Who

Th'bek, N'tael

What

It sounds like perfectly innocent conversation, but hints at things unsaid.

When

It is sunset of the tenth day of the sixth month of the sixth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Dragonhealer Yard

OOC Date 23 Nov 2015 07:00

 

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"That'd be right around the equinox."


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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.


What struggles co-managing a fighting wing entails exist are very real and not always met with innate gifts. One of facets Th'bek's had to adjust to least is socialization and ability to collaborate conversationally with anyone. Thus, these visits to the wounded, while not absent of some trepidation, are something the brownrider avails himself to. This time Thread isn't responsible for the injury he's come to address, t'was a mating flight two days prior. Head wrapped securely against gritty wind, Rev lifts a hand to the healer on duty but saves his words.

Social is one thing that N'tael has never had issues with. Despite his seeming inability to talk like a normal person N'tael has the gift of gab that he shares. Today he's paying the same visit Th'bek is, sitting beside the injured dragon. Rider is no-where to be seen, someone has sent the rider off to go get CLEAN because his dragon is unconscious seriously. He was starting to stink. One leg propped up on a stool N'tael plays a game of cats cradle with himself to pass the time. A flick of his gaze up brings the wingsecond into sight. It's a halfasseed salute Th'bek gets, full of string "Alo sir!" N'tael's way to cheerful for where he is at.

The yard's blockade of walls are adequate to keep out the wind and thus Th'bek unwinds the cloth from around his head, hair a riot— that's what he gets when he keeps it long. "Keeping Jindarth company?" He's actively looking but doesn't see Sh'val, instead Tavuqth's rider is gathering a good look for the older brown, an unsymmetrical frown soon prominent. "I thought he was in better shape than this," it's bad enough to have dragons grounded from scoring or burns, but to have a pair absent from a mating gaffe, that's where irony hurts. Th'bek leads a hand up Jindarth's green-flecked snout and rubs.

"Nice hair." N'tael uses a free finger to point at Th'bek's head in serious good humor, before leaning back to begin unwinding the strings around his fingers. "Aye. Sh'val was startin' t' smell a li'l. Told him I'd stay f'r a bit. Got some readin' t' get done." And it's true, there's totally a book sitting nearby waiting for the bronzer's attention. "He was doin' better, cept he tried t' move afore he was ready 'n retore stuff. Healers put 'im out f'r a bit." Despite his clear humor, there is sympathy for the brown there from N'tael. "Ye comin' t' do some candy stripin'?"

Long but fine, Th'bek's hair will settle from its own weight. And maybe one hand-slick. The head scarf stays around his neck like the collar it is for desertfolk, and he makes his way around to the site of Jindarth's primary aggrevation: a major leg tendon rupture. "Shells— one'a the other males did this. So the story went, anyhow." He wasn't there which is why he knows with 100% certainty Tavuqth wasn't the transgressor. "Candy striping?" Th'bek's player knows the term, but the character attributes it to seacraft lingo. "Reading, huh. What of?" He doesn't know any cult classics.

"Flights can be a li'l brutal. Tlazotezath don't fly often, but he's almost always lookin' f'r blood durin' if'n the lady don't signal she ain't int' that." So Niamyth doesn't get any blood, just a scattering of bones. But some of the more vicious queens? Yeah. It can get intense in N'tael's brainspace. Pushing himself to his feet N'tael wraps the string around his wrist in an improvised bracelet and comes to stand next to Th'bek. "Comin' and visitin' the ill." There's more to it, but N'tael leaves that off. "A history of Igen hold. 'bout fifty turns back." No wonder he wasn't reading, talk about DRY.

"That's me then, a candy striper." Cough. From his stint as a stablehand and now, a rider, Th'bek has a basic understanding of anatomy and how parts and pieces function. Jindarth's stitches were done neat and small and are sufficiently smeared with antiseptic. "Definitely not from Tavuqth either, he'd'v taken the whole foot." Flat-toned for the reality of brutality. Arms folded, Rev scrapes some teeth with a thumbnail and asks, "now who's Tlazotezath's parentage, is he— he's from one of the junior queens right?" Bloodlines he is also boss at. But history? "You are a desperate man, Nate."

"Strange how a matin' can turn 'em, aye?" Though Tlazotezath can be pretty brutal all by himself, he's just learned to keep a veneer over the savegry that lies under the guise of yellow flowers and dry desert. He flicks a glance towards the book and shrugs once. "Khalyssrielth 'n brown Desmeth, Southern." Just incase Th'bek hadn't known the exact place of the two dragons in question. "One've Southern's juniors, aye. As f'r desperate…." He fingers the string on his arm thoughtfully, "Nah. Jus' curious, and ain't no'un talkin' much."

"If that ain't the shellin' truth," stealing a glance at dozing Jindarth and consigned to know Tavuqth need not mating flights to circulate terror. "Should get some of the Weyrbrats to bathe him as well. Lookin' a bit dusty, fella." Th'bek wipes his hand on the seat of his pants after skimming one of the brown's spars, dust being Igen's most loyal accomplice. "Browns seem to have struck luck there with queens, think I might apply for the exchange rotation." He looks over his shoulder at N'tael, develops a fine grin. "Speaking of that," drawing upon a more serious current, "what sort of things were you seeking here at Igen when you applied?"

N'tael could ignore the swing to the more serious topic and keep on the lighter one of dragons and bathing. But… no. A shrug of his shoulder and N'tael turns to face the wingsecond head on. "I came t' be learnin'. Li'l bit of everything. Diplomacy. Leadership. Control." Along with how to be devious and such. "Got a taste f'r wanderin' when I spent some time at Ista, 'n wanted t' be seein' a li'l bit more. Knew Ma'am Zeyta from a'fore. Seemed like a good choice." There's no aggressiveness as N'tael lays out his reasons for coming, but there's a hidden question behind why Th'bek is asking embedded there.

The man at a jog-walk combo is Sh'val, thinking a pang of the worst when two of his wingmates, one of them his superior, are clustered at his dragon. "Wingsecond, N'tael. Is it Jindarth?" He's panting more out of anxiety than the short foray from the lower caverns. Th'bek explains: "He's fine, we're just keeping him from wandering off. He'll heal faster if he stays off the leg." AKA, keep him still, good man. "Yessir, I will hogtie 'im if I have to." Th'bek curries a chuckle. "We can't spare that amount of rope, Sh'val." But he hangs back with N'tael, "nothing wrong with any of those, you'll have gained a lot when you return to Southern."

"'s all good." N'tael reaches up to clap a hand on the man's shoulder before he scuttles off towards his dragon's head. Back to Th'bek, who is getting eyed with a hint of spectulation. "Aye…" slowly, "Got 'bout four months afore m' time is up." He probably isn't helping that weirdness in the air when he adds, "Wouldn't mind if'n I was stayin' a li'l longer tho."

Sh'val is making every attempt not to rouse his dragon but in time Jindarth's multiple lids part and both are happy to resume in each other's company. "That'd be right around the equinox." Th'bek tunes his bout of repetition to sound as banal as possible, flipping the head scarf over his head and cinching its folds. "I'm sure the remainder of your time with us will continue to be educational. Last Call crowd tonight if you're interested." Eyes masked by the play of shadows and fabric folds. "So long, Sh'val, Nate."

This isn't the first time someone has asked when N'tael's time is done, and he's got a sneaking suspicion as to why. No reality behind it, but friendly people can ask the question only so many times before N'tael starts to WONDER. Flicking off a salute, "I'll be there." Before back to the brown's rider to finish up his visiting duties.

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