Logs:Cairn?
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| RL Date: 5 September, 2008 |
| Who: I'daur, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Leova enlists I'daur's help. For renovations. |
| Where: Sunset Across the Lake Ledge |
| When: Day 1, Month 9, Turn 17 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'yan/Mentions, Milani/Mentions, Persie/Mentions |
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| Sunset Across the Lake Ledge Broad and flat, this large ledge could likely hold a bronze dragon and a visitor comfortably, if with little room to spare. Slanting slightly downward so that any rain may spill over the unsheltered outcropping, the bumpy ledge has smooth grooves that travel like wagon wheel tracks from where the weyr entrance begins to the very edge, paths worn smooth by turns of wind and running water. Dug into the rock next to the opening of the sheltered sanctuary and where the ledge begins to dwindle before disappearing into the wall entirely, a small cavern has been dug so that someone could carefully climb in and sit comfortably for a while. The view from the ledge reveals just why a cozy hidey-hole might be valuable, with its location almost directly behind the lake, this weyr's true treasure lies in its perfect sunset watching spot.
Zunaeth hems and haws over that invitation, something vague about maybe they'll come by if they get a chance in their busy day. And they do indeed take a bit to turn up, I'daur and Zunaeth together as the bronze glides toward the green's ledge to land there heavily, with a low rumble for Vrianth. I'daur, however, is glancing around to Leova, and those rocks. Such a very busy day it must be! Vrianth's eyes are that much greener for the bronze's approach, and she uncoils enough to make that much more wingroom in what's already a large ledge. At least, when it's not occupied by rocks, because although these are currently confined to where ledge meets cliff, who knows what can happen. Her rider straightens away from the pile, one of them hefted in her hand, though surely she won't throw it anytime soon. Probably. Though she does look surprised. And then she laughs. "Hello! Come on down?" Zunaeth relaxes slightly on the ledge, trailing the left wing off the side as he settles to let I'daur slide down with his own thud. "Leova," he greets the girl, with a nod for Vrianth in turn before he glances back toward Leova herself. "What are you doing now?" Vrianth accepts it with a low warble that's admittedly more for his dragon, something about /brooms/. Her rider hesitates, starting to wave and then finding a rock in her hand, then just winds up taking up an easy stance with it held behind her back. "Had a mind to get some building done. Was thinking about you, actually, which would probably explain," and she tips her head Vrianth's way. "Handyman work, and all." "Buildin'," says I'daur, in a blank sort of voice, like he doesn't quite comprehend. Then, "You want me to build you something." He shuffles away from Zunaeth's side, over toward the rocks and the greenrider. "Only thing you got there's a cairn, 'n' I'm hoping we ain't going to be needing one of those real soon, myself." A moment of silence, and then Leova's laughing. "You sure I don't have anyone buried under there already?" Though if she has, given the size of the pile, probably he'd have to be in parts. "No, no. Well. Sort of. I'm hoping you'll teach me, is the main thing. Here," and she offers him the rock: it's a river-smoothed thing, fairly plain but for the vein of white, the sort that will get glossy in the water. "Teach you how to make cairns." Now I'daur definitely doesn't get it, eyeing the rock she hands him and turning it over to inspect it. "So... what are you trying to build?" The rock handed over, she walks back over to the rocky pile, nudges it with the toe of her boot. Boots with cut-offs: very fashionable. "You remember Wroth's ledge?" She glances back over her shoulder at him, eyes bright in the light. "With the old dead trees? Though it might work to add... a miniature terrace, a huge pot, something like that. Rocks framed to hold in the dirt. Grow some live ones." I'daur rubs the back of his neck, glancing at Zunaeth and then Leova and finally pitching his rock over to join the rest on the pile. "Don't know nothing about growing stuff," says the man with all the dead plants in his weyr and office, "but I guess we could try making a... thing. Y'know there's real handymen out there." Just in case she wasn't aware. Leova gives him a sidelong look. "Had heard that. Milani might even have some favorites." She moves away, shapes out a semi-circle with the toe of her boot. "Mostly, it's the plan I'm after. And those eggs coming up, it forced my hand... It's got to take advantage of the light, to hold up well, to allow for drainage. I'll take care of the actual tree part. Mortar, you think? Fitted stone sounds hard." "Forced your...?" I'daur trails off, doesn't finish that statement though he does flick a mildly curious look up to Leova. "Mortar, I guess," agrees the man. "Put a pipe in it to let it drain over the edge. You want it here?" He nods toward the stack of rocks already there, nudging a foot against the nearest stray one. The greenrider completes it anyway:"Well, you'll be busy, won't you? Persie's already... sweeping. And better before winter anyway." A nod for the pipe, and she stands back, surveying the scene: the ledge emerging from the cliff even as the hidey-hole cavern sinks back into it, more cliff, and then the great mouth of the weyr itself. And space on the far side, where the rockpile currently is. "Would /like/ a couple of them, better yet if one's between the two openings. But better to start off with just the easy one, you think?" "That Persie," I'daur says of his already-excited assistant, but his tone is more indulgently exasperated than anything else. "Like I said, though, s'other people know more about it'n me, so...?" And he turns to Leova, crossing his arms for the moment. Her mouth curves: that Persie, indeed. But whatever Persie-story she's poised to share, it's quelled by the tack he takes. So she just looks at the rockpile a little longer, its mix of mostly-riverstone with everything from standstone to obsidian, and finally looks back at him. "So I was hoping you'd help me, I'daur." And then, "I like the way you look at things." For all I'daur asks, "How's that?" it has the air of an automatic question, because he's already bending, with a grunt, to look at the stones more closely. Apparently, this is agreeing. "Might want 'em look more... same," he adds. "You going to get all the supplie; me, the work." Again he gets an answer anyway. "Reasonable." And then, "Mostly." And she's smiling again, just a little. Maybe it's the grunt. "Some won't work as well? Or to make it more even? Thought some different, for different places I've been. And. I'll do some work too." I'daur shrugs. "Figured you might want it more... even-looking," he offers, flipping over a couple of stones and then eyeing them all again before he digs through a pocket for, of course, his flask. He gets a drink and then offers it up toward Leova without looking. "You tell all these places you're stealin' their rocks?" he asks dryly. "Maybe the different kinds across the top?" Leova wonders. "Or just under flatter pieces to sit on. Or a design." But that could get complicated, so she takes the flask, does an automatic sniff-test, takes her one drink and lets it burn before handing it back: does his spidey-sense extend to knowing when it's headed his way as well? "Of course. Letter on the finest parchment. Best handwriting." Because they're really going to miss them. I'daur always knows when liquor is headed his way, or something. Or, well, he looks around to give Leova an unimpressed look when she mentions designs, and notices the flask in the process. Taking it back, he takes another drink and then puts it away for the time being. Getting back to his feet is laborious, and involves some grimacing and a hand reaching out to brace on the wall as he gets his knees straightened back out. "Done before winter, huh?" Leova gives him a look right back. Could offer him a hand, but like that's going to go over well. "Or the eggs hatch. Whichever comes first." Deep breath. "What else are we going to need? Mortar, pipe..." "Make them come do the damn thing," I'daur notes. "The weyrlings." But no real sentiment to his threat, he stretches a moment and then straightens up, ticking off items on his fingers. "Mortar, trowel. Pipe. Lotta rock. Sounds pretty good." "Muck it up, like as not. I remember weyrlings." Leova's smile reappears, deepens for just a moment. "All right. Going to have to import dirt, too, layer it with gravel, they said. So do we build up partway, add gravel, build up more, add dirt... or build it all up and then put the insides in?" The greenrider adds, "Two trowels." I'daur snorts. "Make 'em do it again," he says, with a smirk. As for gravel, he runs a hand through his hair and eyes the rocks one more time. "Wait 'til it's done," is his decision. "Case we need to get back in there for something." A nod confirms the two-trowel requirement, though. "That rate, could last until they graduate," Leova dryly opines. And: "All right. Reckon, what, twice what's there for rocks? Three times? Mostly wanted to use them like placeholders. Lay it out." I'daur shrugs. "Depends how high you want it," he decides. "Could lay it out, see. Get as many as you can 'n' more if it's not enough." He kicks one loose rock back over there toward the others. "S'pose it's late to start tonight, but could start layin' it out tomorrow, see how big it turns out." Leova narrows her eyes at the cliff. "High enough to sit on, anyway. Wide enough for the roots, figured that if it tapered, that way, wouldn't be so wide as to make it a pain to land. Got a couple sketches inside." She pauses to exchange a couple rocks, like that's going to make a difference now, and there goes that smile again as she stands. "How early, you thinking?" "Sketches and everything," I'daur repeats, just a little bemused with her depth of research. "Might as well take a look, see what I'm getting myself into," drawls the man, with a shake of his head. "How early you up?" Already headed towards the larger archway, "Of /course/ sketches. Sit down if you want." Leova adds over her shoulder, her only look back, "And earlier'n you! Dawn workout with the wingleader, drills after." I'daur limps his way over to the alcove to sit indeed, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Get up early," he protests her slight with a shake of his head that she, heading instead to fetch sketches, won't see. "Can't sleep anymore, when you get old." There's a guttural mutter, emphasis on the gutter, but Leova spares further comment until she returns with those hides rolled up in her hand: three of them. It takes a glance around before she finds him, Vrianth clearly unhelpful. Sunning Vrianth. Heading for the alcove, offering the hides over, "Still don't buy that. /Old/." "Yeah?" says I'daur, who scoots over to make room for her to sit around there, too, if she wants. He takes the hides and flips through them idly for the moment. "Old," is his firm repitition, as he gives the sketches a cursory glance-over. "Been old, long time. Might've always been." "Yeah." Leova does sit, elbows on her knees, gauging his reaction. Even though it turns out to be brief: could be worse. Could be tossed. "Where do you get that idea?" And if he's done with the sketches, she'll reach for them. Of the sketches, "Not bad work." I'daur studies them a little better the second run-through, then passes the stack back to Leova beside him while he leans back against the wall. "Why's it matter?" Leova rolls them up with an easy riff, and gives them a pat with a proprietary air not seen since the silver thread days or her dragonhealing manuals. "Just seems like it's easy to just say that, go with that," she says. "Though. Harder to complain, you helping me out like this, hm?" I'daur lifts his shoulders. "S'easy. Don't make it wrong," the old man points out. As for the helping out, "Better be good to me now, you want this... whatever it's supposed to be." Old man. "Not all by itself. What did you mean, always-old?" And then Leova supplies helpfully, "Thing. This /thing/. For the trees." And laughs to herself. I'daur snorts. "That tree thing," he indulges her wording for the moment, while he finds his flask again for another drink. "Hell if I know. Some people's just that way, same as some people's always kids. You, you're old," the weyrlingmaster offers after a brief pause, flask extended again. "Ain't always just age." "Tree-thing." There they go. Until. The greenrider's brow lifts, real surprise, only it's both brows because she /still/ can't get just one: "What's old, then?" She'll take the flask, drink a sip down slow. Another shrug, I'daur glancing out over the ledge while she drinks his liquor. "Can't explain it," he decides then. "You just know. And you are, or you're not." "Don't feel old." Leova drinks, slowly again. "My old, anyway." Offers it back. "Don't mind not counting as a kid, though. /That/ would get old," playing with the words. I'daur settles for just clasping a hand around his flask this time, hands in his lap. He cuts a sideways look at her, though, at those words. "Told me not to treat you like a kid, while back," he recalls. His eyes on her that way, she turns into it, pulling up her knee to sit sideways better. "Good memory, for an 'old man.'" I'daur, with a drink now, notes, "Remember some of 'em. Ones worth the remembering, anyway." "What else you got in there, that head of yours?" She could aim to ruffle his hair, does it with a look instead. I'daur can ruffle his hair for himself, thank you very much. And he does so, too, rubbing a hand across the short gray mess for a moment. "Mm. Dunno 'til I need it," he tells her. "Nothin' useful, probably." That curls up the near corner of her mouth, and she says, "Nothing useful, hm? /Maybe/ you might remember how come you got to freeze and you didn't want me to get a little cold." I'daur scratches a temple, narrows his eyes like he's thinking real hard. "Nope, dunno anymore," he decides, with a shake of his head. "Must of not been that important." Palm, meet forehead, as studied a gesture as his. Leova says from behind it, just one eye peeking out, "Reckon that counts as cheating, somehow." No denying I'daur's smirk, his innocent expression entirely too contrived. "Don't know how. Can't remember. Healers say, might be all the drink." Which he does again now. "Pull the other leg," Leova says with a roll of that one eye, only make that two, aiming that elbow for his ribs. As long as he's drinking, and all. Sputtering a little, I'daur fails at drinking well, reaching up a hand to swipe his hand over his mouth. "Hell, don't waste the stuff," he tells her, with a Look. "Some of the better." "You don't say." Leova rounds her eyes at the flask, even if it isn't quite a Milani-caliber gesture. "Wish I'd noticed." She sinks back against the stone, laughs to herself and the dragons on the ledge beyond. "Oughta appreciate it more," agrees I'daur then. And just for that, he'll offer it back out to her, one more time. His voice draws her attention back. "My fault, for not drinking it when you're not around." She takes what he offers, but before she drinks, "Going to bring it by tomorrow? Bright and early, you said. Going to have to work, to keep up with you." I'daur glances around at Leova again, raises a brow. "Go anywhere without it?" he drawls. "You let me know when you get out of them drills, then. 'Ll try to get some stuff together before, s'pose." Leova's hands lift, palm up, her turn for innocence. "Must be pretty hard, taking a swim, but reckon you got your ways." Vrianth turns her head, and yawns into what she can reach of Zunaeth's neck to show her opinion: fine, fine, she can let them know. "Thought I was supposed to get the supplies? Or is it just the rock, now." "Had a lot of practice," points out I'daur. Then, a shrug. "S'posed to," he concedes. "But if you're busy all morning 'n' we're supposed to get right to work--" Leova makes a show of looking the flask over: does it stick on somehow? Attach? Hang like a necklace? Her last swallow's only a sip. "I know," she decides. "You balance it on your head." Not that she'd smile at him. Just hand it back. No smiling. "Deal. You going to get lunch, or am I going to have to?" So much work. I'daur will smirk, though, as he takes the flask and a sip both. "You. 'Ll bring the drinks." "All we need is a bonfire, and we'd have a party." Leova gives the pile of rocks the eye, like it could be made into a fire-pit instead, and then just laughs and sits back to while the rest of the afternoon away. |
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