Sunglasses at night (C'ross!)

[nozomi]

Even when the sky was still dark, the stars barely faded in the anticipation of the morning, glows still lit the hot forge. They cast flickering shadows when baskets rocked, at odds with the smoldering coals and the high-leaping flames in various parts. At least, flames usually would have been flaring, if not for the fact Siata was the lone human in the structure and her bondmate disliked bright lights. Glows didn't seem to upset Whers, and Siatask didn't complain about the fires and the coals (though she was the sort to complain when she felt the need).

Inside of the structure, instead of hammering out some thick bit of metal, Siata sat on a high stool, both feet up on the edge of her work bench. A fine view of femininity indeed, her feet bare for better grip and leverage on the table, leather pants smudged with ash and, more recently, a form of grease, white tunic shirt grayed with previous works. Her back curved, short hair mussed, spikier than normal, Siata sat with her crooked nose less than half a foot with the small contraption pressed against the tops of her thighs. Legs made the best tables, even if it made her look like a terrain primate, toes flexing each time her fingers moved and the item clicked, a small pen-like metal stick moving the minute gears into the proper place.

And yet, she hummed, a jaunty little tune. In the corner of the room stretched out her thick-bodied wher, her own claws moving with the flex of her handlers toes. Siatask rumbled in time to Siata, stumpy tail thumping once or twice as if she were a canine but, in reality, she matched the little beat of Siata's tune.

They made their own off-tune music, accented with the occasional click or grind as Siata worked. Neither paid much mind to their surroundings; being alone would put ones guard down - especially when few would want to attack them with a guard such as a testy, almost-teething, tank of a wher.

[tuathade]

It had started as a vague, nagging itch, faint but persistent. C'ross noticed it in the middle of a patrol, and over twenty Turns of experience meant he pinpointed Merceth as the source almost immediately. The riding straps had all been in good order when he'd taken off, at least to C'ross' eye, but a lot could happen during a four hour patrol, and Merceth was notoriously rough on his harness. Sure enough, as soon as he'd landed and taken the harness off Merceth at the end of the patrol, the problem was clear: a broken buckle. The frayed stitching on the leather, C'ross could repair himself, but even metal was no match for the constant stress of several tons of dragon in flight, and the buckle itself had begun to warp slightly.

C'ross frowned to himself, running callused fingers lightly over the patch of hide where the damaged strap had rested. Guard dragons and riders alike had to be prepared to fly in any condition if called upon to do so, but there were two things you ignored only at your own peril: your riding straps, and your dragon's hide. Even a small irritation could turn into a sore, and that sore could be worsened if Merceth had to go between in a hurry.

Does it hurt?

The bronze shook his huge head, unconcerned. Only itchy.

I'll stop by and pick up some oil on the way back. Better safe than sorry. In the meantime, I should get this fixed before the next patrol. He spared a brief pat for the muscled foreleg next to him, then tucked the offending buckle under one arm and set off.

He hadn't even bothered to change out of his flight uniform; it would be immediately clear that he'd essentially leaped off dragonback and headed straight to the forge. At this hour, so late it was essentially early, there was only one person in the structure - C'ross figured he was probably lucky to find anyone there at all. The young woman was hunched over some odd device, not paying too much attention to her surroundings. Not particularly inclined to startle either Siata or the wher stretched out in the corner, he cleared his throat before calling out to the two of them, "Hello?"

[nozomi]

Siatask saw C'ross before her handler even looked up from her little invention; while the green did not have the best heat vision in the entire world of whers, even Siatask couldn't ignore the huge body in the doorway, still hot from the shift and physical excertion. She stared at him from her makeshift nest and growled, a low rumble in the depths of the young wher's chest, with instantly swirling red eyes. By the time Siata looked up with the greeting, Siatask had peeled her lips back to reveal her toothless gums in the most threatening way she knew how, and claws braced against the floor of the forge, muscles tensed.

"Yeah, hey." The feet came down, and Siata smiled. How pretty was she, soot and a sort of grease streaked over her nose. The smith spun around on her chair, ignoring the way Siatask's snarls rose as her handler's friendliness grew. New to bonding, Siata couldn't even pretend to be stupid enough to ignore what it was Siatask was feeling - or what she wanted: blood. Preferably spilled from the giant her handler was making eyes at. Siata made eyes indeed, and poor C'ross got himself a slow look over before she finally hopped off of her chair, stretched until her back popped. "What'cha got for me? Hopefully something interesting."

And - Yes. Yes, that was indeed a wink and a wide cheeky smile from the Smithcrafter just as she said that last little tidbit. Why not? Siata didn't flirt much with men, finding it much easier to charm some cute fluffball girl. With men? Throw on the cheese, act as stereotypical masculine as possible. They rarely fell for it, and she liked it that way. Scare them off! Siatask approved of such a tactic, but even so, she rose up from her little bed. Much like her handler, the Wher stretched, head cocked to level in her still crimson eyes on the rider in question.


Didn't mean Siata wouldn't look while she could; Siatask probably wouldn't attack the man. Siata ambled closer, holding out one calloused hand to C'ross. Her fingers flicked like the little princess she never wished to be, square chin cocked upwards. Well! Come on, then.

[tuathade]

Ten turns ago, C'ross might have considered teasing back. Back when he was still a wingrider with the Watch, he'd had somewhat of a thing for... forward girls. (Read: aggressive bisexuals who could probably take most guys in a fight.) But that was back before he'd met I'saac. And back when he was still young enough that flirting with twentysomething wherlings wouldn't be weird. So Siata was not only barking up the wrong tree, but barking up the wrong tree ten turns too late. A tree that was happily occupied by someone else, to boot - this metaphor ran away somewhere.

As it was, he met Siata's gaze levelly, but her wink got only a quirked eyebrow and an incredulous snort in response. Are you sharding kidding me? his expression said quite clearly, louder than words. Let's be serious, here.

When she put out her hand, C'ross placed the damaged buckle in it unceremoniously. "Sorry," he responded with a small shrug. "Just the usual broken harness bits. Nothing special." The bronzerider eyed Siatask briefly as she rose and stretched, not exactly wary but certainly aware. He'd had too much of Merceth for growling and posturing to bother him, and the wher with her toothless gums was clearly just a baby. But her claws would be sharp enough, and unlike dragons whers were quite capable of harming humans even after bonding. Only an idiot would ask for trouble with a young and possibly unpredictable wher.

Outside, Merceth was getting impatient, or perhaps just curious. The bronze moved closer to the building that housed the forge, hunching down to inspect it closer. The dragon's head on its long neck wove back and forth, enormous eye attempting to peer in first a window, then the doorway. Spotting Siatask, or perhaps just picking up on her presence from his rider's thoughts, the dragon rumbled deep in his chest in response.

[nozomi]

Poor, dear C'ross, to think one of those 'forward' girls would be put off by that expression, or the snort. Siata laughed instead, snagging up the buckle without further ado. The smith plunked herself down into her chair to study the object in question, but spoke still, voice twisted in amusement.

"Can't blame a girl for trying? It's not often I meet a guy I can't break with a one-armed hug. Pretty sad, actually." She heaved a long suffering sigh. Siatask, it seemed, did not worry the young woman with all her snarling. Those sharp claws tapped at the floor, those red eyes fierce when the infant wher slunk across the forge. She did not go after C'ross, at least, but wound around Siata's chair with that low snarl, simmering at the surface of her hatred.

Still, the wher remained still at her handler's chair, even when Siata hopped off, headed towards the actual workstation, the one with coals and fires, the sort to shape the harness part back into shape. Only when Merceth invaded her space, and dared to threaten Siata, did little Siatask attempt to be physical towards either rider or dragon.

She hissed, and, jaws snapping, started towards the door as quickly as a short-legged infant could. Siata yelled out, "Siatask!" And dove at her partner. The green skidded to a halt, bristling, snarling, all but spitting fire, and gave Siata just enough time to grab the big girl. She hauled the wher back, fingers locked together around Siatask's thick shoulders, and she pulled.

"Yeah, hey, so, she dislikes men," Siata hissed the words herself, although they lacked malice. The strain of pulling back a tensed, pissed off wher was enough even for a blacksmith of the womans size. "And your big shiny isn't making a very nice noise either. While I appreciate two strong men, Siatask--" The wher lurched before sinking back against Siatask, gums still bared, death glashing in her eyes. "Siatask doesn't feel the same."

Come into Siatask's place, bring big ugly to growl? Her normal mocking sarcasm was not present for Siatask's words, replaced by sheer malice, an indignant queen who had a whoopie cushion put onto her throne. Big ugly out! This is Siatask's, not--

Pretty girl. Siatask. Siata put a hand on her Wher's nose and, hostile or not, the wher bristled and settled back once more. "Baby, you were growling at them first. The shiny boy was just protecting his man, like you protect me. It's a good thing, isn't it?"

Siatask rumbled once more, but she did not try to show non-existant teeth then. She shoved herself further in front of Siata, feet tensed - but she did not growl. That was okay, then. Siatask's not be snarled at.

"... Manners, baby." Siata cleared her throat, eyes going back up to C'ross. "She won't charge again. Protective. If you want to stay until I'm done." She paused. "Not trying to flirt, attempting to do that whole polite, my wher didn't try to kill your dragon, thing."

[tuathade]

Shards. Shards shards shards.

Outside, Merceth's wings were mantling, the rumbling changing in timbre from curious to genuinely affronted. I was not snarling at Yours, Merceth snorted. A proper snarl would have been much louder and more impressive. Anyway, you growled at Mine first.

C'ross, to his credit, stepped back immediately as Siatask lunged. No use presenting a target to the irate wher. "One second," was all he said to Siata before leaning out the door to fix a sharp glare at Merceth. He was going to have Words with his dragon. The ensuing conversation was brief and entirely silent between the two of them, but judging from the abrupt way that the noise stopped, it was pretty obvious what the gist of said Words were. Merceth's eyes swirled rapidly from indignant orange to a more abashed mix of hues, and he sat down quietly outside the building, offering no further aggressive motions.

-and so help me, she might be an infant wher but you don't have an excuse!

...I do not like whers, Merceth grumbled quietly.

Yes. You came to the same conclusion the last time you antagonized one. Sometimes, babysitting a creature with the memory span of a fish was... aggravating.

With a last mental shove in his dragon's direction, and the assurance that the bronze wasn't about to try to do anything utterly stupid, C'ross ceased leaning around the door and turned back to Siata and Siatask. The green wher looked like she too was back under control. Good. Honestly, this was downright embarrassing. A twenty-turn-old dragon ought to know better. The sensible part of him suspected he should just take Merceth and leave before things got worse between the man-hating wher and the wher-hating dragon.

But he certainly wasn't cowed, and he wasn't about to slink off with his tail between his legs. If he left now, it'd look like he was retreating from Siatask. And so, with poker face back in place, he dragged over a stool and sat down, unconcerned as if nothing had just happened. "...So. Where were we."

[nozomi]

Thankfully, Siata was not one of those easily disturbed girls; her Wher snarled and spat, the dragon growled and rumbled, and the Smith was just irritated that her projects were put on hold for her girl to have a hissy fit. When Siata stared at the green, Siatask finally sunk down onto the ground again, her entire body tensed even before Siata clambered onto her previous seat.

"We were totally not at the part where our respective kids got their tunics in a bundle," The woman grinned, one of her legs draping down to rub her boot against Siatask's pitted hide. "I like you, Dragonrider. Most people'd go scrambling off like a panicked wherrie with Siatask going after their ass. Wher's are stronger then most people like to think."

A last rub of her foot and Siata backtracked her steps, sliding off of her stool. To the forge, a cheerful turn to her step, and those big goggles went down and over her face. Even as she pulled on the thick hide gloves, Siata talked. "This can be repaired, but you'll have to replace it entirely if you ride hard. Bigger the dragon and the rider, the more strength gets put on these bad boys. While I make a quality product, even my amazing fingers can't work miracles. Right now I'm gonna get it back into shape, it'll be fine, but if anything starts to thin out. Let's pretend I went off on the techni-babble at you, yeah?"

A wriggle of her fingers, and a quick grin, and Siata went to work on the buckle. The noises were loud so, for a while, Siata did not speak, nor did she listen, and Siatask stared hard at the dragon rider. Once things quieted enough for words to be made or heard, Siata carried on again as if she weren't fixing the thing that kept him from dying while in flight.

"So! What's your name, rider? I'm Siata, this is Siatask, and I don't pay attention to the coming and goings of the 'riders so have not a single shardin' clue who you are." A twitch of a smile, her head cocked to glance at the older man, her fingers stilling just momentarily. "Promise I won't ruin your buckle if you tell me to sod off, though."

[tuathade]

With Merceth settled down, C’ross permitted himself to relax a little. He gave her a wry smile at her comment. “I’m used to the big idiot lump outside. A little noise and posturing doesn’t bother me – though I normally make a habit of not pissing off things that could actually maul me.” The vital difference between dragons and whers, of course, was that only one of them continued to be dangerous past infancy.

C’ross had grown up surrounded by the smithcraft. He hadn’t been back for Turns, not since he was a half-grown boy; he’d Impressed Merceth relatively young, and after that he’d been devoted to the Watch one hundred percent. But while he’d never been interested in pursuing the craft himself, he’d ended up weyrmates with an engineer, and a dragon like Merceth necessitated regular visits to fix one bit of harness or another. The noise and heat of the forge was pleasantly familiar to him. “I know,” he agreed in response to her explanation. “And he’s not exactly a lazy flier. It’s one of the reasons why I keep a close eye on his flight straps.” That, and C’ross didn’t feel like dying by falling off a dragon moving at high speed.

He fell silent to let Siata work. Even if he did say anything, she likely wouldn’t hear him over the sound of the forge and her work. She was efficient, he would give her that. A necessary quality in a smith at Warden’s, when riders would be expected back in the air next shift. Not that C’ross didn’t trust his wingsecond, but he tried not to rely on anyone else to take up the slack for him.

Siata, hm? The name wasn’t familiar, but he filed it away for future reference anyway. “Squadleader C’ross,” he offered in reply. “And ‘Big Ugly’ out there is Merceth.” Wherhandlers and dragonriders didn’t cross paths all that often, so it was unsurprising that she wouldn’t be particularly concerned with them.

[nozomi]

"You would be surprised how absolutely moronic people can be." Siata rolled her eyes under her protective eye wear, one hand waving. "I had one rider near fall to his death because the deadglow thought he could wait until his next day off to come to the forge. Day. Off. He's lucky his dragon realized what was happening before the thing broke for real - she said she could feel it warping out - or else his head would've been all over the prison and ugh."

She muttered something under her breath, probably containing a few choice words for the rider in question, hands busied once more. Without Siatask snarling and snapping in her head, the smith had time to concentrate and make sure she got everything correct; she found no sense in killing a squadleader, even if by accident. For all the irritation she had for careless riders, it'd do no good to kill off one of the more sensible ones. Especially a huge handsome one that took her mild flirtations with a Look!

"Squadleader, eh? That's pretty badass. It's Warden's, so I'm gonna say that it's not because you ride a shiny, but because you're a good leader. Or something like that. I've never been good at flattery unless it comes to pretty girls." She chortled, and poor C'ross once more got himself a wink, even if it happened to be behind some goggles. "How long have you been here? Well. Wait. If you're a squadleader, doesn't that mean you were here from the start? Isn't that how 'riders work? I think?"

From her position under Siata's abandoned chair, Siatask heaved a tolerant sigh. She tilted her head towards her handler, and if Whers could roll their eyes, Siatask would have. Siata ignored her, and just grinned wider. The smith flicked her eyegear up, eyeing the piece. "D'ya like it here? 'Cause there's that whole, I'm not a prisoner thing going down."

(NOTE: Nozling knows very little about Smithing. >: And apologizes for it.)

[tuathade]

C’ross snorted. “If I caught any of the riders in my squad being that idiotic, they’d probably wish they’d fallen from dragonback after all. Honestly, some people… You’d think after weyrlinghood, riders would get smarter, not the other way around.”

He watched her work with interest. If Siata was asking a lot of questions, he didn’t seem to notice or mind all that much. The smith-slash-wherling was friendly enough, and there was no harm in answering. “I can’t say much on how squadleaders get chosen; I suspect it has to do with what dragons and riders the Warden has available to choose from. I came over right when the Weyr first started up – and was a wingleader in the Watch before that, so I had experience.”

That was one of the things that C’ross liked about Warden’s. One would think that a bronzerider would be all in favor of the traditional color politics, but neither C’ross nor Merceth were especially interested in rising beyond squadleader… and even that was more out of responsibility than lust for power. The fact that any color could technically become squadleader here was kind of refreshing, after the stupid political maneuvering the more traditional weyrs sometimes stooped to.

He had to think about it for a moment when Siata asked him if he liked it at Warden’s. It was his Weyr. He’d transferred out of convenience and necessity, and then stayed because it felt right to do so. It was like asking whether he liked having Merceth as his dragon. “I guess I do,” he said slowly. “Hours are scorching awful, of course… But it keeps the big guy quiet when he’s tired all the time. And I have my weyrmate, and no one bothers us as long as we both work our shifts.”

[nozomi]

"Good for you! I mean, no offense, if one of the stupid ones ends up not being here anymore, it's one less moron for me to deal with, but my ma'd tan my ass if she thought I was hoping bad things for someone." Her nose wrinkled. Siata shrugged. "Though I'd rather fall off dragonback then face you when in a mood. No offense or anything, but giant men bellowing at me - I'm assuming you bellow anyway, you look the sort - it's not exactly my idea of a good time."

The goggles went up and into her hair, the short black spikes pushed away to reveal all of her face. Another study of the buckle and then it went down, to the water, to sizzle and hiss and cool itself down. She let it sit, then, for a few seconds, and withdrew it quickly. To the side it went.

Weyrmate, huh. Siata went 'hn' in a quick puff of air when he mentioned I'saac, nameless though he was. Her eyes swung back to C'ross, eyebrows up,

"Yeah," she said, when Siatask looked up towards her. I'm okay, pretty girl. Siata shrugged, and her hands, gloves and all, shoved themselves into her pockets. "The weyrmate thing totally makes even the shitty things bearable. Though maybe the hours will get better when the new little clutch grows up. I mean, yeah, there are prisoners in there, but not all of them are, some might make decent guards. Give all your hardworkin' folks some time off, or something. I'm sure there's such thing as time off around here."

Siatask's has no time off. Why would Big Ugly's? Sleep, Siatask drawled the last part towards C'ross, her sharp voice mocking of her handlers as she echoed Siata's words she'd heard so many times. Is for the weak.

"She likes being a smartass." Siatask rumbled an agreement to her handlers statement, and Siata chortled, drying off C'ross buckle. "So why'd you come here, then? Besides keeping your boy tired and sedate. I haven't heard of them letting a 'rider bringing their weyrmate either, but, hey, I apparently haven't heard much! It's the sadness of working in a small place that can burn down - no one enters to gossip."

[tuathade]

He lets me do the bellowing, sometimes, Merceth chimed in, speaking directly to Siata. He's loud, but I am much louder.

Great. C'ross resisted the urge to facepalm. His dragon's tendency to blithely ignore the 'don't bespeak others' bonded people directly' rule might well set off the angry little green wher again. Still, best to continue on as if nothing had happened. "I'm... cautiously hopeful about the weyrlings. Faranth knows we're in desperate need of more solid wingriders. Shards, I'd even let one of the prisoner weyrlings into my squad if Warden allowed it - better to have them where I can keep a sharp eye on them, as far as I'm concerned." And maybe she was right. Maybe, once they got more squads up in the air and patrolling, the schedule wouldn't be quite so brutal.

It looked as though the buckle was more or less done, but for once C'ross wasn't in a big hurry. He'd oblige the wherhandler's questioning for now. "I'saac and I were Watchriders together - he was in my wing. We weren't together then of course," he clarified hastily, "but we were... close friends. For quite a few Turns. Both volunteered to go to Warden's together, so we'd both have someone we knew. But his Nicoth doesn't tend to get along with 'Big Ugly' out there, so now we're in different squads. And... things happened."

And that was that. All the detail he was willing to give. He gave a little half-shrug. "I'm not much a fan of gossip myself. People tend to blow small things out of proportion too often."