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A decidedly androgynous creature came shuffling across the bowl, no taller than five foot four, but that was expected in some of the younger candidates, right? Draped in plain candidate's pants and tunic, only the absolute flatness of his chest would make one think anything but 'female'. Pretty face, braided hair adorned with a flouncy yellow bow. Well… there were stranger people already in the Weyr, that was certainly for sure.

"S-sorry!" His high, lilting voice rang out, dragging the bucket full of supplies. In fact, perhaps he was a little over prepared. Three different types of soapsand, two different options in oil, and so many rags and scrubbers that one would think that he'd raided the supply closet! Well, actually yes. He HAD raided the supply closet.

"I wasn't sure exactly what to get! I didn't want anything too rough so I got these soft sponges, but at the same time I think dragons like to exfoliate sometimes? So I have this rougher towel, and.."

He'd go on and on if allowed, naming off every single thing in his bucket as he laid them out carefully along the shoreline.

It probably would be expected that the candidate would be entranced by the great green form looming over them, his eyes widening as it breathed down upon them. The rider stood there as if the green were not so much another presence as it was more an extension of herself, it seemed. The rapport between dragon and rider was a rather mysterious force, especially to someone hold born. Even his extended stay at the Weyr had done little to help him crack the code.

Lorend's laugh brought him back down to Pern, blinking rapidly and giving a soft, if not nervous laugh to match her own. "I know my way around. I've been working in the lower caverns for the better part of a turn." A shade of pride laced his timid tone.

"Fiolen. It's nice to meet you Greenrider Lorend, Tribleth." His greeting seemed to earn himself a soft blow of dragon breath into the face, not entirely unpleasant, but unique all its own. He blinked rapidly as the dragon slinked away to do as she had been told by her rider. Fio twisted his fingers in the tip of his long, dark brown braid. "I… I've never done this before, but I most certainly won't say no to such an opportunity!" His voice went up in pitch with his insistence, standing up a little straighter with one of the cloths gripped in his delicate hands.

He faltered, but gave a little smile. "If it's okay, I think I'll take your lead, though."

Why there? As in why he worked in the lower caverns? He gave an uneasy smile and shrugged, hesitant to admit that he had been little more than a drudge. Instead, he responded to her next barrage of instructions, nodding eagerly, but standing up straight and firm with his best 'not afraid' face to show how very truly unafraid he was. Well, okay maybe he was just a little bit afraid. Nervous might be a better way of putting it. He'd never touched a dragon before. As the green lay herself out, Fiolen couldn't help but give a soft chuckle. He understood that dragons enjoyed bathing and he could certainly understand why; he'd thought once or twice of how wonderful it would be to have someone scrub -his- back one in a while.

Moving in close to the dragon, he watched Lorend's movements, the circular motion of her hand. He was a bit dubious about the idea of a dragon's hide being tough. He'd not take that comment for granted, as from what he'd been learning in candidate lessons, a dragon's hide that isn't cared for meant cracking, which could become worse from /betweening/ often. If he could remember… a female candidate had raised her hand and queried. 'like the world's worst chapped lips in a dry cold?" She'd seemed immediately shocked by her own boldness and gave a sheepish grin afterward, awarding her a laugh from the back of the class by Fiolen. She was such a pretty girl, and he envied that silky light gold hair of hers.

Carefully, he reached a hand out first, feeling wet dragon hide for the first time. Even after the cool dunk in the lake the dragon's hide felt warm, and soft. He rubbed that spot on the dragon's shoulder for a moment just to memorize the texture and consistency of it, and gave a small jump back when a muscle beneath the skin flexed. "Oh! By Faranth, she's so strong looking!" Fiolen exclaimed, making up for his sudden fright by moving forward again and placing his hand against the shoulder with more confidence. "Strong, and soon to be shiny and clean, as well."

Squeezing the rag filled with soft sand within his hands, he allowed it to form a bit of a lather within his palm before working it across the expansive shoulder. Greens were the smallest of dragons, but to Fiolen, Tribleth was still a massive creature relative to any he had ever been in contact with. With one hand he scrubbed, but the other was mapping out the muscle and bone structure of the shoulder blade, fascinated by how the wing met the body and the powerful chords of muscle and sinew that held it together.

When the green leaned into his touch, his body physically flinched despite the gentleness of the dragon's motion. It was entirely reflexive, because strangely he felt himself unafraid. Wary of accidentally getting in the way or doing something wrong, sure... but not afraid. He doubled down in his efforts, bearing down a bit harder to compensate for how light he'd been with his ministrations a moment ago.

As Lorend stepped away, Fio picked up on that something was about to happen. However, he -felt- it under his hands as the muscles awoke from their resting positions, flexing and tensing beneath the skin as the green opened up her impressive sail.

"Really? I can?" But he wasn't waiting for affirmation. One hand acted as the scout as he reached as far up her wingshoulder as he could, the scrubbing hand coming along to trace any of the places he'd missed with his childlike inspection. He stopped at a the leading edge of webbing between shoulder and the wing's wrist, tentatively touching the membrane that was thin enough for the sun to glow through the other side.

"They look so fragile, but they don't feel it." He punctuated this by running his hand over the thick sinew and skin that was the leading edge, tapering to a thinner but still strong sail he placed his hand splayed across the flesh, and he could swear he could feel the ichor coursing through the veins that ran through them.

"I'm doing a terrible job of cleaning; I'm distracted about her... everything-ness." Was that even a word?