Evi Excavation

Xanadu Weyr - Meadow
A large, slightly rolling meadow is set high enough above the riverbank on both sides to avoid suffering from flooding, healthy ground cover and grass spreading out from either side of the dividing river. Scattered amongst the meadow are a variety of weyrs, each with a narrow path leading up to it from a main, winding road. Some are set under a few trees, while others sit by themselves. The meadow continues with gentle rolls and dips, grass tall and short waving in the slightest of breezes, and eventually those hills grow higher and steeper, ending in a large ridge that provides a fine view of that meadow and the rest of the Weyr, gazing out over the multicolored roofs of the houses and the cliff that holds the caverns.
Runner stables with the paddock beyond are to the south beyond the meadow weyrs, and a smithy and a woodcraft shop are settled closer in towards the path to the clearing. Trees border the northern side of the meadow, and more of those low, rolling hills can be seen to the northwest. A road passes through the meadow, coming from the east and used by traders and crafters alike. Wagons laden with felled trees from the forests or ore from the mountains are hauled by burden beast up the road through the meadow, over the bridge spanning the river to be processed in the appropriate workshops.

Evening settles over the Weyr, nightfall coming quicker each day as the season demands it's cut of the warmth and Winter is a greedy mistress. Giving only cold and wet back in repayment, the land is quickly cooling, the grass wet from an earlier shower amplifying the effect. Overhead shining with a fresh coat of Oil is Neifeth, the striped and spotted dark green circling with a huntress's watching stare, all business in the air. From afar, one might believe she's looking for prey, the sharp turns, and speed akin to a buzzard and not a green dragoness. If a dragon can circle mockingly, this is it. Smugness supreme on her form, she's free, look at her make her circles. She looks good, and she projects that idea upon anyone nearby, like, don't look anywhere but up TYVM. Unfortunately, this act is the opposite of helpful; below the looming dragon is Evi, dressed in bright salmon that's striped in silver, foot somehow stuck in a tunnelsnake hole. Every few seconds, she pulls up, trying to free herself, and then looks up at the beast above her. "You know, I was out here for you, NeiNei, this isn't funny. Come help." Every few minutes, the fae trapped greenrider pulls up, her body tensing up as her leg wiggles up and down. Upon close inspection, she managed the utterly wrong angle and offered no support from her lifemate. Creeping in a swirl of green fog that smells of pine, the dragon offers«Evi-darling you should be like, thanking me. I am keeping everyone from seeing how droll you look. It's not a good look.» She's not shy about who hears this, all sass, and if no one knows, she's won. Did she even win?

Why look up, when one can look at the insides of ones own eyelids. This is the logic that fuels Xermiltoth's silence, the big bronze stretched out upon the grass on the far side of the meadow, the whole of him occupying a small knoll. Though he is not so near as to naturally spy Evi's predicament, he is not so far as to not be able to hear Neifeth's mind and - however reluctantly - whirl eyes to life to make sure she's not up to something nefarious. Listen. For a dragon, he's only too cognizant of the things he has spawned and unleashed upon the world. Wheeling circles might have checked out, might have led to him closing his eyes and resuming his enjoyment of the seasonal cool were it not for the clear struggle Evi is putting up with that hole in the ground. A beat passes, two, the bronze waiting to see if she'll win the fight with the tight, crooked passage. No? Aight then, time to call the cavalry. « R'hyn. » The spoken name is like the ringing of a gong, loud and gold and reverberating through many minds, including his bronzerider. « Perhaps bring a shovel. And ice. » Listen, at least he has the good grace to not show everyone and their mom a mental image of Evi's trapped foot. It's something. « You will have help, » tries to narrow itself to only Evangeline's thoughts, success dubious if only because he's rolling over, seemingly intending to go back to sleep again, and maybe he doesn't super care to make it perfectly precise.

SPEAKING OF WINTER, have you met Teimyrth? Of course you have. And here he is, that winter-touched bronze whose insidious press of blizzard-cold answers a mind so at odds with his own. « We come. » The acrid freeze of frostbite settles with a quiet hush, swirling eddies of snow all that remains of a solstice storm integrating itself far-back in Xermiltoth's mind. It is, in fact, the lumbering bronze who comes before Xermiltoth's rider or his own, borne on wings kissed by fire and landing near-enough to his ledgemate to almost be a nuisance. If he hears Neifeth, there is no stirring acknowledgement from Teimyrth, not physically nor mentally, not even as he settles into a dragonloaf, wholly intent on viewing Evi's predicament from ALL THE WAY OVER HERE. CUE THE BAND!!!! Ila'den and R'hyn come as one, the older bronzerider a few steps behind his Weyrmate, a shovel slung over one shoulder while the other holds the straps of a bag no-doubt accommodating QUESTIONABLE ODDITIES (by which we probably mean ice, and tools). It's not until they're close enough for Ila'den to be heard without having to raise his voice that a rasping growl offers, "That's an interesting predicament you've found yourself in, Evi." And while Ila'den's tone is polite, it'd be a stretch to apply the word 'gentle' to any words Ila'den might affect. The truth is, he sounds a touch disinterested, despite the fact that he's clearly here to help.

There are about 10 million things that embarrass Evi, but help is one of the big ones. Extra attention of any type is to be avoided, and the moment Xermiltoth gets involved, she squeaks loudly. "EXCUSE Me, Um, I'm ok, really, I actually like it here." Sure, it's a nice spot; look at that boulder. That's a nice boulder. Neifeth and nefarious do go hand in paw, really, and she's not above being that way when it suits her end. Right now, she's trying to train her rider. Xermiltoth's offer of help is met with a rush of sweet-smelling pink fuzz, an attempt to sound overly kind and coy «Oh, why thank you, oh so very much for your kindly nose stuck right in the middle of our business. You see we are playing a game. Called Evi gets out of a hole, it's new.» No one in the history of falsehoods has ever sounded so false, even if the green mean girl can twist the word game into something that brings her amusement, to mean that for her this is a game. Catching the snow from Teimyrth's mind, she presses back with an icy shroud of her own, freezing her mental forest and saying «If you help her cheat, she won't learn anything.» While Neifeth's clear goal is to time Evi's escape like throwing a blanket over a canines head and pulling out a stopwatch, Evi's of the same yet different mind. "No, I am totally alright, she's right. No, no people, or Ice, or shovel. You know I barely even use this foot. I'm sure it'll fall off when I freeze." Sitting down with a huffing whine, she lays back on the grass and spreads her arms in a T, closing her eyes. "Neinei, can you PLEASE help.." Then there's an entire Ila'den and R'hyn and she just groans, whimpering in mortification. Can people die of embarrassment? She's probably close. Any minute now she'll just poof out of existence. "You know I'd get out eventually. I did this once in Igen, and um, I only lost one boot. I um, almost threw it out, but then there was this man with one leg I'd met, and he had small lady feet, and it fit him. So if the boot is gone, maybe there's" She's rambling, runs out of breath and has to take another that ends in a suffering sigh. "She wouldn't actually let me die." Of this, she's sure. Mostly. Hands find purchase over face, covering her eyes to avoid watching as her dragon grumbles displeasure from above, «Look, she's done this before, she has experience.»

And Xermiltoth is playing a game called trying to nap, but you don't see him making a fuss. Instead of annoyance, he seems to welcome Teimyrth's proximity, executing a felinic stretch, stomach slipping on damp grass, seating his shoulder and one wing in against his grizzly ledgemate. Listen, someone has to court death, and since Evi is 'just fine,' one guesses it falls to him. « One might learn to ask for assistance, when assistance is due. It'll be far more shameful to ask for an amputation. » You know, after the foot goes numb, and the gangrene sets in, et cetera. It's perhaps a joke, but regardless, it's far, far too late. R'hyn's already snorting under his breath for Evi's t-posed position on the ground, reaching up to take the shovel Ila's got slung over his shoulder and knifing it into the dirt with the practice of a person who knows what they're doing. It must be all the gardening. "Of course she wouldn't. I doubt she'd like a forever-between very much. But Xermiltoth was just so concerned," which is why he's over there bubbling kittensnores against Teimyrth's side, "and you'd hate to make him worry, wouldn't you?" Teasing. R'hyn is teasing her in the hopes of injecting further levity in the wake of the one-legged man story, even as he heaves away that first shovelful of dirt, not close enough to her foot to break free just yet, but with clear intent to slowly, safely work his way there.

Neifeth makes a bid for Teimyrth's mind, turns her forests into frost, and the brainfeeze bronze is slow to stir, slow to acknowledge the green and her imitation of his winter-white fury. « I am not interested in your games, » comes with the same indifference of his mind's 'scape. « My time helping you separate pride from stupidity has passed. » Like the seasons, like the turns, like his interest. « Xermiltoth offers you sound advice; I do not care what you or yours do with it. » And for all that there is a low, rumbling growl that pulls from somewhere deep in his chest the moment shoulder and wing tucks in against him, Teimyrth does not move, does not attempt to dislodge his ledgemate. In fact, if you give him a moment (or five), he's dropping his head to rest on the top of Xerm's, faceted eyes bleeding red as still he watches. And so Ila'den's brows rise for Evi's words, the shovel handed off at R'hyn's request, but this bronzerider seems less inclined to act upon those deeds that might lead one to believe he is a man half as good as R'hyn. Instead, he lowers himself into a crouch beside Evi, takes in the state of her foot, hears her rambling about men and feet and boots, and takes a long moment to rest his gaze on her face as R'hyn starts breaking up the ground around her. It's impossible to gauge whether any thoughts Ila'den harbors might err on the side of kindness, but it's probably safe, knowing Ila'den, to assume that allowing R'hyn the role of speaking is to the benefit of all involved. From out of that pack, Ila'den pulls out a smaller tool, a garden trowel, and without deigning to argue or ask permission, he joins R'hyn in freeing Evi.

Neifeth finally deems to land, arrowing to the opposite side of the meadow and flaring her wing sails up with a loud snap, the noise not necessary, simply a show of displeasure from the haughty green. With a bright whirl of snow, the forest is purple, giant trees of impossible size growing from grass of eye-straining turquoise, water trickles through each word to Teimyrth and Xermiltoh, «You're a right spoilsport, you know that? She needs a distraction, her- something, is somewhere. You know what? She talks a lot. Sometimes I can't remember the whole story; I get the gist, though. Blah, Blah, Blah, sad Evi, Blah, person, blah gone. Blah. But stuck in a hole, she has only to think of that. » Forward as always, even if her feet are still far too large for her mouth. Even if it seems this is some form of nonapproved therapy by Neifeth. It's hard to really see what she's done to this foot, the other foot just newly healed from dropping a large package on it and breaking half her toes. R'hyn probably got that report, maybe. She's got socks up to her knee, but the angle promises a nice sprain and has to be decently painful. Somehow pain is somewhere below embarrassment on the Evi scale of bad things. Pressing hands into the ground, she sits up and shakes her head, "She just.. this is her way of um, helping. She's gotten me stuck three or four places since, things." Not explaining any further, but leaning forward best she can to shovel dirt off her leg and expedite, "He does seem sort of worried. I guess, maybe." Trying to go along with the teasing, pulling back with a tiny yelp as she can't seem to get free just yet, but is very close. "Once I'm out, I'll be fine, you know, this happens to everyone. I mean, Ila'den, how often does it…Well. Ok. Maybe not everyone. Um, how's Kappa?" Finding a safe subject, hands scratching away at the dirt, "You don't think there's like, actually snakes down there, do you sir?" No, no, R'hyn digs these holes at night to help people BELIEVE they have snakes, Evangeline.

Xermiltoth; smug. « I know. » Golden motes of heat burst with lazy brilliance, as though 'spoilsport', 'nuisance', and 'downright pest' were the least of the words he gets called on the regular. « It's a gift. » If he is bothered by the monstrous bronze head that comes to rest atop his, he doesn't show it, eyes whirling back into darkness with a heaving sigh through his nostrils that isn't quite content, but perhaps the next best thing. If R'hyn makes anything of this being Neifeth's idea of a good time, he doesn't show it. Blue-grey eyes lift to take in the green's snappish descent, but he says nothing on the matter, merely reseats his shovel and tips the dirt it gathers atop the previous heap. "Mm," he agrees instead about this happening to everyone, "perhaps not with as much regularity - how's your other foot?," indicates that he did, indeed, hear of the paperwork, if not review it himself, "but it happens." A little smile plays around the corners of his lips, eyes drifting up to attempt to snag on Ila's, either for his trowel-work or the subject of Kappa, but whatever amuses him, he lets Ila tell it. As for 'snakes, "I don't know. I know a wher patrols fairly regularly, and they delight in telling Xermiltoth about shredding them to pieces," in their own way, "so hopefully there aren't any right now. For your toes' sakes." Still teasing? MAYBE, judging from the glint of amusement in his eyes. Trying to politely distract from all that sadness Neifeth has broadcast to his dragon, and thus, his dragon to him? Likely. It's fine.

If the title, 'Spoilsport,' has any mental effect on Teimyrth, there are no shifting winds in his mind to acknowledge it; if anything, the winter-touched bronze is silent, that snowfall quiet stretching well past the border of what might pass for awkward. « I have never known suffering to provide adequate distraction when our lifemates are in pain. » Not the kind that might provide relief, that will not rise from the silence unbidden to haunt them at 3 AM, making fissures in already fragile psyches. But where Neifeth's mind goes from monochromatics to vibrant colors, Teimyrth's transition is significantly more abrupt and less beautiful: he withdraws. He pushes oversized growth and blinding hues from the vast, barren chill of his mind — not quite barring her from contact, but certainly signaling an end to his participation in this conversation. And Ila'den is quiet as he works, listening without looking — at least not until Evi says his name, inspirint the slow way that grey eye comes up, hands pausing, attention settling once more on her face. A beat, two, three, and his gaze lifts to meet R'hyn's, that quiet humor echoed in a pull of his lips that never quite hits its mark. "Kappa," comes with the slow enunciation of a man speaking about things he dislikes, humor evident albeit dry, "is a bed hogging, blanket stealing shit." But then his gaze drops back to his work, a softer, "But he's fine," the honest truth. "He sleeps above my head every night and takes great pleasure in kneading every-fucking-thing his paws come into contact with." And then R'hyn speaks, and Evi speaks, and Ila'den lapses back into silence, waiting until a lapse to rasp out, "There are better ways, Evi." To distract yourself, is what he means, and though he doesn't elaborate, his gaze lifts again to hold hers, as if he's waiting.

«I would recommend returning that clunker, sounds like a bargain-basement gift.» Neifeth enjoys hearing herself speak, allowing her purple forests to meld into a bright yellow sea that looks to be made entirely of neon highlighter fluid. The sunshiney waves are toxic in appearance, not a swimming place for sure. As she's pressed out of Teimyrth's mind, she allows her vision of the world to dim until it's dark, and the ocean glows malevolently under a pink quarter moon. Anyone not actively avoiding it can see the display; subtle isn't her game. Evi slowly tries to get her foot out with a wiggle, sighing and letting more dirt gets moved before trying again. Blushing brightly as the other foot is asked after there's a squeak, teeth finding bottom lip, "It's better.. thanks." Unable to look at anything but the ground, body tightening up as Nei shares far more than she should. "What?!" The idea that actual, real, live snakes live under the ground has her grimacing. "I want out. Forget whatever I said. Out is good." Panicking for half a second, enough to have Neifeth chuff a warning, a rebuke to any emotion the green doesn't find pleasing. Meeting Ila's gaze, she focuses tightly on each word, cocking her head to the side. "I know, I did this. This. Hole. I fell into it, and it's no one else's job to come help me out. It's my hole, Ila." Soft, wide eyes, still somehow a bit lost but far more solid than when they'd first met. Flexing once more, her foot is freed with a wince, hand going to untie the boot laces. "Thanks, Um, I'm fine from here." With hands shaking, she tries to untie the laces, taking a deep, steadying breath before working out the top's double knot. "I'm glad he has, uh, a good home. Th-thanks, for that. And uh, this. " Motioning to the now widened hole, she's escaped from, still sitting working through the boots laces.

« Would that I could, » comes tongue-in-cheek humor, Xermiltoth's words rolling slow and heavy off his mental tongue. « Would that I could. » R'hyn, meanwhile, issues a low laugh when Evi's tune changes, one hand lifting to pat-pat the air before he returns to widening that space around her ankle, dragging back the dirt Ila has carved loose. "You've enough of a sole on those things, I'm sure. Even if there was one, you'll be fine," comes droll, though his smile fades slow in the wake of Ila'den's words, and Evi's response. Lips pull gently sideways as though he might have an opinion on that, but he doesn't share it. Instead, he spikes his shovel into the ground, stooping to withdraw ice wrapped up in a scrap kitchen cloth, and a wrap of bandages to hold it in place. "Think you'll need a healer? We've this, and a shoulder if you need it," is offered despite her protests. They've got four shoulders between them, perhaps she'll find one unobjectionable enough to take up on the offer. "He also grooms Ila's hair when he's in a good mood. I think he's jealous," is added of Kappa because how could Ila leave out such an important detail. "Thank you for letting us keep him."

THEY'RE WORKING ON IT, EVI. And look, they get the job done, eventually, right? But we're skipping around. Let us first address the fact that Teimyrth, outside of standing abruptly so that Xermiltoth's once-lean hopefully because a graceless flop against the ground, doesn't seem to have an opinion on basement-bargains or the likening of him to one. But the bronze beast moves with the practiced gait of a predator, an execution of grace that is no less awkward for leonine savagery, preceding his rider in what is likely to be Ila'den's next move: AN EXIT. Which brings us back to Evi's words and Ila'den, gaze holding until Evi's drops and his lifts to R'hyn. One, two, three, and instead of attempting to explain just what he meant, Ila'den opts instead for something no less true: "Everybody needs help sometimes." Whether they've dug the holes or stepped into them by random chance. But he doesn't say any more than that, instead rising to his feet, shifting one half-limped step back as pain licks up his bad knee to give Evi space. "He's always in a good mood," comes for R'hyn, a hint of amusement in the words. ALWAYS!!!! And while Ila doesn't jump at the chance to offer Evi the ice they brought, instead opting to allow R'hyn to do what he does best and be the people person, it's clear by the fact that he's still here that he's waiting to lend his shoulders in order to help keep Evi balanced in the event that her ankle will no longer support her weight. But note: he does not make the verbal offer that R'hyn does; he simply waits, quietly putting trowels back and catching the handle of that shovel to haul it back over his shoulder again.

Fully untying the boot, it's slid off, followed by the sock to reveal a large swatch of purple and blue that's going to be a nasty bruise. It's not swollen yet, but it will be soon enough. How she's this disaster-prone is anyone's guess, probably inattentiveness. "Can I go home? If I need a healer tomorrow, that's fine, but Zoniya has Izzy and no ones watered the plants." Taking the ice, it's placed experimentally down, the bandage wrapped quickly up as she looks down into the hole and shivers, skittering back from it. Pausing only to watch Teimyrth retreat, "SHoulder might work; I only want to go home, though." Smiling brightly for half a moment at the imagery provided, she offers up a hand, willing to go with either of them, "Well, he needed help." Offering that as an explanation, eyes lowered with thought and body still for a long moment, frozen with contemplation that holds her hostage until she shakes it off with a bleh sound. "Thanks.. this would have taken me hours." Admitting that and staring back at the striped problem child that poses as a lifemate. Neifeth, for all her bravado, is inching closer, eyes whirling with mild concern as it's clear her rider is actually injured. «My plan was brilliant, but you executed it poorly. I overestimated the strength of your ankles.» It's as close as she's getting to an apology, at least in public.

Though there's much to understand behind every statement - hers, Ila'den's, even their dragons - it's the mention of Izzy and plants that provokes an honest smile from R'hyn, amusement huffing through his nose as he executes a quick nod. "Fine. But only if you promise to get that seen. It doesn't look pretty." His stint in S&R was brief, but he's seen enough in the line of AWLM and weyrleader duty to recognize trouble when he sees it. "Keep it up, once we get you home." Easier said than done, perhaps, but he'd be remiss not to say it as he braces his weight, warm, dry hand meeting hers in order to pull her to her feet. Alas, though. "I lied," comes with a dip of the big bronzer's body, one arm cupping under knees, the other around shoulders, careful not to jostle as he lifts her clean off her feet. "I'll need directions, I've no idea where you live," is as much to Evi as Neifeth as the green slinks closer. He mouths a 'thank you' to Ila'den for picking up the pieces, smile taking a turn for the fond before he jerks his chin at the greenriding pair, ignoring any protests in order to indicate they should direct the way for the R'hyn Express and his Ila'den-shaped caboose. Xermiltoth, meanwhile, predictably flops into the space Teimyrth once vacated, and though there's a grumble for the loss of his ledgemate's heat, it's shortlived. Out go all four paws, some up, some down, wings probably casually punching Tei in the back of the head because rude, and then he flops back into graceless repose, fully intent on going back to his former nap as if none of this ever happened. Maybe he'll pick up and go home once Evi is escorted safely to her weyr, if only to pile his blackened form atop his favoritest dragons in a cuddle pile again. Only time will tell.

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