Dam, Sire and Riders: Makin' It Weird

Xanadu Weyr - Meadow
A large, slightly rolling meadow is set high enough above the riverbank on both sides to avoid suffering from flooding, healthy ground cover and grass spreading out from either side of the dividing river. Scattered amongst the meadow are a variety of weyrs, each with a narrow path leading up to it from a main, winding road. Some are set under a few trees, while others sit by themselves. The meadow continues with gentle rolls and dips, grass tall and short waving in the slightest of breezes, and eventually those hills grow higher and steeper, ending in a large ridge that provides a fine view of that meadow and the rest of the Weyr, gazing out over the multicolored roofs of the houses and the cliff that holds the caverns.

Runner stables with the paddock beyond are to the south beyond the meadow weyrs, and a smithy and a woodcraft shop are settled closer in towards the path to the clearing. Trees border the northern side of the meadow, and more of those low, rolling hills can be seen to the northwest. A road passes through the meadow, coming from the east and used by traders and crafters alike. Wagons laden with felled trees from the forests or ore from the mountains are hauled by burden beast up the road through the meadow, over the bridge spanning the river to be processed in the appropriate workshops.

Who is about 45 meters long and got the most well oiled hide imagineable? That would be Inasyth shortly as the gold lounges in a spot of sunshine right off the main path through the meadow, head craning over to watch everybody going by. Rhodelia's had to haul out a bucket of oil and is currently up on the gold's neckridges, making sure to get those spots nice and thoroughly clean. "You know… we have a perfectly good meadow back at the barn. And I wouldn't have had to lug all the oil all the way out here…" The complaint is met with a physical snort and a mental stream of bubbles. « But there are PEOPLE here, so this is better! HELLO, YOU!!! AND HELLO TO YOU TOO!!! » Oh, that apprentice must be new by the way he scurries in terror by being addressed by one of Xanadu's golds. « Hahaha! He looked so excited! » Cause terror clearly isn't a possibility in Ina's world.

« WHAT HO, MY PLUMP PEARL. » That would be Glorioth swooping down to land and stride HEROICALLY toward Inasyth. The greeting is already a sure sign that F'yr has reminded him sometime within the span of (so very short) draconic memory that Glorioth flew Inasyth and they are expecting eggs. « HOW GO YOUR HEROIC EFFORTS TO PRODUCE THE MOST GLORIOUS OF ALL EGGS? I EXPECT YOU ARE ALREADY QUITE OUT OF SORTS FOR THE NUMBER AND SIZE OF MY BROOD. » Because they're going to be the biggest, you see. Nevermind that he's the TINIEST. SIZE MATTERS. Fortunately for everyone, Glorioth did not come alone and that would be F'yr in his straps, undoing his helmet and pulling off goggles and gloves but not, currently making move to the ground since Rhodelia is on her dragon's neckridges. He does start to unbuckle once Glorioth has brought them a bit more level, raising a hand in greeting to his wingmate. "Hey!"

« GETTING PLUMPER EVERY DAY!!! » Inasyth takes what some dragons might consider insult in stride and lucky for any more wandering apprentices, the gold turns her attention to her brother. « But Rhody says that's 'cause I ate three porcines. But they were tasty. AND FOR THE BABIES! » Nothing like imminent brooding to inspire an excuse for draconic gluttony. She's eating for way more than two after all, even if she doesn't look particularly egg heavy yet. And while Glorioth might be the tiniest, Inasyth is the largest so perhaps genetics will get them the middlest sized eggs. Rhodelia barely even looks up from her oiling when the bronze and bronzerider descend, waving the rag but going right back to scrubbing. While dragons may love all the summer sun, Rhody's beginning to look a little pinkish. "Hold visit?" She might not have looked at the schedule this morning, but she can guess what business might have required actual helmet and gloves.

« SURELY NOT. » Glorioth is on Inasyth's side. Nevermind the way he's eying her so rudely. « ANYONE CAN SEE YOU ARE GROWING ROUNDER BECAUSE MY VIRILITY HAS GIFTED YOU WITH INNER RADIANCE OF MY VALOR. » Yes, Rhody, are you blind?! F'yr is managing not to roll his eyes, but only just. "Yes, a quick one. Just to deliver some messages that went astray the last time." And if one of those somehow went astray this time, who's F'yr to know? He's just a lowly assistant. Right? RIGHT. It's fine. "Do you want a hand with the rest?" It's not that he doesn't have MILES AND MILES of shiny dragon hide to regularly oil himself, but perhaps F'yr at least feels partially responsible for the fact that some of that gold hide may stretch a little in the process. Or maybe he's just getting ready to be supportive clutchsire rider material? Who can say?

« So selfless, that gift of valor. Clearly you need to come over here and tell tales of your gloriousness to the eggs!!! » Inasyth might not have any eyelashes to bat, but she will croon and crane as she tries to entice the bronze OVER TO HER SIDE. Rhodelia ohhhs. "Ahh, those letters." She may have recalled them. "They might be getting a runner in a day or two with some duplicate copies." Why did she think message by foot would be more reliable than any of Xanadu's fine riders? But as Inasyth clearly seems more interested in trying to get some draconic-cuddles, the goldrider abandons her post and slips down to the ground before any legs might get accidentally smushed. And also starts packing up the oil bucket and rags. "Nah. This was actually the third time oiling her this morning. At this rate I'm wondering if it might just be more efficient to make a gold sized pool of oil and have her walk on in. She could share with Leirith and Ilyscaeth." One dragon sized oil-wash, it's the dream!

… AND THUS HIS ONE AND ONLY WEAKNESS (SHUP) WAS DISCOVERED. « BUT OF COURSE. » Always, always, always invite Glorioth to come and tell AMAZING (mostly made up) TALES OF HIS GLORIOUS VALOR AND HEROIC HEROICNESS, and he will come with bells on FANFARE (no, really, there's the fanfare as he settles in beside Inasyth) and proceeds to address his VERY LOUD tales of HONOR to his eggs. Inside Inasyth. And, oh, whoever else has the misfortune to come into range. "That sounds like a good plan to me. You know, except for rubbing it in." There's a reason they do it with elbow grease, Rhody. F'yr knows it well and his expression is bland enough to qualify as teasing. "Let me get his straps off and then I'll help you carry." He offers before efficiently setting about the task. "What's next for you?" After the oiling he means. Clearly next for the dragon is STORY TIME.

HAHAHAHAHA… like that weakness wasn't known to Inasyth all along! Kihatsuth isn't the only dragon that can make others putty in their claws after all! As Glorioth settles in for story, time, the gold squirms and rumbles delightedly. « THAT TICKLES! DO IT AGAIN!!! » The trumpets on the belly she means. Rhodelia rolls her eyes. "Hope that won't deafen the hatchlings." But honestly… if dragons can survive Leirith and Xermiltoth, they'll be fine. And then a laugh for F'yr's offer of assistance. "Where were you when I was carrying it all out here?" Oh right, that hold. "But sure! I think lunch and a bath is on the agenda. maybe not in that order. What about you?"

EXCUSE YOU. GLORIOTH IS A VERY MAN— DRAGONLY DRAGON. HE DOES NOT DO PUTTY. … that he knows of. It's fine. No one tell him. « NO. THERE'S MORE IMPORTANT MATTERS NOW. » SEE? HE AIN'T YOUR PLAY THING, INA. Besides, he has a lot of WISE WISDOM TO WISEY WISE UP THESE EGGS TO, HOKAY? "Do deaf dragons happen? Is that a thing?" SHOULD F'YR BE WORRIED? His brow is doing that worry line thing and he's looking abruptly concerned even as he keeps working through the series of buckles until the straps releases and fall to the ground for him to start coiling up. "One of the simple facts of life," he manages to sound a little light as he highlights it, "is that I won't always be around to lift and carry when it's convenient." Only something about that intended joke make him frown. "Anyway. Probably filing." He hesitates frowning again. "I might grab some lunch first." It shouldn't be this much of a struggle, but apparently it is. "Want to get lunch together?"

"I mean, I don't think so?" Rhodelia gives a shrug. "But it'd probably be hard to tell what with the telepathy and everything." Giant, flying, teleapthic, teleporting lizards. Who needs a thing like ears? "I did a bit of the filing this morning! And after I de-oil myself again, I'll probably end up going over the store reports again." She makes that bleh face, you know the one, but somebody's gotta make sure crafters got what they need to craft. "Lunch sounds good. I got some snacks back at my place when we drop this off… or the Treetop?" Inasyth is fine with Glorioth's objections and she just flops over on her side, getting grass all up in that freshly oiled hide, but giving even more access to possibly wherever it is that belly-eggs reside.

"The dragonhealers would know, right?" Of course they would. And now some poor dragonhealer is going to be cornered at some point by a nervous clutchsire rider to be given the third degree about what can and can't go wrong with inbred eggs. F'yr will surely sleep well that night. "Treetop sounds good, if you think they'll let you in like that." As if the Treetop would turn away one of their very own goldriders just for being a little oily. He hesitates then, a moment and then longer and then shakes his head, whatever was contemplated abruptly decided against. He gets his straps slung up on his body so his arms are mostly free to carry whatever Rhodelia wants him to do. "Stores reports aren't the worst. And think of it, for now you can do them from the office instead of the galleries." VALUE YOUR TIME WITHOUT HEATSTROKE WHILE YOU CAN, RHODY.

Rhodelia gives an encouraging nod. "Ask Citayla." The senior turned junior healer might be more equipped to deal with questions from nervous clutchsire riders than random dragonhealers. She waves an oily hand at F'yr's concerns about dress codes. "If they got concerns, we can just sit outside on the balcony. The breeze will be good for us anyways." It's summer, any breeze is a good breeze! They need to stock up on it before they get stuck on the Sands. There's a groan as F'yr reminds her of that soon to be fate. "I was thinking I could do them IN the stores in the future… you know. When needed extra special attention." SHE'S STORING UP THE EXCUSES ALREADY.

"Oh, good idea." YES, CITA WILL THANK YOU LATER, NO DOUBT, RHODY. At least F'yr seems reassured in the moment, smiling briefly at the goldrider. "That sounds very reasonably of you." He agrees, nodding. And for a second time, there's that weird brief hesitation where he almost decides to say something and then doesn't. "Shall we leave them to their… eggs?" He squints over at his dragon and then shakes his head. "It's a little surreal. All of this. Am I the only one?" He asks, looking over at the blonde.

ALL THE THANKS, BRING IT! Rhodelia can take it while right now she gives F'yr a big grin. "I'm nothing but reasonable. And hungry. Mmmmm… a nice wherry sandwich." She glances over her shoulder back at the dragons that could make for a Norman Rockwell-esque painting if Pern knew such a thing existed (and the artist was as deaf as any possible dragon babies could be). "I think they're as occupied as they're going to be? And really, I think it's a bit of a relief? I always knew she would but now she has…" And lucky for Rhody that means she doesn't have to worry about another flight for at least another turn!

"Well, next time it won't be unexpected, whatever it is." F'yr finishes out for her. He flashes a smile. "It probably won't be as nice," he adds after a moment, the smile twisting a little as it goes into impish territory. Here is a man who does not expect his lifemate to catch Inasyth a second time, no matter the bronze's confidence in the matter (WHICH IS ALL ONE WOULD EXPECT IT IS: ABSOLUTE). "Sandwich sounds good." Again, that weird hesitation and then moment of backing away from something, "Shall we?" is the distraction offered when he doesn't speak when he could. Oh well.

Rhodelia raises an eyebrow at F'yr as she gives him a LOOK. "What? How many golds has Xermiltoth caught multiple times in a row? Don't believe in like father like son?" The grin fades as the look shifts to one of concern as the evasion is picked up on. Rhody should be good at spotting evasive maneuvers with how often she performs her own. "I mean, I'm going to get a sandwich. You can do whatever… if there's something else you'd rather do?"

"Do we need to address that now?" F'yr looks pained, probably because Glorioth INTERRUPTS HIS VERY IMPORTANT STORY TO GIVE HIS RIDER A LOOK. How dare; he's F'yrociously betrayed! The F'yrsome rider pinches his eyes shut and then shakes his head. "No, sandwich is good, I just thought we were taking this back first." All the oil and straps and whatnot that he's currently bedecked with. "Sorry." That doesn't necessarily seem to be related to the statement before that, but there is a little wince. Something is up. That's for sure.

"I mean, we can take this stuff back and I could even clean up if we were to do that," Rhodelia does agree that it seems like a good plan. Even if there could be certain other distractions that lie that way. "But we are already closer to the Treetop now. And you seemed, distracted. Like you need a sandwich maybe. And we could skip that having to double up on the walking." Some of proddy-Rhody's efficiency might be lingering or maybe she's just feeling particularly lazy after oiling her enormous dragon three times already that morning.

Listen, none of F'yr's starts and stops would keep him from taking her up on those other distractions, even with his current, uh, distractions. "So you want me to carry all of this-" the straps and the oil supplies and everything, "-to the Treetop and then back to our homesteads instead of just to the homesteads and then walk, unburdened, to the Treetop after?" Nevermind that Rhodelia has never been invited to F'yr's homestead. He eyes her a moment, "Is this because I was at the Hold instead of helping you lug all of this out here in the first place?"

Look, maybe Rhodelia just wants to watch F'yr carry some things? Could anybody really blame her? (the answer is yes and his name is probably F'yr). She shrugs. "I mean, whichever. I'm easy." She may have even been considering the risk of just ditching the oil at the first weyr she came to and hoping someone took it as a beneficial offering. "And you were working! Like you're supposed to do!" She might not be the most studious of weyrwomen, but Rhody does admit that some work sometimes had to be done. "But what's up with you? If it's not an imminent need for sandwiches."

Does Rhody really want to touch this with a six-foot pole let alone a direct inquiry like that? There's a brief, slightly pained look and he bites his lower lip to give it a little chew of indecision before he sighs. "I don't want to talk about it here. Let's take this stuff back to your place. I don't know if I can really get into it there, either, but I'll… try to make it less weird." He knows he's being weird. It can't be helped. What can and will be helped by this bid (even if it's followed by an excuse to vanish off into the hours-off sunset with his own straps without actually getting to the making it less weird part) is the amount of lugging F'yr will have to do of all these supplies he's still holding. So without waiting for Rhodelia's assent, he's heading in the direction of her barn to make the delivery.

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