The Value Of Turnips


Balkrith and Enceth

Date: August 28, 2010 (ICly, day after the second hatching)
Location: Weyrling Barracks
Synopsis: Balkrith and Enceth discuss turnips and how they might help the fight against Thread.
Rating: G
Logger: Uveline

The day after the second hatching…

Eastern Weyr: Weyrling Barracks

Set back into the northeast corner of the Upper Bowl, this cavern is huge. With a doorway wide enough to admit a very large brown or a small gold, it balloons out into an almost round room. Along the walls are couches carved out of the rock, some bigger and some smaller. Next to those couches are small, utilitarian cots. In the center are rows and rows and rows of similar cots, only a wide aisle seperating them from the couch-cots. Space is at a premium here, for both Candidates and Weyrlings must share space until another barracks can be dug.

Enceth raises her head, watching Balkrith move around.

Dragon> To Enceth, Balkrith bangs pots together and is making turnip soup, « Want some? »

Dragon> To Balkrith, Enceth's voice is thick with drowsiness, the soft alto muzzy, scented with a hint of redwort and summer flowers. « No thank you. While vegetables are part of a balanced human diet, they do nothing good for dragons. »

Dragon> To Enceth, Balkrith goes quiet leaving the scent of mud and turnips in his wake as he withdraws to ponder. « You could be right » but he doesn't qualify that as his mind wanders off again and then returns with a clang, « But also wrong. Turnips are special like… » Like something, but he's not quite sure what.

Dragon> To Balkrith, Enceth watches curiously, head tilted slightly and more awake. « What makes turnips special? Aren't they just a … » A pause, as she asks Uveline for the word she seeks. « A kind of tuber? A 'root vegetable'? »

Dragon> To Enceth, Balkrith does a mental blink at the question, and then sputters a little in his reply « They're…they're -turnips-! » The scent of lye and soap rises up strongly, as if he could scrub such a travesty as the asking of such a thing, away. He doesn't however, have proper explanation. He had tried asking L'ron, but his 'master' was busy. Or so he got told.

Dragon> To Balkrith, Enceth drowns lye and soap in a flood of redwort, numbing her nose. « Well, obviously they are turnips, but why are turnips more important than other vegetables? Why are any vegetables important to you, for that matter? What good are they? »

Dragon> To Enceth, Balkrith retreats, tucking his lye and soap into pots and pans, leaving just the faint sound of floors being scrubbed in his wake. He's gone a very long time, as if he might be sulking in a corner somewhere and then emerges with a wisp of dust and a question for Enceth in return, « What is important to you then? »

Dragon> To Balkrith, Enceth peeks after Balkrith, puzzled by his withdrawal. « You didn't answer my question. I just wanted to know why a vegetable held your interest so much, » the green calls after him. At his return she settles back into her 'space', her melodic voice surrounded with the soft strum of a guitar. « Order. Health. Peace. » is her reply, each word swelling with the notes of the guitar.

Dragon> To Enceth, Balkrith's is solemn, well as solemn as you can get with the sound of a canine panting in the background, « I just like them. » It's as simple as that, no grand explanation, no great philosophizing, just that. He listens, if somewhat distractedly and leaves a long pause after the last notes of the guitar have faded, « So not turnips then. » More statement than query. And then a dusty musing, « I wonder how many turnips one would have to trade to for peace? » he's not too interested in order and health it seems.

Dragon> To Balkrith, Enceth shrugs, wings rustling as she resettles them. « Very well. When you figure out why, I would like to know. I am interested in these things, » she replies. « No, no turnips for me. Thank you, though. Hmmm, I don't think Thread would take an exchange. It seems quite mindless. »

Dragon> To Enceth, Balkrith may be going quiet at intervals but he's certainly not just sitting idly by as this conversation plays out. Nope, he's busy dragging the straw around in his couch, arranging it and re-arranging it and then dumping some on L'ron's cot too. Because he's helpful like that. « I'll find one for you. A great big fat one, with a nice purple top. You could roll it around. Or just keep it there on your couch as decoration. » whether or not Enceth has just politely said she doesn't really like or want them. Thread. Now that gives him pause for thought as all brushes stop scrubbing, dogs stop panting and even the clatter of pots and pans fades to near non-existence. Eventually, « Perhaps Thread has just not met the right turnip yet. » There's Balkrith philosophy for you.

Dragon> To Balkrith, Enceth remains comfortably settled on her couch, still intended to go back to sleep when they're done talking - she needs her sleep to grow, after all! « Do they rot? I don't want it to get all smelly over here, so if it rots, it can't stay, » she warns, voice spicy with the scent of blood. « I won't have decay near me or my rider. Decay isn't healthy. » As for Thread… « I think Thread will eat it. But maybe it will be… » And again, she seeks a word. « Allergic. And then die. Less for us to flame. »

Dragon> To Enceth, Balkrith is quick to answer, « No. » He's not lying. He's just never owned one before. Yet. And then his mind sounds are back to the quiet sounds of scrubbing in the background. With a happy splatter of mud he announces, « If it does » rot « I'll bring you a new one. » Uh oh. That could keep him busy. Pots join the happy splatter of mud and he perks right up, « I have a Cunning Plan! We should lay turnips out for Thread to feed on! Everywhere. All over the place! » And then it'll leave them all alone right? Riiight.

Dragon> To Balkrith, Enceth wonders, « Where do you find turnips to give people? Maybe I should give some to my rider. They are probably good for her. » A pause, during when a clock ticks quietly in the background. « Are there enough turnips to lay out everywhere? Maybe you will have to grow them first. Or maybe we should try a test before we go full-scale. That way if it doesn't work, nothing is harmed. »

Dragon> To Enceth, Balkrith does a mental 'Ooer' in the stop and start of scrubbing brushes and then inhales deeply before stating rather grandly « I shall hunt them. » Which is probably about the only thing he can hunt to any degree of success. The ticking of Enceth's clock matches the rhythm taken up by the brushes and then they pause again, with the little blue sitting back on his haunches and tipping a long blank type of look over to his green clutch sibling. Finally « If you help me, we can gather twice as many together. » and then confusion rises up on the scent of lye, « How do you test Thread? »

Dragon> To Balkrith, Enceth's voice bubbles with the fragrance of wildflowers, scenting the air like high summer over the plains of Telgar. « You do that. Let me know when you figure out where to hunt, and I will help you. » She pauses, formulating her response. « We find a place where it is safe for Thread to fall - on rocks somewhere - and set out turnips to see if eating them kills the Thread. But we will have to not be there, because I do not think I can see Thread and not try to flame it when I have that skill. »

Dragon> To Enceth, Balkrith considers the scent of wildflowers and then shakes himself in a dusty cloud and replies in the negative, « Can't do that. » show her where to hunt turnips, « it's a secret. » Perhaps worried the green might horde them all for herself. Oh but hang on, then how does she help gather enough? Relenting a little, « Only if you promise not to keep any for yourself. » Oh he's really liking how Enceth's mind works. A canine's tail thumping joins the sound of happy panting, « Mine likes rocks. He'd let us go where there were lots of rocks for sure! » The last is given bemused consideration. « You just hold your breath like this. » And he demonstrates until he turns blue'er in the face, his little eyes bulge and he almost topples over before gulping in a great big gust of air again. « Forgot to breathe again. » he states somewhat sheepishly.

Dragon> To Balkrith, Enceth waits for Balkrith to work through the idea, continuing to emit flower-scent and soft strains of music. « They are all for you, unless you decide you want to give one to somebody. Though I can't guarantee that the humans won't decide they want them to eat. You might have to hide them once we find them, » she muses. « I think I'd rather breathe regularly. Breathing is important, and I don't want to hurt myself by not breathing when I should. Besides, how do you know you could hold your breath with Thread before you? »

Dragon> To Enceth, Balkrith is carried away by scent of wildflowers for a moment or two and then he remembers himself and comes back down to earth with a splat of mud and remarks quite gallantly, « Well, you could choose one to keep. And maybe one for your human. » because any other turnips Enceth might end up with will be 'gifts'. Whether she wants them or not. The sound of a pot lid being removed can be heard and he offers it forward as if to suggest hiding turnips in there, but replies otherwise « We should start looking for a cave as soon as they'll let us out of here. A big one. For lots of turnips. Caves are made of rock. » this he's obviously gotten from L'ron who is currently giving the blue a very strange look. Giving a mental shrug on remembering not to breathe, « It just comes naturally. » To him. Forgetting to breath if he holds his breath.

Dragon> To Balkrith, Enceth murmurs, « Thank you. I think she will enjoy them more than I could. » Because Uveline could actually eat them, rather than leaving them to rot and eventually be replaced by the blue. « She doesn't like rocks as much as yours does. She helped dig the big hole that will be a lake later. Soon, I think, and then we can be washed more thoroughly. » Yeah, she's not fond of the sponge-bath-like setup. « Then you'll be the one to watch the Thread and see if it is allergic. If it isn't, you can flame it, and we'll see if we can mix turnips with something else to work. » Because obviously, turnips have to be involved. She's a bright one.

Dragon> To Enceth, Balkrith once again goes quiet, the sound of someone rummaging about in a closet drifting out on the mental waves about him. Eventually he returns « Mine says that he told yours, he'd show her how to make » more rummaging sounds as he raids his lifemate's thoughts, « shapes with rocks. » He clearly doesn't quite understand that though for one can almost hear the crickets chirping in the silence that follows that. Words of bathing bring about a lifting of first one wing and then the other with the blue twisting his head beneath each as if sniffing armpits, but he has nothing to say on the topic of bathing. « Yes! » he agrees stoutly, « I shall watch for Thread and report my findings back to you. If it doesn't workperhaps we can mix them with mud. » Because mud is good too.

Dragon> To Balkrith, Enceth debates that idea, conversing with Uveline for a few moments before she replies. « She is willing to try the shapes thing, but she doesn't know if she will enjoy it. I don't see what's wrong with rocks. It's not like they hurt her or anything. » Ah, humans. Such odd little creatures. « Mud, and maybe some numbweed. It works on humans. It might make Thread numb and unable to move, and die faster. »

Dragon> To Enceth, Balkrith takes this reply and relays it back to L'ron. But he's gone so long, that the dust has almost cleared from the air. One can only assume he got the message wrong several times before his poor rider finally managed to riddle it out. « Rocks are…not turnips. » which means they hold little to no interest to the blue. Tiredness is starting to overcome him too as he settles down in an untidy heap in his couch, though ever present energy keeps his tail tip twitching, « Numb…weed.. » He has to go away again and consult his lifemate on that one. Unfortunately he fell asleep mid-sentence which draws low laughter from L'ron who then glances over Enceth and Uveline's way and offers up a helpless shrug.

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