Difference between revisions of "Logs:Singeing Solith"

Someone drew the short straw, or at least that was the look on I'zech's face when two dedicated green weyrlings said they wanted to go practice their flaming skills and some super nice person gave him the job. So off they moved with their sacks of stone, to some spacious corner of the training space, Rojeth claiming a low ledge (doesn't that belong to someone?) so he can be on hand without being... actually present. "You know how to feed them, right?" I'zech asks the girls, a touch of skepticism in the wrinkle of his brow as he chucks a bag of stone at the ground. The bronze must have a comment of his own; that must be why his rider smirks suddenly the way he does. But whatever, with a wave of his hand he makes like they should do the rock-eating portion.

Telavi, in leathers with her helmet to protect her precious, precious hair, has to turn her whole head to really look at Sabella and grin just before answering I'zech. "With a fork and knife, sir," she says, crossing over to kneel and start sorting through the bag. Some of the bigger rocks that pass muster, she starts rolling in the other weyrling's direction, stacking up smaller ones for Solith plus the occasional reject. Not that size probably matters that much between two greens, but why not? "I forgot her napkin, though. I hope that won't be a problem."

"What about her bib? You didn't leave that back at your weyr, did you? I know that I brought mine." Sabella shoots back, even as she gathers up the rocks that Telavi is rolling across the ground to her. Glancing back in I'zech's direction, she flashes him a dimpled smile. "Will we need to dress our dragons in the appropriate dinner clothes or can they just show up as they are? I sure hope they can, because Ghislaith just couldn't find a thing to wear this morning." And then you know, she actually starts to feed her dragon firestone.

Telavi needs a napkin. Ghislaith needs a dress. I'zech? "I'm gonna need a drink." Then this would be a much better dinner party. As it is, he shakes his head and might just be intentionally pressing some tug of a smirk off his mouth. He's barely appears to be paying any attention to the firestone and yet... somehow, he must be keeping track because he steps up to kick away a rock Telavi put in her keeper pile. Or maybe he just wants to kick her rocks. Rojeth lets his fog creep around the edges, but no further, perhaps it's to make up for the fact that he's staring off down the bowl now rather than actually keeping an eye on the two greens and their people.

"I still don't know why she rejected that sequined number," Telavi sighs. "Picky, picky, picky." She gets up, dusting off her knees, and starts offering Solith her own choices. "Second stomach, remember," she murmurs, her tone maybe a little bored but it's out loud all the same, because she's just obedient that way. To Sabs, "It, the bib, still isn't back from the laundry after last time. And I think we should all get drinks, afterward. Fun drinks." One rock disappears, and she tracks I'zech from his boots upward with a lift of one brow. "What was the problem with that one?" Solith has no problems. Solith's munching grittily, second stomach, second stomach, the words all but written on air as they appear and disappear into the outskirts of fog.

"I don't think you're supposed to have that kind of drink until the after party." Sabella comments as she feeds her firestone to Ghislaith. The dark green looks faintly amused by the going-ons, even if she's not actually commenting. But then what else is new? "I think it'll just have to be the three of us though. The dragons aren't allowed in the bars, usually. And I know. A little flashy, maybe, but the sequines really brought out the color in her eyes. We're going to have to work on her taste." And soon, like that, they're through with their particular pile of the stuff.

With one hand still in his pocket, I'zech bends over to retrieve the kicked rock, hefting it in his palm as he straightens. "Too heavy, too solid, the way it clunked against the other one..." He makes a face at it and hands it over so Telavi can feel for herself the way it's weight better matches its size, more so than good firestone. And you guys thought he didn't know anything. (And hopefully he does because some people have never handled firestone in their life and can't remember where they learned this information.) Meanwhile, he tosses a look over at Sabella to see if the horse is dead yet. "Yeah, whatever, drinks afterwards. I'm pretty sure my brain is already going numb anyway." Because of how much this rocks. Get it? Rocks? Har. He motions with the tip of his head for Telavi to let Sabella check out the reject stone.

Tela weighs it in one hand, narrows her eyes at it, and then hunts in the sack for another piece about the same size to compare it to. Finally she nods, clunks them, and chucks the reject Sabella's way, overhand but a high floater that's probably a lot easier to catch than it really needs to be. The normal one's next. She rubs along Solith's jaw where the muscles are working beneath her gilt-green hide. "Would you like sequins, hmm? Sequins like Ghislaith? Light ones for her and dark ones for you, maybe?"

"Going numb?" Sabella levels back as she catches the rocks, comparing one to the other. Fascinating. This is going to be really useful information for when they fight that thread someday- Oh wait. Well, maybe the next time they have to fight pirates. She's largely quiet now as she compares the two rocks together, though when Telavi makes her comments to Solith she cuts an amused look over to I'zech. The horse is still alive, sorry.

I'zech shakes his head. "Do I have to explain how exciting it is to stand around watching two girls stuff rocks into their dragons to the dulcet sounds of crunching and needling?" He lets out a wearied sigh, weight shifting through a few idly prowling steps as he turns his lets his gaze drift away as Rojeth's has, Only now Rojeth is watching in his stead. There's some sense of swamp gas bubbling up through stagnant, fetid mud. It's lovely, really, but then, isn't that rather the way the firestone feels as it percolates in their special stomachs? And when I'zech looks back, eyeing the two greens, Rojeth is glancing away again. "Did you guys want targets or anything?" he wonders, squeezing one eye half-shut. He should probably know if they're ready for that, but maybe it's hard to tell with the overachievers.

Needling gives Telavi a brilliant smile, and she mimes poke-poke-poke gestures with her free hand. They had been super careful earlier that month, but it's been sevens now, and it doesn't merit a glance that's Solith's swinging her head around to eye Rojeth with a hopeful air. Burp. Yes. Do that. The green's own belly's starting to get noisy, and Tela glances at Sabella before, "Targets. Definitely targets." When her glance swings to I'zech, it has a faintly wicked air.

"You don't have to, we can both sense the excitement coming off of you in waves." Sabella informs the bronzerider with a cheeky smile. Ghislaith has gone to town on her firestone and it's currently rolling around in her second stomach. "Do we get to pin tags with names onto the targets? You know, to help us really focus?" She watches the glance that Telavi swings I'zech's way and there's just the tiniest, faintest roll of her eyes when no one is looking. Also, smiling. Still. That's very important. "But yes, targets maybe would be helpful."

Why did I'zech pick this area of the bowl? Because this is where the targets are! Surely there are all different kinds, but the ones he goes for are waiting against the wall, simple stands with replaceable balls of hay on top. Now he moves to drag two out, the sack of hayballs under his arm as he sets the things up at a reasonable distance from where the greens are bubbling away. He gives Telavi an unamused look for all her wickedness, or maybe that's what the once-over glance is for, but then at Sabella's emphatic comments about his lack of enthusiasm, he puts on a great big wolfish smile. "Better?" he asks without any particular cheeriness, at least not until a beat later as he smirks to himself while he shakes his head, stepping away from the targets so that he doesn't go up in flames. It's safer to be out of the way, no matter how much practice they've fit in. "Let's see what you've got." He might hang back with his hands back in his pockets, but Rojeth shifts on his stolen ledge, tail lashing once.

"Waves. Seasick-y waves," Tela agrees, though at least she doesn't mime retching. Maybe missing the eye-rolling helps her look duly impressed by all the teeth, if not by the targets which... really. Boring. "You'd think they could move or something, anyway," she says before stepping back against Solith's side, half as afterthought climbing up to the green's neck where it's just that much better a view. "Since they don't have tags." Both green and rider glance up to Rojeth, distracted for a moment, and then Telavi reaches forward with a fist that splays out like a star. "Fwoom!" she says, and Solith warbles and fwooms.

I'zech watches as Sabella is called away, a bit of a dark look, really -- he's probably jealous. At least they pass behind Solith instead of in front, avoiding leaving en flambe as Telavi executes her 'fwoom' manuever. His expression may not show any particular amusement, but he does grumble something that sounds like, "Like magic," for her synchronized display, a touch of dry humor in it. "You want moving targets?" Sigh, more work. But as the currently fastened hayball goes up in smoke, he reaches into the sack for another one. "Ready?" Not that he gives either of them much time before he chucks it into the air.

That whirls Tela right back around from waving after Sabs. "I really want mov..." Fwoom! This time, Solith manages it without Telavi's assistance, by dint of pretty much cloaking a huge patch of air in thin, wan flame. Targeted? Not so much. Effective? Yes. At least, if it counts that the thing's smoldering weakly even after it's landed.

That fog that never quite dissipated now swirls about at the perimeter, and the glug of swamp gas might just have a touch of derisive laughter in it. It's I'zech, though, who gives the pointers, "Tighter, harder," while Rojeth augments it with a sensation of narrowing and pushing. With the fallen hayball only smoldering, the bronzerider walks over to pick up gingerly, tossing it into the air again, though not without burning his thumb enough to have to stuff it in his mouth as the ball goes flying through the air. Whether it's his shitty throw or just a shift of wind, this one's trajectory is a bit less controlled and closer to Solith.

That fog gets a smoky puff of air blown at it, for what passes as its effort, and an extra for the brown dragon who's taken up kibitzing from a different ledge. Tela's equally distracted, murmuring, "That's what," before cutting herself off with a sharp smile because, right, professional. She watches I'zech rather than her dragon, though she does murmur something even more quietly to the green as Solith watches attentively. The throw may be off, but the young dragon twists to get it anyway, pushing and narrowing or at least attempting, doing a slightly better job of scorching the hayball this time. Only thing is... it's just as well that it wasn't too much better, because some combination of residual flame plus falling, charred hay's smoking over still-twisting Solith's left flank, the green uttering a high, thin shriek of confusion even as Tela lunges to try and swipe it away.

Rojeth isn't much help in warning Solith, whether there's any time or not, because he turns to hiss at that brown, a threatening display of teeth meant to send the other dragon to kibitz somewhere else. So with Rojeth chasing the audience and I'zech sucking his thumb, it's only the green's shriek that alerts them about the flaming hayball mishap. They both turn immediate, surprised attention to the weyrling pair, with I'zech moving to make sure the seering ball falls away and is kicked off into the dirt where it can die a well-deserved, death. "Fucking..." He's trying to see where it landed on Solith, what damage, if any, has been done. "She okay?"

"No. No, no, no, hold still!" but Solith's not, still twisting in sharp circles like there's a clawed creature on her flank and if she only moves enough, it will jump off and let her be, radiating pain into every breath anyone nearby pulls in. Telavi gets the brunt of it, that and the unwitting thrust of a shoulder that shoves her onto her ass in the dirt, which makes her no help at all. "No," to Solith again. It's hardly effective at all, but at least the young dragon's still moving and no body parts have fallen off, there isn't even a gush of ichor, and Tela's looking pale enough to throw up any second but nobody's screaming now.

« You're fine. » Rojeth tells Solith. Simple as that. As if it's just undeniably true. Maybe the misty fog gets a little chilly, but it's hardly a physical salve. I'zech is still trying to get a glimpse of what kind of damage the hayball left behind, but he also tries to haul Telavi to her feet again by a firm hand around her upper arm, ready to drag her whole weight if he needs to. "I don't think 'No' is working," he points out calmly, maybe just a touch impatient. « Fly to the lake. » Perhaps it just seems natural that Rojeth's voice, unimpeded by the limitations of actual senses, might penetrate Solith's panic more directly. His words come with the promise of cool winds and even colder water.

Solith is fine enough for a violent burst of wind to push at the bronze, inarticulately declaiming that she is not fine, that this is bad, this is very bad. She hasn't much of a clue about lake and why the lake and possibly where the lake even is but she's orienting on Rojeth now and it's not like the lake is that far away. Her circling's slowed and her head's up, searching for him and that cold. If he went, surely she'd follow. Her equilibrium can't be helped with how Telavi's stumbling to her feet in I'zech's grip; with a dragon like Solith, Tela's rarely had to deal with minor things like shielding. "Lake," she agrees, teeth chattering.

The sense that Solith requires some kind of guide to the lake does come through, and so Rojeth provides such, though it's probably more as just a general direction, since her frantic little wings are quicker than his broad, draping ones. Either way, toward the lake they go, leaving the two riders to take the long way on their measly people legs. Without a damaged green to watch, I'zech can brace Telavi's arms with both hands, giving her a little shake that probably doesn't actually help with her unbalance. "Hey, pull it together." It's not harsh, just direct. He tries to get her eyes on his like it will help ground her in her own body, her own head. "Calm and clear. You're the leader. She'll follow." Obviously, since they've been left behind on the bowl floor, this must be a more figurative kind of following.

The weyrling's made to stare up at the assistant weyrlingmaster, though it takes moments for Tela to really focus. When she does, her gaze is fixed. She laughs, only nothing's funny. "Lake," comes out more firmly now. And as it turns out, even the more physical wind from scrambling into sort-of flight helps cool the pain, but the water itself, that's a more frigid sort of sort-of bliss. Those straps, though, those may wind up being a loss if Telavi doesn't free them from their dunking in time. Still, at least it's better, that pain diminished to a sullen sort of burn that the water has begun to chill from them. Solith gasps for air and then relaxes, and as she does, so does Telavi, more or less. She keeps her feet, at least, and she hasn't thrown up yet even with that bit of a shake. "It's... on one side," she reports. "In the back." 'Left' and 'right' are apparently too hard, right now.

Neither I'zech nor Rojeth seem terribly worried about the straps, but the green and her lifemate are welcome to fret if they want. He lets Telavi go when she seems steady and present, ready to walk off toward the water at an easy, but quick clip. "I figured," he says of where Solith's injury is. "She should probably just soak for a while. At least until she's calm enough to get a look at it. Make sure there isn't anything open." Plans change then. But he doesn't scare her with that since she went all pale and green on him. "You okay? Just scared?" A brow cocks cautiously.

"Okay. Okay." Telavi's definitely heading for the lake too, like it's bringing her back to herself. "Soaking, all right, we can do that. Ow." The 'open' has her paling again, though not as much, and it's Solith who belches: flame, though, setting the water some distance in front of her to boiling for a few moments before the heat dissipates. "That's better. Shells." Finally at the shore, she reaches to hang onto I'zech's arm. "Now what?" He said soaking, but... that was at least half a minute ago. "That hurt. I can still feel it." It's blistering up, too, even with the water.

I'zech might not have too much reaction for the way Telavi's hand takes his arm, but after a beat he reaches over to loop it through so he can give it a quick pin to his side. "Just don't barf on me." Rule #1. "Let her soak a bit." Since it's been a whole minute now. "Then we'll take a look. It's probably nothing a little numbweed won't fix up." He's staring off at the green cowering in the water, watching to see that she's calming down. Rojeth has taken up a perch on the diving ledge. "Think about something else. Something you like." It's meant as a distraction, and he'd probably suggest something he doesn't have the foggiest what the two of them like -- a realization that seems to come to him with a quizzical look.

No barfing. Check, or so says the quick nod of Telavi's head. "All right. I like the sound of numbweed. Numbweed now would be nice." She sidles forward a half-step, can't go too far against his arm, then edges back again. Solith's calmed more than she has, by now, but then she has her own distraction: another burst of flame that has to get out, this one directed at the very edge of the water so it will boil for longer and the weeds char to a smoky crisp. It's definitely hurting, but... shiny. Flame-y, anyway. Telavi's staring at it too. "Pie?" She doesn't sound too certain. "Did you ever get burned? In... this? Or Fall?" How old does she think the other pair is?

"I've never been attacked by a flaming ball of hay from the sky, no," I'zech says, which may or may not answer her question the way she'd like. "We've started a few fires, though. Messing around." And it does seem that Rojeth enjoys a bit of flame work. He might not be so enamored with the shininess of fire on water, but he's watching with a quiet interest, clammy mist still lingering around near Solith. "It's too bad there isn't a good way to practice keeping your cool when your dragon is hurt. I doubt anyone would go for fucking with them on purpose." Himself, he remains noncommittal about it. And then Rojeth is looking at him and he's giving the bronze a shrug in return.

It says something about the situation that Telavi accepts this without question, and not even with one of those 'she could question but she's choosing to keep it to herself, this time' sort of looks. "She shouldn't get hurt again," the weyrling says like it's not only inarguable but somehow even practical. It's the movement of the assistant weyrlingmaster's shoulder and thus arm that has Telavi looking back at him, for a moment anyway before it's back to Solith. She takes a deep breath. "How much longer before we can go find a dragonhealer?" This time, Solith's burp of flame is disappointingly small, and she starts to nose at the warm water before thinking better of it just in time. There's a laden, pained quality to her thoughts even on the mists' edge, but distraction is one thing that clearly works with her.

Yeah, she doesn't want Solith hurt. I'zech barely seems to pay attention, eyes locked with Rojeth's despite the distance of the lake between them and the unlikelihood that either of them can actually see the others' eyes. In fact, it's not until Telavi has taken a glance at the bronzerider's profile and is turning back toward the water that he seems to remember she's there. Then it's his turn to study her profile. "She should probably stop belching fire before you bring her inside," is his very practical assessment. "But if she thinks she's done..." The weyrling is, of course, free to head to the infirmary. I'zech loosens his arm from his. "Maybe they'll give you a little whiskey too. Take the edge off." He gives her a half-smirk and a long glance.

There's a twitch to Telavi's mouth that doesn't quite make it to a smile, but at the loosening motion she glances down to his arm as though seeing it for the first time. She takes hers back readily, distantly, and looks out at the water again. "Flaming inside, that would be pretty memorable, all right." No real pause before, Are you done, Solith? Are you done? Solith doesn't answer this right away, but there's a ripple to her sides that says she's doing something... only to spit up a steaming heap of ash just on the shore side of the waterline. Telavi swears. "At this point I'd take... whatever." And before he says anything, "I'll come back and clean that up later." Maybe. She has to focus on holding them together; the rest of the shock still hasn't hit. Solith steps daintily over the mess, at least, heading for dry land though she limps with that left hindquarter and carries her tail low instead of high. Telavi winds up looking at I'zech before she follows her, should she thank him, what? but winds up with just a half-hearted salute before hurrying.