The Pain that is Firelizard

Living Cavern
The smooth, rounded walls cavern sweep upward from an oval base, two dragonlengths long and one wide, large enough to seat every member of the Weyr at mealtimes.  The soft blackness of the lava which forms these caverns swallows glowlight, so shelves for glowbaskets abound, dotting the walls every three or four paces and casting gentle greenish light toward the sparkles of gold volcanic glass embedded in the ceiling.  Ancient, lustrous tables run along the axis of the cavern, and at the far end rests the raised dais and high table, where Weyrleaders and honored guests eat during formal occasions. Behind the high table, the Weyr's symbol is embedded into stone: a smoking mountain in black on an orange shield, trimmed in gold.
Lynsay is here.

Debajirin flicks his fingers at a certain bronze firelizard who dives for his meatroll, attempting to warn the pest off with a little growl in the back of his throat. But, alas, to no avail, as the winged stomach redoubles his attack, forcing the Fisherman turned Candidate to twist away, meatroll and all, hovering protectively over what is /his/ snack, and hissing at the bronze. "G'way!" he mutters as the bronze makes another attack, this time his trajectory altering to land neatly on the near-hairless spot of the man's head, and folding his wings smugly.

Lynsay, carrying a full basket of freshly dried laundry with her, wanders into the caverns, chatting away to her own two companions. Of course, the other two are perched in the room already, but no one would know that. Curious as always, her green decides to join the attacking bronze, though she only lands on the table. "Morpheus, get back here!" the farmer yelps, dropping the basket on a table.

Rorschach is a bronze. Thus is male. Thus, when a female would land near what he has claimed as his table, he pauses his hopeful, and tailored-to-be-annoying creeling to affer a deep throaty croon her way. Debajirin maximises what he considers his opportunity in the bronze's distraction to take a chomp of the meatroll, only after this will he be curious enough to see where the green had come from originally. Another candidate is recognized and, drawing his food into his chest, he offers her a wave with his free hand. "'Morning! Or what you will call it. Always had a bit of trouble with that, determining what to call the time of day between morning and afternoon..."

Lynsay smiles, stepping over to the table. The green 'lizard returns the croon, tilting her head. Eyes whirl curiously, as she looks from person, to person, then back to the bronze. "I think it's still morning. But you never know." She shrugs slightly. "Mind if I join you?" 

Debajirin shakes his head, 'Schach still occupied with this beautiful green before him, and Jirin's defensive posture drooping slightly. "Not at all, have a seat. Yes, I suppose it could be called morning... And if it can't be, well, that doesn't matter. I'll call it that from now on. Or at least for today." Eyes roll up in his head as he attempts to see what his firelizard is doing, and with a smile to see the Metallic One still busy with puffing out his chest 'impressively' he holds out holding two more intact meatrolls, which had been hidden quite neatly on his lap. "Snack? 'fore the winged stomachs see it, o' course. How're you?"

Lynsay fetches her basket, setting it on the floor beside her chair, as she settles. "Good. Actually awake this morning, for once. That's Morpheus." she adds, pointing to the green. Morph, obviously enjoying this attention, settles in to watch the bronze, encouraging him with a small croon now and again.  "No thanks." She shakes her head at the offered snack, instead leaning down into the basket, and seperating a few shirts to be folded. "What chore are you stuck with today?"

Debajirin seems actively pleased with knowing she's doing good, beaming to her, and then nodding (despite the bronze on his head) to the green. "Hello Morpheus." The snacks are shoved back to his lap upon her denial, keeping them well away, hopefully, from any small, whirling eyes. Rorschach is more than happy to be encouraged, not at all perturbed by the head-nod of his Reluctant Food Provider, and extending his wings to their full length. How's /that/ for a wingspan, eh? "Well, I'm actually on my... Err, break. Well, some o' the drudges took over that shardin' tuber peeling they've always got us doing, cause I helped them make porridge really early this morning. So, ya. Although I've got," shudder, "latrine duty sorta planned for after this. Not looking forward to that, I'll asure you." 'Schach gives a little trill to the green, and Deba points at his head. "And that's Rorschach. He would introduce himself, I'm sure, but he's busy."

Lynsay shudders in sympathy. "I hate latrine duty. Even more than I hate firestone duty." Her skinny arms are no match for the heavy stones, in any way. Neo, the farmer's bronze, opens a whirling eye from a rocky ledge in the room, noticing the flirting pair. Almost like a big brother, he shakes the sleep from him, and swoops down to Lynsay's shoulder. "And that's Neo. And my brown here," she pokes the sleeping body in her hair, "is Oracle. And I've still got another. And man, they are a pain in the rear sometimes."

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D'baji: The Incomplete Logs