Monaco Bay Weyr - Exercise Yard
Sheltered from the direct heat of the day and the storms of the season by the rocky walls of the weyr, this exercise yard holds a thick layer of lush grass. The yard offers room enough for the entire class of weyrlings to stretch, romp, and practice behind a tall wooden palisade meant to keep the pre-flight dragons from wandering off too far. To the west, just against the palisade, a small coral of ovines and caprines has been erected for convenience. A freshwater pump is installed to the north, against the wall of the caverns, to provide just enough water flow to clean a weyrling dragon after a meal. When the palisade gate is open, there is a clear, stone-lined path leading towards the paradise river and the designated weyrling beach.

A pleasantly un-stormy day at Monaco draws to a close with clouds gathering from the sea — not boding well for tomorrow, but today? There is a breeze coming in on the storm too, balmy-warm where the setting sun is chilling the sheltered 'yard. It's not quite enough to take all of the chill out of the air, but a freshly manicured-and-pampered Ityrziel looks like he appreciates it. Sitting in the middle of a hastily-erected, tightly fenced in area that looks a great deal like a very tall baby jail, the candidate's pile of pillows protects him from the ground, but not from the ferocious glare of the marbled kitten who he's brought with him. The demolished remains of a fine dinner sit on a plate in front of Tyr as he doesn't quite watch the kitten, keeps eyes trained on the distant milling of a dozen-odd baby caprines playing in the corrals. "You know, you're not so vicious. One of these days, you'll come around, now, won't you. I'm certain you're less pleasant than your siblings." Talking to cats? Look, he comes from some solidly feline-loving stock, does Tyr, and maybe we should just be glad that he's not stubbornly cuddling the little thing, mauled or no. "Come, little feline, there's food to be had. Here, kitten." Keep right on trying, fella.

It's possible to hear the peeping long before Brohdan is properly visible - it's steady, regular, and sounds vaguely distressed in nature. The northerner's low, rumbling voice responds to it from time to time, words pitched low and laced with accent enough to render it relatively difficult to understand. He's coming from the gardens, possibly, or has maybe just developed a newfound affinity for dirt - either way, bright clothing, knees, and hands are all bearing telltale brown scuffs of color. "—rode in my pocket all day doesn't mean you get to keep at it," finally becomes audible as he moves close enough to be overheard by Ityrziel, steps somewhat slower than usual, blue gaze fixed downwards at the young wherry doing its damndest to keep up with his still-too-long stride. A small green flit rides along on one rounded shoulder, whirring eyes peering down at the little thing chugging along before spying that marbled kitten and — hiss! This finally grabs Brodie's attention, a slow grin easing the lines of his face as he gives Tyr a wave, stooping to finally take mercy and scoop the little wherrylet up into his hands to dump it unceremoniously into his shirt pocket. "Salutations. Looks like we had the same idea." His dinner wasn't plated - it's sacked up instead, dropped onto one knee as he sinks down onto the ground near Ityrziel with a groan of protest. "How goes the taming?"

"Oh, have pity on the poor thing, it's just little." Tyr, the soft touch, is absolutely quick to chide, looking wide-eyed and mournful about the vague distress of a little thing he absolutely would have fed to the kitten, not so long ago. Look. He's a man of many mysteries. He can be contradictory. "Do you know," The harper adds after a beat, eyebrows rising up as the giant comes fully into view. "I think that you don't have to roll around in the dirt with them to, an, properly care for them. Granted, I never have raised a wherry, and I'll admit I've not had much success with these…" Tyr trails off, since the kitten has definitely noticed the wherry, ITS MORTAL ENEMY!!!!, and he has to abruptly sacrifice all pretense of being slow and gentle to grab the wild feline to keep it from bodyslamming Brodie's chest. Not that it would actually do much, but you know, it's the principal of the thing. Looking extremely unaffected by the yowling of the little feline, Tyr smiles, gestures at his plate. "Well, I did bring it down while it was hot, to see if that would help. He's a surprisingly unpleasant dinner companion, although, I expect not as much as. What was it? Cluckleton?" The candidate's eyes narrow, vaguely, but he seems to wave it off after a moment. He's too busy gently wrangling the angry kitten into his lap; its scraggly tail lashes violently, and it gales balefully at Brodie, with an expression suggesting IF I COULD ONLY ESCAPE THIS CONFINEMENT. "It's going well! He's a doll, really, look at him." Is…he just stupid, or love-blind, or???

To be fair, so too would have Brohdan, but that's beside the point. "I am taking pity. I'm helping him build up those legs before one of them finds him in a dark hallway," laughed with a gesture at the feline currently glaring daggers at them, oblivious to its obvious ire in the way only very large people can be. Iddi is not so complacent, tiny green form puffed up even though she's stopped hissing for now. "Roll around in the…? Oh. No. I was assigned to the gardens today. Missed proper-dinner trying to help a man carry some wood to the kitchens in exchange for some grain. Seemed a fair bargain." But he's paying for it now, rubbing hands together to get the worst of the clinging dirt off, looking suddenly tired as he fights back a yawn. "Have you gotten it to eat anything yet?," asked before he corrects with a gentle, "Clucklesworth." Because somehow, the arbitrary addition of hoighty-toit to the end of the Cluck- portion is IMPORTANT. Brodie's glance at the kitten to gauge its doll-ness is rather… less than impressed, but he laughs all the same, dumbly reaching out to offer the kitten a scritch. RIP HIS FINGERS. WE HARDLY KNEW YE. "You'd be surprised though. He was not nearly as objectionable as I would have expected to have around. It took some… great convincing to keep Iddi from eating him, but she seems to have gotten the message… Mostly." Which is why she's eyeing the thing like a snack when he pokes his head out with a peep but listen. Hush. It'll be fine.

Contemplating this wisdom with a tilt of his head, Tyr sits back on his pile of pillows, taking little murdercat with him as he goes. The feline doesn't seem to like this, but it's also not stopped growling yet, so you know. That's hardly surprising. "I suppose that does make sense. He doesn't seem to have the instincts to avoid them." The harper says that like he's casting some sort of judgement on the wherry, which is rich, coming from a guy who's in bandages up to both elbows. Truly. "Have they stopped being miffed about the parsley thing? I did apologize." To the pile of parsleys, as he dumped them to the porcines. Look. It still counts. "Oh, you did miss a good one. They made the, ah," A beat, and the candidate eyes Brodie's pocket like the ridiculously, genetically stupid bird might actually have the brains to understand, so really, who's the dumb one here. "W-h-e-r-r-y stuffed with a yellowtail stuffed with crab. Delightful. I hope you were there in time to get some." Turkey stuffed with fish? Doesn't sound super great, but Tyr looks contented, smiling benignly. "There lies the remains of my dinner. Ah, Clucklesworth, yes. That's very good. Fits him." He's absolutely not about to judge the names, which is good, because the tiny terror now trying to chew one of Brodie's fingers off is still quite nameless. Don't worry about it. Either one: fingers, names, who needs 'em. "Ah, I can't imagine that would be an easy thing. My own seem quite content to allow this one free rein. I suppose they think he might eat them." They definitely wouldn't be WRONG.

"No," Brodie agrees of Clucky's intincts, or lack thereof, "they are not the brightest creatures I've ever encountered. Why Neph was so upset by my possibly killing it, I do not know, but… I admit there is some charm to him." Fingers plonk-plonk atop the dumb thing's head, earning squinty-squints of orangey-brown eyes and a futile scrabble to free itself from his pocket. Because THAT is clearly the best idea just now, with two predators giving you a keen eye. "Ah, they, uh, no. They have not." He seems a little sheepish about that, honestly, giving Ityrziel a look that's one part amused, one part apology. "Mentioned it a couple times, really. Had to reassure them that's why I was there, that'd we'd gone and traded for a reason. It mollified them a bit?" FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH. Chuckles roll forth for that spelling-out of wherry, blue eyes twinkling over as he pretends to cover the young creature's ears and says, "Don't worry, I don't think he's smart enough to spell." Worst. They're both the worst. "But no, I am happy to report only the non-fish variety was left in its wake, so I made a sandwich of that." And so he has, stacked high with 'slaw and fried tubers and other various things that makes the pile almost as mountainous as he is. It's vaguely impressive. "Hnf," is agreement for Clucklesworth's name fitting him, swallowchoking down his bite before saying, "Was thinking of getting him a proper pet collar, once he's grown. Reckon it'd stay on him if I did?" He lets the question linger while his fingers get CHEWN, wincing and watching the kitten go at his fingers before snorting under his breath. "That is no jest. Iddi will not even approach the chef's, and his is by far the smallest. Perhaps they still stink of the wild." Or it might be the MURDER IN THEIR EYES. One.

As if called by mention of a distinct lack of self-serving instincts, and completely contradicting the praise Tyr just gave, a green firelizard pops into being above Tyr's head. She hovers there, for a moment, then plops down bodily into the plate, chirping brightly at Iddi. Behold! Food! The slavering, raging thing much bigger than them like a foot away? Never heard of it. Tyr doesn't actually seem to notice her betrayal of his word, instead focusing on nodding ruefully. "Nephythys did seem rather upset, didn't she?" He ventures, then scoffs, glares balefully in the general direction of the kitchens. "It was an honest mistake. Perhaps they should send me to do my duties, instead. Would be rather better for both of us, now, wouldn't it." The harper sniffs delicately, chin lifted. "I appreciate the interference, at any rate." He does not look appreciative, he looks crabby, but c'est la vie. As for Clucklesworth's intelligence, which he'd literally just been shit-talking, Tyr gives a thoughtful kind of head-tip, hums under his breath. "Happy! Happy he says. You missed a magnificent meal, but, well." Tyr eyes the sandwich. "That is, admittedly…inspiring. How did you fit all of the fried tubers? That's quite the feat of geometry." Tiny cat gives a wild-sounding howl that sounds like it's either acknowledgment of the impressive sandwich, OR bloodlust. Could go either way, actually. "Perhaps, if you, ah, made it into a harness? Like the older firelizards wear, braided leather. What a sight that would be! You could affix a little tag to it, so that others would know that this wherry is, ah," Dumb enough to be harnessed? "Tame." Right. That.

Iddi is UNCONVINCED, despite Kiwi's best efforts to lure him down towards the plateful of remains. She offers her fellow green a chirrup of salutation, but her spot is here, playing sentry on her big dumb human's shoulder, the last bastion between that very rude little feline and Clucky's little self. Brohdan notices. He notices that betrayal, but far be it from him to point it out. Lips press back into the smallest of smiles instead, very pointedly focusing his gaze on Tyr with a chuckle. "Rather upset is one word. I am fair to certain we circled that entire island, by the time she was done trying to wallop me. I still have the bruises." He feigns a wince and grasps at one shoulder, affecting a moue. As for duties, "I would not mind that myself. The man whose wood I was carting about promised me a block he could spare, so I could whittle away at something during the quiet hours." Brodie seems energized by that, and by the sandwich he takes the time to chomp away at, blissfully ignorant (or maybe just tolerant) of the harper's grumping. "Iff okay. I made up fowr et." The gardening? Missing a 'good meal'? One of those. Maybe both. He doesn't clarify, instead aiming a chipmunk-cheeked smile down at Tyr. "It is, isn't it? I'm fair to certain they're mashing into themselves in there somewhere, a feat of friction or something," said with vague lack of concern as he smashes the thing down to be a little easier to handle. That HOWL earns a look at least, a glance from sandwich to cat and back as though that is the reason the feline is currently going bananas, offering up a wary, "Do you think it'd like a nibble?" OF YOUR BIRD, YES. Sigh. Honestly. "That is not a half-bad idea, though, my friend! Then everyone would know he is not to be eaten, but instead should be left to roam happily for the rest of his days." The weyr is thrilled, to be sure. He lets that perky notion last a moment or two, taking time to scritch the idiot wherry trying to scrabble out of his pocket (TO HIS DEATH) to keep it calm before he asks, "Do you miss it? Your life before all this?"

Kiwi's spot is facedown in the remnants of some sort of tuber, little wings flailing gleefully and flicking bits around as she tries to wallow her face through the pile to eat it. She makes happy noises up at Iddi, wiggling in the tubers demonstratively. Your loss, sentrylizard! Tyr hasn't deigned to take note of the little green — is, maybe, purposefully ignoring her badly-behaving behind, or maybe is just really dull, bless him — but he does notice the kitten's renewed energy. "Now, now, sweetheart. There's no need for that. Hush now." The harper murmurs, patting his free hand gently over the top of the ravening beast's angry little head. It doesn't seem to soothe the cat, any, actually. "…well, she seems, ah, spirited, Nephythys. I'm certain she didn't mean to harm you." ARE YOU, TYR. ARE YOU CERTAIN. Maybe you should be LESS certain, bucko. The harper is quiet a moment, stupidly lifting the young feline under his chin (nice and close to his jugular, this is fine) to tuck it there; to hum softly, lovingly, at the angry little beast. In fairness, maybe the closeness helps, or maybe the thing is plotting his demise more quietly, since it goes a little stiller as Tyr takes his time replying. "What do you carve? Tools? Ah…chairs?" Out of a block of wood, Tyr? Look. "Well," The candidate continues after a beat of eyeing the other and his chipmunk-cheeked attempts at the sandwiches, smiling sidelong. "It's certainly working, somehow. I can't fathom, but oh — I — am not certain that it would allow you to keep your fingers, if you were to offer it a bite." The little feline growls wildly, but maybe that's…a good sign? Hungry? Faranth knows. And as for poor Clucklesworth being allowed to roam, a free bird, unmolested? Ityrziel maybe looks a little on the skeptical side, but he nods enthusiastically all the same. "Sure! The rest of his life, the ah, mascot. Of the place." However long that life may be, coughcough.

Iddi and Brohdan are both unimpressed, truly. The former because she really wants to bathe herself in the blood of tubers but has become rather taken with her self-imposed charge, and the latter because, "Yes, well, it wasn't you she ran laps around that island, so I suppose you'd think so." He aims for a dignified sniff, but can't keep up the facade, stoic features breaking beneath the pounds of his laughter. "Ah, but I jest. She was only upset because she thought I had hurt this tiny creature. She didn't know better. We have since made amends." HAVE THEY?! Maybe Brodie's just being nice. The world may never know. Blissfully ignorant of the cat's internal plotting, he responds to questions about woodworking with another loud chuckle. "No. I specialize in dishware and cutlery, but if we're being honest, my heart has always been in carving figurines. They sell quite a many of them in the shops here, and I'm afraid I've been inspired to try a dolphin after seeing them in the bay." Perhaps wisely deciding he likes his fingers just where they are, thanks, the candidate takes a chomp out of his sandwich, hums thoughtfully without actually trying to talk again (small mercies), and packs the uneaten half back up into his cloth wrap. "Say, that is not a bad idea. Perhaps I will start with a carving of him, instead." A beat. "Well. His future self, perhaps. He isn't much to look at just now." POOR BEAKY BLIGHTER. Brodie offers him a pat-pat, forcing the little wherry's eyes to blink oddly, peeping in protest as the gestures force him back into that pocket. He had ALMOST ESCAPED, DAMMIT!! "But nevermind all that." The mascotting? The abandoned question? He doesn't clarify. "I'm going to go in and hope the others are likewise keeping their charges in check so I can let this little guy sup as well. Thank you for the talk, my friend. We should do it more." And because we can't go a scene without it happening: Brodie pats Tyr hard on the back as he stands, big hands CLAP-CLAPPING the back of the nearest shoulder before he strides for the dorms.

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