Logs:Squish

Squish
A'rist, aren't they cute?.
RL Date: 26 November, 2014
Who: A'rist, Azaylia
Involves: High Reaches Weyr
Type: Log
What: A'rist and Azaylia hunt through the livestock at the Keroon gather. The dragons do not.
Where: Keroon Hold
When: Day 18, Month 5, Turn 36 (Interval 10)






Keroon Hold Situated between Keroon Bay and Nerat Bay, Keroon Hold sits on a wide land well-suited for raising livestock. Grassy slopes descend from the mountainous outcropping where the hold has been carved, providing ample grazing space for the many beasts that call this area home. The port of Keroon, seen to the South, is plain and functional, a small collection of docks which reach fingers out into the bay to allow for the transportation of 'beasts and other goods. The distinctive shape and color of Red Butte looms to the North, a granite dome often used as a visualization point for new riders. The hold's courtyard, lined with large stones, has been worn smooth by turns of activity, hustle and bustle common in entry point to the hold. Just outside the hold's gates is the main stable, its floor made of earth that has been packed down by Turns of hooves and feet. Numerous stalls provide a place for 'beasts to be housed temporarily or long-term. On the other side of the stables, the racing grounds are kept neat and clean. Usually busy on Gather days, swarms of animals and riders descending on the area to show their speed and agility. The great hall of the hold is a large, high-ceilinged chamber carved into the mountain, illuminated by high, small windows and plenty of glows. A large tapetry in the golden yellow, white, and peridot green of Keroon's badge hangs opposite the main doors, its colors echoed in numerous banners hanging throughout the hall. Many hallways extend from the main hall, providing access to the other areas of the hold including the kitchen, infirmary, offices and living quarters. While High Reaches' Weyrwoman often makes appearances to various gathers, Keroon's spring celebration is one she clearly enjoys. There are baby animals to coo over, family to visit, and races to watch. While Azaylia is stern in her command that no accompanying riders venture near Igen Weyr during the festivities, backed by Hraedhyth's agitation at being away from Home and so 'near' a territorial queen. Lythronath is an impossible presence to ignore, not that the warrior gold would, which may be why Azaylia seeks A'rist out in the crowd. Her bright smile competes with the sunny dress she wears, golden finery a much higher quality than what she is normally seen in-- dressed to impress her old hold. "Did you see who won the last race?" Azaylia is nearly giddy, claiming A'rist's arm with her own as they walk. "I wished I had placed a bet, once I recognized the lineage. My father is friends with the head of the family." Lythronath has been getting plenty of practice at being places for somewhat official purposes, so while he doesn't, never will, carry himself with decorum, he so far has not slammed up, mentally or physically, against any Igen dragons, nor eaten any of the livestock on show. It could be this self-control, outward, that has his attention so harshly focused on his queen, a safe queen, when she finds him. A'rist is in his own gather best, which, though neat and tidy, certainly pales in comparison to his weyrwoman's. But the High Reaches blue of his tunic suits him, and the dressier clothes, the publicness of the event, has him standing up straighter. Even when his arm is claimed. "Is that the family that named him Dragon's Fart?" With a quick flash of a winning smile, and the added title of, "Weyrwoman?" Given that Azaylia has been seen escorted by all kinds, including filthy farmers, A'rist is adequate arm candy for today. Being reminded of the runner's name has the goldrider's nose wrinkling, aiming a side-eye at the bronzerider. "No." There's slow suspicion in her words, "As much as I know you enjoy saying his name, I think that's the fault of whoever bought him." She can't keep her stiff facade up for much longer, breathless laugh leaving her as she admits, "Some people think ridiculous names give good luck." Hraedhyth is safe, if agitated, and she'll greet the equally tense bronze with a knock of her brow. There's a lick of her flames, a brush of encouragement for the fact that he is neither terrorizing the holders or eating their livestock. The weyrwoman slows to a stop by a table of drinks, picking up a cider, "What would you like to do? Or we could go look at the babies again." No dragonets. Empty nest. Etc. "Guess they were proved right, this time." He looks back, but lets himself be led along by the goldrider whose arm he's now adorning. "Maybe saying it so much is what made Dragon's Fart," mischief touches the smile, even as he shares it with a passing crafter, along with a nod, "win. Spreading the luck around." A'rist sends a look back over his shoulder, quickly. "There were actually some pretty nice goats, though. We've got time, before the next one." Race, presumably. The young bronzerider looks at those drinks... but doesn't reach for one. And Lythronath, he bonks his head right back at Hraedhyth. « Goats. » Mournful. But he's still being good. Azaylia doesn't seem terribly convinced, though there's no hiding her own amusement at A'rist's fondness for the winning runner's name. "I'm sure it was you and all the littles yelling it during the race. It had nothing to do with impressive breeding..." She peeks at the bronzerider from over the rim of her glass before it's offered toward him, "Not thirsty?" Even with all his aforementioned yelling? Hraedhyth tosses herself roughly against Lythronath's side, draping over him and fidgeting, « Not ours. » The goats and the area. HUFF. "This is why I like Keroon gathers so much," Spoken softly but clearly, should the compliment be overheard. "More animals. Better ones, too." It seems as though the Weyrwoman is about to turn toward those goats, until a high pitched yip catches her attention. It's followed by several more cries, a farmer lad sitting on a rock and overlooking a crowded crate of squirmy cream-colored creatures. Upon closer inspection, as Azaylia drags A'rist over, the squashed faces appear to belong to canine pups. A'rist gives an easy shrug, and then a grin down to a kid who seems more to have escaped than to be lost, by the look of determination on his face as he hurries through the crowd. "Maybe it's a combination that just couldn't be beat. Good name and good blood. In," smirk, "Dragon's Fart." As to his thirst, A'rist simply offers, "I'm - it's okay, for now." Lythronath, he throat-clicks right then, and waits more. "I like how they smell. Like ho-ooome." That would be the drag. And then, "Puppies?" Even while that farmboy is eyeing up the pair of dragonriders, while reaching up to scratch at his head. "One more time, Bronzerider..." Azaylia playfully warns, finger rising from her glass even if she doesn't dare wag it at him. When he doesn't accept the drink she pulls it back for a sip, that is until she's dragging A'rist around. "Puppies!" Oh goodness. She may not expect him to have any, but Lythronath's rider is handed the goldrider's glass before she approaches. "Yeah," The farmboy continues to eye the two, his drawl a mix of hesitant and apathetic. "Ropenoses. Best stock 'round here, but uh... don't know what you'd want 'em for. Got'cher dragons and all." Is Azaylia listening? Doesn't sound like it as she crouches in order to get a closer look to the wriggly canines. "A'rist, aren't they cute?." He's been through this before, with the goats, but this is somehow worse. From where she is, Hraedhyth's head suddenly jerks up and looks toward the distant gather. « What. » The image of those pups travels on her dark smoke, shoved at Lythronath, drums echoing her not-a-question. The hell are those? A'rist holds Azaylia's drink dutifully. "Dragons don't do what dogs do," A'rist informs the farmboy, and then squats right on down next to the goldrider. Don't worry, the cider is kept away from squirmy puppies. « Squish, » Lythronath answers, not in his usual, delighted, half-threatening way, but in a more distant, forcibly controlled observation of those noses. "No breathing troubles with the dam and sire?" He's eyeballing those noses, and trying to look professional, as opposed to dawwwww. "Well, yeah. That's what you get with these types," The lad thumbs to the crate, "But not so bad in stud 'r bitch, s'what my Pa says." His pa, who has clearly ordered the boy to watch over their adorable wares against his will. Azaylia is oblivious to his attempt to chase them off, fingers curling over the edge of the crate, which has the pups bouncing on stumpy legs to try and lick her hand. It starts as a sigh of longing, "...I want one." Until the Weyrwoman straightens with realization. "I want one." The farmboy's "What?" is echoed by the roar of Hraedhyth's flames, « WHAT. » Now it might be a different kind of 'squish', though the queen seems more startled than genuinely upset. "All duties, ma'am, but these don't fly." Luckily, ground weyrs are a Weyrwoman's privilege. "Not much use on a farm," observes A'rist, looking skeptical. Right until Azaylia takes on her 'decision' voice. « Hahahaha! » answers those flames. « Baaaaby. » This time, the clicks don't come from that deep warning place in his throat. They're mock-coddling, while the bronze makes to nuzzle at the queen. « Haha! » But let it not be said that the Weyr's bronzeriders won't rally to their weyrwoman. "What are you asking for them?" Lythronath has been able to drag Hraedhyth down into monosyllabic speech before, and this time her savage maturity is dimmed. « Quiet. » Shut up! Now it's less that there will be a puppy, a baby, in her weyr and more the bronze's teasing that has her riled. When he comes in for that nuzzle he's met with a particularly violent knock of her head, « Squish. » A threat that she'll make him look like the strange squirmy things if he keeps it up! "Nope. They're good Lady Holder canines. And for girls, 'cause they good with babies." Clearly the lad is not impressed. Mention of a price pulls Azaylia's attention, and once the farmboy remembers how many marks, the haggling can begin. A'rist may have her whims in mind, but she equally supports his pointed questions. Lythronath does stop with the coochy-coo nuzzling. But only to turn his head and peer at Hraedhyth from one eye. « Don't squish baby. » And the inflection on that word manages to mimic Azaylia's tones, not with full on accuracy, but enough that his source is clear. One throat-click is issued. Tsk. "How many Lady Holders have you had come to check out your box full of puppies today?" asks A'rist, straightening up to a stand, the better to look down, skeptically, at the farmboy. "Sure got a lot left, considering you're probably gonna be wanting homes for them pretty quick..." The bronze damn well knows what she means, and still Hraedhyth clarifies with a low growl, « Will squish Lythronath. » With no hint of Azaylia's usual affectionate tone when regarding him. A'rist's blunt questions have the lad on the defensive, standing up from his stump and sticking his scrawny chest out. "Had one! Minor, but... uh, and we ain't rightly started yet. My Pa'll have this whole box empty when he gets back, you'll see." Azaylia's gaze slides over toward A'rist, soft amusement curling her lips. "You could sell us one. My Papa was always impressed when I managed things myself. And I'll give you a good price, just not as high as you were offering." Between 'Good Rider' and 'Bad Rider', the darkest puppy loaf will end up in the Weyrwoman's arms, dark brown patches littered with even darker stripes. Snorting and wriggling, he's doing his damnest to lick at Azaylia's chin. "Thank you for your help, A'rist." Though now he's doomed to cider duty, unless he drinks it or drops it off. A'rist manages to look wholly unimpressed with everything and anything that farmboy is saying, but he doesn't fully stand in the way of a price being settled. And once there is a number settled on, he even offers to his Weyrwoman, "I can hold him, if you need." Surely she has to go dig in her purse or whatever it is girls do when they buy adorable little puppies. He wouldn't know. He's the big, bad, tough bronzerider. From where, still, he waits, Lythronath simply gives a smug, and so very final, « Baby. » It should be noted that Hraedhyth has not recoiled from Lythronath this entire time, even though she's obviously displeased with him. There's a final knock of her brow against his before she gives a deep, resigned grunt. "Mmm," Azaylia sounds awfully indecisive at A'rist's suggestion. Painfully so. Just before her drawn out hum becomes unbearable, "Well I am thirsty from all that haggling." It's said with a soft laugh, reaching to exchange her drink with the excitable, snorting loaf. She's careful when handing him over to the bronzerider, even if he's a hearty little thing, judging from his sheer density. "It was either a puppy, or maybe try to breed some goats... but they're not exactly safe, in a Weyr." Or near Lythronaths. "Bet you are," A'rist agrees, handing the cider over maybe too eagerly, in exchange for a... puppy! He manages a few steps farther away from the boy before lifting the little roll of dog straight up to go nose to nose with it, and making fishy kissy faces while getting his nose sniffed and licked. A moment, paused, and then he's happily brought that little thing up to his chest. "It's really not gonna be good for any jobs but keeping your Weyr warm," somehow has all the sound of, 'isn't he adorable?'. "What're you going to name him?" Luckily for A'rist's ego, Azaylia's laughter is usually a soft affair. It is now, especially as she presses a hand to her lips and watches the bronzerider suffer an onslaught of puppykisses. "I did recognize the breed, though. Holds liked them during a Pass because they didn't need to run around as much as work canines, but could still protect families." A more intimate job than a watchwhers overall supervision. "I'll come back when his father's around, see just how strong of a bloodline he has." As for a name, there's a glance in the direction of their dragons, "I've been hearing 'Squish' go around. But probably something better than that. I'll have to think on it." She slips closer, leaning into A'rist on her way to coo at the pup. "You went and stole my escort. Homewrecker." The rest of the gather and its animals pale in comparison, and both riders are bound to get looks for their gushing. Still, some might call it a productive day.