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Training day... activate! (Tyne/ANY)


Nutmeg
 

OoC: Just starting up something fun and fluffy to flex my writing ability again and shake off some of that dust! Anyone free to jump in if they would like :) I imagine Tyne is a bit of a sight to see with her bevy of flits.

IC: The problem was, she had quickly found, was that having so many voices clamouring for attention was that it started to rub off on on you when all of them were insisting they were incredibly bored and needed something to do. Now. And fearing for the state of her curtains, Tyne had gathered up her things and had ordered the army to meet her down at the lake. It was strange not to have Idri living there anymore but it had come to the point that it was deemed that Tyne was capable of being independent and that it would actually do her good to stand on her own two feet again. Of course it had been done gently so not as to cause chaos but Idri was now a full time Healer and seemed to be thriving as well and with Tyne now having a permanent posse surrounding her, their little quarters had been getting more than a little cramped.

By the time she got herself down there, Bobbin had assembled the flock. Even just seeing them flooded Tyne with an immense pleasure that had been massively therapeutic and beneficial for her progress. They were all sitting there, even the odd and aloof little Aaru although Tyne knew she was only there because Bobbin had told her to be.

"All right, gang!" she called out, setting down the large bag on the shores of the lake. It was a good place for their antics as they were usually far enough away from others to not cause too much of a bother. That and she always enjoyed feeling like one of the animal trainers you always saw at the Gathers. Well, there would be no flaming jumps for runners but she would still have fun. "Who's going first?" It was a redundant question as naturally, Bobbin took flight first, showing the flock what was what as Tyne flung a small wooden hoop high into the air and the Queen easily darted back and forth through it as it fell down before snatching the meat that was tossed into the air as Tyne deftly caught the hoop again.

"Chief! Breeks! Rona! You're up!"

Again and again the hoop went up, followed by another and the flits came, streaks of colour as they flashed back and forth.

"Tubber, you too lazy bones! Zeeti! Fitz! Bitz! And you two as well Song and Dance!"

The only one stubbornly refusing to take part was Cairn, the bronze far too important for something as trivial. Instead he chose to issue commands, trilling at the troupe. Even Bobbin enjoyed the fun, twirling in the air.

--
Nutmeg on the Wizzy.
Florcott on AIM.

I'm sometimes slow and have the memory of a sieve at times, so don't hesitate to poke me if you think you've been forgotten!


Jenna Cunningham
 

Sahari dozed on the top of a large, flat rock near the lake, more lizard-like than her dear Oachayth, who splashed nearby along the lakeside, amusing himself with scaring (and occasionally catching) the comparatively tiny fish that darted as vague, shadowy shapes around his legs. Between the warmth from the sun overhead, and the warmth of his thoughts pressing against the back of her mind, Sahari felt that it was no wonder at all that most of her relationships had ended messily over the years. Whatever the various men in her life had been able to provide her - amusement, excitement, catharsis, release - none had ever been able to hold a candle to the simple, sun-baked love she felt right now. Even her distant, grown children, who she'd mostly left to fend for themselves in one weyr creche or another, came up well short when measured against the solid, steady majesty of her blue dragon. She liked them well enough - and liked visiting them, too, when there was a Gather scheduled for the nearby Holds, but they were grown people who often disapproved of their quarrelsome, inattentive mother.
 
She was drawn out of her thoughts by a noise - or, at first, a distinct lack of noise: Oachayth had stopped splashing around, and seemed to be listening too. Then the noise that had startled her out of her idle reverie became more apparent - someone was shouting at firelizards. Well. That wasn't unusual in and of itself. She had never bothered with flits. Too much work, constantly feeding them, scolding them, and for what sort of return?
 
<<That one is teaching them to do tricks.>>
 
Well, good on him. She opened an eye and turned her head, gaze drawn toward where, in the distance, a woman was directing her colourful, flying circus, and amended: Her. The woman wasn't familiar at a glance. Not someone in her wing, then.
 
She closed her eyes again, but felt Oachayth's attention remain on her, and sighed heavily. The warmth of the rock was gone, anyway; a cool breeze had chilled her bones and raised goosebumps along the skin of her dark arms. She sat up and gave her dragon a look. He gazed back, so unreproachable that she had to smile.
 
<<It would be good if you had friends here.>>
 
I have friends. I have... There's that other watchrider, the one we swap shifts with sometimes.
 
She couldn't remember the man's name, or his dragon, and sighed again, conceding: I'll go say hello.
 
Sliding off her rock and straightening her wherhide jerkin, Sahari made her way down the shoreline toward the younger woman.
 
"There's a shitshow if I ever saw one!" She called out good-naturedly, raising her hand in greeting. "Mind if I watch?"
 
And, internally, she added: Said the brown rider to the bronze, ha-ha.


Nutmeg
 

To most, Tyne was a familiar figure by now - the important difference, she hoped at least, was that less people immediately went "That's former Goldrider Tyne, her dragon is dead you know" in their heads and then nervously edged away because they didn't know how to talk to her. In a sense, her newfound "skill" had given her a sense of purpose and an important one at that. 

As the chattering emotions filled her, Tyne beamed with delight. Boredom was replaced with glee and fun and the warm myriad of colour made her toes curl. After tossing the hoops multiple times, Tyne asked Bobbin to take the troupe hunting whilst she took a break and they swarmed up into the sky, dive-bombing the lake like colourful pebbles. There were other flits nearby too and Tyne relaxed her thoughts enough to let them leak in, feeling warmth on her skin as the echoes of appreciating the sun on hide bled over or the contented, sated feeling of having enjoyed a fresh fish. Oh yes, this was a new kind of solitude right here.

She was reaching into the large bag for the flask of juice she had brought and had just taken a deep mouthful when the she heard the voice. Although she flinched just slightly, the first waves of panic trying to coil about her belly, Tyne flattened them firmly. No. She was having a good day and she was enjoying herself. No matter what her head tried to say. So when she smiled at the Bluerider, it was genuine and tinged with more than a little pride - an indulgent mother watching her brood. "They were screaming boredom so I thought I should get the out before I found every item of clothing torn to shreds." She gestured to the hoops. "I got inspired by one of the jugglers at a Gather - we use them to practice teamwork." She found the request to watch a little surprising. Normally people just made themselves comfortable to watch the show without even asking if she minded. She was surprised to realise that she enormously appreciated the tiny gesture of being asked. "You're welcome to. I've got them distracted for the minute so I can actually stop for a drink myself."

On Mon, Mar 23, 2020 at 2:29 AM Jenna Cunningham <jenna.layne.cunningham@...> wrote:
Sahari dozed on the top of a large, flat rock near the lake, more lizard-like than her dear Oachayth, who splashed nearby along the lakeside, amusing himself with scaring (and occasionally catching) the comparatively tiny fish that darted as vague, shadowy shapes around his legs. Between the warmth from the sun overhead, and the warmth of his thoughts pressing against the back of her mind, Sahari felt that it was no wonder at all that most of her relationships had ended messily over the years. Whatever the various men in her life had been able to provide her - amusement, excitement, catharsis, release - none had ever been able to hold a candle to the simple, sun-baked love she felt right now. Even her distant, grown children, who she'd mostly left to fend for themselves in one weyr creche or another, came up well short when measured against the solid, steady majesty of her blue dragon. She liked them well enough - and liked visiting them, too, when there was a Gather scheduled for the nearby Holds, but they were grown people who often disapproved of their quarrelsome, inattentive mother.
 
She was drawn out of her thoughts by a noise - or, at first, a distinct lack of noise: Oachayth had stopped splashing around, and seemed to be listening too. Then the noise that had startled her out of her idle reverie became more apparent - someone was shouting at firelizards. Well. That wasn't unusual in and of itself. She had never bothered with flits. Too much work, constantly feeding them, scolding them, and for what sort of return?
 
<<That one is teaching them to do tricks.>>
 
Well, good on him. She opened an eye and turned her head, gaze drawn toward where, in the distance, a woman was directing her colourful, flying circus, and amended: Her. The woman wasn't familiar at a glance. Not someone in her wing, then.
 
She closed her eyes again, but felt Oachayth's attention remain on her, and sighed heavily. The warmth of the rock was gone, anyway; a cool breeze had chilled her bones and raised goosebumps along the skin of her dark arms. She sat up and gave her dragon a look. He gazed back, so unreproachable that she had to smile.
 
<<It would be good if you had friends here.>>
 
I have friends. I have... There's that other watchrider, the one we swap shifts with sometimes.
 
She couldn't remember the man's name, or his dragon, and sighed again, conceding: I'll go say hello.
 
Sliding off her rock and straightening her wherhide jerkin, Sahari made her way down the shoreline toward the younger woman.
 
"There's a shitshow if I ever saw one!" She called out good-naturedly, raising her hand in greeting. "Mind if I watch?"
 
And, internally, she added: Said the brown rider to the bronze, ha-ha.



--
Nutmeg on the Wizzy.
Florcott on AIM.

I'm sometimes slow and have the memory of a sieve at times, so don't hesitate to poke me if you think you've been forgotten!


Jenna Cunningham
 

"Now I can get behind a drink," Sahari said, mistaking the flask immediately, and once again quietly praised her dragon's excellent judgement. His ability to - and only at a glance - pick out people who had The Right Stuff (whatever that stuff was, Sahari didn't know) had made him an excellent search rider in his time at Ista Weyr, and now it seemed to be paying off in dividends here, too. A drinking buddy. Maybe they could gripe together about Wingleaders and how they kept unfairly playing favourites, and how the status quo sucked.

Who is she, anyway? You talk to everybody around here. Maybe I'd recognize the green.

The uncertain pause before Oachayth replied set off alarm bells.

<<She rose against Farlith.>>

Gears cranked in Sahari's head as she processed that statement, even going so far as to turn her head and glance back toward where Oachayth now lounged in the shallows. One of his large eyes was open, watching her like she was a particularly clumsy hatchling meandering along the cliff's edge. Then: a sudden flicker of realization. She stiffened with her arm outstretched, hand held out toward the flask the other, younger woman carried.

Oh shit, it's that former gold rider. Her dragon is dead, you know. She killed someone.

She could feel the weight of her dragon's quiet sorrow, and felt her own rising anger match it. Stupid gold riders and their stupid machinations, fighting over empty halls. She almost turned around and left right there.

<<It was not her fault.>>

But she didn't.

"Oh." was all she said, caught out and no longer certain how to talk to her.


Nutmeg
 

In another time, another place or even, another world, had any of the exchange been know to Tyne, she would have bluntly corrected the Bluerider and and their dragon that it was in fact *Farlith* who had dared to rise against Myrandith. That for whatever reason the young Istan Gold had been in a protectorate Hold she had no feasible reason to be in and that the sweet girl she had met at the Conclave had possibly done something incredibly foolish.

But that was then. 

As it was, all Tyne noted was the change in the woman's demeanour, the glassy eyed look of a draconic exchange and her hope wilted slightly, coiling in the pit of her belly like a cold tunnelsnake. In a split second she was convinced that a familiar judgement had been made and already felt the familiar tendrils of doubt and shame trying to gnaw at her.

Perturbed by the shift, Bobbin had reappeared, alighting on Tyne with a quizzical croon. Whistling to the flock, it was evident that the brown flit Chief took over the lead as the group continued to dart across the lake.

And then there was the gesture, the one that Tyne recognised as the Rider, unbidden or invited, had reached for the flask she carried. The presumptuousness of it sent a spark of annoyance through her that temporarily scattered her unease. Facially her face shimmered through the shift of emotions, with worry fleeting across her face only to turn into a slight narrowing of her eyes. 

"Is there something the matter?" She asked after several long seconds, not proffering the flask. "You look uncomfortable". A familiar streak was reading it's head, Myrandith's streak and her voice, whilst still polite, had lost a little of its previous cheeriness.

OoC: Genuinely couldn't tell you how this might go, especially if Sabato does want to make anything of the flight. No, she won't do permanent damage to Tyne, nor will Tyne do anything crazy like rip her eyeballs out :P I haven't actually played her encountering anyone from Ista yet who was there during the Flight and it's aftermath.


On Tue, 24 Mar 2020, 23:04 Jenna Cunningham, <jenna.layne.cunningham@...> wrote:

"Now I can get behind a drink," Sahari said, mistaking the flask immediately, and once again quietly praised her dragon's excellent judgement. His ability to - and only at a glance - pick out people who had The Right Stuff (whatever that stuff was, Sahari didn't know) had made him an excellent search rider in his time at Ista Weyr, and now it seemed to be paying off in dividends here, too. A drinking buddy. Maybe they could gripe together about Wingleaders and how they kept unfairly playing favourites, and how the status quo sucked.

Who is she, anyway? You talk to everybody around here. Maybe I'd recognize the green.

The uncertain pause before Oachayth replied set off alarm bells.

<<She rose against Farlith.>>

Gears cranked in Sahari's head as she processed that statement, even going so far as to turn her head and glance back toward where Oachayth now lounged in the shallows. One of his large eyes was open, watching her like she was a particularly clumsy hatchling meandering along the cliff's edge. Then: a sudden flicker of realization. She stiffened with her arm outstretched, hand held out toward the flask the other, younger woman carried.

Oh shit, it's that former gold rider. Her dragon is dead, you know. She killed someone.

She could feel the weight of her dragon's quiet sorrow, and felt her own rising anger match it. Stupid gold riders and their stupid machinations, fighting over empty halls. She almost turned around and left right there.

<<It was not her fault.>>

But she didn't.

"Oh." was all she said, caught out and no longer certain how to talk to her.


Jenna Cunningham
 

At first, Sahari felt pity, and watched the shift of emotions across Tyne's face, wondering how to salvage the situation. Stupid though the girl might have been, she'd paid dearly enough for it now and, besides --

Wait. Was that disdain? Was this former gold rider still too good to hang out with the likes of her?

Her hand closed into a fist, and she brought her arm back to her side, planting her feet shoulder-width apart, unconsciously adopting the sort of bullish stance that usually preceded a fight in her younger days. Behind her, rising out of the shallows and shaking himself dry, she felt Oachayth's keen worry.

<<Mine, if you hit her, we will have to leave. I like it here.>> He sounded as plaintive as she had ever heard him.

I'm not going to hit her. But she glanced down at her hands and found them still balled into tight fists, and felt the tension in her lean body. Maybe she had been intending to do exactly that - and the realization embarrassed her. She was too old to be slugging someone for insulting her, ex-gold rider or not, and she knew better than to bully around someone who couldn't even fight back. Especially when her lifemate's happiness was on the line.

"Well," she said instead, ignoring Tyne's earlier question, and felt the fight go out of her. "Sometimes flights just go to shit. It happens."


Nutmeg
 

She had watched the whole exchange whilst wobbling internally on a taut tightrope of fear. She didn't say anything whilst another draconic exchange took place but her own mind was humming. Did she know this Rider? HAD she known this Rider? It hadn't occurred to her where Sahari might be from, least of it it being Ista. As far as she was concerned, this was just another Rider no doubt being filled in as to who she HAD been and the Rider now becoming terrified of being near her. In her dark moments of petulance, Tyne found herself wondering whether they thought she was cursed and that just being near her meant that she would ensure the same terrible fate befell them both. The irony was that not even in her cruellest, most petty of moments would she have wished this on her worst enemy.

That nothing was immediately happened, she wasn't sure if it was good or bad. But she waited. Carefully, her fingers twisted through Cairn and Bobbin's tail in a gesture as childlike as an upset babe reaching for a favourite stuffie. But she waited and used the seconds to focus on the streaks of calm she still had a hold of. 

It was close to an acquiescence as she would get, even if the word "flight" had made her flinch like she had been slapped. Perhaps it was more the combination but it sent a jolt through her. "It does." Was all she first managed to say after what had seemed like eons  but the inner Myrandith was fading now, settling its proverbial head and her voice was small and quiet, again childlike. Although she didn't drink alcohol anymore these days barring the weakest of wines on occasion, now would have been the time where she would have reached for a stiff drink. Instead she held the flask out to Sahari, a mute token of peace. That she didn't know what was going to happen immediately after was what kept her still on edge, still ready to... something. Run? Fight? Disappear? She could never interpret what that twisted sensation of taut anticipation wanted, but she at least could recognise it now.

On Wed, Mar 25, 2020 at 8:34 AM Jenna Cunningham <jenna.layne.cunningham@...> wrote:
At first, Sahari felt pity, and watched the shift of emotions across Tyne's face, wondering how to salvage the situation. Stupid though the girl might have been, she'd paid dearly enough for it now and, besides --

Wait. Was that disdain? Was this former gold rider still too good to hang out with the likes of her?

Her hand closed into a fist, and she brought her arm back to her side, planting her feet shoulder-width apart, unconsciously adopting the sort of bullish stance that usually preceded a fight in her younger days. Behind her, rising out of the shallows and shaking himself dry, she felt Oachayth's keen worry.

<<Mine, if you hit her, we will have to leave. I like it here.>> He sounded as plaintive as she had ever heard him.

I'm not going to hit her. But she glanced down at her hands and found them still balled into tight fists, and felt the tension in her lean body. Maybe she had been intending to do exactly that - and the realization embarrassed her. She was too old to be slugging someone for insulting her, ex-gold rider or not, and she knew better than to bully around someone who couldn't even fight back. Especially when her lifemate's happiness was on the line.

"Well," she said instead, ignoring Tyne's earlier question, and felt the fight go out of her. "Sometimes flights just go to shit. It happens."



--
Nutmeg on the Wizzy.
Florcott on AIM.

I'm sometimes slow and have the memory of a sieve at times, so don't hesitate to poke me if you think you've been forgotten!


Jenna Cunningham
 

Sahari took the proffered flask right away, mostly because she wasn't sure how to carry the conversation any further. Her immediate impulse was to go on about one of the many flights over the years that had "gone to shit" for her, but she hadn't missed that flinch when she spoke to Tyne about it, either. The former gold rider's own experiences clearly took the cake there. It wasn't the time to go bragging about the flights that hadn't gone to shit, either - even though the impulse to praise Oachayth sang in her blood.

So instead, she took a drink - and went pucker-faced at the sweetness of it, expecting something with much more of a kick.

There was no refuge in alcohol, then.

"...think you uncorked this one a bit early," she offered after swallowing, and held the flask back out.

Casting her thoughts toward things to talk about, and only coming up with those sharding flits that hovered about, she added: "What're their names?"


Nutmeg
 

It was an awkward pause for sure, but as the flask was passed back there was a genuinely perplexed look to Tyne as she comically inspected the flask, peering into it. "It tasted okay a minute ago..." she looked back at Sahari, "... does juice normally go off fast?" She took a dubious sniff. It smelled okay. Like a canine cautiously inspecting the contents of a plate she tentatively licked the mouth of the flask. It was only a few drops but those tasted okay too! She peered back at Sahari, genuine confusion written over her face. "Do you not like redfruit juice?" But that was a silly question, everyone liked redfruit juice! Just perhaps not as tooth-achingly sweet as she did.

The question of her flock distracted her, as easily as a green spotting a shiny pebble and Tyne beamed at Sahari, oblivious to the consternation that the poor bluerider was going through. "I can tell you!" she gushed, as proud as a brat handing over their first page of neatly written letters and responding to the silent call, the flock returned, alighting on several large boulders behind Tyne as she turned and pointed them all out. "That's Chief and Tubber," she said indicating the browns, "... and that's Song and Dance and Breeks..." she said, indicating to the blues "... and the greens are Fitz and Bitz, Rona and Zeeti. Oh! And Aaru. But she's not mine, she belongs to Bobbin." She gestured to the gold on her shoulder who had adopted her usual snobbish stance. "This is Bobbin. And Cairn. He helps her keep everyone in control." The bronze hadn't intentionally  been the last, but he didn't mind, inspecting Sahari with a perfunctory air and whirling eyes.

On Thu, Mar 26, 2020 at 10:25 PM Jenna Cunningham <jenna.layne.cunningham@...> wrote:
Sahari took the proffered flask right away, mostly because she wasn't sure how to carry the conversation any further. Her immediate impulse was to go on about one of the many flights over the years that had "gone to shit" for her, but she hadn't missed that flinch when she spoke to Tyne about it, either. The former gold rider's own experiences clearly took the cake there. It wasn't the time to go bragging about the flights that hadn't gone to shit, either - even though the impulse to praise Oachayth sang in her blood.

So instead, she took a drink - and went pucker-faced at the sweetness of it, expecting something with much more of a kick.

There was no refuge in alcohol, then.

"...think you uncorked this one a bit early," she offered after swallowing, and held the flask back out.

Casting her thoughts toward things to talk about, and only coming up with those sharding flits that hovered about, she added: "What're their names?"



--
Nutmeg on the Wizzy.
Florcott on AIM.

I'm sometimes slow and have the memory of a sieve at times, so don't hesitate to poke me if you think you've been forgotten!


Jenna Cunningham
 

The flit names went in one ear and out the other almost as quickly. Sahari nodded dutifully at each pause, and felt herself grasping again for something to talk about as soon as the long list of names ended. She couldn't just turn around and leave; for better or worse, she was invested. And the good judgement of her lifemate was to blame. What did a lifelong rider, without any real hobbies outside gambling, drinking, and flying, talk about with a dragonless, damaged girl?

"Did they all come from around here?" She ended up asking as soon as Tyne fell silent, and glanced at the little bronze. "Proper little wingleader."


Nutmeg
 

It was a testament to her broken, innocent state of mind that Tyne missed any of the tiny social cues that might otherwise have let her know that Sahari was struggling with what to say. As if to confirm that Sahari was indeed right, Cairn puffed up a little more and issued a short bark of cheeps and whistles. And in response, the flock sat up in smart attention, shuffling into position suspiciously looking like a dragonflight preparing to take off.

"They do!" Tyne leapt on the snippet of conversation. "I found them in a cave. A smuggler cave! We think there had been people stealing eggs because there were eggs EVERYWHERE! Some of them hatched!" And some of the occupants dead in their shells due to poor care, but Tyne didn't add that part to her memory. It was neatly put away in a box somewhere. "We were going to bring as many as we could back but more started hatching!"

Her enthusiasm was palpable as she bounced forward a little, waving her hands in avid gesticulation.

On Fri, Mar 27, 2020 at 4:59 AM Jenna Cunningham <jenna.layne.cunningham@...> wrote:
The flit names went in one ear and out the other almost as quickly. Sahari nodded dutifully at each pause, and felt herself grasping again for something to talk about as soon as the long list of names ended. She couldn't just turn around and leave; for better or worse, she was invested. And the good judgement of her lifemate was to blame. What did a lifelong rider, without any real hobbies outside gambling, drinking, and flying, talk about with a dragonless, damaged girl?

"Did they all come from around here?" She ended up asking as soon as Tyne fell silent, and glanced at the little bronze. "Proper little wingleader."



--
Nutmeg on the Wizzy.
Florcott on AIM.

I'm sometimes slow and have the memory of a sieve at times, so don't hesitate to poke me if you think you've been forgotten!