Logs:An Intimidating Search
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| RL Date: 6 February, 2016 |
| Who: Catling, Olivya, Ivraeth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ivraeth searches Catling, and is generally less intimidating than her rider. |
| Where: Northern Bowl, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 13, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Early in the morning and late in the evening, the cold rain falling turns to almost-pleasant snow, but most of the day is mired in a bleak, gray drizzle. |
| Mentions: Kh'tyr/Mentions |
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This section of the Bowl is just as devoid of plant life as the central
portion, the sandy soil having been packed more solidly due to the sheer
amount of foot traffic passing through. While there are weyrs located to
both the east and west, there are very few toward the north.
Toward the northwest leads a set of stairs to two ledges for junior
goldriders. Above and slightly east of those ledges sits the Weyrleaders'
complex, which a second flight of stairs leads to. A little to the
northeast is the entrance to the Hatching Cavern, while an entrance to the
living cavern is located directly to the east. At the opposite and distant
southeastern end of the Bowl would be the lake and feeding grounds, with
the weyrling barracks and infirmary to the southwest and southeast,
respectively. Work is done for the day, and Catling has already taken the time to go bathe the smell of leatherworking off of her. Her hair is now dried off and wild and curly, and she is having little success taming it into braids as she walks. She is talking softly to herself, stopping every now and again, but then moving on once more. Her feet carry her aimlessly, or at least more in the direction of her subconscious than her conscious mind. Finally she pauses halfway across the bowl, frowning slightly as she looks around herself. It isn't far off from where a darkly-honeyed green dragon sits, her tail twined around herself and her wings folded along her body as she sits almost like a perfect statue of some long forgotten cat. It is her head that moves, twitching towards Catling at the sound of the her murmuring and tilting, as if she might be better angling to hear the words that the teenage human is saying. And Ivraeth watches her with an attention that most humans do not get from dragons, in most situations. Sometimes she just knows she's being watched. The teen goes very still and silent, though her muscles tense. She then turns her head slowly, warily, trying to see who is watching without giving clue that she knows she is being watched. Her lips turn down into a deeper, puzzled frown, and she starts to move on again, then stops once more. She glances at the dragon, then around the bowl. Another frown, and she pivots and moves slowly towards the dragon. She closes half the distance, then stops. She isn't afraid. It's never really occurred to her to fear the dragons. She dips her head respectfully. "I... erm... hello," she says awkwardly, not really sure how one addresses a dragon, much less speak to one. The rumble in Ivraeth's throat definitely holds the tone of a greeting, if it lacks similar words. Her head even dips in a regal, brief movement before she returns to watching Catling with slowly whirling eyes. "Am I disturbing you? Am I allowed to be talking to you? I don't really know how that all works." Catling forges on, encouraged by the rumble. "Or am I walking too close? I'm not sure why you're watching me, and... well. I hope it's not because I'm doing something wrong or... well, annoying you or something. If so... I am sorry." She sighs. "I've never talked to a dragon before." The exhaled breath through Ivraeth's muzzle almost sounds like a laugh. Or, more accurately, like a dragon imitating a human's laugh. But then she dips her head again in a nod, encouraging, as she appears to listen. Catling steps closer. Not quite close enough for her to touch, but close. Close enough for the dragon to touch, certainly, though she doesn't stop to consider that. "You're very pretty, you know? Like sunset on leaves. I hope staring's not too rude." She studies the dragon intensely, her gaze shifting from snout-tip to tail-tip and back. "And you..." She breathes in, breathes out. "You smell nice. Much nicer than ovines. Or even canines or felines." Another rumble even as Ivraeth's jaw bobs up and then down in agreement to both of those statements, her teeth shown briefly in what might be meant as a smile. Her tail flicks even as Catling watches, before she lowers her head against to bump her nose up against the teenager's chest. It's from behind the pair that Olivya's voice comes, an amused greeting of, "I see you have met Ivraeth." Today, she is dressed in her bright, bold red leather jacket again, with dark pants hugging long legs and blonde curls flying free. There's none of the softness of a dress today, but in its place is the feminine touch of bright red lips. Almost instinctively, Catling brings up her hand to place it on the dragon's nose. If her eyes could whirl they would, but they are very wide and round and shining. Yet at the sound of the voice she snatches her hand away as if she's been caught doing something wrong, and she clasps her hands behind her back. "I... erm... yes ma'am," she squeaks, flushing slightly. She bites her lip, though she doesn't back away. "She... erm... I..." "Yes, yes. I know what she did," is what Olivya answers dismissively, still walking towards the pair. Ivraeth doesn't move away, butting her nose against Catling's chest lightly once again before she finally draws away. "You didn't do anything wrong. Dragons will certainly let you know if they don't want to be talked to or touched." The Weyrlingmaster casts a look at her dragon, with the curve of a brow upwards, and for a second, some unspoken communication passes between the two. Touching a dragon is one thing, talking to the Weyrlingmaster is another. She inches her hand forwards again, but by the time she lifts it up, the green has already drawn away. "Good to meet you, Ivraeth," she says quietly. Then she draws herself up straighter. "I was walking across the Bowl and she was watching me. I came over here and started talking to her." She clears her throat, then pushes the tangle of unruly hair as much as she can down her back. Olivya tips her chin in a movement that somehow echoes her dragon; it's the same regal way they hold themselves, mostly, that evokes it. "I know," she answers. "We share everything, Ivraeth and I. There are never any secrets between us." But, apparently, not always agreement given the way she glances at the green once more. "She finds you interesting, which is something given how much she dislikes Searching." "I'm.... afraid I don't really understand, ma'am," admits Catling. "Whatever interest I could hold...." She frowns. "Not that I mind. She's beautiful. She's... Well. Whatever I think she is, you know more than I do, ma'am. But I'm grateful for her kindness all the same. Even if I don't understand." "She is beautiful. And in flight, with her wings spread against the sun and going faster than any male dragon, any gold, could hope to go--," replies Olivya with a small smile that disappears before it can settle into her features. Ivraeth doesn't preen, but she certainly basks in the attention. But the Weyrlingmaster doesn't linger over the subject of her dragon, focusing again on Catling with reserved, blue eyes. "Interest as a Candidate. She thinks you have something that is needed for the clutch on the Sands." "Me?" Catling looks first at the dragon, then at Olivya. It is clear she finds Olivya the more intimidating of the pair. "I... erm... Kh't... the Assistant Weyrlingmaster said that I ought to speak to you about.... about the eggs..." She swallows hard. "I've not been able to talk myself into it yet." "It isn't something you should talk yourself into. It isn't something anyone will force you into. It is a big decision but if you want the opportunity to Stand, it is yours," Olivya replies in the diplomatic tone of a Lady Holder, leaving the decision to the young woman even as Ivraeth stares. "It isn't the Standing that...." Catling swallows hard. "I've thought about it a lot, ma'am, since the day that the flight took place. Thought about a lot of things. Not really comfortable things. A lot of thinking the Hatchlings deserve better. But then... then I talked to Kh'tyr. He's...." She tilts her head. "I wouldn't necessarily say 'nice', because he'd maybe hate that. But he showed me I *could* believe in myself. That's not.... easy for me. After I spoke with you earlier I kept losing courage to talk to you. Talking to you is what I had to talk myself into. But... to Stand.... sometimes it's easy to forget who you are, to wall off who you might be. Because sometimes... well. Anyway. I suppose what I am saying is that I would be honored to. That maybe I do have something. I don't know what the dragons want. But if they want me.... I'm more than willing." Again there's patience in the Weyrlingmaster for Catling's speech, listening just as simply as her dragon does. If there's a moment when a brow curves briefly upwards, it disappears again just as quickly. At the end, she accepts the girl's answer with a tip of a nod before telling her simply, "Then you'll need to find the Headwoman or one of her assistants and tell them you were Searched. They will give you a knot and get you settled into the barracks as a Candidate." A pause, before she adds, "Any questions?" "Probably too many to count but.... none for right now, ma'am," answers Catling, her voice once more squeaking. "THat is.... no ma'am. Sorry. I do talk too much. I.... thank you, ma'am. I'm grateful." Then she looks at the dragon before offering a half-bow. "And thank you too, Ivraeth." Ivraeth rumbles, shifting her paw forward and dipping herself into a very elegant half-bow of her own in turn for Catling. But then she's spreading her wings and standing, stepping back to launch herself into the sky without another word. "If you have any questions, come find me or Kh'tyr. If a dragon does choose you, we'll be the ones taking over your training, after all," Olivya replies without missing a beat even as her dragon moves. "Yes ma'am. I will. I've been following the weyrling calisthetics for weeks, now. Since Kh'tyr suggested I ought." Catling ducks her head. "Thank you. And Ivraeth." The girl's hair blows back in the force of the wind from the wing-beats, and she laughs despite her nervousness. "We will have some lectures for Candidates specifically to prepare you for the Sands and for immediately after Impression," Olivya tells her, nodding only slightly in approval. "You are welcome to continue to watch their exercises and whatever else you may, without interrupting. I'd suggest spending at least a little time that you have in the dragon infirmary; you might get a head start on weyrling lessons that way if you Impress." "I... I will, ma'am. I love learning." There's something urgently, if ephemerally fierce in Catling's expression, and then she offers an unguarded smile. "I'll do my best." And then her voice trails off awkwardly, and she bites her lip, looking down again. There's some softness to the way that Olivya assures Catling, "And that is all any of us ask of you." Then she's all business again, straightening and nodding towards the inner caverns. "Go and find the Headwoman. I have to get back to my weyrlings. I'll see you on the Sands, hopefully; I will be there regardless." She turns back the way she came at that, summoned only by her dragon and now returning towards the weyrling barracks. |
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