Snow Babies!

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.

IT'S WINTER, TRICKS. BRING ON THE COLD. But what is Ila'den doing here? … HE WORKS HERE. WHO ARE YOU EVEN. But okay, no really; right now he's probably not technically working. He is, however, stepping into the training grounds from Faranth only knows where, Xanadu's HIGHLY ESTEEMED WEYRLEADER IN TOW. It's snowing (because PRY IT FROM MY (LITERALLY) COLD, DEAD HANDS), Rukbat is far from reaching her highest point in the sky, everything is white and grey, and Ila'den is dressed head-to-toe in his usual leathers. But with a scarf this time. And some gloves. Maybe there's even a dusting of soon-to-melt snow dusting his unfortunate hair (and all of him, and also R'hyn, who is being weighed down only by Ila'den's OVERBEARING PROXIMITY AS THEY WALK SHOULDER-TO-SHOULDER), but that's not really important. What is important is that HE IS HERE, WITH R'HYN, and Teimyrth is taking up the back with that massively awkward, lumbering gait that brings a nightmare bronze made from shadows into the space where there might be VULNERABLE BABY DRAGONS FOR THE SASSING. HE FITS, HE SITS, HE SUMMONS. « I have come, » flickers white-hot into tiny minds, a blizzard brainfreeze gentled by a hint of smoke, by the knowledge of something warm waiting in the heart of so much white. « You should seek. » Because TEIMYRTH WANTS TO SEE THE BABIES, OKAY. Ila'den is nursing a mug of klah, that grey eye cutting to his weyrmate for a husky rumble of something that doesn't quite make it further than the two of them, but earns Teimyrth a pointed look before he sips.

Was it snowing before? Was it snowing yesterday? Who really knows because dragon memory is incredibly short ESPECIALLY for baby dragons and Inasyth barrels out of the barracks like this is the VERY FIRST TIME EVER!!! That barrelling happens to come with a mental SQUEAL of delight as champagne bubbles mix with flurries of fluffy snowflakes. « LET IT SNOW! LET IT SNOW! LET IT SNOW!!! » Teimyrth isn't the only one trying to summon things as she wiggles and shuffles, trying to dance more flakes into being, but the smoky blizzard draws her like a moth to an improbably freezing flame. The little gold wanders, eyes whirling a very impressionable and perky blue as she flops right in front of the wolfish bronze. « Teimyrth…. Can I ask you a question? » Rhodelia finally shuffles out of the barracks wrapped up in blanket and scarf and maybe two jackets in that pile of fabric, just in time to give a groan, but it doesn't stop the gold from asking her question anyways. « WANNA BUILD A SNOW DRAGON??? »

Kihatsuth doesn't come flying out of the barracks like Inasyth, but she does 'prance' on out as much as a (baby) green dragon can! She somehow makes it look graceful amid the awkward, pointedly kicking up as much snow as possible with each step. That is until she's drawn over by curiosity to Teimyrth's summons. Yeeess? Ru'ien, for his part, is not overly concerned as Kiha goes on ahead. He's bundled up against the cold, stifling a yawn with the back of a gloved hand. A quick glance and nod to Rhody, though he's soon eyeing Ila'den and R'hyn as well. What's going on? is this a trap?

« HUUUUUZZZAAAHH!! » That would be one tiny bronze delighted by that white-hot, blizzard brainfreeze that really ought to give a gloriously heroic dragon like Glorioth some kind of pause, some kind of concern, but clearly the only shifty-eyed FOES here are his sisters. THEY ALL GET SUSPICIOUS LOOKS, Inasyth especially. Who gets that excited over weather? She's probably betraying him as he gallops out of the barracks, past Kihatsuth, WITHOUT HIS MINDER ANYWHERE TO BE SEEN (yet), his wings lifted and set just so he can present the face and pose that ought to be on statues. STATUES, hear him, R'hyn? You probably can because he's BLEEDING this idea LOUDLY to everyone around along with that clash of weapons and the sizzle pop of battlefield flames. « WHAT HO, MY FINE FELLOW, » that's Teimyrth. « WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE? » AS IF HE DOESN'T WORK HERE. Maybe Glorioth doesn't remember that he does. Obviously he's not at all bothered by the bigger bronze's presence as he goes charging up to not just Teimyrth but Ila'den and R'hyn. Maybe he'll stop in time. Maybe he wont. GOOD LUCK EVERYBODY.

It's WAY too early for such demands, like what the SHELL. Emerging from the barracks slowly, more slink and prowl then walk, and hop is the bright and dark striped form of Neifeth. The snow is compressed with her snout, and she snorts loudly, throwing her head up with a flash of neon blue brambles, «WHO WAKES UP THIS EARLY.» Each step taken out of the barracks is followed by a shake of a limb, and a «This is disgusting, Who is in CHARGE.» The rude tone to her voice is plaintive and whiney, carrying flickers of purple lights and the smell of over-ripened fruit. «You there. Are you here to entertain us?» Addressing Teimyrth with a cock of her head. «Inasyth I think he's here to do tricks. FINALLY. My letters must have made it.» There's a trickle of pleased pink water, delighted that she might be getting her way. Evi emerges with a huff, wrapped up in her quilt and slippers curious eyes, go to Ila'den and R'hyn before asking Rhodelia, "Did we do something wrong?" Obviously, this early wake up is a punishment. Glancing to Ru'ien, she mouths, "I didn't do it." Ok. Maybe she did. As Glorioth emerges, Neifeth snorts in his general direction, «He is here to do tricks. Evi has been writing letters.» Ah yes, the letters, the letters Evi TOTALLY wrote. Those letters. Evi's letters. Yes.

Xermiltoth is surprisingly absent. He's probably still banned from seeing his children after inspiring enough hijinks for one century, thankyouverymuch. This leaves just R'hyn to amble along with bronze and bronzerider, looking much like Rhodelia, piled high with layers of scarves, garments, and his own mug of steaming hot klah. It's appropriately him-sized, which is to say far larger than is average or adviseable, and he drinks from it even as Ila'den leans to murmur words in his direction. Whatever they are, they earn a fond, chiding look and a low, "No you don't," as one hand lifts to pat-pat the surly assistant weyrlingmaster on his stubbled cheek before taking slow steps towards the human halves of the weyrling pairs. DOES HE NEATLY SIDE-STEP GLORI'S CHARGE? He so does, mug held out from his body to keep it from sloshing, but not without a perky, "Your rider can submit a formal request just like everyone else, O Majestic One." This with a sly look at Evi (those letters?) as his forward progress finally slows. Blue-grey eyes are bright with pleased amusement as he watches Inasyth sprawl out in front of Teimyrth, Kiha's reindeer-games prancing earning a backwards press of lips even as he offers the humans some, "Klah?" He certainly has enough to go around, even if it might be infected with weyrleader cooties. Look out, Ru! Maybe it's a trap after all.

There is a rumble of sound from Teimyrth the moment Inasyth flops in front of him, a dip of massive head to press his muzzle right between her wings, to bunt her as he meets that cheer with a surprisingly gentle, « You may. » And the bronze waits, patient, wings tucked away for an answer that draws a chuff from the bronze, a physical exhale not so unlike a snort. IS IT LAUGHTER? IS IT DISDAIN? IS IT A MIXTURE OF THE TWO? « I would like it. Show me how. » Even if Teimyrth's mind is branching out, catching at Kiha's to offer, « Would you like to help your sister? » Build SNOW DRAGONS, he means. AND HERE COMES GLORIOTH. SO MUCH HUZZAH IN ONE TINY BODY!!! What is TEIMYRTH DOING HERE? « Learning to build a snow dragon. » All given as that head tilts, as he watches the advance of one AMBLING BODY towards his and his' his. Ila'den's eye is on R'hyn as he goes, something uncharacteristically hushed about the way he watches the weyrleader move. Which is unfortuante, really, because IS HE PAYING ATTENTION TO GLORI'S INCOMING ASSAULT? Not at all, not even as R'hyn dodges it, not even as Teimyrth watches for him. DOES HE GET MOWED DOWN? IS THIS THE END? IS THIS HOW HE DIES? TUNE IN TO GLORI'S NEXT GLORIOUS POSE FOR THE FULL DETAILS. For now, Teimyrth is more interested in answering Nei than saving his lifemate's life. « If that is what you wish. » It's a quiet rumble, a whipping up of wind — a hint that he is no dragons slave, but he is willing to oblige the whims of his ledgemate's young progeny. « Though I am not here to do tricks. Not unless you wish to show me what tricks you are asking me to do first. » SEE WHAT HE DID THERE. NOSE BUNT TO INA. SHOW HIM YOUR SNOW DRAGONS.

« REALLY??? » Inasyth's legs can barely contain her excitement as she bounces back to her feet and then bounces to give a whuffle to Glorioth and maybe change his direction just a smidge. She abruptly whips around and skids her way towards Kihatsuth, butting her shoulder as gently as she can with ALL THIS EXCITEMENT. « LET'S BUILD A SNOW DRAGON. YOU CAN GIVE YOURS TWO FACES. OR THREE!!! » Whatever floats the fickle mask-maker's agenda for the day. And there's yet another sister, although maybe Inasyth has been scorned just enough times that she stops short before touching the brightly striped Neifith. « You heard the man dragon! Wanna see his tricks, gotta show him your own. I bet I can make a snow dragon like five times bigger than your's! » It might not be a fair bet given the size difference, but Inasyth will LITERALLY throw her whole body into the offer, tossing herself belly first on the ground and gathering as much snow as she can in with her paws like shovels. « FIRST YOU GOTTA GET YOUR SNOW…. » Rhodelia raises an eyebrow at Ru'ien's suggestion of a trap and then R'hyn's offer of a drink. Total trap, but only one way to be 100% sure. "You try it first. If you live, I might drink it." She'll nudge the former smith clutchmate in the side. Inasyth isn't the only one with dares to go around.

Kihatsuth pauses for a moment, mid-step, with her head awkwardly tilted towards Teimyrth. That forepaw is lowered, her too-long talons clicking soundlessly into the snow. She takes in Inasyth, then the much larger bronze, as well as her siblings Nei and Glorioth and inhales slowly… « No. > Her exhale is a chuffing sound, her mind echoing the proper raspy, throaty laughter. OFF SHE GOES AGAIN! Tearing around in the snow in a near approximation of the zoomies for dragons. Don't take it to heart, folks! Kiha's in one of her moods… y'know, one of the infinite ones she apparently possesses! And she'd be content to keep at it, until Inasyth is there and PUTTING IDEAS IN HER HEAD. « Mhm. Three, you say? » Go on, Inasyth~ Ru'ien stifles a laugh of his own for Evi's mouthed words and he'll just tap the side of his nose with a gloved finger. Don't worry! He'll keep a secret (no he won't, seriously, never trust this guy). He'll shoot a narrowed look for his lifemate, but when she seems to be switching tracks, he'll relent. Now it's his turn to be nudged by Rhody and he'll not only give HER a look, but a very suspicious one to R'hyn's offer (Ila'den is totally stared at too). Hmm. HMM! "… well, you only live once? Sure. Why not!" What's the WORST that can happen? Out goes one of those gloved hands, reaching for his share of KLAH~

Sadly, Ila, you will have to GO ON LIVING, unless you're slain by the radiance of Glorioth's valor at CLOSE PROXIMITY, because he does stop just in front of the SHIFTY-EYE assistant, who is sometimes friend, sometimes foe, and sometimes target of a hot puff of meaty dragon breath (now, right now). It's not even really about Ila'den, though, that breath. It's for Neifeth, for Inasyth, for Kihatsuth, all three. It just happens to be right where Glorioth is, right in front of Ila'den, to the side of R'hyn and near enough to turn and pounce Inasyth right after she wuffles. Since the gold has turned to Kiha, there's a really good chance his attack misses, but such is life with overly excited BETRAYING sisters. If it doesn't, his presence doesn't linger anyway. They're colluding now, do you see? GLORIOTH DOES. « ARE THESE SNOW DRAGONS EVIL? » LISTEN. THERE IS ONE RIGHT ANSWER HERE. He's asking Teimyrth, because obviously this is the dragon who knows things and who should be LISTENED TO. His whirling gaze flicks from Kihatsuth to R'hyn, and he snorts at the latter. Requests are for lesser beings than the mighty HE. It's about this time that F'yr comes pelting up the path from the dragon pools, hair still wet (not a good idea in weather this cold), but dressed in fresh clothes warm enough to be serviceable.

Teimyrth's challenge is met head-on, she's not really the back away type. « Let me explain, you know it's hard to find good help these days.» Neifeth opens her wings fully up, electric neon green in a way that contrasts the grey of the world astonishingly. A mental image of the outside of the barracks is tossed out, and then the picture of a fire, and the picture of a dragon breathing fire from a book. «Like this.» Neifeth stretches herself all the way out and GROWLS, opening her mouth wide like she's spreading flames all over the snow. T «We would be warm, and everyone's fugly outfits would be GONE. You'd be doing the whole Weyr an excellent service.» The assurance in her mind is second to none, every sassy word is BELIEVED. «I am sure it would be no trouble, you're so big and strong.» Trouble, all trouble, all flattery and coy. «Size has nothing to do with beauty, yours may be big but will it be pretty?» Head cocking a 'bring it on' to Ina. With mild trepidation, Neifeth takes several steps back, lowers her body to the snow, and sweeps her wings back and forth. She's at a growth stage where she's ALL wings, no coordination and one wing moves up, the other down while her tails snakes back and forth. «Ew, it's wet. Ew.» Still working on her snow dragon, but she's not going to like it. Evi gives R'hyn a look, both eyes brows up to her hairline. "I'll take a sip, but only if you never mention not getting those letters in her presence. EVER." Because ain't nobody got time for dat OK. Kihatsuth receives a smile and Rhody a headshake, "Look! She's doing it! Shhh. No one say anything." Evi is the only one saying anything, but she giggles. Neifeth growls towards Glorioth, «You can't even take that one out? He only has one eye, should have been an easy target.» Someone has to stir the pot, as she continues to work on getting the wing marks in the snow.

What? You guys don't trust him? Look at how innocent R'hyn is! Bright! Unadulterated! Pure as the driven snow! "Of course I got your letters." Ah, nevermind, here come the lies. "Alas, the office is so backed up without F'yr and Rhody there to help. I still can't find the reports they filed before the eggs cracked. I don't know if I'll ever get to them." That much is true. Still. It's a crying shame, though the tut-tut and shake of his head perhaps a little overdramatic, but he needs it to hide the smirk playing about his lips has he hands that oversized mug off to be drunk and passed as they see fit. "Keep it. Surely someone will finish it." Someone like certain bronze weyrlings of cranky fame? Mayyybe. Him? He's off to follow Inasyth's instructions himself, pushing up and packing snow because someone's construction must needs be the smallest and it might as well be his. "How many faces can a dragon have?," is asked perhaps-not-nearly-understanding-enough, head tilting as he ponders how many eyes to poke in to his dubious lump. Three? Five? This is fast becoming a thing of eldritch horror, a firelizard by proportion whose MANY EYES ARE ALWAYS WATCHING. What is in that klah, y'all? "There. I think that looks like a suitably evil one." This with a grandiose gesture at Glorioth as he steps away. WHAT DOES HE THINK.

Teimyrth rises, a blot of ugliness among so many CUTE BABY DRAGONS, but he doesn't seem to mind his aesthetic failings. He follows Inasyth, watches the way she pushes her paws into snow and then mimics it, even as he rumbles, « Very well, » to Kiha with what might have been a hint of laughter in his mind. Except Ina is clever, and so HERE SHE COMES ANYWAY. Maybe. SNOWDRAGONS AHOOOOOY! « And what do I do now? And why will your dragon have three faces? » comes patient, for Ina first, then Kiha — even if he already knows the answer to one of those questions. And would you look at that. Glorioth DENIES ILA'DEN SWEET OBLIVION, and the bronzerider's eye drops to encroaching hide in just enough time for one hand to come out like he's gone Pratt training raptors, issuing a husky rasp of, "No. No, no, absofu—" THE CHILDREN, ILA, " —inglutely not." TOO BAD JEDI MINDTRICKS DON'T EXIST ON PERN, because Ila'den would be a firm believer. Either way, there is no impact, and the ease of tension from Ila'den's body is visible, as if the assistant weyrlingmaster knew his entire self would be the next item on Glorioth's To Destroy With BRAVERY!!! list. The bronzeling might be interested in other things, but that doesn't stop booted feet from picking their way across the snow-covered ground to join R'hyn and the weyrlings. Teimyrth answers Neifeth with unerring calm. « But you cannot perform this trick, so I see no reason why I should do it. That was not our agreement. So you will be cold, and they will be ugly. » LOOK. Were you thinking that Teimyrth would be a beacon of kindness towards the human counterparts? BECAUSE YOU'RE WRONG. Thankfully, the massive bronze keeps his thoughts between himself and those young minds — even if they are more than capable of imparting those draconic imprints upon the other halves of their souls. But here he shifts again, to lower his head near Glorioth as he paws more snow into his pile. LOOK. HE'S A BIG DRAGON. « They are quite treacherous. And formidable. Perhaps you might give us all a lesson in how one deals with such terror. I enjoy destroying their reinforcements as they come. Like this. » … Did Teimyrth just open that maw and snap at falling snow — once, twice, thrice? He did. Because Teimyrth will certainly not discourage the murder of snowpiles. Or of anything, really. Sniff, comes Ila'den who follows R'hyn, and might have crouched in the snow to help him build except that it's ALL OVER SO QUICKLY that all he can do is put a hand against his weyrmate's back and observe the tiny creation. "Nope, wait." Now Ila'den sinks, to add what might have been a tiny weapon and a small army if he were any good at snow-building. But he's not. So it's just a bunch of lumps. SHUP. Now he is stepping back into R'hyn's space, sipping klah as he waits for the MURDER.

Pern might not have comercials, but Inasyth could very well be a golden energizer bunny as the young dragon keeps shoveling and shoveling snow. Unfortunately, it's not that late in the season and Xanadu doesn't get that much snow anyways so before the snow dragon pile can even BEGIN to rival herself in size, she's scraping dirt with a very disappointed « Awwwwww…. » This is enough to distract Rhody from whatever retort she might have had for R'hyn and his comments regarding her filing system. She'll have FILE THAT AWAY FOR ANOTHER DAY (that's where everything is filed, under A). Right now, she's busy shushing a massive dragon that's tail is thrashing back and forth in DISAPPOINTMENT. "There's more snow. Just not here… and if we wait… there will be more snow here too…" But waiting is for suckers. Inspiration has struck Inasyth as her eyes spy the clearing not too far the training grounds. « ALLLLLLLLRIIIIIIIIGHT! MORE SNOW! I'll go get some for all of us!!! » Her feet are already putting words into action even as her mind doodles out an image of her coming back and barfing out snow like larger dragons might breath out fire. That's probably not how any of this works, but don't tell Inasyth that! She's sure this will all end AWESOMELY.

Did anyone mean for their snow creations to survive? Thanks to Teimyrth's EXCELLENT ANSWERS, it's unlikely that any will. All their efforts will shortly be the next thing Glorioth has destroyed if the bronze has anything to say about it. He'll start with R'hyn's. It's obviously the SHIFTIEST OF MANY EYES. « AHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! » Look out, R'hyn. That's a fast way to get snow on your— well, everything. It will be on your everything. Remember the water in the dragon pool? Like that, but with snow. And dirt. And whatever bits of dead grass or whatever you didn't bother to pull out of your snow dragon. Somehow, F'yr does end up with the enormous klah mug pushed into his hands as he arrives in the aftermath of the Great Snow Horrors Massacre of 2723. It's ongoing, of course, the young man following the bronze as he goes gallantly galloping off after the next FROZEN VICTIM. Neifeth's jibes are ignored, of course, because why take out Ila'den? Today he's not as shifty-eye as usual and therefore NO FOE. « MY F'YRFULLY CLEAN COMPANION, COME, » is mandate by still bossy baby bronze and F'yr looks to shove the big klah mug into someone else's hands now that he's had a gulp or three, and a grin for R'hyn and Ila'den and even for his fellow weyrlings before he turns to jog after his lifemate, one hand rising to push through stiffly frozen hair. « OBSERVE MY DEMONSTRATION OF VIRILTY, MY VOYEURISTIC FRIEND. » The rest of y'all can watch too, if you want, but the only one Glorioth cares about at all just this minute is Glorioth and his F'yrocious friend. THERE IS A NEW QUEST, YOU SEE. « ONWAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaard!!!! »

The novel plan to make a snow dragon nicer than Inasyth's wears off quickly, and Neifeth is covered in cold water and mud. EW. Pulling herself up off the ground, her wings slowly fold in with an awkwardness that's nearly painful to watch; she's a BAYBAY. As Teimyrth is disinclined to acquiesce her sweet, loving request and DESTROY THE BARRACKS WITH FIRE AND BLOOD. SHe's miffed, snorting and shaking the water off. Suddenly an idea emerges, and her mental forest is ON FIRE; every tree burning and the acrid smell of smoke fills the minds of those around her. «Like that, see I did it. Now imagine those trees are a building. If you brought me the rocks to chew, I could do it.» So sure of herself, cocky and smug to the last. Slithering herself away from Teimyrth and towards R'hyn, «You are not good at your job.» huff. That's how she feels about that. Inasyth's quest for more snow has Evi entertained, and she clutches onto the mug. After one gulp, her eyes bulge, and she swallows hard, gasping 'uhhh' and looking at the snow monsters. "Who made this." A second sip is taken with caution, and a smile brightens her face. "I'm keeping it." Declaring in a Veruca like manner all her own and clutching the mug. Neifeth rumbles as her BEAUTIFUL AWKWARD snow dragon is destroyed by Glorioth, «Evi, you're cold. You've not done your hair, you need a bath.» A Neifeth takes an abrupt turn of face, though the tone she uses when speaking to Evi is considerably kinder than that used on anyone else. "Alright, NeiNei, let's go." Walking towards the bathing pools, the young weaver girl leans down and rolls some of the loose snow in her hand. The snowball is tossed at Ila'den as she passes by, "GOTCHA." She squeals, even if she doesn't hit him at all. With a happy flit, the pair is off, an odd couple, but it kind of works. Neifeth lets one more comment fly, « SO long slow reader, expect my next letter soon. Doing your job instead of laying around might help, I expected more.» LISTEN, she's Xermiltoth's baby. R'hyn can only blame himself.

Alas, poor R'hyn. One minute he was admiring Ila'den's addition to his snowdragon army and the next— pfffffffpt. That is the sound of one Heryn blowing chunks of snow, bits of dirt, and blades of grass from his face, that same sarcastic-straight expression on his face as blue-grey eyes lift to fix on Glorioth's face. "Well, I think that's enough fun for one day," comes sotto voce, a betraying wobble to his tone that speaks to barely-contained amusement as his weight sways into Ila's presence, leaning hard against him as he smudges his hands down his face to push the worst of it away. "Well, husband? Am I beautiful now?" It's sarcasm. Straight sarcasm. He can feel a bit of slush sliding down his droopy fringes, eyes squishing shut as he shakes his head, flicking it free before canting F'yr a 'wipe that look of your face right now, mister' look for that grin. He can't help it, though, not really. He expected something of just that ilk, and so it's with a laugh of his own that he peers after the chaaaaarge of weyrlings into a greener-grassed (or whiter-snowed, as it were) clearing than this one. After a moment only Evi and Neifeth remain, the former of which earns a canted brow as he shifts his weight against Ila. "Be careful with that." The klah, he means. "That was an Ila brew, you probably shouldn't—" Aaaaaaaaaaand it's too late, she's hugging it to herself and R'hyn just lets it happen. He's too busy aiming a gentle smile and a roll of his shoulders at Neifeth. "Better a jack of all trades than a master of one." That's his liar-liar-pants-on-fire story and he's sticking to it, attention turning to wringing more muck out of his hair as he offers the departing greenies a wave.

Teimyrth's patience endures the acrid smell of smoke, the impression of a forest on fire that he merely recreates within the throes of a hellish blizzard and pushes back int Nei's mind. Except there is a building made of wood that is burning. « I have done it. » He tells her, knowing that this is not what she means, but pursuing literal interpretation of desires anyway. « And you will get no rocks. You have not earned them. You are not good at your job. » Not yet. And maybe that's a hint of dark humor, a macabre show of the bronze's ability to SKIRT THE SERIOUS. AS FOR GLORIOTH, WELL. That… was a demonstration. Ila'den watches the snow-slaughter and the subsequent dirtying of R'hyn's person with one raised brow from behind the safety of his drink. Slowly, slowly the bronzerider brings up one gloved hand, fingers curling under R'hyn's jaw so that his thumb might sweep a spot of grime from chin, from cheek, from the corner of lips. "Are you telling me to take you home, husband?" comes on a rasp, no heated suggestion, just a hint of laughter in the lilt of bleeding accent, trapped in the press of his lips before they disappear around that rim of klah. At least his hand rises as he does it, to gently frisk away bits of whatever that is from R'hyn's person. "You look perfect, baby." But still. It's cold, it's wet, and R'hyn is looking a mess. Ila'den doesn't return F'yr's grin, but he lifts his mug to him, as if to tell him to LET THE CHAOS COMMENCE. DID TEIMYRTH JUST PUT OUT HIS TAIL LIKE HE MIGHT TRIP NEIFETH? … Maybe. Is he successful? … MAYBE NOT. The outcome doesn't stop Ila'den from getting a SPLAT of cold snow against his coat, from bringing klah and arms away from his body (and R'hyn's, as it were, because so much weight was pressed to him) as he looks down to see the damning bit of white clinging to his jacket… and then he laughs. It's low, husky, preceding the way he raises that mug toward Evi's departing form in a toast to her DARING. "Aye, little bird. That you did." But now the little dragons are gone, and Ila'den is bringing his hand to R'hyn's lower back, fingers slipping beneath fabric as the older bronzerider presses his lips to his weyrmate's temple. "And I've got you," comes on a half-growled rasp. "Let's go home." Before he gets ANY COLDER. OR WETTER. Or, yes, dirtier. A gentle push will hopefully steer them in the right direction.

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