12.Feb.12, 03:12 AM
"Good Faranth no!" B'jin replied, startled out of his wandering thoughts by Valerian's question. Shaking his head to emphasise his response, B'jin took the sack of supplies from Larrikith as she lifted it in her jaws and passed it to him. The man dug around for a bit, before pulling out a large sealed pot and a couple of spongy cloths. "I'd never have time to do anything!" he added, smiling, and passed his fellow Harper a cloth.
"I mean, when we were Weyrlings, of course, that was different." B'jin continued, even as he opened the sealed container and dipped his cloth in it. Offering it to Valerian to dip into, he continued his explanation. "When they're growing, you have to bathe them just about every day, and oiling is essential. That's a basic oil with lavender in it, because Larri and I like the scent, anyway, once they get a big bigger and stop growing like a weed, you can stagger it back. Larri has a bath about once every sevenday, or every two sevendays? I'll oil her more regularly, if she has an itchy spot, like that one," B'jin indicated some slightly cracked skin around the dragon's healing wing joints, "the scars," he indicated the discoloured lines that decorated the joint and surrounding areas, "are from her flights."
B'jin's method of oiling was more akin to simply slapping the stuff on and swirling it around a little until it shone rather than dribbled down the dragon's side. He did take notable care to oil where she was scabbing with delicate care, before moving on, shifting himself comically backwards in a shuffle as he went. "Sometimes she'll con some of the Weyrbrats into giving her a bath or oiling her, if she wants one that badly." He shrugged, "she won't let them paint her, though, so sometimes they won't do as she asks because they don't get as much fun out of it as, say, Grith." He didn't bother to elaborate on who Grith was - everyone knew who Grith was. Besides the fact that she was often covered in outrageous amounts of paint, the dragon was loud and most everyone had heard her at least once.
"Some of the kids don't take her humour that well, either," B'jin added, as he smiled at Valerian. "She doesn't always toss people in the river." What other things she got up to, he left to the young man's imagination.
"I mean, when we were Weyrlings, of course, that was different." B'jin continued, even as he opened the sealed container and dipped his cloth in it. Offering it to Valerian to dip into, he continued his explanation. "When they're growing, you have to bathe them just about every day, and oiling is essential. That's a basic oil with lavender in it, because Larri and I like the scent, anyway, once they get a big bigger and stop growing like a weed, you can stagger it back. Larri has a bath about once every sevenday, or every two sevendays? I'll oil her more regularly, if she has an itchy spot, like that one," B'jin indicated some slightly cracked skin around the dragon's healing wing joints, "the scars," he indicated the discoloured lines that decorated the joint and surrounding areas, "are from her flights."
B'jin's method of oiling was more akin to simply slapping the stuff on and swirling it around a little until it shone rather than dribbled down the dragon's side. He did take notable care to oil where she was scabbing with delicate care, before moving on, shifting himself comically backwards in a shuffle as he went. "Sometimes she'll con some of the Weyrbrats into giving her a bath or oiling her, if she wants one that badly." He shrugged, "she won't let them paint her, though, so sometimes they won't do as she asks because they don't get as much fun out of it as, say, Grith." He didn't bother to elaborate on who Grith was - everyone knew who Grith was. Besides the fact that she was often covered in outrageous amounts of paint, the dragon was loud and most everyone had heard her at least once.
"Some of the kids don't take her humour that well, either," B'jin added, as he smiled at Valerian. "She doesn't always toss people in the river." What other things she got up to, he left to the young man's imagination.