons have an unhealthy obsession with things that aren't food.

When

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

Where

Dragonhealer Yard

OOC Date 11 Mar 2018 07:00

 

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Dragonhealer Yard

Painfully elegant, a stubborn brand of cleanliness is retained in the gentle colors of faded murals and various curtains hung from the rusted metal poles meant to shelter injured dragons on spacious couches lining the permanently soot-stained limestone walls. Of a dusty no-color somewhere between brown and gold, the floor extends onward, fading beneath ragged cabinets built to withstand anything from lashing draconic tails to various medicinal spills.


Light though today's 'fall over Keroon was, it was not without its injuries. The Weyr's dragons have returned, and the worse injuries are being dealt with. H'rik and Wendryth have done their rounds and now, finally, the pair take a breather and tend to their own wounds. It's a blazingly hot afternoon, though fortunately the yard is sheltered from the worst of the sand that's starting to come in on the winds. Wendryth is hunkered down at the furthest end of the yard, away from everyone else, so that H'rik can examine a light score the bronze has taken across his left flank. "It should heal just fine on its own," the Weyrleader is saying as he prods at the edge of the wound, and then reaches for clean water. "I'll give it a wash, might sting a bit." Wendryth's head is turned round to watch as the man does just that. Both stink of firestone, even though H'rik has shucked off his riding jacket and helmet, which lay in a sad pile nearby.

Talya seems to be stuck in the infirmary for the day, helping with chores and keeping up with the cleaning to allow the actual Healers their hands free to work on those incoming with Threadscore and any other injuries that occurred. It's definitely a busy day to keep up, making the time go by faster. No complaints from this candidate. She's meandered into the dragonhealer section, a tub of numbweed under both arms as she helps out. She hands over one to a passing Healer, only for her to come 'round to where the Weyrleader and his dragon are at. She stops, freezing actually, and stares at the big wounded dragon. "Uh, sir, care for some numbweed after it's all cleaned out?" comes her voice, shifting the tub from one around to the other.

Wendryth's nose lifts, his attention changing from his wound to the girl who's approached. H'rik squeezes out the last of the waterskin and turns to see who's talking to him. "Oh, yeah, that'd be great, thank you." One of those white knots! No wonder Wendy is peering at her so curiously now. "You're uh - sorry, I don't think I know your name." H'rik looks apologetic - should he be, when there are so many new faces about the Weyr to learn the names of when a clutch is on the sands? He's turned away properly from Wendy now, putting the empty waterskin aside. The bronze continues to watch Talya with slowly whirling blue eyes, with only the faintest hint of reddish-purple at the edges for the pain of his injury.

Talya hesitates in approaching any closer than she already dared to do so. For wanting to be a dragonrider and being good friends with some dragonriders, the Weyrleader's bronze and clutchsire still intimidated her. Her dark eyes seem to meet the bronze's as if not daring to look away. "What?" she finally asks of H'rik, having realized he probably said something she should reply to. She blinks away, daring to look at the Weyrleader himself. "Oh, it's Talya. With all the rider names I doubt you'd know a simple candidate's." There's a pause, then she shifts the tub again to her nondominant arm as an afterthought and snaps a quick salute. "Sir," she adds afterward. There's a bit of a crisis: approach and give the Weyrleader the numbweed or just be rude and set it aside all the way over here. With a sigh she takes a step closer and holds out the tub. All for him.

Wendryth's eyelids slowly close in a blink, then reopen, the colour in the facets seeming to whirl a bit faster. A surprisingly soft croon escapes him - quite unlike the usually LOUD dragon! H'rik looks confused at the way Talya is hanging back. "Trust me, I couldn't tell you every rider's name… well met, Talya." Should he have just admitted he doesn't know every rider in Igen? Maybe not, but eh! Being friendly and all that! Finally he puts together the way she's staring at Wendy, and her reluctant to come forward, and grins. "He's friendly, honest. You…were Searched from outside of Igen, right?" He has had various reports on the candidates, and there are a few from outside the Weyr.

Talya lifts both her brows at the Weyrleader's admittance about not knowing all the riders' names, her mouth opens… nope, she's not going to say it. Instead she says, "Well met." Because she is learning. She gives the big bronze a glance then focuses onto the Weyrleader, shrugging both her shoulders before bringing the tub back closer to her. "From Southern Weyr, actually. But even after a Turn there the only dragons I really got used to were the blues and greens. And they don't usually stare at me quite so much as your Wendryth." Yes, at least she knows the names of the clutchsire and clutchdam of the eggs she will be standing for. Seeing that the poor dragon probably needs his numbweed, she sighs and braves getting into arm-swiping distance (and biting) of the big bronze, setting the tub down before she starts to open it up for the convenience of the rider. "It's a recent batch, fresh, should numb it up for a good while."

Oops, the numbweed! Poor Talya - she's being so helpful, and H'rik is being an unintentional jerk. He goes to step forward, and as he does his eyes seem rather distant, in that way a rider gets when their dragon is bespeaking them. Gaze refocusing, he clears his throat. "Ah, Southern Weyr. Nice place." He won't talk about the Tipsy Kitten and the wonderful alcohols it has to a candidate. That just seems like cruelty. "Yes, um, sorry about that. He's uh, interested." He gets close enough to scoop some numbweed. "Thanks - I don't think he's going to need any stitches fortunately. Wendy-" Too late! The bronze has turned a little, in his clunky way, to have a closer look at Talya, breath hot and stinking of firestone as he moves his head closer to her. He'll get within a couple of metres, if she doesn't move away. "Sorry. He likes Southern - lots of foliage, right?" Unlike dry Igen.

Talya's helpfulness probably comes with trying to keep busy to forget about said alcohols she used to enjoy very much. And the fact that she'd hate to be kicked out for letting the Weyrleader's dragon remain in pain. "Is it because he's overprotective of who his children choose? I didn't know if dragons really were parental, besides maybe the queen. I mean… I guess they can be," she adds quickly, unsure how the Weyrleader would feel about poor ignorant candidates. When she stands back up from the numbweed tub, it's only to freeze again. There's this hot breath, and the smell— she doesn't dare insult him by making a face— and a big bronze nearing. "I don't think I still smell like Southern… But definitely plenty of foliage. Trees, flowers, and lots of water." She blinks at the big bronze, not daring to move anything but her head, which she does turn to look at the Weyrleader. "Do dragons here at Igen have a thing for plants or something? The brown that Searched me had a thing for trees."

"He's…um. I think he just sort of wants to see who's standing for his eggs," H'rik is trying his best not to spook Talya off entirely! Kinda hard when your dragon has his big old face up near hers. "Not in a bad way," he continues, rambling in his attempt to be reassuring. "Just he's interested." Better shut up now. Anyway, Wendryth is saying something to him, and that shuts H'rik up for a moment, before his mouth opens a little and he gives a little nod. Now his eyes focus on Talya again, apologetic look mixed with exasperation. "Actually, speaking of flowers…Wendy has uh, a request for you. He thinks with you comign from a place that's full of plants and all, you could use some to decorate the barracks?" Then there's a wry smile at the mention of a brown that has a thing for trees. "That brown sounds familiar…."

Talya had candidate duties working in the infirmary for both humans and dragons alike after a recent light fall, having found the Weyrleader in need of some numbweed for the light scoring that Wendryth received. "I can promise I haven't murdered anyone," she tells the bronze in hopes that helps reassure him of her as a candidate. She can't really promise on many other things… "Is this his first clutch he's sired to be all… interested in the candidates?" Because little does she know the bronze will always creep around the candidates and watch them intently. Her eyes look from the bronze again, to the rider, and back. "Just plants, not drag trees? Though I won't know where to find either of those things." And probably a certain brown would want to keep whatever tree she can manage to drag to the desert weyr.

Kyprioth is a shadow among shadows, drifting along with heavy reluctance, hugging the far wall of the Yard and whining — just enough to evoke guilt in his riders breast — beneath his breath. Oh, he haaaaates it here! HAAAAAATES IT. He's only helpful when there's a patient involved, when he can comiserate, one understands, with the very ewness of being contained here. Meanwhile, his not-guilty-at-all rider, A'lira, is digging through all those infernal reports in order to find the very one he needs for R'ku. "Kyprioth. Stay." The tone is just a hair less stern than one might use on a particularly recalcitrant dog — but the brown hunkers right where he is with his nose extended longingly outside the boundardies of the Dragonhealer's Yard. The man will straighten and turn, eyeing the brown with a jaundiced eye. "Really?." OH WAIT PEOPLE! One of them being the Weyrleader. "Oh, hello. Ain't see ya there." Have a salute, H'rik. His gaze falls, then, on Talya, mildly curious. "Who's this, then?" He totally hadn't realized the two of them were here.

H'rik can't hold back a laugh when Talya talks about her criminal record, the sound bursting out of him. Oops. He has the good grace to look sorry for laughing like that. "I think now he's sort of got over the first-time dad nerves, yeah." He takes that scoop of numbweed and goes to apply it to the clean wound. The red in Wendryth's eyes encroaches on the blue, but with Talya to focus on, it's somethign to distract him from the momentary pain. "Just plants! Though I would be curious to see how you got some trees here," he grins at her, slathering on the last of the stuff. Not a bad injury at all, and Wendy is already looking less uncomfortable.
Salutes all round for H'rik today, poor sod! He returns A'lira's, his clutchmate getting a grin. "This is Talya, one of our candidates," he offers, but does look to Talya if she wants to add anything to his (possibly pushing in!) introduction.

At the Weyrleader's laughter, Talya can actually relax a little. It is even infectious enough to put a grin on her face at the Weyrleader now, which is better than the wariness she approached with. If he finds it funny, that's a good thing. "If this is him being over the first-time dad feelings… I feel bad for those more strict Hold-bred candidates." She crosses her arms, leaning heavily to one side as she studies the bronze and this assignment he apparently wants her to do. "But he won't even enjoy looking at the plants and all, being in the barracks— I mean, no that I'd say no." Because who'd dare decline doing a favor for the bronze and clutchsire? She snaps her head around, almost painfully, starting when a new rider approaches. She steps a little to the side to give him space to approach the Weyrleader. "Need some numbweed?" she asks A'lira, since introductions were made. And then gives a late salute to him as well.

Althoguh eh automatically returns the salute to the candidate, there's a sense of ew no in his glance. Really? Is this what we're doing now? "Stop that." A'lira quickly denies the need for a salute — he likes them aimed at him no better than H'rik does. But, sigh — he's got to at least pretend he's all stern and rigid and all that, right? He gives H'rik a grin of amusement. My, they've come far from their weyrlinghood. All shinily knotted and what not. "Ah, dragon bai — er, rider prospect, are ya. Good on you." He eyes Kyprioth out of the corner of his eye, who has managed to inch his nose even farther out of the yard. "Like I can't see you trying to leave. Stop moving, you." Kyprioth heaves the saddest of the sad sighs, sides extending to their roundest before being released with a mournful moan. He haaaates me. A'lira turns back to the others with a chuckle. "See what I have to put up with — what happened to Wendryth?" He'll ask H'rik, cottoning on to all that numbweed slathering. For Talya, he shakes his head. "Not us; we've managed not to get ourselves banged up."

"I can go get a good look for him," H'rik assures Talya, still grinning. "Assuming the Headwoman doesn't clean them out…" Now that thought's occurred to him, he does look a bit troubled by the prospect of Talya's hard work being cruelly undone. A mental note to go talk to the woman. But, that's for later. He wipes the remnants of numbweed from his fingers on his trousers (hey, it's all gotta be washed post-'fall anyway, and can't smell or look any worse right now). Still, his fingertips are a bit numb. He pinches at them absently as he eyes Kyprioth and his sad sighing, then shrugs off the injury to A'lira. "Just a small score. Nothing serious, and he'll be right as rain."

"Is this a way to trick the candidates?" Talya has to ask of A'lira after she salutes, putting her arm down and looking from Weyrleader to brownrider. She can stop, then she may get yelled at. "I'm pretty sure my arm gets a good workout doing this all day at every single rider. I'm not going to complain." And if it annoys some of them, all the better right? Never to have been one to follow orders, Talya's been the perfect example of a good candidate these days. "Would be a real shame and waste of nice plants if the Headwoman just gets rid of them before anyone can see it." Her grin turns into a thoughtful frown, already plotting perhaps. "Hope I don't have to use any marks, cause my purse is low." Being a candidate and all. Her eyes return to the brown, much further away and therefore not quite so initimidating. "You sure he doesn't need any numbweed?" What with that moaning and all.

Does A'lira look like the kind to do that? His gaze is all too kind, and even innocent. "Oh, we'd never try to trick Candidates, now would we." Uh-huh; this particular brownrider is one of the likeliest hooligans to do just such a thing. Apparently added resposibility hasn't squelched his sense of mischief in the slightest. "Nah, just hate that whole 'salute' thing. Even if I should be used to it by now." He casts his eye over the bronze, and nods. "Oh, good. Glad to hear it wasn't serious…" Did Kyprioth move again? No? Hah, whatever, he's not leaving until A'lira says he can, no matter how mournful and pitiful he tries to be. "No, he just hates being here." A'lira will assure Talya with wry amusement. "Thinks he's going to get another enema or something. I can never convince him that those aren't necessary now he's not trying to eat things he shouldn't anymore." Don't ask.

"Getting your arm nice and strong ready for looking after a dragon, right?" H'rik jokes, not looking quite so innocent as A'lira - the broad smile gives away his teasing. As for the plants: "I'll, uh, make sure things are all okay. And no…wild plants are free, right?" It's not stealing if you just pluck them from random open places, right? Not like you're pinching them off a bazaar stall. Ah, talk of enemas. Seems like it might be H'rik's time to leave - he very purposefully doesn't get himself involved in that sort of thing! "Clear skies t'both of you - I should probably go have a good wash." Does anyone like the stench of firestone? With a lazy wave, the man heads off, Wendryth clunking along behind him, with one last look and croon at Talya!

Talya squints her eyes suspiciously at A'lira. Anyone that says that is defintiely trying to trick someone. "Only need one good strong arm for throwing the firestone… right?" She gives her saluting arm a rub. "I mean, there's got to be some rider that actually enjoys it. Seems to be they tell us to do it everytime we enter a room or a rider enters and yet everyone seems to get all weird about it." The idea of an enema makes her raise both her hands, backing up a step. Only to remember Wendryth is in that direction. Stuck for the moment. "Nope, not doing that," she mumbles. With the departing Weyrleader, she gives him a salute and the bronze plenty of room to get out of the yard. When they're gone, she moves back to the tub of numbweed left behind, leaning down to wipe at the rim with the hem of her shirt and cover it for future use. "Should I ask what he ate that he needed an enema?"

A'lira snorts. Talya is a very smart girl — his clutchmates stopped beliving that innocent act very quickly as well. "Yeah, old T'kal loves it; don't skimp or you'll never hear the end of the lectures." And that old man has lungs, for all he and his blue are pretty much shriveled gray lumps of beings, too old for active duty and too stubborn to go somewhere else and spare Igen his recounting of the 'Good Old Days' that nobody really cares about. H'rik's escape is well-timed, he won't have to be reminded of that one time when: "… one of the greens stole everyone's shoes, and Kyprioth ate about four of them before I even knew what he was up to. Which wouldn't have been an issue, since shoes aren't exactly a big deal — except he was barely four months old, so… well. They got stuck, because he also overate that day." A'lira heaves a sigh, rubbing at his head in chagrin. "You can imagine the misery."

"I will remember that about T'kal. Thank you for the warning." Talya is actually grateful. Who would want to just stand there and be yelled at by old men? She keeps herself at least a little busy so as not to get pulled away yet, capping the numbweed tub, tidying the area that Wendryth recently occupied. "Shoes… /Shoes/?" She asks, pausing in putting some rags into a pile to take to the laundry later and staring back at the brownrider. "You gotta keep them from eating shoes? I mean, I hear they're hungry all the time but I didn't think I had to worry about my clothing and supplies." Okay, there's some snickering coming from her at the image of that. "I'm glad that he's better now, of course. I hope he also learned to stay away from shoes, too?" She glances back in the direction of the miserable brown.

"Well… not usually. Kyprioth's just… odd like that. He still chews trees, for instance. Dead ones, thank Faranth, but still. I blame his clutch sire, Lukioth." Because that's a long-standing joke he and Divale might share on occasion, the things their dragons do to them which are the worst. "Nah, usually they don't go that far, though. But they are basically very intelligent babies, so you have to be watchin' 'em all the time. Hence all those annoying-ass rules they're introducing you to now, so you're used to havin' nothing else on your mind. Trust me, baby dragons are like very large toddlers." Squint. Kyprioth freezes, with one paw as well as his head and neck, outside the yard. "Nice try, Kyp, now back up. All the way." The brown heeeaves a sigh, but retracts himself back into the Yard and thumps himself sulkily down. Dammit, that A'lira! "Fortunately, he now leaves shoes alone."

Talya raises her brows at the brownrider, then has to curiously ask, "He doesn't happen to come from the same clutch as Raktraeth, does he?" What is /up/ with all these dragons and trees? That may suddenly explain everything going on with the dragons at Igen Weyr. "I'm an only child so never had to worry about helping raise baby kids, though dragons are much better looking. It's starting to sound like you can just never be ready for this whole raising-a-baby-dragon thing. I always thought it was a little like a firelizard… or well, how they tell me a firelizard is after hatching. Not too much trouble after the initial phase." You know, self-sufficient after the initial hatching-hunger problems. Probably not quite so ready to fly as a firelizard of course. The girl shakes her head, overwhelmed, and starts to lift the big tub of numbweed and putting it in its rightful place.

"Hate t'break it to ya — nope." A'lira laughs heartily. He side-eyes his dragon, but the brown hasn't moved, for a change, pretending to ignore his rider in the hopes of guilting the man into leaving, now. "Dragons require far more work — and you have to adjust to having a sentient creature in your head all the time. And how to make sure you both survive."

Talya wipes some sweat off her forehead with the back of her arm before she shakes her head. "And here you all make it look easy." Not really, glancing at the brown as well at the same time that the rider does. Always on top of the poor thing. "I guess I'd be lucky if I find myself with a dragon that has an attachment to things that won't make them sick." Trees, shoes… she's probably making a mental list of things to keep out of reach of dragons should she Impress. Baby-dragon-proofing the area. "The whole in-your-head was always a weird concept back when I lived at the Hold. But then again, you're never lonely." Then again… you're never alone.

Belatedly, "Yeah, he's from the same clutch as Raktraeth. And Wendryth, actually." A'lira grins in amusement. "So, welcome to our world, Talya. Just hope you don't get one who likes digging. Cause he does." All that washing. The dragon raises his head, eyeing A'lira hopefully. See, he was promised a reward, man, if he came down here. Who cares if he didn't abide by it as closely as he should have. "Yeah, it's kinda catch-22: yous tart thinking things you shouldn't, half the Weyr knows for the first few months. It can be… interesting." So very, very interesting. "Well, anyway, I'm off to take him to his favorite mudhole. He did at least stay in the area like he promised…" With a lot of stern mental control on A'lira's part.

"That explains /everything/," Talya notes regarding all the clutchsiblings. Trees, plants, more trees. She shakes her head but is chuckling at the odd quirks of the dragons. "I guess I'll probably get one that will eat plants then, being from Wendryth." It would be her luck. Or even better, some prickly plant that she will then have to suffer the consequences with. "No secrets from your lifemate and therefore no secrets from the rest of the Weyr?" That is news to Talya. These are some new things she has to ponder about, though she doesn't have long to do so. There's a call for her from the infirmary, now that she was done helping out with the Weyrleader. With a toothy grin, she gives A'lira one last salute. "Hope there's no trees there for him to chew on. Good luck!" And she's off back to her chores.

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