The autumnal rain has fallen in sporadic bursts all morning, and as a result the ground is damp on the garden terrace and fat water droplets still hang perilously from the leaves of the trees, threatening to fall on anyone taking respite under their branches. Spinner webs, ripe with moisture, hang in "beautiful" spiral patterns from these same branches. For anyone not paying attention, these webs could pose immediate danger— "AHHHHH!" Yeah, that's Zahtiyar, desperately batting at the silk-thin threads wrapped up in his hair. "SON OF A BOTTOM FEEDER." He wasn't paying attention - or he was, to a curvaceous kitchen maid sashaying her way past - and walked face-first into one of the overly-abundant webs, which is why he's now flailing about with his one good arm (the other still pinned down in a sling). It's a few staggered steps to the right, several to the left, wherein he knocks over a planter and spills soil everywhere, and then he unceremoniously plops down on the nearest bench, frantically brushing off his body. "Frickin' spinners," he swears loudly.

R'zel passes through the wooden door just in time to see Zahtiyar's mishap. He's carrying a small package, no doubt purchased from one of the nearby crafters, and tucks it into his pocket as he moves towards the unfortunate apprentice. "Are you all right there?" He narrowly avoids collecting some spinnerweb of his own, but ducks sideways to avoid it just in time. He's not equipped to do much about the soil, but he does set the planter back on its base, then brushes the palms of his hands together. "Where's all this stuff come from?"

"I knew it!" The familiar twang of Southern's Weyrlingmaster is heard before she is actually seen. From somewhere within the garden terrace comes Rocio skidding her way into view with all the controlled movement of a seasoned huntress turned dragonrider. Her boots slide through a thin puddle and soon she's standing near Zahtiyar and R'zel like she's about to judo chop whatever it is that's vexing the poor senior apprentice. "They done got ya, didn't they!?" Straightening, Ro pats her pockets like she's looking for something. "These shardin' hairy spinners are gonna wind up ::between:: before long! Oh, hey R'zel." The greenrider practically twinkles at the Wingleader. "Y'ain't scared of spinners are ya?"

"Yea," mutters the apprentice, even as he's twisting to look over one shoulder, in case an eight-legged freak might be hiding there. "Don't know? Woke up and found 'em everywhere." Zahtiyar's scowl doesn't ebb as he lifts his brown eyes to take in the bronzerider, though a sharp nod serves as both greeting and due respect. "Didn't see the frickin' thing," he mumbles again, staring off in the direction where the spinnerweb once hung, delicately suspended by threads attaching it to a fruit tree. It's the other dragonrider's entrance that pulls the seacrafter from his doldrums, his eyebrows hiking clear above the curls that drape over his forehead. "Got us? Ain't no body got.. AHHHH!" And lo, the infamous spinner appears, causing more flailing as the teenager tries to dislodge it from the fabric of his pants. It falls to the ground and Zahtiyar, in an attempt to both flee and somehow stand, scuttles backwards and falls off the bench in an inelegant heap. "SCARED!?" Him? Never.

R'zel salutes the Weyrlingmaster with an ironic grin. "No, but they've been standing double watches, by the look of it. Those bushes are covered!" He gestures towards a bed of grey-covered shrubs. "To say nothing of…" That would be Zahtiyar that he's referring to. He eyes the spinner as if considering its fate, but rather than stamping on it, he lets it scuttle under the bench. Instead, he takes a few steps towards the young man and stretches out his arm, offering, "Need a hand?"

"Shells. Here I thought I was nerved up about these things." Rocio will probably give herself a pat on the back later if she manages not to trip over a bench like this poor apprentice just did. Dressed in her normal riding leathers, the Weyrlingmaster sports her knot upon her shoulder as she steps closer to Zahtiyar to see if he's alright. "Shards, kid." Ro's thirty now, she can say that. "They're creepy, but they ain't gonna kill ya." She's about to offer a hand to the lad when R'zel makes the first move to do just that, so she returns his salute instead. She tilts her gaze toward the greenery around them and can't help but shiver a teensie bit at the sight of the spinners scattered all over everything. "By Faranth, where did they all come from?"

"Thanks." Zahtiyar is glad of the hand offered to him by R'zel, accepting it with little to no shame as he clambers back up on his feet with all of the elegance of someone with only one good arm to aid himself with. "I ain't no sissy, ma'am," he replies, shoulders back and chest puffed out once he gets his bearings back. "Just spinners ain't a problem on a ship. Storms, smells, fire.. not spinners." His face tells the tale of his disgust, his eyes searching the nearby greenery for continued threats.

"I suppose you don't have a lot of plants for them to do this to," R'zel says with a grin as he reclaims his hand. "Though, don't you get them lurking in the hold? Maybe they like it cold and damp," he suggests to Rocio. "But I can't remember seeing anything like this." He turns his attention back to Zahtiyar, gaze darting towards the young man's shoulder in search of a knot. "You're a Seacrafter, then?"

"Yuh huh." Rocio says with a cheeky grin to Zahtiyar when he claims to not be a sissy. A shrug lifts her shoulders and she regards R'zel with a thoughtful expression. "I s'pose. But, you're right. I ain't never seen it this bad around here." When a few spinners start to dangle from their webs in the greenery, Ro shivers yet again and decides to get the shell out of the garden. Stat. "Alright, y'all can hang out here with the hairy legged pests. I'mma go somewhere inside where they can't stare at me." A beat. "Or hiss at me." Is that what she just heard from the bushes? No, couldn't be… She's not sticking around to find out either! Off she goes with a little extra fire in her step.

"I ain't ever seen one if they were," Zahtiyar responds, gazing warily around, "but what do I know." For all his height and bulk, he looks a bit like a scared puppy with the way he's skeptically looking at the webs in the bushes and the trees. "Huh?" Oh. His eyes refocus on the wingleader. "Yea, stuck here for now with," he lifts the offending arm tucked into its equally as offensive sling, "this useless knob. Can't go much with it." He nods towards R'zel's knot, "S'thin fancy, eh?" That much he can figure out, but his eyes go darting off again when mention of something hissing, even missing a parting wave to the weyrlingmaster, what with his paranoia clouding the way. "May the sea have mercy," he mutters, slinking away from the nearest bush.

R'zel nods an acknowledgment to the retreating Weyrlingmaster and follows it by 'Clear skies." In answer to Zahtiyar's question, he taps his knot with his index finger. "This? Wingleader. Of Ocelot. My name's R'zel; I'm Verokanth's rider. What happened to your arm? I guess you need both of them at sea." After a moment, he adds, "I don't think they'll actually hurt you, you know. The spinners, that is. They're probably far more afraid of you than you are of them."

"Wing-leader," the apprentice repeats, staring at the knot as if trying to memorize it, "of Ocelot. R'zel, nice t'meet ya." Zahtiyar sticks out his free hand in offering, a ghost of a smile taking the place of his earlier scowl. "I'm Zahtiyar, though if it's too long for ya, call me Zahti." He glances down at his injured arm at mention of it, but his gaze quickly returns to the dragonrider. "Yea, needin' both. Kinda big storm came up on us and s'thin' slammed into me when we were getting' everythin' tied down on top. They got me here until the healers give me the all-go," he recounts, wistful. "Ain't so bad, 'cept for these.." He gestures back to the webs. "Maybe? Or maybe it's the feel of the eight hair legs on ya skin.." Shudder.

R'zel extends his own hand to return the greeting. "Oh, what rotten luck. There are better times of year to be stuck here, too." He eyes a wandering spinner - wandering, that is, in Zahtiyar's direction. "They are rather hairy, aren't they? I'll be hoping they don't make it as far as our weyr - but maybe this kind prefer it outside, if they're spinning webs all over the trees. Any idea how long before you're fit to get back to work?"

"Aye," Zahtiyar laments, "there are better times to be stuck on the shore. Wasn't expectin' any spinners to be spawnin' all over, f'sure." He doesn't notice the spinner wandering, at first, because he's thinking about the sea and the weather, and other pleasant things that aren't creepy and crawly. "Think they like the higher skies?" And then he sees it, and he's side-stepping away AWAY. A big ole nope from the seacaft apprentice. "Thought it'd be 'fore now, but the healers, they sayin' it broke somewhere un-favor-able," that, like he's reading back a word he's had issues with before, "and it could be another month or more. Hope the webs go 'fore then."

"Oh, a bit of heavy rain will clear those away," R'zel says casually, still keeping track of the spinner's progress until it scuttles under the bench. "And Southern gets lots of heavy rain. And hard luck about the arm. You'd better try not to fall over again, though - you might do it more damage." Or break the other one. "Are you managing to keep busy? It must be hard, being stuck here with nothing to do."

"Not so much the rain as the," he pauses, staring down at his feet, "ground. Not the same as a ship deck." Zahtiyar's smile is cheeky when he looks back up, his passion for his craft evident. "I gotta lot a studies to do. They keep me busy with that. Books, papers, maths, essays, and writin's, all that stuff," he replies, waving a hand flippantly. Boring stuff, obviously. "Ain't the same."

"Maths - oh, you're learning navigation? That must be interesting. Useful, too. Still, I expect it's a bit like being grounded would be for me." R'zel speaks with a fair degree of sympathy. "Wingmates who get injured mostly seem to be ready to climb the walls after a few sevendays." The spinner, or another just like it, crawls over the edge of the nearby bench and then leaps for a convenient bush, leaving a strand of gossamer behind it.

"Tryin' to be a shipwright one day." Zahtiyar seems a bit sheepish to admit that that he would rather be building the ships than sailing them. "Gotta be good at maths. Gotta be good at a hellova lot of things, sir." He nods along sadly to the tale of the dragonriders it's him, without the dragon, add water and settles on a melancholy sigh. "It's worse than catching firehead." And finally, he notices the spinner jump and he's backing up hastily. "SHIT. No.. uhhhh I gotta catcha later.." Off he jaunts, never looking back, in case he's being chased by them.

R'zel looks suitably impressed when he hears Zahtiyar's ambition, but grins at the young man's hasty departure as soon as his back is turned. "Take care," he calls, not wishing to have to pick Zahtiyar up again. He takes a few moments to examine the web-covered trees and plants before heading inside himself.