Logs:Blue Balls
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| RL Date: 17 December, 2015 |
| Who: Quinlys, T'gar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys takes T'gar weyr-hunting. |
| When: Day 26, Month 7, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: V'ros/Mentions |
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| It may well have been deliberate that T'gar is almost (but not quite) the last weyrling to be summonsed by one of the weyrlingmasters for a tour of the available real estate; that it is Quinlys who has her dragon request Asaroth remain behind after class almost certainly is. The weyrlingmaster lounges up against her blue, shading her eyes against the afternoon sun, and seems quite willing to wait for as long as it takes for the weyrling pair to be ready. Exactly what the purpose of this summons is for is probably obvious, given the way others have been called aside similarly... but Olveraeth has not verbally acknowledged it. Deliberate or not, T'gar seems to not be worried about the emptying of the barracks as his clutchmates slowly acquired their weyrs. After class, he has a satchel in hand as if he has plans while heading out until the summons came. So he arrives out into the sun, satchel strap over one shoulder as he pause just beyond the door to watch Quinlys in her natural element. "It's about that time, isn't it?" is his greeting, looking up towards the sky as well. "Waiting to take me up yourself?" Indeed, he seems to know what this is about. "Maybe I'm just not sure I trust you in a weyr on your own," says Quinlys, without shifting her glance towards the weyrling. "Or maybe it was an unsuccessful power play. Who can say?" Not Quinlys, evidently-- or, at least, she's not telling. "Shall we? Pretty sure there's bound to be something left that isn't completely awful." "Can you trust me in yours, then?" Rat puts out there, heading towards his waiting dragon with an eyes on his riding straps. Looking back at her, "Power play. Hmm. Who can, indeed." He was ready, though, brows lifting and falling in brisk succession before he answers back, "Best I should have a decent weyr. I'll probably end up hanging at yours otherwise." It's so pleasantly-given, too. "Oh no," says Quinlys. "Weyrlings are not permitted in my weyr; that's a rule. A person has to have some space where they can't be interrupted." In whatever it is they might do outside of working hours. She fixes an unreadable glance upon the bronzerider and then, shaking her head, turns her attention towards mounting her blue, giving the signal for take-off, and leading the way up into the sky. Their destination isn't too far up: a medium-sized ledge several levels above the weyrleaders' complex. >---< Lofted Dreams Weyr >---------------------------------------------------<
Not so far off from the weyrleaders' complex but several levels high, a
medium-sized ledge juts stonily from the cliff. It's not especially
remarkable, what with the checklist of ''part to land on'' and ''overhang
to sit under when it's raining'', except that the entrance to the weyr is
tall but narrow that requires care with one's wings.
Inside, the weyr itself is also tall but narrow, the wallow a two-story affair
while the living area's made more spacious by the loft installed above it.
While outside it was plain, inside, it's all about the details: the stone
cleverly worked to shape heat and sound into comfort, the built-in benches
smoothly chiseled into a corner where a table might fit, and best of all,
what seems to have been a ship's mast wedged from the loft level to the
floor - a smoothly polished pole, the better to slide down in a hurry for
a literal or metaphorical fire.
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"I won't be a weyrling forever," is perhaps not the first time Quinlys has heard T'gar say it, the words falling familiar and easy from his mouth as he mounts. Asaroth launches and follows after her blue easily, landing on the appointed ledge. The weyrling studies the non-impressive ledge at length before she dismounts and heads inside as he says, "Are you coming with? Any recommendations?" Oh, T'gar. Let Quinlys have her illusions. That's probably why she doesn't comment on the topic, saying nothing further until they've safely landed upon the ledge, and she has swung down. "If you want me to," she says, with a shrug, though she's already taken a few steps after him, even if she ends up being more inclined to stand in the doorway. "Just look for something you can be comfortable in. Likely, none will be amazing. But-- they have their perks." She is not going to comment on the perks of that pole. "Comfortable in," Rat repeats that, slightly amused as he takes in the pole first before the whole of the place. He approaches the pole and flicks a thumb against it before looking her way. "This one does have its appeal," he admits in indication. "Its perk. Asaroth's not too chuffed about the space, though." "I'm sure you could... use that very athletically," comments Quinlys with a dry, amused note to her voice, arms crossed beneath her breasts. "But if Asaroth's not happy, it clearly won't do; that's pretty much a given, I think. Can't imagine any rider picking a weyr their dragon didn't like. We'll keep looking, then." Nodding as he looks back at his watching bronze, "I'm willing to keep this one at the back of my mind," Rat says, giving the place one final sweeping look before settling on Quinlys. "If the others look worse, though..." he heads back out to the ledge. "We'll keep looking." He seems to be watching her more than the weyr, even, as he mounts up. Dryly: "I'll see what I can come up with that's better, oh master of exacting standards." Quinlys is teasing, though, more than serious, wasting no further time before mounting up and leading the way back into the air. Their next destination is not far from the hatching caverns; not a huge ledge, but large enough for both dragons if they sit rather than lounge. Barely. >---< Winter Warmth Weyr >---------------------------------------------------<
Situated just beside the wide entrance to the hatching caverns, this
oddly-shaped ledge looks as though half of it has been cut away in order
to make room. It's not very big, though the sun hits it at such an angle
in the afternoon as to make it the perfect lounging spot, as long as one
doesn't mind their tail draping off towards the bowl. What it lacks for in
size, it makes up for in position: this is a ledge for the dragon who
wants to see everything, from visitors to the hatching grounds to more
distant activities throughout the bowl.
Inside, there's a hollow depression in the stone large enough for even a small
bronze, with a narrow walkway around it for human occupants to make their
way into the long, narrow cavern of the inner weyr. It's always warm in
here, as though the heat from those next-door hatching grounds have seeped
deep into the walls, staying close so as to keep things toasty in winter,
and occasionally, unbearable in summer.
The inner weyr is a single cavern that extends a long distance back into the
bowl wall, growing steadily narrower as it goes until, at the very back,
the width is only enough for the double-sized bed that has been jammed up
against the wall. There are built-in sconces for glows in the walls,
however, and the ceiling is high enough that it isn't as claustrophobic as
it could be.
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There's laughter from Rat as he settles on Asaroth for Quinlys' tease. "Like you didn't spend time looking for the right space your first time, Red. Ma'am," is his counter. Once they fly to the next ledge, and once landed, "What," he adds as if the conversation didn't pause, "you chose the first one you came across, did you?" He dismounts then and takes in the ledge and the hollow depression with interest as he notes idly, "I can tell this one's definitely geared more towards a dragon's comfort than a rider's." "Olly and I knew our weyr the moment we first saw it," Quinlys says, firmly (and whether this is true or not, it's certainly clear that she believes it-- time has made it so). "So there was no point seeing anything else after that. But we," she adds, "went in a group. So you had to be quick, else someone else might claim the one you were after." Again, she trails after the weyrling, allowing him to take the lead in the explorations. More quiet, and less smug, she says, "I knew the rider who used to live here. It's... strange, knowing he's not here anymore." "What was it about the weyr that drew the both of you?" T'gar's asking as he walks about and takes the place in. He studies where the bed is before something Quinlys says draws his gaze back to her. "Oh yeah? 'Used to'. What happened to him?" he asks her as he moves along the warm walls. "Stars," is a simple answer, predictable in its own way. Quinlys clarifies after a moment, "There's sort of a tunnel in the ceiling," above her bed, thoug she's clearly not going to comment on that, "So you can see the sky. From Olly's couch, too." Of this weyr, she's slower to respond, pacing after T'gar in silence before she says, finally, "He died in the plague. Volunteered for the plague wing and... but it's all been cleaned, since then. It wouldn't be on the list if it weren't safe." "Must be nice," T'gar notes on her revealing about her weyr. "The way Asaroth describes Olveraeth to me, I can see the appeal for you." He lets the silence linger, letting her be the one to break it in regards to the weyr they're standing in. After a lingering moment as he watches her, his gaze lingering on her face, "Sorry for your loss," he says quietly to that, nodding once. When he finally looks back to the weyr at large, "Asaroth likes that he can see much from here," he says soberly. "I'll consider it." He's ready to move on to the next one, the brawny man turning back for the ledge. "Mm," says the bluerider, failing to actually come up with anything of substance to add to the conversation-- any of the conversation. She's distracted, silent for long moments after that before she abruptly pulls herself back together: "Right. Consideration is good. A short-list. Let's see what else we can find." Preferably with a less morbid note to it! With that said, she's quick towards the ledge; it might well be fleeing though no doubt Quinlys would never call it that. Olveraeth takes them further into the bowl: up and up towards a weyr with a pair of stone sentinels to guide them down. >---< Sculpted Shadows Weyr >------------------------------------------------<
Turns of sitting out in the sunny open of this claw-marked ledge has bleached
a pair of creepy bone chairs white. They sit to one side, just behind twin
gargoyles, sculpted of stone to look like glowering watchwhers. These two
figures, facing the sun, stand guard over landings and takeoffs from their
vantage point; and at dawn and dusk their rough backs and raises claws
cast long, eerie shapes across the ledge.
Inside is well-lit, well-ventilated, and well-worn. The rock has been smoothed
into dull corners and careful steps that lead only a couple of feet
downward to the living quarters once past the dragon's couch. The rider's
quarters is delineated with a heavy piece of canvas across the open
archway. Behind this makeshift door the area is mostly open, though there
are several wooden shelves fastened to one wall. Chipped and forgotten
cups and bowls rest upon them.
The sleeping alcove is to one side of the room, and while it's not really big
enough for anything more than the bed within it, it does offer one unusual
feature: a small, shuttered window that opens onto the ledge just behind
those stone sculptures.
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With Quinlys falling silent, T'gar does too. He watches her as she flees from the weyr, trailing after her and mounting for the next place shown. Once Asaroth lands at this one with the sentinels, when Rat dismounts the bronze immediately goes to examine first one, then the other. He studies the sentinels as well before he and the bronze look at each other and the weyrling heads on into the inner sanctum of the weyr. Holding open the canvas for Quinlys, "He must've meant a lot to you," he says quietly on the rider, giving the inner weyr his sharp examination with a belated grunt. Quinlys is silent, still, as they arrive at this new weyr, though she's aware enough to watch the bronze and rider inspect the gargoyles-- and to step past the canvas as it gets held open for her. "He was a friend," she says, after a pause, her mouth twisting. "Not a sexy friend. A former weyrling of mine. One of the ones I just... not that I have favourites." That last is a little too hasty. "It may not have been my training that killed him, but a weyrlingmaster... we always remember. And he died because he stepped up." Beat. "What do you think?" While Asaroth inspects the sentinels still and Quinlys walks past him, "We all make our choices in the end," T'gar says on training and stepping up. "He was brave. I'm not sure I would've done the same if given the choice, but, you never know, right?" Fingers touch the abandoned cups letting the silence linger between them in his thorough inspection of this weyr before he turns towards the ledge, then looks to the Weyrlingmaster to say, "This one. It'll work for the both of us." "I don't know what I would have done either," admits Quinlys. "I'm not especially brave, and definitely not self-sacrificing." There's a trace of her usual smugness in her expression as she says that, a trace that expands and intensifies as she adds, "This one. I did wonder if this might be the one. A creepy ledge for a creepy bronze. I'm pretty sure there was a bed in here, once... one with similar carvings? Maybe it's in stores, now." "You're brave and self-sacrificing enough to train a bunch of weyrlings that probably have you pulling your own hair out at the end of the day," T'gar answers, letting a grin peter out. "I don't know if I could do what you do, either." Nodding as he looks over the place, hands planting on his hips, "Creepy ledge....I think that's what did it for him," he tells her. "It's not bad in here, either. I'll fix it up nice. Get in a nice bed, a table, some chairs and rugs....you should come by and see it when it's done," he adds, looking her way. "I'll take any and all weyrwarming gifts." So humble. "Ah," says Quinlys, "but I do what I do for me." Weyrlings and hair-pulling aside. She's content enough to let that topic drop, turning an appraising eye instead towards the rest of the weyr. "Will you now," is amused. "You must think my stipend is rather larger than it is if you think I can afford weyrwarming gifts for each of my charges." The smile she aims back at him is dimpled, amused. "It's still self-sacrificing, Red-ma'am," Rat tells her, grinning all the more. That he's pleased with his choice in weyr is evident as he looks around, her last drawing short laughter and, "I'll take one after I graduate, if you prefer," is his counter to that when he meets her gaze. "I'm patient. Resilient. Sometimes persistent." Quinlys' snort is dismissive of the self-sacrificing, and rather more amused for the rest. "Are you now. And quite confident, I think, of your abilities to wear a person down. Even a woman more than a decade your senior." If it hurts to admit her own age, there's no sign of it in Quinlys' expression; she's too busy being smugly amused. "If I were you, I'd go find a willing lower caverns girl, now that you have a weyr to take her and permission to do so. It'll be more satisfying for everyone." "I'm not intimidated by your age, Red," T'gar states, facing Quinlys fully. "Ma'am. I can understand if you're intimidated by mine." Pause. "Relief for you, you mean," is what gets said, chased on the steps of her last in an equally smug manner. "As if a fuck from a lower caverns girl would sate me." There's a 'tsk' to come, the sound made by teeth. "You know," he adds idly as he looks towards the cabinets, "you could just say you're not interested and pull rank on me. I wouldn't hold it against you if you did." The amusement lingers, however. "I could," agrees Quinlys, all smiles. "But what would the fun be in that?" She straightens, abruptly, then takes half a step towards the exit. "I should leave you to it. I'm sure you have a lot to look after." With just a hint of a smirk, "So you've just admitted that you're making it a mission to tease and leave me with blue balls," Rat concludes to her answers, the laughter heard in his voice. "Interesting. Thanks for showing me this," he gestures about the weyr. "We should probably get settled in before the day ends, right. I'm sure you've got others to show weyrs to." She's not poker-faced, because she never is; instead, Quinlys is blithe. "I just happen to enjoy the colour blue," she tells Rat, cheerfully. "Mmm, not many others. But there are other things to take care of, absolutely. Enjoy yourself, weyrling. I'll see you in class tomorrow." She aims a sunny smile over her shoulder-- and then departs. Quinlys just might have heard the "I bet," following right out to the ledge. |
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