Dragons Farting?

Xanadu Weyr - Caverns

A massive cavern in it's own right, this one has been skillfully adapted for human habitation. The high ceilings have been painted a light, soft ivory, as are the walls where numerous tapestries hang to provide brilliant color and insulation from the stone. The floor has been left in its natural state, pale pink granite speckled through with glittering mica and dark flecks of basalt, leveled carefully but kept sufficiently rough to avoid slips.
The cavern itself is loosely divided into areas, each one set up to be suitable for some segment of the Weyr's population. The most frequently occupied area, however, is the one near the Kitchens where tables of varying sizes provide a place to sit down and eat or chat and a buffet of consumables is almost always kept stocked. Its plain that on most days, this area wouldn't accommodate anywhere near the full population of the Weyr and equally plain that on such occasions when a formal meal is laid out, tables are appropriated from all the other areas.
A big fireplace is set into the wall near the Kitchens as well, several comfortable chairs nearby providing haunts for elderly residents or riders who like a good view of all that happens. Rugs cover the floor in strategic spots, all of them abstract or geometric in design and most in the softly neutral colors of undyed wool.
Exits lead off in all directions, a big archway the largest and that leading outside. Shallow stairs to the west lead to the offices and administration area while tunnels to the east lead to the infirmary, kitchen and resident's quarters. Southwards, a sloping tunnel leads down to the hot springs and southwest is a wide tunnel, carefully roped off to avoid accidents.

The current time for zone 9 is: 2688.12.13 18:21:30

A lovely late afternoon in Xanadu, which of late means it's noticably a bit warmer than it's been, and that it's neither been raining for the past few hours nor is it currently raining. What it still is…is muddy. Ocelara is sitting at a table, dropspindle in one hand and a cloud of brightly colored fluff in the other, using that mystifying ancient art to transform wool into thread. Oh, and she's overseeing a pack of older weyrbrats, who all seem a bit hangdog, as they carefully sweep the cavern floor, gathering up the loose, dried dirt into respectable piles, before they use a dustpan to gather those piles up, and transfer the earthy piles over into baskets. A pair of older girls are busying themselves getting an armful of mops and a big, steaming basin of hot, sudsy water. This has all the marks of youngsters doing extra chores for whatever bit of high spirited mischief they've played.

Yay! Dryer weather if not completely dry. D'son is currently well-smeared with some of that mud: it goes up to his knees, though it's mostly on his boots, only splatters on leathers above the knee line and a splotch on his jacket's hem. The Weyrleader seems to've knocked the worst of it off outside, though the marks of leftover drying stuff still cling to his footwear as he enters. The children's industry draws a chagrined look and he tells the nearest one: "Sorry kids, hope I'm not tracking in too much more of that stuff."

Some of the children groan quietly, but the headwoman's assistant glances up from her spinning, and smiles a bit, "You wouldn't be the first one today, Weyrleader." This elicits another round of groans, which are silenced when the delicate seeming woman casts a steely eye at the loudest of the complainers, "I assure you…the drudges are enjoying their day off of cleaning up all the mud. I'd suspect they'd like /another/…." Oh, alright…there's begrudging silence as the youngsters get back to work. Apparently, they're not supposed to be chattering with each other, either!

"I suppose not," D'son agrees with a laugh. "No one can really help it," he offers, still apologetic, though Ocelara's handling of the grumbling sees his chin duck down to his chest as more laughter shake the Weyrleader's shoulders. "They're pretty efficient at that," he says of the cleanup effort, pausing near where Ocelara sits and gesturing around at the mess one-handed.

And she offers a friendly gesture; have a seat… "But grab a towel if you do…they didn't get you in their little mud barrage earlier, did they?" She smirks a bit, "We had a caravan brave the weather and come in…and on their way out, the bratlings decided it was a good idea to send them off with a few dozen mudballs."

"Uhh no …" D'son says of mud barrages and turns slightly, looking behind himself and down to check for mud. "I'm not going to get anything dirty sitting, am I?" The Weyrleader looks back at Ocelara a little wide-eyed. "Shells … that wasn't polite. Do you recall the caravan's name? Should probably apologize."

"Apologies," she smiles so sweetly, "Have been rendered…the caravan master seemed to think it a grand prank by the children, but these are mostly old enough to know better." She grins, "Though it still begs the question how /you/ got so muddy. I can't imagine you were riding on top of a wagon."

D'son looks very relieved to hear that. "Thank Faranth," D'son says feelingly then laughs again and gestures downward. "This is just from dismounting off Inimeth in a couple of different places. Sank in up to my knees." He holds up a hand: hold that thought and steps aside to get a napkin at least and spreads this on the chair before he sits.

Ocelara shakes her head appreciatively, though she pauses her spinning to lay the spindle and fiber aside in a neat basket. "What possibly necessitated dismounting in the mud…and how deep did Inimeth sink?"

"It didn't look like mud from up above?" D'son says a little sheepisly. "This isn't the first time it's happened all spring," he confesses. "And Inimeth went down nearly to his haunches. Had to scrub him off over at the beach. /He's/ all clean, I'm not." But Dels laughs good-naturedly.

Ah, missed opportunities! She could've put weyrbrats to work, and with pleasure. "Well…good for him. I'd hate to see what sort of effort it would take to pry a stuck dragon out of mud. That could be quite the undertaking."

"It sounded like a whole wing of dragons farting when he pulled himself out," D'son says quite seriously, head shaking back and forth. "And yeah, probably would take a couple of queens and other large bronzes to take care of it."

Ocelara winces a bit; well there's a mental image perhaps she didn't need! Dragons farting, indeed. "I see. Well..let's hope that doesn't happen." Just wait, she's probably jinxed it, and someone's green is going to get stuck up to her shoulders and panic or worse. Probably about midnight.

D'son knocks on wood as Ocelara voices that hope, a little grin on his face. "Yeah. I mean, we pulled out some pretty amazing moving of boats and what have you when I was in the search and rescue wing, but a dragon is … well it's denser than a boat."

Ocelara laughs, a bright and merry sound. "Oh, don't tell the dragons that!" Certainly, she knows exactly what the Weyrleader means…but it's enough to send some of the nearer younglings to fits of giggles. D'son said dragons were dense. But things settle quickly and they get back to work without a sharp look from her. "Still, a pleasure. I suppose you'll be going to crawl into the slightly warmer now Springs…would you like something to drink before you go soak?"

D'son laughs some more. It's a merry afternoon in spite of the muck. "I solemnly swear I won't," he says and leans back into his seat. "Actually, I'm thinking that the bath in my weyr is probably going to be hotter and more effective. But a drink would be great. You don't have to get it though, I can do that," Dels demurs, sitting up straighter again.

Ocelara waves her hands a bit, dismissing it, "All you 'I can do it myself' riders…you make the caverns feel useless half the time. I'll be happy to get it…tea, klah, or ale? I'll even grab myself something."

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