Candidates at Turquoise Weyr
As bizarre as it sounds, the pop-eyed crew-cutted blackbottom Lazlar has some self esteem problems, and thus acts quite obnoxious most of the time.
Sedate Lazlow on the right, however, is the ideal model of calm, cool and collectable. How does he get his hair to do that? You'll never know.
Trained as young as three turns old, in Harper tales, ballads and the like, these two know their history. They enjoy reciting it loudly, late at night. Often to the accompanyment of some of the "harpers" in the barracks, those whose best traits are banging on pots and pans, and yodeling. Not very many people appreciate the twins' methods of re-education at the weyr.
Why do they put up with them? Because the pair of them are absolute dead on shots with those little hand-held crossbows they carry in their holsters. As tunnel snakes, and the occasional thief, will tell you, never cross paths with these odd boys.
But that isn't all. Because Lazlar and Lazlow's parents are both dragon riders, and their sister Lindsey will probably become one just like them too. They were not fostered, that ... MIGHT be the problem with them...
L'roz, a blue rider, patiently herded the wild beasts he called his sons into his weyr. He shared that weyr with his wife green riding Lawvela and their tiny newborn daughter Lindsey. It was getting to be a problem keeping the twins under control.
"We could hand them off to the headwoman. She'd know what to do with them," suggested the green rider. Her husband shook his head. His blond curls tossed around his face, and he scowled.
"I think she'd just wind up letting them go back into the wild, where they belong." He twisted his son's ear, and Lazlar dipped under the pressure. Biting his lip, the child held back a cry of protest. His brother Lazlow had quieted almost immediately, and didn't need such means to keep him sedate.
"I just want them to learn some respect for the Weyr..." Lawvela sighed.
"But we do respec' the Weyr, momma!" Lazlow said, hesitantly approaching her. He knew he was covered from head to foot in grime, so he didn't come too close. "We wanned t' help make firestone!"
Chuckling, L'roz let go of Lazlar and was about to pat him on the back but stopped short of causing a plume of black dust to rise everywhere. "That's really a job for the weyrlings, and the candidates, Lazlar. You can let them do that while you do other things for the Weyr. Like keeping up with your records studies and your spelling."
"Spellin's for wherries..." the boy sulked.
"Is not!" Called his brother, eyes bright against the soot on his face. "I can spell better'n everyone in 'arper class!"
"Good! Good!" Called Lawvela said, abruptly, "go get yourselves cleaned up, then we'll have the rest of this conversation when you're not flinging firestone everywhere!"
As they were moved on into the bathing chamber, Lazlar was heard to mutter, "but y'need the firestone fer Altith n' Tudith..."
"We *are* older," whined a newly-blackbottomed Lazlow. "We're almost ten turns today!"
"Next sevenday!" Called out Lazlar, similarly decked with a black back to his blond hair. It was odd, because the blond of both their hair now stood out like a glimmer of yellow, rather than a tinge of goldenrod which is what it had been. Something about that blackbottom stuff that got put on their hair did that...
The harper sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I cannot take them as apprentices, you understand. I've more than enough of those already, and I don't have enough Journeymen to keep up with new ones."
"Then promote one!" Lazlar exclaimed bouncing on his toes. "Promote one! I wanna see somebody walk th' workbench!"
Lazlow punched his brother in the shoulder, hard, and returned to his peaceful looking state. "It's tables, Lar, it's called walking the TABLES. Not 'workbench'. Dimglow."
Lazlar turned to his brother and stuck his tongue out, squinting one eye down tight and opening the other as wide as it could go, shrieking "I don't care, I wanna see it!"
"Lazlar!" Called their father, and they straightened up, except for Lazlar's bizarre expression. "If you put your face like that long enough, it'll get stuck."
The boys looked at one another, and both whispered, "cooooollll!"
They'd found Blackstone's cache of weapons. At first, they were kept from using them. But then when one of the boys shot a tunnel snake almost half by accident with it, they decided to put the energy they had to work for the Weyr, instead of merely containing it.
Healers couldn't get the boys to calm down, no matter what methods they used. Lazlow was of nature more calm, but that only meant he had the energy brimming inside him to keep up with his brother Lazlar when he needed it. Explosive bursts versus a constant turbine of badmouthing and queer facial contortions.
L'roz and Lawvela had seriously considered moving away to another weyr while the boys were out some days. Just up and leaving them the weyr, and their sister, whom they seemed to be taking good care of even though she was a GIRL. They loved their sister, and they loved their parents. That was why the blue and green riders stayed.
Outside, however, the boys had cornered a feral canine which had the appearance of a monster. It had been injured perhaps a turn before, walking with a limp. Its fur was matted and scarred, it had probably been chomped on by a wild tunnel snake, leaving it angry and wounded further. It was hungry, and it had come across a small camp site near the Weyr, injuring two children before it was driven away. The boys decided this would make their career in the Weyr as proper guards.
They looked at the beast, which stood at least as tall as their hips. It looked back at them. Growling. Drooling. One eye halfway closed with a scar, the other grimacing yellow and baleful.
"He looks just like you!" Cried Lazlow. Laughing, they took the disgusting animal in to the weyr, after a long session convincing it with their spare meat rolls and lunch. The poor thing ran away from them less than a turn later, and was never seen again. Probably a healthy distance away from Blackstone today...
"Stop acting like such a hold girl," his brother Lazlar said, smacking him on the arm. They both stood straight and looked at the rider of the dragon as they paced in front of the weyrbrats and drudges and everyone else's kids at Blackstone.
A Search rider had been sent from a new weyr. That was always cause for celebration, especially when a fresh weyr chose candidates from other weyrs. They were going to be getting the finest of candidates!
The blue dragon Jath stepped along, his tail swishing around behind. His wide head swept over the other potential candidates, and then rested at where the blackbottomed brothers stood.
"See?" Hissed Lazlow, "see?!"
The rider of the dragon stepped up to the pair, and looked at them with some amount of doubt.
"You two, how old are you?"
"Sixteen turns two sevendays ago, sir," chirped Lazow.
"I'm Lazlar, he's Lazlow. You can remember his name because he's a dimgLOW, see?"
Lazlow glared at his brother, but did nothing more. Normally he'd be about to start a brawl, but in this case, they both wanted to make a good first meeting. That could lead to...
The search rider sighed. "Well, boys, Jath here tells me that you're both welcome on our sands at Turquoise Weyr. I find it hard to believe, but... He's rarely wrong..."
The pair hooted and then calmed, when the weyrleader passed by to give them congratulations. "Good. Get dragons. Get out of my hair. Become someone else's problem, will you?"
They saluted the rider and Lazlar said, "We will sir! Just like you said to!"
These characters are in memorial of Douglas Adams, author of the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He was my inspiration, and my journey through the galaxy of imagination would never have been the same without him. Lazlar Lyricon is a name invented by him, and when I invented these two guys, he came up with the name. Long live the Guide, and Thanks for All the Fish.
