Logs:After the hatching (Rielsath x Malsaeth)
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| RL Date: 11 October, 2008 |
| Who: C'mryn, Eila, Hali, I'daur, K'del, L'rell, Leova, P'ax, Persie |
| Type: Log |
| What: New weyrlings feed and oil their lifemates. |
| Where: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 12, Turn 17 (Interval 10) |
| 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. Kelerith rears up on his haunches again, batting at that bucket, a stringy piece of meat dangling from one tooth, muzzle liberally bloodied. « Want more now! » But then that tone of voice is penetrating and Eila's intent and Kelerith drops back down into a dog-like sit, head cocked to the side, one headknob drooping a little limply as he stares up at her and makes his red-tinged eyes all round and cute and adorable and pleading. His stumpy tail lashes back and forth, mindless of what it might bump into. "Kelerith!" Persie's grinning, but then... yikes. The growling, the eager bucket-diving. She blinks with wide eye and laughs. "A handful," though the surprised expression lingers still and a touch of tightness in her voice gives that chuckle a tense sound. Ahem. She keeps an eye on the pair of them, but starts to move back to L'rell. "How's he doing?" Whatever he's saying to L'rell, Xatolaeth does not look convinced by the reply he receives, and he gives his rider a flatly unimpressed look, continuing his rather delicate process of eating. That is, until Kelerith comes skittering in, and has Xatolaeth dodging aside, hunkering himself to the floor as he avoids the spray of meat he seems sure is forthcoming. I'daur, eloquently: "Oh, hell." He just eyes Eila, blowing out a breath, and he leaves that one to Persie, too, in favor of turning to meet K'del and Cadejoth. "Here, take this and don't--" He doesn't finish, just tips his head back at the blue trouble as he pushes a pail of meat toward the new bronzerider. Cadejoth bumps up against his rider's hip even as he accompanies him, wings dragging, eyes intent. "Don't--?" begins K'del, unsure, as he accepts the bucket, but he doesn't wait for an answer, not with Cadejoth bumping against him, a gesture that has the young man looking down in awe and triumph, his hand shifting to rest on the bronze's head for a moment, before he manages to move on and find a place to sit. A first handful of meat is offered tentatively, as though he's not quite sure what to do with it and hopes the bronze is: "You're hungry, right? You should eat some of this. Make you grow, right?" He looks shell-shocked, wide-eyed. Almost unsure. Tentatively - /very/ tentatively - Eila lowers that bucket down again, but keeps it tight against her side. "Slowly," she repeats, firmly, voice softened by the sheer... adorableness of that tilt-and-look. "Okay, okay, more. More." So she's obligingly offering handful of meat after another to the dragonet - to /her/ dragonet - but slowly, as promised. And perhaps I'daur misses the girl's look of entreaty to his back, but Persie gets one of supplication. "Anything else I - oh, he's - my head." He's /in/ her head. Cadejoth, escorting, just about heads past his boy when K'del sits like that. But there's the meat, and there's him, and he attempts to clamber half into K'del's lap and snatch at the bloody stuff. And chew it, messily, and rub his muzzle onto his rider again, all sorts of hungry and happy and just plain /high/ on K'del and the world. But mostly K'del. L'rell glances at Eila, smiling at her as they passed, a surprised look goes to Xatolaeth as he seems to be dodging a mess that isn't even there. "I'm not sure." He replies to Persie, cocking his head to the side. "Would you feel better over there?" The question is directed to Xatolaeth, as he's trying to ease whatever discomfort his lifemate may be experiencing. "Careful!" K'del laughs, as Cadejoth climbs onto him, offering another handful as the little dragon rubs against him, too pleased with everything to be concerned about his robe, any more, or the bloody mess now on it. "You're-- oh, man. Cadejoth. Oh. Here: have some more." His eyes /dance/. Kelerith opens his maw up wide wide as Eila offers FOOD! Chomp, chomp, chomp, mash, mash, mash. Open wide again. MORE! « Good ! Good ! Eila! Good! More! » His thoughts are a pell mell rush accentuated with strange beeping chirps, the syllables almost coming out like nonsense, the feelings clearer than the words. Persie doesn't get to linger by L'rell and Xatolaeth long. "Yeah, you can move away," she tells him distractedly, waving a hand toward a free bit of barracks. Then she's trotting back to Eila, since she seems to have both her hands and her head full. "Just keep calm, help him be calm," she urges, looking a little unsure of just what she might be able to do to help. Blink blink at the rambunctious little blue. The last hatchlings trickle in, and then I'daur has a bucket in each hand, extending one to Hali and one to P'ax; the other last weyrlings just get a tip of his head to where the rest of the buckets sit, his encouragement to take one. "Settle in, get 'em fed, and chew," he instructs as he turns to glance at those already feeding. He just sighs at Kelerith, and since Persie is handling him, he conveniently pretends not to see. Stops by K'del and Cadejoth instead, glancing down at the bronze and rider but not saying anything. And Cadejoth does have some more, thankyouverymuch, at least a little more careful with his headknobs and... all right. Paws. Big heavy paws. And meat. That meat his K'del has, why doesn't he just inhale that? Instinct's a wonderful thing, at least when it doesn't go awry. Eila can't hardly manage anything else but a soft, laughing, "calm," up to Persie, with a wide-eyes sort of bemusement. But ever-accommodating, the girl continue to shovel and scoop meat into Kelerith's maw, eyebrows arching upward to meet in the middle with what might be faint worry. "He - oh, Persie, it's /strange/," all those clicks and chirps inside her head. Hali has a hand extended to Sviath's side, though not quite touching, as she makes her way to a spot in the barracks. Absently, she takes the bucket of meat from I'daur and settles down. "It's in here," she informs, kneeling down, reaching into the bucket and then holding a bloody piece out for the green to take. Sviath is hungry, yes she is, moving on her own terms toward the food. « This is food then? » is asked of Hali, her voice liquid. She turns to face her before looking toward one of her sisters. Bolstered by one of her sister's actions, Sviath begins to eat. Or tires to in any case. K'del glances up at I'daur, though he seems only vaguely aware of the Weyrlingmaster, blinking vaguely for a moment, then turning back to his-- "Not too fast!" he admonishes, though in a tone that has no real sharpness to it, just sheer delight. "You'll choke. And that'd be bad. Here: have some out of my hand." He squirms, just slightly, aware of those paws and headknobs and the rest, but too entranced to really care. To you, Cadejoth may radiate hunger, but it's increasingly muffled, as though the boneshaking rattle of hunger-hunger-hunger were beginning to be softened by meat and yes, even for and from a teenage boy, love. Lots of it. P'ax comes in with Yyth and glances around before moving to aquire some meat to feed her. Then he sits down and begins the task, perhaps still slightly worried he might get his hand removed. Kelerith chews happily, that reddish tinge slowly fading. As he picks up on Eila's attitude towards Persie, he merely squints a sidelong look over at the assistant and shuffles a little to one side so there's room for her to come talk too. He chews and chews some more then lets out a loud and satisfied belch. Brrrrraaaaaaaak! His bloody muzzle goes nudging into Eila's hands eagerly and he winds around and around her legs, distracted now by what's going on in the barracks. His tail .... well ... it's definitely a danger as it whips around after him, even short as it is. I'daur watches K'del for a moment, but satisfied he's handling Cadejoth all right, the weyrlingmaster moves along. He drops by one of the earlier ones to impress instead, pausing by L'rell and Xatolaeth and giving the finicky brown a long look. "He doing okay?" he asks L'rell. "I know," Persie says with sympathetic emphasis for Eila. "Just try to go slow. The slower the better." But the little blue moves over for her, so she steps in a bit closer. Just a bit. "With the food, I mean. One chunk of meat at a time. I don't think I want to see what he's like when his stomach goes all crampy." She chuckles again, grinning at Eila. "One thing at a time, okay?" Yeah, good luck with that. K'del's hand plays across a headknob, fingers smoothing the hide gently, as the other offers more meat. He just /stares/ at Cadejoth, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes. "You're--" He doesn't have any words for it, not really, just absolute adoration. But he tries. "Not so hungry, now, are you? Good. But: keep eating. You need it. Right? To grow. Oh, man, you're /perfect/." A range of emotions on his face, C'mryn glances down the line of new Weyrlings. It's a fleeting look before he's moving again, hurrying between one or the other and handing out advice and congratulations, as well as a few instructions if needed. Several "Make sure they chew" comments are made. Hali pushes the meat against Sviath's mouth, noting, "In here. And then you chew, up and down." Daring to try some raw meat herself, she demonstrates with a small piece. "See?" She sits full on the ground, "They keep saying to make sure that you chew." Sviath doesn't have to listen to C'mryn, a man. She'll chew on her own. So what if it took C'mryn's words to have her chew more slowly. There's a fond bump of her head against Hali, splattering some of the meat on her feet. Yyth's steps are impatiently hoppy as she follows her P'ax. Her hiss has turned into shrill sqwaks that gradually rise in volume. It is perhaps a wise worry, as Yyth reaches out with a flash of claws for that meat when her chosen weyrling sits down. He doesn't quite trip her up with that enthuastic weaving, not quite, but Eila stumbles over Kelerith's swift body, with an almost embarrassed chuckle for his, ah, finale. Hands automatically move to caress his headknobs, his neck, and finally the girl just plops herself right down on the ground next to him, fending away his stubby tail with waving hands. "You hear her, Kelerith?" One finger indicates Persie, "Slow, she said slow, oh, I don't know if he's even /got/ a slow, is there a button or something I can push?" Helpless. Cadejoth does have some out of K'del's hand, nibble-no-gobbles it up with his canines scraping his palm but gently glancing, soon followed by long happy licks. He somehow knows better than to bite, but the blood? Let's just taste a little more of that, shall we, and yes, he'll lean into his rider's touch even if it's his so-sensitive headknob, feel that? That sensitive. And no, not so hungry. He keeps eating, taking time with his K'del. Perfect K'del. P'ax tries to calm Yyth down, "The meat, the meat, my love, here, not my hand!" He stuffs a bit of meat in her mouth, though not enough that she'll choke if she doesn't chew. "Chew, chew, Yyth." He makes a face for the shared taste of blood, his eyes squinting shut and his face going as green as his lifemate's hide. L'rell glances up at I'duar, half frowning. "It's crowded and messy." He announces in response to the question. He quickly adds, "i think were doing okay though." A question glance goes to Xatolaeth, but is given a speak-for-yourself glare in return. Shrugging, L'rell goes back to feeding him. K'del laughs again, Cadejoth's tongue ticklish against his hand, which seems for a moment liable to squirm away, but stills again. Instinct draws him to scratch, lightly, at the headknob as the bronze leans in to him, but mostly, his hands just seem to roam, touching again and again, as if to make sure that the bronze really is there, really is /his/, confidence or no. He grabs for another handful, grinning down: "More?" Persie nods to Eila's button question. "Yeah, but I think it's probably in here," she says, tapping at her forehead. "You just try to think... slow. Calm. See if you can get him to wind down with you. Is he feeling full at all? He might slow down once he's not hungry anymore?" Ah, so hopeful. Kelerith plops his bloody chin down on Eila's shoulder and leeeeans into her, thrumming happily and then tries to climb into her lap, not overly careful about his claws. Maybe even rending her robe a little as he tries to curl up small enough. THe next thing he conveys to Eila is this as he squirms and wriggles. Itchy. ITCHY!!!!!!!!!! HELP!!!! ITCHY!!!! « Eila! Hide falling off! FIX! » Hali seems to simply smile as she watches Sviath take control of the situation, as the green dragonet decides what she will and will not do. "Eat as much as you can," she goads, offering each piece. "Just remember to tell me if there's anything else wrong." HRW-SAND> From the galleries, T'rev heads down a short set of stairs to the bowl. Sviath continues chewing her food more slowly. Dignity and poise. This is just who she is. Just don't the blood from the meat on the floor. She'll learn. « This /does/ taste good. Will there be more things to eat? Or am I finished? » Liquid tones present themselves as her voice to Hali before she grows itchy. « These things on my head. They itch. Is that wrong?» It might be more difficult to shriek with food in her mouth, but Yyth manages. Still, the taste of blood on her tongue is quickly captivating. The hungry red swirling across her facets takes on a violet tinges as she begrudgingly obeys. Chewing, though a claw reaches up, nicking in at the side of her lips to skewer sharply into the chunk. So she can jerk her head to the side, tearing off her bite and spraying scarlet droplets in the process. The chains of Cadejoth's thoughts seize to a momentary halt, links rippling to catch up: /Scratches/. Do that again. « More, » he agrees, half as though he's learning more words /through/ K'del, and lets himself be inspected, confident in his turn, unconscious of how others might see his bony and ill-proportioned frame. P'ax looks somehow horrified and intrigued at the same time as Yyth so delicately yet indelicately eats, reminiscent of a raptor. He doesn't even flinch when a line of blood splatters across his face. His mouth works silently, as if trying to form words that refuse to come. Mostly, he just looks lost. "Itch?" Immediately Hali is up and looking around for something. "Her head itches," she declares, and immediately stands up and sets off to do something about it. "Are you full, Sviath? Do you feel like eating anymore? I think you're done." "Need help?" Cam asks P'ax, wincing for that line of blood. "Erm. You've got something on.. nevermind," he decides, though his own hand unconciously touches his own cheek. Leova's nightshirt! Her... bloody nightshirt, /thank/ you, Yyth. Maybe that's what firms her composure, enough that she interrupts. Again. "Paxim," she says. "P'ax." Blood across his face? That doesn't seem to bother her, not like her shirt. "Keep a hand on her. Get her to eat, take it easy. Say her name in your head." Whatever it is. Eila makes... an effort, at least, at finding that button. Her eyes half-lid, she tilts her head downward, and for all intents and purposes her body goes slack - until Kelerith's clambering on top of her, nails catching at her white (or, once-white, now rather red) robe and her eyes fly open again, the girl reaching out to catch him and lift those talons from the fabric; then to subdue or at least contain that violent squirming! "No! It's no better! It's /worse/!" Clearly. "He's... he's itchy?" As Kelerith starts spazzing out again, Persie can only blink for a moment. A quiet curse is mumbled in her surprise. "Is he itching?" Because really, with this one, who knows what the writhing could mean? The weyrlingmaster fetches Eila a bucket of oil, paddles, clothes. "Just slop it on him however you can." Order and control, she assumes, are somewhat lost. Sviath rubs her headknobs against Hali's side, crooning in delight. Apparently it's her headknobs that itch the most. Or perhaps its her neckridges too? She does seem to itch a lot right now. « Why does it itch? » Curiousity bounds as her voice bubbles forth. "Good," says K'del, sounding pleased and proud, as he offers another handful of meat with one hand, and resumes the scratching with the other, fingers reaching around headknobs, and down neckridges, gloriously indulging in the sensation. "You look half starved, but not for long, I promise. So handsome." Love, as they say, is blind. He doesn't seem even remotely aware of anyone else at this point: everything is Cadejoth. While his assistants focus in on a few of the difficult cases, I'daur continues making the rounds, checking on various others and pausing by them to offer more meat in some cases, oil in most as the barracks, once so pristine, is rapidly heading toward a bloody, oily mess. P'ax looks up at Leova finally and then at C'mryn and reaches up to touch his face, smearing the blood across his cheek. "Oh.. right." He lifts the hem of his robe and wipes the blood from his face. And then he clears his throat and tries again, "Love, you have to chew. Yes, yes, chew..." And the look on his face indicates he's not sure he /wants/ her to chew, or else he's getting something completely gross as feedback in his head. Kelerith eyes all of the arriving equipment with keen suspicion, snaking his head around to sniff suspiciously and ... maybe predictably, knocks the bucket over. The spreading pool of oil is of course /fascinating/ and Kelerith wheels partly off of Eila's lap and lands both forepaws into the stuff, then lies down and starts rolling around in it. Oil good. Apparently. « Oooo. Slimy! » Delight. Childish and simple is broadcast widely. More scratching! Cadejoth actually chews the meat more this time, stretching his knobby spine luxuriantly under the attention, and he may not be quite tuned in on what handsome /is/, but if his K'del's for it, it must be good. At this rate, he'll eat and keep eating past the time he still hungers, still resting heavily across his rider's knees with tail and wings every-which-way behind. Hali quickly takes the oil and sits down where she is. "This is supposed to help," she states, inexpertly taking the paddle and trying to swath it onto the green's hide. She makes a mess across the floor and her robe, but manages to get a third of it onto Sviath. "I don't know," she responds, then amends, "It's dry, I think. The oil helps." Absently she scratches behind her ears. Slop? Eila can slop. Or - well. Actually, it doesn't seem like she'll be of much use, here, and she returns Persie's blink with one of her own. And maybe there's some measure of fear, there, too. "Look, mine oils itself." It's said mildly, although Eila's already moving to pick up one of those clothes and wipe at the excess from the ground, making an attempt here and there to scoop some up from that spreading puddle and smooth it on where Kelerith's hide isn't already thickly coated with glistneing oil. "Keep it up, Kel!" Yyth finishes off her first chunk, jaws snapping as they lift in the air and she bolts the final bite down her throat. Challenging cries are made to the assistant weyrlingmasters. Her bright-rimmed wings flare out slightly as she edges jerky steps towards P'ax. Claws opening, grasping. « It's /ours/.We tear it, » she agrees distractedly with his commands. « Give it, more! » Above her back, her wing knuckles knock into each other and rub, scratching. Xatolaeth is glaring around the room, especially at Kelerith, in the sense of a dragonic frown, he moves even further away from the blue, and the obvious mess he is making. L'rell is attempting to follow him with a jar of oil. "Come back here!" He calls, chasing him rather then waiting for him to return. "I know your itching, if you would stay in one place I could do this." Reaching Xatolaeth's side, L'rell begins oiling him. Well this, this is different. And poor Persie is somewhat beside herself as she watches the bucket go over and the blue dive in. Her hands go to her face. Oh, how the state of the barracks can change so quickly. At least, behind her hands, the assistant weyrlingmaster seems to be smiling, and chuckling helplessly. "Chew," Leova agrees after cramming her eyes tight shut at P'ax's hem-wiping. "Chew the food, not her tongue. Or her cheek or anything. Just the meat." For his grimace? She just doesn't ask questions, just like she keeps a deliberate distance from Yyth, there. Yyth with the challenges and the claws. "And she'll need oil, after. On her hide, not to drink. Whether she wants it or not." Sviath croons with delight once again, staring at Hali as the oil is spread over her hide, particularly those nasty itchy spots. « This /is/ better. Let us not make such a ruckus as /some/ dragons. » K'del's arm rests about Cadejoth's shoulder, fingers still scratching about, but the gesture a comfortable one, a half-hug that he seems reluctant to shift away from. He offers another handful of meat, though more slowly, apparently aware of the dragon's decreasing hunger: "You want more, or are you full, hm? Do you need anything else? Anything you want, you know. /Anything/. I'm all yours." P'ax nods his head fervently, offering up more meat to the green, "Yes, yes, ours. We tear- I mean, chew! Chew!" Rip, tear, chew, um, yes. And he looks up at Leova helplessly, spreading his blood-stained hands outwards as her wings begin to rub together eerily. A pause and he stares at her hard, "Drink the oil? But... why... has one ever..?" Hali simply smiles, Sviath's delight becoming her delight. She continues to dollop oil on the dragonet, losing the paddle and simply smoothing it across Sviath with her hands. She focuses on the headknobs, massaging the oil into the green's skin. "Ruckus?" And suddenly Hali is made aware of the rest of the barracks. "Oh, of course not. They're just immature." Kelerith rolls and rolls with that encouragement from Eila until he is literally, glistening and dripping with a too-thick coat of oil. He sits up, 'grinning' from ear to ear looking very proud of himself. Drip. Drip. Ooze. What a mess. Blood. Oil. Oily, bloody pawprints. And there's his clutchsibs all around and oh aren't they ever interesting. Bounding right on over, oblivious to Xatolaeth's disapproval he goes investigating. More words to learn, and it seems that Cadejoth really can talk with his mouth full, even if he takes the lump of meat only to have half hanging out of his mouth, « All mine, » his low tenor replies, rich with certainty, pleased certainty, as though K'del doesn't /have/ to say it for him to know it, but he does so like it all the same: rider and dragon retelling their vows. /Full/. He pulls at this link from his rider's mind, sees what he can get from the idea before replying further. "Ask I'daur," Leova tells Pax, not without a smile, a smile that maybe shows teeth just a little. "But just on her hide. Here, be right back," and she absents herself just long enough to get a rag and slop it in some oil for him, careful not to slip in what Kelerith's spilled. And then she /is/ back. "See how she's rubbing her wings? Maybe get her there. Wherever it feels right." Sviath continues to be delighted until she's had enough of the oil, moving a few steps closer to Hali. Oops. Well, now Hali's going to be oily too. But, at least there's no end to her fondness for Hali, sending her liquid tones again, practically bubbling forth once more. « It feels good. How do you know when it is too much? » Sorry," Eila murmurs up to Persie, wiping at that puddle one last futile time before leaving the rag and all right there on the floor. Because - Kelerith's off, and if she's not quick to catch him, who knows what might happen? "Wait, wait, some people might not /like/ it as much as you..!" The girl's protesting all the way as she scrambles after her blue. K'del reaches out to push that lump of meat into Cadejoth's mouth, mirth playing upon his expression as he does so. "Full," he agrees. "Like-- not hungry anymore. Your belly isn't aching. Right? So that's good. Do you... itch? Or... Anything else?"
There is another glare for Kelerith. Xatolaeth is moving again away from the blue, much to his lifemates dismay. "Xatolaeth..." L'rell drawls following after the brown. "If you keep moving around like this your going to get dirty no matter what." The statement has stopped the brown dead in his tracks, clearly all he is avoiding is the mess, and thus the blue covered in it. L'rell, much to his own relief, is finally able to finish Xatolaeth's oiling. P'ax gapes at I'daur even as he's feeding Yyth more meat and trying to juggle that and take the oily rag from Leova, and then he's trying not to actually fall on his green and oil her wings while she's chewing and rubbing and eventually it becomes a disaster in which he's rubbing bloody oil on Yyth and almost feeding her the rag. Cadejoth stoppers his mouth with his tongue at first, and then lets the meat get pushed in more, gumming it mostly: he's focused on twisting his blunt head around for a better look at his belly, sharing a somewhat bloated feeling with his rider: is that what it's supposed to be? Not... he tugs on that word, too: /aching/. Not that. « Itch, » he agrees all of a sudden. « Itch! » and presses himself against his rider, and his rider's hand, there: behind his wings, and then there's his belly after all, and will it ever stop? C'mryn just happens to be walking by at that moment and offers... "All done?" to K'del. A glance for the bronze, as well as a grin, and he says, "I'd get oiling as fast as possible. If he's not itching now, he will be..." Persie turns her helpless look to I'daur as Kelerith and Eila go racing off with oil flying everywhere. You know how he left her to deal with so many niceties of settling people in? Well now she leaves him to handle the ball of blue chaos. She is going to get a mop and start cleaning up the oil before there are cracked heads all over the place. Kelerith seems to think that Xatolaeth's glares and movement are ... a game and so he keeps on pouncing after his clutchmate's tail in a 'hey let's play!' kind of way. He's leaving a nasty trail of oil behind himself too. Unaware of I'daur's 'stupid blue' remarks, he keeps on keepin' on. Probably a good thing too. An unchained string of nonsense streams from his head to Eila's all of it somehow connotating 'fun' and 'getting to know the brown guy'. "All-- right," says K'del, glancing up at C'mryn vaguely. "Done. Yeah. Oiling? Right." Words failing, he just nods, quickly-- and right at that moment, the itch takes over, and he winces. "Itching. Right!" He lunges for the nearest oil, conveniently borrowing that which has been abandoned by a nearby weyrling, using his hands to slather it on and scratch as he goes. "I've only got two hands... I'm trying. It'll stop in a minute. See?" He sounds urgent, though, desperate to soothe. "Because it won't soak in any more," Hali immediately replies, experiencing it as she asks. "See, hold out your foot." A slop of oil is dolloped on the foot, and she smears it around. The oil glistens on the surface. "It doesn't soak in, so you don't need any more." She briefly glances down, and then does a double take, amazed at just how bloody and oily her robe really is. "Well," she decides, and then takes the end of the robe and wipes it on the green's foot. "Here," she offers, and then wipes excess oil from the green until Sviath simply shines. "Now you're perfect." "Probably had the runs for... days," Leova can only mutter, and in that light, bloody oil doesn't look half bad: besides, it's Yyth. So, "That's the spirit," she tells P'ax. "Meat eat. Rag rub. Get it? Rag rub. Meat eat." C'mryn just grins. "Slowly," he decides to advise. "Slowly, and you won't miss a spot. And..." there's a glance for the excess oil. "Nevermind." Briora, she whose green had hatched from that Don Juan egg, turns around to find her oil rag gone... and starts to exclaim, only then Ousath just yawns and declares that she is, in fact, about done. And starts waddling out to settle herself in what remains of Kelerith's pool o' oil, and fall asleep right. there. Though flustered, P'ax tries to almost cheerfully repeat Leova, "Rag rub, meat eat, rag rub, meat eat, rab rug, meat feet, rab mug, feet eat, rum eat rag feet... " Pause, blink. Shrug. Rub. Xatolaeth is about to go frantic as Kelerith is closing in. He growls loudly toward the "stupid" blue so that it catches L'rell of guard and he goes falling backward dropping the oil and thus covering himself in it. Xatolaeth has moved away again, rather quickly as he flees from Kelerith's mess. Cracked heads might be an improvement at this point, as I'daur continues to eye Kelerith and Eila. But if he's just going to pester Xatolaeth, the weyrlingmaster will let him get on with it for now, since it's better than knocking things over for the moment. Instead, passing Ousath and eyeing the green, he gives Briora a pointed look, and then some of the others who are looking tired now. "Get 'em into the couches when they're all done oiling, and you can go clean up for the party. Just no drinking, and no foolin' around," he tells them. Yyth rocks a little on her haunches as she crouches, holding her meal between front paw as she tears at it with her teeth. The green is oblivious to everything but the joy of rending flesh and of sharing that joy with her P'ax. Wings continue to rub at each other even as he applies the oily rag, knuckles sliding down along spars. Because even as she delights in the blood splattering over her muzzle, drizzling down into her gullet, they do /itch/. And while the bloody oil is no problem, when he tries to offer her the rag she emits another piercing wail. « Not meat! » Her head swivels, no doubt looking for something that /is/ meat. Catching, upon Leova and her clarifying phrases. « Rag rub, » the green echoes, still suspicious. A claw lifts, indicating her chest at the base of her neck, scratching faintly. « Here. » And can't he just feel it, the terrible irritation? Sviath preens before giving Hali a look. « Wasn't I already perfect? ». She takes another look to her clutchsiblings before another glance to Hali. Content with the oiling, she gives Xatolaeth and Kelerith a wary glance. Eila flings a helpless glance over her shoulder towards I'daur, but finally does make a leap for Kelerith, avoiding that slippery track of oil behind the blue and managing - sort of - to get herself wrapped around him. Sort of. Considering how slathered in oil he is, anyway, and how she's gingerly attempting not to do harm to his wings or his hide or /anything/ and then she's muttering sharply, "/Enough/, Kelerith. Thank you." Cadejoth rebalances after all that lunging, landing on three of four paws with a yelp of a warble, the more urgent for K'del's urgency: distracting however is that /two hands/ idea that gets him nudging at his rider's other extremities, the not-hands covered by thick-soled boots or shoes or whatever he's got. Nudging, and then starting to nibble: perhaps they could get those /off/, and then K'del could rub with his other paws too? Excitement rattles through him, higher and faster: they figured it out! "Did you see her?" Leova interprets from that safe distance she's maintaining. "Chest. Try her chest, then up along her neck. Rag rub, leave out the..." never mind. Keep it simple. She gives Yyth a wary eye. "That's better, P'ax. You're doing it. And when one part feels better, and you feel another itch, get that too." K'del goes blinkblinkblink at C'mryn, missing everything else, and finally just manages to nod. Slowly. Oh. Sure, okay. Maybe he'd manage to say something, except that Cadejoth-- "Uh," he says, trying not to get squashed in the process, nevermind how small the bronze is for the moment. "Nono, those aren't like... It's really hard to do this if you don't sit still a little, okay? Even without the other paws, it won't take too long, I promise." He's laughing, though, just laughing with giddy glee. "But it was a good idea, Cadejoth." Kelerith is just starting to dart forward again when his Eila is wrapping herself around him and that /enough/ said just like that suddenly makes him crumple down into a little ball, curling up tight and butting his head into Eila's mid-section. No more playing? But but but ... but his Eila isn't happy and he has to fix that. All of his attention focuses back on her, big liquid eyes peeking upward to her face as the blunt-end of his muzzle touches her chin. Again his broadcast is ... wide, with just how much he adores his girl. « Eila the best. » He musters words, unsophisticated but sweet. P'ax nods his head vigorously, "Sorry, love, yes, rag rub, meat eat!" Meat goes in, rag goes to her neck, rubbing in circles in an effort to please her. P'ax is probably going to spend the rest of his life trying to please her. He lifts his hand to wipe the back of it across his face, and then he grimaces for the taste of mingled blood and oil on his lips. "Ugh." But still her perserveres, ringing around her collar with the slick rag. Hali glances around at the others as Sviath again brings them to her attention. "None of us are completely perfect," she notes, "though you're much more so than the others." She eyes Kelerith, eyes wide. "And please don't ever do /that/, Sviath. Oil isn't around to swim in." She scoots beside the green. "Anything else bothering you?" Cadejoth really does /try/ not to squash his K'del, or even trip him, but... all right. Still. He can leave off the feet and sit still. Never mind the twitching wings or the wriggly tail. « /Promise/. » What an interesting idea. « Just a little, yes? » His head swings over at Kelerith's broadcasting, giving the blue a long look, and then it's back to K'del all over again. Sitting still. (But his flank itches, and he wants to lift his paw up and scratch-scratch-scratch it, can K'del feel it too?) "Yes, I need a bath." L'rell says in an exasperated fashion, being covered in oil and blood spatters from earlier feeding, it seems the new weyrling is getting very frustraited. "Will you get over here." he says rather firmly. Xatolaeth however is determined to go no where near that mess. Rather he settles down right where he is, a rather smug look about him, even with his snort. Sviath appears a lot more controlled than her brothers and sisters, certainly more so than Kelerith. At Hali's request, she answers with soft, liquid tones: « Why would I ever want to do that? I'll do what -I- want and not what others want me to do. » Headstrong, willfull, and yet, still poised. She still itches though as she notes. « Those neck... ridges. They still itch. » "There you go," Leova tells P'ax, "And remember what I'daur said," even though the boy likely didn't hear, "And then into the couch with her. Just pick one. Tell her... it's her special place," she guesses, and gives them a last long look before wandering over to visit Hali along the way. "Doing all right, over here?" As much as a handful Kelerith might be, and Eila all smeared with oil and blood and oily blood, she can't keep up the strict frown of hers and the girl carefully releases the dragonet from her grip and pushes herself further back, perhaps enticing him away from Xatolaeth. In response to his careful touch, she dips her head and bumps her own forehead against his. "/You're/ the best, Kelerith. Just - you need to be more careful." Then, beyond the blue dragonet, Eila has a vaguely apologetic sort of smile for the room at large. Hali grins again, filled with adoration for Sviath's proclamations. "Yes," she replies, /agreeing/ with the sentiment. "Neck ridges still itch?" And luckily Leova is right there. "Her neck still itches," she mentions, "And she's coated with oil." "Promise, yeah," says K'del, grinning broadly. "I'll never lie to you, Cadejoth. Not sure I could, really. Mean what I say. And thanks, for being still." Er. Stiller. He goes about the task of oiling more slowly, now, but efficiently, and then pauses - and, evidently, he /can/ feel that flank, because his own body wriggles just slightly, as though he's feeling it for himself, and his expression is one of pure confusion as he struggles between itching his own bottom - or going for Cadejoth's. The bronze wins: "Right there, huh?" he murmurs, soft. The taste of oil and blood, doubled between them as it is on Yyth's lips as well. But she revels in it. « Tasty, Meat. » One of her paws lifting to curl possessively on P'ax's leg, balance her as she turns herself more obligingly to the oiling. Her other claws hold the gob of meat, taking slow but fiercely pecking bites. The edge has gone off her hunger, but she can't very well let a good chunk of bloody flesh go to waste! Cocking her head, a faceted eye follows Leova's retreat. « What is a couch? It is ours? » "Try rubbing it in," Leova suggests, crouching a little closer to Sviath than she had with Yyth. "Just spend a little time, use different parts of your hand like the heel or your fingertips, see what she likes best. And... if it still itches? Check your robe, see if it's just chafing you a bit.... Hello there," she adds to the green, somewhat bemusedly. P'ax watches after Leova, swallowing compulsively as he works on Yyth, stroking one of her delicate headnobs in wonder with his free hand. "A couch is, is.. is where we sleep, love. It is ours, yes, just ours. Are you sleepy?" Kelerith relaxes, just like that, from nose to tail with the draconic equivalent of a happy sigh as Eila's forehead bumps against his. He's leeeeaning into her just a little too much still, but he's listening, she's got his attention. « /Together/ best! » he tacks on, shoving another image of the two of them taking on the world together Eila's way. A moment later he's up on all fours again, but this time right at Eila's side and he looks up at her trustingly in a 'what next' kind of way. His tail has coiled up tight against his body and he's eyeing the barracks with interest. So much STUFF! Sviath studies Leova's arrival with curiousity before rubbing her body against Hali, looking almost protective of her. Or is it sisterhood in general? Suddenly, she lies down carefully. « Getting tired, too. » L'rell sits there cross-legged, arms crossed, and a sour look on his face. Xatolaeth still sits a few feet away, and they are staring at each other, rather intently. It looks as though they are both glowering at each other intent on one not moving before the other. It could be they might be playing a staring game, or are generally just unhappy with each other, hopfully it's not the latter. « Thanks, » Cadejoth agrees somewhat awkwardly with K'del, in lieu of the /welcome/ he hasn't learned yet. This idea of a lie... he doesn't get too close to that, he's still so very young, too pleased and happy in the now and the truth. The efficient oiling works wonders, too, easing itches sometimes even before he can discover them, but the /wriggling/... K'sel's wriggling, however slight, gets the young bronze positively jingling with delight. Like that. And the touch: like /that/, too. « There, » he agrees. « We mean it. More, for long. Right, » and he eases even closer, trying to not knock his rider with his wings, maybe lay his head on his boy's lap. Eila's got a bright laugh for that, delighted and besotted and smitten all at once, though she's lifting her head to look at all those other dragonets; moving to with their lifemates to their couches, falling asleep. One hand creeps to rest on his head, and the girl's eyebrows move upwards, once again knitting with a sort of consternation. "You're, uh, not tired or anything, not yet?" For a moment the girl sticks a finger in her ear as though to rid it of some incessant pop or buzz, and Kelerith's snuck a suspicious sort of look. Oil. Lots of oil. Cam steps carefully over a little puddle of it, mindful of his feet. "Here," and he passes a rag to another weyrling, saving her hands from a bloody mess. Or not. He might be a bit late with that. He gives her a sheepish little grin and moves on. To L'rell. He frowns, a look going between boy and brown, and he asks, "What's the problem?" Hali quickly checks her robe, the thought that it may be -her- that itches having never occured to her. "Maybe," she allows, then smiles. "That might be it. This robe is disgusting." To Sviath, "Oh, no, you can't sleep there. Where can she sleep?" She yawns. "Where can we sleep?" Absently, she attends to the itchy neckridge, and her discomfort dissipates. Sviath seems rather content. Perhaps it -was- Hali's robe, that nasty, ill-fitting fabric. « Who says I cannot sleep here? » comes her question, stern yet still resoundingly curious. She stretches out. Just to prove her point, maybe? "He wont come here." L'rell announces. "I've done chased after him several times, be he refuses to come to me until I've had a bath. He's being unreasonable." Yes they are both acting like children, and L'rell has no excuse for it. Xatolaeth rumbles then gives a snort. "It's your fault I'm covered in oil!" L'rell rebuttles loudly. K'del's hand stills, his eyes still full of /his/ dragon, especially as Cadejoth pulls closer. Both arms, now, shift to wrap around the bronze, holding him close, despite the jingling. "You don't like being still, huh?" he murmurs, stroking down the length of a wingsail. "S'fine by me. Like moving, too. But-- are you tired? Still itchy? You can... show me, if the words are too hard? I can feel you in my head." This last is said with pure awe and wonder. That protective air of Sviath's doesn't seem to bother Leova any: indeed, she gives the young green a nod, recognizing it, before Hali brings her attention quickly back. And then she too smiles, the most relaxed she's been all night: "Got to say it is," she agrees. "Ours weren't like that, and here, there's a couch over /there/, see where the stone slopes in like a big dish? Not like human couches at all. She can take her pick, you get the cot right next to it, grab a water-rag on the way over if you want to clean yourself up some before the morning." Kelerith does not look tired. No. That buzz, yeah, it's coming from him, it's his thoughts moving at lightspeed as he takes in everything around them, figuring it all out. Click. Click. Click. But the others are curling up in couches and even if he doesn't /curl/ up, he does go /examine/ one, snout down, sniffing out its confines. Will he fit here? Will she? His wings flare open briefly, displaying pinkypurple undersides and he sinks down into the couch, vanishing almost out of sight except for the fact that those wings keep him semi-propped up, just the tip of his muzzle and those big old eyes of his showing over its edge. « Come see ? » he nudges at Eila delighted with his 'hiding spot'. A wince, and Cam glances between boy and brown once more. "Interesting," he muses to himself. "Why does he demand you bathe?" he wants to know, but his attention is more on the little dragon, than the irritated weyrling. "Xatolaeth," he says, prompted by his own dragon, no doubt, "Wouldn't it be easier to come to him? The sooner he's got you settled, the sooner he can bathe. With soap. Lots of soap." If he eve knows what soap is. Yyth considers while she nibbles on the final shred of meat skewered on one claw. With her tummy full and her itches being soothed, the green finally turns her attention out towards her surroundings. « Well take it, » she decides of this couch, decisive as a sword being thrust through a soft belly. « Where is it? We want a dark one. » Dark, as churned and blood-soaked earth. P'ax glances around at her request and glances towards the far back of the cavern. With a dreading swallow, he heads for the more dusty and disused spaces, back where the glows don't usually get changed and the hearths are rarely lit. "This way, love, this way." He sets a hand on her knobby back, as if she might protect him from the doom. "He says if I bathe then he wont have to." L'rell replies with a frustraited sigh, rising to his feet. Xatolaeth considers Cam for a few long moments before rising himself and prancing over of to L'rell, sitting promptly next to him. "Oh your were not just about to do that!" L'rell says then raises his hands. "Okay, okay." He gives half smiling glance at Cam. That's a lot of dragon to be hugging, but Cadejoth leans in all the closer, mouth opening in a big yawn and losing a few bits of meat he hadn't chewed so well, much less swallowed. Happy dragon. Tired dragon, just the tip of his tail still moving, and perhaps occasionally the click of his claws. And then his jaw, which shuts. There's warmth for his rider's wingstroke, for the /knowing/ his not-still, for his care and curiosity and... « Not-/hard/, » he protests, but the chains lurch into abrupt movement with none of his accustomed flow to it at all, fits and starts, how-to-explain-it. Until. Suddenly this /show/ sinks in, and he presses the world into his rider's head the way he sees it, sights and sounds and maybe-best /smells/ and with themselves as the center. Cadejoth. Maybe a little itchy still along his ribs, but inattentive to that, suddenly delighted with this trick to share with his rider: this new newness on this very first day. C'mryn decides, "Perhaps next time, if such an argument should arise, attempt to explain the situation to him? He would still need to bathe even if you did," and then he directs his attention back towards Xatolaeth. "Pick your battles, little brown. Bathing's not worth a fight." Sviath spreads out ever broader on the floor in the oil and blood, gaping her maw for a distinctively large and teeth-baring yawn before settling her head between her paws and closing her eyes. « Time to sleep, » she notes, and quickly begins to lose conciousness. Eila trails after, ducking her head as though to hide that broad grin, kneeling next to that couch that's the center of such intent scrutiny by Kelerith. "Look at that, your own little hidey-spot!" And, by that tempted little tip of her head, it looks as though the once-nanny might be tempted to crawl right up there with him, peeking up around those arched wingsto meet round, whirling eyes and reaching out with one finger to gently touch the very tip of his muzzle. "You like it in there?" And then, entreatingly, "You're sure you're not tired?" With a final lick of her permanently red-stained paws, Yyth drops to her skeletal feet and starts stalking in the direction her P'ax has indicated. « Itching sucks, » she comments while fearlessly leading the way. « Let's not have more of that. I don't like it at all. » Perhaps she edges away just a bit while they pass some of the clutchmates which she suspiciously eyes - especially that still-wiggling Cadejoth. « Meat is much better. We'll have more of that, » she continues a bit obsessively. « Soon. » A sudden yawn stretches her sharp jaws wide. Kelerith perks at that tone from Eila and he wriggles happily within the confines of the couch. His nose arches up into that touch and he lets out another happy thrumming sound, eyes shading to rich indigo. It's nice in here yes. And he lifts a wing, puppydogs his eyes. « Eila hide too? » Winning, wheedling. No. Not tired. But he wouldn't mind sitting here and /watching/ instead of running around for a bit. K'del is mindless of the bits of meat sliding down his increasingly dirty robe, oblivious to anything but /his/ dragon in /his/ arms, no matter how big an armful he is already. If his expression tenses, mind overwhelmed with the fits and starts of Cadejoth's attempts, it loosens, too, as tell turns to show; his grin broadens wider still. "I see it," he tells the dragon - and shares back, his own mind, the two at the centre, nothing else mattering except for his own sense of triumph: hah, I did it, I was right, and he is mine. Without really thinking about it, he reaches around to scratch at Cadejoth's ribs, as easy as breathing. "We need to find you a place to sleep, yet? Or you okay?" L'rell looks down at Xatolaeth, giving him a quick nod. "No, it's not worth fighting about. Yes, even if your not dirty, you will still have to bathe... Why? Uh..." He gives a look back to Cam before venturing to say. "It's good for your hide?" Xatolaeth doesn't quiet look satisfied with that, but is letting it go for now. "Right, so, does it matter which couch he gets?" This question from L'rell is directed to Cam. P'ax nods, stroking Yyth in wonder, even for her skeletal frame. "Yes, my love, more meat, less itching. I will make sure. You should sleep now, though, so you can get bigger, and stronger." Hali lifts up a limp green wing and shakes her head at Sviath, now asleep in the middle of the room. "She's out," she says, poking and prodding at the green's hide. The dragonet's breathing is slow and steady. "Because," Cam prompts L'rell, "If he does not bathe, his hide will cake with dirt and flaking skin, and it will itch more abominably than he can imagine. He will also begin to stink, and make the rest of the barracks shun him." Maybe not, but hey. Cam's arguing with a dragon. "He.. doesn't want to be clean?" he wonders. Leova just stares down at Sviath. "Should be able to carry her? Don't want anyone tripping... wings pretty delicate." « I am okay, » Cadejoth tells his K'del, although the way he says that word, it's as though he's learned it as meaning what he is, which is so very much better-than-okay... and linked to not a little triumph of his own: /he/ is /mine/. He even keeps an eye on Yyth with equanimity, though sleepiness can't hurt with that. And he yawns again: yes, he's very fine indeed, satisfaction filling him. Could sleep right /there/, right on his rider's knee. Yawns again. Maybe he will. Just like that. And, so easily won over with that wheedling, Eila does creep up onto that couch, bowing her head so she might slip under that wing and curl up small under the shelter and darkness of the dragon-made hideaway. Watching. Eila can watch, she's good at that, and now not even that static, those pops and buzzes can disturb that happy curve of her mouth. "Eila hide too," and then she's squirming about to get comfortable, twisting her neck about to ask up to Kelerith, "Can you see everything from up there?" She's got a perfect window from under that dragonwing. A few other weyrlings make it to their couches, including U'zin and G'gor, taking the spots right next to each other much as their greens had hatched at the same time. Anairith quickly falls into a hard and fast sleep, but Paelath, she's taking more time, curled up but looking around. K'del smiles and smiles and smiles, opening his mouth to say, "Ca--" But the bronze is asleep, twined about him, still sitting on the floor. He looks around, for the first time in quite a while, noticing more, now, than he has until this point, but still not quite with it. Again, his hand shifts to allow fingers to trace down Cadejoth's ridges, while the other hand shifts his weight, testingly. Heavy. But, if he's careful, not too impossible to move all the same. Maybe. Hali quickly nods, squatting to shove her arms beneath the green to lift her up, limp and all. "Okay," is all she says to Leova, and then (carefully) makes her way across the barracks floor to a couch. Sviath slides off the Weyrling's arms, uncharacteristically clumsily flopping onto the couch. "She's so beautiful," Hali notes, and then curls up next to the green. From there, she watches the rest of the new Weyrlings, though her green's fatigue is very much her own. Plus, what time is it? Kelerith couldn't be happier now. Him and his Eila taking it all in from /their/ special spot. « Kelerith can see. » He confirms and his eyes twitch back and forth, that thrum of energy still inhabiting his body even in stillness as he watches the others starting to dial down, or continue eating. His gazes crosses Paelath's and a questing thought full of chirpy sounds is sent her way. « Paelath watch too, » he tells Eila happily and snuggles a little closer. It's entirely possible that distracted as he is with all the looking around, he doesn't notice the heaviness creeping into his limbs, the slow placidity that washes over him or the way his eyelids keep drooping. L'rell shakes his head quickly. "Oh he wants to be clean. He doesn't want to get dirty. He doesn't see the need to bathe if he is not dirty. Or something like that." He glances to Xatolaeth before looking back to Cam. "He didn't want to be oiled because he thought I was trying to get him dirty, I guess I was if you think about it, because the oil has to be washed eventually." He comments with a shrug. Cadejoth could be moved, still, not even four feet long but /dense/. It could happen. He rests in his rider's mind like a pile of chains. Contented chains. Happy chains, even, if there could be such a thing. Cam frowns at L'rell. "I wouldn't mention that aloud, if I were you," he notes, glancing towards the brown. "Oil is not dirty. It's soothing. It smooths the hide, soothes the itch, and makes a nice, healthy sheen. It's not dirty. It will *get* dirty, from dust, but..." Maybe that shouldn't be mentioned either. "Is he tired? Have you selected a couch yet?" Leova follows right behind Hali, keeping tabs on her, warning M'dio as Mnoseth starts lurching up. "She is that," she has to agree with the green's rider, though on a night like this, she might agree anyway. "Look at those wings, hm? Next time, though hopefully /next/ time she'll make it in on her own, try to ease her in more softly so she doesn't get jostled. And once she's further asleep, could go clean up, eat something if you're up for it. Or just stay in here." Yyth yawns again, this time coming to a stop beside those dim-lit forgotten couches. Her claws drum, clicking against stone. « The meat will make us strong, » she dwells. The sharp, faceted gaze turns from one couch to the next. « We will be stronger. » Sure, even as she sure about her choice. Strutting steps start again, carrying her towards a couch that has an overhanging indent worn into the adjacent wall. Her sails spread with a rustle as she turns about the spot. « For now, we'll rest, » begrudgingly. Her cocked gaze tips up to P'ax, lids starting to fall low over facets. In the end, K'del manages to crawl out from beneath his sleeping dragon, wiggling free without waking him, and then leaving him where he is. Let sleeping dragons lie. The weyrling hesitates, watching Cadejoth where he is, crouching next to him, as if unsure what else to do. Once more, though, he reaches out to stroke at soft hide, and he smiles. L'rell says, "Right, good idea." L'rell replies looking back down at his brown. "He's getting a little tired.' He looks back up. "But we haven't picked a couch yet? Do we just pick any one, or is there a specific one were supposed to go to."" P'ax smiles, "We will be." He agrees, sitting down beside her and yawning in his own turn. "I think so." He reaches out and snatches the pillow and blanket from his cot, bedding down on the hard stone for possibly the first time in his life. "Good night, Yyth." From under that blanketing wing, Eila peeps out, shadowed by Kelerith's sails but perhaps just as observant as her lifemate as she snuggles right back. She does bend her neck a bit to look over to Paelath - twitching her fingers in a little wave towards G'gor for the camaraderie of... watchful dragons. Or perhaps sleepy ones, and it's either the draining excitement of the hatching or Kelerith's own encroaching lassitude that has the girl yawning, bringing one hand to cover her mouth and pointing with the other, still intent on their shared vigilance. "Look at K'del, all trapped." Through that yawn, she's got a faint chuckle. Atthe touch, Cadejoth responds even in his sleep: a low rustle of a rattling, mind-to-mind, soft like a breath heaved and let free, and thence deeper into dream. Hali perks up at Leova's suggestions, her heavy lids blinking slowly as she pulls herself off the couch. "You're right, I need to clean up." Her stubbornness combats the fatigue and Hali leaves the barracks for the bath house, her new Sviath deeply asleep. Paelath notices, and G'gor waves back, though he's nodding off himself with a smile on his face that's as giddy as it is groggy. "Oh, ah..." C'mryn glances around, as if looking for some sort of pattern to the chaos. None. "Just pick one. Find one you and he agree on, and that'll be yours. Just... ya know. Don't kick anyone else out of theirs." Courtesy. "He's probably feeling a bit sleepy by now," and a glance, to see if he's right. Kelerith shares that chortle with Eila. « Cadejoth have /big/ head. » Is that sly humor from little Kelerith? Could be. Like he's one to talk about disproportion with his stumpy tail and roly poly body. But he's snuggling down deeper into the couch, though his eyes remain peeking over the rim. His tail curls around Eila. His girl. And he keeps up the watch until just like that, eyelids fall closed and slowly his breathing evens out into that of sleeping dragonet. His dreams though, stay with Eila, punctuated by those odd sounds, though they're more musical in his sleep. K'del's head shakes, and there's more awe, there, a deep breath let free as, reluctantly, he turns away. Conveniently, they're not far from an empty couch, and one of a decent size - although the young man doesn't even try and get the sleeping bronze to shift, now, at least they needn't stay too far apart. He wipes his hands on his not-so-white robe, takes a deep breath, and moves to sit down upon the empty cot, still watching Cadejoth from afar. No doubt sleep will overcome him, too, soon enough. Smug as a conquering banner flown over a corpse-strewn battle ground, Yyth sinks to lie down beside her chosen. She reaches out her oily-bloody snout to rustle his long gravity-defying hair with possessive fondness. Then her neck curves back, chin tucking under the fold of one wing arm. A final contented sigh stretches her ribs, and then lids fall the rest of the way over her eyes. There're no more words from the young green, merely the dark flutter of her thoughts settling to root for the night. Xatolaeth is certainly beginning to look sleepy. L'rell is nodding as he starts to move off. "Thanks C'mryn, C'mon Xatolaeth, we'll find you a nice clean couch to sleep on." He comments and leads him off to a nearby couch, one nearer his friends, but still far enough away to please the brown. "Are you always going to be this picky?" He asks chuckling as the brown climbs into the couch and settles down. "Yes, you go to sleep, I'll go take a bath." Leova, making her way from Sviath's couch, pauses by L'rell: she waits there silently at first, watching him settle, before asking, "Does he feel pretty comfortable? In your head. With the idea of your going off." L'rell looks up to Leova as she speaks, then back at Xatolaeth before nodding. "Yes, he's going to sleep. He would be much happier if I had a bath and some clean clothes, so I don't get him any dirtier then he already is." He gives the brown a quick rub before standing back up. "I have a quick question. Will we be allowed to sleep in?" He asks in a hopeful tone, his expression reflecting his tone. Eila simply nods, eyes half-lidded, perhaps mumbling some distantly chastising, entirely half-hearted response for Kelerith's quip; one hand moving to touch lightly on his flank, then one wing-spar, then that dangerous tail, as though ensuring he's all still there. Only once she's satisfied herself with that does the girl allow her eyes to close entirely, only moments after that somnolent blue, and soon enough the girl too is fast asleep, her fingers twitching in time with some buzzing click heard only by her, and her Kelerith. "/Would/ he, now," and Leova gives Xatolaeth an interested if red-rimmed eye. "Urynth will be proud. Sleeping in, though? Up to your dragon. And I'daur. Let me just say I /hope/ so." "Shards, so do I," agrees C'mryn on the sleeping-in stuff. "Maybe tomorrow, at least. Sleep. At all. Can't be more than an hour or two before the sun's coming up, by now." He yawns, finally, and slouches against the wall. "Dragons have the worst timing." L'rell nods. "Hope so." he glances back to Xatolaeth, watching as the final lid closes over his eyes. "You can say that again." L'rell says toward Cam following the statement with a yawn. "Well if you'll excuse me, i'm gonna get that bath while he's asleep, then try to get some sleep myself." He nods to each of them, then heads out. Leova glances up, startled. And laughs all at once. "Suppose so. At least it's winter, keeps it from rising earlier /yet/, hm?" She lets her gaze drift along the couches with an increasingly proprietary air, pausing briefly on Eila and her blue o' havoc, meeting Maraya's gaze for a moment before switching to the other side, down, down, only to bump into Cadejoth not yet on his couch and K'del on his cot. "Excused," she says. Distracted. After a while, after a few more pauses to check on a weyrling here and a weyrling there, getting a clean cloth for stuck-under-her-dragon Maraya and getting Rousath's tail out of the aisle, Leova slips out into the training cavern: there's a couch calling her name. |
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