D'ex, Zynth


… Why D'ex doesn't always make it to Drills.

Cussing, OCD-related disruption of normal life


It is early morning of the twentieth day of the second month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Southern Weyr, Zynth's Weyr

OOC Date 04 Feb 2018 07:00


drex_default.jpg zynth_default.jpg

« Rider-mine, we are going to be late. Again. »

Zynth's Weyr

The weyr is large and spacious, smooth walls high and curve around in a great oval, much like being on the inside of some huge egg. The a hollowed dip of a bowl sits in almost the exact center of the weyr, the sand at the bottom is racked smooth and evenly across the expanse that is more than enough space for a little Blue. Above this dip is flat floor that runs to the walls in all directions, a single stone staircase is cut up the curved stone walls to a ledge above that holds a table and set of chairs. In the ovular circle around the bowl, the floor is sectioned off and segregated to purpose, though there are no visible barriers to be seen. One section has a bed pushed up against the wall, the next has a small alcove that homes a little kitchen, and the next a round skybroom tree table and chairs. Trunks are stacked in one sections, and one section is left open and empty apart from the shelves of supplies. A rack of riding leathers hang next to the door, oiling supplies on the self above them. The whole place gives a sense of purpose, order, and cleanliness. The big weyr is not cluttered, but every item clearly has a place, every section of living thought out and arranged almost as if the egg-shape acts as a clock through daily tasks and places, all orbiting around the dragon's sandy bowl of a bed.

“You are missing the point, Zynth.” The redheaded blue rider stands hunched over the table that dominates one section of his weyr. Hides stacked in piles in front of him, a pot of coals beside him and an iron heating on them. “If I leave now, this will not be fixed. This not being done is going to haunt me all day and then we are going to make mistakes in drills and folks will be annoyed with us and we will get assigned extra sweeps which will mean I need to reorganize my schedule, which will take more time away from fixing this and will mean that I will still be haunted by these maps, and will likely botch a sweep or cuss out someone with a knot, or something, which means more assignments, and another revision of my schedule and somewhere in there I am going to still have to fit fixing these.”

D’ex takes a breath, pours some water onto the coals, flips the first of the hides over and starts to iron it, the metal moving quickly, with a practiced stroke. In moments, the hide is smooth, D’ex flips it again to reveal a map of the coast down from the weyr. This is put into a new pile and another map selected, flipped, and ironed.

« Rider-mine, we are going to be late. Again. I think that being late for drills three times this week will likely have just as many people unhappy with us as making mistakes during drills. »

“This is what I do for Lynx, I make maps. I fix maps. I organize them and correct ledgers. We sweep the coast and make more maps. This is where I specialize, and I do it fucking well! Making good maps means I don't get assigned to the 'lets go be friends with wilding' missions!!! So hush! At least late, then we can put our all into Drills and these will be fixed and that will be that! Okay? We can’t go yet.”

The blue dragon shifts on the sandy bowl that makes up the center of their weyr. Zynth and D’ex are both suited up in their leathers, the colors of dawn light up the ledge outside and though Southern has returned to warm weather, the snow that swirls in Zynth touches both of the bluepair’s minds. It is a mild snow, soft, amused, but perhaps a bit exasperated.

« How many maps do you have to iron? »

“All of the ones with creases.”

« And how many was that? »

“ Twelve. All of the ones of the coastline between here and the peninsula below Black Rock and one of the estuary beyond, they didn’t dry correctly. That new ink is crap.”

« And how long will it take you to do this? »

“Longer if you keep bothering me!”

The dragon straightens, his thin frame pulling out as he stretches, opaque wings rustling as he tucks them to his body and settles back into the sand. « Wake me on map 11. »

“What? Taking a nap? You ass!” D’ex tosses a glare over his shoulder as he heats the iron again, steam filling his section of the weyr, “At least tell Jed or Ohanaveth or Ravaith! Let them know we will be late so we don’t get the hammer! Come on! Pull your weight here!”

Zynth moves slightly, a shiny ripple running over that intense blue. « No. I told them we aren’t coming. You will not finish in time except for the final few loops. No point in a flank rider coming in at the last few loops. »

“Excuse me?! M’noq is going to kill me!!!” D’ex snags his iron again, next map forward, attacked, and instantly D’ex jumps back from the hide, he can feel his throat and chest start to tighten. He stares, the burn-mark a huge flaw in the back of a smooth, crease-less hide. The panic flows in and D’ex caps it before it can totally over take his brain. The iron is dropped back onto the coals, the hide touched, flipped and- no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. The burn had gone right through to the other side of the map. Again, that panic. The map was ruined. Fucking map. D’ex just stares at it, mind racing to fully fit this thing into his current reality.

He was late for drills.



He wasn’t going to drills.

Damn it!

The ruined map is isolated to the other end of the table where D’ex doesn’t have to look at it just yet and he is back to ironing the other 9 maps that still needed it. “Yeah. Yeah. Tell Ravaith that we are not coming and I’m really fucking sorry and I-god damn it!!!!” He was going to have to redo that map before he could leave.

If he didn’t, it would haunt him.

All day.

And he would have to reorganize his schedule to account for all the remedial-ness.

Damn it.

« Taliveth, be a dear and bring mine some flowers, will you? Three blue and one white. Please? »

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