Logs:Absurd and Unattractive
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| RL Date: 22 April, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, R'van |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Roszadyth and Vadevjiath play in the mud, while Farideh and R'van talk dragons, secrets, and come to the conclusion that the latter is not unattractive. |
| Where: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 8, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Sunny. |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Anatolia/Mentions, Yuliye/Mentions, Joremy/Mentions, Drex/Mentions, Itsy/Mentions |
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>---< Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#250RJs) >-----------------------------<
The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only
sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of
daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond,
allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven
jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late
afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the
bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far
north.
Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward
to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by
more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground
here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in
spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most
frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the
Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching
sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.
Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly
warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the
air.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Farideh F 19 5'5 skinny, brown hair, hazel eyes 0s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Living Cavern Inner Caverns Garden Patio Ledge Galleries Weyrleader
Complex East Bowl Weyr Entrance
>--------------------------------------< 9D 8M 37T I10, summer afternoon >---< A whole number of activities are open to the weyrlings after lectures are finised and now that they're getting older, bigger, but on this beautiful, sunny day, with its cloudless skies, Roszadyth has somehow gotten herself into something of a situation-- or, it's a situation to Farideh. She's standing to the side, looking for all the world like she might start crying, while the gold is happily sinking into one of the only puddles of mud in the whole bowl; perhaps someone dumped a barrel or there was a deluge in that one spot. "Roszadyth," the weyrling groans, flexing her fingers out, arms stretched forward. Even with Farideh's worries, the pale, antiqued gold burbles happily, squishing her bottom lower into the muck, until it's coming up her sides, her multi-faceted eyes whirling happily. To any dragons near, there's the unsubtle brush of sunshine, not purely that from the skies, of happiness. It's this mix of Roszadyth's happiness and Farideh's near tears that draws Vadevjiath and R'van, respectively. While the skinny bronze won't get in her puddle, he still edges nearer, his pale talons raking experimental furrows in the wet but still solid earth under him. And R'van, for his part, sidles up toward Farideh and lets out a low, marvelling whistle for her dragon's current state. As absorbed as Farideh is in the gold's mud-playing, that whistle startles her enough to elicit a short shriek of surprise. Her wide eyes slant to him, hands pressing into her chest as presumably her heart does a fast paced thump. "What," she breathes, "are you doing? Can you--" She turns her head to look at Vadevjiath, and frowns. "Can he tell her to stop? She won't listen. I just oiled you an hour ago. Now, I'll have to bathe and oil you again, so soon!" There's dismay, and frustration, but Roszadyth is still contentedly squishing in the mud, like a feline getting comfortable on a cushion.The nearer he gets, the warmer the sunshine is, until when he's there, a giggle explodes out of the relative silence. « Come, » she beckons, « it's cool and fun. » Her laughter - that quality so childlike - fades in and out, taunting. (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth) Vadevjiath turns his whirling eyes on Farideh then, head cocked just so: he's listening to her, at least, even if her own dragon does not. R'van considers it a moment, glancing between the pair. "If she doesn't wish to listen to her own rider, I'm not sure how he could have any better luck," R'van notes, shoulders lifting. "Though he says he's happy to speak with her about it. Thank Faranth he's not so interested in joining." Which just makes the newmade bronzerider smirk more. Her sunshine reflects off his calm waters, a sea at rest in the lazy afternoon light. Still, there's deeper depths there, ones hinted at in Vadevjiath's words, his mild, « Your rider seems displeased. » It's fact and question at once: Farideh's unhappiness obvious; his own curiosity at why this is so--no, why Roszadyth would make it so--nearly as much so. (To Roszadyth from Vadevjiath) "I don't know. Don't they have a-- a way with each other?" Dragons-- even now, after almost two sevendays, there's still much for her to learn. Farideh settles on a sigh, hands coming to rest on the back of her waist, and her gaze, furrowed as it is, on Roszadyth. "Usually she's so sensible and doesn't want to get into any of the other things the other dragons do, but this--" She makes a face, nose wrinkling, and turns to give R'van an up-and-down look. "How are you faring? And him?" is blunt, or might be to avoid looking at the gold who is turning onto her side, exposing the darkened underneath of her mud-splattered belly. Fascinating-- those tranquil waters on which her sunshine plays, dances even. « I do not wish to be burdensome, but-- oh, it's so lovely. How can anyone dislike it? » (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth) For Rafe, too, because he just looks confused by Farideh's attempts at explaining. "I don't know," he admits. "I understand the queens can command the rest in most cases, but I don't know what influence another would have on her." It's not refutation, more curiosity on his part as he studies the two dragons, the one filthy and the other content where he is. "We're faring as can be expected. How goes your letter writing?" R'van turns the subject back to her. « I don't think it's a matter of disliking it, » Vadevjiath says after a moment, letting her sunlight draw little sparkled from the play of waves across his mindvoice. It's an utterly relaxing backdrop to their debate otherwise. « More a matter of timeliness. Perhaps if you enjoyed the mud before your bath and oiling, next time, you could both be happy? » (To Roszadyth from Vadevjiath) A thoughtful frown follows R'van's words, but she at least attempts a tremulous smile for his latter the other weyrling, though there's a tiredness to the expression that can't be completely attributed to Roszadyth's mud-rolling. "I haven't, but I did receive a later days ago from Lady Igen. She congratulated me on my Impression and it sounded as though-- they approved. I can only speculate. Not that it will stop my mother from set my clothes on fire and trying to demand my name off the records, but-- it's a relief, and my uncle, he'll fall in line with whatever Igen Hold decrees." She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. "I'll find the words, eventually." The petite gold is still rolling around in the mud like a porcine, but her tone, unlike her actions, is cultured and soft. « But the opportunity presented itself. I was not aware, you see, of a mud puddle existing before we came outside after my bath. It was a moment of chance, you might say. » Her sigh sounds suspiciously like the whisper of fabric, though she extends, sunnily: « Will you not join me, Vadevjiath? » (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth) R'van lifts his brows. "It seems kind of pointless," he notes after a moment, "to write a letter bearing news they already know. But I suppose it's polite, at least, that they hear it from you personally, anyway." His shoulders lift, and he eyes the dragons: Vadevjiath is edging closer now to the mud, stepping his paws into it carefully. It doesn't seem to bother Rafe, though; Vadevjiath isn't gleaming with fresh oil, for one. "And our fellows, have you mentioned this to them?" the weyrling wonders then. This idea, Vadevjiath dashes into the sea in a spray of foam: « If you plan well, you have no need of chances, » the serious young bronze tells her. But for the offer, he's still thankful, polite, offering, « I will, but only because we are on our way to a bath, not coming from it. » (To Roszadyth from Vadevjiath) "Does it? I should at least explain why I did what I did and where I've been all this time. I should apologize, too, for letting them find out otherwise." Farideh doesn't seem to notice that his bronze is also joining in on Roszadyth's mud bath, and appears to have accepted this behavior, for now; a bath is needed regardless. "Who I am and where I'm from? No," is marked with a frown, her eyes studying his face in contrast, "they would think of me different. Don't you think? I wouldn't want that, and then what if it leaks out to the rest of the Weyr. Many people dislike Irianke because she is Igenite and if they find out I am-- more than some simple laundress in one of the cotholds?" She shakes her head, eyes finally slanting to the dragons. "I don't know. I don't want to cause waves." Roszadyth cannot begrudge him his thoughts, and so she concentrates on his joining of her mud-play instead, with another bout of childlike laughter that comes as though from behind something, muffled. « I do think you will love it, Vadevjiath. Feel how it squishes under foot, and look-- » She's rolling, side to side, her rounded belly covered in a thick film of mud. « What a lovely shade of brown. Have you ever seen such a color? » Never mind there are a few browns in the barracks they share. (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth) While Roszadyth rolls in it, Vadevjiath seems content to just sit, curling his tail around his paws, wings spread out over his thin back: the mud is cool and comfortable, and there he's quite content. R'van, for his part, just watches, slanting looks sideways at Farideh. "Another Igen goldrider for an Igen queen," he remarks, head tipped toward Roszadyth for a moment. "I'm sure you're right on that front. Bad enough an Igenite impressed one bronze, and the other to--" himself, though by those standards, he's quite local. "I expect you're doomed to make waves regardless, though. And, speaking of--have you spoken to our mutual friends lately?" Drex and Itsy, the sailors. To Roszadyth, Vadevjiath doesn't understand, not really: the mud is comfortable, it feels good; but it doesn't inspire in him the same childish wonder that it clearly does in Roszadyth. « I don't understand why you're so excited, » he admits, not judgment and not even really wondering; his lack of comprehension stands for itself, just as her enthusiasm. « Have you really never seen such a color? Rafe has seen it, at least. I know it from him, if nothing else. » The muddier, the better, is Roszadyth's philosophy, right now. "Another," Farideh affirms, "is two too many by this Weyr's standards. I heard someone talking there being some kind of rift between the Weyrs even before, but-- " She shifts, crossing her arms over her chest. "I was eavesdropping and they got better about whispering, so I didn't hear the whole tale." Her expression after looks a little strained, her eyes sliding away, back to the dragons, in obvious guilt. "No-- not since the morning of the hatching. They might be gone by now. I haven't seen either one since, or Itsy before. Maybe they're avoiding me-- I wouldn't blame Drex, if he did. I did choose this," dragons, "over him. Have you?" The bronze's lack of comprehension doesn't dampen her spirits, not if the continued sunny warmth of her mind presence is any indication. « You must endeavor to enjoy for the sake of enjoying sometimes. » She turns until her belly is pointing to the sky, and she can angle her head towards their two would-be-riders. « Has he? Farideh has seen many, many colors, but it is infinitely better to see them with my own eyes. » (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth) "I never really followed much," Rafe admits as much, ducking his head with a deep breath. "But then, Weyr politics were never really of interest to me. My craft's--." But that's a thought left unfinished, with a fronw of his own. Of the other pair, "No, I haven't. But then, I didn't choose this at all, though I can imagine they might see it differently." To Roszadyth, Vadevjiath, reasonably, « I am enjoying, » in his own sort of way. The latter question, too, earns only that sense of contentment again. « We are the same, » he tells her. « We see the same things. » "You'll have to now," Farideh says quietly, sadly for him and her. "We both Impressed dragons that-- can't help but know." She tightens her arms over her chest, stance a little more uncomfortable. "And I suppose they'll teach us, whether we want to, in the upcoming month. Isn't it better to walk into a situation aware than unaware?" Her head tips to the side, eyes regarding him, again. "They don't appreciate dragons much, from what I'm aware, but your craft-- have they spoken to you? Congratulated you? Said good riddance?" Another whisk of fabric, this one more obvious-- « Are you? » Roszadyth is curious, though she is sure not to press, not to intrude where not wanted. « Has he thoughts of his own? Or are they all yours? » (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth) R'van snorts. "You say it like those can't be the same thing," he notes dryly. "They've already named my replacement for my research." He's trying hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice, though it's not entirely successful. Instead, "I suppose we best learn fast how to play this game, before someone else it with us." « Aren't you? » Vadevjiath replies in much the same tone, curious but not pushing. He concedes a moment later, « He has his thoughts of what we should do. I will find how to make it so. » A beat. « Do you know about riders and crafts? I expect not, » considering she's no older than he, « but perhaps Olveraeth? » (To Roszadyth from Vadevjiath) "Would you-- could you-- continue your research after you graduate? Do the smiths support craft riders?" Farideh listens and then frowns, by all accounts on his behalf. "We have to. You could get away from it if you wanted-- K'zin doesn't seem particularly political minded-- but what if Vadevjiath catches Niahvth when she rises?" That is surely a possibly, and has her nibbling on the tip of her thumb in agitation, slanting their dragons a look. "And I've got a sign painted on my forehead." Clouds obscure the sun, but it's still there. « We are like minded. We are together. » Roszadyth is careful in choosing her words, her longer deliberations obvious. « But I do propose to know everything and I would not want to thoughtlessly insert myself. She is capable of her own thoughts, as am I, but we are together. » Twined, by destiny, and-- « Olveraeth is wise, » she assures, pressing the impression of twinkling bodies, that star-studded landscape of the blue's. (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth) "I could," concedes Rafe, "with or without their support, I expect. Because regardless of whether the crafts entertain riders dabbling, I can't imagine any of them taking it further than just that: dabbling." But Farideh's anxious nail-biting has him studying her, particularly in light of that last. He smirks. "Or, rather than Niavth, perhaps Roszadyth?" he suggests. To Roszadyth, Vadevjiath agrees, « He is. He will know. » His faith is absolute there; Olveraeth leads him, and therefore he will know anything they need. It's second only to his belief in his own rider: « They will surely let him continue. He's too talented for them not to. » "Aren't there wings that cater to craft riders? You could do more than dabbling. You could-- the Weyr's stability issues-they'll need fixing, and who better to fix them than a rider smith?" Farideh has a hopeful look for him, and then she's giving him a frown, eyebrows drawn together over displeased hazel eyes. "That is ridiculous. Irianke is the Acting Weyrwoman, and Niahvth rose last. It makes sense for her to rise first and cement Irianke as Weyrwoman. I thought the dragons know when there's a need. I'm sure that Niahvth does, and-- besides, I don't want to have sex with you," with the very end being her usual, super mature, haughty tone; sorry not sorry. Roszadyth's gaiety over the mud is waning, but her sunlit speech is emphasized by another, faded giggle, that sounds more weary than truly delighted anymore. « You can do anything you set your mind to. You and yours. You will find a way. I am sure of it. » Encouraging, and gentle, demure. (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth) Wings? That's beyond Rafe for now, or so says his shrug, just shy of helpless. "I think the stability issues won't be a further problem, at least for the near future," he answers that instead, glancing away to the dragons to consider them again. So young, so small still. "In an Interval? I wouldn't expect Niavth to rise any time soon, from what I understand," he tells Farideh then, lips twitching with a barely contained smile for her answer. Flatly, "And gee, thanks. It's always nice to know exactly how desirable I am to the opposite sex." "Oh." Dragons, so complicated. "Why Roszadyth, then? If Niahvth won't, why her? That's-- just--absurd." Farideh is clearly in denial, and swings away, to face their dragons her arms re-crossing over her chest. Her frown is fairly fearsome, intense as it is. "I didn't mean-- " She sucks in a breath, glances aside at him, her cheeks turning pink. "You're just-- like-- you're not-- unattractive. I'm sure plenty of girls think you're very, very handsome," is assured. "I'm sorry." It seems genuine, even if she's steadily frowning. R'van, meanwhile, is now watching Farideh with clear mocking amusement as she flushes. "Because the mere suggestion seems to unnerve you--at best," he tells her truthfully, smirking. "But please, do go on. Tell me more about how I'm not unattractive." That gentle warm encouragement matters to Vadevjiath, clearly; he basks in it, just a little. « We will, » he agrees. « And if we do not find one, we will make it. » There's no threat to his words, not now; only that optimistic, youthful determination. (To Roszadyth from Vadevjiath) Pink turns to red and Farideh lifts her chin a fraction. "No," Farideh grits, in frustration, and in cohesion with her lifemate's lack of enjoyment with their conversation anymore, muddy, mucky Roszadyth pulls herself out of the mud. Her look at Vadevjiath is slightly less content, more tired and sad, as she stretches out her pale wings and tucks them in. "Sometimes-- sometimes, you're in sufferable," are the parting words, and the weyrling, hand on her dragon's dirty head, starts towards the barracks, where they will undoubtedly be in store for a bath and oiling. No dispute there, though Rafe still looks a little pleased with himself for the shade she turns now. He lingers with his own thin bronze behind; now that he has the mud puddle to himself, Vadevjiath is trying it out, stretching his small length as much as he can to claim it for himself. Sharing is not his forte. |
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