V'lin rushes in from the Bowl, panting for breath, having bolted for the barracks once done with his chores. Separated from Zineath for a prolonged period! The horror! He skids to a halt by the couch he shares with the young brown, just as Zin rouses himself, wedge-shaped head lifting and three sets of eyelids blinking placidly.

Zineath slowly stretches out, then shifts his weight to slide off of the couch, drawing near V'lin and pushing his tapered muzzle into Val's hand. His small brown body vibrates with a soft hum that seems to do a lot to relax the man.

So much for taking care not to rouse Reiseth. The green uncoils, piece by sleepy piece and gapes a positively huge yawn before turning muzzily whirling eyes around. Oh Catti? Ding ding. That could be the girl's cue to stop -- she /had/ been heading towards the chore board -- and do an about face, making quick-time back to her lifemate's couch.

Today has been a wonderful day, a splendid day. No awful Candidate chores, just the caretaking of Baileth. R'kel's hands have become quite soft from all the oil he has used to cake across his wonderous Brown's hide, though bloodied meat has turned his palms and wrists a pale crimson. All day, he and his Lifemate have grown closer, and he's grown used to -almost- the odd ways of speech that his Baileth possesses, and has quickly learned not to take offense by Baileth's odd ways of complementing... Sitting upon his Brown's couch, R'kel gently holds the head of his lifemate beneath his arm, while his hands work to caress his eye ridges. A smile brightens across his lips, and the man lowers to place a kiss upon the umber dragon's forehead. "Well, Baileth, I'm doing what I can. Glad you're liking it." Drawls he lightly, before his gaze turns to Reiseth, and a brow is quirked. "I wouldn't exactly say th--- Oh! Excuse me, you meant that in a good way." Yes, he still does need to work out Baileth's speech, afterall...

V'lin sets his hands on his knees, doubled over as he gulps down great drafts of air. Not that he ignores Zineath, /oh/ no. Once his heartrate is returned to normal -- maybe a bit before -- Val drops to his knees and winds his arms about Zineath's creamy brown neck, relishing in the renewal of that deep life bond.
The fussing greenrider is just going to ignore any smallchat nearby that may concern less flattering remarks about the lovely little gem she's fawning over. Proving that Catriona is completely besotted, she actually scoops Reiseth up into her arms and sits down -- the advantage to your lifemate still being only a baby is that they're somewhat heftable. Give another few weeks and this won't be possible... "Did you sleep well? Yes sweetling, I was right here, you didn't have to find me again," she murmurs, wearing the by now patented Dopey Smile as the green twines tail and wings around her torso, crooning gently. "Doing alright over there, V'lin?"

V'lin mumbles something incoherently, which sounds pleased, but it's muffled against Zineath's hide. Eventually Val straightens, though he always keeps one hand in contact with the small dragon. Zineath, too, is pleased, enjoying the contact, but he /does/ need some small favors from Val. Hence the gentle head-butting in the direction of food.

T'yari enters a few moments after V'lin, but at a much less frantic pace; once within, however, he too directs his attention towards his own lifemate, who reclines in her couch. Anxious, he quickens over to Nediath, who offers up a pleased croon. The dragonet attempts to climb down from the couch, and Yari just has to help her, of course, supporting nearly all her weight as she clambers down. "Yes, yes, I'm here, I'm here," he assures the green, evidently relieved to be back in the barracks after the daily chores.

Shannen comes out of the Weyrlingmaster's weyr.
Shannen has arrived.

Gloves on, Shannen comes strolling out from her own adjacent weyr, absently tossing a lump of what the familiar will recognize as firestone (and the unfamiliar will just peg as a black rock) up and down in one palm. Almost absently, she switches the thing to the other hand and drops them both behind her back where they come to a clasp. Just a few steps within, she stops to take stock of the goings on.

Sighing deeply, R'kel looks down upon Baileth, rueful smile on his lips. "Those childen were as wild as wherries today, my Baileth." He confides within his lifemate, and even speaking in the same manner as the dragonet. "I am quite glad to be away from them, now." As if he didn't have enough to care for, with the brown's itching hide and hungry stomach, which seems a bottomless pit. At least he has been sleeping a whole lot... After a few moments of silently caressing the dragonet's head and eyeridges, though his steel blue eyes seem distant; he's listening to his brown, it would seem, as a light chuckle escapes his throat, just as a croon rings from Baileth. "True, true..." Is all that is stated, and R'kel lowers his soft hands down the curved neck, to scratch at an irritating spot lightly.

Chores? Oh yes. /They/ all had to do chores, didn't they? Catti flashes another smile over towards T'yari before she begins to reluctantly untangle shadow-soft grey talons from the linen of her shirt. "I can't get a bowl for you, love, if I'm carrying you too. There you go." One might think Reiseth was made of spun glass, the way Catriona is carrying on, oh so carefully leaning forward to set the green on the ground. And then it's off to fetch a bucket, the green bobbling along at her heels with a whining creel that speaks a little of hunger and temper both. "But you're getting bigger, sweetling! Really, I /want/ to carry you..."

G'nar didn't have any chores today, either, it seems. He and Davoth are sprawled on the dragonet's couch, both snoring a bit as they sleep the sleep of the indolent. Haha!

V'lin hefts a pail-ful of meat, gently pushing Zineath's searching muzzle away. He can't hold up against the soft croons, the mesmerising mindtone. Although his intent was to feed Zineath back upon the couch, but is instead coaxed to feed the brown on the way back, handing over big hunks of the raw stuff as the two walk side by side.

After T'yari's satisfied that Nediath is alive and well and won't suffer if he leaves her for an instant to grab a pail of pre-cut meat, he hastens over to the buckets, calling after him, "I won't be but a minute." The weyrling spares enough time to shoot a smile -- a real smile -- at Catriona and greet her with a few words as his fingers wrap around the handle of his bucket. "Hey. Hi. How're you -- both of you, that is -- doin'?"

Apparently having decided that everything is in order and as it should be, Shannen finds the end of an empty cot on which she can seat herself and watch the... well... general disorder of these crowded barracks. It's not so much a prowling watch as a distanced one: The nanny keeping a half-eye on her charges. Nevermind some of her charges are nearly as old if not older than this particular nanny...

"I know you think I can do anything, Reiseth. And so can you, but these buckets are heavy..." Said implement of feeding is latched onto with both hands before Catriona trudges back the way she came. Must be firm, must resist the urge to drape Reiseth across her shoulders, giving into the green's demand for a simultaneous cuddling and feeding. ...alright, so it was a lost battle from the start. Halfway to the couch, she stops, sets down the bucket, and just takes a seat on the floor -- lap providing a comfortable seat in which Reiseth may curl while daintily accepting her dinner in bite-sized chunks. "I'm whipped. She's lovely," is the girl's laughing answer to Yari. "No, dear, I didn't mean that literally...here, have another bite."

Waiting for a lull - which is a long time coming in a place like this - Shannen finally clears her throat in a manner which can only be described as prelude to speaking. "Those of you who aren't feeding or oiling lifemates, please form a line. Front and center." There's a gesture to the open maw of the barracks which leads out to the bowl with one rock-laden, glove-covered hand.

T'yari drags his own bucket back, too, and follows Catriona's lead by flopping to the floor while Nediath picks her way over, wobbling unsteadily once or twice, and proceeds to clamber over his legs, whipcord-thin tail dragging along behind. "Me too," Yari admits with another small grin. "I never, ever thought..." he trails off as the green makes her desires known; T'yari hurriedly picks out a chunk of raw meat from the pail and drops it into her maw, tritely telling her, "Sorry, sorry. I know you're hungry. Yes, of course. Eat this. And chew an' all. Yeah. Like that." He glances back to Catti, and resumes, "Never woulda thought." Attention then slides to Shannen, and he sneaks a peek at the famished Nediath before offering another bite-sized slab.

Supposedly Zineath would be content to dig his snout into the pail and gobble down meat, but V'lin mildly chastises the brown, refusing to bow on /this/ count. "No. Y'ain't a wild canine," he mutters. Piece by piece. Slowly. /Now/ Zineath is forced to chew. Slowly but surely the soft, creel-warbling stops, and the belly is full. While Zin then dozes, V'lin washes up a bit. Eventually he's able to join that line, although he sends frequent glances back over his shoulder.

"Well, I thought. I kept telling you so. Everyone did. You should learn to listen to me more often, since I'm never wrong. Mostly," Catriona confides with a dazzling grin, one eye closing in what suspiciously appears to be a wink. Hands quickly gaining that increasingly familiar sheen of dripping red -- a crimson that doesn't hesitate to spread to the cuffs and front of her shirt -- she continues to ensure that Reiseth's belly is attended to with all haste. "Remember, love? That's the weyrlingmaster. No, not us. You're still eating." She reassures the green with a soft, smeary pat before resuming the process of grab meat, lift, stuff down that maw.

A thoughtful gaze sweeps across the Weyrling Barracks while R'kel's hand caresses against the eyeridge of his lifemate. No words are exchanged for now, but the love and devoition is present to an un-imaginable degree... It's a wonderful relationship, which is still blooming between the boastful dragonet and his calm-tempered rider. The brown tail curls about his ankle again, and R'kel opens his mouth to speak, before snapping his jaw shut, and looking towards Shannen with a bob of his head. "That's me, Bai." He drawls lightly, smiling, and requesting privately that his dragonet release him. "You stay here and get some sleep..." With a parting croon, Baileth lazily curls himself up, watching with swirling eyes as his rider raises, and strides to stand in line, glancing now and then back towards his dragonet now and then.

"A straight line," Shannen corrects, lightly pushing a stray bluerider back in the rows with one hand on his shoulder. Then, tugging off her gloves and tossing them onto the end of the aforementioned cot along with the firestone, she peruses the lines, taking a mental tally of those present. "A good half of you. This could take a while." That last bit was apparently to herself as she pats her trouser pockets briefly. She came prepared. "If you've your hair tied back, please let it down. You'd be well-advised to finger comb it." This won't be pretty...

"I was wrong," T'yari confesses in a hushed tone, admitting what's already obvious by his blatant adoration of the green dragonet. "I'm glad I was wrong, too. And glad you were right." A stray glance slides over towards the line of weyrlings, but his full attention soon turns back to Nediath, whom he hand-feeds herdbeast chunks, cautioning, "Not to fast, love. I don't want you to choke." And although he does make a mildly disgusted face at reaching into the pail and pulling out juicy hunks, he continues to do so anyways for the green, who rumbles with satisfaction.

V'lin dries his hands upon his trews, idly, then absently reaches to tug the strip o' hide from his hair.

Pale eyes are lifted to rest curiously on the spectacle of lined weyrlings and the firestone-juggling w'lingmaster. Hair? What's this? Catriona almost lifts a reflexive -- and quite bloody -- hand to touch her own, the veritable curtain of curls neatly pulled back into a huge runnertail. Fortunately, the motion is stopped halfway, when Reiseth creels for a fresh bite of dinner. The level of meat in the bucket dips ever lower. "Don't know if I like the sound of that," she whispers nervously to her fellow greenrider, flicking a quick glance at her lifemate. Yes, those whirling eyes would definately be slowing down, hinting at sleepiness. "What do you suppose she's up to?"

R'kel raises his brows high over his expressional optics of stormy blues and greys, while raising a hand to run through his hair in a curious manner. What on Pern is Shennen doing? Rolling his strong shoulders in a shrug, the man just switches his weight from one leg to the other, and folds his arms across his chest. Whatever she's up to, he'll find out soon enough, it seems... For now, his gaze falls lovingly upon Baileth, who has his eyes lightly shut. R'kel faintly senses the serenity flowing from the dragonet; sleeping...

Rather than dally about the task, Shannen gives the scissors a quick flick and then takes a few short steps over toward the first who seems to be prepared (V'lin, of course). "Turn around," she directs. She'll have to reach a little ways - five feet two inches is a bit lacking for the five foot ten inch task before her - but she seems prepared for this contingency and just pitches onto the ends of her toes to reach.

V'lin looks alarmed as he eyes those scissors, but at a word or two from Zineath, apparently, Val relaxes. He nods slightly, leaving his head bowed, and dutifully turns about.

"I dunno," T'yari begins as he watches curiously while the level of meat in his bucket decreases. Then, spying the scissors, he tacks on, "Err. Nevermind. Looks like she's gonna hack off his hair." He worries his lip nervously, lifting the unbloodied hand which rested upon Nediath's neckridges to his hair in a self-concious gesture. "Hope mine's short enough," he adds.

Grabbing a rather careless handful of blond hair, Shannen pulls it away from V'lin's neck and begins what is a decidedly ruthless process. Snip, snip, snip, and she drops that handfull to the floor at the brownrider's feet, watching it scatter with a quick glance. And then another handful, and another. When all is said and done, there are several blunt edges kept just below the ear - perhaps a triffle shorter than her own. "That's done then." No, she hasn't got an eye for aesthetic appeal.

Scissors? No! "Oh /shards/!" This hissed expletive comes, fortunately, directly following Reiseth's path into indolent slumber, rounded belly taut with the meal just received. Catriona wouldn't want to upset the darling, but this is... this is just... "Mine's not! I spent seventeen Turns growing all of this out!" Doing her best to keep her voice hushed -- and her presence unnoticed by Shannen -- the girl carefully gathers the limp weight of Reiseth into her arms and struggles to her feet. Maybe they can both hide in the couch. Maybe.
<Ista Weyrlings> T'yari idles quick-like. Back in a few.

V'lin flinches slightly; not even Zineath's reassurance can prevent a natural physical response from the rough handling. He should be thankful he still has ears left, right? Heaving a sigh, Val doesn't really /say/ anything, only shuffles back to his couch.

Shannen wields her scissors about as gleefully as she's ever done anything, snapping them as she moves down the line to another long-haired lad. All his lovely curls go tumbling to the the floor in a pile with V'lin's and that's that. This boy, however, sniffles tragically as he walks off. How sad. A few more down the line and then she catches sight of Catriona getting to her feet. "Ready?"

Dawdling is the keyword of the night. After Catriona has lowered Reiseth into her couch, she kneels beside and spends several long, long moments toweling her hands off on a scrap of cloth left there for just that purpose. And once hands have been relatively cleaned, it's only right that she would spend another several moments gently dabbing any crimson smears from that yellow-daubed green hide. "Um...not quite, ma--Shannen? Still have to oil her." That's the ticket, right.

"Of course," Shannen concedes blandly, scooting someone's lost locks into the mounting pile with one foot. "Everyone understands the purpose, correct?" she asks while taking a bundle of brown waves from one of the young greenriders in one hand and ruthlessly chopping it blunt-ended at the base of the girl's skull.

Somewhat dejected, V'lin plunks down onto the edge of the couch he shares with Zineath. The dragon shifts his blue-green gaze to his lifemate, eyelids peeling open to regard the gloomy weyrling. There is a soft croon, and Val smiles wanly, but he still doesn't seem all that thrilled. He has /one/ person to look good for, but if that one person doesn't think he looks good...

There's a time when you just can't dawdle any longer. Time just won't stretch as much as one might like it to. Once oil has been carefully spread over every inch of hide that she can reach -- Reiseth sleeps blissfully through it, uttering only the occasional sighing croon of contentment -- the girl has to meet her fate. A bit pale beneath her tan, Catriona stands and approaches the very end of the line, reluctant fingers tugging loose the leather strip that holds her hair back from her face. "Because of the helmets we'll have to wear?" she ventures to answer. "Um. Can I... can we keep what you cut off, Shannen?" Silly question, but...

Glancing down at the pile, Shannen replies without much thought, "If you can pick it out of the pile." Probably just because she tried so hard to NOT have this done, the Weyrlingmaster beckons Catriona up to the front of the line with a crook of her forefinger, scissors upheld as if to add a little insult to injury...

This is almost too much to be borne. Doing her best to adopt a brave expression, for the benefit of those girls actually snivveling in the line, Catriona steps forward and steels herself for the massacre. "Maybe...you could not put it in the pile? Please?" So she's been reduced to actual begging. It's probably beyond all hope that Shannen doesn't rub it in.

Shannen gives Catriona this... look. It's somewhere between 'who are you kidding?' and 'you really believe that, don't you?' Without a word, she moves herself around to the girl's back and, taking up a handful of the black masses, begins the rather careless process of hacking through the curls. Just below the ear, just above the chin, the bluntly cropped ends will wind up.

Once Nediath's fed and has been transferred to her couch, where she blissfully sleeps, belly bulging from her recent meal, T'yari recluctantly joins the end of the line. The young man wrinkles his nose sympathetically as Catriona's hair is chopped away, and fingers play with the hem of his tunic: a nervous past-time.

So there is some truth to the rumours that weyrlingmasters are chosen for their cruelty. Catriona's eyes scrunch shut when the first scraping snip of the scissors is heard. Now that it's started, it would be rather stupid to run, and end up with a lopsided haircut -- although given Shannen's skill with those scissors, it's a strong possibility anyways. "It's for a good cause, it's for a good cause," she breathes to herself, trying not to given into small, painful starts as each hank of hair is dropped to the floor.

It's entirely possible that Shannen, under her berath, has just said, "No, it's not." But, then again, that could just be a trick of those whispering scissors sawing their way through those black tresses. Either way, it's a painless, brief task that ends as Shannen snips a lock or two that was missed in the initial swipes. "Next?"

"Do I need mine cut?" T'yari tentatively pipes up. "I think it's pretty short -- it's okay, isn't it?" A worried hand finds its way to his mass of mostly short-cropped locks, and the Igenite peers at the weyrlingmaster hopefully. "It's okay?"

It's done? Oh. It takes several seconds for Catriona to unstick her feet from the floor, and she doesn't quite dare do more than shuffle off to the side -- not looking down, refusing for the moment to actually see the remnants of what was once her pride and joy. And doesn't her head feel oddly light, considering all of that weight has been so wickedly hacked off? And lo...there were actual tears sparkling in the busybody's eyes. A hand is lifted to brush against the uneven length of curls laying against her jaw, the gesture hinting she doesn't quite believe that really happened.

Shannen gives T'yari a very cursory once over as she pulls a few stubborn black tangles out of her fingers and scissors, shaking them off onto the mounting pile on the floor. "No, you're fine. You can sweep this mess, though, so it can be taken out to one of the garbage pits." A glance finds its way toward Catriona and her teary eyes and... is that a smirk? No! Must be just a trick of light, right?

Q'rin returns from Kerelth's couch, follows closely by the blue himself. "Hair cuts? I don't need one, do I?" he inquires before pausing. Perhaps Catriona doesn't want her hair cut.

"Oh, okay." Relief surfaces in the weyrling's tone as he hastens away from the disinegrating line to find a broom; sweeping's a much more pleasant task than dealing with shortened hair. T'yari throws over a brief wave to Q'rin, but there's no time for more than that as he seeks out the sweeping implements.

Looking over toward the bluerider, Shannen creases up her nose a bit as she gestures to the hair that falls into his face. "You could do with one," she remarks, absently kicking off an errant strand or two into the small mound of multi-colored locks that's collected behind her. And then it's on to the next weyrling victim, ruthlessly snipping off the girl's braid then hacking off the remnants to brush her jaw, too.

Too late. The crime has already been committed, and Catriona has nothing to do but slump back to Reiseth's couch. Knuckling brusquely at her eyes, she steadfastly refuses to look at anyone, choosing instead to burrow in closer to the green who has so peacefully slept through the indignity of her lifemate's shearing.

"Me? This is too long?" Q'rin inquires, looking doubtful. He didn't think it was too long, as he didn't keep it all that long in the first place.

Drily, Shannen says, "It's not tidy." That ought to explain a great many things... or it will over the coming months of surprise inspections and daily couch-sweepings. "Are you going to cry?" she asks abruptly, turning on Catriona even as she makes the last cut of one lad's hair, veering the scissors well out alignment with her previous, already crooked line of snips.

Since crying would probably cause Shannen to be tickled pink, Catriona has come to the decision not to. Eyes suspiciously glittering, but cheeks free of any guilty streaks of moisture, she lifts her head from where it had been resting against Reiseth's side and returns the weyrlingmaster's look. "No ma'am," she says in the most level of tones, jaw set firmly. Arms steal around her lifemate's curled form, drawing in the comfort of the sleeping green, while an unconcerned -- and completely fake -- attitude is adopted. "Hair grows back anyways."

Putting one hand behind her ear (fortunately not the one with the scissors), Shannen tips her head and leans a little toward Catriona: "No, who?"
Unwisely, Catti repeats, "Pardon, ma'am?" Was there just a hint of stress on that last syllable? Surely she can't be going so far as to directly contradict the earlier order to stick with names. "I don't think I understand?" A pointy chin is lifted, further backing up that stubborn pride that's rapidly taking the place of tears in her gaze. Teach you to hack her hair off and enjoy it...

Meanwhile, T'yari busies himself with sweeping away the remains of various weyrling's hair; while the tresses are cast out the exit of the barracks, the weyrling sneaks glances back at the others. Most are directed towards the couch where Nediath slumbers, although more than one are cast towards Catriona, and he hides an errant snicker behind an upraised hand.

"How shall I make this clear to you?" Shannen taps the ends of the scissors absently against her lower lip, adopting a thoughtful pose almost believably. Almost. "I have a name. It's Shannen. If you cannot remember it, we can always teach it to you. Last time someone couldn't remember, it only took him four days to write it out on scrap hides a thousand times. How quickly do you think you can do it?" Without waiting for a response, she turns to watch T'yari and adds, "You and Q'rin will put all of that in one of those." She points to empty sacks on pegs in one of the conjoined demi-caverns.

Dismayed, T'yari turns his gaze to the barracks-entrance. Oops. Too bad he just swept most of it out. "Er. We can't just leave it out there?" he queries hopefully, broom poised before one of the little piles of hair that scatter across the floor.

It's a struggle, but the weyrling forces herself to relax, assuming the most languid of postures while she curls up around Reiseth. Those uneducated on her true personality might almost believe that Catti was completely unconcerned with the whole matter. "If that's what you think I should do, ma'am, I'll try extra hard to make sure my handwriting is neat. I always did have a problem with shaping a pretty 'S', so it would be good practice... not much call for scripting skills in the kitchens."

Q'rin is too busy watching the confrontation between Catriona and Shannen to help T'yari. At all. He just stares, though not exactly mouth agape.

Turning to T'yari with another of those looks (see above), Shannen quirks a brow to reply, "Would you like it to blow all over the Weyr?" Then, with a sound that can only be deemed exasperated, she pivots back on her ankle to look over at Catriona: "There's at least one in every bunch." Affecting a calm tone, the Weyrlingmaster concludes, "Very well then. Between chores and feeding, your free time will be devoted to learning my name. If this fails, we will explore other avenues. You must show industry, and will be required to have written 'The Weyrlingmaster's name is Shannen, who rides green Faemirth' at least 150 times before you go to sleep tonight and another 50 times before breakfast in the morning. You had better get started." That seemed to be directed to Catriona, but there was a quick flicker of a look to Q'rin in there somewhere.

"Sure?" T'yari hazards. "I mean, the wind'll take it and then it won't be in the Weyr anymore. It'll go out to sea or something." He does, however, heave a sigh, shoot a remorseful glance towards Q'rin, and start towards the exit with the broom, grumbling, "I'd better get started, too."