Xanadu Weyr - Weyrling Barracks
A long and roughly oblong cavern, about a third of the space is open, used for classes or chores as required. The rest of the space is filled with couches of varying sizes, all with plenty of space between them. Some couches are obviously intended for the very young weyrlings while the largest ones at the back are for the older weyrlings.
The excitement of the hatching rarely has time to ebb before the weyrlingmaster and his staff begin the grueling task of instruction of the young riders. Meat is already cubed and distributed in heaping bowls for the new riders to partake of in feeding their dragons. Some are already done, the dragon asleep and the bonded rider resting, listening, or off to the feast, but M'nol doesn't have that luxury quiet yet as he leans against the doorpost watching his newest charges do their duties to their dragons. He hasn't spoken yet. Yet.
Lan, has been rather silent since his moment of impression. Things have been done in an almost mechanical nature, the young man's eyes glazed over as if in constant communication with the ruddy brown. The wrangy brown sits with his neck curled, regally, watching with a constant eye his rider's application of oil. Despite the weary eye on Lan and having finished feeding the dragon until near full, he's still working away with a slight twist on his lips.
"Now, you listen here, I ain't gonna be standing for ya sayin' tha' I'm dumb, y'here?" Aqueepoli, or Qe'pol, or whoever he is at this point, states to the skeletal bronze dragon near him. "Ya ate, now ya should be… I dun know. Sleepin' or whatever baby dragons do, cuz tha's the way of it!" Or so he assumes. Knowing little of dragons, Pol tries for authority in his voice. Nisuanekhdjieth, all the while, just stares straight at his new rider, no need to respond back to the lad. If it's sad a dragon could give a sadistic grin, Nisuanekhdjieth is doing so now, what with the edges of his maw turning up, showing a large mouthful of sharp, pointy teeth. Pol has the intelligence to take a step back from his own dragon, turn around, and stare at M'nol. "Mine's broken." He states, hand raising as if in school. "Can I get another?"
Fl'ynn is with Kagenaith. The drifter turned candidate turned weyrling is settled upon the floor in some random spot or another, with one fat-stomached blue-purple dragon draped beside him. Well, the dragonet's head is flopped into his lap, tongue lolling out (dragon's, not Flynn's), while the teen uses a nail to flick off some dried goo from the creature's hide. His eyes come up, looking across to Landen, only to smile faintly at the ex-sailor. "So brown, huh?"
What about Pyriel, now named P'rel? The blond is now carefully feeding the young Malphath, but the bronze is only half paying attention as the globs of dripping meat are applied to his opened maw. He's too busy looking around, red eyes whirling on this and that, but he's at least sitting up tall and proper, tail coiled around his hind and forelimbs. Py isn't doing much, other than depositing food onto that awaiting tongue. The boy doesn't even have to tell his new lifemate to chew slowly, because the way that Malphath was doing it already was meticulous. Golden eyes dare a quick dart around to the fellows who will join him in weyrlinghood, but it's brief and then he's back to feeding.
Ers'lan frowns deeply at something unseen or unheard, there is no indication of what would cause it save for the glassy look in his eyes. Zhaoth keeps his head cocked to the side, stretching wing or limb when Lan gets to the point of oiling him there. The two are quite focused in the task at hand. Yet, it was Zhaoth who was the first to seemingly draw some acknowledgement of Fl'ynn's question, shimmering big eyes flecked with blue and green unblinking as if to say, good lad - he's not color blind. Something causes Lan to jolt, fingers despite being oil covered, rise to his forehead and hold there as if having a headache. Eventually, Ers'lan lifts his gaze long enough to peer over at Fl'ynn, nodding. With a sway of Zhaoth's head back to nearly nudge Lan, the ex-sailor goes back to work without stalling further. Zhaoth's bony chest fills with air as he peers back at Fl'ynn. Finally Ers'lan mutters, over the haggard spine belonging to the brown, sparing a quick grin, "Blue, huh?"
M'nol just gawps at Qe'pol for a moment, "No you may not!" That's a question he's certainly never heard before, "He's not broken, you just need to get to know eachother. Which is why the first month is so crucial." He grins almost evilly, "Which brings me to rules. You're all doing a fantastic job so far of not letting them broadcast too loudly, for which my poor ears are appreciative, but there's more than that." Yes, it's all Qe'pol's fault that this can of worms is coming. Blame him. "There'll be meat for you in the morning as well. After that you'll have to butcher the carcasses yourselves. Your dragons must be bathed and oiled as often as they request, so you'll have to refill the oil vats from time to time as well. You have your own portion of the beach, too. You can't leave the Weyrling area for the next couple of sevendays except to eat." He rounds on Qe'pol, "No drinking." Ers'lan, "No girls." and no one in particular gets, "No barracks visitors. No one without 'weyr' in their title may visit you in the barracks. Don't even think about flying. That's so far off, you might as well pretend it doesn't exist. For now, focus on caring for and bonding with your dragons. They are the most important things in your world now, you'd better get to know eachother."
Apparently Malphath is done eating, because his mouth has closed and he's turned his head away. Not in a prissy way, but rather more interested in what was going on. His clutch siblings get the majority of that, even as he licks his own maw. P'rel looks thankful for the break, wiping his bloodied hand on the now no longer completely white candidate robe. This garners Malphath's attention, head whipping in that direction with another whirl of red eyes. He noses at the stain, nearly knocking the former harper over in the process. "Whoa, man. Ya gutta cut that out. I thought ya weren't hungry no more?" he asks, and then the bronze curls himself around the boy, rubbing himself against him. "Itchy?" a blink, and golden eyes flicker to M'nol, and then to the oil vats. "Oh. Okay." With a shrug, he heads over that way, and gets to the oiling.
Qe'pol wrinkles his nose more and more as every rule is listed, "Tha' /blows/. I thought we were all done with stupid rules after candidacy." Frowning, the weyrling turns back towards his dragon, eyes narrowed. "This is /all/ your fault, I hope ya know. I hope ya are proud!" A moment passes and Pol's eyes go large, his face turns red. "Why you sonofa…" The new dragonrider stalks forward a few steps, only to stop, take some calming breathes and throw a dirty look M'nol's way. "I'd've rather been handfasted to some pimple-faced, no-boobed ugly chic than be stuck to him." More moments pass with nothing being said, and once more Qe'pol's face fills with anger. "Oh, oh, I don't like you /at all/!" Marching away from Nisuanekhdjieth now, he nears Pyriel, P'rel, his bro, hands stretched out. "Trade ya. Please? Mine sucks. Ya should hear the shit he's spewin' in my head, then laughin' 'bout it." Turn around. "I dun /care/ if'n ya itch! Ya can /suck it/!" Pol totally flicks his own dragon off. While Nisuanekhdjieth? He continues to lay atop a couch that's far to the side, almost among the shadows, rail-thin, minus the gluttonous belly. Amusement radiating off the dragon.
"Weyrling Qe'pol! You will turn around right now and tend to your dragon." M'nol's so at a loss for how to deal with this set of responses he's just gone into task-master mode, "There is NO swapping! You're just going to have to learn to like him." One finger points to an oil vat, then the pile of cloths, then to the bronze nisblahblahth, "Oil. Once he's comfortable, he'll sleep."
And then Pol is there! P'rel in mid-oiling of the studious appearing Malphath, glances first and then stands upright, not paying attention to which hand is used for the return fistbump. It's the oily one. "Wha?" he asks intelligently, golden hues fixing on his holder friend's dragon and then back to his own. Malphath though, he was up and circling the two boys, looking them both up and down before staring quite intently at Qu'pol. There is a snort, and now the nose goes up into the air, regally sitting besides Py, and tapping the tip of his finely formed tail. P'rel goes bright red, and stares down at the seated bronze. "Dude, that ain't coo…." and then he cuts himself off, sliding an apologetic expression to the boy formally known as Aqueepoli. "He wants me to tell ya that'd he'd rather try eating a whole wherry starting at the ass-end than be stuck with ya for all eternity." And there's a wince from the human half of the pairing, before he gives the little bronze a frown. Malphath, seems most unconcerned, in fact, he's walking away. See, there's his tail end, while the front end is headed towards an empty couch that may look way too large now. Maybe he knows something no one else does.
Zhaoth's lips curl up in a silent snarl, showing the sharp rows of teeth. Though at what, no one is sure. The brown dragon shifts his weight back and forth to help guide Ers'lan's hands to oil the right spots. The man is being liberal with the application of it, glancing over his shoulder at the plight of the bronzeriders. There is no emotion there for the others, in fact his eyes were still glazed over as if in conversation with Zhaoth, that he merely turns back to his task at hand, putting even more effort into it.
Qe'pol lets out a lofty sigh, as well as an eyeroll only P'rel can see, at M'nol's words. "/Fine/!" He snaps out, stomping his foot in an oh-so-childish way. Nisuanekhdjieth continues to lay where he is, on the couch of his choosing. P'rel's dragon is given a dark look, teeth gritted as he stares at the other bronze. "Oh really?" Huff, huff. "Well, I dun want him /anyway/! I'll try an' get Iess to trade me, he's my bro, he could deal with Nisu's…" Blink. "Nah, I like Nisu more. Your whole name takes too much effort to say." The bronze dragon SNORTS loudly, obviously irritated as eyes darken to red and swirl ever the faster. "Anyway, as I was sayin' before I was /interrupted/." Back to P'rel. "Sounds like yours is a jerk as well. I bet the two of 'em," Thumb jab to Malphath and to Nisuanekhdjieth. "Will be besties." Snort from the human this time. "Stupid, freakin' dragon, tellin' me wha' to do… he doesn't own me." Muttering loudly, Pol stomps back over to where his bronze awaits, grabbing some oil as he goes. The dragon is eyed. The oil is eyed. The entire bucket is overturned and splashed onto the dragon's head and back. "THERE. All done." Nisuanekhdjieth doesn't like this at all. The dragon now snarling, eyes moving quicker than before, white flecks showing through the dark red. Quiet comes from Pol, his eyes glazed as surely an all out war is occurring within his mind.
M'nol's glower only darkens as the dragons and riders interact. This is going to be interesting. He scoops up a rag and lobs it at the back of Qe'pol's head, "If you miss a spot, his hide'll dry out and crack. Cracked hide kills. And whether you like /him/ or not, him dying would likely kill you too." He frowns more, then mutters a soft "Shuddup Farry" which can only mean his dragon is much more amused than he is. And staying well out of the altercation.
All the commotion from Pol has Lan suddenly throwing down his bucket, oil spilling everywhere around him and Zhaoth. The brown snarls now, wings flaring, emitting a steely grating sound for ALL to hear! Ers'lan moves before he even knows what he is dong, stomping over to Qe'pol in the moments after the bronze weyrling has just dumped a bucket of oil over the bronze's head. What does Lan do? Out of character or probably pushed to the brink of what he could deal with, he lobs a hand to THWAP Qe'pol over the back of the head, if the other doesn't move fast enough. It's not a heavy club to the back of the head, just one that would smart the younger man. "Shut your PIE hole, before I be fixin it with my fist…" he threatens, emotions heightened from his brown, who is now standing with teeth showing and wings flared. The whole Weyr can probably hear the STEEL sound from Zhaoth, like someone running a knife down a chalk board … not pleasant.
P'rel schools his expression at Qe'pol's eyeroll, suddenly his face very serious and blank. He doesn't manage to avoid a quick-like glance the brownrider's way however, but off those twin golden orbs go again, off towards the ceiling it seems. Another snort from Malphath for the rejected bronzling, and he flops down onto his couch, stretching out in an almost feline recline. Even has the disdained twitch of tail to go with it. "MALPHATH!" he scolds, glaring now at the young bronze, who is ignoring him. Red eyes slide closed and he yawns, resting his head upon his crossed forelimbs. "Uuuuuggghhhhh…." comes Py's response, and then before he can address the rest of what Pol had said to him there is the cloth thrown at the back of the other bronzer's head as well as Lan's outburst, which seems to get Malphath's attention. In way of his eyes opening to red slits, and that tail moves with an irritated flop back and forth. P'rel's expression changes so much that it's difficult to read one before the next takes it's place. The smack to the back of Pol's head from the former sailor? Yeah, Py is gunna back off right then and there and he takes several steps back, after grabbing his fellow bronzling's arm. "Dude, no…just no. Serious Pol, dun hit him back…" A frown and up and down glance given to Landers however.
First, it's getting smacked in the back of the head with a rag, which Qe'pol reluctantly picks up upon the scathing remarks his dragon is surly giving him. He's about to start both cleaning up the mess he made, as well as rubbing the oil into Nisuanekhdjieth's creepy skeletal form before he's getting an open palmed smack to the back of the head. "/Heeeey/!" Pol yelps, twirling around about to depend himself with both oily rage and fist. But P'rel, ever the voice of rational thought, says otherwise. And it sticks. Nisuanekhdjieth is full of dark, silken rage at this point. Eyes almost fully white, twirling and swirling, the bond still new and emotions now overlapping both man and dragon. "It's FINE." Pol says in an overly squeaky voice. "Jus' fine. Fiiiine." Ers'lan gets a long, long look, from both bronzerider and dragon. Soon the 'rider is shaking his head, either at what may be said by dragon or to clear his own mind. "It's… fine. I won't." Is sent to P'rel with a reassuring nod. Free hand comes up to rub at the offending spot where his head took a thwack. "I'm… jus' gonna see to Nisu now, s'all. Jus'… yeah." Huff puff. Restraint is hard. The bronzerider turns and kneels down by his dragon and starts to work in the oil. All the stuff that splashed off will be taken care of after.
M'nol acts quickly and honestly without thinking about the fact that the former sailor probably actually matches him for strength. Ers'lan's shirt is yanked /hard/ and away from Qe'pol towards his dragon. "No fighting." He glowers between all three of the boys, "It upsets all of the dragons and they share like mad. Worse, this young you could cause them actual harm." He casts Qe'pol an appreciative look for not having continued the altercation, "If I catch /any/ of you fighting, and by Faranth your dragons will tell mine, you'll be on water rations for a month." The might midget is a bit grumpy today. Problem class indeed.
There is a look in Lan's eyes that seems strange. It is a mixture of his dragon's emotions no doubt and his own, but the wrath is there behind it, the ire and the seething rage going out of control as he stares like a bull at Qe'pol, ready to charge. If there could be smoke coming out of his ears, there would be. Zhaoth is not relenting either, large as a small bronze, the dragon has puffed himself full of air and is taking a defensive stance near Ers'lan. The glare for Qe'pol flashes to P'rel and back again, about to say something further when M'nol yanks on him. The robe yanking does momentarily startle the former-sailor, balance lost for a brief second until his feet come underneath him and he spins on the weyrlingmaster, swinging his arm hard to disconnect the hold on his shirt. "Iffin ya shardin told him to shut the f*** up, I be not cuffing him!" he tries to straighten out his robe, fixing it where it got all twisted and such from M'nol's grasp. Zhaoth distracts the former sailor, calling attention to the puddle of oil on the floorboards instead of on hide. Huffing, Lan moves back to start cleaning up his own mess.
P'rel is just be letting go of Qe'pol's arms now and hastily making his way to Malphath with an oil cloth, yep. That death glare that he got from Ers'lan, yeah that was enough to make the former harper pale considerably, even if there was a return glare not quite so deathly in return. With his fellow bronzer off to tend to his lifemate, Py drops down on the enormous couch and starts to work that oil cloth along the parts of Malphath that he'd missed. Not that his red-eyed partner in crime was at all noticing. Other than a soft approving rumble that is. He mutters low back and forth with the hours old dragon, though nothing loud enough to carry over.
Ers'lan says nothing more nor does he look any further at the bronzers. The scrubbing to clean up the oil is harshly done, with rags being used to despose of most of the oil. It takes some time for him to clean it up to the point that no one will slip on it. The bad oil is desposed of in a vat for old oil storage, pouring clean oil back in once all is said and done. He goes back to the task of oiling Zhaoth, mindless of the other weyrlings, avoiding eye contact with them as he struggles to understand and bond with his new lifemate.
Having missed the earlier dramatics, I'srie is just now moving into the weyrling barracks, his blue still licking blood off narrow muzzle, all the egg-goop having been.. cleaned. Meticulously. There might be a dragonhealer seeing the pair back, though once within, Tscyleth moves with surety, having none of the usual clumsiness of most hatchlings, though it could be how he takes his steps, with so much care. Iessrien follows, looking far less steady than his lifemate, and.. more than a little vacant-eyed. Indeed, it's only when the hours-old blue stops by a couch, not far from where the bronzes are, that Iess snaps back to his surroundings. The former holder blinks, taking a quiet breath and giving Pol and then Pyriel a head-jerk of a nod in greeting, moving to Tscyleth's side and dropping down to the raised stone bed, both hands coming up to trail fingers ever so delicately along the predatory jaw. Whatever the two are sharing, it's doen in silence, though after a moment, both turn their gazes to Malphath and P'rel, Iess weeting his lips before a slow, thin smile appears, nodding to the bronze weyrling pair with a quiet, "Congratulations, man. /Shells/.." He still sounds, well, in shock.
Malphath was enjoying the meticulous way that P'rel was working that oil into his hide, yes, the ink-dipped bronze of his head turning and red-hued eyes slitting but that is all. At least the way his tail was lazily sliding back forth indicated his mood enough to guess he was just relaxing. The former harper is so busy that he doesn't notice the late arrival of I'srie and Tscyleth. It's the former BreakWater holder's voice that yanks Py out of his self-induced trance. "Hmmm?" he says, looking about for a few seconds before Iess' face registers, and the blond bobs his head. "Right back attcha, man." he says, giving the blue at his friend's side a once over. "What's his name?" he asks, attention back to I'srie again. No, he was paying no more mind to Pol or Lan.
"Let me do my job, Ers'lan. Focus on the care of your dragon." Morl turns back to Qe'pol, taking a long moment to consult with his own brown under the guise of checking first Qe'pol, then a few others' dragons before re-entering the fray. He pauses a moment to inspect Tscyleth himself, "He looks well, I'srie. Congratulations. There's food, oil, and cloths if you still need them." Then he moves over to P'rel, finally taking a moment to murmur, "Faraeth's very proud of you and sends his congratulations. He also wants to know if you're going to put the shinies back in." He smirks jusssst a little. His brown's proclivities are always unusual.
I'srie runs fingers once again along the perfectly sculpted jaw of his young dragon, so small now but still carrying a sinister slant, the predatory nature of the creature further revealed as mouth opens for a long yawn, rows of perfectly white, razor-sharp teeth glinting within parted jaws, tongue curling out briefly. Iess is already standing, slightest nod given to M'nol as he the new bluerider heads toward the indicated oil and clothes, though apparently Tscyleth has already eaten his fill. The blue carefully settles on the couch, holding near-perfectly still as I'srie returns with a bucket and begis dabbing oil over the starlight-touched hide. "Tscyleth," the name slips out, half-breathed in a voice so clearly tinged with awe he might as well still be standing on the hatching shands, though I'srie shakes himself out of it, pondwater eyes flicking to P'rel with a quiet, "../Shit/, man, we.. /shit/." He.. may be doing this for a while. The blue beside him cants his head at just the perfect angle to look down that long snout at his bond. I'srie immediately colors, clearing his throat and working suddenly with concentration on a patch of smooth hide.
Malphath is looking, asleep. Yes, that is what Malphath is. Somewhere between the question asking and the goings on, the bronze had drifted off. P'rel sets the cloth down that he was using only once the very tip of the now limp tail was oiled and startles as M'nol is suddenly just right there. "Ummm, tell him…thanks?" he says, brows furrowed, and voice distinctly soft. He doesn't seem to know exactly what to say to that. Though, the second part gets some surprise. "Am I allowed to have my piercings back in now? I feel more naked without 'em then I do in this stupid robe thing." he starts, and then yanks on the blood stained candidate robe as if to emphasize. "Can I change?" Whine. Yes, Py was whining a bit, though considering how exhausted he looked, it might not be any small wonder. That, and perhaps all the maleness that was tossing it's testosterone heavy head around may also have played some small part in it. He nearly misses the answer to his question, gaze wandered back then to I'srie. "Tscyleth?" he sounds and offers the bluerider a thin smile, "I like it." Then there is the round of cursing, and Py's brows knit. "Impressed? Yeah I know, man. Heavy."
M'nol shakes his head just slightly, "Not until you graduate. But once you do, you're your own man again and rightfully so." He glances at the robe, then smirks, "Of course. At least if you have clothes to change into. I know not all of your guys stuff has been brought yet. I'd hang on to the robe, though, if I were you. Memories and all." The short man straightens to move to check on I'srie again, "He's gorgeous. Well suited to you, I think. I'srie, right? You're well?"
Tscyleth very carefully extends a wing so that I'srie can spread a layer of oil along the thin, delicate membranes. The moonbeam-light hue shifts into something deeper with the sheen across it, reminiscent of the ocean's surface beneathe a sky of stars. Iess seems, for a few moments, utterly mesmerized by it, though he does tilt his head, glancing back toward P'rel and the hatchling bronze, lips twitching towards a smile. His head jerks to indicate his friend's lifemate, "What's his name? Shit, man, I still can't believe.. /shells/," the blue beside the former holder is.. beginning to look almost embarrassed as the boy keeps going on like that, head lowering to just press nose to shoulder, Iess going utterly still as his eyes unfocus. It's quite something to watch, the way he seems to drift out of himself at the baby dragon's merest touch, and then the head withdraws. Iess starts, though, blinking up at M'nol's comment and then coloring all over again. "Uh.. thanks," is mumbled, though Tscyleth merely takes the compliment in stride, head dipping ever so slightly, with an elegant arch to his neck. I'srie rather less elegantly dunks his whole hand distractedly in the oil bucket. "Oh, uh, yeah," clearing his throat and looking away, toward the midnight-ocean blue, "I'srie. I'm fine, just.. getting used to him." At least the boy isn't so overwhelmed as to forget he's supposed to be oiling that sleek hide, letting the rag and his hand drip excess into the bucket before applying more to his lifemate, a little sloppily, the work eyed by Tscyleth, though if the dragon's commenting, he's at least managed to do it silently.
P'rel rather deflates at the news of no piercings till they graduate. However there doesn't seem to be much more energy for much else beyond that, and so the blond boy just nods and smooths a finger down Malphath's well oiled hide. It wasn't all that hard, but the bronze lifts his head and peers with red whirling eyes at the one he'd chosen to be with for all times. "Wha?" stares Py, golden eyes dart over towards I'srie and Tscyleth, and then back to Malphath. "Malphath, man. I'm sure he didn't mean it like that, kay?" he says with some awkwardness, rubbing at the back of his head. "M'nol, ya gutta tell Malphath he ain't hideous and shit. He thinks cause ya said Tscyleth is gorgeous and didn't compliment him…that ya think he's ugly or something." The former harper's expression right now? HELP ME. He was pleading with the brownriding assistant weyrlingmaster. Keenly, the bronze had rotated just his neck and so now his ink-dipped snout was pointed at M'nol. Expectantly. In a 'praise me now human' sort of way. P'rel is, on the other hand, trying to appear as small as possible. Embarrassment factor up plus twenty. "Malphath, his name is Malphath." he meekly informs his fellow weyrling, his face dropping to one hand. Then his head shakes. Poor, Py.
M'nol smirks easily at I'srie, "I still feel weird when I think back to my first few days. You'll get used to him, though. And we'll do exercises to help build the quality of your bond and your ability to visualize. Wha?" His brows furrow, turning to look at P'rel and his Malphath, "Did I not? Well, I apologize, young Malphath. Dark bronzes have always been my favorite. And your hue is particularly striking. You'll probably blend in when flying at night." He inclines his head to the darkly colored bronze, then eyes his watch, "I'm going to step outside, Weyrlings. You should finish up and then either rest or go see your guests at the feast. No fighting." He smirks, not really expecting any from that last wakeful pair, then turns to make his way out.
I'srie nods slightly to M'nol, the weyrling's expression briefly sheepish, though the lingering wonder is at least dissipating to were he isn't staring at his lifemate distractedly every few seconds. "I can't imagine ever being used to this," is mumbled under his breath, though he does nod again at the talk of exercises. What happened to the cocky holder's son? He seems to have been overwhelmed, just a little. That doesn't stop Iess from ducking his head though, attempting to hide the sudden twitch of another smile at Malphath's apparent indignation for M'nol's lack of compliment. Tscyleth turns to regard his bronze clutchbrother, almost critically through sea-blue whirling facets, though his assessment seems favorable, as there's only a thoughtfil cant of his head. Approving of the other dragon's coloration? Well, why not. "That's a nice name," Iess will comment, at Py's answer there, tone possibly just this side of bemused, though his attention is mostly on his own lifemate, working the oil thoroughly over the blue's hide. A vague nod is for M'nol's leaving, but a glance at Tscyleth has Iess at least offering a belated, "Sir," to the smirky AWLM.
Yes it even progressed to talon tapping, even as light as it is. Malphath stops the tapping though as M'nol compliments him, head tilt as if he were straining to hear it, and then he just bobs his head once, much like his newly found lifemate had before. As for Tscyleth's appraisel of him? Malphath returns this with much the same, though whatever the young dragon think has P'rel's face, neck and ears the color of a redfruit. Apparently satisfied with everything to this point, the bronze rumbles something or another before wings rustle and he's curling up once more. Eyes closing. P'rel in his fully flushed state is clearly at a loss, so he remains there for now beside Malphath, face upturned and letting out a long sigh. With M'nol leaving, much of the blush calms with the distracting from all things dragonically amusing, and he salutes the man, even if a second later he's looking at his own hand as if it had betrayed him. Brows crease, and lips curl down into a slight frown.
I'srie watches P'rel for a second after Tscyleth's own attention shifts from bronze clutchbrother to the human half of the pair. There's an arched brow, Iess merely looking at Py before pondwater blues return to his own lifemate's hide. The blue continues to regard P'rel, a long, low-lidded stare, utterly unblinking. Eventually, though, Iess has to quietly clear his throat, to get Tscyleth t oshift his wing, the blue doing so very carefully, attention finally moving away from the bronzeling over there. I'srie, for his part, seems to have run out of things to say, or else has the voice in his head taking up his own attention, though he does finally stop, that smooth hide fully oiled, leaning back on his ankles and letting out a slow breath. "..I need to at least make an appearance at the caverns," sounding as if he's continuing a conversation, telling his dragon, "My family will be there. Probably still waiting," Though his gaze then flicks back to P'rel, "You going to grab food, man?" Iess looks tired, the midnight hatching and the adrenaline rush having long-since faded, even the mental high from impressing having eased into something gentler. Still, the holder boy drops the cloth in the bucket and rocks to his feet while Tscyleth stretches and then curls, eyelids drooping but not closing entirely. He, too, may be exhausted, but he would likely refuse to sleep till his bond returned.
P'rel looks to I'srie when the boy speaks again, a glance given to Malphath. Either the bronze was really good at pretending, or he was once again asleep. "Wish I could fall asleep that fast." he mutters, but gets up and stretching out his arms and legs anyway. "My dad's here." he says, sliding a complex look towards the newly impressed bluerider. Something in the former harper's tone denoted just how much he was looking forward to that particular meeting. Even if his deep frown said it all. Once more he reaches out and touches Malphath's shoulder, as if to make sure that the beast was for real before he steps off the enormous couch and back down to the ground proper. "I really want to change out of this robe first." he says, and yanks on the thing again. Then, almost in afterthought. "I'd really like to meet yer parents." It's softly said, and lashes lower as the words come out, eyes focused rather on the doorway out than on the other male weyrling.
I'srie watches his blue a long moment, hand reaching out to trail fingers along an eyeridge before he withdraws it, turning to look at P'rel at the mention of the other's father. "You don't have to talk to him tonight," he points out to the other boy, though Iess himself is moving to the clothes press that was brought over from the barracks before he'd arrived. Wiping his hands carefully on a clean cloth, he moves to the other side of Tscyleth, the blue choosing just then to stretch a wing as his bond practivally dives out of robe and into pants. Yeah, subtle, that. Still, Iess has to chuckle somewhat, "Shit, the whole time I was out there on the sands, I was hoping for pants." Right. He'd probably been too distracted by hatching eggs to worry about /that/, but he is attempting a lighter tone, even as Py comments on meeting his parents. The holder stills, carefully smoothing out shirt and finding a comb to run through his hair. "..I don't think you'd like them," is said carefully, though he's soon heading for the door.
P'rel is paying no attention to I'srie as he changes, far more thrilled at the sudden realization that his press was in fact, there. Minus the whoop of joy, the bronzling dives into his press and the robe is flung off without much care as to where it lands. Clothing is happily pulled back on, and the candidate knot is tossed over his shoulder with the robe. Finding a new one pinned to the top of his press. "Neat. Got a bronze thread in it." he says, to no one in particular really. The knot is set upon his shoulder, and his long hair drawn back from his face with an elastic. Strangely enough, the silky blond isn't requiring of a combing despite midnight awakenings and hot sands. Snapping the press closed with one shit-kicker booted foot, the blond shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers and shrugs his shoulders at the bluerider's comment. "Whatever." That said, he casts one last lingering glance towards Malphath before he heads out the same way that I'srie disappeared.
I'srie does glance over at that whoop and the talk of bronze, the former holder giving a start as he perhaps realizes he's.. wearing the wrong knot. OOPS. Quickly turning back to his press, he rummages, and indeed.. there is a weyrling knot there, a blue thread woven through it. There's a breath taken before he attaches it to his shoulder, fingers briefly twitching for the elastic he spots in Py's hair. But this time, he makes no move to remove it, instead heading out, his pondwater eyes just.. slightly distant.