Logs:New Pairs in the Barracks
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 27 February, 2016 |
| Who: Ay'zan, Br'and, Catling, D'aeo, Dahlia, Kh'tyr, Olivya |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Immediately after Taeliyth and Leczuth's eggs hatching, there are new dragons and their needs to be seen to! |
| Where: Weyrling Barracks, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 2, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Incomplete log (starting poses missing). Back-dated. |
    |
| Please add poses at the start of the log if you have them! "Okay, okay, food. Somewhere. In here." D'aeo still reels, walking not at all assuredly into the Weyrling Barracks: and perhaps more than a touch of fear that tightens the skin around his eyes. The unknowns against the shadows of the past, it is a lot to behold. "Oh, whups." He turns, to make sure Zvaezdiyth is following. He kind of (but really didn't) forget that part. And perhaps, he looks for the other, familiar, faces from Candidacy. To D'aeo, Zvaezdiyth's mind blooms with a smirky sort of amusement as his lifemate works to sort all of this new out. Sometimes the mysteries of the universe reveal themselves slowly. Sometimes, they come like a brick to the face. In this case, he generously lets the swell of his ravenous hunger suddenly be shared, intensely. If he has to be this hungry, his lifemate should enjoy the experience too, clearly. "Gaaaah!" D'aeo tries NOT to jump out of his skin at the sudden, RAVENOUS hunger. "Okay, okay. Little less, yes? If I can't think, then you don't eat. Here." Something wet, red, and squishy is grabbed and shoved at Zvaezdiyth. It should be tasty. Kind of? Maybe? Zvaezdiyth's form moves gracefully along with D'aeo, though perhaps the fact that he weaves himself behind, then in front, then at the side and then-- well, it might get a little problematic if someone, like Zvaezdiyth, for example, were to suddenly stop, right in front of his lifemate, who surely he doesn't want to have die in a terrible fall, but... He smells food. Less? D'aeo wants less? That's a shame. It isn't until Zvaezdiyth takes his first bite that there's any change in his insistent sharing of his current state of being. « Mmmm! » is a definite change, only the hunger pain comes a little more strongly now that he knows there's food, and right there, that he can gobble (and try not to choke on; he's really eating very fast). (to D'aeo) Catling waves as D'aeo enters with his dragon. She has settled in a prime wallow with a window by it, and she is feeding her brown still, though the hatchling seems to be more itchy and sleepy now rather than hungry. "Congratulations," she murmurs, then laughs as Riyoth plunks his head down into her lap. "Goodness," she murmurs, then sets down the bucket and grabs a towel. "Right. You sleep, I rub you dry." Dance, human dance: this is how D'aeo seems to be dancing around his over-eager bronze, shoving squishy bits of (gross) raw meat into the general direction of the dragonet's mouth. "If you nip me," he warns, but his tone is hardly threatening. It's more humor painted in concern that an over-eager nip might result in a lost digit. "Congratulations to you too," and as the others enter, that sentiment is all inclusive. "I said less hunger, not more hunger." No, he's not going to taste the squishy meat. "And if you don't eat slower, then I will have to not feed you." Oh. Sweet. Faranth. He's been *caught*...and he'll never, EVER escape. While pukey 'Rand gathers himself up - fearful and humiliated by his outbursts of different kinds - and is escorted into these new barracks (on shaking legs) by Olivya *and* his quite self-confident brown lifemate, he pauses to press his hot forehead up against cool rock, tries to re-gathering his flailing wits. Zvaezdiyth freezes, turning his eyes toward D'aeo with a decidedly challenging look. If I nip you, what? What does D'aeo even think he can do to all of this awesome? The star-studded bronze snorts dismissively. Nothing. That's what. Only it does seem he's more interested, just now, in actually getting fed and less in posturing and proving to his rider that he'll do what he wants. SorryNotSorry. Kahvaroeth walks in at his lifemate's side, his head held high and his keen eyes taking in everything; his new clutch siblings and their counterparts, especially. He pauses by Br'and's side when he takes a moment, but his head soon swings around and he sniffs at the air: food is nearby. Ay'zan blinks quite a bit as he looks around for food. For Yuanth. "Yuanth." he murmurs her name again. He goes right for the food to grab a handful to offer towards the green. His green. Mmmm. Mmmmmm. Mm-- wha? Threats? Zvaezdiyth does not respond well to threats. That hunger ramps up. If he isn't fed, this is how he will feel. Does D'aeo understand what intense, excruciating torture that would be? He might shortly. (to D'aeo) Good think poor 'little' Kahvaroeth is self-confident, because his human sure isn't, right now. Br'and's all about himself, right now, feeling awful in many ways...until he starts FEELING that hunger that he can't understand isn't his. Why'd he feel hungry after hurling up his cookies? A hawking spit inelegantly gets more barf and bile out of his mouth, throat...while also almost loogying it on the baby brownling at his side. Blink. Oh, crap. Noted both in weak vocals and in mind to Kahvaroeth is a trembling, "Sorry." Kh'tyr was tasked with monitoring the older weyrlings during the hatching, but now that the intense experience itself is over, he tags in for his turn helping with the buckets of meat and the direction for oilings. His voice carries, cutting through chatter as he instructs this weyrling or that and helps make the chaos a little more manageable. Have a question? He's probably your guy (or one of the others helping out, like Pasna who gets a brief unimpressed look from the asshole brownrider). D'aeo holds the meat above Zvaezdiyth's head. "Yeah? Can you get this meat now?" That's right, the gravy train of food has STOPPED. Has anyone seen a chipmunk-pose dragon? Will they now? "Eat. Slower. No nipping." Just in case this point wasn't hammered in before, he gives his dragon a side eye, raising that drippy meat higher before lowering his arm and offering it up to the dragonet. "Is everyone else feeling this terrible terrible hunger? I feel sick." He eyeballs Br'and. Not wanting to join the puke-party, exactly. Zvaezdiyth's whirling gaze speeds. Hunger begins to include impatient anger, his tail slapping the ground. Is that how this is going to be? Life is going to be rough for D'aeo if so. D'aeo is not the boss of him (so there). The bronze contemplates the situation before slithering to the floor and creeling piteously. Obviously, his rider is starving him. The poor baby. Ay'zan is taking slow, shallow breaths. Him and Yuanth are fairly quiet for now with the occasional murmur from him to her to slow down! He also appears to be picking through the meat barrels to find just the right bits of meat for her. Distractedly he barely hears D'aeo's question. "I'm starving." he offers helpfully. "Like I've not eaten for two days." which he has. He only skipped one meal today though to a growing teenager that could feel like two days. Kh'tyr would be right near D'aeo when the creeling occurs, of course. "Feed you damned dragon, weyrling," is the brownrider's no-nonsense instruction, though he doesn't seem to be lingering to make sure it happens, just now. Baby dragons have a way of seeing to things. Instead, he pauses by Br'and, "Hey, asshole," his technique leaves something to be desired, "think about something else." Like the brownrider that just called him an asshole. "And hand him this," a glob of meat is aimed to be shoved into the new brownrider's hand. WELCOME TO THE RANKS, SON. At first, D'aeo gives Zvaezdiyth a long look, but then maybe it's the eyes. Or the way he crouches down, or the way he tucks his wings in. "Oh for crying out loud." Meat plops down in front of the bronze. "You can't be that hungry. I've fed you..." he looks, "... almost a whole bucket!" For the record, that dragon is so not starving. Kh'tyr's sudden interjection yanks a quick, "Sir!" and look at the man before more meat is shoved at his new lifemate. "Just don't eat too fast. No barfing. No choking." Meat for days, people. For days. A glance at Ay'zan, and he adds, "I feel like there's this pit that just keeps getting bigger not smaller, even though he's eating. Surely he's got to be full now." "I was." Catling looks up, smiling. "But Riyoth's already mostly-stuffed himself." She has a second bucket near her, but the brown is only slowly working a chunk of food in his mouth. "Riyoth, do you mind if I get up a moment so I can get some oil and a towel?" She pauses a moment, listening to the answer. "But it's hard to keep that apart from myself. I didn't have lunch... but I'm trying not to think about that at all." Then she smiles as Riyoth lifts his head, and she offers him another chunk of meat before getting up. Her white robe is now a sandy, egg-gooey, bloody mess. "Yes. A little itch. I'll get to it." She's also got occasional tears running down her face. "Riyoth," she whispers to herself. And then she gives a little skip to the oil. The thought of food nauseates Br'and all over again, but he's got nothing left in his belly to toss, anymore... Oh wait. A blink of bleary eyes to Kahvaroeth's communique has the crappy feeling weyrling looking something other and fearful and sick for the first time in many minutes: guilty. "Ah... yeah." Swallow, ugh. Tastes horrible! Blink. Kh'tyr, now?! "F-fuck you..." is groaned out weakly. *He* just told the assistant weyrlingmaster to fuck off. This is gonna be one heck of a ride! Said gobbet of meat is accepted with a small glare of eyes, handed over to poor Kahvaroeth......and suddenly, 'Rand's throwing up again, to one side, thankfully. It's mostly bile and air. Ay'zan spares brief glances around at the other dragons around him and Yuanth, in particular a pair of browns and a bronze. Noting his wandering attention though Yuanth nips at his fingers lightly as if to remind him to pay attention to /her/. Guiltily he turns back to feeding her the best chunks of food he can find for her. Curiously she peers towards the weyrling who is currently heaving. "No. He's not throwing up meat." Ay'zan replies to an unheard question. vaezdiyth is well pleased by the outcome of his antics. You know what this is called? Positive reinforcement. He gets meant and finally allows his mental hunger to abate along with his physical. Which doesn't mean he's done, okay? Don't make that mistake early on. He's still eating thank you very much. Although, now that he thinks about it, there is-- well, it's an itch, and it's annoying and distracting. He twitches, but carries on with the stuffing of his face even if he might now really be filling a little bit on the full side. Kahvaroeth is both concerned by his lifemate's foundering throw-up sessions, but so hungry! He takes to the slab of meat with zeal, barely chewing in his endeavor to get it down and into his belly; it's not enough and he's soon seeking out more, sniffing at Br'and's hands and then turning towards the vats of meat. D'aeo involuntarily takes a step back from the direction Br'and is heaving, and averts his eyes. "Kinda gross..." This is how he distraction-feeds his own dragon past the point where he'll learn Zvaezdiyth is actually full. "Finally. I feel like I can think around that hunger," long-stare for the bronze, "But here, have some more." Totally mistaking the itch for more hunger. Kind of. That or that hand that's slipping around to scratch in a corresponding location gives away that he might be getting some signals crossed here. Whups. Kh'tyr looks supremely unbothered by Br'and's reaction. "Get him what he needs, weyrling. Or did he choose someone without anything happening up there," the assistant jabs a finger in the direction of the new brownrider's skull. At least he doesn't provide too much distraction for too long, but perhaps enough to snap Br'and out of his cycle of sick. He moves to meet Catling with rags he swiped from a bin. "Be thorough, Weyrling Catling," he advises, substantially more professional with the female brownrider than he was with the last. Oh Faranth, *still hungry*! It's NOT himself, though, but Kahvaroeth, and yet Br'and feels it too...along with the pulsing waves of nausea. At least ne's not concentrating on feeling trapped anymore. At least for now. With the snuffling of his hands comes another wave...of guilt, this time, the tall teen galring at Kh'tyr for a moment as anger pierces his nausea, letting it focus him more. Pushing off the support of the wall, mister rubber legs waveringly guides Kahvaroeth towards those vats of meat (the concentrated smell triggering another round of nausea), where he finally reaches in and starts handing over gobbets of the raw stuff to his brown bestie. And turning lovely shades of grey and green in the process. To D'aeo, Zvaezdiyth's mind is beginning to become more and more agitated. Even with the hand, and the meat. The meat's nice, for sure. He could eat all of it, although now maybe he's mostly just rubbing his muzzle against it and kind of chewing on the edge of the piece given him. That itching, however, is becoming worse. There was egg goo, and now there's drying egg goo, and blood, and it's just becoming vastly unpleasant. « Fix it, » is pitiful, with big big eyes. Zvaezdiyth's eating is interrupted by the need to (with a piece of meat still hanging from his maw) give his lifemate big big eyes and even the lean and bump of his head into the man's chest. It might actually be an affectionate gesture, but mostly because he itches and it's awful. AWFUL. "I will, sir," answers Catling, bobbing her head. "He's got more sand and egg on him than he's mentioned itching. I'll get him cleaned up. Thank you for the towels." She keeps them away from the muckiest bits on her robe and moves to set them down beside the wallow. "A big baby, but, same principle," she murmurs to herself. "Clean. Dry. Oil to keep from cracking." She stands a moment, trying to think, then turns back to look again, wonderingly at the brown. "Ach, stop looking at him, you little ninny." She grabs a soft brush and oil. And then, as an afterthought, she dips one rag into a bucket of water, then wrings it out. She walks over to Br'and. "Here. Drape it on the back of your neck. It'll help." Then she walks back to Riyoth. Ay'zan seems to be out of the radar of any barking, browning riding weyrlingmasters in here for now. Nope, he's having murmured arguments with Yuanth while trying to get her to eat slowly. "No..no no..wait. Chew." a pause. "There's nothing wrong with this piece!" he laments. D'aeo is caught staring at Zvaezdiyth's suddenly large and pitiful eyes. "Oh Faranth." Yeah, for now, this first night he's totally a push-over: how can anyone resist those eyes?! Next thing you know, he'll be making pitiful sounds of woe. "Okay, I think you're done with the meat," a string of words that seems to place D'aeo to a moment in time that he can understand, his next move is to find something - a rag - wipe down and clean up the dragonet. Starting with the head and the wee muzzle and the teeth where meat strands (yuck) are plucked off, D'aeo's attention drifts to Catling and Ay'zan before checking to see how Br'and fares. But it is Zvaezdiyth that holds his attention so wholly. "Like that?" Because he's totally giving a bronze a little rub here and there as he begins the process of oiling and cleaning off all that goo. His time in the stables serves him well! Oh look, it's time to rub the feets. There's a soft groan and a look of honest thanks for Catling's kind concern and that cool, damp rag she presents him, Br'and indeed slogging it over the back of his neck...and shivering slightly. You can see the scant hair on his forearms raise as his overheated body reacts...but at least he's not tossing again. Not yet, anyway. Kahvaroeth is slowly offered more (disgusting and nausea inducing) chunks of the meat he tries to wolf down...but at least his human is slowly picking up on the nuts and bolts of what to do...and making his brown slow down a little. Oh. Oh. OH! YES. That's perfect, D'aeo. Zvaezdiyth knew he chose his lifemate for a reason. In fact, this-- right here, this might be that very reason. No, there was more to it, Zvaezdiyth is certain, but he doesn't linger on that. (to D'aeo) It's as D'aeo rubs his lifemate down and helps with all that awful itching that Zvaezdiyth demonstrates his affection in the form of a thrum in his throat and the rub of his wedge head pressing those near golden knobs against the former stablehand's chest. Perfect. It's perfect! It will be perfect, and there might be true love here between dragon and man, until, very suddenly, it is NOT PERFECT. That nip? Oh, there it is, sudden, but not too hard, really. Not enough to draw blood, this time. It's Ay'zan's turn. Lucky Ay'zan. Kh'tyr, after handing off the rags to Catling, angles toward the new greenrider. "Weyrling Ay'zan," he addresses him politely. (Apparently Br'and is just special for the treatment.) "Mograith wishes me to pass along our congratulations. How are you faring with Yuanth?" He looks to the green who might feel a brief sense of amusement and rare pleasure, along with the touch of something soft and nearly phantom in it's there-and-then-gone presence. "Ack! What?!" D'aeo snatches his hand back and eyes the bronze. "You were happy and now you're not?!" The mystery that is Zvaezdiyth earns him a tentative lean-forward-and-try-to-touch move. "Nip me again and we'll have words." Instead of the feet (clearly part of the NO zone), he angles for the back and along the wing joints. "Just getting the goo off you. Feel good, right?" Is it the safe zone? He shoots a look at Kh'tyr when the man approaches Ay'zan, his fingers once again giving a hopefully happy little rub as wariness settles into distraction. Some might see Dahlia, briefly, though she doesn't make her presence a interruption in the barracks. She's only there long enough to assure herself that the pairs are getting settled, and then she's whisking away her gather best far from the blood and oil and mess that is the first night as a new dragonrider. Br'and is too occupied in his inner and outer misery, and in feeding Kahvaroeth while keeping his own cookies down, that Dahlia's presence is missed entirely. Kh'tyr... he's just ignored, while bloody (and conspicuously unlooked-at) hands keep offering his starving little lifemate more sustenance. One. Bite. At. A. Time. Ugh. Mercy delivered, Catling returns to Riyoth and settles down with him. The hatchling gives a satisfied belch, then burrows himself against Catling, taking a long moment to stare into her eyes with his a-whirl sleepily. He head-buts her gently, then rubs his itchy bits against her. "Aye, yes, I know," she murmurs, taking the rag to the soft hide, rag and water to clean the goo, then dry rag.... It's a process, and she does it lovingly. She glances up to see the weyrwoman, and she inclines her head, then lowers it to kiss Riyoth on the top of the head. Ay'zan is fairly oblivious to any mess being made on his once white robes as he coaxes one last bit of food into Yuanth's waiting maw. "Good good." he murmurs to her in appreciation of her finally accepting that last bit. "Full?" his stomach's still rumbling though after everything he's seen thus far he's not completely interested in the idea of food. "Sir!" he starts to stand as Kh'tyr addresses him. Nearly glowing with pride as he looks between the green and Kh'tyr. His head will bob along a couple times. "Tell Mograith my thanks for his congratulations. We're doing well though she's itchy." concern colors his tone a bit. "And she's full. For now. She informs me she's sure he she'll be hungry again soon." Zvaezdiyth only looks at his rider. It's like a blank look, except it say so much. D'aeo's clearly going to be so successful with that whole having words things (because that's almost definitely not the only time in their whole life). He obligingly shifts his wings to give D'aeo access. « Good, » he'll confirm. There's some private amusement, of course. (Probably that he knows he could command the whole universe of language, and he's afforded his lifemate just so few words, as yet.) Now that his hunger is slowing down (how much food does a 'runt' need, anyway?), Kahvaroeth starts itching. It was inevitable, really. He's bolting down the last hanks of meat in favor of suddenly lurching his form against Br'and in order to rub that chocolate and cinnamony hide against his 'sidekick' as briskly as possible...from headknobs to tailtips. Oh. My. Ghawd. The ITCH! Everywhere! Abominable! Pay no mind that Br'and's weakened forms is falling over in time with his brown's lurch, and that they both look ridiculous. D'aeo is beginning to realize just who has the upper hand here! "So you can talk," it's exasperation mingled with affection mingled with humor. "I think we'll get along famously." Even he is beginning to feel the effects of the day in the sudden loss of energy in bone-tired muscles. "Other than your belly, which..." He eyes his bronze, that seems like that also is in nope-land, "... You're clean." Straightening, he throws out to anyone in the know: "Do we just... pick a spot?" To claim as their own, of course. "You could ask Yuanth to do that now," Kh'tyr points out to the new greenrider with a smile that's a little amused but nicer than most of his usual. "You'll want to use the rags to clear any remaining goo, then oil her up," he gestures to where there are rags and oil all ready for the pair. "Be thorough. She'll probably sleep a while after this and she'll grow quickly, so want the oil to last. Too much is probably the right amount," he advises sagely. See? He can be a good teacher. Selectively. "Jaaaays..." Br'and groans low while struggling to get himself out from under Kahvaroeth's rubbing brown self. It ain't easy, given the human half's weakness from hurling, and the dragonet's insistence about trying to assuage that horrible itching. Picking up cues from around him, from the others, Br'and's slowly moving the pair of them over to the oil vats, taking a large rag, and slathering the stuff all the heck over his brownling, uncaring of the pools or rivers of the stuff getting all over the place...himself included. At least they're away from the nauseating raw meat. Ay'zan clearly didn't think of asking Yuanth to impart his words to the older brown. "Oh right." he says with some wonder. Ah, the pure adoration that is his expression as he looks to Yuanth quickly. Bobbing his head again he'll move towards the pointed out rags after Kh'tyr's advice. "Too much is right amount." he murmurs to himself to make a mental note. Suddenly he's cringing. "Ooh that itches." passing a hand over his arm at first he blinks then moves to attend to the green starting with cleaning up any remaining egg goo. At the point where the starry hide is now sparkling clean is the point where the dragon - in the fashion of all creatures claiming his space - will flop right onto his side, tucking tail to nose tip and falling right to sleep, but not before giving the ENTIRE room a squeezey-eyed look. D'aeo throws his hands up and shakes his head. "We'll find you a spot to sleep that's not in the middle of the floor." That last comes before giving his fellow weyrlings a lift of his hand and tired-but-sincere, "Here's to the first night, eh?" And that's all she wrote. Except that rumbling sound coming from Zvaezdiyth! "Yes. There. And there." Catling starts with the oiling, then frowns after a little bit. "Mmm... that's not right, you say?" She hesitates, then moves a little more slowly, trying one movement, then another, with her hands. Finally she begins to oil Riyoth in alternating circles, and then the little brown positively thrums with delight. "I see. You like... yes." The hatchling turns his head to nudge at her, then lifts his wings here and there. But he's getting so.... very.... sleepy. Give Br'and some time toassuage that horrible itchiness of Kahvaroeth's, then find them a good sized wallow (near a back wall, if 'Rand has anything to say about it), and the suddenly-sleeping brown's quiet allows his weyrling to nearly-slump in relief. He's too overwrought to feel the same urge to sleep, so - moving like a hackneyed robot - the teen merely toddles off towards the baths for a much needed soak and cleaning...which allows him to process his new, forever-indentured servitude. Once done, he'll wander back over to the Sands, of all places, and kick through remaining egg shells, wandering... finally to nab up some prettier chunks of them and stow them away later. Maybe there's money to be made from them. At least there's a weird sort of mental distancing in the little diversion, anyway, before he's being called back to reality by Kahvaroeth's insistence on more food, more oil! There's more than enough work to keep Kh'tyr busy, with 18 new pairs in the barracks. Though probably every weyrling will see him again for some super special and wonderfully well mannered one-on-one, for now his attention is spread around, fading securely into the background. Cleaning and after some time, completely oiled, Yuanth is finally ready to pick out just the right wallow. "Better do it soon before you are asleep standing. advices Ay'zan. Eventually she finds one that is overly large for her now. "No worries, I suppose you;ll grow into it." he thinks. Unsure though he watches her as she circles around before finally curling up fast asleep. Evidently she gives him one more thought for he answers. "We'll make it comfy for you tomorrow. Promise." now that she's taken care of he yawns but looks down at his bloody and now oily robe. Deciding that bath and change of clothing is needed he steps out to do that as well as possibly grabbing food from the feast to bring back to the barracks. "Yes, Riyoth. Yes." Catling smiles as Riyoth helps her oil him, and then she sighs as he sags down into the straw, then curls, his wings outflung. She inhales, then grins shyly out at the other riders, her eyes a bit cloudy as the brown drifts off to sleep. And then she blinks, staggering just a little, and she finally looks down at herself. "Bath. Food. Oh shells, how I am looking forward to both." |
Leave A Comment