A Symbol of What Could go Wrong

Writers: Kaysea, Rochelle
Date Posted: 11th July 2007

Characters: Badaral, J'ritem
Description: Badaral assists J'ritem with cleaning Lecitrith
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 4, day 24 of Turn 4

J'ritem stayed close to Lecitrith, using her bulk to shade him as he watched for the candidates his mother had promised him to help bathe her.
His sisters and their children were busy today, and M'nex was riding sweeps. He shifted on the crutches. His shoulders were sore again. He hated having to rely on other people to help him with Lecitrith, and everything else. But not as much as he hated the injury that had made him into a nightmare.

}:You are not a nightmare:{ Lecitrith insisted sleepily. He ignored her.

Badaral was pleased to have been assigned to help wash the dragon, anything was preferable to helping with filing of old, dusty hides; but a dragon assignment? He couldn't have scored better if he had tried. After his time working in the dragonhealer cavern, he knew if he Impressed, just where his interests would lie.

"J'ritem?" he asked, as he neared the man standing balancing on crutches, he couldn't be anyone else, surely?

He grunted acknowledgment, glaring at the young man approaching him. As he drew nearer, he turned his head slightly, to get a better look at him with his good eye. Shardit. Another greasy-haired hold boy he didn't know. Hold kids always reacted the worst when they saw his scarred face and missing leg. And it hurt that he couldn't blame them for it -he knew he looked like a badly healed burn victim.

Badaral hesitated for just a moment, he had noticed the rider around the Weyr, but this was the first he had seen him up close. He swallowed deeply, this was him coming face to face with his possible future, he felt a little unnerved, but tried hard not to show it. Assuming, probably correctly, that the rider was familiar with that type of reaction.

"Tatitem sent me to help wash your dragon." he nodded in the direction of the green. "I thought there was another candidate coming as well, but if he doesn't show, I can do it myself." he knew he was garbling, but felt uneasy under the riders glare.

"You ever cleaned a dragon before?" J'ritem asked shortly. He'd noticed the hesitation -shards, but after seeing it so often he was hypersensitive to it. At least this candidate had kept coming forward and been polite.
He'd actually had a set of girls scream when they saw him once. But he wasn't all that worried about the other candidate showing. His mother would be sending Thief shortly to check on him -she always did when she had to assign someone. If the other one didn't show by then, the candidate was in dire straits.

"Not outside, no." Badaral answered slowly. "I did help in the dragon healer cavern when I was..." he flushed deeply in remembrance of why he had been sent there. "... when I was assigned there - as a punishment."

He didn't admit he had originally been assigned to help clean out dragon dung; but his interest had been piqued - he had spoken to the Master Dragonhealer about having further assignments organised to help in the cavern if needed, and over the past month occasional assignments had come his way.

Great. One of the punishment kids. What was his mother thinking? He frowned and was about to remark on that when Lecitrith interrupted. }:Be nice.:{ She said mildly. }:I want a bath.:{ J'ritem snapped his jaw shut with an audible noise, and grunted instead, maneuvering his crutches around so that he could lead the way over to where he'd piled the brushes and oil. Out of habit, he tried to angle himself so that the empty pant leg pinned out of the way was hidden by his body, but as always it didn't quite work.

"I can get them." Badaral moved forward, anticipating the riders movement.
"I...I'm sorry I'm not quite what you expected." He had noticed the look of dismay on the riders face. "But I promise, I'll work well for you, and for her." he gave a wide, slightly envious smile as he looked towards the green.

J'ritem grunted again, and snatched one of the brushes. Even if he couldn't take care of Lecitrith himself, he had no intention of turning her entirely over to some idiot hold-boy with a head full of dreams and no experience.

"Start there." He said stiffly, pointing toward Lecitrith's left flank. If the kid did well, he'd have him work the scars too.

Badaral lifted the brush and made his way cautiously around the rider to the dragon. He began scrubbing the dragons hide softly, not sure how much pressure he could safely exert on her. "Am I scrubbing too hard?" he asked, nervously. He had helped clean one of the dragons in the infirmary, but around this rider he was being more cautious, he really didn't want to stuff this assignment up.

J'ritem answered at the same time his green did. }:He's fine. Harder would be nice.:{ "Harder." He told the boy shortly, carefully taking a position by her shoulder where he could keep an eye on the candidate. "She's not made of clay. She likes a good scrubbing."

"I...okay." Badaral scrubbed a little harder, watching as the sand soap foamed up nicely across the greens' hide, showing exactly where he had and hadn't cleaned. "I'll do a good job on her, I promise.." he said awkwardly, casting a sidelong glance at the rider. **The pain he must be in.** The thought came unbidden to his mind, a reality check on what could possibly happen to himself if he did indeed Impress at the next Hatching.

J'ritem watched the candidate with half an eye as he worked, the awkward task of maneuvering his crutches as always complicated by the fact his hands were full. He caught the glances that the boy was shooting him, and could read his thoughts on his face even at a distance. He set his jaw, trying to swallow his anger, and pride. He would always be less than a man with these scars, he thought bitterly. He was just a reminder, a symbol of what could go wrong. Worse, he was a useless greenrider, in a weyr rapidly filling with scornful holdboys who never stopped reminding him he was "deviant" or "perverted." **Too useless to even care for my own dragon.**
He despaired, realizing that his strength was starting to fail him already. He had only managed her shoulder and forelimb, while the candidate had reached her tail on his own.

}:You are not useless.:{ Lecitrith assured him. }:You are mine. I love you. And I don't care who cleans me, as long as I am clean.:{ She nuzzled his arm gently where he was leaning against her for balance, radiating love.

"Are...are you alright?" Badaral asked, coming back to Lecitrith's head.
He bent and coated the smaller of the group of brushes with sandsoap, prepared to start again on the side J'ritem had been cleaning, but the pained expression on the riders face halted him in his tracks. "Do you need me to get a healer?" his concern was genuine, the rider appeared to be wearying fast and his balance seemed to be off more so than earlier.
He tentatively reached out a hand, and touched the rider gently on his shoulder.

J'ritem jerked away from the touch. "I'm fine." He snapped. "Just scrub."
Rallying his pride, he adjusted the crutches again and renewed scrubbing Lecitrith's hide. She watched him with slowly whirling eyes. }:You are tired. He is trying to help.:{ She said mildly.

**You're my lady. I'm going to do what I can.** He retorted silently, swallowing the bitterness in his throat as Lecitrith gave him an affectionate nudge. **I have to.** Or I really am useless, he admitted quietly to himself, deep inside where she couldn't hear.

"I'm ...sorry." Badaral turned and walked further down the green's side and slowly began to work on her, remembering just the right pressure. He wondered if the green was aware of his thoughts, as she was of his riders?
He had heard of dragons talking to others, apart from their riders, and wished he could talk to Lecitrith now and explain to her - at least, that he wasn't trying to make her rider feel bad.

He glanced back along the green's side, making sure her rider was still steady - maybe he should just ignore J'ritem? Reaching out to him didn't appear to work. He shrugged, maybe it was for the best - he was already on the outer with Tatitem, he couldn't afford to anger this rider further in case he reported him to the Headwoman for being a useless assistant.

A flash of green caught J'ritem's attention just as he was starting to lose his pride-spurred second wind. Shortly ordering the candidate to continue, he swung himself back up to the beach with barely concealed relief, and held out his arm for Thief to land on. The tiny green did, preening a little and cocking her head in a question. He sighed. **Can you tell the little one that only one candidate showed?** He visualized the boy's face, and Thief chirped as Lecitrith passed on the image. The flit leaped into the air, and vanished /between/.

He'd been lost in thought for more than a half candlemark, not paying any attention to anything but the green hide in front of his eyes, figuring the less he looked around, the more intent on his chore he would be, and would _appear_ to be. He glanced up, just as he finished scrubbing the last area of the dragons hide, and noticed the rider had moved up to the beach. He cleared his throat, loudly, "I've..." his voice caught in his throat, "I've finished,J'ritem, erm, Sir." he called up the beach.

J'ritem looked back at the candidate, wondering how the boy had finished so quickly. He swung over to inspect the boy's work, quizzing Lecitrith as he went. **It looks all right.** He admitted privately to her. **How does it feel?**

}:I am clean and ready to get wet.:{ She announced, watching his slow progress around her. The sand was wet, and kept catching the end of his crutches. Finally, he made it back to her head, and patted her sudsy shoulder. **Go rinse, love.** To the boy he said grudgingly. "Good job, for on your own. I'll be sure to tell mother. Get the oil. We can start as soon as she's done."

Sluicing the soapy suds from his arms and shoulders, Badaral made his way back up onto the beach. His tunic was soaked through, and he knew before he was finished with the oiling, the sun would have disappeared over the Weyr rim. He didn't fancy trudging back to the candidate quarters in soaking wet clothes.

He roughly dried himself off with one of the rags the green rider had brought down to the beach with the rest of the cleaning equipment. His tunic and trousers clung cold and wet to his skin and he could feel his skin prickling with the chill. He reached down and grabbed the hem and pulled his tunic up and over his head, loosing the draw cord of his trousers he dropped them to the sand and stepped out of them. The breeze up off the water was cool, but what was left of the sun began to slowly warm him again. He quickly laid out his clothes on the warm sand before he collected the flask of oil, and made his way back into the water.

Last updated on the July 11th 2007

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A Symbol of What Could go Wrong