Logs:Drills Do A Dragon Good
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| RL Date: 5 August, 2012 |
| Who: Val, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Drills prove competitive, and Val puts a few new ideas into Azaylia (and Hraedhyth's) head. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 6, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: 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. |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
| Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake. At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake, there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl, standing out amidst otherwise an empty space. The afternoon's been devoted to drilling with F'der and Icicle, for Val's chunk of weyrlings at least: predominantly smaller dragons, though of course Literath himself is not, it's harder going for the larger sort of whom Visigoth himself is one. Still, he flies with dogged determination as he sees to his charges, even if those blues and greens do like to show off. So much. Suvrith in particular chivvies the larger weyrling dragons under the guise of it being her wingsecond's duty, and maybe that's true too... but if part is to see how they react to not always discreet taunting, part of it is also out of sheer relish of what they can do and the others can't. One would foolishly hope that Hraedhyth's ferocity might be cooled on the winds of High Reaches, flying amongst her kind. That's hardly the case. Especially when there are those who surpass familiarity and tumble straight into disrespect. Already larger than a good chunk of full sized greens, the queen's turns aren't as sharp, and there's so much more power needed to propel her frame through the air. Red tints the very edges of her gaze, oversized jaws bared during a majority of the drills. At least she's not the only one struggling as it seems that several of the smaller dragons falter for what appears to be no reason. No matter that Hraedhyth's tail or wings often needs to straighten out, or her shoulders brush close to some of her wingmates. « They can tell what you're doing, » Visigoth remarks to Hraedhyth after one particular exchange that has one of the smaller, older dragons grumbling. Laced with humor, « It is not subtle. » For when has she ever been that? Rukbat sees all, and quite possibly Literath does too, though the shadows lengthen through the afternoon as the drills proceed. The bronze, younger than some of his fellow wingleaders, addresses his afflicted wingmates more often than the brawny queen; with him, there isn't so much dismay or argumentativeness, but he does signal that the sturdier dragons take over the places nearest her, the smaller or younger or weak-willed spreading throughout the rest of the formation. Perhaps that will help. He'll see. « GOOD. » The bellow that Hraedhyth dare not shove past her jaws is prevalent within her own mind, drowned out only by the beating of her drums. « THEN THEY SHOULD STOP. » The threat is obvious: or she won't. Even with the growing number of larger dragons surrounding her, the young gold's preformance is far from the best. It's not for a lack of trying, throwing herself into the drills as savagely as any Threadfighting dragon. There is at least some improvement in her teamwork without litte blue and green gnats to challenge her abilities. Whether that's a good thing or not, the weyrling doesn't seem to care. Visigoth, not always the most helpful: « You sound like Szadath. Have you been taking lessons? » He imagines the gold still little, looking up adoringly at the blowhard of a brown... even if the vision does throb in and out of focus with her drums' beat. Val, though, she shoots a look over at Azaylia with some concern, for all that they have others to keep track of too: that young blue, for instance, fast as a whip but wobbly on the turns and endangering those that are both speedy and agile. F'der? No more changes to the formation, yet. The name is echoed in the fading drumbeats. Szadath. She will have to remember him. « No. » Still gruff, forceful, Hraedhyth has seemed to calm down, if only slightly. Azaylia doesn't look to be all that concerned, though a glance from Val has her giving a visible start. Perhaps she should actually try to soothe her lifemate, and does so. The tawny dragon's head turns, watching that blue despite whatever distance between them. Jaws bite at nothing, a physical mirror of the mental snap she gives, « If you are scared then you are weak. Your wings need to be wide. » Like hers, despite how close she comes to smacking a dragon who flies just a touch too close. The blue's maybe more used to his clutchmate than the older dragons are; one of the latter flinches despite himself at the snap of jaws while another, the too-close green, shies away, but the little blue only retorts, « I am not scared! Faster is better than careful! » It's one of the wingseconds, Wyteth, who clarifies that yes, his wings could stand to be wider on his ascending turns, but also that the angle is crucial, sending a sense of what it feels like to both weyrling pairs... with no mention of carefulness at all. F'der and Literath see them all through the rest of the drill, but it's a workout, and if Val had noticed Azaylia's earlier reaction, that hadn't stopped her from looking a few times more. But at least she's looking at the others too, and finally they make enough of a reasonably successful go of it that F'der can dismiss the lot. Hraedhyth can't seem to argue there. Faster is better than careful, so long as « You do not hurt your fool self. » But it isn't her drill to lead, the headstrong gold understands that much, so she won't jab at her clutchmate for much longer. A good, long lesson should have the dragonets tired out and for many that is the case. For a certain gold, once her feet touch the ground she is just as antsy as she started. At least there's a noticeable curb in her intensity, a sign that the drills have done something besides teach her. As Azaylia stretches her legs, Hraedhyth busies herself with trying to goad a bronze into rough-housing. No difficulty: he's easily goaded, happy to roughhouse... except for how his balding rider actually wants to get off his neck first, imagine that. But that takes moments, the man quickly standing back and letting them go at it, if only so he's back far enough that he can try and eavesdrop on whatever F'der's summoned Val to talk about. The assistant weyrlingmaster's more listening than talking for once, her brisk acknowledgements underscored by the bob of her bound-up braid. As for the wingseconds, they're making the rounds, J'tin the one who pauses by Azaylia. "Less stressful for you, is it?" the mid-forties man asks, and it may sound like he's joking when he adds, "Or are you going to ride in one of our wings like the Weyrwoman does?" Azaylia smiles at how quickly her dragon is able to find a playmate, watching as a hand rises to smooth back any fly-away strands of hair. She gives a start at J'tin's voice, a little squeak escaping her barely parted lips. Even for how soft the sound is it has Hraedhyth's head turning suddenly to pin the two with a predatory stare. Ever so slowly, her head turns back to the bronze and their wrestling match. "U-uhm," Azaylia doesn't seem to think much of her dragon's protective nature, looking over at the bluerider with a faint shrug. "Maybe? Even then, probably not Icicle. But I'd be lying if I said Hraedhyth wouldn't fit in with a fighting wing." Is Wyteth paying attention? Not particularly, or at least that stare of Hraedhyth's doesn't dislodge him from another blue who might even be old enough to be his clutchmate, the two not keeping their argument about who'll kill the biggest buck to themselves. They not only get to go hunting in the wild lands, they get to between there, and just as soon as Wyteth's rider is done. Of course, J'tin will have other wingmates and weyrlings to visit with as well, but he doesn't appear to let his dragon's impatience infect him, idling by Azaylia to nod and even smile. "More than most," he agrees. "Not like," but then J'tin cuts himself off with a rueful blush, and tries to explain. "Rielsath wouldn't have been bad either. If only they could flame, you know?" Hraedhyth may have an ear out for the two blues, so to speak, though her attention is focused mainly on her bronze opponent. It's a bit of draconic chaos on the whole, but one Azaylia is far more comfortable standing in than she would have been, before Impression. "Rielsath certainly is something." Special? Different? Whatever that something is, it has the weyrling smiling and nodding in agreement with J'tin. "I think Hraedhyth would like that very much- to flame, I mean. Though she's got no interest in jeopardizing what she is." A queen. "She wasn't too rough with poor..." Snide though she is, the gold fills her rider in, "Wyteth, was she?" If he was even one of the ones to be shoulder-checked in the air. "Cadejoth's mother," J'tin says happily. "I remember K'del, Kasadel he was then," though he doesn't elaborate immediately. Perhaps that has something to do with Azaylia's continuing, perhaps his own boundaries, or perhaps it's the brownrider who's looped her arm around his waist. He squints down at the petite woman, who says pleasantly, "Azaylia? Come and see me when you're done, please," and sets him free to walk towards the barracks. The bluerider scratches his head, looking after her a moment, then turns back. "Wyteth can handle himself," he resumes, still cheerfully. "We've been seconding this wing for Turns now. Now, the ones you have to worry about..." here he elaborates on some young ones, but also a couple oldsters, "that have been thinking of moving off to one of the easier wings for some time now, but they just like us that much and it's not as though we have Thread... well, any other questions? Do you want to talk to Kierei?" Azaylia blinks, startled. "Oh, I didn't realize she was... though it makes sense." There can only be so many golds, despite High Reaches having such metallic luck when it comes to hatchings. "Yes'm." She responds promptly to Val, eyes wide and curious for how the brownrider manages to simply appear. Brown eyes follow the woman much like J'tin and it seems they turn back to each other at the same time. There's wisdom in the older bluerider's words, and she accepts it with an openly interested expression, that small smile persisting throughout. "I, uhm, don't think so. Thank you, J'tin." A faint touch to his arm, friendly if shy. "I think I should find Val." Since there's a need to speak with her, a polite nod given as she heads in the direction the brownrider was last seen. The wingsecond's momentarily taken aback, but then he reaches over to pat her hand in an avuncular sort of way. "You're welcome, weyrling. Clear skies, now!" He'll watch her depart for a moment, if not quite the same way that he'd watched the brownrider, and then J'tin moves off to talk more in-depth with one of the weyrlings who's more likely to be a possible Icicle recruit. As for Val, she turns out to be sitting cross-legged in the shadow of the cliff, messing around with a variety of mechanical parts kept safe on a cloth on her lap, and greets Azaylia just as soon as she's in sight. "How do you think that went?" With Hraedhyth thoroughly distracted, Azaylia isn't slowed by the need to supervise. She's a bit prompt in finding Val, one arm cradling her gear as the other rubs nervously at the top of her thigh. The question catches her by surprise, "Uhm..." Stalling, going over the drills in her head, she isn't terribly quick to reply. "Good, I guess?" Unsure and not wanting to give the brownrider an incorrect answer, the weyrling glances over her shoulder at the rest of the lingering dragons. "Nobody seems hurt?" "Only their feelings," Val agrees, and the dragons are old enough now that her supple voice has slid acerbic: their itty bitty feewings. Or maybe it's just that Meara isn't breathing over her shoulder. "Sit down, would you? You're so tall." Though only four inches taller than the brownrider herself when they're both standing. Her head tilts, the glossy braid swinging over her shoulder. "When you talked about not wanting to jeopardize what she's good for... have you heard what happened with Iskiveth?" Gossip! "And do you recognize what this is?" Or can she figure it out, these rods and valves and the tank that goes with them? "Don't worry, you aren't expected to, yet." Azaylia tries to shrink at Val's observation, shoulders hunching until an alternative is suggested. Sitting a little diagonally from the brownrider, she crosses her legs and sets her goggles and things in her lap. "I've heard... some things." Given Hraedhyth's fiery demeanor there may be a few concerned murmurings about another queen sampling firestone. "I've told Hraedhyth that she'd be hurting the weyr if she tried to flame." Which isn't too much of an exaggeration. A glance for what the brownrider's got in her lap, taking enough time to worry until she spots that tank. "Uhhmm... flamethrower?" Once again, uncertain. "Sit up, dear. Shoulders back." Val smiles at the weyrling, puts a finger to her lips, and picks up from her soft whisper to more conversational tones. "Wise, very wise. Yes, it is indeed a flamethrower, which I have to learn to use for the third time in my life because of you two," and the moue she pulls is so charming that it might have been designed for the purpose, so natural that it might be wholly innate. "I think I can get it back together, but don't worry," that again, "you don't have to figure it out yet. Iskiveth, now! She did chew firestone once, and she did eventually clutch... but High Reaches was the talk of the Weyrs, and very lucky that she didn't try it again, yeah? Imagine, a queen who couldn't clutch." Azaylia is obedient, if not so sure of herself. Her spine straightens and her shoulders ease down and back as she folds her hands atop the pile in her lap. She brightens at having answered correctly, grin shifting to a sheepish smile at the sight of Val's pout. "Sorry, ma'am. I- well if I got a head start on reading up on them, I might be able to help?" Something, anything to keep from being too much of an inconvenience to the brownrider. Lips thinning and head shaking, the weyrling murmurs, "I couldn't imagine, no. Though it doesn't seem to take much for High Reaches to get talked about." Only now it's Iolene and Ysavaeth rather than a gold with a taste for firestone. "No need, what you need is to get to enjoy your free time," Val assures. "Think of it this way, when you do get to it, if you don't already know how then you won't chafe at the bit out of boredom." Her smile is bright, birdlike, and she plays with her long braid for a moment before returning to the equipment at hand. "People do like talking," she says, trying one part against another, tching to herself and then substituting another that better fits. "Perhaps someday this place will regress into placid boredom. Poor K'del, such gossip! I know he doesn't care for it, for all that there wouldn't be anything wrong with it, unless they had a spat and that wrecked tithes. They would look darling together, don't you think?" "What free time?" Though Azaylia doesn't sound terribly resentful, a soft laugh for work she knows is waiting for her back at their weyr. Val doesn't seem to want to add to it, so the weyrling nods and goes back to watching her hands work at the bit of machinery. "They said," People. "That it'd be bad because Lord Braeden has to do his duty. Get married and make heirs." Though she doesn't look too pleased to be repeating all of that, her thoughts on the matter quite clear. "I don't know about them making a cute couple, but- well, if it were true, I think it'd be awful for Io." Val's answering laugh is soft as well, commiseration in it. But she can be flexible, "No one said he couldn't also do his duty. And if she didn't mind?" She waves it off, her many rings catching the light: two or three slim bands on every finger and a signet on one thumb, more than she'd worn when the weyrlings were messier. "Perhaps," but a second look at Azaylia brings her to reconsider, hiding a smile behind a purse of her lips. The flamethrower is taking shape. "In any case, I wanted to compliment you two, as not one tail was chewed on today. That I saw, at least! Would you two like to fly in a fighting wing if you're given the chance, instead of Aurora? Oh, perhaps not firestone formations, but it's not as though we need much of those these days anyway. Sweeps instead of stores, what do you think of that?" So easily distracted, Azaylia's brown gaze shifts from the parts to Val's rings, to the brownrider's face. "I suppose that's one solution." A hurried, "If the rumors were true. Which they're not." Holdbred, crafter, it's understandable if she's uncomfortable speaking of such things. If that's even the case. "Oh." Forgive the weyrling for being surprised, "I, not that she didn't want to, with the way they were teasing her." A defensive note that doesn't overshadow her relief. "I don't... People wouldn't... think of Hraedhyth as less of a queen, if we did that?" Not that the young woman doesn't sound tempted, "As long as it didn't get in the way of my other duties." It isn't hard to guess which the active gold would prefer. "If only the rest of the world were so easily decided," Val murmurs, slots a part into place, and then claps her hands with joy: another piece down! "It's hard on a young dragon, having to deal with teasing," she goes on. "It's not just her. She may have wanted to bite, but she didn't. We can want a lot of things and not always get to do what we want, which really is a pity so much of the time, but there are these rules," and the brownrider's sigh wafts dramatic regret. "As to less of a queen? I wouldn't think so, not if she clutched? But really, the important thing is to be seen to be having her weyrleaders' support: to have it be seen that this is an honor and a privilege, not being shunted off because she's not good for the rest of it. Although sweepriding does take quite a bit of time, so I'm not sure how that would work with your other duties. But then, isn't that what assistant headwomen are for?" Azaylia giggles when the woman clapped her hands, most of that proper posture coming undone during their discussion. Leaning back onto her hands, she lets Val talk, comfortable in her silence and all too eager to listen. "I'll ask, then." How else is one expected to gain the weyrleaders' support? "Maybe we can do sweeps a little less, if only because there's so much other work for us to do." Val is right, there are assistant headwomen for a reason. "But I know Hraedhyth would like tha- Hrae!" Scared squeak as her gaze wanders over to find the gold pinning the older bronze. There's no red in her eyes, but those jaws are awfully close to his throat, "Excuseme." Scrambling to her feet she bows, salutes, and flails before jogging over to the already chastised looking gold. "Hraedhyth, no. You have to play nice..!" |
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