Without Question

Xanadu Weyr - Garden

An arch woven from the tendrils of a willow tree stretches overhead lightly creeping with ivy as one steps in from the meadow into this sanctuary of green. Cool gray flagstone carefully spaced enables a soft velvety moss to thrive within the cracks, and creates a single wide pathway that fluidly breaks off into two paths of stone once free of the natural arbor. It is a wonder this place, and meticulously tended from the way it seems not a single leaf is out of place. On either side of the main path expansive grassy patches are trimmed short and edged behind with natural tan colored stone selectively chosen to stack just right. Beyond these are a line of fine puffed shrubberies in vibrant green intermingled with flowering bushes of brilliant pinks varying in hue from the very light to the very dark, which causes the occasional snowy white blossoms of other scattered here and there without worry to simply pop out of the scenery.

Directly in the center of the garden is another wall of intricately stacked stone, this of muted grays, creating what from the air would prove to be a perfect circle. It's been set high for safety, but not so much as one would not be able to lean over it to admire what lies beyond, either standing or sitting at the smattering of benches whose backs are set every four feet along it. Flush to the ground inside it's protective stone outcropping, is an enormous twenty foot wide fish pond. Within one can glean the metallic glint of playful goldfish, the unhurried cruise of fat koi, and even a frog or three among pale yellow and white flowering water lilies and their thick green pads.

The trees surrounding the entire garden were planted to give the impression that they had always been here, not only lending to a rustic look, but also eluding to the beauty that can be found among the wilds if only one might just look for it. Species vary from the ordinary Birch and Pine, but the flaming red capsules of the Indian Shot to the robust orange spokes of the Firewheel tree suggest the spice of the exotic. The two paths leading away from the entrance have come full circle, wrapping around to meet each other on the other side, yet still continue on to the far left and right. One path leads off deeper into the surrounding woods, while the other wider; cheerily decorated with brightly colored slabs of painted stones.

A planned meeting, for once! Sigam hardly knows what to do with himself. Too often, one heads out for a walk and happens upon a party (or a picnic), so for him, this is a rare treat indeed. The garden sanctuary has been chosen to house a small concert (serenade?), and though the guests of honor have yet to arrive, it hasn't stopped the Dragonhealer from picking lazily at his worn gitar. His back is bracing against one of the great willow trees, a blanket spread out beneath him to provide a barrier against the ground, which clings feebly to its winter chill. The afternoon sun is warm, if not weak, beaming down through new green leaves in an attempt at cheer. A hum, low and tentative, grows in Sig's throat, but if there are actual lyrics to go with the harmony, he doesn't voice them yet.

F'yr is actually dressed… for once? While she's been running about in just a long shirt, swimming gear, she's now in loose pants and long-sleeved shirt. It might have been chilly, but the brownrider is starting to finally get used to the winter days again after the few turns she spent in Ista. "What do you mean you don't care? You were bugging me /all/ day yesterday 'bout reminding him with a sharp bite to his— Sigam!" she greets, looking from her dark brown dragon to the dragonhealer, trying her best at a grin. Zaruath slithers in behind her, pretending to look very reluctant at being dragged along. If a dragon can roll his eyes…

The attention being paid to the gitar is temporarily broken at the sound of his name. "F'yr, hey!," he returns, one hand raising to tilt in a wave for the brownrider and her dragon alike. "And hi to you too, Zaruath," the Dragonhealer adds with a touch of amusement to his voice. Was he smug? Naw, couldn't be - 'healers don't develop a knack for reading body language, nope. "How're the infamous fort-building trouble-starters today?" Fingers slide along one of the strings, creating a somewhat discordant hum before he stills it, leaning up from his slouched position with a few creaks and cracks of joints. Old man.

Zaruath answer back with what might have started as a low growl but ends up being a reluctant rumbled greeting after getting elbowed by his lifemate. "Be nice," she hisses and then crosses away from the brown who looks at her back sadly. Aw, he doesn't get any love before she leaves? "Lacking trouble," she answers Sigam, pulling a face with her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Unless you got some ideas. Though I wouldn't want to distract you from concentrating on—" And she just wiggles a few fingers at his guitar, only to wince at his crackling. "Shells. Ain't you a Healer? Don't you guys take care of yourselves?" She takes a seat on the edge of the blanket, invited or not, which is done to encourage Zaru to crawl just a bit closer before slumping down on the ground nearby.

Yep. Sigam is most definitely smug - it shows in the subtle quirk of both sides of his mouth as he politely pays no mind to the F'yr-driven change in Zaru's tone. "Aw, that's sad. I've been thinking, but a lot's been done already. Some are oldies-but-goodies, others just plain reduntant." He does shrug and nod into her gesture at the guitar, eyes squinting as he considers a few tunes. "Haha, wouldn't want to get eaten alive just 'cause we got distracted, yeah?" Chuckling, he seems to make up his mind and begins picking out a pleasant song that seems to match the springtime air. "Hm? Oh, that, pff. I'm a /Dragon/healer. Them first, us later," he jokes, wriggling to give her more room to rest without disrupting the music much. "I pop and ping no matter what they do, though. Inherited bad everythings. Thanks mom and dad."

"I'd say blow up something 'gain like we used to do back in Ista but… Dels might not like that." F'yr still doesn't seem like she'd mind setting something off indoors, though, even with the Weyrleader's threat. "You're the only one that has to worry 'bout that, and I doubt Zaru's in the eating mood. He had a meal less than a sevenday ago now." The brown doesn't appreciate his threats being taken away, and he lifts his lips to show shiny sharp teeth at the Dragonhealer's direction from behind Fy's back. The rider half brings her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and rocking forward as she listens to the music, almost as entranced as Zaru is getting. "Hmm… Good point. Who cares 'bout the human halves. But sucks to be you like that… can you still run 'round properly or do your bones lock up and make you fall?"

"You know…," Sigam says with a considering air, eyes going distant as his gaze zooms in on something distractedly, "that isn't a half bad idea. Even if you tossed it off the Star Stones so it exploded before doing damage, it'd cause enough of a commotion to stir things up a little. D'you think?" Aww, lookit him trying to be diplomatic. "Zaru seems to think differently," the Dragonhealer begs to differ, eyes flicking over towards that none-too-subtle flash of teeth. Fingers purposefully strum a little harder than before, a single brow cocking in bemused challenge. "Exactly, but that's the way it should be. And it doesn't get in the way, really. If I sit for a long time, I might feel stiff and I crackle when I first move. Sometimes, if I'm pacing, my knee will click, but it hasn't stopped me from doing anything yet." His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug carefully, even as he loosens his notes back to the original carefree quality.

F'yr seems to perk up a little as he considers it, then her face falls into a pout when it's not as exciting. "Well, I was thinking more of /inside/. Mit and I… Well, back when Mit actually talked to me a lot, we set off stuff in the hot springs and kitchens in Ista. It was /hilarious/." And she even giggles at the memory. "But then Niva would have a heart attack and in turn might do something to D'son. I might be sad." /Might/. Her head turns arm, her arms untangling from her knees so that she drops backwards a bit and she gives her dragon her best glare. "Well, he's just being a sharding idiot. Don't mind him." And then she purposefully turns her back on him, ignoring the hurt look across the dragon's face. Aww. "Doesn't stop you from playing well, though. All that popping and cracking must not be good if you go out hunting, though. I'd shoot /myself/ if I made /that/ much noise."

"Oh, inside? Didn't know you and your friend were actually out to /break/ shit. Well, in that case," he prattles a little to cheerfully to have not considered a plot like this before. "I- Oh, right. Niva. Yeah, our luck, she'd aneurysm and then the weyr would be out a senior weyrwoman." He's joking, but there's definitely a 'foiled again!' note to his voice. Leaning further over his guitar, the Dragonhealer focuses on getting a certain fingering right before angling his own look over at the brown dragon. "Aw, but what if I wanna mind him? He's got feelings too," he protests teasingly, turning his gaze to F'yr. "Yeah. Mostly gets annoying when working on paperwork or at computers, that stuff. Ha! Yeah. That too. Hunting has become something of a challenge. Some days it's not too bad. Others, I don't even bother because I'd scare more away than I'd catch."

F'yr bobs her head cheerfully at the memory still. "Well, we didn't really break anything. Maybe a sink… Little poppers, you know? Well, nothing like the ones /I/ make. He got 'em from someone else at the end." And something seems to pass over her eyes, a plot? A thought? "Well… if Niva does croak, I wouldn't have to worry 'bout Dels being angry at me." Yeah right. He'd be furious she killed the Weyrwoman instead. "Who has feelings?" she asks, drawing it out and pretending innocence. Zaruath is ignored, and while he might whine and look depressed, the music seems to lull him into a more relaxed state. Even his bum wing seems to droop down away from his body, his whirling eyes all on Sigam as he stares intensely. Fy wrinkles her nose at the talk of computers, and she clucks her tongue and shakes her head. "You give us proper hunters a bad name. Going out like that." She gives a teasing wink though.

Sigam has to stifle a snort. "Little poppers? Oh, good, wasn't you that made them. I was gonna say, there's just something ironic about that." Not that he was teasing her about her height, nooo. "No, he might hightail it if that happens - and for good reason. People will come out with the knives and pitchforks, or something overdramatic like that." He nods slowly, fingers diving back into the more familiar chorus. "Aw! I dunno how you live with this one, Zaru - no heart!" The words are for the brown, but it's Fy that's on the receiving end of his smirk. "I'm teasing." A chuckle. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You wouldn't be the first person to hate me for it, believe you me! Guess I can't be good at everything, though. Darn, and I try so hard," he mumbles good-naturedly.

"Well, I do make my own little… poppers…" F'yr is a bit slow, so watch her as she blinks, trying to understand his meaning, and then proceeds to stick her tongue out at him. She snorts and stretches out her legs, kicking off her sandals as she does so. "Somehow, the image is more entertaining than it really should be. Knives, pitchforks. Probably torches, too." Her face lights up at all the fire and sharp things imagery, which quickly turns into a fierce look. "I have a heart! Don't side with the dragon that'd rather eat you if you're caught without your instrument." The teasing comment earns him another raspberry. Somewhere behind her, Zaruath appreciate's Sigam's sympathy, but that doesn't stop him from huffing at the man. "Bit amazing we found something you're bad at, huh? Next I gotta find your weakness."

Sig's trying /so/ hard not to bust out laughing. His jaw's clenched tight, eyes shrunk to slits with humor, shoulders shaking with the contained effort, but he keeps it in. Instead, he gives Fy a look that says he's Supremely Amused and pretends he needs to stare at his guitar again. "Oh yes, definitely torches, which they'll try to smoke us out with. The whole shebang." He nods solemnly for a second, then cuts loose a bark of laughter that he can't control fast enough. "I know, silly. I'm sure you have a great, big bleeding one, but I gotta get on his good side somehow. I can't carry this with me all the time." He wriggles the instrument in his arms indicatively without breaking tune, returning the huffing noise with his own imitation a la smirk. "Oh, there's plenty I'm /bad/ at. Sewing, for example. Trash. You'd think my mom could'a shared that along with her clicky knees, but nooo. However," he says, voice turning into a pompous purr, "I have no weakness." Ohohoho.

F'yr is also vastly amused by the expression on the dragonhealer's face. She even leans forward quite a bit, as if waiting for something to explode. And it will, she knows it! She giggles at him and bobs her head. "I say bring it. The Weyr, the torches. All that. I'd love to see it." And when he laughs, so does she, which continues on until it's a few stray giggles. "His good side? Shells… that'll be a first. I think the only person on his /good/ side is the rider of the green he's obsessed about. D'son's—" And here she falters completely, giggling's over and her face falls. "Tejath's rider, that is." She pauses a little bit to slowly return at least a smirk back on her face. "Well, if you're bad at plenty of things, there's got to be something you're weak 'bout too. Everybody's got a weakness and you're no different," she says, pointing a finger at him as if she were about to poke him in the side.

"Alright, well, I'm game," Sigam grins, eyes dancing mischievously. "It would actually be worth it if all of that happened." The giggling proves to be infectious, and in his own way, the Dragonhealer joins in. What? It's not like the man titters. "Awh. Well, in that case, I might as well give up, then." Sig visibly sulks, slowing down his strumming to match the pout on his lips. "'Cause I'm no green, nor do I have one. Plenty of greenie friends, but alas!," he shrugs great big, as if encompassing the world and all its whiles before giving a low chuckle and a shake of his head. "Nope, none. No weak heels, no soft spot on my heart for big blue eyes, none of it." The finger his eyed with an overdramatic look of contempt before he arches an eyebrow waaaay up high, meeting Fy's gaze. "Bruises are gone now. I'm immuuune," he drawls, challenge written all over his face.

"You're gonna have to come up with the more original idea than tossing the 'splosives in water. 'Course, I can't make waterproof ones." F'yr's all into the plan now, lifting her brows up high. "You plot. I bring the ingredients for mayhem." She bobs her head seriously about that, but her face is splitting into a grin. "Unless you come up with something more interesting." She finally turns her head a little, glancing over her shoulder at her lifemate who looks… sated? His eyes whirl slowly, lids half-drooped down, but still entirely focused on the pair of them. "Well, you're doing a good job for being a guy and all. Honestly. It's closer than even Dels can ever hope to manage." And apparently that's saying something. "Who said anything about blue eyes and all that? Or bruises?" She still leaning in, and one finger is soon joined by the others (likely she was thinking of poking a bruise at first). But now it's all tickling fingers, aiming for a rib.

"Oh, of course. We should set something up elaborate with little ones, all over someone's office, so when they open a drawer, or take out a writing utensil, or even go to get a cup of klah - boom! Booby trap the whole development." Sigam's eyes are on beyond lit up at this point - they're firing laserbeams of joy. "Would that be possible?" The slightly hysterical note in his voice hints that he'd very much like for it to be so. His playing has even picked up, song changing spontaneously altogether into something more rambunctious and wild. So much for that satedness, perhaps. "Ah, just old heroes from legends - one had a weak ankle, the other a weakness for pretty girls," he explains before he is attacked. Fingers ping across metal wires, but the guitar is quickly forgotten, replaced by a squirming, jittery Dragonhealer. "I'm- I'm soooo not ticklish," he squeaks out unconvincingly, though he's doing his best not to completely lose his composure and fall apart.

F'yr's face is a good mirror of Sigam's, though maybe a little less enthusiastic. A /little/. "Shells, I really don't know. We made a timed explosive once that blew up… well, someone's crapper. But it was timed, not trapped." She muses at this point, shaking her head slowly before squinting her eyes at Sigam closely. "It sounds to me like you have a /very/ specific office in mind. Dare I ask whose? Though certain people, I think, deserve a good popper in their—" She ends it with a giggle, very much enjoying the music. Zaruath's got his eyes open again, but actually seems to be quite enjoying the music with his tail tip twitching to the beat. He'll claim anyone that say to be liars. "No, you're not at all! One bit!" giggles Fy as she continues her attack long enough to prove that yes, she did find /some/ weakness. "Not weak ankles or pretty girls. Just sensitive ribs."

"Really?!" Sigam jerks both his eyebrows up at that, trying really hard to (and yet not to) imagine that. "That's… quite brilliant actually. But no, no, it'd be easy, right? Have the jerking motion pull of some kind of cap, which strikes a flint and lights off the whole thing. I don't know how you'd even go about doing it, but it has to be possible." Goodness gracious, get him talking about explosives and all of a sudden he's a chatty little buggar! "Whose? Oh, no, I didn't really have any one person in mind, but you're right - some people definitely need a little zest in their life, if you get my drift." He smirks as a few faces drift through his mind, but being tickled proves to be amazingly distracting. "Ack, nope, definitely not, so you shou- ahaha, no! - you should stop that right nowww," he half whines, half howls, falling over backwards in his attempt to scramble away, disguising fits of laughter as coughs. "Yes. Damn my biology getting in the way of my bluff." Shakey-fist.

"Really, and it was /priceless/," cackles F'yr, bringing up one of her better moments. "And if you can build that, I'll make the explosives! Just a little bit of black powder and some fuses." It sounds a little more dangerous than 'little poppers' all of a sudden. But the brownrider's cackling, too excited to think about the consequences like really mad Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen. "Well, I know a few people who don't have offices. Too bad. Though /zest/ wasn't really what I'd go looking to give them." Evil Fy. She might be getting some waves off from her more aggressive brown right now, especially since he looks annoyed that his rider had to go and ruin that wonderful music. Fy follows long enough to wind up on her knees, hands extended, but doesn't crawl after the dragonhealer. "Hah!" she finishes, a bit lame. "That's for lying to me 'bout not having a weakness. /Everyone's/ got 'em at the end."

"I can only imagine," Sigam laughs, eyes running rampant with the possibilities. "I think I might be able to. Maybe I'll innocently ask M'nol if he knows where I can find leftover stuff like that from the mines." Not that he'd incriminate the poor boy, but it's still an angle he'll be considering. Mass destruction still isn't high on his list of to-do's, but if the sacrifice of a few drawers makes the whole plan work, it's necessary. "That is a shame. I mean, we could go after trunks, chairs, anything public too, but that'd be all the harder to set up. It'd be worth it for that special someone." Doesn't mean he's not thinking about it. Equally evil Sigam? Perhaps. Very tickle-defeated Sigam? Definitely. "I don't know what you're talking about," he mutters darkly from his supine position, eyes flicking from the disgruntled Zaruath to F'yr. "That was definitely me indulging you right there. Yup." He winks, as if to say 'that's my story and I'm sticking to it.'

"Miners seem to always have a /ton/ of that kind of stuff laying about. It's who provided those waterproof explosives that last time," muses F'yr, though she's still snickering, naturally, about the whole plot. The consequences might eventually hit her later. "Or beds. Maybe a little pop in someone's mattress." Something more than evil shines in her eyes, as if she's thinking about someone /very/ specifically. Fy hovers with her hand extended again, fingers tickling the air and her eyes gleaming with excitement. This brownie had a thing for torturing people, apparently. "Don't force me to prove you wrong again right now, cause I will. And you might end up /breaking/ a rib laughing so hard doing so, too." She doesn't back away, and while Zaruath might have been upset about the end of the music, the brown dragon now gets up to get a better look at this development. His rider attacking someone? Ooh, let's watch. Even if it's just tickling mercilessly.

"Aye! They're handy people to have around," Sigam agrees with a thoughtful nod, eyes still blazing with plotting madness. Consequences? What's that, precious? "Ooh, yes! Shards, wouldn't that be a treat! Settling down from a long day of explosives everywhere just to have it explode in a flurry of feathers or what-have-you. Brilliant!" If he knows she's thinking of one person in particular, he doesn't show it - he's likely too busy imagining someone stumbling out of their weyr in a cloud of white feathers. Eventually her continuing threat sinks in and he looks at her fingers dubiously, pursing his lips. "You're bluffing," is his stalwart reply, dark eyes dancing even as he 'subtly' crosses his arms over his chest, a single glance flicking towards Zaruath before refocusing on Fy's face. "I'm not scared. Do your worst." Fateful last words, anyone?

F'yr laughs loudly at the sudden mental image that she receives from the dragonhealer. "Not /quite/ what I was thinking, but that's /much/ better. In the beds, feathers— I guess it'll be safer so no toes get blown off." Yes, she still snickers at that image. And then he seems to have said the wrong words, because her face turns all serious but her eyes still dance merrily. "Bluff? Now why would /I/ bluff? One thing you should learn is that I don't lie." And that, friends, is an outright lie. Because the brownrider definitely lies plenty. "You bet I will, now." And she grins widely, encouraged on by her lifemate's grunt, probably telling her to do worse. But all she does is pounce, both hands now aiming for ribs. Tickle until the 'healer begs, maybe?

"Maybe blow the legs off, too. Just for that little added pop." The mental image just keeps getting better, and soon enough, Sigam's snickering too. "Yeah, wouldn't want anyone to lose anything /important/. Just their sanity will do." The serious expression gives the Dragonhealer pause, and suddenly, he wonders if it wouldn't have been smarter just to admit defeat. "You must be an alien, then, because humans /lie/. It's in our genetic code." All of this is coming out of his mouth very quickly, as if making some harried excuse to keep her from doing… well, that! "Ack! Is - hee - is that all you got?" Yet, somehow, his squirming and twisting to pry his ribs away from those tickling fingers belies the words. "Sissy! Youhahaha, you ain't got nothin'!" Never mind that he's quickly dissolving into a wriggling, giggling pile of 'healer goo. Psh, details, details. Squeak!

"You know-" Giggle "-we gotta—" Cackle "Do this now. I'll bring the powder, you pick the targets." There's no time at the moment to chitchat about who are the likely people they'd want to make pee in their pants with their beds exploding, not when she has to prove something. "Whatcha gonna do 'bout it if I /am/ an alien, then?" F'yr's eyebrows lift high on her head even with that manic grin, all teeth, as she continues her assault. Ribs, underarms, exposed belly! Fy's got small hands that can slip around easily, and she's shuffling on her knees every time he starts moving further just to get a better advantage. "Don't look like nothing to me; give up! Or you're gonna die laughing!" Zaruath? Amused, rumbling pleasantly at all the innocent torture going on, though it wouldn't be a surprise if he was hoping for cries of pain and not laughter.

"Of course! I would be sorely disappointed if we didn't!," Sigam says with a wide grin, mind already trying to plot likely victims. Emphasis on trying. "I'm going to scream like a little girl and run!," he exclaims, but it's obvious she isn't going to allow him the chance - he can barely flap his hands feebly at hers, nevertheless gather enough presence of mind to flee. "Shh! Your eyes deceive you!," the Dragonhealer manages to spit out around a peal of unmanly giggles, face beginning to flush. "I will never - acknonotthestomach! - surrender! You can't take me alive!" This would seem more heroic if each word wasn't peppered throughout with hee's and fingers reaching out in an attempt to push feebly at her shoulders, that being all he can manage while his elbows attempt to protect his squirming sides. All in all an awful defense. Tsktsk!

F'yr will let him plot. All she can do is bob her head enthusiastically, and give a few more cackles that likely connects to all the tickle-torture. "You can run, but if you tell anyone my secret I'll make sure there ain't a day I don't torture you with your weakness." Or the one she's found so far of course, happy to tickle as much as she can, starting to giggle herself. There's a moment her fingers stop, though, and her face lights up. "Did I hear surrender?" Then the rest of his words catch up with her brain. She crawls more firmly at him, near straddling, with a very determined look to her face, one hand aiming to fight back his flailing limbs while the other continues her assault. "Aw come on! You can't keep this up cause I can and then Zaru will take over after that!" Mwahaha. The brown doesn't look like he'd be in a tickling mood, though.

"I have no weakness!," Sigam squeals so quickly that it almost seems one word, defiant to the end! All hopes of holding normal conversation is lost, and the babbles from his brain are temporarily reduced to 'no's, gibberish quasi-words, and the occasional whimper. The pause gives him a second to catch his breath, which is admittedly coming in heaving gasps by now, and he almost denies it. He will never give up, never surrender not to the likes of- before she's swooping back in again. "I… But! Eeeeee," he says oh-so-intelligently, tears of laughter forming at the corners of his eyes. He's cracking, he's craaackiiing— "Okay! You win!," the Dragonhealer finally shouts through fits of breathless giggling, back trying to arch and worm further into the ground at the same time. "But only 'cause - agh! - 'cause I'm scared of Zaru!" This is, of course, a liiie.

"No weakness? No weakness right here?" And Fy goes for any exposed belly she can find again with a loud cackle. It might be scary coming from a little thing like her, too. "I win!" she echoes back cheerfully, and immediately ceases her torturing of the dragonhealer. It's likely all that flailing from him gave her a bruise or two, who knows, but she doesn't seem to show any difference. She's a tough brownie. Zaruath is sorely disappointed, and he shows it with a loud huff that makes a breeze over the two of them. "Suuure it's cause of Zaru. It's still tickling" Or gnawing if the brown had his way "and you obviously were just beaten 'cause of it." She's smug, sitting back on her legs now and crossing her arms as she levels a look down at him. "I mean, you pretty much said earlier that you lie."

Sigam's reply comes in the form of a short, "Nope!," but he's definitely proving himself to be wrong with the way he's buckling and heaving. "Yeah, yeah," he laughs weakly as she crows her victory, rolling onto his side as he wraps his arms very protectively around his ribs. "You win. And hey, hush you, over there. I'd like to see you so tough in the face of torture!," the Dragonhealer tosses over his shoulder at the huffing Zaruath, tough flashing out between his lips. "Tickling, shmickling. I was holding out just fine before that, if you couldn't tell." Riiiight. "I just… happen to like all my body parts to be present and in their correct places," he mutters as he sits up beside her, eyes still echoing his earlier fitful laughter. "You can't begrudge me that after you had me all helpless and stuff, surely." Cue puppy-dog eyes.

No matter how much Sigam refuses to accept his defeat, it doesn't seem to sway F'yr from being all smug and happy about it. "You might not want to tempt him like that," she warns with a little giggle as Zaruath rumbles deeply again, lifting his neck and ruffling his good wing. Looking like he wanted all the world to stomp up closer now to the pair. "Yeah, you definitely were. That was all fake laughing and that's you pretending to be out of breath, right?" She lifts a brow at him and then turns up her chin at him. "Hmm… Well, I won't go spreading this 'round unless you make me. And that doesn't work on me at all," she quickly adds, rolling his eyes to his puppy-dog eyes. Or maybe she rolls them to glance away. Ack.

As Sig attempts to rearrange the collar of his shirt, his eyes dart over towards the vocal brown, partly amused and partly assessing. "Good point. I choose life!," he says a little louder for Zaruath's benefit. "Not that a brown hasn't attempted to remove limbs before. I think it's just the color." The Dragonhealer tries to hide his amused smirk, and ultimately fails. "You bet. I'm a fantastic actor. Should'a been a Harper, all of this stitching up dragons nonsense be damned!," he says with the air of one that's jokingly relieved she's agreeing with him. His chin drops into his hand, elbow bracing on his knee. "Aren't you sweet. I'll try very hard not to deserve it, yeah?" His eyes, if possible, get bigger, and he tacks on a little pout to go along with the expression. "It doesn't? No? Aww, shame." Lip-wibble.

Awww. That made Zaruath sad. No gnawing? No limb removing? The brown sort of withers a little and hunkers down again where he is, dropping his head heavily in between his two forearms. "There ain't any other brown or dragon like my Zaru. I can assure you that," F'yr says fiercely, proudly, and of course shooting her lifemate a belated fond look. See, she still loved him. But her blue eyes soon return to the dragonhealer and she uncrosses her arms, grinning toothily at him. "Well, you do know a little bit of everything. Part Harper, little part sailor, part old man and part dragonhealer. And of course I'm sweet like that." Pause. "I can't let anyone else know your weakness to control you." Fy actually meets those eyes, and her lips mimic the quivering before she looks away and flaps a hand at him. "Stop that!"

"Tell you what, Zaru - the second I'm ready to be pulled limb-from-limb and tossed around like a child's play thing, you will be the first to know," Sigam promises with a low chuckle for the sulking brown, eyes dancing as he flicks his gaze back to F'yr. "Of course not, but it's mostly browns that like to threaten my physical well-being. Just a general note," he says, waving one long-fingered hand through the air. "Pf. That's just because I rarely turn down an offer. There's a lot to learn out there, so why not?" He shrugs a bit, but he's smirking into her repeated claims of sweetness. "Aww, I see. I'm your minion and yours alone. I feel /so/ much better now," the Dragonhealers says with a laugh before amping up the cutesy pout-age a notch. "Stop what? I don't know what you're talking about," he almost purrs, tilting his eyebrows back to complete the look. Don't make him whimper!

Zaruath doesn't show any outward signs of being pleased by that dea, except for a flick of his tail behind him which makes the ground 'thump' once. F'yr rolls her eyes again, though seeing that she glances over her shoulder at her lifemate it probably wasn't because of something Sigam said. "How many other browns have tried, before? I can't even begin to see /why/ they would want to do that." Sarcasm? Just a touch. "I know what you mean. 'Course, I'm happy— was happy, where we were. Don't mind picking up something here and there, but can't see how it's /all/ interesting. 'Course, I also don't have your talent." Fy's eyes drift to the discarded guitar. The poor forgotten music, but her eyes snap real fast and she beams all bright. "Minion! That's perfect." Insert cackle. "I've never had a minion before." And she reaches out to pet him on the head, purposefully avoiding his eyes though. "I ain't gonna look. You're trying to hypnotize me. What're you trying to get out?" It's all shifty-eyed, no direct eye contact.

The wordless exchange goes without comment, Sigam of all people being used to such things, but he does take time to consider her question. Fingers quietly tick off until four of them rest against his palm. "Four, I think. One at Ierne, one at Western when we were called in, and two here, if you include Zaruath. Only ever had a blue threaten me otherwise - the rest just yell something like 'stop that' or make their riders bespeak us for them. And you know what, Fy, I just don't know. We Dragonhealers are such tender, loving souls." A hand presses against his chest with a sigh. "Yeah, no, I get you. Some things really aren't that great in the end, but you don't really know until you try. …Ha! Talent. I have friends who have more of that than me in their tin cup. I appreciate that, though," he says sincerely, ducking his head for a moment before quirking a sharp grin towards the brownrider. "As long as you hold the Power of the Fingers, I might as well be one," the man laughs, leaning into the pets like he's seen Sabhrilline do. "Hypnotize you? Now, why would I do something like that," Sig asks in a low voice, face sullen, eyes bright as he shifts in an attempt to line his gaze up with hers. "I'm not trying to do anything." More lies!

"They're really out to get you," F'yr says in surprise, eyes widening a little. "Well, you shouldn't count Zaru yet," she flat out lies, glancing back to her dragon yet again where he's glaring, so she turns back to him with a sheepish look. "Alright, if you makes you feel any better he pretty much feels the same way for everyone, like I said." There's a giggle to his loving souls comment, looking like she wanted to comment but instead bites her lip to be smart. "Well, you do have /some/ talent and you can't deny that, can you?" She quirks her lips upwards and then wiggles the fingers of one hand again, the other giving him a thorough patpat on the head and an added 'good boy'. "I ain't anyone's minion of my minion— which is just plain weird at the end— so not sure what you're up to." Blue eyes catch his finally, though, and she sticks her lower lip out in her own pout. Two can play that game.

"Oh, definitely. Some dragons have no more tolerance than humans. It's definitely a good thing that dragons have such short memories, really, or I'd be a wanted man," Sigam jokes, pointing his index fingers and making a popping noise as if firing off a crossbow. "Shouldn't I?" He glances the brown's way himself, and the glare is evidence enough, even without her added commentary. "Yeah, thought so. Can't say I blame him. We can't all be optimists… though it would be funny if he killed someone with kindness." The Dragonhealer sighs great big, conceding, "Yes, yes, you're right. I'm trying to be humble, woman, let me be." Sig flashes a wide grin to show he doesn't entirely mean that, winking gaudily to the 'good boy' comment. "Not always," he says mirthfully before shrugging. "Never said you were. What if I'm not up to anything, and just making a face at you?" He nearly redoubles his efforts, but then Fy develops a pout of all her own, and his jaw drops comically. "Hey, that's my gag! Low blow," he murmurs gruffly, but refuses to look away. That's what she wants! He won't give in again!

F'yr shakes her head at his first comments. "I don't know how short Zaru's really is at the end. He seems to always remember certain things. Or maybe I'm helping that out… but doesn't make him any happier." This time there's no glance back at the brown. She knew he'd be looking at her closely right now. "Kindness? Zaru? I wish." There's a bark of laughter to that ridiculous idea, making grumpy brown behind her all the more grumpy. Fy's grinning thoughtfully at Sigam, though. "Humble? What's humble? Nothing wrong with being honest I say." When her hand drops from his head, her legs are slowly (painfully) extracted from under herself and stretches out again. She continues with the pouting, trying hard to keep it up without laughing at him, and then while he's still looking she suddenly pulls a face, scrunching it up, baring teeth, sticking tongue out. The silliest thing she can make right back at him.

Sigam's shoulders rise and fall noncommittally. "People hypothesize that there are things a dragon remembers on its own. After all, if they are capable of recalling how to walk, fly, et cetera - not all of that's instinct - who's to say mind spans can't extend to personal memories as well? It's just that most things are likely being gleaned from you, especially because human minds tend to replay events frequently in their subconscious, with only the least provocation." He pauses. "Wow, that was very work-y. Sorry." Giving an embarrassed chuckle, Sigam moves on with a nod. "Yeah, didn't think so, but it was an idea," the Dragonhealer concedes, eyes on the brown. "I have a big enough ego as it is, or so I've been told. No need for me to stroke it with boasts, yeah?" Sig, for one, seems content to continue on with the Pout War so long as it didn't endanger his ribcage. He even adds on what might be a little whine, but alas, silly trumps all! "Ahahaha, oh, now /that's/ attractive," he says, shoulders shaking with laughter, head shaking to and fro.

F'yr opens her mouth to make a comment early on, but she's good and stays quiet for her lesson. She even leans forward and rests her hands on her knees, watching him intently and looking intrigued with her head bobbing. "And people wonder why I ran away from my Harper lessons— not that that wasn't useful! It makes sense, lots. Probably the whole replaying thing… a good reason why Zaru's anger never seems to leave 'bout certain things." She peeks over her shoulder to the dragon, still focused on them as before. "Shells, nothing wrong with an ego or boasting. I'll tell you right now: there ain't /anyone/ that can shoot a slingshot as good as me. And I'll prove it someday. I got the /best/ aim ever." Modest, ain't she? The silly face lasts as long as he breaks down into laughter instead of whining and she giggles as well, lifting her hands up to pretend she's writing something. "Fy, two. Sigam, zero. And I definitely wasn't going for attractive."

Sigam scratches the back of his neck and 'heh's out a soft laugh. "Yeah, don't blame you for that, either. I might've hated them too, but I was too damn nosy for my own good. Had to know everything," he says with a smirk and a roll of his eyes. "Glad I could be helpful, then, I guess." His hands are more interesting than Zaruath this time, apparently, for he fiddles and picks at a hangnail before cutting lose a quick, clipped laugh. "Alright, I'll take your word for that. If you're really that good, this is something I have to see. Make ya a deal - you show me your mad slingshot moves and I'll make you sticky rolls. My little sister taught me how to bake," he explains wryly with a roll of his eyes. The air-writing is eyed with a real pout this time. "No fair. You're too smart for me. As for the attractive thing, I'm glad, because… woof," he teases, affecting a fearful look.

"Which is why you know lots more 'bout things than I ever would. Bet you read a lot, too. Am I right?" F'yr's suddenly very interested in his hands, too. It might be her short attention span, and their movements suddenly just made her want to stare for a moment. But then it's like Sigam said the magic words, her face lighting up like never before and she even leans forward, placing hands down on the blanket as she stares up at the dragonhealer. "It's a deal! Fresh, baked, sticky rolls… Mmm. I haven't had any of those in awhile now. And you /bake/, too," she says in complete awe, too. "Can you be my new best friend?" Here comes her full blown pouty face, but it doesn't really last too long as she puts on an air of confusion. Maybe it's because she was thinking of sweets, but she tilts her head and arches a brow and echoes "Glad? Woof?" Duur.

"What I can get my hands on," Sigam agrees, lips twitching to one side. "But I'm not at all adverse to storytelling, either. Just depends on who's presenting the information." The first piece of skin vanquished, the Dragonhealer continues on with a narrow-minded sort of focus, even if he is listening. It's only the spirit of Fy's agreement that has him glancing up and, finding it infectious as ever, Sig's face lights up too. "I haven't either - been a while since I bothered to dig up the recipe. That's the only thing I bake, though," he qualifies, one finger raising. "She attempted to show me how to make a proper cake, and it was a /disaster./" He seems vastly amused by this, leaning his face onto one hand again - certainly not to hide the wash of warmth creeping up on his cheeks from the praise, nope. "Of course," he says, managing to sound flippant. "I always give my best friends sweets." He nods in a sagely manner, but his eyes have gone distant, as if he's considering the most tactful way to put it. "Yeah. Woof as in, 'wow, that was pretty Special.' With a capital 's,'" he said, index finger of his free hand twirling around near his scalp to indicate just what kind of special he's talking about.

F'yr shakes her head slowly. "I'm not really much of a reader at the end. I leave that to others." But seeing that food was under discussion, she quickly sticks to that subject instead. "But you can still bake it. I break technology, burn cold meals, and all that kind of stuff." Her excitement doesn't shift at all, but she does look remotely disappointed for a brief moment. It's in her eyes. "Well, not everyone can make big three-tier cakes. Though… ever try to eat a cake all by yourself? You'll be sick for days." She obviously speaks out of experience, too. "Aww… Thanks, Sigam! I used to have… a friend who'd do that, but he decided not to talk to me anymore." The subject makes her face fall briefly, allowing her to concentrate on his answer. "So basically crazy. You were barking at me to say that I was crazy." There goes the tongue out again at him.

"Which is just fine. People that don't have their noses stuck in books tend to hear and see a lot more," Sigam justifies with a small smile. "Aye. My little brother's about the same as you in that respect. Or, at least he was. I haven't been home for very long lately - the kid could be a cooking genius by now." By the way he's laughing, he doesn't quite believe that, but who knows. "As for cakes, no, I don't believe I've ever attempted that. Don't much fancy being sick, myself. Have you done that?" This is a story he'd like to hear. "You're welcome. I'm sorry to hear that he isn't talking to you, though. Guess he wasn't much of a friend, in the end?" The Dragonhealer disguises his scorn behind a smirk and a return of the raspberry. "Well, if the shoe fits, wear it!" Duck!

"That's a good way of putting it." And it /does/ make F'yr feel a little better about the fact she didn't pick up any books. "A brother back in Ista then? I don't have much reason to go back there, but what's his name in case I do? If he's a famous baker, I want a cake from him." She then proceeds to giggle and grin proudly as she turns a little nostalgic look back to her lifemate. "During candidacy," she starts. "There was a cake and I did share /some/ of it, you know, but the rest of it went to me and— shells, don't think I've really been sick like that since. 'Course, the second time I had a cake I made sure to save it over a few days." And still she was this tiny little thing. Her grin disappears almost immediately— funny how moods change so fast— and she sighs sadly. "No, no friend." Maybe it's to make herself feel better, or maybe it's because the dragonhealer deserved it, but Fy leans forward again into him and gives him a few good tickles in the side quickly for that remark. "Mean!"

"It's the truth!," Sigam laughs, head swaying from side to side. "Can't tell you the number of times I got in trouble for saying 'huh?' when people tried to talk to me while I was reading. It's a wonder people like me, Fy." His shoulders roll in a shrug. "If he was famous, I bet I'd've been told by now, but yeah, he's back at the hold with the folks. His name's Hallac." The Dragonhealer settles himself comfortably as Fy speaks, but he's snickering long before she finishes. "So you went ahead and ate it all? That's fantastic. I'm not surprised a wee slip of a thing like you got sick, but if you made it through the whole thing first… I'm impressed," he admits with a laugh, eyes dancing. "At least you learned from it. Some people never get a clue." The man falls quiet too, for that short minute, unsure what exactly to say, and almost glad that her tickle attack saves him from the need to. "Ack, hey, wasn't that mean!," he sputters, bending and twisting at odd angles but thankfully remaining upright. "Oh yes, the meanest in the weyr!," he agrees, looking quite smug, then calm, then politely puzzled. A quick glance up at the sky brings about a tic in one eye. "Mmm. I have a meeting at noon. Didn't expect to be here so long." The guitar and the blanket are eyed with a sigh. "I should get this stuff back before I go. Wouldn't do to show up to a lesson proposal looking like I want to serenade someone, hm?" He winks.

"You got a certain charm 'bout you, that's probably why they like you," F'yr goes for an explanation. "Or maybe it's the fact that you're a laugh to be 'round, and apparently know a little of everything. Useful." So maybe she's saying people liked to use others? She mirrors his shrug with her own and then pats her flat tummy. "I might be little, but I can outeat bigger people anyday. At least if it's sweet." But her hand then moves to rub at the back of her neck and she giggles nervously. "Yeah, I learned. Plus, it's better to savor the cake. The first one… well, I had to make it disappear as fast as possible. It kinda wasn't for me." Bad Fy! Having stole someone's turnday cake and still sounding like she had no remorse over that stunt. She spares the tickling to a bare minimum, happy enough just for that immediate reaction before giggling. "So long as the meanest of the Weyr remembers his deals. And the poppers-in-beds plot." She also glances to the sky and then quickly lifts herself up with her legs, brushing her pants down and making sure to step away from the blanket. "Shells, it has gotten late. Satisfied, Zaru?" The brown pretends not to be paying any attention, staring off finally at something else as Fy turns from him back to the dragonhealer. "It'd make for funny rumors or a funny lesson if you do show up with it. Nothing wrong, I say!"

"D'aww, thanks, Fy. I'm touched." The words are humorous, but Sigam's eyes show his true appreciation for what she's said. "I guess if I'm as good as all that, they can afford to keep me around. You're not so bad yourself." One of his hands reaches out to tousle her hair if she'll let him. "Somehow, I believe that. Remind me not to get into a pie-eating contest with you." He could possibly have elaborated, but instead, he pauses. "You know… I shouldn't be surprised by that," he says at last, face crumpling back into a smile. "You give all new meaning to 'stealing candy from a baby,'" he jests good-naturedly, standing as well. "Don't worry, I won't forget. Getting the right containers from M'nol, making you some dessert, and finding a susceptible target, check." Giving the blanket a good flick to scatter leaf and grass debris, he sets about folding it. "You know, I just might. It'll give them a small hope that maybe this will be a fun one. Then I can smash their hopes like a hammer, bwaha! I like the way you think." Stooping, he picks up his worn guitar and sighs great big. "I hope that was enough playing for him - didn't get to far because of my accursed weakness," the Dragonhealer mutters darkly, a lopsided grin on his face. "Ah well. There's plenty of time for more. See you 'round, Fy - have a good day, thanks for the company," he says, raising the hand holding the instrument in a wave before heading out of the garden.

F'yr flaps a hand at him before he gets /too/ gushy. "They ain't gonna get rid of you yet when you're definitely pulling your weight around." That said, it might make up for her having been extra nice earlier. But then his return compliment makes her clear her throat some, her hair ruffled for a moment before she's sweeping her hands over her face to toss the messy strands back. "Yeah? Thanks I suppose. And I'm sure you'll remember so you won't lose another match to me." At the end of the day, Fy /is/ all talk though. It was unlikely she can still eat that much food. She ticks his list off on her fingers, head bobbing enthusiastically. "Yup! And I'll be looking out for you soon for all that. And you do that, it'd be a laugh to hear about later." Yes, Fy was in a mean sort of mood. She watches him clean up as she takes a few steps back towards Zaruath, the brown seeming to get up as well and stretch. "He'll live," she says about her lifemate. "And hey, give Chu's baby a good scritch from me too. Catch you 'round, Sigam." She's already heading to meet her dragon, her voice still easily picked up: "Well, if you would /fly/ then we could just go to the Harper Hall…" Poor Zaru.

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