Difference between revisions of "Logs:Second Ichor"

Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr

Tucked off the back of the training room, the barracks are a huge, high cavern that stretches far back into the stone of the Weyr. Both of the longer walls are lined with couches for the dragons, enough for a couple of Pass-sized clutches at once, each matched with a cot and press for the weyrling dragonrider. In this day and age, however, the couches in the back have been allowed to grow dusty with long disuse. Hearths are spaced between every few couches to heat the big room.

For decoration, there are a number of tapestries on the walls, looking almost as beat-up as the couches out in the training room, but scattered flower pots with their bright blooming contents provide a cheery touch. Additionally, some of the couches have had graffiti scratched into them over the Turns that were never quite cleaned off: smears of chalk messages or even rough pictures, some not fit for young eyes. In many cases names and dates have been painstakingly carved into the rock, a record of those that once made their home here.

Sigh. Sigh. And sigh a third time. Each gusty exhale fails to blow the book /away/, no matter how much Klohi wills it so. Lying on her stomach, feet in the air, the weyrling's cheeks are even rounder than usual, propped up by her hands. She takes another glance at the words in front of her and decides that staring off into space is much more enjoyable. Nearby, Quinzeth is curled up in her couch, all bulbous headed and scrawny limbs. By the looks of it, what had once been a game of /pretending/ to sleep ended up turning into the real deal.

Klohi isn't alone in her studies. Back from supper, A'rist has moved his writing efforts to his cot, where he sits cross-legged, with a board serving as a desk in his lap, and a pen in hand. The positioning of all that just so happens to mean that when Lythronath comes in from his own meal at a happy dragon-baby trot, he goes right past Klohi and Quinzeth's couch. He's surprisingly quiet, for Lythronath, but the scrape of talons when he stumbles over ever-growing limbs could draw attention. Or, you know, the blood spatter trail coming from the leg of herdbeast that he's got in his mouth. « Blood!» FYI. "Oh no." Loud enough, from A'rist.

Though it's spring, Klohi is still buried under blankets. Two of which are her own, the third and forth belonging to her neighbors-- which she plans on returning before they get back. She'll probably forget. Lythronath, or dragonets in general, have lost their 'wow factor' and now the girl is able to ignore one stumbling right by her cot. It's A'rist's 'oh no' that draws her attention, glancing at him and then at his lifemate. "Oh EW!" Her voice jumps to a squeal, "Ugh!" And then full of blame, "A'rist! Do something!" The spark of disgust is enough to rouse her own bond, if only just.

Squeals! Lythronath stops, a bit of tendon left swinging and bloody from the stump he's torn, and swung even more when he turns his head. With his mouth full, whatever noise he was going to make sounds halfway like a grunting growl. « Blood! » To Quinzeth. A'rist is already in action, his page discarded. "Sorry!" is becoming second nature for his fellow weyrlings (well, when they aren't threatening to hurt his dragon anyway). The bronze turns his head to his rider's arrival, and that tendon flails some blood droplets at the green's couch, this time.

"You should be! Ugh!" Said with that mix of disgust and scorn that only teenage girls are capable of. Quinzeth is roused further by Lythronath's declaration, opening her lids and lifting her oversized head to look at him. « Yeah? Sooooo? » An immature drawl: big whoop. It's not until blood comes flying her way that the green scrambles to untangle her limbs, wings flapping. « Hey! WhyIaughta-- » "Eee! EW! WHY is he so GROSS?" Weyrling and dragon react simultaneously, even backing out of their respective sleeping spots and /away/ from the bronze.

Lythronath is thrilled when they back away. A few scrapes of his back legs, the better to claim his territory, and that leg gets tossed in the air - just as A'rist is trying to grab it. Chomp bonecrack bloodsqueeze. "I'm sorry," a bit frantic, a bit defensive. The best he winds up doing is spreading his arms and trying to get himself between Klohi's couch (which means he's nearly in it) and Lythronath, who's making as much noise as he can while eating. So much for quiet. « Mine! »

Still wrapped up in blankets, there's enough of a wingspan to imply that Klohi has her hands on her hips. "Don't be sorry. DO something." There's a toss of her head, wild curls floating up and right back to where they were, "At least my dragon doesn't do disgusting things like that." Quinzeth gives a little shake of her head, more of a proud bob, the same moment her weyrling does. And yet... dragonets wake up hungry, don't they? Crimson begins to bleed into the green's gaze, and she gives a little hop-hop towards the bronze, « You're not gonna eat all that by yourself? » Inch inch. Under A'rist's arm. Hop hop.

What hasn't already been swallowed gets tossed in the air again, and caught with a snap of those already-powerful jaws. Omnomnom. « Mine. » "I am doing some- don't let her encourage him, Faranth!" Even while his bronze drops his head, and his prize, low, right in front of Quinzeth, where it gets waggled. Lythronath's stance goes to one ready to romp. A'rist grimaces, arms drooping a little, temporarily at a loss.

"Quinzeth! No! You don't know where he's been!" Klohi sounds horrified, dropping the blankets in order to follow the green. "If you're hungry, we'll get you food. Better food!" But what tastes better than food that doesn't belong to you? Quinzeth slinks, or attempts to, closer to the bronze, « Ho hum. Nevermind. It ain't so great aftera-- C'MERE! » The awkward little green initially trips over her own legs in the sudden pounce, but that doesn't stop her. She'll go after what remains of the leg, chasing Lythronath if she has to. "QuinZETH." Klohi whines, stopping near A'rist to turn on him, "And you don't tell me what to do. You're not my Weyrlingmaster." Hmph!

« Here! » answers Lythronath, leaping aside, and where he lands, pushing up onto his hind legs, his tail acting as tripod, and the beast leg held as far off the ground as he can possibly manage. He chomps a little bit more down, with a coughing sound when a piece gets caught. A'rist has moved after the two, an adrenal response, surely - what's he going to do against two dragons, even relatively little ones? - and ignores Klohi for the time. "Just finish it!" Definitely to Lythronath. Eyes are starting to turn to them from various other couches.

« Just hand it over, you big palooka! » What surely must be a made up word is somehow all too fitting for the monosyllabic bronze. He's bigger than she is, but still the green tries, placing little paws on his belly in order to reach and stretch for the limb. There's no telling if he's able to support both their weight, but foresight is not her strong suit. "There's more food outside! Why do you want HIS so bad?" Klohi's disgust with Lythronath outweighs her hatred of 'Reachian weather. ...That's saying something.

Lythronath is trying to finish that leg, it would seem. Until Quinzeth hits his belly, and makes him roar, and brings those paws down in an attempt to catch them both while he twists, still doing his best to keep the meat out of reach. A'rist's sudden, voice-cracking, "Careful!" may or may not be in time to make either dragon aware of the one pointy-talon'd claw headed more greenwards than floorwards.

Painful creel and horrifed scream guarantee that those who weren't watching before certainly are now. "OFF! GET OFF HER!" Granted, the slice to Quinzeth's forelimb is far from fatal-- later on, it'll be called a scratch by the dragonhealers. Klohi doesn't care, shoving at Lythronath as if she'll be able to move him. Instead, it's probably a forceful hint that he should back up. She turns to the still-creeling green, "Ohohoh!" Tears are welling up in the girl's eyes as she comforts her lifemate, "It's okay. It's okay. I know it hurts..." There are calls for a 'healer, given that there's actual ichor running down her leg.

Lythronath's foot hits the ground once it's done with Quinzeth, and he does back up - with a triumphant toss of his head, a proud crunch of what's left of leg bone in his mouth, and a solid and dominant, « Mine. » Meanwhile, A'rist, too, looks for a moment like he's going to cry. "Lynner," and the dragon is ready to look, now, "go home." And while his bronze rubs his bloody muzzle along the edges of his couch, to mark it off as his, his rider gives Klohi space... and readies himself with a debriefing for the dragonhealer that will be, for everything else, at least honest and fair.