Come With Me if You Want to Live (Sygni is Searched!)
Who Am'ry, H'tal, Sygni
What Possibly the most explosive Search ever. Oh, and dragon motorboating.
When Spring 2711, post-clutching
Where Marketplace, Ierne Weyrhold

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Ierne Weyrhold - Marketplace
Bright banners and colorful flora line the wide square full of shops, stores, and sidewalk vendors. The proud proprietors are mostly traders who specialize in certain items or crafters who wanted a place in which to market their wares and they decorate their establishments in bold, eye-catching ways to attract cliental. A single massive banyan tree sits in the center of the square, surrounded by clusters of stone benches. Children and firelizards play among the nooks and crannies created by its aerial roots. A broad avenue to the ferry port leads to the south, while a smaller roadway heads southwest to the weyrhold proper.


Little bit of bad language in this one, reader beware!

It's a quiet day at Ierne Weyrhold. Too quiet. Tension-begettingly quiet. The marketplace is full of its usual bustle, those in brightly-colored tents hocking their wares, those in storefronts cheerfully stocking window displays and outdoor carts but there's something ever so slightly off, as though breath is just a little baited, attention just ever so slightly not on the tasks at hand, doing them by rote habit than with usual verve. One particularly cheery-looking storefront serves as the epicenter for nerves, and it is suspiciously quiet. There are no tents propped up in front of it, no carts save one blocking its windowspace, and so it's easy to see the bright, colorful displays of fireworks in the window. There is a mix of what you'd usually expect, with rockets, bottlecorks, frisbee-shaped wheels of all sizes, but then there's also a hint of something rather eclectic in a runner on small wheels that looks like it's intended to shoot fire out its rear end to propel itself across the ground and— are those ween-shaped sparklers? Yes. Yes they are. And yet, there is a total and perhaps suspicious lack of shopowner, despite all this, despite a door left ajar, despite a cart parked outside stocked full of other curious wares, left totally abandoned where anybody can filch a sparkler or a pocket full of tiny packets that snap on hard contact with the ground. Iiiinteresting.

It is a quiet day in Ierne, as the native-born Am'ry is loudly commenting to his greenrider buddy as they meander through the marketplace. "I bet it's because the Weyrlord's green just rose," Am'ry says without fear of whoever may overhear, while he fumbles a pile of fabrics on a stall. "He's ridiculous when he's proddy. I heard that this time, he enforced a rule that all women should wear miniskirts, and all men should go shirtless." The handsome bluerider rolls his eyes, giving H'tal and elbow-nudge. "I mean, sure, that makes things easy on the eyes… but not every girl looks like the ones in The Longest Flight." That'd be the stripclub a little further down the marketplace way, in the direction of which the two men are coming. They're headed out towards the square where their dragons wait, which isn't too far from where they are when they come across the empty cart. "Hey. Hey, H'tal. Those sparklers there… they look like dicks to you?" Am'ry is super amused by this, and he picks one up for closer examination.

Considering that H'tal himself has been told to go shirtless a time or two in his life, he seems a little confused why that might be an issue for anyone else. But he grins anyway, cause that's just what H'tal do. "Some guys like their women being a little… fluffier than others. You know? Rather see a woman like that," he makes kind of a round shape with his hands, "Than some old fat guy with no hair." These are deep thoughts for this particular greenrider. But there are dick fireworks to look at, and so he looks. "They all look like dicks to me." Except for the ones that don't. "But those more than others, yeah, I 'spose."

Alas, poor riders, they know not what they do. Or rather, the force of nature they have put themselves in the path of. The anxiety in the air ups a notch as they joke about dick-shaped sparklers, occurring in tandem with bright, forcibly cheerful, slightly manic, vaguely strangled humming. It is the sort of humming one does when they are super-duper nervous and trying not to let on, the crowd parting around her like the Red Sea, despite the fact that she is absolutely tiny. She can't be more than five feet tall, and yet she makes fast tracks with an enormous box of sand and some kind of powder hefted in her arms, impressively full, feet moving double time in a brisk walk that tries not to belie her anxiety but… well… The humming. "Hell-looo," the tiny woman breathes as she trucks past the pair of Fortian riders without stopping, chirping a bright, "Two for a sixteeth, five for an eighth!" over shoulder on her way into the back room. There's a crash, and a clatter, and a loud shoof that must be the sand mix being dispersed loudly and swiftly over something and then there's a 'welllp' that can be heard from the other side of the door. From outside even. And then she's back, big blue eyes too-wide, too-focused on the poor pair of riders as she beelines for them, quick hands aiming to give a push at the small of their backs, surprisingly strong for something so little. If there are protests, they are ignored in favor of makin' our way downtown, walking fast, walking fasterrr, the reason soon clear when— KABGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! The door to the back room bangs open with force, a plume of colorful purple smoke and an alarming amount of flaming debris exploding out the shop's front entrance. The entire shopfront is filled with said smoke, and it's entirely possible that fiery bits have landed on the riders, for the tiny woman suggests an entirely-too-cheerful, "Stop, drop, and roll," as she lowers her hands, swats at a bit of flaming paper on her shoulder, and twinkles up at Am'ry and H'tal as a single firecracker from the cart behind her catches and shoots into the sky with a whistling 'fweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—poof!' and a scatter of red sparkles against blue sky. "Well. Aren't we all glad we're allowed our shirts again, hmm?" Meet Sygni.

What th— There's a little snip of a girl and then there's shoving and there's an explosion and what? What is that burning in Am'ry's hair?! The bluerider swats at the top of his head, jumping at the sound of the firecracker exploding and then ducking, because he actually likes himself in a non-exploded, non-burnt form, thankyouverymuch. "What in Faranth's fanciest fucking tits was that?! Is my hair on fire? H'tal?! H'tal, are you ok?!" And although the bluerider is unhurt, the bellowing of his dragon down the way is very much audible… as is the crashing of carts as the blue hop-skip-leaps through them to get to his rider. Chaos! "Who the… What… what?"

There was a yelp at some point, not even a manly yelp, but it's hard to tell if H'tal tripped at some point or actually tried the whole stop, drop and roll thing. Either way he's on the ground and has sand stuck to his clothes, hair and arms. He still looks startled, but not so startled that he's not willing to just lay there on the ground, trying to process everything that just happened. He lifts his head up to look at the girl, anyway, glancing briefly at Am'ry. "I'm fine, I think. Are you okay?" is directed at Sygni before he's saying, louder this time, "I'm fine!" up at the shadow of a green spiraling low above who's making a sound that is sixty percent scolding and thirty percent worried and ten percent impressed, because who doesn't like fireworks?

It says a lot about the regularity of this occurrence that the rest of the marketplace just keeps on keepin' on, the owners of the tents nearest the fireworks shop breaking out box lids and barrel covers and waving them lazily to keep curling smoke and bits of blackened paper at bay. If anything, there's more disturbance coming from the whirling green overhead, and big blue dragon trying to dance their way, both of whom Sygni regards with bright-eyed approval for the chaos before her gaze flicks back to the Am'ry. "Aw, calm down, Prettyboy, it's just a little bit of fire," Syg clucks in the same tone of voice someone would use to say 'it's a Tuesday.' "I think you got it, anyways." She eyes H'tal, too, as though pleased he took her suggestion (even if he might have simply tripped, which if she did, shh she won't tell) as she offers a hand down to him. "Oh, don't worry 'bout me, I'm fine." As for the broken who's and what's from Am'ry over there: "I'm Sygni, and that was a Benden Backfire. It's supposed to have a timed dual release so that it goes off once, falls, and then goes off again outta the other end, but, well—" It backfired. She doesn't say it, presses her lips into dimples to hold the joke in check. "I won't bore you with the details. Needless to say it didn't work. And you are?" As though her shop isn't full of smoke and a little on fire. Shh.

"Benden Backfire?" Am'ry doesn't protest the PrettyBoy nickname; it's true, after all. And he's kinda vain. "Sygni. Huh. Woulda thought maybe Explosion or Firecracker or something like that… BEAUXTH will you stop?!" Of course a mental command would have worked fine, but given he's in a public space, and his dragon is bounding through private property, the bluerider wants to make sure he's at least trying to control the star-spangled beastie. It doesn't really work as the blue keeps on coming, even if he is a little more particular about where he's putting his paws. Once he's able to huff a breath that wuffles Am'ry's hair, and likely Sygni's too, Beauxth stops. Hello. "You ok, H'tal? Nadeyuth sounds kinda pissed. She's not going to drop in on us too, is she? Also… shit, Beaux, you've made a bloody mess and we're gonna have to get out of here before X'ndr's posse comes claiming marks. Hey, Sygni… what do they charge you when you cause damages?" Because the girl blows things up, she must have been fined before… right?

Nadeyuth circles above, but doesn't seem to be angling for a place to land. H'tal isn't seriously hurt, and that must be good enough for her. H'tal is pushing himself back up onto his feet, "She's fine. We're fine." Everyone's fine. Except all the people Beauxth went through on the way over here, anyway, but H'tal probably isn't thinking about them just yet because he's a very now sort of man. "Do we, uh, need to do anything about that?" he asks of the rest of her stuff with the smoke and little bit of fire. Fireworks are susceptible to fire, right? Even H'tal knows that.

"Oh no," Sygni breathes, making big eyes up at Am'ry, lips splitting into a too-eager grin. "If it'd been an Explosion, it'd've been much worse." Hands retreating as H'tal pushes himself up, she mimes a swath of destruction along with a tinkly giggle of jest. "I'm just kidding. There's no such thing as an Explosion yet, but I like it. Might just make one. I'll give you credit of course," she says with a wink before the bluerider busies himself trying to reign in Beauxth, bright smile dimming down to a dimpled smirk when the dragon keeps on coming. "Determined, aren't you, Big Boy?," the woman coos, pat-patting the nose that whuffles if the blue will allow before flicking her gaze between the pair of riders. "Oh, no, don't you worry about any of that. We'll blame that-" the mess in the blue's wake "-on me. It'll be another pretty penny I'm sure, but X'ndr will believe it. I'm just glad this was on this side of his flight, yeah?" Beam. And then H'tal brings up the rest of her stuff and finally humor falls away to a frown and a purse of lips, though one hand fans the air dismissively. "Luckily I only keep duds on window display. Learned that the first time." Faranth, how many times has this happened? "Though I should, you know, probably be done for the day, and you boys should probably turn tail before X'ndr gets here and puts two and two together about the carts. Any chance you'll help me put this thing inside so I can get to cleaning?," she asks with a hopeful look and a gesture at the cart that, other than that one firecracker, is blessfully not-on-fire. "I'll go first to make sure it's safe, if you don't mind."

Beauxth allows it, absolutely. In fact, he presses his nose into Sygni's chest, demanding more attention. With his wuffling breath, Sygni might even be getting the dragon equivalent of motorboating. Am'ry rolls his eyes, putting a hand on the blue's headknob to drag him away. "Yeah, we get it, Big Boy," he says, echoing Sygni's nickname. "Look," with Beauxth's head a little bit further back, Am'ry can actually talk to Sygni, which he does after sharing a look and a nod with H'tal. "Beauxth reckons you should close up shop and come with us. Did you know Fort has eggs on its Sands?" He drops a hand into his leathers' pocket, pulling out a squished knot, and holding it out for the explosions girl to take. "On behalf of Fort Weyr, I would like to request you to stand as a Candidate for our upcoming Hatching. Do you accept?" His expression blanks out for a moment as he communicates with his lifemate, which then has him whipping his head around to H'tal. "Shit. They're coming?" Am'ry fixes an urgent blue-eyed gaze back onto Sygni, thrusting the knot at her again. "I'll get my folks to come pack up here. You'd better come with me, if you want to… live?" Overly-dramatic rider is overly-dramatic.

H'tal seems slightly relieved by the idea of duds, but only slightly. Something else has the man looking off in the same direction that his dragon's attention is focused. He nods along with Am'ry's idea of closing up shop and moving along quickly, words that would have taken longer for him to figure out how to say, no doubt why Nadeyuth spoke to the blue over expecting her rider to do that quickly enough. "They just hatch— no. No, they were just clutched. They're real nice." Convincing, yes? "What? I don't think X'ndr's folks would kill her. She's just a little thing. I guess it wouldn't take much…" He's pretty, though. That's what matters.

Am'ry turns around to shush H'tal. Ssssh. Run with it, bro!

Blessfully, perhaps, Sygni is no stranger to dragons - she accepts the nose in her chest with bright laughter that turns into a mock-offended, "Hey!" when the wuffling starts up again. "Alright, you, don't get fresh," she drawls when Beauxth gets pulled away by the headknob, hands perching on her hips, and she might come across as stern if she wasn't also grinning from ear to ear. Eyes scrunch when Am'ry uses the nickname, though she does have the good grace to look a little suspicious when he says the dragon wants her to close up shop. Sass runs latent in her veins, but run it does, mouth opening to offer some ilk of 'no-thank-you' that gets cut short by a white knot she knows only too well. Poor Am'ry. She laughs. "That's a joke, right? Dragons pick responsible people. People they see something in. People with potential. Ain't that the speech?," she asks, a twinkle in her eye even as both riders go distant to communicate with dragons. She waits with patience, then with wicked amusement when the knot is thrust her way again, dramatics dispensed. She pointedly focuses on H'tal. "Just clutched, you say? Real nice? Hmm. Tempting." Dimples flash for the theatrical shushing, and Sygni is nothing if not willing to play along. Her posture shifts from defiant to coy, back of one hand pressing to her forehead with a sigh. "Well, I suppose if I am to face eggs or death, my choice is rather clear. I'll take your offer, bluerider." And his knot, too, scooped out of his hand with a grin and a tip of her chin. "Is this the part where we run?"

"This is the part where we run." Am'ry holds out a hand to Sygni, so he can tug her over to Beauxth's side and help her up. "H'tal? You getting up for a quick getaway?" If Sygni's lucky, she'll be the filling in a rider sandwich. Am'ry looks back at H'tal again, holding out his hand to the greenrider, too. "C'mon, man. Nadeyuth can follow 'til we can land somewhere outside of the Weyrhold?" Whether H'tal accepts or not, Am'ry shimmies on up his lifemate's side, settling into place before checking Sygni's all buckled in. "We'll fly to my folks' place. They'll lend you stuff so you can go between. Then off to Fort." He gives her a dimpled smile and a double thumbs up. "Congratulations, Candidate."

The greenrider accepts the hand up so they can get the heck out of Ierne. He doesn't want to have to explain what happened. Probably because he wouldn't be able to. Nadeyuth is already gone, anyway. "You're gonna like it." That's how you entice them, H'tal, yes.

And with a full trio aboard, Beauxth - who thankfully happens to be pretty tiny for a blue - makes an almighty leap upwards, carrying them away from the oncoming Iernian entourage and winging them away towards Am'ry's folks' place, which isn't too far outside of the Weyrhold. Once they've got their borrowed riding gear on, it's off to Fort!


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