Ilare - Wednesday, January 03, 2001, 10:36 AM --------------------------------------------------------------------- Chanticoth's Couch of Cuddles Cozy, if a bit roomy for its current occupants, this dragon couch was designed to fit the future needs of the pair sharing it. Rushes have been piled deep on the raised couch, their scent and appearance indicating them to be newly laid down. Arranged so they lie flat, the area has been swept clean and dust-free. Upon one end of the couch, several quilts cover them, each one in brightest royal blue and deepest darkest black, patchwork colors of the Weyr. The smell of clean rushes and aired quilts waft about here, carrying with it the scent of freshly oiled dragon hide. Curled about the couch are Bay and Jolinar. Brown Chanticoth is here. Obvious exits: Barracks 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. Richest green, the shade of deepest summer foliage and wintertime evergreen trees has been dyed carefully into the leather, giving the impression of mottled shadows and multiple overlapping leaves. The straps of leather - well oiled and made to fit this dragon alone - have been lined with suede and wollybeast skin to prevent chaffing, and are doubled over to allow for growth. Positioned between the forth and fifth of Chanticoth's lustrous brown ridges, the leather straps have been sewn with dedicated care, made to last and not fall prey to wear and tear. Polished shiny buckles glint, kept bright with care. Chanticoth is 7 months and 6 days old. He is 37 feet (11m) long, with a wingspan of 61 feet (18m). Chanticoth senses Ilare looking at him. Chanticoth seems to be listening. 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 Kelitath, Vespurath, and Niamhyth. Snuggled in with the leather supplies and tools are eight firelizards. You see Weyrling Progress Record and Dragon Wing here. Obvious exits: Staff Office Bowl Couches Chanticoth> Ilare arises from the couch and vanishes out into the barracks. Mzadith comes out of Mzadith's couch. Chanticoth clambers out of Chanticoth's couch. Mzadith trip, skip, lumbers ackwardly to the Bowl. Mzadith leads Cayl out. Training Grounds The marks of thousands of claws give testament to the shuffling of the young dragons that have torn up what little grass once grew in this corner of the bowl. Tucked in between the feeding pens to the south and the curve of the Weyrleader's complex, the training grounds are home to daily exercises and classes, all taking place well out of the way of the hectic bustle of the rest of the bowl. Cut deep into the cliff face, the large, covered openings leading into the extensive weyrling barracks rise high over the heads of any who come near, although the height of the caldera's spindles far above cast their own reaching shadows across the hard packed earth. It is a winter before dawn. The air is bitingly cold. The sky is more or less free of cloud, and stars glimmer like chips of ice in the darkness. Yesterday's snow still lies on the ground. Soaring high overhead are Satyr, Shugogetten, Kiran, and Harme. Green Kelitath, green Vespurath, green Niamhyth, and blue Mzadith are here. Cayl is here. Obvious exits: Weyrling Barracks Northern Bowl Corrals Chanticoth pads with enviable grace in from the Weyrling Barracks. Ilare is led in by Chanticoth. Dsalth wanders in from the Northern Bowl, keeping an eye out for Weyrlings on Patrol. Dsalth Restrained strands of sorrel and khaki overlap the lithe body of this dragon in a regimental pattern undermined by escaping tendrils of amber. Near enough in shade to blend with the design, they curl against it, flickering against the sharp line of his jaw before escaping down the geometric line of his neckridges. Ancient pale primrose -- the hue of old, forgotten books - curls down his spine in a uniformed march towards the similarly stained wingbones. Heavy ginger drapes, wing membrane made more substantial by its darkness, an abandoned blazer carefully hung from the long length of his wings. Mustard floats over his tail, musty mist lifting towards haunches reinforced by the strength of rusty iron. Thick leather straps, fastidiously cared for wrap around Dsalth's neck, well worn and supple. Their deep chesnut colour appears almost part of the dragon's body, for they fit so snugly against his hide. Buckles, shiney and meticulously polished reflect the sun's rays, or the moon's mysterious hues while flaxen stiches are sewn firmly along the strap's length suiting practicality rather than decoration. Positioned between the precise lines of Dsalth's neckridges are Khalila and P'rru. Loaded onto Dsalth is Pot of Leather Oil. Dsalth is 22 Turns, 10 months, and 27 days old. He is 64 feet (19m) long, with a wingspan of 106 feet (32m). Dsalth seems to be listening. Chanticoth senses Cayl looking at him. Mzadith O dark dark dark, blue goes into dark like the languishing flames of a winter fire; spirits dream the blue-lashed shadows of this dragonet's ephemeral hide as the mysterious clarity of twilight partners carbon in a dance that blackens the edges of his narrow spine and rounded sweep of tail. Indigo inks the artistic curves of chin and chest as if to tease the elemental fires that flicker up the tolerant, enchanted slopes of his ample rump and reach down into the misted polish of immaculate claws. So svelte, so sleek, so self-possessed beneath the spidery diadem of paper-thin sails, that one might fail to notice the wizardly whimsy dancing in the stillness of those soulful eyes. Mzadith is 7 months and 6 days old. He is 28 feet (8m) long, with a wingspan of 46 feet (14m). Mzadith seems to be listening. Dsalth watches with interest as P'rru descends carefully Sneek...sneek...creep..creep...: If a weyrlingmaster caught them out at this time of the night, they'd be in trouble for sure. However, most -sane- people are sleeping at this time of the night. The stars glimmering overhead only add to the deathly chill, though Cayl's well bundled up. And over her shoulders, dangling all the way to the ground behind her, are onix leather straps. These are trailed, of course, but a dragonet who seems to have been awake for hours as well. "Shh... And yes, I know it's not here. It doesn't show up at night. No, neither does mine." She could have sworn she'd told Mzadith this a hundred times already. Halfway across the training grounds, where it should be far enough not to be heard from the barracks, the woman turns and begins to strap up her dragonet. Dsalth groans, lifting his feet suprisingly daintily out of the muddy snow that paints the ground. "I know...winter is so wretched" the brownrider agrees, rubbing hands along his arms trying to pitch warmth back into them. And look his lips are almost blue. "Yes, 'salth, colder than between it is..." my how melodramatic. Shuffling in beside his lifemate, P'rru doesn't even hear a shadowy pair trail across the grounds. "If you stretch those legs, 'salth perhaps you wont look so ridiculous..." mutter mumble, *sneeze*. Igeners unite in their hatred of a 'reaches winter. Cold. Coldcoldcoldcold... but there's snow! Lookit! Snow! White stuff! Woo! Yay! Can you tell Ilare is Istan-born yet? A delighted brown weyrling hovers about the enterance to the barracks, just staring at the frosted flakes of iced water on the ground, before smiling at her dragon. "I know, it IS cold, but isn't it pretty?" Cooo.. Chanticoth lowers his muzzle to the ground and sniffs at the snow slightly. Ooh! Cold nose! Pretty? If Ilare says so, and it does turn everything soooo white. Mzadith doesn't seem to preturbed as snowflakes settle and rest on his back, or as his moon-kissed silverine talons dig into the mud and turn more carmel like: He can take the cold with the heat any day. It's Cayl who's left shivering as she hunkers farther in her hooded cloak, her uniform seemingly skimp protection from the frost. She grumbles silently to herself about the evils of hatchings (that she missed) and all those new little...monster...like creatures taking up even more room in the weyrling barracks. They'd been waking up and making enough noise throughout the night that Cayl had given up on sleep. Of course, that meant time to practice. "Okay, love. I think we can..." Weren't they supposed to have a senior pair with them when doing this? Yes... but since when has Cayl let rules stop her when she wants to do something? Even as gloved fingers wrap around the steel of her handleholds, voices are heard and ling blinks. "W...who's out there?" Well, she's got a bulk of blue to look over, and he's no window. She can't see P'rru or Ilare. Dsalth rumbles, haunches dropping into the snow with a *squoosh* sound. To gain a better vantage, P'rru hoiks up quickly onto the obliging rusted forepaw. "That you Caylea...um Cayl?" he hollers out. "What are you pair doing out this late..." and here comes the lecture right? Dsalth surges forwards, snorting and whuffling. "It's freezing out here...and what are they? Straps on Mzadith there?" now brownrider's close enough to peer. And stick his nose in. Oh, and cluck his tongue. Ilare chuckles, and strokes Chanticoth's shoulder. "Yes it's chilly, but that's what snow is.." Stepping out of the barracks, she pulls on her gloves, eyes on the ground in case she spots ice.. Don't want to slip, unless she's about to fall in the snow.. Head snaps up at a familiar voice and grin is given Mzadith - who's body is shielding Cayl from her sight. P'rru is blinked at, then a hint of a giggle escapes her. Neither have seen her, right? Glancing at her dragon, mentally requesting him to be quiet, she crouches, gatherng snow in her hands..Standing, she molds the cold whiteness between her gloved hands, before peering through the shadows, aiming.. And she throws! Chanticoth senses Chanticoth looking at him. Cayl is shielded by her dragon! That's always a bonus when snow is flying through the air in far larger clumps and far more horizontal then it should be. However, it seems the rogue snowball thrown through the darkness isn't even gonna hit the large blue target over here. Really outta get better aim, Ilare! *snicker* The woman winces as she dunks under Mzadith's neck and stares towards P'rru. Caught, right in the act. "Um..." What to say. "Just practicing?" She gives off a sneeze at /just/ the wrong time and sighs mentally. The blue musically babbles a greeting towards Dsalth, seemingly ignorant of their reckless actions. P'rru is about to say something entirely responsible, when he cops the snowball right in the face. And with an entirely loud yelp and grumble, brownrider topples from his perch on Dsalth's forepaw and falls butt first into the snow. And he doesn't get up. Large rosewood head swings instictively in the direction whence the offending snowball came, and bugles. Rusted tail faps however, and a muffled voice of "stop laughing and help me up you lug" is heard from the toppled rider. Chanticoth senses that Dsalth sends out musky puffs <> ice white tinges the last final huff <> Yes he blames the brown. Poor thing. Chanticoth peers at P'rru, and the borwnrider's position on the floor. Ilare did that? Does she realise P'rru's face is all white now? Oh, and there's the falling on the floor thing too... Ilare clamps her hands over her mouth and starts to giggle. She honestly can't help it! The expression on P'rru's.. uh.. Snowballed face was priceless! Chanticoth is winked at - yes she did, and she does realise that. This is certainly more fun than hanging about the barracks and getting awakened by entire flocks of hatchlings! Chanticoth senses that Mzadith sends out shivers of frost and heatless flames, pouncing upon the opportunity to comment: <> Thta probably didn't help the matter. Chanticoth senses that he thinks << My fault? >> Red tinges green. << I wasn't the one who threw it... >> Not got the talons for it, after all. << But it was a good shot. *snerk* >> You think to Chanticoth, >> Good shot? I think so too. << *wink* << Chanticoth senses that Dsalth settles down, sighing. <> he intones in that fatherly voice. But dry amused umber whickers through at the last moment <> Leave it to Cayl to ruin the good spirits. She blanches at the sight of the..er..Snowman and then sharply looks towards her fellow weyrling. "/Ilare/! Great, now I'm gonna be in even more trouble." Forget the fact that she just now noticed Ilare and Chanticoth out here as well. Hugging her suite closely she rushes over in P'rru's direction, cursing under her breath and passing a quick glance over her shoulder. "And stop laughing!" Of course, that was directed towards Mzadith, who's staring wonderusly at P'rru. Sighing, she kneels down and offers the man a hand. "Sorry. /Some/ of my clutchmates don't understand that it's -not- a good idea to peg a brownrider with a snowball. At midnight, for Faranth's shards!" Chanticoth senses that his amusement almost obscures his words. << I did. >> Ignoring the fact that Cayl was out to practice mounting at midnight as well O.o P'rru takes the proffered hand and levers himself up, a nice P'rru-shape left in the snow behind him. "Ah thankyou Cayl...and Ilare t'was you with the throwing arm?" with a slight scowl he wipes away the quickly melting snow from his face, body wriggling to loosen ice from his jacket. "My...and thank you for leaping to my rescue Dsalth, it was so appreciated" and the brown who's old enough to know better is glared out. But nonetheless he's not forgotten those dragonet-sized straps. "So you are both planning on a little training without anyone to watch over you?" voice changes to an easy tone, albeit he's still raking snowflakes from his stubbly chin. But isn't Ilare a brownrider? And what's wrong with snowballs at midnight? SOMEONE'S cranky this.. uhh.. Well, morning or evening? Take your pick. "Oh, come ON, Cayl, why on Pern would you be in trouble? You're only out here as I am to get your dragon used to wearing his straps, right?" She slowly makes her way across the snow, hands behind her back, with a wink tossed over her shoulder to her lifemate, and a second wink to Dsalth. "Are you alright, P'rru?" Amusement bubbles, but she IS concerned.. Chanticoth senses that Dsalth regards the weyrlings with lidded eyes <> a plume of orangey pride caps the comment. P'rru *never can :) Ilare * giggles. Obviously some facts have been lost upon Ilare, and this only earn's her a 'CaylStare' as she says. "Sure, practicing when the Moons are high and low is /common/ practice amongst the ranks." She grumbles before shaking off the mater. Now, back to P'rru's easy tone. "Mm... well, yeah? Me and Mzadith can handle ourselves fine." Is there a bit too much self-righteous pride in her voice? Surely not. She turns and sloshes through the mud and snow back to her dragonet's side, rubbing a hand down his flaming blue pattern. "Can't we boy? Besides..I didn't expect an audience." She looks back towards Ilare, though can understand why she's out so late. "They keep you awake too?" Or was she mistaken? And towards P'rru, she smiles. "What about you? I thought everyone'd be well in bed by now..." Chanticoth senses that Mzadith chimes in interestedly. <> Surely something he and his Cayl should try! *if not just to prove they can.* P'rru pulls a cloth out from a jacket pocket, wiping down his face. At least he's forgotten about being a P'rru-cicle for now. "I'm sure you can handle yourselves withhin reason" he says sagely before a faint smile touches those blueish lips. "Dsalth keeps nattering on about the new hatchlings, so aye indeed they are keeping me awake aswell" and the brown bag of bones drops the tip of his muzzle to the rider's shoulder in an almost sheepish grin. "How are they settling in?" eyes shift as comment between the draconic types are passed on to the rider. "Don't give them ridiculous ideas, Dsalth, straps are useful for any rider.../any/" 'cept the well-skilled ones like himself. Chanticoth senses that Dsalth snorts, a fine spray of damp air flowing around his words <> Another puff of amber clouds rolls in <> Lousy know-it-all.;) Ilare returns the 'CaylStare' with a patented 'Ilare-Eye-Roll' - someone needs to chill out, no? "Well, why not? The moons give prtty good light when they'r full," is her response, before she flicks her mane of her shoulder, and takes no more steps closer. But she chuckles as P'rru adds a warning about the straps. "If you say so. I'll be keeping ours, if only to stay safe.." She's not used to riding him yet, so she's not.. "Settling? I don't remember Chanti being half as loud as the new ones are!" A deep sigh escapes her, and she touches her dragon's nose with a gloved hand as he moves up beside her. "But.. I think they'll do. It's so strange though, to think only a few months ago, our lifemates only just cracked their shells..." Chanticoth senses that he sounds distinctly uncertain, a pale blue circling the words. << But Ilare might fall off. She'd hurt herself. >> That would be A Bad Thing. Chanticoth senses that Mzadith mentally purses his muzzle, thoughtwaves sent out in shades of pale cream, blending with inspirational azure. <> So much for the 'I'm a good friend' act. He's ready for the same curious mischief most dragonets share. Terrible twos? Snort. She doesn't need to chill out. She needs to chilli down. As in get warmer. Cayl gives a nod towards P'rru, a groan of agreement towards Ilare's words. "We couldn't have been quite as noisy. Though, for their first night, they've settled in nicely. One took a couch right across from mine and Mzadith." Is there a whine hidden in that tone? Her eye arches a brow, both towards P'rru's comment and her dragon's becon. "Without riding straps?" Did the brownrider just say anyone could go without riding straps if they were skilled enough? Anyone? *selective hearing here.* "Hmm...maybe. Yes. If you did that I should be able to.." She speaks, eyes unfocused upon her love. P'rru clears his throat, a hand tapping at the brown snout still on his shoulder. "I wouldn't recommend it till after weyrlinghood" but he does grin "Of course, I'm not a weyrling master or anything, and shouldn't be even giving you advice..." he's a good boy and avoid trouble like the plague. "Perhaps you should show me how your straps are fitting?" yes steer the young in the right direction man! Dsalth groans, shifting behind his lifemate. Boring old fart. Ilare chuckles at words unheard by anyone but her, before she nods again. "Well, hopefully you'll get to fly today! When the sun rises, of course," not a wise idea, to go midnight wing-flapping! Fun maybe, but not yet. What is Chanti doing? Anyone who's been watching him for a few minutes will have noticed the dragon as he scrapes snow into a little pile in front of him with his talons. Just a little pile mind you. Wings spread and flap idly by Mzadith's sides as Cayl stands there, staring towards P'rru. Unfortunately, she's terribly easy to lead into doing just about anything, and so dismisses her dragon's suggestions to mount strapless -as something she'd do in private, instead of with a crowd to watch her fall facefirst.- and nods. "Well, he still complains constantly that they set wrong on his back. I've tried padding nearly everywhere and it still doesn't help. I've given it up as hopeless and will just listen to him moan for the rest of our turns together." And she certainly wouldn't numbweed her dragon! She winces every time the thought comes to mind, offered from riders who obviously didn't know the hazards of numbweed. Shiver. the blue's head swings around, staring towards his brother and the mound. Chanticoth senses that Mzadith thinks << What are you doing, Chanticoth? >> Chanticoth senses that he's mindvoice is just /filled/ with innocence. << Oh nothing you need to worry about. >> Yet. Heehee. Dsalth picks up his forepaw closest to the mound and simply unsheaths one blunted talon, balancing it on top of the mini dragon made snowdrift. Who knows why. P'rru is certainly ignoring it. "You'll need those straps right when they fly...and yes Chanticoth with that size should take to flying easily..." he notes, faintly bonding with the brownrider. Browns rule, didn't you know? "Hmm, so perhaps you need to widen the straps width, Cayl..." fingers scratch at stubbled chin as the rider peers over at Mzadith. "Could you ask him exactly where it's rubbing?" Ilare is standing just /so/ before her dragon, partially obscuring the mound. A little, anyway. If he wants to build a snow dragon, that's fine with her. "Getting them just right is hard. I've had to add extra leather to mine since he just keeps on growing and growning.." The affection in her voice is echoed in her grin, before she fidds with one of the green straps. Chanticoth senses that Dsalth flickers droll interest in the strap debate <> he offers. But then that dry heat of past desert-sands regales his words <> Yes dragon-angels? If a dragon could pout, Chanticoth would. Dsalth can leave his pile alone... he's not going to do anything to the other brown with it, after all. The riders are another matter... Cayl arches a brow as she looks back at the straps that encircle her dragon. "If I did that though, I'd have to start all over to get the leather wider." Mental sigh and she's definately not going to (willingly) do those things over again. "Oh, and he complains about them rubbing over his darker sections. Like towards the ridges, and directly under his neck. Though I've added too much llama padding there already. If I add anymore, they'll slide off of him during flight." She fears Chanticoth, Ilare, and Dsalth at this moment. What in the world they were doing/talking about, she'd rather not be part of that little... brownrider cliche right this moment. Shiver. She turns to rearrange the straps once more, tightening them a bit there, and untucking the padding which had folded under too much. Ilare would fear, but this IS Chanticoth. And she knows what he'll be doing with that pile.. She hopes. Andd yes, Browns rule! Go browns! Rah rah rah! *cough* Turning, she nods at P'rru. "His wings are getting really big. Far bigger than I expected them to be, even at this age.. And it's kinda cute to see him with the little new browns when it's feeding time." Chanticoth likes the new ones, so he does.. As does she. But not when they're waking her at all hours. And he's so much bigger than they are. It's very cute. Yup. Go BLUE! Rahrahrah! Dsalth removes his pointedly placed talon and reverts to watching. "Ah yes, he'll probably grow bigger than Dsalth here" P'rru admits to Ilare with a faint smile at the young brown. But then it's back to solving the mystery of straps again. "Could it be too much padding...could I take a look Mzadith?" now the rider assuredly approaches the blue, one hand outstretched. "So here and here.." fingers tap the said spots on his hide. "Hrm..." wow, what a help the old bugger turned out to be. Chanticoth finishes making his little pile and rolls it back and forth between his forelegs, making a medium sized ball of snow. Then he starts to shuffle around a bit - ooh, 'scuse me, Ilare - until his tail's resting near the snow. Swinging it back and forth. This is all Ilare's fault for putting the idea in his head, by the way. One, two, *whack!*. Fore! Snowball goes flying, losing half of its snow, but Chanti musta hit someone. Right? Cayl purses her lips together tightly and gives a nod as she stares at the straps, where P'rru's pointing. Mzadith's head is lowered down to stare towards where the brownrider's pointing, warm breath creating snow-puffs in the air approvingly. "I never thought of that.. Maybe. What do you think Mza?" As her eyes unfocus, the ling blushes and then gives a tight cough before nodding. "Well, he says it's worth a shot. Oh..and he gives his thanks." Not exactly what the blue had said, but she's not about to repeat it. And she doesn't even realize the huge snowball heading in their direction. O.o Ilare blinks as she is nudged out of the way, and she takes shlter off to one side - she saw this coming, she SO saw this coming! With a giggle, she covers her face as the spray of snow departing the big flying snowball acts like a comet's tail and leaves her peppered (or is that salted?) with icey fragments of white stuff. "Look out!" is the giggled cry, even as she starts to dusst hrself off. "Nicely made ball, Chanti," she praises gently, winking at her dragon. Chanticoth eyes Ilare. No... don't /warn/ them. Ah well... and it was a rather pretty snowball wasn't it? All lovely and white... Now Chanti can see why Ilare was giggling so much earlier. Tis fun! Splat. Splutter. Thud. Then complete silence...until a husky draconic voice adds to the fray with a gentle rolling rumble. "Dsalth!" P'rru garbles, regaining his composure much quicker this time. Well, sitting posture anyway right near Mzadith's feet. Dsalth turns that chuckle into a irritated snort and ambles slightly away. If his fusty lifemate can't see the humour in it, he won't even consider helping him up. "Well, I see your practising aim again, Ilare?" voice while it's tight, isn't overly angry and the brownrider wipes down his face again. "Ahem...." well what else can he say? Chanticoth senses that Dsalth sends out trinkles and crinkles of all things warm. A flash of primrose, a ball of brown. <> Bag-of-bones is easily lead astray. Ilare covers her mouth, with an apologetic smile behind it for both Snowball-Target P'rru and Chanticoth. Whoops. Good shot, neh? She certainly thought so. Think Chanticoth could make it 2 out of-- uh.. perhaps not. Dsalth is given a wink and a grin - this big brown at least appreciates the humour in this situation. Butter-brandy hide is patted with mental praise to accompany it, before Ilare makes her way over to offer the snowsoaked P'rru a hand up. A spray of the snow bounces off upon impact with P'rru, and sprinkles Cayl's hood. However, that's not the funniest part, as now Mzadith's blue hide bares the frosted outlines of various P'rru-parts and now it's Cayl's turn to burst out in laughter. However, it's a choked laughter, almost..just almost..reined in. "Oh dear.. You alright P'rru?" She glances over her shoulder towards Ilare and snickers idly. Well, that one was certainly..amusing. Chanticoth senses that he is doing the mental equivalent of falling about laughing. Who can't see the humour here? << Ok. Your turn. >> Heehee. He's started a trend. Nooo... Ilare started the Trend. Chanticoth just picked up the ball (pun intended) and ran with.. err.. well, threw it. Cayl is given a wink and a single raised eyebrow. Why supress? It's so much more fun to share the laughter. And does P'rru not look like a true 'Reaches Snow Rider now? *cough* P'rru shakes his head at the offered hand and staggers to his feet. "No, no quite alright...I'd forgotten dragonets could be such /unruly/ creatures at times..." he says, biting his lip at his outline against Mzadith. "Do not encourage them, Dsalth your supposed to set an example" he calls after his lifemate who whuffles in megreest apology and turns his back to the lot of them (neatly hiding what his forepaws are doing) "Well I must say this is a first, ladies, being snowballed by dragons..." huff. [WeyrlingmonsterEdibles!] Cayl /faints/! [WeyrlingmonsterEdibles!] Ilare thinks this is one for the HRW page ;) [WeyrlingmonsterEdibles!] Cayl: Definately :) [WeyrlingmonsterEdibles!] Ilare snerks.. Chanticoth senses that Dsalth tosses and turns snow in front of him, whispering wicked things <> he muses with a pale white light. Snowballs are rolling, shhhhh! Chanticoth senses that Mzadith thinks << Perhaps we can remind him that he is? >> Chanticoth senses that Dsalth harumphs, warm air jetted through nostrils that flare with the motion. <> smug neh? <> the plot thickens... Ilare takes a step back as P'rru gets to his feet once more, and she can't help but giggle. "And they're so good at them too.." Dragons and snowballs, who'd have thought they'd mesh so well? "Are you sure you're all right?" Ilare can look cute and worried, you know. A head tilt up at the older brown rider conveys her amusement-sprinkled words. "And can you honestly say you didn't play in the snow with your dragon?" Shaking her head a few times, Cayl begins to smear off the outline of the rider with little frozen snickers. Tributes to P'rru are seemingly fleeting, if endearing. "*Cough* Glad you're bundled up. And believe me, I know. I've chased and been chased by Mzadith and his shadow- cravings far too often." A glance is sent up towards Mzadith, blinking a few times at his sudden silence and the way he's just /peering/ at P'rru. "What are you up to...." Blink. "I don't think he would..." She looks to P'rru. "Rather strange..but my dragon wants you to show me how to mount strapless." Why does she get the idea this is a ploy towards some larger means? "On him..that is." P'rru shakes his head "No, we'd not had snow or temperatures this cold in Igen, Ilare" he notes, but claps his hands together at the requested task. "Alright Cayl" he agrees unknowingly, "The best method is to use his forepaw as a step, and have him bolster your..ahem.. behind with his tail...wrap your hands around a ridge..." yes yes, he's naive for an old guy. You thought Chanticoth could aim. Wait till you see this. With a whispered grunt, Dsalth manouvers around till he's facing the group. Lucky Purr's back is to him... for balanced on the great lug's nose is a marvelously massive snowball, hardpacked by precise forepaws. Then with one flick of his snout it goes aflying, careening through the air with speed... Cayl seems rather distracted as she reaches up and unbuckles her dragon's leathers, letting them slide off the other side as she gives a nod toward P'rru. "Hm.. Okay.. Mza? Lower your fore..." How ironic her voice should suddenly be snapped off at that word as soon as she's caught broad-side in the back with the flying misdemeanor! As she thuds to the ground, on her stomach, arms flailed out to protect her, she ends up blending in nicely. All that snow and mud, who can distinguish a weyrling within there. "Uuugh.." She comments idly as she tries picking herself back up. Anyone catch the number of that bus? Ilare is still standing to one side, because, you see, she wanted to see how to mount without straps. Yup. Which is why she has a great view of this HUGE flying snow ball making its way across the training grounds... Oi.. Clampiing her hands over her mouth, she ducks under Chanticoth's neck and peers from beneath as the snow boulder (it's too big to be a ball!) tumbles and falls and aims.... Thanfully P'rru has learnt to recognise that whistle of the wind that signals something aiming for his head. As Cayl is flung aside he gets caught in the spray, millions (it seems to him) of mini-snowboulders dash his jacket and he stumbles against Mzadith. "Dsalth!" this is roared, cheek blaring red. "If I never..." and with that the rider stalks off, definately disgruntled. Dsalth stays to gloat, grunting and crooning before demurely trotting after his lifemate. Chanticoth senses that Dsalth is marvelously pleased with himself <> He'll apologise later. > P'rru heads west towards the Northern curve of the bowl. Ilare raises both eyebrows in surprise at P'rru, although she does hug her lifemate's neck slightly. Whoops. P'rru is not a happy bunny.. Nuh uh. Oh well.. Dsalth heads west towards the Northern curve of the bowl. Finally managing to clammor shakily back to her feet (all that snow coating her back's weighting her down!), Cayl glances around quickly and blinks to see P'rru's back as he retreats. But...but... What just happened? She had blamed everything on the SnowKind, Chanticoth, already. Then she sees Dsalth's rather demure gaze and blinks some more. Aaah....kay... Hm. Looking towards Ilare as she begins to brush off snow, shivering, she gives a shrug of her shoulder. "Ouch?" Appropriate word, no? And behind her...what's Mzadith doing? Oh shards... Chanticoth senses that Mzadith thinks << That's /not/ how you make a snowball. This is. >> Chanticoth senses that Mzadith thinks << Oh, and no problem Dsalth! She needed a little cooling off. Chanticoth's rider said so. >> Ilare oh dears faintly, a truly sympathetic smile being sent Cayl's way as she hesitates on the far sid of Chanticoth. She's not going around him. Nuh uh. Not with snow-ball making dragons on the loose! What has she begun? She's created... uh.. snowmonsterdragons? Possibly. "You 'kay?" she calls. Insert devious little snicker here. "No, I'm Cayl now. Not Cay." She knew what Ilare was saying, but she'll take this moment's distraction to head in the other's direction, bending down halfway across to pick up a nice mound of snow in her hands. As she works it, she asks. "But whatcha doin behind there?" Not scared of snowmonsters are you? And behind her, Mzadith continues raking in the snow, working it in a huge mound. Anyone tell them they'd be great at making snowmen? Well... they might resemble snowmonsters once they get covered in enough snow, but until then, Chanti's happy to make another little pile of snow. Heehee. Ilare is not going to move from behind here. Nuh uh. Duccking down to snag some snow, she giggles at Cayl. "I know, you're Cayl, silly. But are you okay? You hit the floor pretty hard, you know." Just a lil' bit concerned for her fellow Weyrling, don'tcha know? And she's not at all worried about snowmonsters. None here at least. Unless you count the human weyrlings. After all, like rider, like dragon, neh? And lets forget she started the snow throwing, hmm? The balll in her hand is tossed up and down a few times as she hides behind Chanti's shoulders. Can't hit me! Too bad Chanticoth's too big to simply climb over and pounce on Ilare! That would be a nifty trick. However, Cayl's forced to go completely around that brown bulk, which she starts to do, heading in a wide arc around the dragon, still forming a nice big snowball in her hands. "Oh, I'm okay. Really." The ball and fall seems to have nocked all sense out of her, that's all. And far far behind her, Mzadith's already finished with his boulderball. Hmmm.... Oooh no. You're gonna have to get past Chanti and his one, two.. three small to medium sized snowballs to get to Ilare. Not quite as impressive as Mzadith's huge big boulder, but they do the job just as well. And he has lots of ammo. And you don't think Ilare didn't see that coming? "Uh huh." Without another word, she flings and splats her wouldbe snow attacker with the ball made ready between her gloved paws, before she bolts aroind the back of her dragon, dipping to grab more of the white stuff to make as ammunition. Huzzah! Snowball fight! Hey, now, wait, that was just plain /cruel/! You've got the protection of your huge brown ball-throwing wall here! Cayl's got her hands (and now face) full of snow. Spitting out the water that would be the remnants of Ilare's snowball, the woman giggles and turns around, running full force towards ...the other side of Chanticoth. Hey, you there. Yeah, you, the big brown thing, Moveit! Whine. "No fair! Mad, help me!" Cough, sputter. And swwwwing! There goes that boulderball of Mzadith's! Mzadith might need to work on his aim. If he was going for Ilare, he missed and hit her snowball-slinging wall. Chanti gets a mouthful of snow and is so suprised, he staggers a little. Ptooie! Snow tastes... well, like very cold water. Chanti lines up the first of his snowballs and lets it fly. Nope, now if he had smacked Ilare with that ball, he might of hurt her! She's so small and humanly frail after all! Pleased as he watches the Chanticoth swallow snow, Mzadith beams proudly and starts to make another ball. It's not the number that counts, it's the size. Oh yes, definately! And Cayl continues her slippy, slidy, sloshy run trying to catch up with Ilare. Just gotta round that corner and...Throw!! Ilare blinks as she's sprayed with the excess snow escaping Mzadith's snowboulder, somehow giggling at the surprise in Chanticoth's mind as well as snorting at the blue. Frail? Her? I think NOT! She's never been that! Snow balls are cheekily flung in the blueling's direction, but it appears she's paying no attention to Mzadith's lifemate's location.. uh oh? --------- [ ~~ And then everyone d/ced for lunch. I guess we'll never know what happens next... ~~ ]