Who

N'iel, Ana | Roxeauth, Lochanth

What

N'iel and Roxeauth take Ana and Lochanth through their first ride together.

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-eighth day of the third month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr

OOC Date 19 Oct 2017 07:00

 

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Training Grounds

A broad and sheltered swoop of bowl lies bare for the talons and tread of countless weyrlings that-will-be, encased by stone scoured and scarred by those-that-were. Dirt lies as neatly as dirt can lie, swept and raked daily, at the mouth of the caverns that must indubitably be the weyrling barracks. Devoid of decoration, the place stands strangely absent of pressence when empty, the everpresent wind of Southern giving strange acoustics to those under the shelter of the towering bowl-wall.

It is the twenty-eighth day of Autumn and 68 degrees. Still dark and overcast, the autumn rain has picked up and become heavier, albeit still pleasant.


With autumn now in full swing, the weather is more pleasant to be out and about in. And it's raining - perfect for weyrlings to start riding their dragons on the ground! Roxeauth isn't exactly over the moon about being out in the cool drizzle, but N'iel is finding it a nice contrast to the warm, humid air. A small group of just three weyrlings are called out to the training grounds by the green, Lochanth included in her mildly annoyed message. She will be seen, hunched rather than laid out happily, one wing held so it can keep the rain from running over her face. Yuck. N'iel stands before the grumpy green, in warm-weather clothes, looking much more pleased despite the fact his hair is becoming sodden enough to cling to his face.

Ana's oilskin crackles as she trudges with her clutchmates and their variously challenged dragons to a late lesson. Others have been riding - and gassing on about it non-stop - for it seems like Intervals now and Ana's cheeks hurt from the faux smiles offered them in their excitment. Lochanth is abuzz with excitment and his ebullience is difficult to ignore - though Ana is making a game effort. "Morning, Sir," Ana slouches into position and straightens, drops pool on her oilskin and become rivulets delivered right down the neck of her uniform tunic. Her jaw clenches, "Morning, Roxeauth." The constant low-volume chewing-grumble-rumble-buzzing-humming accompanies the little blue with his customary brio. He draws up and chirrups his attentive readiness, chest swelling to best display his Hand Wrought By Ana (available on Etsy) straps. They are … let's say they're sturdy.

With his trio for the morning's lesson arrived, N'iel gives them all a broad, pleased smile. "Good morning!" Roxeauth is decidedly less than pleased to be out there, the warm smoke that curls around her mind absent, as if dampened by the rain. She's managing not to let her irritation overflow mentally, but her body language gives her away. That and the lack of reply to Ana's greeting directed at her. "Excellent, you've all got your straps ready. Ana, could you bring Lochanth over to me so I can have a look over him?" N'iel shifts, ready to receive the blue for examination of straps and hide both.

Yeah, well, Ana's not too keen on the rain either, Roxeauth. Particularly the cold drops down her back and neck. She's not making an real secrets of it, either. In Lochanth's mind, the engine of a hotwired sportscar idles, rumbling, ready, as rain's soft susurrus patters down the cobbled streets from low-slung cloudcover. "Yes, Sir." Lochanth steps forward at N'iel's request and Ana stiffens. Within as without. In his mind, steam and exhaust rise from the tailpipe and the engine revs, torque rocking the vehicle on its mounts, unseen driver gunning it. Ana's teeth grit. Wheels spin, sending up spray and steam. « A'right, a'right. » He eases and steps back, waiting for Ana to bring him to N'iel for inspection. « I scarcely see 'ow it matters if I go first. » Humid breath on a cool cloud of steam plumes out, Ana's frustration given form. » It doesn't matter. It's what he asked. « Lochanth huffs as his rider presents the two of them for inspection. Apart from dumping water down her shirt, the oilskin is a blessing: Ana can rub sweaty palms on her trousers unobserved, so she thinks.

For all her grouchiness about being out in this weather, Roxeauth is still ready to be present, mentally, listening in on the weyrling dragons as much as she can. Lochanth's eagerness to get going is noted, and the look of amusement in N'iel's eyes implies he's well aware of how keen the blue is. "Thank you, Lochanth. I'm just going to look over you." The man is nothing if not polite to his young draconic charge, before he starts running hands over the straps, moving round the blue to examine him from all angles. Lochanth's hide gets a good inspection too, though with as little direct hands on as possible. "He looks good, Ana," comes a compliment, though it's followed up by a gentle, "his straps are…certainly impressive. But he'll grow out of these soon enough. When he has a final set, you can do as much detailing to those as you'd like." N'iel looks across at the weyrling with a serious look, though his tone is softer than his expression.

Lochanth's flanks twitch at the light tough of N'iel's hands. Twitch. « 'at tickles. » Twitch. He's trying to look presentable, man! Twitch. Yellow stars the neon blue of his eyes, head lifted. He grunts, mindscape suddenly full of ballooning spiders drifting silk in tickling tangles to catch and flutter from cornerstones and bricks, bikes and signs. He shivers snoot to tail. At N'iel's compliment, Ana's head whips over, her cheeks heating at the praise. She blinks, brow furrowing at the comment about 'detailing.' The patch N'iel is looking over has decorative tooling that another weyrling showed her. Ana's cheeks heat again, this time in embarrassment. « They look brilliant, Ana, love. Perfect. » She clears her throat and nods at N'iel, meeting his serious look with an expression as flat as she can make it. Flaming cheeks are a dead giveaway, though. A side benefit of blushing in the rain: cool rain feels amazing on heated cheeks. « There! That's the spirit! » Wheels spin out again, the wheelman is impatient to be away.

Lochanth's amusing mental imagery is cheering Roxeauth up at least, the green pulling away from her watchfulness over him as she pays attention to the next weyrling dragon, her eyes swirling slowly, rich blues in the green of her face. Ana's silence is accepted with a returned nod from N'iel, satisfied with the pair, and not about to draw out the girl's embarrassment any further. The other two weyrlings get a look over, the possible beginning of a rough spot pointed out on a patch of hide on the green, but N'iel steps away, satisfied. "Well then, I think you're all good to go. Now, if you can climb up onto your dragons, like we've been talking about in lessons. You'll fit in behind these neckridges," and Lochanth is used to demonstrate, N'iel pointing to (but not tickling this time!) the two ridges in question, at the base of the blue's neck.

Small mercies, the blueling isn't subjected to further strap scrutiny. Ana has been adragonback before. A few times. But never alone. And neither has she riding experience with runners. She clears her throat and wipes palms again on her trousers. She flashes a more relaxed expression meant to convey eagerness to N'iel — it falls well short of the mark. The greenrider scrambles up. No troubles. The other bluerider scrambles up. Ana clears her throat again. Lochanth is practically quivering. His head slews around to peer at her and he, very. very. slowly. crouches a little lower. Hydraulics hiss and the sportscar lowers to the pavement. The movement is nearly imperceptible, though noticeable in aggregate as more of Ana's face becomes visible beyond his withers. Her cheeks flame again and she slumps before clambering up, crinkling and crackling oilskin getting trapped and freed and trapped again and then, finally, draped. Lochanth lurches forward and halts like he'd hit a barrier at speed, one forepaw lifted. Tail lashing. Ana grits her teeth and fumbles beneath her oilskin for the harness she'll clip into. In his mindscape the car revs again and then idles… eyerollingly impatient… before quietly… so quietly… the snick of a safety belt.

The other weyrlings have no apparent troubles, and are soon atop their dragons and ready to go. N'iel's attention is on Ana, not staring, but watchful as he waits to see how she finds her way up onto Lochanth; if there's any help he can offer. Just when it seems like he may need to step in, Lochanth has lowered and the girl, creaking oilskin and all, has made her journey up for the first time onto her dragon. N'iel wipes rain out of his eyes, pushing back a wet fringe, and grins. "Great. Now then, you're going to form a V shape - Lochanth at the front please, and you two following behind and on either side of him. Three metres apart." He'll give Ana an encouraging look, stepping up closer to the eager blue and his decidedly more fumbling rider. "When you're ready. Walking pace, please." Because the last thing he needs is Lochanth shooting off across the training grounds in the rain.

Peel out! Lochanth darts forward and Ana yelps, clinging. The getaway car gets away. For a quarter block. N'iel's warning is good, if a trifle late. « I won't letcha fall, love. » At pressure from Ana and N'iel's words or any additional 'caution' suggested by Roxeauth he slows to the requested pace, tail lashing, defining a nice three meter clearance to either side of him. Convenient. The other riders take station. And now they're standing in the drizzling rain facing away from N'iel. In the right direction? Ana twists, about to ask that question and Lochanth takes that as a command to turn, which he very eagerly does, pivoting in place on planted forelimbs. The other riders scramble to resume their left and right flank V positions. Ana has a single digit lifted in frozen inquiry as Lochanth executes that neat maneuver. Her mouth — opened to ask a question — snaps shut. "Which way should we face, Sir?"

Roxeauth's head turns slightly, following Lochanth's sudden dart forward. Simultaneous with N'iel's warning of 'woah', the green reaches out to Lochanth with the suggestion of patience, relaxation, steadiness. N'iel closes his mouth, watching the trio assemble into their formation…only for Lochanth to turn, Ana frozen in position atop him. The weyrlingmaster clears his throat, using a clenched fist to hide the smile he has to quickly fight down at the sight of the neat, if unwanted, turn. "You were good in the first direction, the two of you. Head that way, and Roxeauth will tell you what to do. Walking, please." It's not begging, just…reiterating!

Lochanth likes being in the point position of a V formation! He executes another neat 90 degree pivot and ruffles his wings in pride at Ana's continued upright (whiteknuckled) seat at his neck. « Bravo! » The other weyrlings take their original positions, surely no grumbling. The getaway car idles, moving slowly down the street between the well-kept tenaments of the city's well-heeled citizens. « Slowly. Slowly. Play it cool. Don't draw attention. » Nothing to see here. « Totally supposed to be here. » He and Ana pad forward with all suspicious care.

Roxeauth (grudgingly) raises her head, wing moving aside to permit this, tucking that limb against her side as she tries to make herself as small as possible under the falling water. N'iel wipes his forehead again, though it's all rather futile as he's more or less drenched by now. But he's still cheerful, despite it! And is watching the three with bright, intense eyes as they move off at that nice steady pace. "Good," he murmurs, as Roxeauth bespeaks the three weyrling dragons. The embers that usually burn in her mind's eye are shaded by the ghost of a hand, preventing the cigarette from going out completely. The smell of smoke is pleasant rather than rough, though far more subtle than usual for her. « Turn right, ninety degrees, and continue forward, » she instructs, watching as intently as her rider for how these instructions will be carried out.

At the command from Roxeauth, Lochanth pivots! With the sudden movement, Ana overbalances and tilts perilously. Her eyes skin wide, breath drawn in a gasp. Lochanth's shoulder dips and scoops her up from underneath with a quick tuck and they're back in position. « See. I told ya. » Tiny raindrops silver her curly hair, pooling into fat drops that drip onto her face, schooled flat of any emotion save literal and figurative fuming. Drip. Fume. Drip. Fume. Ana's breath plumes away, her face fixed forward as she tries to master the pounding of her heart.

N'iel has started drifting on a diagonal path, with the intention of staying near the V of weyrlings without being a hovering parent. When Ana tilts, he swerves, pace picking up as he makes a move to get close enoough to help - but Lochanth is one step ahead, and the girl doesn't take a tumble. « How is it to be with your rider like this? » Roxeauth inquires to Lochanth, a feeling of approval for his quick thinking with his rider in her mental presence. N'iel slows down to a normal walking pace again, and he near enough meets them at the corner of the square the group is walking out as Roxeauth tells them all, « 90 degrees to the right, » again.

There's a stone that juts a little higher than the others on the Training Ground grounds. A garbage truck blocks the street ahead and horns honk and sound. Lochanth neatly sidesteps it, the sleek sportscar surging around and darts back into the flow of traffic. Ana yelps and clings, clenching tight. « Just grand! » It turns onto a busy street, losing itself in traffic, « Between you 'an me, though, she's only about 'alf as scared as she's lettin' on. » Another turn, down a side street. Another turn on the grounds. « Though th' 'ther 'alf that isn't scared is angry. So. » And they're clear. An easy path ahead. Ana relaxes, breathing out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

N'iel ambles along, more relaxed now the weyrlings are over halfway round their route. Roxeauth can't help but be amused by Lochanth, for all her moodiness about the weather. « Won't do you goodo to have an angry woman, » the green says with the wisdom of many Turns behind the statement. « Look after her, y'hear? » "Nearly there," N'iel is saying, as he's within speaking range of the trio. The final stretch is nearly there! « 90 degrees right, » Roxeauth's instruction comes again, and if the group turn appropriately they will find themselves heading back towards the adult dragon, to end where they began. N'iel, for his part, has stopped focusing on the other blue and the green weyrling, and is watching Ana, keeping an eye on her body language - or what he can see of it around that oilskin, anyway,

« Ah, she's angry most o' th' time. » Lochanth pivots and steps forward. The window of a tenament shows, shut up tight against the rain, lit only dimly from within, cheery yellow curtain rendered dull and beige in the gray light. « At 'erself. Mostly. » Lochanth is happy to suffer the ups and downs of Ana's temper. He stole her heart and it's his most prized treasure. « I wouldn't dream o' doin' a ny less. » The sportscar speeds past a brooding fortress, that squats between tall, sleeek buildings, its crenelations and parapets reflected in their mirrored sides, redoubled, bespeaking a stalwart defense. The roguish blue hoves up to Roxeauth, lines of his muzzle and brow and jaw lifted. He'll be a handsome one, come into his maturity. The getaway car rolls towards the carport of a non-descript gray stone building. Safehouse. One of many. Ana sighs as they enter the final stretch, slouching slightly and swaying a bit with each of Lochanth's measured steps.

"Very good," N'iel notes as the trio come in for a stop, the green dragon taking a little longer to stop so that she takes a few extra steps compared to the blue she's supposed to be mirroring, following after Lochanth. "Time to get doen - be careful not to slip. Your dragons can crouch to make things easier." Just a little reminder from a weyrlingmaster who doesn't fancy having any weyrlings trying to jump down and doing themselves a mischief! Roxeauth doesn't reply verbally, but there's a drag on the ethereal cigarette, and the impression of a raised whiskey glass: here's to looking after our riders. N'iel stays near the weyrlings, ready to step in and lend a hand if anyone's struggling to dismount.

Ana closes her eyes briefly as they come to a halt, wiping the rain from her brow and then exhaling. She bristles at the crouching comment, lips pressing flat. « 'e's jus' bein' 'elpful. » Her face twitches and she wrestles woodenly with the straps under her oilskin before sitting for a moment pondering the best way down. She opts for sliding facing forward, rather than twisting around to climb down. She descends in a rush, landinging in a muddy puddle that splashes outward, the oilskin rucking up over her head and delivering streams of cold water down her neck again. She straightens from her crouch with a gasp, rigid, "Oh! That's cold!"

N'iel was close enough to get a splash of muddy water onto his trousers, but he doesn't look bothered. No, he's too busy grinning at having seen all three weyrlings safely through another lesson. He almost moves to put a hand on Ana's shoulder, but thinks differently as his hand starts to reach out, and brings it back to his side. "Very good, all of you. You're all free to go take your lunch - and make sure you warm up. I don't think this rain's going anywhere today, and I don't want anyone catching a cold." Hypocritical much, given he's out without any protection from the weather. "You're all cleared to practise riding more, too, but just around the training grounds for now." Lochanth and Ana get a particular grin for that comment.

A ray of sunlight breaks throught he cloudcover and glitters over the silver sides of a skyscraper, lofty cheers to Roxeauth's lifted tumbler. Ana stills, picking up N'iel's reluctance to touch as much as anything and leans away, perhaps to make it less awkward for his 'miss' or maybe she's as touch-shy as he is. She studies muddied boots, thinking over the ride, her hand resting on Lochanth's near shoulder, his hide warm under her fingers. » That was pretty great. « The little blue sways into her, a nudge, and lifts his head higher, chest puffing under way over-engineered and partially decorated straps. "Yes, Sir," Ana says, perking up bit at the thought of a warm bath. And then a meal. A meal then a bath? No, bath then meal. She has slowly become accustomed to the Weyr's luxuries. They can ride on their own? She smiles a bit, "Uh, yes, Sir." And then inwardly she groans at Lochanth's interpretation of their new freedoms. « Just the Training Grounds. » There's a map of the City with a district identified as 'the training grounds' that overlays the entirety of it out into the distant suburbs with lots of question marks and scribbled notes that will require proper and extensive reconnaissance. » Loch. « The blue blinks, impassive, the soul of innocence. She clears her throat, "Uh…" and shifts boot to boot, not quite catching the clear punctuation of a dismissal. She moves away and second-guesses, making a lurch of her movement. She half-salutes, second-guesses that and then stills again, turning an uncertain expression to N'iel.

N'iel's smile softens at Ana's uncertainty. The other weyrlings have paused too, catching on to the potential to have to stay. "Dismissed, weyrlings," the weyrlingmaster clarifies genially, as Roxeauth gives a low rumble of farewell to the young dragons. The sooner she can get out of the rain, the better!

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