Getting Into Mischief [OPEN]

The large bucket of water sat at Isscer’s feet, long strands of straw soaking so they would remain pliable when needed. With the heat being what it was in the South, he had managed to convince some of the Beastcrafters to set aside a portion of the straw for hat making. Something was needed to shade the farmers and herders from the sun, and Isscer was nothing if not a problem-solver by nature.

The plait was already beginning to take shape, hands moving automatically to shape the straw into a neat and tidy plait. After enough of the plait was completed a hat could be formed, but as it was the plait was much too short. From his vantage point in an open section of the Craft Hall, Isscer could just see out the door.

Edik had wandered away, and that in itself was suspicious enough. The brown firelizard was not fond of playing with others, preferring to keep to himself, and Isscer could only wonder what he was up to. Most likely no good! The Farmcrafter had to wince at the thought, imagining all the terrible things his flit could have gotten into--what if he got into the Kitchens?

The familiar sound of scuffling and talons made Isscer turn to look behind him; at the awkward angle he could only see a bit of a tail poking out of his bag but the color was suspiciously brown. “Edik!” He boomed, pinching the plait between the fingers of one hand. The firelizard emerged, a scrap of fabric clutched in one talon, and Edik slunk over to Isscer. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The door to the Craft Hall swung open even as Isscer pried the fabric from Edik, and Isscer could hear the person the bauble belonged to asking about a brown firelizard to the Crafter who sat outside the door, whittling. Isscer winced and shot Edik a glare; the brown, agitated, flicked his tail and blinked between. Shaking his head, Isscer prepared himself for the discovery, the fabric dangling loosely from his free hand.

Desperately in need of mending one of his favorite brown shirts, perhaps the only neutral piece of clothing in his otherwise bright wardrobe, M'din searched the Craft Hall for any generous weaver he could find. He wandered the corridors, shirt in hand, large brown eyes peeping into open doorways in the hopes of catching a skilled sewer with free time. A recent game of tag with his son, Chardin, had left the ungraceful brownrider heaving on the ground with a dirty, ripped shirt and two incredibly sore elbows, much to the amusement of his dragon and children.

Sticking his head through a partially open door, M'din abruptly came face-to-face with a disgruntled, red-eyed firelizard and immediately regretted his decision to snoop around. The pair simultaneously squawked and M'din threw his shirt over his face, as if the tattered cloth could protect him, at the same time the alarmed brown swooped past him, claws just scraping through his beard. With a jolt, the rider saw a piece of the battered shirt caught in the curved talon of the firelizard, and with a haughty backwards glance at his victim, he blinked between, leaving M'din alone and even more confused than usual.

Did a firelizard just steal my sleeve? he asked himself. Mulling over the possibilities, he dazedly wanted to check on the frightened thief, assuring himself it was all a misunderstanding. He continued his slow amble through the Craft Hall, this time stopping to ask anyone if they'd seen a flying brown streak with a matching flag attached to its leg. He did not stick his head through any open doors. He found a man whittling outside of a room, and asked, "Have you seen an ornery brown firelizard, by any chance?" Barely pausing in his work, the man jerked a gnarled thumb into the open room behind him. M'din, cheered by the prospect of finding his shirtsleeve, happily said, "Thank you, kind sir!"

Entering the room, he saw a bewildered-looking young man standing beside a basket, holding the missing piece of M'din's shirt, seeming to jauntily wave back at its previous owner, between his fingers. "Ah, you found it!" said M'din. "I think I scared this poor firelizard a moment ago and he got caught in my shirt. Although... I think he liked it. The shirt, I mean. Not me." Feeling his own overwhelming awkwardness, M'din added, "I could be reading into things, of course." He further amended after a pregnant pause, "But he's welcome to keep it if he wants."

Twisting the remains of his shirt between his hands, he realized his rudeness with a goofy grimace. He strode forward, hand extended, and brightly smiled, saying, "I should introduce myself first: I'm M'din."

"I did?" Isscer spluttered, leaning back so he could look M'din in the eye. The tattered bit of shirt hung loosely from his grasp, and he flushed due to embarrassment. He could have throttled Edik, who appeared to be perfectly well-behaved until he saw something he wanted, and like a child would do anything to get it. "Ah, he'll be in trouble tonight. He popped off to sulk somewhere--I'm only hoping that he doesn't get into my things and shred them."

Isscer dropped the piece of shirt into his lap so he could shake M'din's hand, a relieved smile slipping into place as he introduced himself. "Junior Journeyman Farmcrafter Isscer, also a Candidate. I am sorry that Edik shredded your shirt--I will get you a replacement." He sized up the rider before him, estimating how much it would cost to have a new shirt made, and mentally sighed. Hopefully Edik wouldn't make it habit to shred other people's clothing, or Isscer would soon be very poor!

"He hatched about oh, three months ago. Edik, the firelizard, that is." Isscer flushed again, embarrassed, and took a breath before continuing. "He likes to collect things--I found a lady's hair comb stashed away under my cot the other day and had to return it. It was quite mortifying! I just hope he doesn't take to shredding up clothing. I am terribly sorry again, sir."

"He's yours?" M'din threw back his head with a hearty laugh. He round belly shook as he chuckled, relieved that the fire lizard had a reputation for thieving, not a personal vendetta against him.  "Little guy sounds like quite a troublemaker, but I'm glad he nabbed my sleeve. It's very nice to meet you." This Isscer seemed friendly, if reserved, and immediately took responsibility for his wayward flit, who was still suspiciously absent at the moment. Holding up his hands in a gentle denial, M'din said, "No worries about the shirt! It wasn't your fault." He waved the torn fabric, "I was going to mend it anyway. Well... I was going to beg someone more capable to mend it for me." His meaty fingers could barely thread a needle.

Poorly folding the shirt as he listened to the Candidate describe his young fire lizard, M'din's eyes crinkled happily at the edges. "It sounds like Edik has good taste then," he leaned in and lightly nudged Isscer in the ribs, struggling to passably wink. In typical M'din fashion, the rider had no concept of the fact that a person he'd met only candlemarks ago might be uncomfortable with his overt friendliness. He obtusely continued, admiring the kleptomaniac flit, "He looks a good deal like my dragon did when he hatched. Armath was obviously a bit larger, but they're almost the same shade of brown, even on their tummies. Granted, Armath never stole a lady's comb. He'd have a lot of trouble being that sneaky at his size."

When the younger man persisted apologizing for the shirt, he patted Isscer's shoulder paternally. The brownrider said, "I may be old, but there's no need to call me sir. Just M'din. Armath would mock me for days if he'd heard that." He sheepishly hoped he hadn't frightened Isscer like he'd frightened little Edik.

Taking in his surroundings, M'din dimly realized he had never been in this section of the Craft Hall before, having no reason to scour the corridors for a weaver when he so frequently ran into Jisralna and her colleagues around the Weyr. They were always generous, and more than forgiving, about his constant need of their sewing expertise. M'din's inherent clumsiness and proneness to injury left him particularly vulnerable to ripped clothing. His focus shifted to the basket beside Isscer. Full of water and straw, the mysterious container was a novelty to M'din, who had next to no talent or knowledge with crafty activities. He asked, "Do you, uhh, need help braiding straw?"

To say that Isscer was unnerved by the brownrider's easy familiarity was a bit of an understatement. He felt even more ill-at-ease than when he had first realized what Edik had done, and tried to shrink away from M'din but to no avail. The brownrider was just so large, even if he was a happy sort, and Isscer couldn't very well get away. A familiar weight settled on his left shoulder; Edik had returned, and for a brief moment Isscer was confused--typically the firelizard's sulking lasted for quite some time.

"Ah, he is a nice shade of brown. Of course, he thinks he can do whatever he pleases as a result so I guess I just have to be glad he isn't bronze!" Edik's tail flicked Isscer in the neck hard, and the Farmcrafter yelped; apparently brown was just as good as bronze. "He is a bit too large for his breeches, honestly. Hopefully Armath isn't as bad otherwise S'kef's dragon might not be the only one flying Golds these days."

There was a brief lull in conversation, Isscer mentally berating himself for calling the brownrider 'sir', fingers itching to get back to work simply because he needed something to do. "N-no, I don't think that will be necessary. It isn't hard, but if you're not used to it you might damage the braid." He shot M'din's large hands a rather pointed look, but eventually gestured to an empty chair on the other side of the room. "You can sit though, if you like. I can do this and chat with you, though I am afraid I am hardly as interesting as a dragonrider."

With that, Isscer went back to the task at hand, braiding and adding in new dampened lengths of straw as needed. "I'm making the braid for straw hats." He nodded at his own wide-brimmed hat where it sat on the ground beside him. "The sun is so sharding hot that the Crafters who need to be out in it need some kind of protection." A beat, and he forced himself to ask, "And what does the life of a dragonrider entail? I've been a Candidate for going on six Turns, but I have never figured it out completely."

Trying not to chuckle as the spitfire flit slapped Isscer on the neck, M'din pictured a bronze version of his bonded. He grimaced, "Armath already thinks rather highly of himself, chromatic or not, so I don't think he needs a shiny hide to pretend he's a king. Although, we've never won a gold Flight." He didn't mention it to the Crafter, his small brown's inability to win a gold was a constant source of frustration. Though he and Armath disliked S'kef and Tyrrisath's leadership methods, when they caught Krypth on her maiden flight it renewed the brownpair's hope concerning females.  M'din continued with a positive nod, "I'm sure our time will come."

Privately grateful that Isscer didn't want help with his wet straw project, M'din dragged the chair across the room to sit beside the younger man, absently twisting his shirt in his hands and saying, "I'm not very good braiding things, so it's for the best the expert handles it. Once I tried to braid my oldest daughter's hair... Just once." M'din's attention was split admiring the Crafter's deft hands at work and gazing at the brown firelizard on his shoulder. He wondered how Armath would handle a little companion. His children would certainly adore one. "Oh, riders are no more interesting than anyone else. Dragons are rather unique, but even they can be dull sometimes."

He saw Isscer's straw hat on the ground and commented, "I think it's great that you're helping the other Crafters. I have a hat like that and it's saved me more than once outside- I'd burn to a crisp without it." Pondering Isscer's question about life after Impression, M'din hardly knew where to begin about the drastic change in his daily activities after Armath hatched. "That's a tough one to answer. I'm still the same person I always was, but then I never had a Craft when I was younger. You'd definitely have to take some time away from working to focus on your hatchling, but I think it's a sacrifice you'd love making," he answered cheerfully. "There are Wing Practices, and oilings, and checking your riding leathers, and feeding, of course, but it all just happens in a natural progression. The upkeep associated with dragonriding becomes routine, but I think it's very comforting. And, if you'd rather mix things up, you can always fly somewhere else! Sometimes I'll oil Armath on the mountains or by the lake just for a change of scenery. Going between makes travel very easy."

Isscer smiled at the brownrider's deference to someone with experience, both amused and flattered. "Oh, it just takes practice," he assured him. "No one starts off just knowing how to do something." The mention of a daughter very nearly had Isscer frown; there was a part of him that wanted to admit 'I have a daughter too'--he brushed it aside brusquely. He hadn't wanted anything to do with her for Turns, though he would admit she was his, and now was not the time to go barging into her and her mother's life.

A pleased flush crept up the back of Isscer's neck, reaching the tips of his ears, and he stuttered out a short, "Thank you. I just do my job." He was unused to praise, preferring to have his work speak for his dedication, and as such was awkward with compliments. He turned his attention back to his work, grateful for a bit of a lull in conversation so he could regather his composure about him.

But there was no hiding his unease when M'din began to expound on the merits of the life of a dragonrider. I'll like it, he says! Isscer doubted it; he could not imagine a life without his Craft, and had no interest in even trying. But Khaduceth allows T'lian to practice his Craft, his traitor mind supplied handily, and Isscer did frown then. As far as he was concerned, Khaduceth was one-of-a-kind and could not be replicated; it would be foolish to hope for a dragon like him. Plus, since when did he even want a dragon?

"Being able to go anywhere you pleased would be nice," Isscer forced out, and it was truthful. It was embarrassing to have to beg rides from the dragonriders, at least to the Farmcrafter, who did not like having to feel beholden to anyone. "It's just a shame that we can't go north. My family lives near Telgar and I haven't seen them in... shards, at least seven Turns." It was a subtle way of trying to deduce where M'din stood on the Stealing issue; his response would surely be used to determine Isscer's judgment of him.

M'din nodded appreciatively as Isscer brushed off his compliments, thinking it was certainly more pleasant to spend time with humble company than some of the less capable braggarts at Katila. The brownrider had no qualms diving back into his discussion about Impressing- Isscer seemed quite curious, after all- and continued with a smile, "Well, I think you do a great job, so you'd probably be a great rider too." He waved the remains of his brown shirt at Edik, hoping the little flit would be enticed to come play on his ample lap. "I must've stood a dozen times before Armath hatched, you know. None of the other eggs wanted me because I just wasn't the right fit. Granted, I didn't see it that way at the time. I was too dejected about it to think clearly, but it finally happened when I was twenty-three and my sister was twenty-six." 

A twang of guilt struck M'din's heart when Isscer mentioned his own family, separated by both time and distance, back in the North. It would tear him apart to be Stolen from his life, his friends, and especially his children, but it had never been his decision to carry off the Crafters and Candidates, and his opinion counted for less than a flit's as far as Katila's leadership was concerned.

"I'm sorry, Isscer," M'din apologized sincerely. "No one deserves to be ripped from their home unwillingly, but I'm very glad to have met you." He scratched at his beard as he changed the subject from something tragic to something unintentionally worse, "I read a book about Telgar recently, but I've never visited. I'm originally from Fort, though I doubt my remaining family members there are alive. My siblings and father were riders like me, so we were all banished during the Plague." He cleared his throat, quietly reprimanding himself for further darkening the already somber mood of the conversation. 

Cracking his knuckles, he floundered trying to find a better question for the Crafter before finally settling on, "Did you have any riders in your family? Impressing was a very big deal for me, and I know I made my sister and mother proud." For once, M'din tactfully neglected to mention that his mother had died before he Impressed Armath, but he was quite certain she was proud of him regardless. At least, Khindra had always said so.

Sorry M'din just started the dead family parade, lol.

Isscer couldn't help the slight snort at the notion that he would be a good dragon rider; a slight smile curled at the corner of his mouth, and he shook his head. He didn't have the heart to tell M'din that he was clearly crack-brained--he was only good as a crafter, nothing more. But the brownrider was genuinely nice, and it was something Isscer wasn't used to; it was unsettling enough to shake Isscer out of his routine of 'duck and run'.

Edik was enticed by the tattered shirt, and he spread his wings with an audible flap, pouncing on the shirt with a quiet rumble of pleasure. It didn't seem to phase him that he was in M'din's lap so long as he had his toy, and the brown stayed where he was, shooting Isscer was could only be termed as a proud look, eyes swirling happily. "Incorrigible thing," Isscer muttered, but it was proving difficult not to smile. Edik had grown on him despite his thieving habits, though Isscer was careful to look for his caches now and return things when Edik wasn't looking.

"It's fine," Isscer stated, perhaps a bit too brusquely. He very carefully didn't look at M'din as the brownrider elaborated about Fort and his family, preferring to keep his eye on the task his his hands. It was far from fine, but it appeared M'din wouldn't press the issue; no one wanted to dwell on the memories of parents and siblings who had (or might have) passed. "My family are cotholders near Telgar Hold; I was just lucky enough to catch the eye of a Journeyman Farmcrafter and be selected to go to the Crafthall in Nerat." Isscer was hardly ashamed of his family's lowly background, and shrugged. "I'm sure my brothers are still there, or their children are. I doubt the children would even know me, though, as they were young when I was Stolen and I was never around much." He shot M'din an appraising look, not used to the idea of small talk, and ventured, "Do you have children? I have a daughter, Issran, that was born here but I don't see her much."

With one hand stroking the distracted fire lizard in his lap and the other tugging playfully at the remains of his shirt, M'din grinned up at his new companion. It seemed Isscer was content to steer the subject away from his Stealing, moving to his craft and family. The brownrider had always admired those at Katila with useful talents and skills- he'd be nothing short of worthless without Armath- and wondered why more parents didn't push their Weyrborn children toward crafts. Perhaps he would suggest it to his younger ones, as Marilitin was a bit too old to be anything but a Candidate or helpful Weyrmember. Biting the inside of his lip, M'din pushed his mind away from the fear that his son wouldn't Impress. The boy would be devastated if the turns continued passing him by dragonless.

Refocusing on his new friend, he visibly cheered. "Yes! I have five children of my own, two girls and three boys. They're wonderful kids, and I wish I could see them more," M'din mused. "They're all very different personality-wise, and they're lucky to take after their mothers," he chuckled. That was an understatement. They lacked his distinctive facial hair (although his eldest was capable of a nice, healthy scruff) and both girls lacked his muscular, bearish frame, thank Faranth.

He waved the torn fabric at Edik, too occupied by his conversation to realize he was probably annoying the little brown. If M'din had been a smart man, he would have stayed very still to avoid incurring the wrath of the thieving fire lizard.

But he sat pestering the creature with an idle game of tug-o-war, completely attentive as Isscer mentioned his daughter. M'din couldn't identify the emotion he attached to her name- was it guilt? Regret? Longing? Instead of prying, he asked, "Does Issran look like you?" It seemed the industrious Farmcrafter was fairly comfortable talking about his progeny, and M'din found himself smiling with fatherly pride. "I bet she's a beautiful little girl, and smart too. Maybe she'll learn to be a Crafter like her dad!"

Isscer had never thought about what his daughter looked like; her mother had been dark haired and Isscer didn't remember much beyond that--Flight lust was a very powerful thing. She had come to him once, hand pressed to the belly he could just see beneath her dress, and informed him in a flat voice that he was to be a father; there was no love there, nothing save a sense of duty. He hadn't known what to say at the time, and Isscer doubted he would know what to say to her now save that they could never be a family.

What child wanted to know that their father didn't want them only because he was afraid that he couldn't be a good father? It was better that he kept his distance, and never knew whether Issran had his freckles or his eyes, if she had inherited his perfectionist streak. M'din's faith in him caused a mottled flush to creep up the back of the Farmcrafter's neck, and Isscer shook his head. "No, I don't know. She wouldn't want a Stolen Crafter for a father in any case; better for her to think her father's some random dragonrider and take some pride in that."

Edik, bored with being petted, was watching the tattered piece of shirt with a single-minded purpose. This man had his newest toy, and the brown simply wanted it back! He pounced on the bit of shirt and dug in with his talons, tail flicking in pleasure as he had finally secured it from moving!

As he waved the torn fabric over the flit on his lap, M'din got the distinct impression that Isscer was uncomfortable with fatherhood. Suppressing a grimace, the brownrider racked his brain for the right phrase to mollify the blushing crafter without further discomforting him, and finally settled on, "Babies love their dads no matter what, especially if you treat her nice and talk to her and things like that. She doesn't know anything about silly grown up social rules, and you can teach her that they aren't true and all people are inherently valuable just by being alive."

He snapped his mouth shut, flinching at his own words. That was certainly not assisting him in avoiding a deep, meaningful conversation, and, though M'din believed what he said with every fiber of his being, he'd probably distressed Isscer even more by bringing up their respective stations in a roundabout manner. He sighed, lowering his voice, "Sorry again. I just think Katila has a lot of stupid rules and I don't want my own kids to believe them."

Suddenly, Edik's claws dug into the ripped shirt scrap- and M'din's beefy thigh, by proxy- and the brownrider squawked loudly at the violent firelizard. The razor-like claws clenched mercilessly into the meat of his leg. "Ow ow, oh jeez. Ow," he squeaked out, gingerly tugging at the fabric and flit as he tried and failed to remove them.

Tiny droplets of blood stained his pants leg as M'din stuttered, "Can you- uh- unlatch him, Isscer?" He attempted to appease the temperamental brown in a strained whisper, "It's okay, Edik. You can have the shirt bits. You can have the whole shirt, buddy, I just need you to take those claws out of my body, please."