Logs:Baby Dragon Temper Tantrum
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| RL Date: 9 September, 2011 |
| Who: E'gin, K'del, Riorde |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: No gliding for baby dragons because of the rain. Sforzath has a temper tantrum. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 9, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Heavy, driving rain makes everything a wet and muddy mess today. |
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| Judging by the way Sforzath wrecks havoc in the mud, barreling this way and that with a maelstrom of physical frustration that sends mud clumps flying (preferably onto other dragons), the little brown isn't having a good day. He tantrums loudly, vociferously, a lava flow of aggravation in violent smoke-heavy reds that flares with a loud, persistent pulse. Headache causing; Riorde has a pinched, strained expression as she follow him as he storms around, now turning towards Cadejoth and his bigger brother with every intention of splattering mud all over them. "Sforzath, stop," she says for the millionth time, for all the good it does. It might have taken some encouraging from E'gin but Vysravth makes his way towards the bronze - and the mud. «It is sticky...What is fun about it?» A heavy talon is dipped into a puddle with some trepidation. The boy listens to the weyrleader quietly for a moment, his gaze on the 'frolicking' dragons. "I apprecia..." But his words stop mid sentence as chunks of mud fly through the air splattering across his pale brown's hide, giving Vysravth the appearance of poka-dots, he gasps to choke back the laughter. Vys isn't pleased, «Watchit!» A glance to Riorde and E'gin offers a greeting, "Ri? Everything okay?" « It goes /squish/, » explains Cadejoth, as if this should make everything crystal clear. More like clear as mud. If he intended to say more on the subject, that's postponed as he adds, gloryingly, « Oy! You're not supposed to do that, Sforzath. Let me get you first! » He'll try and flick some more mud at the brown, too. K'del makes a face as the mud goes flying, but whatever his feelings about Riorde, it's sympathy that he aims towards the weyrling. "You look /awful/," he says, simply. What answer Sforzath gives is inchoate: plumes of billowing ash, a sulphuric stink. A little more mud courtesy of Cadejoth doesn't bother him in the least; he's already filthy. Having made his first pass, Sforzath swerves round to have a second go and redoubles his efforts to dirty the other dragons, a contemptuously see-here, you think you can tell me what to do attitude. "Sforzath!" Riorde yells this time, coming to a halt by the other two, her waning energy initially targeted at her dragon. Then: "Sorry." It has an automatic sense about it, along with her chagrin. Her glance goes to K'del, accompanied by a grimace -- doesn't she know it -- but it's E'gin she replies to verbally. "He wanted to fly today." Well, if you can't be 'em join 'em right? Or at least make them /think/ you've joined them until you can -destroy- them. Vysravth turns his backside to his clutchmate and the bronze. Half-heartedly flicking little bits of mud into the air, his tail (if one is watching closely) twitches every now and then, waiting, biding its time. Until just as Sforzath is making is second pass, the larger brown's tail lifts and slams against a puddle of mud. « Like that? » Vys asks innocently, as he watches his handy work sail through the air. "Yah, Vys been asking to do that since week one." E'gin smile lopsidely at Riodre and their shared experience. "Then some gold showed him what it was like, in his mind, now he just dreams about it, but he hasn't tried since." « /That/, » says Cadejoth to Sforzath, adding in the sharp crack of a metallic whip - an order, nothing less. « Is quite enough of that. Sit still, Sforzath. » It means he's not really prepared for Vysravth's tail-slamming: mud rains down, though at least Cadejoth is big enough that it doesn't go /everywhere/. Despite the seriousness he showcases for Sforzath, there's a twitch of amusement for the other brown. « Like that, » he agrees, solemn. "Yeah, guess Meara thought better of gliding today?" K'del's glance skywards is apologetic; he must intended to aim it towards the weyrlings, though. As if he has control over the weather. "Maybe it'll clear by tomorrow. Pretty soon they'll be doing /real/ flying." Vysravth's efforts drench Riorde's brown, but he's already a disaster and cares not a whit. if anything, there's a brief surge of satisfaction for his disruptive influence. But with Cadejoth's command, Sforzath comes to a sudden and abrupt halt, forced into obedience. It doesn't mean he's cowed, though. His smoky presence turns into a muskier shroud intended to cloak the quieter, more sullen throb of resistance. He affects indifference in a complete about-face: « What? » Riorde looks grateful that someone's managed to stop her dragon's rampage when she couldn't; control doesn't appear to be her strong point. "He doesn't like having to wait," she confides, statement applicable both to today's no-gliding and tomorrow's short flight. Vysravth is above the influence, at least he likes to think so, concerned now only with perfecting his technique. He sits, quietly, curling his tail around himself, considering the water, which is re-gathering where he had previously cleared it. «Do you think that if it was hit at an angle it would go farther?» In the distance a machine awakens, groaning to life. E'gin watches his exile clutchmate with a nod, "I tried to stay one step ahead of him, it is easier to stop them before they get started, eventually he got use to listening." A slow grin spreads across his face, "Took a while to get the hang of it though..." She knows. There's a twist of metal chains, just out of reach, evidently intended to encourage Sforzath into a /game/, and not a tantrum. Cadejoth sends more mud about, too, answering Vysravth with a thoughtful: « Maybe. Probably. You could give it a try! » "Most of them don't, at that age. It's-- hard. Learning to control them." K'del's trying not to look at Riorde too much; he's probably afraid of pissing her off by accident. "It all takes a long time to get used to - practice helps, eventually. Cadejoth used to drive me mad, but we worked it out, eventually." Where Sforzath was riotous before, now he's still, gathering an almost eerie calm. Cadejoth's flicked chain garners a lightening bolt flash of perception, quick-quick, closely attentive despite an overall pretense to have wearied with them all. With Sforzath's incensed temper reined in, Riorde has attention to spare, and now she lifts both hands to her temples, drawing tight circles to combat what can only be a pounding headache. "Some days are better than others." Riorde won't be thought a total failure. "I think we all feel that way." E'gin runs a hand through his sopping hair, as soon as it is through it clings back against the skin of his face. In the middle of the driving rain Vysravth raises his tail, yet again, a few slow practice swings before the battering ram of a tail is smashed against the ground at a steepe angle. A mud tidal wave flies off the right of the dragons. « Interesting. » Large gears begin to turn behind the twisted chains. "I'm sure the good days get closer and closer together as time goes on...probably comes with more sleep too." Cadejoth's got an eye on Sforzath, for all that calm: his tail goes flick, flick, flick in the mud. The rest of his attention is on Vysravth and that tidal wave of mud-- which seems to excite him no end. « Look at that! It's so pretty. K'del says it can't be, because it's mud, but we know better, right? And after mud... /baths/. » "Mm, that seems the way of it," is K'del's agreement; there's a hint of fond memory to it, as though he's recalling his own weyrlinghood days. "At least once they're more reliably in the air it keeps them busier. That helps, I think. Gives them more to focus on. Formations, too." "A full night's sleep," Riorde echoes, allowing herself a moment to be wistful. "I've forgotten what that's like." Then she drops her hands and straightens perceptibly, shoulders thrown back as she marches towards Sforzath and quite possibly into battle. At least she times it after Vysravth's tail smack and manages to avoid a mud bath. "Right, you. Time for a bath," she declares in unwitting echo of Cadejoth. She nudges Sforzath with her toe, which propels him into movement that coincides with a sharp, twanging flick of Cadejoth's chains. Bright anticipation: did he see it coming? Did he, did he? "See you later," she calls back, probably to E'gin; K'del's inclusion is an effect of proximity. "It will happen, I'm sure." E'gin says, while shaking his head at Vysravth. A hand it raised as the girl walks off, "Later." He smiles slightly, the smaller brown already seems a little more under control. He glances sideways at K'del, "It will all get better with time." A reassurance for the sleeplessness of weyrlinghood, and whatever the weyrlingmaster must be going through. "When do they start really flying? I mean I know the 'answer' on paper, but really." K'del's brow furrows, watching after Riorde, but he doesn't do much more than nod in her direction before his attention goes back to E'gin. "It /will/ happen," he confirms. "And sooner rather than later." He wipes rain off of his face again, but doesn't, ultimately, seem too concerned by the weather: once you're wet through already... "Soon, I think. They must be nearly three months old? It sort of starts after that. Looking like he does, too, reckon he'd probably be /ready/ to fly sooner rather than later. So that's good." |
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