<< Ooh! RENEGADES. WHAT ARE THOSE? >>
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Xanadu Weyr - Training Grounds
A wide, grassy expanse, nestled into the gentle bowl shape where something's taken a bite out of the mountain. It's high above the level of the beach, and there's a good eastern view of the lake and a long path leading down to that sandy shore. Granite cliffs surround it on the other sides.

While much of the grounds are left in their natural state, one area has been trampled and trodden by enough feet that the grass struggles to grow. A running track circles a set of equipment - straw dummies with wooden frames, obstacles of various sizes and shapes, and targets for flaming, archery, and whatever else.

There's a dragon-sized opening to the south that leads to the cavernous weyrling barracks, and a smaller tunnel to the northeast - large enough for dragons newly emerged from the sands, but quickly outgrown by hatchlings who are then forced to take the long way around - at least, until they learn to spread their wings and fly. Between them in both position and size, a jagged crack in the stone leads to a dim cave with the sound of water.


Nine days. If F'yr were the kind to keep a diary, this would be about the time that crazy things started sneaking into otherwise totally ordinary sentences because he needs rest. It's obvious in the circles under his eyes, his tanned-yet-somehow-sallow skin and the general air of exhaustion. Is it any wonder with the way he seems to be constantly behind the already cart-sized bronze who charges enthusiastically around the training grounds just outside the weyrling barracks, booming a HEROICALLY LOUD (read: obnoxiously loud) AND TRIUMPHANT LAUGH. « KEEP UP, F'YRLESS MAN, the evil foe is getting away! » It's a bug. Yep. Big bad bronze 'bout to— SQUISH. There it goes. « AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. ON THIS DAY HONOR HAS BEEN GLORIED. » The shining bronze poses his most ENVIABLE pose. Too bad the whole world can't be as great as he is. F'yr, meanwhile, doubles over, hands on knees, trying to draw deep breaths and wincing with every one, his bandages hidden under his blood-stained, short-sleeved shirt.

Down on the beach a blue appeared in the sky. His landing veritable divebomb towards the sand, pulling out at the last minute to settle easily and let his rider dismount. That wasn't so long ago, but long enough to give the older rider time to climb the path to the training grounds. Old, but still in good shape despite his age even if joints protest more often than he'd like to admit. He's not as familiar a face in Xanadu as he once was, but he may have been seen about from time to time. Its a chuckle that meets the bronze weyrling pair, his amusement at the triumphant display evident. "Keepin' ya on your toes. Hmm?"

F'yr's skills of observation were questionable to start with, so that he misses the arrival of the bluerider into the general vicinity is no surprise. It is, in fact, Glorioth who notices D'had first. « WHAT HO, WHO GOES? » is always-with-the-shouting demand. It even makes F'yr cringe. "Couldn't you be just a little quieter?" Something? It's a plea, one which the bronze swings his head around from eying the foreign bluerider with as much suspicion as he would a native one because he really has no idea there's a difference yet, to stare as blankly as any dragon ever managed to stare at a rider. « … I don't follow. » The sound that comes from the tall blond's throat might have been a laugh if it didn't sound too much like a helpless sob. Either way, at least the man doesn't break down embarrassingly in front of this stranger. "Yes, sir," he offers, eyes falling from face to shoulder even as he moves to lay a would-be-staying hand on the bronze's flank. The 'sir' might be because F'yr is a weyrling or because he's nearly half a century separating his age from fit, older rider, and his sloppy salute is guesswork entirely but HEY, he's got bigger problems. (Literally bigger. The bronze with rocks for brains under his hand to name just one.)

NINE FULL DAYS and not more than TWO HOURS of those days have Evi not been covered in blood. The situation actually seems to have WORSENED as the Weyrlingmaster has had to be present to both provide live prey and to instruct a crying, gagging, and every day closer to hysterical Weaver girl in how to manage the task. Emerging from the beach area, hair wet, and she's ACTUALLY in pants that are rolled up at the bottom and a tunic of light purple. Behind her is the slithering form of a neon striped green dragon. Neifeth's nose is in Evi's back, and Evi's messy runner tail is IN HER DRAGONS TEETH. Each step the girl is allowed to take is slow, measured, one foot then another as if on a tight rope. The progress across the field is painfully slow, « EYES UP! FORWARD» A bright flash of brilliant cobalt sparkles, the subtle taste of petrichor on the air. Evi's eyes are sunken, and it's unclear if she will be awake enough to make it to F'yr and Glorioth.

Its a preverbial crashing ocean that drenches the young bronze. « PIPE DOWN! » Siebith's greeting is no less loud, but that's what it all means young one. If F'yr was hoping for quiet he's found the wrong visiting blue. « We bring greetings from Fort. » a cockyness ever present in his thoughts. His rider is much quieter providing only a snort for that 'sir'. "They say it gets better," from the sound of it, he's not one of those who say that. "That smith with the green around or he still sleepin'?" Because Farath forbid he make it easy and actually use names.

« FORT? » No, zero effect on the young bronze. Did he even hear the blue? He must have, right? RIGHT? « WHAT IS THIS PLACE OF LEGEND THAT YOU SPEAK OF? IS IT NEAR? OVER THE NEXT HORIZON, PERHAPS? » It sounds like Glorioth is ready to jump on that adventure right now as his sudden lack of interest in the boring, mundane conversations of humans has left him with time on his hands. The shudder that unconsciously goes through F'yr has nothing to do with the inquiry and everything to do with the fact that he's already learned a bored Glorioth is a CHARGING GLORIOTH, WITH GLORY AND ENERGY that F'yr only wishes he had. And even as the blond man takes a step after the bronze as though to follow, he sees Evi and her lifemate coming and stills his one step of pursuit. He's distracted as he watches his lifemate, but he does answer D'had, "Ru'ien is inside, I think. Not sure if he's asleep." He'd ask Glorioth, but it's clear they don't have that kind of relationship. "Are you looking for him?" It's a dumb question, but look, he's tired and he's trying to decide if he needs to go after the bronze who skids to a halt by his green sister. « WHICH ONE ARE YOU AGAIN? » And obviously, « IS THAT WHAT HAIR IS FOR? » He swivels his head, an accusing look at his notably short haired rider. WTF, F'yr. Deficient.

«WHAT ARE YOU DOING» Neifeth's tone is absolutely sharp, rude, demanding, the feminine bite behind a twilight purple sky. The runner-tail is released from the striped death green's jaws, she crouches and her oversized paws move with perfect ease that is NOT at all what one would expect from a dragon this age. TOO much grace, it's alarming and offputting as the motion carries NO edge.«My name DOES NOT Concern you, Call me Nayth.» There's a loud, pealing rude laugh, tendrils of blue-green fog slithering towards her bronze sibling. Now trapped between her dragon and F'yrs, but at least freed from the jaws of death by hatchling, she waves to F'yr and D'had. "Um, hello! S- Um. Apo- Um. " Nope, it seems whatever has happened, she can't speak anymore. When Evi cannot speak up Neifeth's head snaps over, her jewel green eyes assessing the two «Good day Whers.» Is given to both D'had and F'yr, for all the absolute SASS in and overbearing RUDE in her tone, it comes with a wash of enchanting trees, pine, and citrus smelling blossoms carry her words. "F'yr, can Glorioth move? Puh." Nope, any manners Evi was allowed are now gone. "Just have him move, Ok?" There's a snap to it, something distinctly NOT EVI. One hand goes up to salute D'had, "Sir." Is all she gets out before all eyes are back on her new green PROBLEM child.

Neither Siebith or his rider seem to actually mind the noise. Then again the blue is just as bad, if not louder, and D'had has had half a century to get used to it. « Over the OCEANS, across SEAS » he can be a dramatic storyteller, or he could if his story went any further than that. « You'll visit someday, when you're older. » Those must be the more tempered recommendation from his rider. D'had tracks the movement of the girl and the green as they arrive from within, but his response goes to F'yr. "That's the one." Ru'ien. D'had's dark eyes send Evi a sharp look. Sir. Snort. That's one thing he's never gotten used to in all his turns. "Nah," yes, he was looking for the young man, but no one needs to seek him out. "Betting my grandson has his hands as full as you two." And they'll catch up at some point.

« WHY WOULD I CALL YOU ANYTHING? » Glorioth is genuinely puzzled even though it was he who asked the question. He looks over the green. « YOU CAN BE THE SHIFTY-EYED ONE. » And thus it is decided. Were there tendrils coming toward him? You couldn't prove it by him. It's like meeting a rock wall of some mighty bulwark: there's no where Nayth-if-that's-even-her-real-name can get in. The bronze is shut off from her. The blue, however, has his complete enraptured attention. « OCEANS, YOU SAY. That sounds like something I should see! » Now, by preference, and his physical presence removes itself as effectively from the green and her lifemate, heading in the direction of the beach, though he stops before he gets too far, not in hesitation, but distracted. THERE'S ANOTHER BUG TO SQUISH MIGHTILY UNDER HIS MIGHTY PAW. "Grandson?" is surprise in the baritone rejoinder to the older man. It makes F'yr blink and look the man over again. "Yes, I'd imagine. But… I think… he'd be glad to see you?" He hazards it uncertainly. "Were you able to attend the hatching, sir?" Did he even hear the snappy brusque demands of the younger girl? It appears not, his eyes still on the bluerider.

Neifeth projects cackling laughter towards Glorioth, a sound that feels like it comes from everywhere and nowhere «So you know the rules.» There's pleasure, a feline purr behind her ALWAYS RUDE, ALWAYS SNOTTY tone. HE WAS NOT TRYING TO PLEASE HER, BUT HE DID IT. APPLAUSE. Evi slowly, with tired feet fumbling clumsiness, finds her way around her lifemate. Neifeth follows behind, crouched low to the ground with wings extended, head nearly touching the ground near Evi's feet every bit a feral creature slinking with uneasy grace towards there shared targets. Moving closer Evi gives a more prominent, friendlier wave to the two, a small smile finding its way to her face though her eyes are glazed and disconnected. "Hello." Is allowed, and she nods to D'had, "Um, I'm." Nope. The green behind her gives a snap of jaws, too big teeth flashing momentarily and catching Evi's pant leg. The RIPPING of fabric can be heard, along with a quiet whine emits from her tired body as her pants rip knee to ankle, from the contact with too sharp baby dragon teeth. "I am Evi, sir." Extending a hand towards the older man, her eyes half-here and half elsewhere. "F'yr." Is offered with the smallest nod of her chin to indicate a greeting.

« You should. » Siebith agrees, the sense of a grin in those lapping waves of his mindvoice. « You will. » D'had sends a glare in the direction of his lifemate and shakes his head. "Next you'll be telling them about renegades," he grumbles. « But not today. » the blue will remind the weyrlings. He doesn't like that idea either really. But not today. Attention refocusing on the human portion of the weyrling pairs he nods once. Grandson. "I'll see 'im when I see 'im." His visit isn't that urgent that he can't wait for awhile. "Yeah," he was there. "D'had," the old rider gives his name. "Know they like all that sir crap, but 'less it's offical Weyr business I don't wanna hear it." A hand extends to meet Evi's in a solid shake. "Pleasure," the greeting given with a wink for the girl before he measures up the young man with a flick of brown eyes.

Return to sender. Neifeth's laughter, her words, everything she directs at Glorioth bounces off his shining density and either returns to her or dissipates unheeded, unheard. What he did hear was that fascinating sounding word, probably plucked from F'yr's awareness as one chooses the ripest berry on the bush: « RENEGADES?! WHAT ARE THOSE? THEY SOUND EVIL. » ARE THEY, ARE THEY EVIL? Someone is about to become the definition of over-excited if the answer is yes. Did Siebeth mean to rile up the babies? Did D'had? F'yr, meanwhile, has gone pale, although he looks a little relieved as his dragon starts to chhhaaaaarge back their way. "Evi," he greets, tone unreadable. "Your grandson is a good man, D'had. I'm glad to know him." In case D'had doesn't know and maybe, just maybe, F'yr has reason to believe he should become informed? There's no pushiness in his tone, simple earnest compliment of one of his best bros. "I'm F'yr," he will drop the sir because that's really more natural for him anyway even if it's bound to get him into trouble.

Neifeth, or Nayth, or whoever she is RIGHT MEOW seems to catch onto what Glorioth is saying and follows his thought train from afar, whispering along MUCH too quiet for the dense bronze to notice. «Renegaaddeeesss?» Purrreed out and punctuated by a slow, rhythmic hum punctuated by the sound of soft footfalls through a forest, dangerous. Evi crosses her arms over her body, nods, her attention fully going to D'had. "Nice to meet you." Is allowed, her eyes wide and brown again, all her own for a moment. "Whose, your grandson? S-." NOPE. Every attempt at an apology is cut off, eyes flickering down on her lifemate who seems to be distracted. "Pleasure, yes." Kneeling down, she pulls several safety pins from her pocket and begins pinning her pants back together, shaking her head. "She's A lot, and I am. Well, I am." A solemn nod to them both, her eyes locked on F'yr in attempts to send a message she cannot say out loud anymore. "Who is you, Grandson?" Head pitching to one side, tucking her ear into her shoulder while kneeled down in a squat. Neifeth sends small sparks towards her clutch sibling «You should find us some of these, renegades, bring us glory.» The change in tone to her mind voice, the privacy of the message ONLY to Glorioth is all trouble.

Did they mean to rile them? Maybe. If they did it was likely more on the blue's side even if D'had said the word. The man scrubs his face with a hand at Siebith's emphatic « YES! They sail the oceans stealing treasures and hearts. » Evilist of evil. « Sometimes they turn out good, but usually not. » Sorry kids! He's apparently listened in on one too many bedtime stories. "Glad to hear," D'had comments back to F'yr for the comment on his grandson. Evi gets a look at the repeated question. "You know, impressed with you lot." Then there's that glazed look as he's more than likely getting onto Siebith for stiring the preverbial pot. Whatever good that might do.

« Oooooh! » Glorioth really sounds impressed. Siebeth must be some sort of wise auger of his future glories. « F'YRLESS FRIEND, DID YOU HEAR THAT? WE NEED TO GO FIND SOME RENEGADES. THEY'RE EeeeeeeeEEEEeeeeeeEEEEeeeeeVIL! » He sings (off-key, painfully off key) his delight to his rider but loudly enough that anyone who cares to hear can do so. Still, his green sister can try all she wants to communicate in a way that gets through his choice to shut her out, but it's simply not passing through, or if it is, it's completely unheeded. « YOU KNOW, » It's for his lifemate, but sure, why can't everyone hear what he has to say, « I'm sure I saw someone suspicious lingering in the back of the barracks. I'm sure now that it was a renegade just WAITING to steal a heart. Or liver. Or spleen. » And now that he thinks about it, « That sounds good. ONWARD, to vanquish the foe from within, » his old friend, hunger. The big blond gives a helpless look toward D'had and a shrug toward the younger girl before he and his lifemate are heading for the barracks. "I'll tell Ru'ien you're out here, if he's awake." He offers over his shoulder to the bluerider.

Evi stands up and straightens up to standing, pulling down her tunic self-consciously. Watching the bronze cavort around while biting down on her lower lip. All of the talk from Glorioth might not amuse WHATEVER HER NAME IS, but Evi starts to giggle. "F'yr I am not sure how you do it." A voice full of pity, there's a touch of sarcasm seeping through from her lifemate, big eyes, and the genuine sparkle balances it. Then they're both headed towards the barracks, Evi nodding excitedly to D'had. "He has a green, too.." The exhaustion is real y'all, words are mumbled out with soft shrugs. "S- I am, I need to go." Neifeth leans up from her place near Evi's foot and gently places her teeth around her runner-tail again. «STRAIGHTEN UP, Heel, toe, heel toe.» BOSSY, RUDE, LOUD. Whose idea was it to let two loud dragons have BABIES? Evi straightens up, eyes straight, and begins to walk the tightrope slowly towards the barracks. At the current pace, she might get there today. MAYBE.

D'had gives a knowing nod. "One track mind," he delt with his fair share of that during weyrlinghood. Still does sometime. "Thanks," he says for the offer of telling Ru'ien he's there. "It will get better," he adds for them both as they head off in search of sustinance for the young dragon. Even if 'better' may just be code for getting used to.


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