Ilare - Thursday, December 14, 2000, 3:14 PM ---------------------------------------------- Weyrling Barracks The large covered entryways open into two immense U-shaped caverns that stretch back deep into the rock of the cliffside. Glow baskets lining the cavern walls cast a soft light dispelling the shadows and illuminating the home of all High Reaches weyrlings. Stone couches, some smaller for the greens and blues and some, for bronzes and the occasional gold, so large they have to be climbed into, rise up to loom over the walkways of well-packed dirt. Along the walls nearest the entrances, shelves and pegs sport several sets of leathers and various books and tools needed when teaching and practicing; crates and supplies also take up residence in various nooks and crannies. Toward the back, a large, man-dug pool for use by the dragonets and their lifemates and several large containers kept full of fresh meat serve as conveniences for the busy residents of these barracks. To the southwest, you see Zaqith and Niamhyth. Snuggled in with the leather supplies and tools are eight firelizards. Brown Backstreeth, blue Recounth, and brown Akilth are here. You see Weyrling Progress Record and Dragon Wing here. Obvious exits: Staff Office Bowl Couches Chanticoth senses that he is asleep. Really. He's not projecting any pretty colours or thoughts of big chunky pieces of meat... Chanticoth senses that Imbriath is not like Chanticoth. She's a hungry little green and she lets it be known. Loudly. << Hyzen! I'm hungry... >> Different colors litter her mind: brown, red, yellow. Imbriath hops out of Imbriath's Couch, careful of the small step there. Hyzen is led in by Imbriath. Chanticoth is asleep. By the pool. All spiffy and oiled. Chanticoth Oh what sweet, sweet treacle flavours his slimly elongated curves, lightening the glimmering patina of burnt pinewood; oh what bright, bright ridges carol along his snow and mistletoe back, kissing the gingerbread surface below. But it is the patterned decadence of brandy-butter that defines this rogue: toasted to perfection from the ruddy nubs that cap his head to the festive curve of that spoon-shaped tail candycane-striped with russet, his sweetly blunted snout is fairy-dusted with holly-crimson, which also reddens freckled cheeks. His chestnut hide roasts in the open air of winter's breath wings, along which a darker brown tracery gaily hunts for perfection. Smouldering embers of evening's end warm his underbelly, stretching dusky shadows except where disturbed by the rare sunburst of flames, breathing life into the whole of his enchanting body. Chanticoth is 1 month and 17 days old. He is 11 feet (3m) long, with a wingspan of 18 feet (5m). Chanticoth senses Ilare looking at him. Chanticoth seems to be listening. Imbriath Over hill, over dale, through bush, through brier; over park, over pale, through flood, through fire: midsummer green wanders everywhere, swifter than a moon's sphere to illuminate the mercurial elegance of this fey green. Emerald shadows dapple her dreamy hide, kissing the curvy sweep of her rump and tail, and freckling her underbelly with elven gold, while foxfire spins its tricksy fancies in amongst the thicket of her crafty 'ridges. Like love, every shift in hue from pixie's head to laughing tailtip savours the effervescence of her puckish frame, and creeps down to hide in the acorn cups of her earthy paws. Moonlight tangles in the wild forests of her wingsails, even as tomfoolery spangles the starlight sheen of her whirling eyes. Imbriath is 1 month and 17 days old. She is 7 feet (2m) long, with a wingspan of 11 feet (3m). Imbriath seems to be listening. Imbriath leads her weyrling out, holding the girl up by the sheer force of her will as she tromps towards the food. Food, she was hungry! And she itched terribly. Whine. Hyzen, eyes closed, manages to follow by one guiding hand upon fey green ridges. Yaaaaawn. "Imbri... I'm so tired..." She can whine too, you know. Stopping in front of the meat, the dragon gazes at her 'rider imploringly. "All... *yawn* right." Tired eyes open and glower at the smelly meat. Cleaver is taken and slivers begin to slowly come away from the carcass. Chanticoth is eyed, but since he sleeps, she does nothing more. Chanticoth isn't the only one who's asleep. Propped against one of his sides, his head in her lap, Ilare dreams, light veil of sleep layered 'pon her. One eyelid drifts up a little as 'Zen's voice, before shutting again, and she shifts against the brown's side. Her littlest lizard, bebe blue Seth, stirs slightly on her shoulder, but none of her fair bothers moving. In her half asleep state, Hyzen hadn't seen Ilare against brown beauty's side. Slice, drop in bucket, keep green nose away. Slice... and so on. Finally she's done with the dead thing, taking the pail and moving as far away from it as she can. Plopping onto the floor for lack of a better place, she props her head upon one hand and feeds Imbriath with the other. This was just a lazy day... for tired weyrlings. Green eats meticulously at silent commands from Hyz until the bucket sits empty. Lids drift over greenling's eyes before they snap open again at a whimper from Imbri. "O..oil?" A sound so much like her dragon's escapes her now. "Oil. You're flaking. Oil." Repetisious too. Standing, she weaves before steadying herself and moves towards her couch, keeping away from sleeping ones by water. "Chanticoth. Ilare. Oil. Firelizards." Yawn. Someone needs more sleep. Someone does indeed. Eyelid drifts up again, and one gold eye focuses on fellow weyrling, not quite amusement twinkling within. Stiffling a yawn, the brownling shifts her legs carefully - the head resting in her lap is heavy, and she doesn't wish to awaken her darling - before rolling back her shoulders and opening both eyes. "There's oil over here," she callls softly, not a twitch emerging from her lifemate as she speaks. Ilare points to her discarded oil container. Hyzen wavers on her feet when the voice tickles her ears, half closed eyes shifting to land upon Ilare and her lifemate. "Oil?" She sounds like a half witted drudge, they way she's speaking. Amber-golden optics follow the finger towards where it points and she meanders in that direction, swaying like a drunk. Picking the item up, she examines it thoughtfully before nodding a thanks to Ilare and trudging back to Imbriath, who was rolled over onto her back again, humming softly. Her belly, see? It was terribly itchy and flakey. Collapsing back to the ground, Hyz dips out a huge golop of the stuff and slathers it upon the emerald hide. Ilare looks sympathetic. This taking care of bebe dragons sounds like fun, but you never truely realise the hard work to be done.. A yawn escapes her and she makes no effort to hide it, while Chanticoth mumbles very faintly, mind stirring on the edge of awakening. A faint soothing noise is made both out loud and mind-to-mind by his lifemate, and the brownling drops back to sleep. Hyzen doesn't use a rag... or a soft brush. She uses her hands to smooth the oil into the delicate hide of her lifemate. Gentle fingers rub along the contours of the growing form, and even though Hyz is still half asleep, she holds just deep love for her little one that she couldn't do anything to harm her. Head arches up as the oiling goes on, muzzle briefly touching greenlet's cheek, breathing sweet breath upon the pale surface. She really does appreciate everything that is done for her sake. Ilare smiles, watching Hyzen apply, with great florish, much oil to her dragon's belly. Chanticoth just sighs softly as he relaxes back into sleep, muted crimson and soft yellows echoing his silent thoughts. "She's awfully flaky, Hyze. Imbriath growing a lot?" Not that Chanti isn't but.. Sasha comes out of Branwyth's couch. Branwyth comes out of Branwyth's couch. Sasha stumbles out of Brannie's green festooned couch as a loving head pushes her from behind suddenly. Nearly falling flat on her face she catches herself and turns swiftly to glare at Branwyth.....but seeing the dragons silly loving gaze, melts any animosity towards her. "What are you doing? Trying to kill me or something?" she admonishes gently, smiling at Branwyth. Ilare blinks sleepily, smiling to Sasha and Branwyth, before refocusing on Hyzen. Eyes not glinting with their usual Morning Person light, the brownling contents herself by stroking the large angular head on her lap. Chanticoth sighs again, contentedly, and a melting look of adoration is cast upon the little.. well, not-so-little-now brown. Hyzen pauses in her administrations to yawn hugely, covering her mouth with her arm before blinking tears from her eyes. Said optics turn at Ilare's question then look back at her baby. "Well... yes, I think so. I can tell that the others have grown-- a little-- but I've been around them less than I have been with Imbri." Belly is nice and smooth now and the green rolls onto her side, taking her muzzle away from her 'rider's cheek and sighing deeply. Ah, this was the life. "Hello *yawn* Sasha, Branwyth..." Sasha dutifully pitching out the soiled rushes in Branwy's couch, Sasha grins at the other two...."why is it always me doing the work around here? Everybody else seems to have time to lie about with their draggies." she sulkily dumps another forkful into a barrow and sighs. suddenly a green tail sneaks around her waist pulling her down next to Branwyth. Chanticoth senses that Branwyth whuffles with velvet green ripples <> Ilare chuckles throatily, still cuddling the head on her lap. "I did mine this morning. This is his second nap after oiling." Which means he's been oiled.. how many times today? Who knows, but she... Chanticoth does not stir, but his tail taps lightly on the floor. Sasha allows herself to be pulled against Branwyth's soft hide....and notices a flaky patch. "come on Branwy! Let me go and I'll go and get some oil to smooth down that itchy bit!" Branwyth noses at the recent-ly corralled Sasha, rubbing verdant head against her like some outsized feline as she almost-shyly looks around at the little gathering. Chanticoth senses that Branwyth thinks << >> Sasha struggles out of Branwyths lovingly cirlced tail and rescues a large tub of oil from near her couch. Digging fingers in deeply, to the slippery stuff, a heavenly scent rides as she begins to slather it on Branwyth's back. Ilare giggles softly, before Chanticoth opens a single eyelid. The hint of whirling colour beneath the other twwo indicates he is slowly awakening, but Ilare simply grins. "He's beeen oiled. Twice. Had me up half the night." That's why theey're both practically asleep on each other. "Branwyth is looking well.." A nod is coupled with the compliment sent in the greenling pair's direction. Branwyth Triskells of misty green ensnare her headknobs, tattooing mystic power into every line of this dragon's charismatic frame and scribing spirals of stillwater blue across the solidity of solemn oak. She's as lithe and sleek as smoke, this witch of the woods, with the burning strength of incense imbuing her slender limbs with sensuous and seductive curves. Zeal radiates from the glossy mistletoe that spikes her 'ridges and 'spars, while nightshade saves its dark venom for the crescents of dagger-sharp talons. But that poison is drawn by the pristinity of 'sails as white as a virgin snowfall; drawn by the soul-deep mystery that revels her dark-shadowed eyes. Branwyth is 1 month and 18 days old. She is 7 feet (2m) long, with a wingspan of 11 feet (3m). Branwyth seems to be listening. Sasha nods her thanks, rubbing hard now allowing her fingers to massage away the itch that she knows is developing in the young green's hide. "Your Chanti is going to be such a handsome fellow when he gets older! he's not going to fit in that couch much longer the way he is growing!" Branwyth preens, whether at the compliment or the wonderful slathering of oil is debatable, but a tail once again snakes out, this time the tip curling loosely about an ankle as she hums softly with pleasure. Ilare gives an amused sigh. "Too true.. He keeps eating, then swimming and.. well, at least he likes to nap after he's exhausted himself with a bath. Makes oiling easier..." Eyes dart to the tail slowly curling about her wrist, and she unwinds it with care. "Easy you.." Chanticoth senses that he bubbles, mind rippling with warmth as fiery colours surge to the fore as he awakens. <> This is, of course, a good thing, and his pleasure is echoed in a flicker of golden sparks across his mindscape. Sasha chuckes as she works, watching Branwyth's ever move. "I am sure you grew again this morning!" she sighs happily as she slathers more oil on. "I'm going to need bigger jars of oil soon!" Ilare smiles, brownling pair exchanging silent chatter, before both nod. "Chanti says thank you for the compliment, which I second completely." Amber eyes gleam, after al, is hers not the most handsome brownling dragon on the planet? Well, she certainly thinks so. That earns her a croon. "Branwyth, I think, will grow into a very fine young green; and she's got twice the manners of her elders." Not that that's hard to have.. ;) Branwyth suddenly stands on her haunches, spreading fledgling wings, and looking very pleased with herself indeed, although she'll now be a good bit more difficult to oil in her new position. See how big she is? Sasha shudders slightly and grins, massaging hard, at the bits that Branwy has exposed. "I expect all the green hormones will kick in sooner or later and I'll have to watch her good behaviour then!!" Chanticoth can do that too, you know. The whole showing-off-my-wingspan thingy. He can. Really. But he's sleepy. And he doesn't want to. So nah. Sasha suddenly chuckles out loud having obviously heard some silent communication from her lifemate. "the chance would be a fine thing....its going to be sevendays and sevendays before they let us start flying together...you have to grow much stronger....but it will happen soon!" Branwyth fans her wings a little bit, careful not to whap 'her' busily scrubbing Sasha, before tucking wings to her sides once more. Chanticoth senses that Branwyth thinks << I do wish that one might grow without all of this /itching/... >> Ilare gives a giggle at that. "When the green hormones kick in, as far as I'm concerned, Chanti can do as he pleases. *I* will hide in my Weyr." And that, as they say, is that. She pauses a moment, before giggling. "What are hormones? Don't worry yourself, klahbunny. That's for after you've learned to fly." Stretching her legs out in front of her, she giggles at some unheard comment. Chanticoth senses that he gives a nod in agreement. <> Branwyth noses at Sasha once more, silently inquiring something as she drops the the ground in a coruch once more, getting slightly impatient with the amount of time taken by oiling. Sasha puts the lid on the pot and carries it back to her couch. "Hungry now huh? Our lives now revolve around food, oil, water and sleep! Come on then!" she indicates the food at the other side of the barracks and procures huge chunks of bloody meat for the ravenous dragon. Branwyth seems pleased by the response recieved from her lifemate, as she suddenly begins to sidle towards her couch, intent on reclining while she munches, supremely confident that Sasha will follow. Branwyth goes into Branwyth's couch. Ilare smiles and gives the two a wave goodnigh--err, day. *** Later on, on the DTL... *** Chanticoth senses that he rears to his hind legs, unsteady till he uses his tail to aid his balance, and extends his wings. A slightly awed tone enters his 'voice' embers flickering gold across his mind as the warmth tumbles outwards towards the other listening minds of the weyr. <> A shock, neh? Chanticoth senses that Trydanth flashes again that image of a full-grown brown alongside Chanticoth... only this time the weyrling is bigger. Wow. Chanticoth senses that Niamhyth wafts amused scents of minty pine along a ribbon of sparkling silvery blue. <> Chanticoth senses that Cadgwith blinks into the wider pool of the Weyr's collated thoughts at that. << Bigger? >> She adds to Trydanth's image: her own alongside Chanticoth--and being dwarfed by the weyrling. Chanticoth senses that Alymath emits admiration, her mind flashing up pictures of small browns and blues. << I like them. Can I go play with them, Lis? >> Her husky mindvoice drips with flirtation's musky scent, lingering in her listeners' minds. Chanticoth senses that Trydanth can't help but respond to Alymath's provocation, with little excited bzzzzes of bright blue. << Come play with the big blues, Alymath. >> Chanticoth senses that he blinks, then a mental head shake is given, the bright colours dimming slightly. A image of a mini-him (as he somehow gleams from his lifemate - a cuddly small version of himself) is compaired to his new size. A faint note of.. something enters his 'voice. <> Pout. Chanticoth senses that Alymath's mindvoice curls around Trydanth's, the sultry sound almost a caress. << I will. But I can play with them too. Please? I will be good. >> She /will/ - many blues and browns and bronzes can testify to that, too. << I /like/ them, Lis. Can I go play now? Please? >> Chanticoth senses that he's mind swirls in rich klah-like colours, interweaving with gold flecks and scarlet streams of amusement. Then ponders something heard only by him. <> A huff ripples across the space between minds. <> Chanticoth senses that Trydanth responds to that the only sensible way - he has more sense than his rider, after all. << If you are too young to know, then you will have to wait till you are old enough to find out what it is you are too young to know. >> Blue-logic. Chanticoth senses that Alymath gives the quivalent of a laugh, teasing smoky scents of lemons sneaking their way into her images. << I will tell you, Chanticoth. I will show you, when time comes. >> Chanticoth senses that Cadgwith has remained largely quiet until now, doting on her eggs rather than the current weyrlings but Alymath's response brings on a splash of laughter from the gold. << She will.... >> And she suddenly flashes up an image of big Chanticoth with an even bigger Alymath looming over him. That may not be how it will be, but it is how it will feel... Chanticoth senses that Capryth drips gently into the mental conversation, her touch like a gentle fall of rain. << You will grow soon enough, young one, and you will be taught. >> Greens are /very/ good at teaching; they rise often enough to have daily lessons. Chanticoth senses that he is not blue. Thus, that logic does not apply to him, now does it? Alymath's 'laughter' is only replied with colourful spirals of confusement. Are they laughing at him? A tail thump is heard through the mental connection. Then Cadgwith's image frightens him, and his mind retreats away to the safety of his lifemate. << You're _mean_... >> is a soft cry before he turns to his lifemate to be reassured. Chanticoth senses that Cadgwith recedes immediately, and she sends a gentle call out over imagined waves to Chanticoth. << It will be alright... You will always be safe here. >> Chanticoth senses that he is silent from the collective mind for a long few moments, before a faint crackle of embers hint across the mindspace. << I know.. Ilare says that also... >> And his lifemate is beloved and trusted. Chanticoth senses that he adds another thought, before curling up on his couch with his lifemate. <> *giggle* He's a bebe, he can get away with it.. ;)