Logs:E'dre Visits
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| RL Date: 12 October, 2011 |
| Who: E'dre, Iolene |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: E'dre drops by High Reaches to pick up a few things. Iolene hasn't heard of his transfer and the two share lunch and chat. |
| Where: Western Bowl, Iolene's Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 13, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Rilka/Mentions |
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| It is a winter morning, 10:57 of day 9, month 13, turn 26 of Interval 10. The weather of Reaches this time of turn is never pleasant, and this morning is no better than any other. Fog hangs heavy in the air, blanketing the Weyr with its thickness. It makes for a tricky landing, but Wroth is back-winging into the Bowl shortly after he breaks from Between. The Bowl is relatively empty, tasks being done indoors as much as possible in the colder weather. E'dre shucks off his riding gear and sighs, "I promise, last trip. I just have to collect those pieces from Stores.." Bundled up in yellow coat with a mismatched floppy knit hat and gloves, Iolene traipses across the bowl from the barracks, her arms laden with various knickknacks that would be better transported in a bag. Or a box. Or anything other than her hands. If navigating those skies is difficult, what with the young golden form flying lazy figure eights above, navigating the bowl is equally as hard for the gold's rider as she tries to look around her stack of -stuff- in order to miss random snow banks and obstacles that were put there _just_ to ruin her day. Like, that one, that brown dragon that just landed causing Io to trip while trying to skirt around his sudden appearance in the fog, sending various rocks and texts flying. "Ooooooooooh," its the sound of frustrated misery. Wroth warbles at the sight of Iolene, head turning upwards to try and spy the gold form above. E'dre doesn't notice the girl until he hears the clatter of objects. The brownrider is quick to step forward and bend to the task of helping to pick up her books. "Hey, sorry about that. Didn't mean to startle you," he says by way of greeting, handing over books and with some hesitation, a rock. "Were you carrying... this rock?" A puddle of yellow fabric on snow, Iolene doesn't have the piece of mind to collect herself just yet and when rescue comes in the form of someone else helping to gather her things back up and offer her her rock, a slim gloved hand stretches forth to snatch it back. From under the lining of her knit hat, those big blue eyes look up defensively. "It's from my home. It's all I have left." Well, a rock, and the people she came with, but that's a whole other story. Indeed, the rock is cradled protectively atop the stack of books also handed over under one arm, which makes the task of gathering everything else up a little harder. "I shouldn't have been grumpy," is in the next breath, as if one half-way irate statement could count as grumpy, and Io attempts a smile for E'dre's benefit, that only deepens as recognition sinks in. "Oh, it's you. I really am sorry for being grumpy." E'dre can't help the chuckle that answers her last, his smile quick to remain. "Yes, it's me. Or at least, I believe it's.. me. Unless you were thinking of another 'you'." He winks and then looks to her stack of things. "Would you like a sack to put all that in? I have an extra one here on Wroth's straps." He doesn't wait for an answer, just turns and hefts himself up a brown forearm to pull an old, yet durable, sack off of the riding straps. He hops back down and hands it over to her. "I'm sorry all you have left of your home is a rock. Can't you go and visit now? I don't know if you all are permitted to fly where you want just yet." Clearly, the thought hadn't occurred to her, not with the way she looks at E'dre with those lashes thrown wider and her brow knit uncertainly. "I-, I never thought of that," replies Io. "I mean, we've been stuck inside the Weyr forever. We haven't been allowed to leave since forever and-. Would I be allowed?" Of course she's asking the recalcitrant rider who was demoted to a weyrling not too long ago, expectant of a real answer. "I-, yes, thank you. I don't own a lot of things so I thought it'd be easy to just walk over and grab it and put it in my weyr, and then one trip turned into four and-..." Her shrug's sheepish. "You've got your own weyr now? It's nice to have space all your own again, isn't it?" E'dre asks, taking the time to finally remove his helmet and goggles. He brushes his fingers through his damp hair and considers her questions for a moment. "Well, if you've graduated - I imagine you can go wherever you want. So long as you're doing your other chores. But you could always ask someone, like Leova, if you can go." He shrugs, "But I couldn't see why you'd be stuck here." He nods his head and loosens his jacket, tucking his helmet underneath his arm. "I'm on my last trip to pick up some things myself. Moving always takes more trips than you originally thought." Iolene's reply is simple, "I've never had my own space. It's too big but Ysavaeth says it's just perfect. Maybe even a little small. I might ask Rilka to move in with me." The skinny teenager finally finds it in her to stand again, or maybe the snow on her bottom's just gotten too cold to warrant continued sitting. An uneasy shift and a funny little dance tries to shimmy some of the snow clinging to her pants off with varied results. "I wouldn't know how I'd ask Leova. She doesn't really understand me." The mantra of teenagers everywhere. Wait, what? Those big eyes lift again disconcerted, "Moving?" "Is Rilka a friend? People might get the wrong idea if you have her move in with you," E'dre cautions, moving to lean against Wroth's side. He settles his helmet and goggles beside the brown and then folds his arms in front of him. "Leova? She's nice though. She'd make sure you wouldn't get in trouble, for certain. And it'd help to avoid angering Tirana." He blinks at her and then tilts his head, tapping his knot. "I moved. There's no rumors? Well that's refreshing. I transferred to Fort." "You're moving?" Iolene lives under a rock and the significance of a changed shoulder knot means little enough to her that she glances briefly at his new one and then back up, perturbed. "I didn't know. Is that why you weren't in the barracks with us anymore? I thought... with everyone else getting weyrs, they just let you go back to your own." Juggling her stuff on one arm, Iolene reaches her other forward for som sort of one-armed hug. It's an attempt at least. "Why?" E'dre seems surprised at the hug, though he returns it warmly. "You likely have been busy adjusting, I wouldn't expect you to know. K'del let me off my punishment, which was good. It was stupid of me in the first place to get it," he admits with a wry smile, "And at the same time, I'm glad it all happened. I'd been putting off transferring for a turn or more. So, I finally left. Let one of you graduating weyrlings have my weyr." He reaches a hand to take her stuff from her arms, if she'll allow. "Here, let's set this down until you're on your way. It's got to be heavy." There's a note of disconcernment in the young woman's eyes, even as she relinquishes her pile of stuff to E'dre. "I can't imagine wanting to leave your home like that, or wanting to for so long and then being able to do it." With her hands free now, Iolene reaches a finger up to twirl a lock of blonde about it in nervous habit. "I mean," she forces a smile that only traces her lips, "I'm happy if you're happy. You're happy, right? But-, I thought I'd live forever out on our island and now we're here and-..." It's taken over a turn for this shrug to shrug and these words to be voiced. "I can't imagine leaving," is her confession, that only turns uncertain towards the end -- as if she's in disbelief of what she's saying. "Reaches wasn't my first home, I've had many. I was born in Boll, spent a majority of my adult years in Igen, came here on a whim and had intentions of moving on to Tillek before Wroth found me," E'dre states, shrugging. "I was always going to travel. Fort is a good place for me. I needed a change. Sometimes... sometimes the turns spent somewhere can add up on you. And the only way to recenter yourself is to move. At least, that's how I view it." He smiles at her, "But I doubt you'll have to leave again, unless a queen is needed at another Weyr." E'dre's last causes Iolene's suspended disbelief to crumble; crestfallen. "Like- like Teris and how Lujayn was sent away before Teris was. And how Tiriana was sent away." Up in the sky, Ysavaeth's pale form continues its lazy figure eights, the young queen continuing to revel in the freedom of being able to /fly/, heedless of her rider's concerns. "If dragons listen to queens," says Iolene's very far away voice, "Why do other queens obey anyone else?" "It's about rank with them too," E'dre states, lifting a hand. "I don't believe Reaches would want to send another junior queen away. It was enough that Teris was sent. So please, don't get upset I had mentioned that. And I'm sure if you asked to stay... well," he changes his mind on that one, shaking his head. "Don't worry about it. We /have/ to keep junior queens here, too. I don't know all that much about what goes on among Weyrwomen, though." Iolene watches the golden speck above as it winds its way through the heavy fog for a long moment. Silent. It's hard to tell whether she's even listening to what E'dre says or his reassurances on the matter, as when she looks down, there's a small, wistful sort of smile on her face. "You're cold, aren't you? You are, right? I have some tea and a basket of bread and some cheese in my weyr if you want to join me for lunch?" "Sure, I can share lunch with you. We only came to pick up some bolts of fabric I had stored in Stores and forgot about," E'dre answers, pushing away from Wroth. He gathers up her sack and slings it over his shoulder. "He'll go and fly with Ysavaeth now, knowing I'll be a while." And sure enough, brown muscles bunch beneath Wroth and he's springing into the air to wing his way up to play tag with the little gold. "Do you have ground access?" The lash of a golden tail beckons midst the fog, teasing, as what her rider knows, Ysavaeth knows as well, seeing through Iolene's eyes, brown Wroth's ascent and hovering still in the sky, waiting. "I do." A gloved hand reaches over in an offer, so that they might hold hands as they cross the bowl. And if he's agreeable to that, she'll swing it in a jaunty sort of child-like way on their way. "Do you have many friends at Fort? Or is it a fresh start?" It's a brown shape covered in gray fog that rises, slowly but surely, seeking out that snippet of a golden tail. « I will find you » Wroth's voice is ladden with the thunderous boom that is his laugh, « So you had best try harder to hide! » E'dre doesn't refuse the offered hand, and her swinging of his arm makes him laugh. "Are you in a good mood now?" As they move across the bowl, he answers, "I have a very good friend there, Ebeny. She was from here, but transferred. And I know a few others. It's more of a fresh start." Iolene doesn't answer whether she's in a good mood or not. But she does note, "A lot of us hoped that coming here would be a fresh start. That we would be able to eat and have shelter and then we would stop dying because we didn't have enough to eat, or it was too cold. It's been different." The pair make their way up the steps to the weyrleaders' complex and then down the corridor where the junior queen weyrs are. "I don't know if it's what people expected. But, I guess," another little shrug and a half-hearted smile shoots upwards to E'dre as she stops in front of the entrance to hers, "I guess I'm learning that it's not all bad. Don't laugh- I haven't decorated it yet." "There was a lot of distrust of your people when you first came," E'dre notes as they walk through the complex and towards her weyr. "I think in time it all will be a distant memory. You'll be so settled in your life here, the rest... well, the rest just sort of starts not to matter as much." He can't help but smile at her last, reaching his hand around to tweak her hat, "I never decorated my weyr really and I lived here 12 turns." Iolene's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr(#2060R) This hollowed out bubble cavern is large enough to fit at least three large dragons, the immensity dwarfing what little furniture is visible. A small portion of the room contains a personal bath, enclosed by a carefully carved out strip of rock wall. Faint tendrils of stream waft from the corner, permeating the immediate area with a merging of warmth and cooler temperatures. In the outermost room, a large stone table is centered in the entranceway, five chairs of wicked wood surrounding it. Nearby is an opening in the wall that is an old elevator-pulley system to the kitchens, the trap door rusted from disuse. In the further corner form the ledge entrance, nearer the baths, is a collection of stands and ceiling hooks, suggesting that this area was once used to hold - perhaps - a collection of plants, though for now it is empty. Just next to this is a large glassed-in bookshelf built into the well, empty for now, as well as two large, cozy-looking armchairs. Behind a curtain made of brightly coloured glass beads is a smaller, blue-wash walled room, one that is mostly filled by a large bed, currently bare except for the mattress. At the foot of the bed is a large, ornately carved chest that matches the sweet redwood wardrobe that stands along the far wall. A short tunnel from this room leads into another that is a little larger, and contains an ornate desk and set of shelves - a cozy, private study. « Come find me, » comes the cooing calling as the gold tail disappears into the fog and the large, if sleek, form it's attached to also flitters away. « If you can. » Challenge thrown. "I don't understand why," is what the young goldrider says, before taking in a deep breath and stepping into her undecorated new home. "We didn't ask to be brought here. We were... kind of forced to." By the weather. By people with sea monsters attached to their hips. "Why would you distrust us?" Iolene stops by the stone table, with its assortment of edible goods on it, and turns to face E'dre. "Do you take sweetener with your tea? Or milk?" "I never distrusted you all, I never understood any of it," E'dre hastens to add, moving forward into the weyr to glance around. "Its nice in here. I imagine you can get some nice rugs, a few nice tapestries.. and it'll be 'home' in no time." He moves to settle at the table, setting the sack on a chair beside him. "Oh, just plain is fine by me. Thank you." Wroth is just a brown smudge in the gray, but his movements are dives and dips and twirls. « Or maybe I will just ignore you » is tossed at her, a taunt. "I-," Iolene looks about trying to see what E'dre sees and then lets loose a wry laugh. "I don't understand any of that really. I used to live in a hut with other girls and shared a bed with Rilka. But not-," as if recalling what E'dre said earlier, a hand lifts to protest anyway a male's imagination might go, "Not like that. she's just... Rilka. She needs someone to look after her sometimes, and she's so small and tiny," says the skinny girl, "It helped keep both of us warm I guess." Not that being warm is a problem now, what with a hearth lit and some hot tea being poured out. It's only after she scoots a mug towards E'dre that Iolene starts shedding her boots, gloves, hat, and coat. "I hate shoes." Sure, he can try to ignore her: but in the fog a sudden brush of a svelte gold form with its expressive tail lingering along the length of Wroth's back haunches the coasts away. Can he ignore that? Or the bubbles of provocative laughter shared in such a way as to insinuate that this is just between him and her. "I just don't want you to have to be a source of speculation and gossip," E'dre replies to her, loosening his own jacket and tossing it back over his chair. He folds his arms on the table, leaning forward to glance at the food offered. "You do what makes you happy and ignore the rest." He smiles, looking to her and then waving at the seat across from him. "Are you going to sit and join me? And as far as living meagerly... I grew up in a cothold, it's not a hut, but it was nothing fancy. I shared a room with my sister and my grandparents. We didn't have much." Wroth doesn't quite know what to make of that lingering brush-by of the gold, though he does tumble through the fog and break just a dragon-length away from her. No, well, he won't be ignoring her now... his thoughts are brimming with flashes of lightening across the darkened sky. Without a coat now, Iolene rummages through one of the piles of stuff on the floor and comes up with a pink knit shawl, a little ragged and discolored with age, but sufficient to wrap about her shoulders. She then claims the seat by E'dre, rather than the one across from him and cozies her thin frame in its entirety onto the chair, legs drawn up, one arm looped around it to keep herself all compact, and her free hand reaching for her own tea. "I'm just not sure what the Weyr was trying to do when they decided to keep us here. Someone told me that-, that High Reaches Hold paid the Weyr to keep us locked here." Io's dark blue eyes turn pensive. But only for a moment. A bare foot sneaks out to lodge itself against E'dre's seat, a bare set of toes tickling into the brownrider's leg. "Do you really have to move away? I like talking to you, you know." There's laughter in the distance, a cultivated carefully pitched sort of thought designed to echo and make her physical location all the harder to find. It wends its way in a visible rainbow stream through the lightning and breaks into the darkened sky to let out streams of sunlight here and there. But eventually? She'll allow the clouds to return, covering her attempts at levity. And then, there she is, flying in front of him in a lazy sort of way with the bare minimum of wing beats sending a breezing cascade over to the brown. « Wroth, » whispers the delighted queen. « Are you really ignoring me? » "I hadn't heard that particular rumor, but don't ever trust what others say when it's just constant speculation. It's not worth your time, and certainly is never really correct. I never asked why we kept you all here. Maybe we weren't supposed to bring you to safety in the first place? It matters little now, you /are/ here and enough of you Impressed that you'll be Reachians for a long time to come." He's reaching to pick at a piece of bread, looking to her toes against his leg with a quirked brow and a grin at her. "Oh? You like talking to me? But I'm so old and boring! And really, I don't know enough of the ins and outs to be of use. But it's not like I've gone and become unreachable. All you have to do is ask for me to visit and I will." He pops the bread in his mouth to chew. "You can be friends without living at the same Weyr." « I am not ignoring you, but it is fun to think about ignoring a gold » is Wroth's dry response. He's idly flying now, matching her speed with his own - though it requires more wing beats for his size. He always enjoys her imagery and he waits until they are back to something more dark, adding in the faint shadows of clouds against mountains and a shimmering lake down below. The lake has the reflective quality of a mirror: clouds and mountains painted on its waters in flashing colors. "Well, for as long as Tiriana doesn't decide to have me sent away," is Iolene's petulant concession to her age, an unsettled observation of the fluidity of her station here. "I'll have to remember that. I always forget Ysavaeth could talk to someone else's dragon for me. I sometimes forget people can't hear when we talk to each other, Ysa and I, too." Those toes poke poke again into E'dre's side, paired with another of her half-smiles. "Tell me about Fort." And with that, Iolene and E'dre spend the rest of the lunch hour chatting while above, Ysavaeth flies with Wroth, casting rainbows into his images and bringing sporadic sunlight into his thoughts. When it's all over, and when the Fortian pair are about to leave, the Reaches' youngest queen has the temerity to interject a sly, « I think you won't ignore me anymore. Even if I weren't a queen. » But she surely can't change the color of her hide. « Come again, Wroth. Come visit us again. » |
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