Log: Dragonwashing
May. 2nd, 2012 08:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citlaliIt's currently late spring on the northern continent.
The Starsmiths say it is the 19th Turn, 6th month, and 17th day of the 10th Pass.
“I missed a spot.” The words, deadpan, fall from D’yce’s lips. “I just /started/. I’ll go back and get all the missed spots, Mr. Perfectionist.” The brownrider mutters, hints of a smile appearing as he contemplates. “And if you’re not careful, I’ll let Squirt help.” The little green firelizard already helping him scrub the firestone and thread-dust out of Chironath’s hide doesn’t like that idea at all. And she chitters nervously, making a sound that’s suspiciously like pleading. A sound that apparently he’s immune to, because he makes no comment on it. The trio of them are all at the lakeshore with bucket and brush and oil all laid out.
While it's officially not an /assigned/ chore to wash dragons, Citlali -- who is just on her way out of a first-aid lesson -- spots a familiar brownrider attempting to clean Chironath, the dragon who apparently liked her, and her eyes light up. Her actual assigned chore? Trash duty. Washing a dragon? Better. So she redirects her walking, which was initially just going to pass by the lake, to head right in that direction and call out, "Need help?"
Picking up on the sound of a familiar voice, it’s the darkly shaded brown who turns his head first towards Citlali. “Well, Chironath certainly thinks I do.” D’yce replies, the sound of his voice muffled since he’s clear on the other side of the dragon-obstacle. “Go ahead and grab a brush if you can stand the smell of firestone. And no, you never get used to it. The stuff is just rank.” A rumble is apparently what passes for ‘welcome’. “What pressing duty are you dragging yourself away from to help with this?”
"Something equally rank," Citlali starts, but once she gets closer and actually /smells/ firestone, she gags a little bit. Silently, but the expression's there. "Okay, so I thought it was equally rank. Trash duty." It seems that regardless of how much she can't tolerate the firestone smell, she's deciding to help D'yce out anyway; she picks up a brush and wields it thoughtfully. "Gotta get used to it, though, just in case, right? Firestone smell and the dragon washing? Greens are smaller than him, though."
“Trash duty sucks. So does latrine duty though. Well, pretty much all the candidate chores suck. Except maybe helping out in the infirmary. “ Dayce comments, his own candidacy aversion to physical chores clearly displayed. “When you ask around, the whole reason seems to revolve around two things: making sure you appreciate all the work that support staff does. And being an equalizer. You know, everyone bands together because they all think the chores are mean. And there’s no exceptions. /Everyone/ does the shitty chores.” No pun intended. Really. On the plus side, expounding on his vast knowledge – harhar – means that he’s not thinking about the fact that he’s talking to a /girl/. And so he doesn’t stutter. “And Queens are larger. Think you can get the spot right under his wing joint over there? He’s whining. Says it’s itchy.” Smirk. Chironath never whines, so the rider’s muted chortle obviously means he’s getting in trouble for saying that. Still, the brown helpfully lifts his wing out of the way.
"Well. I'm not going to be a goldrider." Citlali is extremely firm in this conviction -- so much so, even, that any gold dragonet who tried to come near her would probably run in the other direction for how clearly she /doesn't/ want that weyrwoman's knot. "If anything, it'll be green. Everyone knows that. I'm a fairly typical greenrider, so I hear." Even if maybe she doesn't actually know what that means so clearly. It's what she's heard and what people have been telling her. "I'll do my best," she adds, as regards the itchy spot under Chironath's wing -- at least a wing joint is easy to find even if you're not an expert in dragon anatomy. "Thank you, Chironath, for your assistance in my access."
At the apparent firm conviction that she’s going to wind up a greenrider if anything, D’yce finds himself peering down from atop Chironath at Citlali. A quizzical expression sported on his face. “Do I dare ask what all of you think a ‘typical greenrider’ is? And while I’m at it, what’s a typical bronze, blue, and brownrider? Are you categorizing people like we do stars at the smithhall?” He wonders, trying unsuccessfully to hide some amusement. And at the same time, Chiro heaves a sigh of relief when the itchy spot is attacked with a brush.
Only mildly started as the dragon actually /exhales noisily/ while she is under his wing -- maybe Citlali hasn't quite gotten used to Weyr life yet after all -- she keeps scrubbing until it actually appears to be firestone-free. "Is firestone actually itchy?" she asks Chironath directly, before looking back up to talk to D'yce. "Well. Um." Pause. Scrub. "What I've heard is like. Greenriders are girly, like me, or if they're guys they're at least a little effeminate? Bronzeriders are bold, brash leader-types. Brownriders are the strong types, brainy. Blueriders are kind of like brownriders except more talkative and flexible." Someone has taught Citlali stereotypes, all right.
“Nah, not usually. That’s just one of his normal itchy spots.” D’yce comments, answering for the brown since obviously he can’t reply back directly. “And when the ash and dust from thread get in there it’s even worse.” And he’s focusing on another one of those buildup spots when Cit recites verbatim the stereotypes; it forces a groan out of him. “I should have known. You really don’t want to go around telling people that. I mean, Merci is a brownrider and she’s more on the bold and brash side. And at Ista… man, you don’t want to tell Tia she’s just all girly. Or Kyraceth, her green.” He winces. Preemptively feeling the boot up the arse that would get someone. “And U’rr… another brownrider? Totally nuts.” None of this is likely reassuring. “So really, dragons are just like people. Different personalities that you have no idea about just by looking at the outside.”
"I'm only saying," Citlali defends herself rather blandly, not seeming to have much gumption behind the defense, "what other people told /me/; we've not been getting lessons in dragon psychology." She doesn't sound angry, though, so much as standing up for herself not knowing any better. "I mean, most of what I know about dragons I know from bedtime stories or from watching. I met Merci, though. I liked her." She's moving to other parts of Chironath's wing without much consideration, assuming he'll correct her if she mis-steps. Whether 'he' is human or dragon is up for discussion. "Never been to Ista, though."
“And I’m just saying…” Again, the voice is muffled since he’s back to scrubbing some part of Chironath that is on the other side and opposide end of the dragon… “What you’ve heard isn’t true. They really should have a class on dragonrider myths or something. I can just imagine –that- lesson.” Even the brown snorts at that, turning whirling eyes on the candidate as if to fathom for himself what color dragon should approach her. “Ista’s very different. At least with the weather. It’s nearly always hot and humid, and there’s a rainy monsoon season. Different florals and fruits grow there. And almost all the food is seafood. At least it feels that way.”
After wing-washing slowly turns to leg-scrubbing -- or maybe not so slowly -- Citlali pipes up with, "And maybe you should be the one to teach it." He's got a journeyman rank, right? He's got experience teaching? "I like fruit. And seafood. But hot and humid not so much -- or rain, really, I think I'll pass on that too."
“Me? Shards no. Do the research for it, sure. Teach it? They’d have to tie me to a chair at the front of the room and force me.” D’yce mutters, just loud enough to hear. “I’m much better at keeping my nose in books and charts then dealing with people.” The sound of a tail smacking into something is immediately met with an “Ow! As if you’re one to talk. All broody and grunty.” One gets the impression they have this argument often. Whatever the argument is. “I hadn’t seen snow in turns before I transferred here. “ he changes the topic. Quickly.
"Only mildly more pleasant than rain," Citlali offers her opinion of snow in a rather distant-sounding voice; aloof, if anything. "Definitely better than a monsoon, though. Given those options I will take snow." She's not /really/ laughing at the exchange between D'yce and Chironath, the grumbling, the tail smack -- but she looks like she wants to, which is why it's a good thing the brownrider can't actually see her.
Dayce can’t see her, but Chironath can. Which is why he sends another rumble at her, resting his muzzle on the ground nearby so he can snort some warm air her way. It really is kind of like a grunt. “Don’t you be encouraging him! He’s already got a big enough ego and is stubborn enough to never change his mind.” Done now, with that other side, he leans against some of the expansive brown hide. “I can finish up here, if you’re done laughing.”
"I wasn't!" Citlali defends herself -- she totally wasn't. She just really, really looked like she wanted to. At least the dragon thinks it's amusing. "And -- I mean, if you want. I don't mind helping. It's kind of a nice chore, really." Chironath was making a positive impression on her, at least; this was the closest she'd been to a dragon, as far as she could tell.
“Close enough.” Without rancor, D’yce offers the retort. “And he wouldn’t be nearly so amused at my expense if he weren’t convinced.” But if she wants to continue with the washing, then he’ll wait, with arms folded casually. “It lets you get used to being around ‘em. That and the egg touching. They have you all working on your robes yet?”
"Um -- no, should they?" Citlali actually almost looks worried. She looks around the corners of worried, the edges just starting to sink in a little bit. "It's going to be a while yet, is what I've heard. And things are shaken up. With -- what happened." She never met Fort's Weyrwoman. She can't have a proper word to say, and anything she /might/ say is somehow uncomfortable anyway. "I liked the egg touching I was at, though. Most people came out shaken. Naamiah was crying, some of them were so strange and frightening -- mine were nice."
D’yce shrugs. “Some people wrap a sheet around themselves at the last minute from what I saw. Course, then they trip on the way to the sands That’s embarrassing. Or they wait too long and make it too short or too long or too big…” All sort of embarrassing things happen! Isn’t he reassuring? His eyes dart away at the mention of Eleni’s death, then down. They don’t really gaze back up either. Not yet. “They’re an … unusual experience.” Some apparent unspoken communication takes place again, the former starsmith staring long at his lifemate before asking, “Anyone seen anything unusual since what happened? Handling the extra security alright?”
Citlali doesn't have to think very long, at least, to be able to say, "No. Not that I know of. It's -- not too bad, but I guess I didn't have much time to get used to it /not/ being so -- secure." If that's the right word for it. She seems to think it is, anyway. As for thinking about robes, and wrapping sheets around herself? She appears to be trying very hard not to do that. Chironath's paw is getting very clean.
Being that Dayce isn’t exactly the best there is at, you know, small talk… there’s an awkward silence that ensues. One filled with his glancing between the girl and the dragon. And then out at the lake. And then maybe up at the sky… before he clears his throat trying to think of something else to say. “Right, well. Thanks for your help. Hopefully things’ll get back to normal before the hatching.”
"You're -- welcome." Awkward silences are hard for Citlali to break, so at least D'yce did it for her; it only made continuing to speak mildly easier, but it was, at least, something. "I'm happy to. Anytime. And I hope they do; I'm not sure I've gotten to learn what 'normal' here actually looks like."
“Sure. Chironath says he welcomes your help.” The words are polite, if a bit stilted. “You should head back now. To the barracks or wherever. And thanks, again.” Now that the washing is done, he can just pick up buckets and brush and attach them to the brown’s riding straps. “We’re just going to…” D’yce looks up at the sky, then. “Rest while. Good luck on the sands if I don’t see you.” And then he and his awkward are gone!
The Starsmiths say it is the 19th Turn, 6th month, and 17th day of the 10th Pass.
The Beach!
This thin strip of cozy sand lines the southwestern rim of the Weyr, leading from the cave-in northward almost to the fence of the feeding pens, where the lake carves out some water for the herdbeasts. Cliff to one side, water to the other, there's no direct Bowl access other than by air or through the lake itself; thus, particularly in colder weather, it's often a good, quiet place to think. In warmer weather, however, relaxing (and drying off) on the beach proves to be a delightful pastime, serenaded by the assorted bugles and splashes of dragonkin reveling in the lake. At the end opposite the herdbeasts, the sand becomes a little grassy, with even a clump here and there. Some intrepid weyrfolk have chipped out handholds in the rock, where cliff meets water, angling up and up again above the lake.
It is a spring afternoon. The sky's a clear, gloriously vibrant blue.
“I missed a spot.” The words, deadpan, fall from D’yce’s lips. “I just /started/. I’ll go back and get all the missed spots, Mr. Perfectionist.” The brownrider mutters, hints of a smile appearing as he contemplates. “And if you’re not careful, I’ll let Squirt help.” The little green firelizard already helping him scrub the firestone and thread-dust out of Chironath’s hide doesn’t like that idea at all. And she chitters nervously, making a sound that’s suspiciously like pleading. A sound that apparently he’s immune to, because he makes no comment on it. The trio of them are all at the lakeshore with bucket and brush and oil all laid out.
While it's officially not an /assigned/ chore to wash dragons, Citlali -- who is just on her way out of a first-aid lesson -- spots a familiar brownrider attempting to clean Chironath, the dragon who apparently liked her, and her eyes light up. Her actual assigned chore? Trash duty. Washing a dragon? Better. So she redirects her walking, which was initially just going to pass by the lake, to head right in that direction and call out, "Need help?"
Picking up on the sound of a familiar voice, it’s the darkly shaded brown who turns his head first towards Citlali. “Well, Chironath certainly thinks I do.” D’yce replies, the sound of his voice muffled since he’s clear on the other side of the dragon-obstacle. “Go ahead and grab a brush if you can stand the smell of firestone. And no, you never get used to it. The stuff is just rank.” A rumble is apparently what passes for ‘welcome’. “What pressing duty are you dragging yourself away from to help with this?”
"Something equally rank," Citlali starts, but once she gets closer and actually /smells/ firestone, she gags a little bit. Silently, but the expression's there. "Okay, so I thought it was equally rank. Trash duty." It seems that regardless of how much she can't tolerate the firestone smell, she's deciding to help D'yce out anyway; she picks up a brush and wields it thoughtfully. "Gotta get used to it, though, just in case, right? Firestone smell and the dragon washing? Greens are smaller than him, though."
“Trash duty sucks. So does latrine duty though. Well, pretty much all the candidate chores suck. Except maybe helping out in the infirmary. “ Dayce comments, his own candidacy aversion to physical chores clearly displayed. “When you ask around, the whole reason seems to revolve around two things: making sure you appreciate all the work that support staff does. And being an equalizer. You know, everyone bands together because they all think the chores are mean. And there’s no exceptions. /Everyone/ does the shitty chores.” No pun intended. Really. On the plus side, expounding on his vast knowledge – harhar – means that he’s not thinking about the fact that he’s talking to a /girl/. And so he doesn’t stutter. “And Queens are larger. Think you can get the spot right under his wing joint over there? He’s whining. Says it’s itchy.” Smirk. Chironath never whines, so the rider’s muted chortle obviously means he’s getting in trouble for saying that. Still, the brown helpfully lifts his wing out of the way.
"Well. I'm not going to be a goldrider." Citlali is extremely firm in this conviction -- so much so, even, that any gold dragonet who tried to come near her would probably run in the other direction for how clearly she /doesn't/ want that weyrwoman's knot. "If anything, it'll be green. Everyone knows that. I'm a fairly typical greenrider, so I hear." Even if maybe she doesn't actually know what that means so clearly. It's what she's heard and what people have been telling her. "I'll do my best," she adds, as regards the itchy spot under Chironath's wing -- at least a wing joint is easy to find even if you're not an expert in dragon anatomy. "Thank you, Chironath, for your assistance in my access."
At the apparent firm conviction that she’s going to wind up a greenrider if anything, D’yce finds himself peering down from atop Chironath at Citlali. A quizzical expression sported on his face. “Do I dare ask what all of you think a ‘typical greenrider’ is? And while I’m at it, what’s a typical bronze, blue, and brownrider? Are you categorizing people like we do stars at the smithhall?” He wonders, trying unsuccessfully to hide some amusement. And at the same time, Chiro heaves a sigh of relief when the itchy spot is attacked with a brush.
Only mildly started as the dragon actually /exhales noisily/ while she is under his wing -- maybe Citlali hasn't quite gotten used to Weyr life yet after all -- she keeps scrubbing until it actually appears to be firestone-free. "Is firestone actually itchy?" she asks Chironath directly, before looking back up to talk to D'yce. "Well. Um." Pause. Scrub. "What I've heard is like. Greenriders are girly, like me, or if they're guys they're at least a little effeminate? Bronzeriders are bold, brash leader-types. Brownriders are the strong types, brainy. Blueriders are kind of like brownriders except more talkative and flexible." Someone has taught Citlali stereotypes, all right.
“Nah, not usually. That’s just one of his normal itchy spots.” D’yce comments, answering for the brown since obviously he can’t reply back directly. “And when the ash and dust from thread get in there it’s even worse.” And he’s focusing on another one of those buildup spots when Cit recites verbatim the stereotypes; it forces a groan out of him. “I should have known. You really don’t want to go around telling people that. I mean, Merci is a brownrider and she’s more on the bold and brash side. And at Ista… man, you don’t want to tell Tia she’s just all girly. Or Kyraceth, her green.” He winces. Preemptively feeling the boot up the arse that would get someone. “And U’rr… another brownrider? Totally nuts.” None of this is likely reassuring. “So really, dragons are just like people. Different personalities that you have no idea about just by looking at the outside.”
"I'm only saying," Citlali defends herself rather blandly, not seeming to have much gumption behind the defense, "what other people told /me/; we've not been getting lessons in dragon psychology." She doesn't sound angry, though, so much as standing up for herself not knowing any better. "I mean, most of what I know about dragons I know from bedtime stories or from watching. I met Merci, though. I liked her." She's moving to other parts of Chironath's wing without much consideration, assuming he'll correct her if she mis-steps. Whether 'he' is human or dragon is up for discussion. "Never been to Ista, though."
“And I’m just saying…” Again, the voice is muffled since he’s back to scrubbing some part of Chironath that is on the other side and opposide end of the dragon… “What you’ve heard isn’t true. They really should have a class on dragonrider myths or something. I can just imagine –that- lesson.” Even the brown snorts at that, turning whirling eyes on the candidate as if to fathom for himself what color dragon should approach her. “Ista’s very different. At least with the weather. It’s nearly always hot and humid, and there’s a rainy monsoon season. Different florals and fruits grow there. And almost all the food is seafood. At least it feels that way.”
After wing-washing slowly turns to leg-scrubbing -- or maybe not so slowly -- Citlali pipes up with, "And maybe you should be the one to teach it." He's got a journeyman rank, right? He's got experience teaching? "I like fruit. And seafood. But hot and humid not so much -- or rain, really, I think I'll pass on that too."
“Me? Shards no. Do the research for it, sure. Teach it? They’d have to tie me to a chair at the front of the room and force me.” D’yce mutters, just loud enough to hear. “I’m much better at keeping my nose in books and charts then dealing with people.” The sound of a tail smacking into something is immediately met with an “Ow! As if you’re one to talk. All broody and grunty.” One gets the impression they have this argument often. Whatever the argument is. “I hadn’t seen snow in turns before I transferred here. “ he changes the topic. Quickly.
"Only mildly more pleasant than rain," Citlali offers her opinion of snow in a rather distant-sounding voice; aloof, if anything. "Definitely better than a monsoon, though. Given those options I will take snow." She's not /really/ laughing at the exchange between D'yce and Chironath, the grumbling, the tail smack -- but she looks like she wants to, which is why it's a good thing the brownrider can't actually see her.
Dayce can’t see her, but Chironath can. Which is why he sends another rumble at her, resting his muzzle on the ground nearby so he can snort some warm air her way. It really is kind of like a grunt. “Don’t you be encouraging him! He’s already got a big enough ego and is stubborn enough to never change his mind.” Done now, with that other side, he leans against some of the expansive brown hide. “I can finish up here, if you’re done laughing.”
"I wasn't!" Citlali defends herself -- she totally wasn't. She just really, really looked like she wanted to. At least the dragon thinks it's amusing. "And -- I mean, if you want. I don't mind helping. It's kind of a nice chore, really." Chironath was making a positive impression on her, at least; this was the closest she'd been to a dragon, as far as she could tell.
“Close enough.” Without rancor, D’yce offers the retort. “And he wouldn’t be nearly so amused at my expense if he weren’t convinced.” But if she wants to continue with the washing, then he’ll wait, with arms folded casually. “It lets you get used to being around ‘em. That and the egg touching. They have you all working on your robes yet?”
"Um -- no, should they?" Citlali actually almost looks worried. She looks around the corners of worried, the edges just starting to sink in a little bit. "It's going to be a while yet, is what I've heard. And things are shaken up. With -- what happened." She never met Fort's Weyrwoman. She can't have a proper word to say, and anything she /might/ say is somehow uncomfortable anyway. "I liked the egg touching I was at, though. Most people came out shaken. Naamiah was crying, some of them were so strange and frightening -- mine were nice."
D’yce shrugs. “Some people wrap a sheet around themselves at the last minute from what I saw. Course, then they trip on the way to the sands That’s embarrassing. Or they wait too long and make it too short or too long or too big…” All sort of embarrassing things happen! Isn’t he reassuring? His eyes dart away at the mention of Eleni’s death, then down. They don’t really gaze back up either. Not yet. “They’re an … unusual experience.” Some apparent unspoken communication takes place again, the former starsmith staring long at his lifemate before asking, “Anyone seen anything unusual since what happened? Handling the extra security alright?”
Citlali doesn't have to think very long, at least, to be able to say, "No. Not that I know of. It's -- not too bad, but I guess I didn't have much time to get used to it /not/ being so -- secure." If that's the right word for it. She seems to think it is, anyway. As for thinking about robes, and wrapping sheets around herself? She appears to be trying very hard not to do that. Chironath's paw is getting very clean.
Being that Dayce isn’t exactly the best there is at, you know, small talk… there’s an awkward silence that ensues. One filled with his glancing between the girl and the dragon. And then out at the lake. And then maybe up at the sky… before he clears his throat trying to think of something else to say. “Right, well. Thanks for your help. Hopefully things’ll get back to normal before the hatching.”
"You're -- welcome." Awkward silences are hard for Citlali to break, so at least D'yce did it for her; it only made continuing to speak mildly easier, but it was, at least, something. "I'm happy to. Anytime. And I hope they do; I'm not sure I've gotten to learn what 'normal' here actually looks like."
“Sure. Chironath says he welcomes your help.” The words are polite, if a bit stilted. “You should head back now. To the barracks or wherever. And thanks, again.” Now that the washing is done, he can just pick up buckets and brush and attach them to the brown’s riding straps. “We’re just going to…” D’yce looks up at the sky, then. “Rest while. Good luck on the sands if I don’t see you.” And then he and his awkward are gone!
