Logs:What Dragons Do
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| RL Date: 6 May, 2015 |
| Who: Edyis, J'vain, Keysi, T'mic, Yesia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Little dragons give this whole 'hunting' business a shot. |
| Where: Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 9, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A lovely, cloudless sky offers warm sunshine during the day, though the weather turns distinctly chilly after dark. |
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Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr To say that herdbeasts and prey animals have been a point of curiosity for Jorrth wouldn't be a lie... but what isn't a point of curiosity for Jorrth? Today, though, it's a momentous day, more than curiosity. It's a day to test his skills. Those little feet of his shift and shuffle on the ground. He shakes out his shaggy little wings. He watches, with even more attentiveness than J'vain gives to the weyrlings he's supervising. Those herdbeasts are wary, but the blue is just little. They shuffle and snort and slowly move away from where he waits, just inside the fence of the pens. And T'mic... T'mic is looking intense, big arms spread out to form an inverse 'v' on the fence where he waits, ready, seemingly, to launch the rest of his body up and over the fence at a moment's notice. That he does not colide with the fence, moving at that odd lope that dragons have, probably speaks to the amount of work Akluseth and Edyis have been doing on physical things. That he comes dangerously close... Well this is Akluseth. No more waiting for his meals. BIG DAY! Edyis trails behind her lifemate, at an easy jog, a glance shot over to J'vain as Akluseth gets let into the pens. She takes a perch on the railing next to T'mic looking a little green around the gills. "Do we have to watch this part?" She murmurs. The small brown, oh how he matches so many of the blues in the weyrling class for size and not even the biggest of them!- does not consider himself a small creature. By all means, Neianth's mind is an expansive thing, and his self-vision is too. The darkly-hued dragonet moves to the fence with rapid pace, sprinting as much as a dragon can not moments after Akluseth is let into the pen. Eyes whirling- whirling hunger, whirling excitement, whirling intensity- stare at Keysi. How he stares! It's as if everything about him is keyed into this moment, every seemingly-slowly developing muscle coiled for the spring. And when the assistant lets him in? He slips in like a liquid, night-black-soaked belly almost slipping along the ground. He may be small, but the beasts within those pens know predator, and he exudes it like air. For Keysi's part, she's close behind him, stopping at the gate, but her face so-slightly distorted as if trying to calm down the overwhelming intensity from Nei's side. « Akluseth. » And then, « Neianth. » All without turning his attention away from the herdbeasts. Jorrth is still watching, still learning, learning about them in a whole new way, but a new way that comes naturally, that neither he nor T'mic have thought to question. T'mic's head twitches in Edyis' direction, although the weyrling doesn't actually look away from his lifemate. "Don't you just want to be sure..." It was supposed to be a question, but you know, the impossibly little blue has started to move, not stealthily, but solidly, in a way that suggests he's more mirroring his rider's bulk than moving for his own little stature. Slow, steady, like one of the big bucks more than their predator, though his eyes... those leave no question as to his tiny, adorable, fierce intent. "I've never liked watching dragons feed." She admits watching the flame licked brown set to business, as he sets off slowly after the cowering beasts, driving them into motion. « Little brothers! » Akluseth offers in a cheerful tone, picking out the beast for his first attempt. It's a leap and lunge, one that has his claws hooking into flesh leaving long angry red lines on the creature's hide as it escapes him. Edyis winces, ink-dark eyes watching the escaped beast. "You go after the one you injured." She shouts unnecessarily to the brown who is already eyeing other easier prospects. Before her glance is turned over to Keysi and Tomic. "It's easier not to think about when they are carcasses." It's as if Neianth doesn't even see his clutchmates, and running into them is a very real possibility here. The presence of Jorrth's mind gets an echo of aggitated water, a hint of the tumultuous, distorted freshwater pool of water tainted with a thick swirl of blood red that would surely offer no reflection. There is no serenity here. He's crouched, stalking, moving along the fence line to the right. As he moves, his wings go from excitedly mantled to flat against his sorrel-touched back, stream-lined. Ready. And, although he thinks his stalking is naught but perfection, watching him from a distance would demonstrate a good amount of awkwardness in where he attempts to place those darkly-dyed paws. Was that a stumble? He'd never admit it. His tail lashes unexpectedly to right himself, and is held behind him quite stiffly to continue that job. And when Akluseth sets them off? Neianth is suddenly in motion! Sprinting in his mind, stumbling over too-long legs and greatly over-sized wings in the real world, Nei doesn't get a chance to get close as suddenly dark paw steps on dark wing tip, and he's snout over tail. And angry. Keysi's hands raise to her head, the furious backlash of that failure resulting in a stabbing headache, "You're fine." She yells, probably too loudly over the ringing in her ears, "Just do it again." She hears Ed, really she does, and eventually, "It's the slow killing that gets me. It'll get better when they're older," she manages. When the herd starts to move, so does Jorrth. He doesn't run straight for them. He starts to run with them. For Jorrth, there is no tripping on wings; they're too little, they're held too high, for that. His run is a bit jolting still, front to back, rocking him midair, but he's got speed at least. Even if when he tries to accelerate, he misreads the motion of the herd, and has to jump around into a stop. Those shaggy wings are shaken along with his head. The blue snorts. And T'mic... he massages at the fence with those big mits of his, and frowns. "Just want him to get his first one. Without getting hurt." The nanny is there again, in his voice. "This is just what dragons do," isn't quite as steady as the rest of it was. That plain muzzle and determined set of his eyes is all his rider sees before the brown is charging again, sending the animals to scatter in all different directions rather than move as a cohesive unit. He attempts to avoid a collision with the blue, perhaps narrowly missing as he charges after his beast. Trying for the throat this time instead, his teeth leave long gouges in flesh and the brown has too much momentum, carrying him past his wounded prey. Edyis grimaces again, watching the wounded animal limp off, "Will it?" Edyis murmurs to her friend watching the dragons now. "He'll do fine T'mic. Look at him, he seems to be having fun. Though... He does seem a bit confused as to which role he is supposed to be playing." She teases warmly. Eventually, the small predatory brown rights himself, shakes himself canine-like with some dust flying, some sticking, to his semi-oiled hide. Neianth pauses in the middle of the ring, taking a moment to take in Jorrth's positioning and Akluseth's. He turns and stalks swiftly to head off the group- to startle the leading animal who takes a sudden turn away from the fence towards the inner ring. What problems that may cause for his brothers? He didn't think it that far through. As the lead one is turned, he's off from zero to full speed like a switch turned on. This time, tiny muzzle gets close enough to sink pointed fangs into a hock, tearing tendon with his latch. The beast stumbles, he stumbles, and there's very shortly legs, wings, and a dust cloud rising. Keysi is very nearly over the fence at that, one boot on the lower rung. "Too much fun." She comments to both her fellow weyrlings. "He has a plan," T'mic says to Edyis, not exactly defensive, though there's a certain insistence in his tone. Jorrth, like Neianth, has looked over to his brothers, though the most of his attention remains on the movements of the herd. It's Akluseth whose side he comes down on, though, when the patterns of the beasts' run change. Still, when he goes back into the herd, he's running alongside a group that has become defined; but this time, it has the effect of clearing them away from that poor wounded beast that Akluseth has been steadily maiming. This time, when he stops and turns, it's to harry his brother's quarry back toward his brother. Because Neianth seems to have things under control. "I can see that." She murmurs watching as the animals are cleared making room for Akluseth's bone crunching pounce on the beast. The grim flinch says everything about the scribe's feeling on the subject. Even as the brown warbles after the little blue. Teamwork? Ok! He'll share then. Buddies do that right? still it's a merciful snap to the beasts neck that ends the struggling. "At least I've learned to tune him out." she says to the other weyrlings. There's a moment where Neianth's age shows painfully clear, beyond the stumbling and awkward attempts. Dust settles, Neianth appears unharmed, and the poor beast is flailing upon the ground unable to right itself. There is a moment of- What now?- that fortunately doesn't linger all too long, especially with direction given from His beyond the fence. A tear of the neck ends it, the beast stilled, Keysi calmed, all in the matter of its last breath. Keys lets out a sharp breath, "At least you won't always have to watch him." She adds, now at a more normalized volume. "They did well." Not that she's seen this.. until now.. but it seemed successful? It wasn't just the chase. Jorrth tried to shove the beast with his shoulder, and when he just bounced off, well, he got in a little bite. The blue's breathing is heavy now as he settles alongside Akluseth, shaking his wings and head again, groaning mightily, and fully expecting the ground will shake, though it doesn't. T'mic slowly, slowly, starts to release his grip on the fence. The wave of relaxation moves from hands to forearms to shoulders to neck, slowly, while Jorrth goes for his earned bite, without any actual request given to his brown brother. "Tune him out?" It's late, but he heard it. And it makes the blue weyrling frown, when he looks to Edyis. Akluseth makes room for the blue, continuing his meal. If either is still hungry after they can take down another surely! Edyis laughs, "Do you want to have the taste of raw herdbeast guts in your mouth?" There is a smile though as she watches Akluseth and Jorrth. "Seems like he figures out how to get along with others better than I do most days. Yes, not having to watch them will be nice." She offers to Keysi. "It is sort of overcast by the feeling of pleasure and victory." That may be an attempt at joke, or maybe it's just what she's getting from Neianth, but Keysi doesn't seem quite as offended at the thought of raw guts. Rather, the echo from Nei to her expression has her almost in a smile. Almost. The once-healer is doing far better at keeping him (almost) at bay. Neianth has mantled his wings possessively and protectively over his kill- seems he's not quite the teamplayer as his clutchbrothers and doesn't have any intention of changing that. "But," starts T'mic, looking more puzzled now than anything, "it doesn't taste like guts, when he's eating them." Oooh. Jorrth just got a ligament. « Crunchy, » is a happy observation shared with his brothers, once he's managed to get it properly between his teeth. It takes some chewing. « Snappy, » is a revision as he carries on that mastication. All T'mic's uncertainty is replaced by pride for Edyis' observation, and he turns fully back to cross his big forearms over the fence, and lean, and watch. "He always has been. Just natural for him, I guess. I think it makes sense, though. Because of how dragons are like a family?" Are they picking up what he's putting down? There is insidious warning in the form of vibrating, humming, wordless notes. The sonority is maybe F-minor, resonating and not withdrawing, and in its wake blooms beautiful violet, tinged with scarlet. Something wicked this way comes. (To nearby dragons from Aeaeth) It's not just Aeaeth's resonance that announces the pair. Shortly, Yesia makes an appearance, slightly in front of her dragon as per usual, and they are making a beeline for the feeding grounds. She's not chattering away, outwardly, but humming herself - an old harper's song, though she's not adding the lyrics. Near the gate, she stops, surveying her option of company. It's slim, and she sighs before deciding on a dismissive little, "Hello," as Aeaeth creeps into the pens. The green's beeline is not for any particular hobbled beast; it's for her siblings, and her long neck cranes to examine their kill, critical. « Which one of you got that? » It's not that Neianth doesn't know what to do at this point, but he still seems a little distracted, curious. His tiny slender face tilts raptor-like at the dead creature. No longer cut up into pieces is this. No, it's all his to do. And this isn't a problem. Just. Where to start? As apposed to where most dragons start, he takes the longest, hardest method of going at the ribcage- tearing off the slim overlying fat and meat and crunching down on the ribs as if to get at the best part beneath.. Aeaeth is almost ignored, especially considering Nei is somewhere off to the side with a smaller, single beast versus the team-work kill of his brothers. Whirling eye assesses her a moment before sending sense of greeting, ripples, far more coherent than the tumultuous mess they were before. The brownrider laughs brightly for that, "Maybe. He is so tiny though. It's like he knows he's adorable and loathe to do anything to threaten that adorableness." She comments of the blue; she watches Neianth then with a frown, her gaze going over to Keysi worriedly. "He's still the one in charge huh?" Yesia's approach is treated icily, in fact it is ignored all together. Fathomless oceans meet that trill key, creatures from the deep rise massive blue skin spotted and lined with white, moving along saltwater currents. « Team effort. » Akluseth offers with pride for his littler brother. « You should see Jorrth, it's like he is a herdbeast whisperer, they just listen to him. » Ok it may not be exactly what happened, but Akluseth is content with this observation. (To nearby dragons from Akluseth) T'mic gives a little nod, and runs his tongue over his teeth. "Yup. Still little." It's the voice of an unconcerned rider. "It's not like he doesn't want to hunt, though. He's just... small still. He knows. But he's got plans." Plans that T'mic doesn't take it upon himself to disclose, it seems. « Both of us, » confirms Jorrth. « Akluseth wounded him first. I helped run him down. It was a problem, but we worked it out. And now it's just tasty. » There's pride there, shared pride. T'mic does acknowledge Yesia, with his usual easy smile sent her way. Icy receptions are nothing to the ice queen, and Edyis gets nothing in return for what she presents. Well, almost nothing. The greenrider does spare a smug look for Edyis' shorn hair, which has become a trend. It is unlikely to be the satisfaction of equal treatment. Yesia won't exclude the brownrider, though, no. That would be too easy. She settles into a place right near the group, closest to Edyis, somewhere her presence will be niggling, even as she graces T'mic with an easy, bright smile. "They're sharing. How...cute." It's not withering, not exactly, but it is accompanied by a raise of the brows that says she thinks it's a poor reflection on someone, and that reflection is mirrored in Aeaeth, who withdraws, saying, « Oh, » in somewhat disappointed tones. She'll slink back, then, with a questioning glance back at Yesia before she lopes awkwardly towards the beasts. It's a porcine that catches her attention: squat and low and fat. She is down like a feline, stalking carefully. She'll do this alone, apparently. "He is." But there's something about Keysi's reply that is unconcerned, even if it isn't disclosed with her level tones. "But we are working through it. That there," And she dips her head towards the event that just occurred, "Was a test. We didn't quite pass it, but it went better than I expected." There's a hiss from somewhere inside the ring, muffled as it may be with a mouthful of bones and- oh Neianth is thrilled when he finally has a hole big enough to pull the heart out. What a wonderful thing, this! Especially so warm and- "G'morning." Afternoon, evening? Whatever, Keys never really had a good grasp on the time of day, but at least it's offered in Yesia's general direction. Keysi's answer draws concern in Ed's expression, dark eyes shifting to the smaller brown. Still it's as though Yesia doesn't even exist, even when she settles on the railing next to the brownrider. Akluseth is happy to be eating his own food. "Less worried now?" She offers T'mic with a warm smile. "It's cute now," says T'mic, suddenly thoughtful, and speaking more slowly. "It could be useful later, though. If they know how to work together, you know?" There's an encouraging note at the end of that question, and yup, it's directed at Yesia, earnestly and happily. If there's ice between the other two, the young man seems to be generally unaware of it. Keysi garners his attention next. Hopefully nothing bad happens off to his side, without his supervision. "He's still just little," he admits. "Until he's bigger than they are... I'm glad he got one, though." The porcine is an idiot, but not too stupid to know when it's in deep trouble. It squeals at Aeaeth and takes off like a shot, surprisingly fast with those little legs, and Aeaeth uncoils, springs on it...misses spectacularly, no better than anyone else despite what either of the greenpair might believe. Somehow, that's still not enough to convince Yesia that T'mic's words are entirely correct. "Maybe," she says eventually, reluctant. "But I doubt it. We don't have to fight Thread, and except for wing drills I feel like I never see the other wings working together on a task. And the drills are just traditional." She hmms softly, thoughtful. "At least someone can make the effort to get along, though. Sometimes I think -- oh, baby, no." That last is in a completely different tone, coddling and certainly not part of the previous sentence. It's for Aeaeth, who stumbles in her toddleresque hurry and plants her muzzle directly into the ground with a sharp and pained sound. At once she's trying to right herself, planting her bottom and settling like a dog, shaking that wedge-shaped head to clear it. Keysi doesn't seem willing to give details, her stern expression, intense as it used to be and amplified by her lifemate, is all that she shows. Storm grey eyes watch Neianth eat as if it's as amazing as the birth of a newborn- or just that side effect of watching something gruesome and being unable to look away. "They did well." Is she repeating herself? Probably, she's distracted enough to, but at least she isn't angry. "They could-" She's cut off by Yesia's comments. And, although she should know better than to be annoyed by Yesia now, the once-healer turns her strict grey eyes upon her, "Then you aren't watching close enough. Especially in the interval, they're getting more creative. And team building is actually a thing." It's said shortly, but not angrily by any means. "The whole Weyr is supposed to be a team." Neianth rises up on his kill, wings spreading to drape over the length of the small, old beast as if protecting it from Aeaeth as her travels in attempts for hunting may pass by. It's a harsh chortle that follows « Desire help? » "It is important, especially in the search and rescue wings where they have to fly tricky maneuvers." Stupid trick flying blues. Ahem. The words directed at Keysi and T'mic, but her expression becomes genuinely concerned when the little green takes a nose dive. Clearly Yesia doesn't deserve acknowledgement but poor Aeaeth is just stuck with her same as the rest of the weyrlings. "Is she ok?" Because making sure, the green is ok is more important than ignoring Yesia. Now that Jorrth's beast is down, T'mic is more willing to watch the other dragons. To watch Aeaeth. "A team, and a family," comes as agreement to Keysi's comment, as the bluerider happily joins in the conversation. "That's why they all screamed like they did, when Hraedhyth died." Someone has been paying attention to his lessons in local history, in ranking members, in all these things. Though the mention of it still makes him uneasy, has him shifting in his position up against the fence. "Anyway, we're all better off when we're together, really. Not just because of like... tricks and Thread and things, not only." Yesia's not quite going to climb over the railing to her dragon, and indeed seems to be watching her with a critical eye for reactions, like she half expects tears. But Aeaeth's just shaking her head, back and forth, a motion that belies, « Yes, » for Neianth's offer, then in sudden sharp trills of correction, « No! Mine says I can do it alone. I can, » she assures, righting herself and trying to hone in on her porcine again. "She's fine," is the parallel, concern quickly forgotten when Aeaeth proceeds. Yesia's nonchalant shrug shows exactly how little she cares for Keysi's and T'mic's interpretation, and her overall willingness to accept it. "It's just something to do while they're bored, those drills." Or at least that's how she sees it, in whatever ignorant state she chooses to exist. "The dragons don't need to be taughtt; they know their places, and their jobs, and their riders. Drills are for us." The twitch in Edyis's jaw, almost imperceptible but there. Where were the weyrlingmasters when you actually needed them. Akluseth's lift of his muzzle and regard of the little green at her assertion. « There is nothing wrong with needing help Aeaeth. Even if yours is too stubborn to think so. » Gentle and warm, those seawater currents offer. The last is likely bleedover from his rider's thoughts rather than his own. His tail flicking. « What do you think Jorrth? If all three of us work together? » Since he's the one with the plans. It's clear with Ed's comment of that particular skill of wings where Keysi's interests have not faded, and perhaps have grown since when she was unsure of everything. With how she turns her gaze away and just.. allows that small turn of lips that hints at what wants to be a smile, but never is. And dissolves just as quick. She watches the young dragons, allowing her attention to follow Aeaeth since she certainly doesn't need to watch Neianth to know everything that he's doing, sensing, feeling. "It isn't." Is persisted, though her tone is devoid of anything but calm, "Having wings is far more useful than sending a horde of Holders out on foot to find someone, or to gather supplies in emergency, or transport.." She trails off, a hand lifted whether dismissively or to just mark that she could go on forever, it's unclear. "You think that they can do anything from day one? Just like a prize fighter throws the best punch the first day he steps on a mat?" Neianth just watches, « If that is what you wish. » Comes his cryptic response, a light amount of sarcastic humor to its presence, shared with his brothers as well. Jorrth has at least gotten good at eating meat off carcasses. Perhaps he's had enough, the way he takes a final mouthful, and then backs away, turns around, and starts wandering, slowly and purposefully (as the sleepiness that always sets in after mealtimes threatens) to see just what it is Aeaeth's up to. It's curiosity, surely. Only that. His attentions can be felt, smelled with that sun-fur presence of his. Even when Akluseth's words distract him, and have him pause. « This one's different, » is all Jorrth has at the moment. He's watching again. Though Neianth's words earn a bit of that mental touch too. All being considered. T'mic, he's squinting a little after Yesia. "It's not... teaching so much... It's... practice." « Don't laugh at me. » Aeaeth's voice is sharp and taught, accompanied by the discordant twang of a lute string snapping. Red, it's red, embarrassed and annoyed and overall torn, her head swinging around to dispassionate Yesia and back to her porcine. A small nod from the greenrider: go on. « She knows I can do it, that's why she wants me to. And...and she's not stubborn, don't be mean. Stop distracting me, please. » Yesia's look for T'mic is pity, the way someone looks at a dog that's licking a rock. "For Thread we won't have to fight," she says again, like she's explaining a complicated fact to a small child. And for Keysi's rebuttal? "Don't be an idiot. Of course I don't think that. I mean in their hearts, they know. If...if someone else died today, our dragons, I bet they would make that sound. Even though they never had to. They don't need to be taught the important things, like how they relate." Her sigh is long suffering Those are Pass drills, Keysi. They're not going to help find people. They definitely didn't help when Azaylia got -" and she chokes there, slightly; she'd been just as useless, but that's a different point. "No silly formation would have put that fire out fast enough. I'm not saying we won't be better at some things, obviously, but we're...artifacts." Something changes in Akluseth's stance, he's eating still but also watching Aeaeth, and seems to be finishing his meal quickly. Edyis's jaw twitches visibly this time; dark eyes fixed on the green rather than the rider though her knuckles go white against the railing. She looks to J'vain as though expecting the assistant to have heard this, or to have said something. Because this isn't right. Not one bit. "There was no saving her." Is Keysi's response, and it's perhaps unsettling how unmoved, how level she remains. She knows, and she knows that Yesia does too, that it had nothing to do with dragons. "There's avoidable things, and unavoidable. Negilence and ignorance will get you far. As far as any blind-following wingrider." The bluntness of her words is probably the result of Yesia's inappropriate given example. But she never looks at her, just continues to look past her. Neianth is full. Perhaps too full, but that doesn't mean he's yet willing to give up his kill. Whitened talons still grip into flesh, and although he was enjoying watching Aeaeth learn, he and Keysi are too intuned to each other for him to miss out on the rapid change in atmosphere along the fence line. Bloodied muzzle shows reddened teeth in the weyrlings' general direction- the manifestation of the displeasure Keys doesn't show herself. Maybe, J'vain feels that it's good for weyrlings to talk this sort of thing out between themselves, to make up their own minds. Maybe he's more worried about what's going to happen to Aeaeth and that pig. "But Thread's going to come back, some day." Haven't they all been told this? "That's why there's still teaching songs and everything about all the old stuff." Eloquent, it's not, but let it never be said that T'mic's not sincere. He looks to where Jorrth has turned his head and is proceeding, still, toward that porcine, a wide arc from where Aeaeth is. Softer, as talk of Azaylia continues, "I wasn't even there for it." Perhaps offered as a reason for his keeping out of this end of discussion. "Me and Faryn were..." He shakes his head. 'Cause maybe it doesn't matter anyway. Edyis twitches more, but there's a look to the green, and a reluctant departure from the corral. As she takes Akluseth and heads in the direction of the lake. "Shards the teaching songs," Yesia says in something of an undertone to avoid any wrath J'vain might have for her outward scorn of their learnings. At a normal volume, "Well, you go ahead and tell me how it works when you live almost a hundred years, and you and Jorrth are too toothless to do anything to help. My point," she stresses, "is exactly that we can't do anything about things that are inevitable. Artifacts. Glorified artifacts with wings." She looks out at Aeaeth, perhaps not as tightly connected to her lifemate as Keysi seems to be. There is something to be said for the way her eyes soften, her brow creasing a little with the expression as she watches Aeaeth prowl again, and her pounce the second time is better, more controlled, but still certainly too wide. The pig squeals and darts, directly at Jorrth without realizing his proximity; Aeaeth, mid-leap, adjusts by snapping her wings out, an act that is probably not wise, especially if Yesia's sudden twitch of the shoulder is any indication. The green dragon hits the ground hard, landing with a sound that will one day be a rumble of annoyance. There's a long space of silence that follows Yesia's illogical statements, as if Keysi is uncertain she should bother replying. It would probably be wise not to, but still... It's T'mic that brings around the better point that she ends up adding to. "Although it is probably safest for your genes to not continue down through the generations, for the rest of us, it may not be our generation that needs to care, but harper songs cannot convey everything. These things we carry on will save lives. If not now, then theirs, later." The comment on artifacts most certainly gets no reply. Keys meets gaze with Neianth who lets up on his relentless snarl and returns to protecting his kill from the so-many who apparently wish to steal it. A visual aide in Keysi shrugging off the annoyance Yesia had brought. "No," says T'mic, and leaves his disagreement just right there, at that, and the burden of further argument to Keysi. Even though his abstaining comes with a sort of knowing one that maybe he's not entitled to, but that he makes anyway. And that pig. When that pig comes squealing at him, Jorrth tries again what he'd tried with the herdbeast, and dips into a hard shoulder-check. Only this animal is much smaller than the last one, and it almost kind of works! The pig falls over at any rate. Those shaggy little wings get an excited flick. And then he jumps. Yup. Caught up in the thrill, Jorrth's gonna stomp it. Poor Aeaeth. If ever there was displaced anger, it's in Aeaeth's, « You stole it, » as Jorrth catches and summarily squishes her meal. She's pained - and not all of it from that tweaked wing. It comes on ice-cold white-blue, and is surrounded by too many sounds to be anything but cacophonous - like someone has dropped an entire crate of loud percussions in the middle of a discordant symphony. The sounds undulate and tear. « Mine was right, you are all awful. » And on the fence, Yesia, too, looks angry. She turns her vicious eyes on T'mic, any argument for or against their training and new purpose lost in her, "Why did you let him do that?" Keysi turns from the fence, facing Yesia directly. She herself makes no change, but in general she has a threatening demeanor, made far worse with Neianth's multiplying intensity just behind those grey eyes of hers. It's fortunate that the conversation is distracted and thusly discontinued. The young brown himself leaps over and away from his kill, appeased to be painted in blood, and stalks with a long, loping stride towards the fence and out of it once permitted by the assistant weyrlingmaster beside them. He rubs his head along her leg, itchy, and smearing the blood on her as well. The once-healer hardly seems to notice, her hand falling to rub his stained face. That pig squeals when Jorrth lands, but it's not quite dead yet. And this is where Jorrth stops, with a screaming pig and a screaming sister and a look of confused apology. He steps back, and paws at the ground, and snorts. « Kill it. » It's more a question than a command, but it's urgent suddenly, the more that creature goes on. T'mic at least is partially distracted by Yesia's accusations. "I didn't- it just happened fast. He was just- it-" And then, paling a bit. "Is she going to do it?" Keysi, the gore, it's all missed. Aeaeth is fast. She's so fast it's alarming, darting in and not particularly caring if she knocks her brother ass-over-teakettle in her annoyance, or in her eagerness to reclaim what is rightfully hers. Her first kill is not a pretty one - the pig's still squealing when she puts it's head in her mouth and crunches it all at once. Gore. Everywhere. And she shares the sensation with everyone she can, gore being the theme: brain matter and blood between her teeth and on her tongue. "You're supposed to control him, you dimglow. Otherwise, what good are --" Yesia's fury is lost in the sensation. She turns green around the gills, paler than she already is, and shudders unpleasantly. She might be ready to puke on T'mic's shoes. Thumb and forefinger run over smallish muzzle to eyeridges where the stay. And then Keysi's hand lifts and scratches her own head. She said she was doing better, and yet now there is blood smeared across her forehead as well as she misinterprets his intense eyeridge itch for her own eyebrow. There's a silent correction that comes from the brown- at least they're working together on this- as he shoves his head into her side, pushing her forwards a step. "We're going, we're going." Neianth isn't one to enjoy grooming routine, but once it's needed, it's needed and it needs to be done so the rest of their day can continue. There's something of enjoyment as the last of Keysi's views is Yesia turning pale. There's a smirk, there is, but Keys turns herself away before it can be seen and starts heading back towards the barracks with her draconic shadow right behind her. It's Neianth who fills in the gap of verbalizing their depature, as ripples receed, calming, smoothing into a reflective freshwater pool that becomes so still it fades into nothingness besides his weighty, remaining presence, « Enjoy. » Jorrth doesn't topple, because he's trying to get out of the way. But he gets hit, and he stumbles, and once he manages to right himself, it's with a shimmy of his wings and a shake of his head. Those same wings are folded back, flat, against his back, and it's a quick march toward T'mic now. « I'm sorry, » is honest, and he leaves Aeaeth with her prize. « I hope it's good. » Her prize that he helped down. T'mic, bless his heart, is even after all that accusation reaching a hand for Yesia's shoulder, even if he's grimacing some. Blood and brains from not-Jorrth, even if perhaps via him, are not so enjoyable, it seems. "You okay?" Yep. She's going to barf. Aeaeth is not being helpful at all, her tongue lapping into the gaping hole she's crunched through the pig's skull, and she announces, ever so pleasant, « It's the best part, » and all the sensory input is continuous now. It would be just for Yesia, but for some reason it's everyone. Share the love. « I will, » she assures, sassy and unapologetic, even while Yesia takes very deep breaths, very slow breaths, and then T'mic reaches out to touch her and she recoils, batting his hand, all of it enough to send her over the edge. When she leaves it's at a run towards the bowl, though the chances she'll make it to the barracks are obviously very slim. Aeaeth? She makes the second most important choice of her life and keeps eating, sparing only a brief and worried glance in Yesia's wake. T'mic and Jorrth are thus... left there. The little blue gets to his rider's side, curling his tail around the back of T'mic's knees as he arrives, and then, passes. J'vain looks to T'mic. T'mic looks to J'vain. The weyrlingmaster gives a little nod of his head after Yesia, and the bluerider nods. « We'll make sure she's okay, » Jorrth promises, as they head back toward the barracks. |
Comments
Alida (20:37, 6 May 2015 (EDT)) said...
Jorrth's such a sweetie. Always enjoyable watching weyrling pairs on their first kills! ;D
T'mic (11:11, 7 May 2015 (EDT)) said...
You know, there was a conversation about how Jorrth could probably make even Alida and Leova and H'kon and H'vier smile, given the opportunity. Well, okay, Alida, Leova and H'kon... not sure on H'vier. That may take all his adorable skills.
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