Peydra

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A Slight Lapse in Perception
OR: Meddle Not in the Affairs of Dragons

Entry Hall
This small hall is merely a entry way to other sections of the building, towards the north are the wide doors to the emergency entrance to the infirmary, to the south is the arched portal to one of the many corridors. Due west leads through the ornate panels of the Great Hall, facing opposite the easterly main entrance through the massive metal doors dating back to the original settlement. The cool stone floors of smooth black and grey moss granite are well swept, though the center walkways are carpeted with richly woven rugs. Tall windows overlooking the hall at dragonheight lets in ocean scented breezes, the precious metal shutters on each side guard against storms and other elements. A rack of hooks and hangers next to the entranceway allows for visitors and riders to leave jackets for the relief of the outside heat.
Obvious exits:
Great Hall Main Doors Infirmary South Corridor
You arrive in the cool, shadowed Entry Hall.

Riain
She's sarcasm embodied, but hides it well within the vapid and sparse-lashed stare. And for all of her classic coloring -- bright gold hair and near-flawless skin to match the bright blue gaze -- she'll never be a beauty, and her slow gain on promised height has not eliminated the chubbiness of her prepubescent curves. If there's something elegant within that frame, its the twin lengths of her braids, grown to reach a widened waist.
Her knot is the exception to her customary black -- the silver, purple, and white of a Xanadu Weyr candidate.
Black, black and -- yes! -- more black: scuffed boots lace up to her knees, hiding the part of her ripped stockings that isn't covered by the pleated skirt, topped by a tight camisole. That is craddled in Riain's arms.
Riain looks to be in her late teens..

Peydra
A solidly muscular build cinches Peydra's steady androgyny: broad shoulders support a heavy frame with little fat. At five foot, nine inches, she stands well above average for a woman, her mass imposingly laid out. Thick arms and legs have the bulk of muscle considered appealing on a man, but less attractive without the Y chromosome. Her dirty blond hair is slowly growing, a riot of curls held back and tamed via a visible clutter of hairpins. Still not quite long enough to reach the collar of her shirt in the back, it is sufficient to obscure the brownrider's vision. A few freckles spatter her nose, and vivid blue eyes reflect light and moods with equal ease.
Silver and purple twine on Peydra's shoulder; the mating of threads into a declaration of position: Wingrider of Xanadu Weyr. The strand of brown that laces through the ensemble marks her lifemate's color.
A light tunic of tan cotton has been loosely belted around Peydra's waist, just tight enough to avoid obstruction without granting her much shape or cutting off the brush of air against the skin underneath. Her pants are long but loose and thin. Her thick boots are the only rebellion she makes against the heat; supremely practical in their durability.
Peydra looks to be in her late teens..

Riain isn't sweaty, but is suitably covered with dirt -- it's not really obvious, though, given her black-on-black clothes. Sometimes they offer her camofalgue but not now, as she spots Peydra, and winces slightly. Maybe she'll come out on the winning side, today.

Jyfer walks in from the Great Hall.

Jyfer
Jyfer is approximately 5'5. She has brown shoulder length hair with blonde and red highlights from the Southern sun. She has grey-blue eyes that are the color of the sky before it snows. She has a dark tan showing she has been living South for quite sometime now. She has a dimple that shows on her cheek when she gives her common smirk. She speaks with an accent that many who don't know better would place her from Fort, but it has a slight drawl in it which would account for living in the borders of Fort's neighbor Ruatha. She has an average build which shows she eats well, but leads an active lifestyle.
Jyfer is wearing a faded shoulder knot of violet and silver that shows she is a Xanadu Weyr Resident.
Jyfer is wearing a grey tunic that goes to her mid-thigh. The tunic is of a soft silk like material that accents the soft greyness of her eyes. It is slightly baggy but doesnt do much to hide Jyfer's more female features. It has an intricate design of blue thread around the neck line in the shape of dragons, and thicker cloth at the shoulders for whenever Breeze or Mischief decides to land on her. Jyfer is wearing a blue leather belt around her waist and attached to the belt is her dagger and a small grey pouch. She is also wearing soft baggy blue wherhide pants that go down to her ankles, and blue wherhide boots under the pants that go to midcalf.
Jyfer looks to be in her early twenties..

Peydra's attention flickers briefly to Riain, then moves away. Then back. Hey. It's sarcasm-girl. She peers at Riain for a minute, then glances back towards the door. "Hard at work?" she queries, her voice a shade on the airy side. Her hands drop to claim a handful of fabric, fanning it away from her skin to get some air circulating.

Jyfer head into the entry hall whistling, feeling quite cheerful. Wouldn't you be if there was a bunch of candidates to do the nasty chores? She smiles and nods to Riain and Peydra calling out "Hello Peydra, how are you today?" She isn't quite as afraid of the brownrider as she once was.

Riain is still afraid of Peydra or, rather, the power Peydra has right now to give her chores -- and the threat of staff-fighting that still looms over her head. "Hard at work." Nothing sarcastic, or nothing that she thinks that could be interpreted as sarcasm besides a slight different in the intonation of her words.

Peydra's eyes flicker to Jyfer, but she doesn't respond, returning her attention to Riain. "Doing what?" she queries, still fairly cheerful. All that antagonistic energy has been diverted recently. It'll take her at least half a candlemark to build it up again. She leans against the wall, starting slightly at their cool press against the damp fabric of her tunic. She doesn't shift away, though, simply crosses her arms.

Jyfer raises her brow at Peydra slightly. Oh thats right. Peydra tossed her around and beat her up. etc etc. She glances at Riain though and shrugs, glancing at the door. She debates stay and watch someone else work, or go disappear.

"Working in the stables." Riain is wary of people in good moods at any time, but simply gives Peydra a curious stare and eyes Jyfer, too: maybe she has an explanation for this behavior. "Shoveling. And shoveling. And shoveling." Some touch of biterness, or simply exhaustion, shows in her words now and her arms look suspiciously like limp noodles.

"Ah," Peydra says , tapping the heel of one foot against the toe of the other. "Well, good for you. After all, this is all hoping you get a dragon, right? And there's a lot of shovelling to do after them until they can go between and void their kills like civilized adults."

Jyfer frowns slightly at Riain. She would kill to be working in the stables again. Well not kill. Bad memories. She would do anything to get there. She leans back against a wall, smiling sweetly.

Riain quirks an eyebrow back. "Less shovelling than after babies, I would warrant, if not in volume than in time." Her distaste is aimed from direct experience, being forced into the position of nanny for her parents quite early. "If a dragon requires that much work, I think I'd stay an apprentice forever."

You'd still be doing stablework. =o)

Peydra eyes Riain for a minute, her foot stilling its tapping. "That much work?" she echoes with a touch of disdain. "Oh, right. Babies are /far/ more work than dragons. After all, Kin's only around 35 feet long. That's only... what, say 35 times 75 for his circumference is around... " She rattles out some mental calculations. "40 times 75 is 3000, minus 375 is two thousand, six hundred, and 25 square feet of dragon to wash and oil daily?"

"You haven't met my siblings." Riain isn't good at math, and most of the calculations go in one ear and out the other. "They have to be washed about every half an hour." She can't do complication equations to back up her proof, and isn't willing to back down -- or just admit that she's wrong -- and puffs up her chest, slightly.

Jyfer gives a soft chuckle at Peydra's comment. Who knew Peydra could add, though its amazing she knows all of that. She does give Riain a look. Peydra's not the one to argue with. She glances at Peydra "So Kinzalth is 35 feet long? I never knew how big he was. Only seen him once."

OOC: Peydra says, "Um. 35. Right. s/feet/meters. ;)"

"Right," Peydra says drily. "Well, I'll tell you what. We'll all go out together and you can wash Kinzhalth for me. And oil him. And you can tell me after that what's more work. Sound good?" Her gaze is level as she inspects the candidate. Her gaze flicks briefly to Jyfer, and she nods. "He's long for a brown," she observes simply.

OOC: Jyfer says, "whopos yeah"

Jyfer nods. "Not bad, not sure how long Vic's Nid is, but I think he is smaller than that, only brown I'm really familar with. Do you know Vic?" she asks Peydra.

Riain agrees. "Sounds fine to me." Ri, voluntreering for work? It's part of her agenda to get clean, and washing falls under that heading.

Eriol walks in from the Great Hall.

And part of Peydra's plot, too, is to get Riain cleaner. The brownrider spares a moment to respond to Jyfer with "No," then points towards the entrance. "Move, then, Riain. He's waiting. Jyfer, could you grab some brushes and sweetsand and bring them out?"

Riain opens the main doors and heads out into the courtyard.

Jyfer gives a nod to Peydra. "Sure thing.." Then she runs back into the Weyr.

Jyfer passes through the wooden doors to the Great Hall.

Move to beach.

Weyrside Beach
Wide sweeping steps flow in a cascade to the water's edge like a river frozen in time, particularly at high tide. The sandy bottom of the lake flows out at a gentle angle at first, before dropping off suddenly to the depths of the huge lake, like the edge of a shelf, the darkening color of the water betraying the changes.
On the side further from the Hold, a wide expanse of beach spreads out. Reflecting like perpetual stars and winking in coy beckoning, the sand is almost silky smooth, erosion preventing grasses appearing and thickening at the peak of the rise of land to the higher levels of land.
As the days continue to get warmer with the approach of the southern summer, the smell of the heavily scented flowers and early fruits combine to leave the air almost cloyingly thick with sweetness.
You see Challyth, Beriinth, Borodin, Kinzhalth, and Ice Shadow here.
Obvious exits:
Courtyard Lake South Beach.

Kinzhalth
Taut hide is draped with Damascus ripples of sable-mahogany and rich walnut, covering his sinewy, adamantine musculature. Narrow chest supports deceptively fragile wings, vanes dappled with burnished silver to give the appearance of utter translucence. Serrated ridges stand out in sharp relief, even for this more angular dragon. Argent lightning brands his brow, drawing attention to his blunt-nosed head and wide-set, cunning eyes. Talons gleam like mithril knives, resembling the slashes of steel that punctuate the indentations and convexities across torso and haunch, down to the tip of his sabre-like tail.
Crude but effective leather straps lace around Kinzhalth's and chest, providing a handy harness for riders. They seem almost more connecting material than plain leather, double and triple-reinforced for safety.
Kinzhalth is 5 turns 2 months and 8 days old..

Jyfer walks from the weyr courtyard.

Riain walks from the weyr courtyard.

Jyfer comes walking in with a large bag of soapsand and several brushes. She walks up to Peydra and glances at her then Riain. "I got the soapsand and brushes." Duh. "Where should I put them?"

Kinzhalth slinks down to the edge of the water and coils around himself in the shallows, his head lowering, his eyes whirling slowly with bluegreen contentement. His rider traverses the sand towards him, waving one hand in a dramatic gesture. "This," she proclaims, "is Kinzhalth. He needs to be washed. He stinks." The brown's head turns slightly at that, his gaze focusing on Peydra. "You," the young woman says, ignoring the vaguely malignant attention, "are going to clean him. Here is how you do this." She pauses. "Oh, right here, Jyfer." Kind of breaks the mood, but hey.

Riain might almost look happy, for a smile twitches at the perpetual downward cast of her mouth -- but, disdainful mood brought back by careful practice, she kicks off her boots and, tugging at her top, sidles water-wards. Eventually, she steps into the water and towards Kinzhalth. This might be interesting, but she's not going to let on to that.

Jyfer gives a slight nod to Peydra and sets the things down, then thinks of something and looks at the rider. "Could I uhh...maybe help Peydra? I owe you a lot and Riain might need help" No she couldn't care less in Riain needs help. She does care that she wants to be in the Weyrwoman's good graces again.

Peydra picks up one of the dragon-scrub brushes, which consists of the brush proper and a long pole. She peers at Jyfer for a minute. Then glances at Riain. Her attention then turns to Kinzhalth. Hrm. "Fine," she says. "Whatever. Now here's how you do this. Take the brush. Dip it in the sweetsand. Scrub at his hide. Fairly simple. /But/. Stay away from his wings. Stay away from his face. They're sensative, and should be washed with more care. Other than that, scrub fairly hide. He's wearing something a lot thicker than leather, and it's hard to hurt him."

"Okay." Riain is noticeably subdued, after a quick stare of Kinzhalth's talons and by his size, too. "What about feet?" Another brief glance to the talons, but her gulps her fear down and, picking up one of the brushes, starts on a haunch. To her, it's distinctly un-threatening or, at least, less that other parts.

Like the talons, for instance, well hidden beneath the surface of the water. Or the vivid ridges that spine their way down Kinzhalth's back. The brown remains still, his gaze fairly placid as it rests on Peydra, who remains ashore and dry for the time being, watching Riain and Jyfer to a lesser extent. "His feet are fine, so long as you don't do something stupid and rip his talons off.

Jyfer kicks off her boots, and slides off her trous, revealing her swimming trunks underneath. Seems she was on her way to the beach anyway. She leaves her tunic on though, and grabs a brush, and wades into the water.

Riain neatly ignores the water soaking up through her skirt and her shirt, but, trading the brush to her other hand, grabs a handfull of black fabric and readjusts her top. Scrub-scrub-scrub. After that break, she continues on the work, determined to prove that she was right. For her, that's what this is all about.

Lyllya walks from the weyr courtyard.

Lyllya
Soft auburn hair falls down her shoulders and past her waist in a flow of gentle waves. Green eyes gaze out from under thick lashes, contrasting with her pale skin that is only interruped by a soft blush and a scattering of light freckles. Her mouth is small but not thin and set above a rather angular chin. She is not tall, standing at 5'1 and carries just a touch of baby fat while still remaing rather slim. Her arms and legs are proportional to her height, with long fingers on her slender hands.
She wears a simple knot of purple, silver, black, and white twisted together, indicate her status as a weaver and candidate at Xanadu Weyr.
A sturdy, lightweight tunic of faded emerald hangs loosely from her shoulders, puffing out a bit before a thick belt of worn wherhide pulls the fabric close at her waist. The remainder skirts out slightly, resting at mid-thigh in an ocean of folds. The squared collar has been decorated in a stylized chain of embroidered wild flowers, the cuffs of the somewhat short sleeves and the thick band of the hem carrying the same motife. Her trouse are a bit roomey, the legs a bit baggy and patched in places, and the cuffs turned up so that they rest against the ankle portion of her well used boots. Rogue perches on Lyllya's shoulder. Lennier perches on Lyllya's shoulder. Elior perches on Lyllya's shoulder.
Lyllya looks to be in her early twenties..

"If you need to get under the wings," Peydra advises, "just ask him to lift them up." She settles onto the sands of the beach, propping her torso back on her elbows as she peers at the washing. Her gaze flicks back as Lyllya comes within easy attack range, and she offers a slight nod to the newcomer. Kin's head swivels backwards on its serpentine neck to peer at Riain from a rather alarmingly close range.

Lyllya makes her way onto the beach, looking about the sand and taking in a deep breath followed by a long sigh. Alone, alone at last.. or not. People are spotted and Lyllya makes her way over, gravitating slowly so as not to bring notice to herself. Bashful she may be, but curiosity has a way of breaking those barriers. A nod is afforded Peydra before gaze drifts toward the action. "Washing?" Yes, she's a genius.

Jyfer takes some soapsand and rubs it into the brown's hide, then takes the brush and starts scrubbing his side. She looks over as Peydra speaks and nods, going back to her scrubbing. Oooh another to help. Though she gave herself this chore.

Riain was twitching before, but the proximity of the dragon head to her own elicits a squeak of surprise and, stepping back to safety, she trips an lands bottom-first in the shallow water.

Peydra calls out calmly. "Riain, Kin says you missed a spot." Oh, and the dragon has such a friendly way of sending messages. Her gaze flicks back up to Lyllya, and she nods. "Yup," she says simply. "Riain seems to think caring for children is more work than caring for dragons. So she's washing Kin for me. When she's done, she can oil him." And Peydra will lounge on the sand cheerfully. "You're another of the recent haul?"

Jyfer glances at Lyllya. Oh darn she only brought two brushes, and this isn't so much fun. She wades out and offers her brush to Lyllya. "Candidates get preference..." she offers, grinning at the woman. How wonderful no?

Riain finds steadier footing and stands back up, grumbling under her breath at the dragon himself, "Very polite, you know. Next time, maybe a bit farther off." Twitch. Twitch. But she calms back down and sets herself back to the manual labour, determined to prove her point and, overhearing Peydra, can't help but calling out, "Do dragons spit up?"

"No," Peydra responds cheerfully. "They regurgitate. Euphemistic, maybe, but they have to do it every time they chew firestone. And it stinks of sulphur."

Lyllya ahs, bobbing her head in understanding and in answer. "Yes. Lyllya, formerly a Sr Journeyman from the weaverhall. R'ana brought us in." Riain is given a rather amused look before that gaze goes to Jyfer. "Well, it is one of the things we are supposed to do." A glance goes dragonward before reverting to the rider. "I should help?" Because, you know, she wouldn't want to deprive anyone.

Riain lost that point and so continues, ducking around to the other side and deeper water and, perhaps, out of the view of others. It's a distinct possibility, and one she considers with a rare smile before returning, more slowly, to the task at hand.

Peydra looks at Jyder a bit curiously, then back at Lyllya. "Oh, no, no," she says. "I wouldn't want to force anyone to do this outside of normal chores time unless they wanted to or dug themselves into a hole whose only exit was blocked by the encrusted grime on a dragon hide." And with this, she smiles at Riain.

Jyfer shrugs and smiles. "Ok nevermind." She wades back into the water with the brush and goes back to work. She takes another handfull of sand, smearing it on Kin's side before she starts scrubbing again, newly aquired scrubbing table muscles coming into use.

Lyllya looks back at Peydra. "Oh, I wouldn't want to be seen as a slacker." Faranth forbid she should do only her share of the work. "I've scrubbed my 'lizards before.. and this is just hide on a larger scale." Right? "Does your lifemate not like 'lizards? I'm sure mine would be willing to help with getting between the neckridges and other hard to reach places." Except for Rogue, who would probably just try to pick a fight.

Riain doesn't actually have muscles, so ignores the work for a minute to peer out and offering a contrived smile to Peydra in return. And eyes Lylla, curiously, one eyebrow raised at the eagerness for work. Oh dear.

Peydra eyes Lyllya for a moment. Forget curious, her gaze has gone into the realm of considering insanity. "Right," she says simply. "Well. Um. There are brushes in the storage closet off the central hallway, if you want to... um... grab one?" Or the candidate could take the chance to run, but Peydra has this odd feeling that's not going to happen. "And Riain, Kin's not getting scrubbed while you're staring at me." Draconic tattletales. Great.

Lyllya makes a dash for the weyr and returns a few moments later, brush in hand. "Found it," she announces, holding up the impliment and then glancing up at Riain. "Oh, and I was told to send Riain in to the barracks? I'm not really sure what it's all about but.. something about a mess and.. well, her name was mentioned rather loudly." Wince. It's good to not be on the yelling side of things. Peydra is glanced at once again. "Where should I start?"

Jyfer continues her scrubbing. She works her way from Kin's side towards his shoulder, pausing to get another handful of sand and rub it into his side, then scrubbing with her brush. She starts to hum softly as she works. The bain of her family. Music.

Peydra's eyes flick to Riain. "Oh," she says. "Fine. Go. Shoo. And be grateful." Away from the sadistic brownrider. "Um, where Riain is? She was moving towards his rear, I think." That last was to Lyllya.

Riain indeed ducks out from behind Kinzhalth's rear and trips towards the shore, yanking boots on over damp legs and, before dashing away, tosses a salute -- one that hints at sarcasm -- towards Peydra.

Riain goes home.

Lyllya nods and takes Riain's place, looking more than a bit nervous about her actions, though less nervous to be near the dragon. "I won't hurt him, will I?" The question is asked as a handfull of sand is taken and held ready to scrub upon the hide. "I've never done this before, you see."

"Oh, right," Peydra says, a bit distracted. "No. He's touch. Just stay away from the wings and the face. And scrub hard."

Jyfer chuckles as Rian runs off, breaking off her humming. She pats Kin's neck then starts scrubbing that, wiping her forhead with her wet arm, leaving a streak of suds along her forehead.

Lyllya bobs her head and sets her lips into a fine, firm line, her hand coming down to scrub along the draconic backside. "Just let me know if I do it wrong," is said in to the brown as she continues to clean. More sand is applied and her motions become more deliberate, less tenuous.

"Oh, he will," Peydra responds with rather alarming cheer, keeping her attention casual. Kinzhalth shifts slightly in the water, sending rippling eddies out from his massive form. His wings stir slightly, but not enough to disrupt or dislodge anyone.

Jyfer continues to scrub nearing Kin's head, stopping about 2/3rds of the way up his neck. She then walks back to his middle and takes starts working towards his tail now, calling out to Peydra "How old is Kinzalth?"

Lyllya takes in the information with yet another nod of her head and continues to scrub, working her way along haunch and side before stopping and moving to the opposite side for much of the same. Jyfer is given a curious glance that is turned onto Peydra. "You know, I've never thought of how age would effect a dragon."

"A little over five," Peydra responds as the brown closes one set of eyelids. "I was thirteen when I Impressed." Young for it, huh? Explains a bit. "It doesn't affect them all that much. They mature as they move out of childhood, but it happens awfully fast with them. And then when they start to get really old -- sixty or seventy -- their color can start to fade. But we've never had one die of natural causes, so I don't know whether that's a real age effect, or just another stage of development. Hard to study; they're so tied to our lifecycle."

Jyfer raises her brow at Peydra. "13? So that would make you 18? 19? turns now?" She thinks as she scrubs. "Does that mean that riders are usually the cause of a dragons death in the sense that the deteriate with old age while their dragons don't?"

Lyllya chews on the information for a moment, studying the hide as she scrubs and looking at it a bit more closely. "Something to think about." Jyfer is afforded attention as the question is asked and the weaver candie turns back to Peydra. "Or, is that to say that the age and health of their rider would have something to do with how they feel?" Curiosity once again overcoming bashfullness, the question is asked without a hint of a blush.

The brownrider can only offer a shrug to this one. "I'm not a healer," she says. "Or a mindhealer. Most dragons die with their riders, yes. Most riders die with their dragons. And dragons start making mistakes as they get older, which can sometimes cause problems. But who's to say if that's because their riders aren't as sharp? You can't have a dragon without a rider, so we've got nothing to compare with."

Jyfer nods to Peydra. "Alright." It doesn't really answer her question, she'll just have to start paying more attention to the people in the Weyr to find out. She continues on her way to Kin's tail then says "Want us to do the wings too?"

"Get the body done first," Peydra recommends. "That'll take long enough. Ask again when you're done."

Lyllya echoes the question with a silent glance Peydra-ward and continues with the haunch and leg area, moving along toward the tail. A pause is given as the ex-weaver turns. "Are dragons ticklish?" A hand is gestured toward the brown's tail and sides. "Don't want to do so on accident and end up.. with a delicate situation." Delicate being a rather squash candidate.

Peydra snorts in response to Lyllya's question. "Oh, horribly," she says, the irony heavy in her voice. "You know how thin their hides are; touch just /instantly/ gets to their nerves."

Jyfer raises her brow at Peydra, trying not to laugh. Though what she thinks is funny is questionable. She continues her scrubbing, starting to hum again. Best way to pass time.

Lyllya frowns and goes back to scrubbing. "I know their hides are thick." Of course, this doesn't stop that deep crimson blush from creeping onto her face. "Though, I would think that they would have sensitive spots." Crimson turns to blood red and the girl's face is turned back toward her work. She'll be shutting up now.

Peydra's lips quirk into a brief smile, but she doesn't add comment to the disclaimer. She just watches. Kinzhalth, on the other hand, shifts again, shifting the distribution of his weight yet again.

Spryte
Hair, so fair it appears silver, cascades in a riot of curls to mid-back. The heavy mass tames all but the most determined of the curling strands, escaping whisps forming tendrils around her heart shaped face. Aqua eyes, uptilted at the corners, are expressive, the vibrant colour shifting with her mood. Framed as they are by strikingly dark lashes, they are easily her best feature. Her tiny face is snub of nose, high of cheekbone and generous of mouth, giving her an overall fey appearance. Bone structure is delicate and stature is best described as petite. Gentle curves give mute testimony though that childhood has been left behind. Fragile and gossamer she may appear, but lithe muscles hint at hidden strength.
Circling the slender shoulder of the girl is a pure white knot, touched only with single strands of silver, purple and black, all bound with a golden thread, the last remnant of her former position at Xanadu Hold.
Creamy beige shirt is tucked into walnut leather pants. Fawn embroidery edges the placard along the shirts neckline and tips the end of each sleeve. Deepest walnut shade wraps itself around her waist in a finely woven belt. Fawn boots rise part way up to mid-calf, pantlegs tucked neatly inside.
Spryte looks to be in her late twenties..

Spryte treads over the sand towards the others on the beach, glad she is wearing boots instead of shoes. Sand gets into everything you know.

Jyfer tries not to take a step back as the brown moves, then continutes her scrubbing. She pauses to get another handful of soapsand, rubbing it into the hide firmly, then scrubbing again.

>> I bespoke Lyllya with: The thick viscuosity of wood resin slides into your wind, swirling with a hint of chocolate and the dangerous pearlescence of molten steel. Still, around it curves the scent of jasmine, a touch of comfort, and faint reassurance, no more vocalized than an early autumn breeze in the hottest depth of summer. <<

Lyllya grabs more soapsand, not pausing for another question as the blush has yet to fade completely from her cheeks. The tail is her next toarget for wash, though a moment is taken to give a wave in Spryte's direction. A blank look settles on the ex-weaver's face as she glances up at the brown and then shakes her head. Nah, couldn't be.

Spryte calls out to the pair in the water "Jyfer! Lyllya! Looks like a big job, but you seem to be doing well." happily she continues approaching until almost at the waters edge where she plops herself down. Nice day. Glance goes towards rider "Hello, I know I've seen you before but I don't remember the name? Either way, greetings, names Spryte." this is all said as if everyone is having a picnic, relaxing at the seashore, playing with a big, um very big, water toy.

Peydra's eyes move to Spryte. "Ah," she says, her nose wrinkling slightly. "Miss cleanliness." Her eyes flick to Lyllya, and she calls an encouaragement. "Kin says that's good," she says. "Stay with that spot for a minute."

Spryte pauses where she sits for a moment and then looks at the rider again, memory flooding in...oh yes, the tavern and the cleaning of the cells. This was the one who thought it was ridiculous. But she really doesn't feel there is any reason to be snippy "Actually, the name is Spryte. Perhaps you didn't hear me introduce myself?" nose wrinkling is noted, but everyone is entitled to their own opinion and Spryte would die to preserve that concept, although she really does hope it never comes to proving that sentiment.

Lyllya grabs another handfull of soapsand and leans into her scrubbing, giving a brief nod to Spryte. Big dragon, big job. More vigerous scrubs are given to the tail, the candie appearing to wait for the go-ahead to move on to another location. "Actually, this is rather enjoyable."

"Right," Peydra says with vague distraction to Spryte. "I'm Peydra, that's Kinzhalth, and you're Spryte." Her attention flicks back to Lyllya. "That's good," she calls. "And I'm glad you're enjoying it. It's a lot more rewarding when you've got the mindlink, because you can actually /feel/ the improvement."

Jyfer smiles at Spryte "Hey Spryte, guess they grabbed you too huh?" she calls out teasingly, still scrubbing the brown. "Oh I wanted to thank you for all you did before. I really appreciated it."

Lyllya moves on to yet another patch of tail hide, giving it the same firm scrubs as before. "I can imagine so. It must be rewarding." And dragons are more likely to be appreciative than firelizards with overinflated egos or mean tempers.

Spryte smiles fondly at the woman "You are more than welcome Jyfer, I'm glad to see you made it back to the weyr. But really I didn't do much. " glance goes riders way again with a soft "Well met" in response to the introduction "I'm assuming that is your lifemate? Would you mind if I gave Jyfer and Lyllya a hand with washing him? I promise to be gentle and not go near his wings?"

Well, except for those dragons with overinflated egos or mean tempers. Kinzhalth is neither of those, fortunately. His wings lift, stretching his hide for more easy access and providing an odd type of sunshade. Peydra simply shrugs to Spryte. "Sure, go ahead," she agrees. If people /want/ to work, who's she to stop them?

Jyfer smiles brightly at Spryte, and pauses, taking a step back to rest. She takes a few deep breaths and stretches, then dives back into her work, scrubbing Kin near his wings now.

Spryte grins broadly as she strips off her boots, rolls up her pant legs and wades towards the others "Thank you " is called over her shoulder. Work? Well, there are others things that constitute work that don't get you outdoors and into the water. This is more like fun.

Lyllya moves off to scrub the near end of tail, pausing a moment for more soapsand and, apparently, making mental notes on various points of the dragon's form. "He has a lovely color," is commented to no one in particular as a return route is scrubbed along.

A low rumble comes from Kinzhalth's chest as his wings arch. "All right," Peydra calls, "that's enough on the body. "I'll do the wings later. You guys want to oil him?" Hey, she's not complaining.

Lyllya rinses the area she had been scrubbing and wades out of the water, the sand clinging to her feet. "I wouldn't mind," is piped in as a leather thong is taken out and her hair tied back away from her face. After all, she's oiled her 'lizards.. this can't be too different.

Jyfer shrugs turning to Peydra "Doesn't matter to me either, where do we keep the oil?" she asks. She wipes her brow again with her arm, waiting for a response.

Spryte nods as she reverses course and leaves the water again, ready to oil away!

Takovic walks from the weyr courtyard.

Takovic
Slender in frame, average in height--generally pretty well built--Takovic still somewhat carries the appearance of a child. His complexion is rather pale, suiting his straight nose, thin lips, and narrow chin well. A shock of thick, dark, copper-brown hair stays mostly cut and in order, save for his bangs, which stray disobediently and obnoxiously over his forehead. Thin, expressive eyebrows are mostly hidden by his thick black spectacles, though the round frames do a nice job bringing out his cool, misty, intelligent grey eyes.
Pinned rather haphazardly to Takovic's shoulder is a simple, single stranded knot of white, looking much crisper than the rest of his general appearance.
Takovic wears nothing spectacular, really. A simple grey shirt drapes over his shoulders, perhaps a bit too big for him. It tucks into blue trousers, a better fit though slightly worn. Simple black shoes cover his feet. And that's all there is to note.
Takovic looks to be in his early twenties..

Kinzhalth uncoils from low-lying tension and wades out of the water, beating once with his wings to send up a fine mist of sand. Peydra lifts a hand to shield her eyes from it, not quite flinching. "Moronic half-sized wherry," she grumbles good-naturedly. "Um. There's some in the storage room near the weyrling barracks," she notes. "Go grab two buckets?"

Takovic hesitantly joins the group of other candidates, overly tired clearly, yet almost contradictorily more prepared for working. Adjusting his spectacles, he contents just to hover by the group until motioned to join in. He hopes, in reflection of last night, that there's no "no cleaning allowed" boundary here.

Thanial walks from the weyr courtyard.

Thanial
Midnight black curls in roguish abandon, styled with practiced ease, around an undeniably handsome face. Xanadu's sun has left its mark across every inch of exposed flesh, darkening his skin to an appealing tan, offsetting the spectacular cobalt blue of his eyes. Thin patrician lines accentuate the aristocratic mold of his nose while lips that border just this side of sensuous hint at the hedonist within.
Subtle linen in its natural tones makes up the rather loose fitting tunic that is obviously some romantic weaver's vision of what a seaman's shirt should be. Billowy sleeves are rolled up to reveal tanned and muscled forearms while the front laces are loosened artistically to show just a tantalizing hint of his smooth, sun kissed skin. The tails of this dramatic top are tucked rather carelessly into black leather breeches that would not be out of place on one of Xanadu's riders, each muscle lovingly delineated by the softened hide.
Thanial looks to be in his late teens..

Lyllya gives a nod and then looks over at the others. "Shall I?" Because, she can handle it. Really.

Jyfer walks in from the shallows, dropping the brush in the sand and resting for a bit.

Peydra nods once to Lyllya. "Sure, go," she says. "Grab a half dozen of the softer brushes, too?" Man, this one's just begging for punishment. "You oil juts like you wash, expect that you don't need as much friction.

Lyllya is a glutton for punishment, it's true. The ex-weaver makes for the weyrling barracks and returns after several minutes with the requested items, looking a bit strained by the hall but not complaining. Complaining tends to earn one more chores, and she finds enough without having them volunteered to her. "This enough?" Buckets and brushes are placed in front of her for the others to take up, one brush remaining in her hand for her own use.

Takovic's not begging for anything...Really. He's just standing there, appearing as his usual bewildered self. Which might be confused for begging if one thought (or didn't) about it. But as for now, he still basically is just watching, not wanting to be scolded for doing what's not to be done--even though there clearly is something to be done.

Spryte blinks as she realizes she has been wool gathering again and comes back to reality with a start. Quickly she picks up a brush and bending over, lifts the lid off one of the buckets. Dip and drip. Now what?

Thanial has come over to see what the gathering is about, but he's less than willing to dirty his clean linen shirt. Settling on a stairstep, he just settles down to watch. And comment.

"Yeah, that's fine," Peydra says simply. "Dip and go. Stay away from the wings, and scrub hard -- get the oil worked in well." Her eyes flick to Thanial and Takovic, but she doesn't try to recruit them.

Jyfer glances at Peydra. "Should I oil too? Or can I...?"

Takovic catches Peydra's glance and adjusts his spectacles, then moves as if to stand up. So she's not recruiting. But he does feel bad. Questioning with caution, Takovic wavers, "Do you, as it were, want me to help, you know, do you?" If not this, something else'll surely come up.

Peydra shrugs vaguely in Jyfer's direction. "You can," she agrees. "Don't have to."

Jyfer almost gives a sigh of relief, collasping on the sand to relax. "I'll sit this one out then.." she says in a weary voice.