Logs:Bronzerider Mentoring Mk II
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| RL Date: 20 February, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A'rist has been shadowing K'del. There are things bronzeriders need to know that involve hockey sticks. |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 1, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, B'ren/Mentions, F'manis/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, Sisha/Mentions, Y'rel/Mentions |
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| Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself. A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs. A'rist kicks at some of the snow covering the iced-over edge of the lake, wobbling a bit when his planted foot starts to slide, but regaining his balance quickly enough. The stick goes down, too, as a means of steadying himself, and, so crouched, he peers up from under his toque to find the weyrleader. "So is this part of your official duties? I mean, if you had to tell Quinlys about what we did today... or if I did." Apparently, a day of shadowing breeds enough familiarity that the 'sirs' that were in ever other sentence have managed to calm down some. "Official, maybe not," answers K'del, not without the beginnings of a smile, one that suggests he prefers this to drills, sweeps, official visits or, perhaps most of all, paperwork. "But it's still something you should have some kind of familiarity with. You've seen people playing, right? Played before, maybe? There's a few of us bronzeriders who play whenever we can. Anyway, Quinlys would get it." The Weyrleader adjusts his stick in his hands, gesturing towards the ice: go on. A'rist goes a bit farther out, stomping and tapping here and there. "Yeah, I've seen them. Haven't played really. I don't know, not many riders want to invite the stables kid to their games, do they?" Another slip, but this one turns almost into a purposeful slide. He gets his stick, brought up for balance, back onto the ice. "Besides. You're the weyrleader, right?" The beginnings of his own smile, a teenager's smile of possibilities. And maybe a tiny bit of rebellion, although this is still A'rist. K'del seems comfortable on the ice, his stride relatively even, his slides few and far between... or entirely deliberate. "My boys play with their friends, some," he says, testing his stance and then, apparently prepared, aiming an easy shot towards the weyrling. "You mean, Quinlys won't be upset because I'm the Weyrleader and what I say goes? You haven't met your Weyrlingmaster, have you?" That gets a laugh out of the younger bronzerider. The younger bronzerider, who's watching K'del carefully, and has started to emulate some of his movement. "Mostly we just went sliding around the ice if we were out here. I don't know. I guess I never really played lots of games like th-" and then he's swinging that stick to send K'del's shot off sideways and well away from either of them. Case in point. "If you get tapped to Hailstorm, you'd better be prepared to learn," warns K'del, cheerfully watching that shot go wild-- though he also slides after it, ready to send it back in A'rist's directions. "It's B'ren's preferred form of wing bonding, and missing shots can end you up with dawn sweeps forever. That's insider information, there; they won't tell you that kind of thing. Have you considered where you want to end up?" "I actually kind of like dawn sweeps," A'rist admits, in a bit of a distracted way, as he's occupied by repositioning himself, getting ready again. The weyrling's face goes determined, eyes on K'del's stick, even as he's answering, "I'm thinking on it. What do you like about Taiga?" Hopefully the other bronzerider doesn't answer him and pass at once... K'del delays his pass, very considerately, positioning and repositioning for a few seconds as he considers the question. "If you like dawn sweeps, do I have the wing for you..." Only that's teasing, laughingly said, and followed by, "I like F'manis. He's a good, solid wingleader. He's got a plan: he doesn't expect everything to be about the wing, but nor does he want it impersonal. He's got a good eye for drills, and for talent, in general. He puts up with me." Now he'll pass. A'rist puts all his attention into receiving that pass. It still bounces, but this time, not as far, and more back in the direction whence it came. He takes it upon himself to go forward, and try to bring puck and stick and himself all back to his original position. It's not skilled. It is effective. Then, he turns and gets ready, much as K'del had done just a moment earlier. "What about your wing before Taiga?" A moment, a search of memory, and he tries, "Alpine?" "Avalanche," is the corrected answer, promptly delivered, as K'del wipes the back of his hand over his forehead, though surely he's not sweating just yet. He adjusts his stance, eye on the puck, and adds, "Alpine's Y'rel and H'kon. Solid. Avalanche... Sisha's a good wingleader. She was my wingsecond for turns, way back, and it was about time she got her wing. Good camaraderie. They drill often, more often than Taiga. Interesting, creative drills." "Drills are good for us," A'rist decides. "Me and Lythronath." He falls quiet for a moment, long enough to send the puck K'del's way. Which is generally the way it goes, even if it means A'rist gives a little bit of a wobble afterwards, on that ice. "He's intense, but it's sort of good like that. If it gets focused..." That little smile translates into crouching a bit lower over the ice and the stick in his hands. Looking back up, with a different face, "What about some of the other ones?" This time, K'del misses the puck, but it's his own fault: it goes sliding past, and he has to hurry after it to collect it, and slide it back. It gives him a moment to consider - though he's nodding as he does so. "Seems reasonable," he says. "Focused is good. Important. Well... not Glacier for you, I think. They drill hard, but not as often, and it seems like it might be too... something for your bronze." That's a polite way of putting it. "And Icicle is probably too acrobatic. Iceberg, maybe? Polaris is still off at Monaco, so none of you will go there." The puck, finally, gets sent back towards the weyrling. A'rist tries to receive the puck on his stick, and fails. He manages to get a foot behind it instead, though there's a less-than-flattering pinwheeling of one of his arms, and a hard smack to the ice with the stick at the end of the other. Instead of laugh, this time, the young man makes a face. Determination, again, at least until he's got stable footing. Only then does he nudge that puck forward with his stick once more, ready for the next pass. "I've heard some things, about the Monaco wing here..." K'del does not laugh. He doesn't even crack a smile, though his expression is encouraging, which at least indicates that he's paying attention. "R'hin's a good man," says the Weyrleader, firmly. "Unorthodox, certainly, but a good man nonetheless. Hard to imagine him as Weyrleader here, that's for sure. What've you been hearing about Savannah?" "Just things about bar fights and stuff. Lax discipline, I guess." The pass comes. It's a little straighter on, though also a little weak. Sliding... sliding... sliding... stopped. "I'm not worried, I just wondered how come you have them here? Like, the reason you thought it was a good idea." Stopped - and then reclaimed, position adjusted with a few careful motions of K'del's stick. "We've a long history with Monaco. Exchanges like this aren't terribly common in recent turns, but they have been in the past." K'del is not a good enough liar to get away with that being the whole truth. A'rist's head tilts a little bit, in a way his dragon has. He tongues a little at the inside of his mouth, shuffles his feet on the ice, tests his stick by playing it back and forth over the smooth surface. Makes up his mind to ask, "So what, just for tradition's sake? What does the Weyr benefit from it that got lost in recent turns?" K'del's expression looks, very abruptly, utterly wry. "Think that one through," he suggests. "Perhaps you'll find your answer. What might induce a Weyr to accept a trade like this? What could one Weyr offer another?" He sends the puck back, a little wide. A'rist reaches, and manages to bounce the puck off his stick. Not the soft reception one might want, but at least it doesn't go past him, and he manages to recover from that lunge pretty quickly, and without finding his butt on the ice. He's still after that, thinking. Finally, "Just different perspectives? Maybe other styles of cooking?" That one comes with a quirk at the corners of his lips. "Different games... But couldn't other Weyrs send you troublemakers and stuff? Or are you trying for trust?" He's on a roll. Until he stops. "Or," says K'del, giving A'rist a considering smile. "They sweetened the pot somehow." "But why would they want to send you their riders in the first place?" He might be thinking out loud now, even if A'rist really is still looking at K'del. "And if they did want them here, what did they want them here for? I mean, right after we had crap for tithes, and all that weyrleader stuff? They had to get something out of it if they wanted their wing here so bad..." K'del adjusts his hands upon his stick, half-smiling as he considers A'rist's questions. He may just be thinking aloud, but the Weyrleader answers - or is it prompts? - anyway. "Perhaps they wanted some of their bronzeriders on hand for when Hraedhyth rises next," he suggests. "Or perhaps there's someone in that wing they wanted to be rid of, temporarily. Or... there are plenty of possible reasons. Perhaps you could ask R'hin." A'rist wrinkles his nose at the prospect. "So, if they want a bronzerider or two here for Hraedhyth's flight, they want control. And you let them come here anyway. Even though Cadejoth's lost before, hasn't he?" His eyes fall off of K'del, and focus on the end of his stick. K'del's nod answers the second. As for the first? "Or perhaps that's not the answer at all. Perhaps I trust them. Perhaps I'm not worried. Are you?" His smile is almost - almost! - enigmatic. "Consider it homework. Come back to me, sometime before you graduate, with what you envision this scenario to be." "I will," A'rist promises, prompt, just like that. And this time, when he passes that puck, it's with force! If, still, not perfect accuracy. He'll surely miss several more times, and even fall before the end of the practice, but it's all in the name of learning, isn't it? |
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