Babies' First Adventure

Xanadu Weyr - Main Clearing
A wide clearing stretches from east to west, the ground packed hard although grass grows across most of it. Trees are strictly forbidden in this space, their danger to the constant draconic traffic reason enough to banish them to the forest that creates a border to the north. Where the ground is less trampled, tiny flowers poke their delicate heads out from their shaded hiding places with upturned petals to wave to whoever may be looking.

The cliff looms imposingly on two sides. Toward the southwest, a spire stretches up to high above where the everpresent watchdragon sits on a lonely peak with Xanadu's Starstones. A massive rocky spur extends to the north, curved slightly to hold the clearing and pocked with doors and windows.

The hatching arena and Dragonhealers' Annex sit to the southeast, built together into a single complex that takes up a large portion of the perimeter beneath its domed roof. To the southwest, wide steps lead up to the caverns, and almost directly south is the entrance to the Infirmary. Nestled between the infirmary and the main caverns there's a human-sized archway with frequent traffic - it leads to the Wanderin' Wherry Tavern.

Tucked near the arch, just off to one side is a tiny wood-frame shop bearing the name 'Wildflower Boutique'. Windows have been cut along the cliff in various places along the cliff. Those of the administrative offices are placed to have the best view of Xanadu's airspace - to the southwest, over the entrance to the caverns and the infirmary. Others mark the dormitories and those of lucky residents, while toward the northern edge of that spur cluster the windows and entrances to the crafters' complex.

The rest of the Weyr lies to the north and east - a broad road that leads through the meadow and the trees of the forest beyond. At the far northern edge of the clearing, just inside the perimeter kept clear of trees, a clocktower sits and proudly displays the hour.

OOC Note: Time is sometime before dawn, a couple weeks after hatching.

Those hazy hours of pre-dawn should probably be a time when few but the bakers are up and roaming about. This morning that is mostly true, but there seems to be two pretty big exceptions charging through the dew-covered grass of the clearing, barreling straight towards the caverns. There might be many questions at the sight, such as how did they manage to escape the training grounds and where are their weyrlings. What they're up to at least won't be in question for long as Inasyth dances her way to a stop, feet a-tippy-tapping as her snout pokes at the massive door to the caverns. « Ooooooh, our very first adventure!!!! » That she can remember at least. « I think this is the door of food! » She gives a big whuffle again. « It certainly smells like food! » While this may be as close as the baby gold can get to whispering, it's still plenty loud if there's anybody even remotely close by.

Really, with Glorioth's propensity for booming, « ONWAAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAARD! », it's a wonder they haven't already been caught. Really, the fault lies in F'yr's misconception that his dragon, though daringly daring and boldly bold, wouldn't dare to be bold enough to escape the barracks and go far, far, farther from where the bronze has adventured before. F'yr should have known better, but F'yr isn't getting much sleep these days and is in a constant haze of pain from ribs as yet unhealing. EVERYONE ELSE knows where the bronze is, at least if they're within BABY DRAGON SHOUTING DISTANCE of where he currently is, running along (PREFERABLY AHEAD) of Inasyth, even if he is smaller. « BE THAT AS IT MAY, MY BOLD BREADBASKET, THE QUESTION REMAINS IF THIS WILL TAKE US TO THE TEMPLE OF PAPERS. » OOOOoooooo, hear that mental off-key chorus? It must be special. The clash of battle, the scent of dragonly dragonness, the flashes of fire are all louder, better, brighter and more intense in the excitement of a REAL, TOTALLY UNSUPERVISED ADVENTURE. « COME RODERICK, » because they couldn't go without him, of course, the bizarre looking brown firelizard is tucked between the bronze's headknobs where he won't snarl the bronze's wings held in that classic Glorioth pose of heroic BRAVEITUDE. He tries to wedge his head under his sister, against the door with no more hesitation than the young gold, though he's at least mindful not to inadvertently smack his head for Roderick's sake, if for no other reason.

Haven't they been caught? Haven't they? Trick question. They have, but it's not by who you think. It isn't their weyrlings, or Ila'den, or even R'hyn who has happened upon their tiny-but-not-so-tiny forms, but rather Xermiltoth, whose sunbright mind creeps down into baby awarenesses with a subtle tap-tap. And if you believe that, he's got a bridge he'll be happy to sell you. No, it’s much more like one big brassy GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG! One need not wonder where loud progeny got their particularly bombastic talents. The great blackened bronze lays all potential suppositions to rest with the way he clangs into existence, tenor pitched low and booming as he descends from the skies above them. « WHO DARES TREAD INTO THE HUMAN REALM?, » is hot with humor, wings spreading wide, exposing diamonds printed on their undersides in multicolored hues. « SURELY NOT ONE OF MY CHILDREN, » is laced with spitting firework fizzles, as though pshawing the very concept, « THEY ARE NOT QUITE SO… » Foolish? Heedless? Reckless? « BRAVE. » Oh boy. Xermiltoth isn't here to stop them. He's here to encourage them, amusement ensconced in every golden word. Gauntlet thrown. The question is, what will these little beasties do with it?

SUMMON LEIRITH, OF COURSE. Just kidding; nobody summoned Leirith. That massive, mustard-yellow, wonkily head-knobbed queen invited her DAMN SELF to this QUARTET OF MISCHIEF. She, of course, is on the heels of Xermiltoth — though the senior queen approaches from land instead of sky, that boxy maw dropped to the ground in complement of that ENORMOUS GOLDEN BUTT UP IN THE AIR. She is pushing her way through the clearing like she's sleuthily sleuthing, hindpaws doing all the work while forepaws pittapattapitta in dainty contrast. SUCH SNEAK. MUCH WOW. « I BELIEVE THE WORD YOU WERE LOOKING FOR WAS BADASS, » comes that onslaught of bass and drums, the thrum of overt-cheer, an unending exultation that beats and beats and crescendos into the battering of a drum as she, « AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! »s. And then she stops, to dragonloaf in a way that's definitely meant to get a better look at what they are doing and not at all to obstruct them from human view. SHE'S ONLY HALF A WALL, THOUGH. GET IN ON THIS, XERMI. « IT'S A GOOD DOOR, THOUGH. BE A SHAME IF SOMEONE… BROKE IT DOWN. » And there: another thrum of giddy laughter, a whirl of excitement that bleeds into the gold's faucets as she definitely does not encourage shenanigans, or the destruction of Xanadu property (she is, she absolutely is).

« Not one but two!!! » Inasyth gives her best sesame street count impression as she corrects her sire, headless of any trouble that mental gong might be bringing. She chirrups happily as her brother bestows yet another nickname, nudging Glorioth's shoulder with her head, as close to a hearty backslapping as she can get while they peer at their latest CHALLENGE on this QUEST. « We're the bravest of the brave! And badasses too!! » She actually trumpets as Leirith comes along with her own instigations. « Doors are made to be broken, Glori! You can do it just like you did that gate! » Is there a trail of wreckage already in the wake of the young dragons? Almost certainly, but on the bright side it'll be a trail of breadcrumbs (or shiny mayday beacon) whenever those sleepyhead weyrlings return to the realm of the living and ask that important question: Dude, where's my dragon?

The gong summons Glorioth's attention (it's the kind of epic signal no hero would ignore). His whirling eyes focus on first the descending bronze and his wings flare higher in the most valiant of poses fit for the champion he obviously is. WHO DARES. It does not matter one stitch that Xermiltoth is enormous, it doesn't matter that he's also DAD (and Glorioth may not even REALIZE that even though he's certainly MET this dragon before, and is even TIED TO HIM in his D.N.A.), what matters is that Xermiltoth has DARED question his BRAVEST BRAVERISM. He twists and rears long enough to ROAR at the FOE (who's actually one of his staunchest supporters here), and then he uses the leverage of the twist to SLAM his body into those doors, whose hinges WAIL in protest but don't yet GIVE. Roderick is airborne in the moment before impact because certainly tally one more to the blows to the head count and he wants nothing to do with that, beyond screeching his protest which sounds an awful lot like CHEERS AND AWE to Glorioth. The tiny brown seeks refuge with Inasyth, his scrabble of a terrible landing aimed for her back perhaps missing entirely in his haste. Because, obviously, Inasyth is PERFECTLY CORRECT and he wastes no time in beginning his PROOF of this. « AH HAHA HAHAHAHHAHAH! » is an answer to Leirith's encouragement, so much gentler than what he would give, seconded by his golden sister. WATCH, DAMSELS, AS HE MA — DRAGONS UP AND BUSTS THIS SHIT TO PIECES. HRERRRENENNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG — He'll GET THIS. JUST GIVE HIM A MINUTE. IT DOESN'T MATTER HOW LONG IT TAKES. He rears to SLAM AGAIN and doesn't even hesitate in mid-motion when a pained, "Shards, shards, shards!" can be heard between wheezes from the FAR END OF THE CLEARING where a red-faced (tear streaked too, because OWWW, poor abused ribs), long-legged sprinter is coming at his peak speed. Maybe he won't arrive soon enough though, because Glorioth swings for the door, declaring for all to hear (AND SEE), « I AM HONOR! » AND HE IS, GUYS, HE IS. (He's sure he is.)

« TWO, » Xermiltoth echoes, mind the clamorous thunder backing those 'ah ah ah's. « TWO TINY BADASSES. » This in deference to Leirith's insertion, growled laughter thrumming in the blackened bronze's throat as he saunters forwards to casually sprawl on the clearing floor, tail lifting to drape and curl about the gold's neck like a particularly bizarre scarf. HUMAN CHUGGING THEIR WAY? WHAT HUMAN CHUGGING THEIR WAY? NEW DRAGONS, WHO DIS. Nothing to see here but one giant wing that arches not-at-all-suspiciously over the goings-on, big head leaning down beneath the spread to whuffle at little baby hides. « PERHAPS I MISSPOKE, » is admitted in the face of Inasyth's declaration, and Glorioth's (adorable) roar. « CLEARLY THEY ARE FIERCE. BUT FEROCITY AND BRAVERY ARE TWO VERY DIFFERENT THINGS. IT TAKES GREAT STRENGTH TO ENTER THE REALM OF HUMANS. STRENGTH AND— » Diamond-dusted words crackle at their edges, laughter barely contained as Glorioth rears to charge again. « AND HONOR. » And maybe a little help from your friends. « WHAT ABOUT YOU, » Inasyth, « DID YOU HELP VANQUISH THIS GATE? »

« SOMETWODY'S. » Leirith asserts, as if the correction was for her somebody and not at all aimed at Xermiltoth. The moment the bronze is with them, the moment that tail drapes and curls about her neck, Leirith booms even more laughter — for Glorioth, for harlequin bronze, for budding queen, it's hard to tell. « I AM TREMBLING, TRULY. I HAVE NEVER SEEN SUCH HONOR. NOR HAS THE GATE. » Don't mind her. Leirith SEES YOU COMING, F'YR, and she's rolling onto her side to obstruct those happenings even more, flinging one massive wing to rest over Xermiltoth's as well because she's bigger and that means she can hide him while she's at it. That other wing is draped over her own face, as if F'yr will not be able to see A MASSIVE BRONZE BUTT OR THE WIGGLING OF GOLDEN FEET as Leirith's head comes to rest on the ground and she pushes it back to croon at the babies. « HAVE YOU, MY XERMILTOTH-THAT-IS-NOT-HERE? PERHAPS IF YOU ADDED YOUR BADASS, » Ina, she's talking to you! « TO HIS BADASS, IT WOULD BE REALLY SORRY TO HAVE BEEN BORN A GATE. » MURDER IT.

The excitement of watching Glorioth so DARINGLY AND HONORABLY burst through a door is so thick one could almost swim through it, but almost is not there and so Inasyth will settle for tappy tapping her massive tawny paws as she dances right beside him, occasionally butting her own head in to check the progress. « Oooooh! Think you got one more go! » This must be what passes for Quality Control in Xanadu. Her overseeing duties are easily distracted as there are bigger dragons asking bigger questions in much bigger voices and so she cranes her head backwards to look at the senior pair upside down. « It's a good thing Glorioth has all of the strength! He's been practicing for this very QUEST! » And she believes in her brother full double-dragon-heartedly. Just check out those mental gold and bronze pompoms waving in the background. As for the gate, she chirrups yet again. « I helped! I did, I did, I did! We trotted and jumped and the gate was no more! » She'll even give a little re-enactment of the GATE-MURDER only to be interrupted by Glorioth declaring his honor! Curiosity may have killed the feline, but it hasn't harmed this little dragon yet (that she can remember), so Insayth works to squirm her way towards the door as well. Hopefully two still small dragons can fit through or things might get a bit tight. « LET ME SEE!!! » Rhodelia meanwhile does not have the advantage of F'yr's freakishly long legs, so the woman is huffing and puffing as she runs up behind. Her choice of footwear certainly didn't help matters as she has to pause a few times to try and pull sticks or stones out of the fuzzy bunny slippers she's wearing. Rudely awoken and maybe still half asleep despite the running, it doesn't take many working braincells to spot the all too familiar harlequin bronze or mustard yellow gold and hear the much smaller dragons. "Oh no. This is bad. This is really, really bad." SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT IT IS BUT SHE'LL STAND BY THOSE WORDS even as she takes of the slippers to try and run a bit faster.

« YOU CAN SEE ONCE IT YIELDS TO MY DEMONSTRATION OF VIRILITY, TO THE RADIANCE OF MY VALOR, » as it surely must, Ina. It surely must. It doesn't matter to Glorioth for whom pain is only a form of encouragement that repeatedly bashing of his body into this ridiculously thick door is probably injuring him somehow; he's not wired to receive that pain as a deterrent like a NORMAL being with a vested interest in continuing to live. Glorioth simply isn't the kind of dragon who would ask for help with any physical task even when it's obvious that this door simply isn't going to give over to his determination in anything short of the amount of time it might take him to beat himself green and grey without help, so he doesn't ask, he simply carries on in his consuming self-assurance in his abilities. The baby bronze also isn't the sort of dragon to suffer being trifled with while he's busy being heroic, so DEAR OL' DAD might get a tail whap to his face for his wuffles. Oh, oh, Rhody, how right you are. F'yr sees the problem(s). The very large ones as he pelts toward the great beasts. He must have gained enough sense of his lifemate that he can tell where he is, even if the shouting, « FOR VALOR! » as he bashes his body against the wood again is only in his head and not helpful as a clue for direction. Stefyr was nearly always respectful of dragons; because of their foreignness to his experience, he was cautious bordering on reverent when he was on dragon washing duty during candidacy. Perhaps his exposure to his own lifemate is what makes F'yr's charge a F'yrsome thing now. He doesn't hesitate a blink, a heartbeat or even half a breath as he launches his big frame from the ground onto the full grown bronze WHO SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO ENCOURAGE BABIES THIS WAY. He's not wasting breath to scold Xermiltoth though. Tears stream down F'yr's face from the pain that radiates through his chest and every breath by this point is a wheeze, but nothing, not an enormous bronze ass, even should it move under him, is going to keep him from his lifemate. He means to conquer this climb, to duck under those totally not at all suspicious wing-covers and slide down the other side, to join Glorioth and possibly even thrust himself bodily between bronze and the self-harm he's doing. It doesn't matter that Glorioth is fierce, is brave, is sturdy even. This is one quest the bronze can't be allowed to trade his welfare in order to complete. Of course, good intentions and all that…

GOOD INTENTIONS WHO? NEVER MET HER. Xermiltoth, perhaps realizing that this task is not quite going as easily as he expected, affects the moue of the wildly innocent, whirling eyes turning up to fixate elsewhere (the suddenly-fascinating undersides of Leirith's wings, probably), humming a casually little nothing-to-see-here ditty as he subtly sliiides out one massive paw and low-key bashes the door to the caverns in. It's probably hilarious, to any early-morning stragglers inside - two or three massive claws jutting in, retreating as massive doors fall to expose F'yr's BRAVE, SELFLESS SACRIFICE in time with Xermiltoth's gasp as his head wheels back around to stare in delight at the what do of it all. « AH. LOOK. YOU DID IT. » Did he? Diiiid heeee. Who knows if Glorioth will buy the sham, or just get mad at his intervention, but for the moment Xermiltoth looks pleased and prideful, fast-spinning eyes tilting to focus on Inasyth. « YOU WERE RIGHT, CLEARLY HIS TRAINING HAS PAID OFF. THOSE HINGES NEVER KNEW WHAT HIT THEM. » He boops his nose into his daughter's side before carefully snaaaaking his head from beneath the clearly pregnable wing shield to peer at Rhodelia as she huffs and puffs closer, golden thoughts beaming down on her with a radiant, « IT'S FINE. NOTHING TO SEE HERE. » Definitely haven't just paved the way for the weyrlings to assault the caverns. Nope. These are not the dragonoids you are looking for. Move along.

« THAT LOOKS PAINFUL, » Leirith booms, a heady beat of drums and bass to herald laughter in a not-at-all appropriate appreciation of F'yr's tearful dragonscaling. But Xermiltoth is PULLING OUT THE BIG GUNS, and Leirith's delight increases tenfold as she rallies behind two bronze minds and the courage of one gold to bolster that conviction of doing — without, of course, abusing her powers as a queen. « OH MY. INASYTH, GLORIOTH, YOU HAVE VANQUISHED THE DOOR-FOE. QUICK. TO THE SPOILS WITHIN! » Because this can only go HORRIBLY, HORRIBLY WRONG. There's a press of snoot to tiny gold butts and tiny bronze butts too, a WUFFLE of F'yr's hair as that MASSIVE GOLDEN MAW slides against it from this HORRENDOUSLY AWKWARD ANGLE, and the wiggle wiggle of feet as Leirith attempts to shift her weight forward just enough to lift her head and SEE WHAT IT IS THAT XERMI SEES. SUP RHODY. NICE SLIPPERS. « WHY DO YOU RUN SO FAST, MINION OF INASYTH-WHO-IS-DEFINITELY-NOT-HERE? THE BUBBLIES WILL KEEP. » And maybe Leirith will stop attempting to delicately nip bunny-slippers from your grasp as you get closer. Or maybe not. Two of her talons are definitely cold and won't go straight through them, ALRIGHT. GO, BABIES, GO. YOU GOT THIS.

There's a gasp of awe as the big bronze paw manages to knock the door to smithereens (but just because Glorioth pre-softened it, right?) followed by trill of excitement that surely won't give Inasyth's very secret location away. The little gold practically preens under Xermiltoth's nose boop, but not for long as Leirith has all that encouragement to give and it's not the rib-bruising kind. She'll even steal borrow a battlecry from her brother as she quickly scrambles forward and through the wreckage of the doorframe, careful to tuck her wings in as even for baby dragons it's a tight fit. « ONWARD!!! Uhhh… left or right? Right, right? You go right, I go left! Tell me if you find something GOOOOOOOOD!!! » Who has the countdown going for how long before a very angry headwoman shows up to deal with all this chaos? Rhody will leave all the athletics to F'yr, since she's got her own dance to do trying to keep her slippers (and more importantly her toes) safe from Leirith's nippy talons. "I know better than to believe either of you! Did you put them up to this?" She could totally believe either way the babies came up to it or they're just tiny pawns to the bigger dragons plans to get places they just don't fit. Even as she's yelling questions up at Leirith, she tries to scoot her way around the full grown dragons and to the door, but that's a lot of dragon to scoot around!

Did he do it? DID HE DO IT? WAS THERE EVER ANY DOUBT? OF COURSE, HE DID IT. HE, AND HE ALONE. It's not even willful misunderstanding; Glorioth did not see Xermiltoth's claw. As hard as it may be to believe seeing as how that claw was right there by his head and Glorioth wasn't even touching the doors when they finally yielded, he is still 1000% certain that the he opened those doors. THEY ARE QUAKING ON THEIR HINGES from the continued radiance of his continued valor. « AHAHAHAHAHA, ONWAAAAAaaaaAAAaaaAAAAAaaaaRD! » He sings, perhaps borrowing Leirith's drums to play up the heroic daring of his advance into the realm of the humies, where lieth… layth… WHATEVER, LISTEN, THIS IS WHERE THE HERO AND HIS ONLY FAITHFUL SISTER (DO YOU SEE ANY OF THE OTHERS HERE WITH HIM NOW? NO. VILLAINS, BETRAYERS ALL) HAVE TO GO TO FIND THE ENTRANCE TO THE TEMPLE OF ALL DOOMS — ER, WE MEAN PAPERS. SAME THING THO' REALLY, AMIRITE? There's no need for thanks to Xermiltoth BECAUSE HE DID NOTHING. There's no need to linger here where any party pooper might come poop on this party. THIS PARTY IS MOVING ON. « MAKE HASTE, MY COMPLICIT COMPANION. » Which might mean that the baby bronze has some notion that he's not exactly supposed to be going on this quest with Inasyth alone. BUT LOOK, MOM — ER, DAD, WHICHEVER OF YOU IS WATCHING THE KIDS RIGHT NOW, THEY'RE FINE. RIGHT, DAD? TOTALLY FINE. BETTER THAN FINE. He hardly needs Leirith's butt-bump to go crashing his way into the caverns, his tail whacking jackets and boots normally hung on the hooks and tucked by the wall into a mayhem ne'er before equaled, and all in a matter of just moments as he passes into the caverns. He could go left, as Inasyth suggests, if he could remember which way that was, so instead, his definitely-inherited-thank-you-Dad baby boom sounds: « YOU THERE, » he has no hesitation in flagging down the nearest slack-jawed idiot not prepared for the magnitude of his splendor. « WHERE IS THE TEMPLE OF PAPERS? » Cue the chorus, of course. Meanwhile, poor F'yr is slipping on Xermiltoth, he's sliding, he's not quite getting where he needs to be quite as quickly as he needs to be there. "Where," he wheezes, casting an accusing glance at Leirith, "Risa?" and then one at Xermiltoth, "R'hyn?" If he had more oxygen maybe he would re-think those requests, because maybe there's still a chance NO ONE NEEDS TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED HERE. THINK, F'YR, THINK. It's not a good moment for thinking as he is wuffled by Leirith, as he bumps down Xermiltoth's far side at last and falls into a heap on the ground there and… no, nope, there's no getting up, not right now. Not this moment. There's a kind of keening because oh-sweet-shell that bone-jarring drop hurt. Maybe it's not as bad as Threadscore, but F'yr will never know given that Thread is a long vanquished foe and today this is his pain, his battle, his — second failed attempt to get up and stop the babies.

Where is R'hyn? "XERMILTOTH." Here. Booming laughter crashes down around weyrling heads, the bronze's eyes whirling fast and mischievous as harlequinned wings drop, conveniently shielding whatever humans might be close enough to be swept towards the door in one dragging push. Poor F'yr's ribs. Poor Rhody's slippers. Both are wont to be lost in the chaos as baby dragons pile into the caverns to go their separate ways. The big bronze's priorities have changed, you see, from shielding his progeny from the reaching grasp of their weyrlings to… "XERMILTOTH YOU LOWER YOUR WINGS RIGHT THIS SECOND I'M GOING TO END YOU HOW DARE YOU YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE THE EXAMPLE NOT THE—" … well, to encouraging them far away from all of that with a whisper of, « Go, we will distract him! » WE? YES, because he's straight dragging Leirith into this with a cheerybright, « AH LEIRITH, DID YOU SEE? MINE HAS FINALLY STOPPED STARING AT HIS BABIES LONG ENOUGH TO ACKNOWLEDGE US. WHAT A GLORIOUS DAY. » "DON'T YOU 'GLORIOUS' ME YOU OVERSIZED TUNNELSNAKE I WILL EAT YOUR HEARTS FOR BREAKFAST IF YOU DON'T GET OUT OF MY WAY-OOF!" « YOU SEEMED STRESSED, R'HYN. I HAVE HEARD YOUR KIND ENJOY THE COMFORTING WEIGHT OF A BLANKET. SURELY I CAN SERVE THIS PURPOSE. » Tails flick back at the humans behind him a go-go-go motion as he settles into a dragonloaf atop his rider. Who knows. Maybe F'yr and R'hyn will have matching ribs soon. "GET OFF ME!" But for now, best catch their baby dragons before they go, « DOWN THAT HALL RIGHT THERE AND KEEP GOING UNTIL YOU CAN SMELL THE PAPERS AND DESPAIR. GOOD LUCK. »

« THAT LOOKS LIKE IT HURT. DON'T BE DISAPPOINTING, GLORIOTH'S MINE. WALK IT OFF. AHAHAHAHAHA. » A beat. « ME? NEVER. » Leirith answers Rhodelia, a badum-badum-wubwubwub of overflowing joy the weyrling's TRUTHFUL, BUT NO LESS DEVIANT ANSWER. And then, OH NO. HERE COMES R'HYN. Leirith echoes that booming laughter, drives it into every skull with the the same subtle finesse of a bulldozer when her harlequined companion's name is thundered from one DISAPPOINTINGLY SMALL (to her) WEYRLEADER. But as for Risali? « NEVER HEARD OF HER. AHAHAHAHA. » And look, Xermiltoth has the wing sweeping covered, so don't mind Leirith when she THROWS A WING BACK against the entrance of the caverns. THERE IS NO ESCAPE. ONLY CHAOS — and all while she drops her head to join in on the R'hyn torture. « I HAVE ALSO HEARD THAT YOU FIND BATHS QUITE RELAXING. ALLOW ME TO FURTHER COMFORT YOU. » SPLAT. That's… that's Leirith's tongue, lolling against the side of R'hyn's face, DRAGGING UP THROUGH HAIR, setting it to DISARRAYED ATTENTION ALA SIMBA-STYLE WITH SO MUCH DRAGON-SPIT. And thisthis is how Risali finds them, with Leirith's tongue frozen in that slow assault of R'hyn's person, Xermiltoth sitting on him, Leirith's whirling blue eyes focused on her now. For several heartbeats, the weyrwoman stands there, laboring breath back into her lungs as she looks from gold, to bronze, to R'hyn. That flush on Risa's face says she either ran with two babies fighting over the space her lungs once occupied, or she's angry. Maybe it's both, but she's brought to an abrupt halt by — "You look ridiculous." And then SHE is laughing, doubling over, holding her stomach, OFFERING EXACTLY ZERO HELP TO ANYBODY as Leirith snaps her tongue back into her mouth, thrums more laughter, and then shouts, « QUICKLY, WHILE THEY ARE INDISPOSED. I BELIEVE IN YOU. » Risali? She's crying, and ON ALL FOURS NOW, slowly crawling towards R'hyn between the inability to breathe and more laughter. "R-ridcu — haaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahah." There is no saving either of them, even as Risali plops herself beside R'hyn, grabs one of his arms, and pulls like she might extract him from Xermiltoth. You know. When she's not literally crying between sobs of laughter.

Papers? They were supposed to be trying to find papers? Inasyth seemed to have lost that memo just as quickly as Rhodelia can lose an actual memo as the baby gold barrels through a few chairs and scooches her way past a table that screeeches its protest at moving. Nostrils flare as she whuffles the air near a door. « WAIT!!!! THIS MIGHT BE BETTER THAN THE TEMPLE OF PAPERS! WHAT'S THAT SMELL??? IT'S DELIGHTFUL! IT'S DELECTABLE! IT'S PROBABLY DELICIOUS!!! » And only probably because the door to the kitchen is much smaller than the main entrance to the caverns. It's only her head and neck that manage to worm their way through as her tongue tries to lick whatever surfaces are closest while some cooks scream and recoil and others stare in horror « HELLO PEOPLE WITH APRONS AND SPOONS! CAN I HAVE SOME??? GLORIOTH, FIND THE PAPERS! I GOT THIS!!! » And hopefully by this, that means she's blocking the folks most likely to get in his way, WITH HER FACE. Rhodelia will miss most of the indignities Xermiltoth is heaping on his own rider (with the all too effective HELP from Leirith). She's too busy on the other side of the massive gold trying to push Leirith away just enough to worm her own way into the caverns through that splintered door, but the dragon is BIG and fluffy bunny slippers don't give much traction anyways. Rhody puts her back into trying to budge the dragon and ends up falling right on her tooshie. "Ooooofh. F'yr? Can you see them?" Help her F'yr-bi-Wan. You're their only hope.

« MY HEARTFELT THANKS, PROUD PARTISAN. » Glorioth gives thanks where thanks is due. Not that Xermiltoth had a ghost of chance of avoiding incrimination as participant in this whole ordeal, but Glori will (obliviously) make sure everyone knows it with his warm appreciation for those directions. For Inasyth's suggestion that she may have found something better, there is a scoff. « NOTHING IS BETTER THAN THE TEMPLE OF PAPERS, EVEN IF HOLDS THE GENERAL AIR OF VIRGIN AND WOE WITHIN ITS WALLS, » obviously this doesn't apply to certain FERTILE WEYRLEADERS or other proveably not virgins, so maybe it's just the lingering scent of F'yr, but with so many papers in one place, F'yr probably wasn't the only virgin working there. « MY F'YROCIOUSLY FERVENT LIFEMATE IS CERTAIN THE TEMPLE OF PAPERS CONTAINS WONDERS WORTHY OF US. » So much for F'yr's attempts to assert early that Quasar is the place they ought to end up. That backfired hard, didn't it, F'yr. … F'yr? He's alive because he's wheezing, but his face is mask of tears and pain. NEVER FEAR, Y'ALL, THAT PAIN IS ONLY THE ENCOURAGEMENT F'YR NEEDS TO ACCESS SPINAL REFLEX TO AVOID ANY ADDITIONAL ENCOURAGEMENT and drag himself to his feet. He's definitely supposed to be stopping this, right? But he just can't bring himself to let Glorioth fail when so many points of the universe have conspired to help him succeed. And…. SORRY RHODY, F'yr is switching sides; he doesn't answer. Once on his feet, the big bronze is shouting, « HU-ZZAH! » because not only is he heading in the direction of that tunnel, he's even got his (badly limping) sidekick. HRRRENNNNNGGGGGGG is Glorioth's first attempt into that hallway. He is not as large has his sister, but there is no way he really fits. His shoulders, maybe, but unless he wants to tear off those wings, there's a good chance he'll get stuck. Now, no one can really tell him this. Well, they can, but he won't believe them, not a tiny little bit. F'yr can however, duck into the tunnel between attempts. "Wait here!" is F'yr's shout at his lifemate, but that does nothing to prevent the re-tucking of wings and the lowering onto the belly to try to wiggle-wiggle into the tunnel. WHAT COULD GO WRONG? Especially with the injured weyrling man staggering down that hallway like he's got a plan. WHAT COULD GO WRONG? THESE TWO WON'T LET YOU DOWN, LARGE DRAGONS WHO BELIEVE IN THEM.

Avoiding incrimination? Alas, we're far, far past that. "YOU ARE GROUNDED. AND IF YOU DON'T GET OFF ME RIGHT NOW YOU WILL ALSO BE- BLEGH." « WHAT IS A 'BLEGH', MINE? THIS IS A STRANGE WORD AND I DO NOT KNOW IT. LEIRITH, DO YOU KNOW WHAT A 'BLEGH' IS? SUCH FRAUGHT MYSTERIES FOR SUCH AN EARLY HOUR, MY MY MY. » A beat, in which whirling facets focus down on R'hyn, an unholy level of unamusement visible on his rider's features beneath a layer of slime and his truly impressive cowlick. « WHY R'HYN, YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. A FINE JOB, LEIRITH, A FINE JOB INDEED. YOU SHOULD KEEP THE STYLING, IT BECOMES YOU. » "Shut. Up," gets hissed between his teeth, blue-grey gaze snapping over towards Risali's form as she moves closer to try to help him. "Don't encourage this. This is the most ridiculous thing that I've ever-," he begins famous-last-wordsingly as his hand tucks around her forearm, whole body heaving to try to get out from beneath his dragon. « OH NO YOU DON'T, » Xermi trills, jaws parting to hnomphf himself a mouthful of bronzerider. « GOOD LUCK, MY PROGENY. PERHAPS IF YOU ASK NICE, THE GOOD PEOPLE WILL BRING THINGS TO YOU. » This is perhaps aimed towards Inasyth, given F'yr is already on the assist to deliver items containing that eau de virgin smell to his dragon. « AND THEN YOU SHOULD SCATTER! » Him? He'll just be jerking his wing in a draconic mimicry of a salute and marching off with his rider's feet skidding against the dirt, outrage fading into the distance as Ryn is carted off like the lion cub he so resembles.

« I AM NOT SURE, MY XERMILTOTH, BUT I AM PRETTY SURE IT TRANSLATED INTO SOMETHING LIKE, 'LEIRITH, THAT WAS AMAZING, DO IT AGAIN,' AND YES, DISAPPOINTINGLY SMALL BUT NO LESS BADASS R'HYN OF THE WEYRLEADERSHIP, RIDER TO THE MIGHTY XERMILTOTH, I WILL. DO IT AGAIN, I MEAN. UNCEUNCEUNCEUNCE. » Yeah, SHE'S MID TONGUE-LOLLING BACK OUT IN A WET-SLAP OF GROSS when Risali arrives, AWKWARDLY PREGNANT, in between her inability to breathe. And listen, the expectation that Risali could help R'hyn leverage himself out from beneath Xermiltoth's bulk was futile at best, but at least she stops R'hyn from the second culling of his dignity. Or is this the fourth. Billionth? Listen, we can't count that high, and we aren't going to. "I'm not, I just —" Risali tries between hiccups of breath, but then it doesn't matter because Xermi is MAKING LIKE MUFASA and Risali is pressing her knuckles between her teeth to stifle laughter. LISTEN. SOME OF THIS IS NOT FUNNY. That's why those grey eyes are going towards Rhodelia, through Leirith as if she might see through the massive gold to the young dragons running errant behind the cover of one wing and F'yr, doing his broken-best to try and salvage some of the situation. She is doing her best, her absolute best to press her lips into a straight line, to muster up the posture a weyrwoman should have, but she CAN'T GET IT TOGETHER. She's laughing at R'hyn, and then she's trying to speak to Rhody, but she cannot form words between hiccups of laughter, and FINALLY, she manages, "R-Rhodelia. I —" on a gasp of breath, but LEIRITH UNFURLS THEN. Up she comes, granting access to and from the caverns with one press of her maw into Rhody's back and a mighty PUSH. « I KNOW THAT LOOK, MINION. YOU CANNOT INTERRUPT THIS MIGHTY QUEST. AND ALSO, THAT LOOKED FUN. » Now Risa isn't laughing. "Looks fu — Leirith no. I swear upon every egg that ever existed that I will murder your — LEIRITH." And now SHE is being caught in the delicate application of dragon teeth to clothes, in the DRAG OF BOOTS as she tries to elbow a snout and break away but with no success. « I HAVE CLEARED THE WAY FOR YOUR VALIANT RETREAT WHEN YOU HAVE ACCOMPLISHED THIS PERILOUS ADVENTURE. GOOD LUCK, MINE'S MINE'S MINE'S MINE'S. AHAHAHAHAHA. »

Is that look of horror crawling across Rhodelia's face for the fantastic new stylings from Leirith's Salon-Tongue or the havoc of baby dragons in the living caverns? Probably both, but she's about as wordless as Risali is minus the excuse of forming little humans that are fighting for lung space. Inasyth brightens and begins to tippy tap to music that isn't just in her head because she's making sure to broadcast the offkey (but ENTHUSIASTIC) soundtrack to anybody and everybody. #SorryNotSorry to anybody trying to sleep this morning. Or get breakfast cause her tail thrashes along with her dancing, sending some of the readied klah pitchers scattering. « CAN YOU BRING ME SOME OF THE DELICIOUS STUFF? XERMILTOTH SAID IT WAS FINE!!! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE??? » Her mouth is waiting large and in the doorway as she tries her paw at begging. The kitchen staff apparently don't find the name dropping too effective, but Rhodelia finally manages to break into the cavern once she seizes the opportunity from Leirith unfurling. She has to jump across a puddle of klah to manage to find a whole platter of mini-meatrolls. "I'VE FOUND THE DELICIOUS TREATS OF LEGEND. COME FOLLOW ME AND WE'LL RENDEZVOUS WITH F'YR AFTER HE ESCAPES THROUGH THE SECRET TINIEST TUNNEL." Rhody might not have the best aim as she tries to pelt both Inasyth and Glorioth with the meatrolls as she back peddles back out through the ruined door. Inasyth at least has no qualms about scarfing food off the ground. « NOMNOMNOM. I THINK THESE TASTE BETTER THAN ANY PAPERS, GLORIOTH. »

A+ for effort, Rhody. Some of those meatroll missiles bounce off of the armoured bronze's baby hide, and though they draw no notice from the beast still hurling himself with great force at that entry to the administrative hallway. It will surely yield to his superior superiority if only he keeps at it. Unfortunately (for the whole world), once Glorioth has set his mind on what it is he's looking for, there is nothing that can really deter him, except probably F'yr. And F'yr is a treacherous turncoat to the rest of Xanadu right now. Glorioth isn't interested in Leirith's new career as stylist to the stars, he's not interested in rider transportation techniques (today), he's not interested in Inasyth's tastier discoveries. He needs to reach the Temple of Papers, to retrieve — Well, would you look at that. Here comes F'yr, tears still traveling down his cheeks as he wheezes and lugs the prize: THE IDOL OF BADASSERY. It looks suspiciously like a hellaciously awful runner statue. But just one of the pair. No one tell Glorioth that a second exists or there may be a second incursion. F'yr drags it near enough to the bronze to grasp it in his much stronger forepaws. « AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH AHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! HUZZAH! ONWAAAAaaaaaAAAAaaaaaaRD! » And with that, he'll shove himself — HRRRRNENNENGNNNENNG, POP — out of the administrative hallway entry and flip around, SUNDERING ORGANIZATION and probably some furniture in his wake as he charges for the exit, F'yr limp-running in his wake, shouting (ALWAYS WITH THE SHOUTING), « VICTORY! HUZZAH! » loudly enough that probably even his departing ardent admirers will know they have all succeeded this day. HUZZAH!

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