Young Crafters Never Die They Just...

Cove Beach
//Sparkling black sands are gently washed over with crystal blue waters, creating a playful blend of colors that

twist and meld under the alternating rays of sun and moon. The cove stretches out from the mouth of the river towards

the ocean, mixing saltwater with fresh for an invigorating rush that teems with life.

The coast curves eastward, the waters growing more quiet along the broad expanse of beach before finally

meeting a large cove. Here there are few waves, the ocean’s movement reduced to little more than slight swells. What

might have been an idyllic and peaceful area however, is interrupted by a brilliantly gleaming structure that stands

on the edge of the sands.

Large steel poles soar upwards, supporting a staircase that leads to a pair of water slides. The height of the

structure is remarkable, standing at a height comparable to that of a small gold dragon. Pipes pump water upward,

creating small pools at the entrance of both plastic blue slides. The rush of water moves with the slides, following

their twisting course downwards while easing their passenger’s journey. Parts of the slides are open and others

covered, creating a thrill for each voyager before unceremoniously dumping them into the still waters below. For the

safety of all patrons, a large net has been drawn across the mouth of the cove to prevent any accidental drifting


Not far from the slides is a small stand that also seems to have been built just recently. A menu is posted on

its side and displays a variety of drinks and snacks//

Winter has fallen upon Monaco, however given its location the warmth of today should be of no surprise to the

residents. A light breeze whisks its way through the Weyr, adding to the pleasantness of today. It's no wonder that

around this time of year many come for vacation but for now the beach is relatively quiet. There is, however, one

unfamiliar face that has already made his way into the water thanks to his life mate. G'in sports a pair of pale blue

shorts but no shirt as he stands, frowning at his life mate in the water. "Honestly, the water here isn't /that/

different from anywhere else…." His hair is slightly unkept, as if he had just rolled out of bed, but perhaps that's

his style. The green herself is a delicate little thing. She lays in the water, eyes swirling expectantly at her life

mate. For a moment she extends her wings, allowing those nearly transparent sails to glisten in the wind before

tucking them against her sides once more. She certainly won't be moving.

Out on the distant horizon, a tropical winter storm darkens the perfect sky. A smudge for the moment, in sharp

contrast to the pristine blue of the sky over their shores. Cinnitha stands at the crest of the beach before wending

her way down through the loose sand towards the lapping waves. The nights had claimed the young woman working for the

healers; no longer, she takes advantage of one of her first days free since saying yes to standing on the sands and in

need of some quiet reflection. The green in the water is an irresitible magnet to her though. Merida, her tiny green,

riding in the shadow of her broad brimmed hat, tail wrapped around her neck and nestled in her hair, raises her head

at dragon in the water. Hitching up the brightly flowered sarong that covers her bathing suit, the healer changes

direction towards them. The little green burbles something to Cinnitha who raises a tender finger to scritch the

firelizard. "Yes, much bigger," she breathes with a faint smile.

"Morning to you," she wishes the man and she gives a deep nod to the green floating in the water.

"You live half your /life/ in the water, it wouldn't hurt you if you skipped getting a wash today." G'in grumbles

quietly under his breathe, but there's certainly a fondness in his gaze that he can't quite ged rid of. A quick glance

down at the washing supplies next to his feet would indicate he's going to wash Irseth anyways, no matter how much he

complains. It takes him a moment to realize that he isn't alone anymore. There's a couple of beats of silence after

her greeting before the voice finally registers and he glances over his shoulder. Another moment of silence and then

an easy smile appears on his face. "Good morning to you too." He actually looks a little /too/ pleased, and perhaps

it's because he's noticed the knot on her shoulder. "Are you one of the ones on dragon washing duty today?" There's a

hopeful not in his voice that the visiting mind healer doesn't even attempt to hide. As for that sea-foam green

dragon, she'll lift an eyelid to glance at the newly arrived pair and provide a sweet little croon for the flit.

Mid-morning has arrived at Monaco, but the tropical Weyr is still quite pleasant for the winter. The beach is

relatively empty, though a visiting rider and his dragon are currently in the water with Cinnitha not too far off now!

"Erm," surprise lights Cinnitha's grey eyes and her fingers fly to the knot that she put on the edge of her sarong.

"Well, um. Yes," she manages, "I would love to help. She is a beauty. Do you have two brushes?" Merida stretches on

her shoulder and then leaves her to light in the sand. The woman places her towel and book down then turns away to

untie her sarong leaving it and her knot on the towel. She wears a plain blue bikini, crisscrossed in the back and

tied at the sides of her flat stomach for staying on in heavy water or surfing.

"I'm Cinnitha, yes, one of the newest to Weyr and candidacy." Pointing back to the little green sunning herself, "That

is Merida. What is this beauty's name?" she asks, smiling broadly at the green.

Guess who is absolutely on washing duty today? The Smithcrafter candidate, who has been told by about five separate

people today he can't wear a shirt. They were all women. Very suspicious. But here he is, Xhaevyr walking along with a

bucket full of assorted scrubbers and soapsand, looking for his newest victim… er… person. Dragon? Client? What's

the right word here? Then he catches sight of G'in and Cinnitha and heads that way, lowering his chin in effort of

slogging through the sand.

G’in has an entire bucket of brushes in fact and he’ll lift up said bucket to allow Cinnitha to have her pick. They’re

all pretty much the same however. “Perfect! The name’s G’in by the way, and this little one is….” Well, he doesn’t

quite get to her name because she introduces herself. Rather than speaking to Cinnitha directly, there’s an image

projected to everyone (Xhaevyr too) in the area with the letters of her name. Surprisingly the letters of her name are

made to look like they were made out of bubbles. ‘Irseth’. When she does speak the words are directed only towards

Merida, « Join me.» Two very simple words. It’s at this point that the green rider becomes distracted by the newly

approaching candidate. There’s a slight tilt of the head and a brief grin that appears because honestly why /not/

appreciate shirtless people, but soon he waves a hand as if to motion the candidate over. “Could always use another

set of hands.” Because work always goes faster that way!

With a few deft movements, the young healer coils her long auburn braid up and pushes it under her broad brimmed hat.

She folds it back to squint and wave at the newcomer. "Hi, Xhaevyr. I thought the roster said you were on washing.

Well, three hands will a very happy dragon…" she stops, still surprised to the point of having a thrill of chill

bumps when a dragon speaks to her. "Irseth," she tries aloud and reaches out to touch the green's wet hide.

Merida rises suddenly as though summoned and flies to Irseth to perch at the base of her broad triangular head. A

bemused smile touches her lips; she strokes Irseth's hide then goes to search for a brush and soap sand.

"What the…" comes the very inappropriate start of commentary from the raspy voice of the ruddy-haired shirtless

candidate still coming up the beach. Xhaevyr will never get used to this casual conversation of dragons, let it be

known. His grey eyes sweep towards Cinnitha and acknowledgement sparks in his nod: "Will a very happy dragon make," he

succinctly repeats and finishes her sentence, dipping his chin towards G'in. "Smithcraft's duties," he says on reflex,

doesn't catch himself, and dumps his bucket right there on the beach to sort through all his random brushes. He's

looking for his favorite. A man and his tools: some things never change.

"She will be absolutely delighted." G'in smiles at the group of candidates and again when Irseth croons when Merida

lands atop her. G'in will assist for now and fall quiet for a bit!

Cinnitha goes back to the dragon and begins to work on her hide high above her front legs. Smoothing, sanding,

brushing, rinsing. A perfect rhythm with the gentle lap of the waves and the sun still low enough not to instantly

burn. "You were or are Smith's aren't you, Xhavevyr. Were you surprised when you were searched?"

"You could say that," Xhaevyr mutters in respond, his tenor dropping an octave in annoyance. He's scaled to the top of

the green's shoulders by now and has started on the soft detail work necessary where the hide toughens and softens at

the join of wings and torso. "Didn't see it coming, that's for bloody sure." His slate gaze flicks down and over to

Cinnitha. "And you? What did you do before getting conscripted into service of scrubbing dragons, Cinnitha?" His

pronunciation of her name is particularly Fortian, all clipped syllables and speed.

That gutteral response brings a surprised lift of her fine eyebrows and a quick glance around the dragon at the man.

Surprise softens to something akin to pity. "It does come as a surprise doesn't it." She is directly under Irseth's

neck; she gently smoothes sand on and brushes in small careful circles.

"Was I surprised?" she asks herself. "Dragons have…" she frowns reaching for the right words, "well, I have dreamed

about them since a girl but went to the healers. My mother is one. It seemed the natural thing to do, you know. To


"A sevenday ago I'm chasing down apprentices on this very beach for stealing my things," and that turned out to be a

goldrider's fault not the apprentices' but whatever, "And now I'm here doing… this." Whatever this is. "And I

legitimately feel as though I may get eaten if I don't see it through." HI SZETA, NO REALLY, XHAE TOTALLY LOVES YOU!

<3 (ahem) "Ah. That's how my family felt I should feel about the Harpercraft. Though one of these are far fancier than

getting locked to a particular shade of blue for the rest of your life." He gestures with his scrub-brush to the green

in question.

"Ah, eaten?" her hands slow which nearly instantly gets a gentle push from her green. That earns a little laugh from

the young woman. <"I move my hands and my mouth at the same time, I can. Healers do."> she pushes back. "Feeling a

little pressure are you? How is that? And, I don't quite follow one of these are far fancier?"

"Eaten," Xhaevyr confirms with no other dialog to indicate exactly why he would feel that way. He falls silent for a

moment, angling to get a particularly tricky crease cleaned from the standard detritus dragons accumulate over the

course of flight and, well, life. Slate gaze lifts at Cinnitha's query toward the end, and he gestures briefly at the

dragon again. "A dragon is far fancier than a Harpercraft knot. My family is all Harpers." Rather than Cinnitha's

mother a dragonrider.

"Eaten," she mutters, brows frowning as she works under Isreth's chin. The frown doesn't last long as she feels the

green push back into her hand, rubbing like a big cat. Clearly this is a request for more more. The healer rubs and

sluices silently until she goes for more soapsand. Bending over the bucket, one hand on her hat to keep it on, she

notes, "My mother is one of the head healers here, surgery speciality. My father, my father was a brown rider." She

doesn't enlarge on that relationship either.

A thoughtful look hooking her mouth into a frown she goes back to work on the dragon's broad breast. "Was your family

alright with you not being a harper?" she peers around the front leg to ask.

Xhaevyr waves off with his brush. "Or that." Mother, father, there was a dragonrider in there. Or he just went into

total man mode and didn't hear a damned word of what she really said and only parsed what he thought she said, which

— in man mode — is what he'll totally think she said for the rest of his life. Man mode. Someone needs to make a

remote to turn that shit off. "No, not at all," he replies, his voice turning markedly cheerful at the sound of his

entire genetic ancestry's intense displeasure with his career choices. Segue: "Surgery is fascinating. All of the fine

detail they have in the study of physiology is… remarkable, really."

Look, G’in was /going/ to put up a front but honestly when Xhaevyr compliments surgery he can’t help but grimace. The

rider proceeds to climb atop Irseth’s back so he can glance down at the candidates. “You think /that’s/ remarkable?

It’s disgusting. There’s blood. A lot of blood. Have you ever seen someone’s intestines squirming while still /inside/

them?” The green rider makes a gagging motion. “Now…mindhealing, that is where it’s at.” Maybe because he IS a mind

healer. Irseth will of course croon in agreement with that sentiment.

His deliberate obtuseness merits a shake of her head. Or is it deliberate? She pokes her head around the green's

breast leaning her stomach on the green's hide to briefly examine the man's face. Though not said aloud, her shrug is

a definite 'whatever is it that goes on in some people's heads'. His cheerfulness at what had to be a debacle in his

family (she has her foot in both worlds of crafter and Weyr) seems telling. That earns a deep, thoughtful breath and a

long exhale which turns into a guffaw at G'in's disgust at blood.

"Well, it's true they squirm but I think it is fascinating, actually. I've considered it. Surgery, that is. Mind

healers though…have a reputation for being different than other healers," she throws out to see what kind of fish

that may catch. "Blood doesn't bother me."

There's just a slanting look askance for G'in and his random diatribe about the merits of how disgusting intestines

are, but Xhaevyr's finished with the leading edge of right wing and is switching to the left. For all of his

commentary on potentially being eaten, his fingers are quite deft for this precise detail work. "Mindhealing sounds

like a great amount of bollocks to me. A way for one person to tell another person they think they know them without

knowing them at all." Never let it be said he's not opinionated — though he has the tact to wait until G'in is out of

earshot to comment. "Blood's blood. At least surgery actually helps someone." Sorry mindhealers. No cracking into

Xhaevyr's thick skull any time soon, unless there's a very, very talented therapist out there.

"Bollocks." Merida chortles at her repeating that. "Could well be, suppose you have to ask their patients, right? They

would tell you whether they do any good. A mindhealer with a dragon…" the woman's voice softens and trails off.

"Don't you think that a dragon could see well enough into a person's mind enough to help. Or would that be bad for the

dragon? Some people are a mess."

She reaches for the green's front leg and holds it in position with her willing help to get at the back of the knee

and downward. The toes are worked around down to the immense claws which she polishes one by one with little repeated

theres and nexts.

"Everything that I've experienced indicates that dragons might require people that are a little touched in the head,

or they might be a little touched in the head themselves." Xhaevyr's impertinence is tempered by the first lack of

sharpness in this whole conversation, a slight softening into humour. "Perhaps it's a lacking of interest into

humanity, why there isn't a whole barrage of dragon mindhealers ready and waiting to fix all of our mental problems."

"Ah," she sighs to herself and for her little green. He hadn't begun to stretch her patience, natural and learned, but

his turn towards something softer is received with relief. "Yes, that makes sense. What would we have in our

convoluted heads that would make them want to delve into us?" She turns her head upward to the green's whirling eyes

as though asking her as well. "We are not so interesting, are we?" she asks Irseth. "But we do scritch and bathe well.

What did you do in the Smiths? I am still newly returned to the Weyr and don't know everyone, yet."

"We evidently have something-or-another that they find intriguing enough," Xhaevyr says, the humorous lilt of his

voice rising. "At least at the beginning of it all." He's finished up with his work on the tender joins of wing and

shoulder and hops down into the water with a momentary show of athletic prowess, landing as neat as one well can with

splashing involved. "A little of everything, but mostly keep apprentices in line and work the forge." And work on

projects (thx reya), but that's a different topic. "Excuse me, I do most certainly believe I see my next charge." He

gestures to where a brown has landed nearby, and gives a laconic wave of his scrubber before slogging over to the


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