Logs:Expectations of Weyrling Bronzeriders
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| RL Date: 2 August, 2007 |
| Who: A'son, N'thei |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 12, Turn 12 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Satiet/Mentions, I'daur/Mentions, Talien/Mentions |
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| "Look, Nikoth. I really don't think that B'yan was serious when he said you'd get tougher. I think maybe training will make us tougher, a nice hot meal, being /warm/." A'son pauses in his rambling from where he's sitting on one of the small boulders. "What? Yeah that's great, /you/ won't get sick. I'm going to die though." The man rolls his eyes and tucks his hands further into his heavy jacket. "You could have warned me today that you saw Emilly coming in too." Wyaeth swaggers out, bent on destruction. He picks his path around the edge of the lake, strays in just far enough to crack the thin ice along the edge, to splash in up to his ankles when the ice gives way. "Watch it. That ice'll be sharp as glass." N'thei's caution comes from a ways across the bowl, his gloved hands cupped around his mouth so the words carry across the snow and breeze. He trots across the distance, stops not far from A'son's boulder; "And that's an awfully morbid outlook, Wingleader." A person could practically hear the air-quotes around the title. « If Nikoth can get in, I can get in. Just you watch'n see. » « Ah, how remiss of me. Nikoth is here. » Wyaeth sends a gritty-feeling response; he's not rising to the bait just yet. A'son lifts his eyebrows at the sudden appearance of Wyaeth, and looks faintly amused when he seems determined to get into the water too. Nikoth himself has already gotten in there fairly deep, not submerged but he's certainly not dry. "Thanks for the observation." A'son responds dryly, turning to look over his shoulder at the taller man. He pulls his knitted hat further onto his head. "And can we drop the Wingleader crap? I mean, seriously, it's just training. Doesn't count for anything once we graduate. It was probably in alphabetical order." "Talien's next. A, B, C... T?" N'thei draws up an eyebrow in question, drops out a chuckle in good humor. His eyes stray to the water line where Wyaeth, never one to be outdone, has tramped out a big hole in the ice and sunk in up to his neck, all the while with big puffs of breath steaming out his nostrils into the cold. "At any rate, sir, I'd hate to seem remiss." He straightens up like a proper young soldier, his chest puffed, his arms formally folded behind him. "Rank is rank, or so I'm told." "It could be an error in the records. Maybe I'daur thinks Talien's name is really Alien." A'son mirrors the eyebrow lifting and then laughs. "Which still doesn't work out, does it? Whatever, I think it's random. Maybe he picks names out of a hat." Nikoth huffs when the smaller bronze proceeds to go further out into the water. He's soon making paces to be equal with him, and slowly sinks up to his eyes and the tip of his snout. A'son watches and makes a face. "Cut it out. I hated when people called me 'candidate'. I hate 'sir' just as much. No titles. I'm not a sir. I'm just a guy they tossed a temporary name onto and said 'have fun while all the people you impressed with think you suck for getting to do it first'." A frown is tossed N'thei's way as he continues to pull his jacket, hat and gloves tighter around him. Wyaeth makes sure, in his inimitable way, to share a shock of the cold through the mental link. « So kind of you to share. » « Any time, partner. » Gravely, so gravely, "No no no. We all think you suck for entirely different reasons, sir." N'thei abandons his parade rest, puts his hands in this pockets. Even with gloves, hat, scarf, all of it, there's no way to deny that he is a stranger to a winter like this. And it's just beginning! Wyaeth weathers it much better, dunks his head under the surface of the water and blows a gust of bitter-cold water toward Nikoth, submerged for as long as his lungs will let him. "Which one of us do you supposed would get blamed if they drowned, I wonder." « Damned if I'll drown before Nikoth does. » « Reassuring. Come up for air already. You've made your point. » "You all just hate me because I'm soooo handsome." A'son drawls dryly, adding a hint of sadness towards the end. "Shards, it's cold. I don't understand how they can even be in the water. But yet, there they are submerged." He points at them. "Insane. Well, seeing as how things are going, I'm pretty sure it would be me. I can hear it now, I'daur will go 'A'son. You're the wingleader, you should have known those dragons were about to drown themselves and ordered immediate evacutation from the lake! What? Wyaeth wouldn't get out? You should have dragged him yourself! You're a 'Reaches man, couldn't you handle a little cold water?'" He intones, trying quite hard to mimic the Weyrling Master's voice. Nikoth meanwhile has gone under and used his somewhat larger lung capacity to outlast Wyaeth for a few seconds. « Mm, Nikoth beat you. » « No. Nikoth's the damn fool who nearly drowned himself in water frostier'n Talien in a bad mood. » « Ah, and your clever ploy put him up to this foolishness? » « Damn right. » N'thei measures A'son's guess thoughtfully, submits with a frown and a nod; "Probably right. Not so good for you, but it's my good luck that they expect more of you, isn't it?" He rakes in his own long breath when Wyaeth emerges from the water, rivulets leaking from his rangy shoulders while he sighs disappointment at being bested by Nikoth. With a big swagger, he lunges out of the water and on to the icy shores, abandons Nikoth. "We're supposed to be competitive, I think. Do you want to arm wrestle or something? Live up to standards?" "Actually, since Nikoth beat Wyaeth this time you probably have a right to dual me or something. You know, to regain your bronzeriding honor." A'son replies with knowningly, with a grave and serious tone. Nikoth shakes his head and moves out of the water as well, a little lift to his chin as he settles down onto the shore and rearranges his wings. "They look so different, even if they're brothers." N'thei watches Wyaeth, eyes full of humor. "Wyaeth says he just convinced Nikoth to practically drown himself in ice cold water. Not sure that makes Nikoth the winner. Though I'll concede Wyaeth may be rewriting history." Stretching out his wings, Wyaeth lets the cold air start to dry them, a thin sheen of ice beginning to crystallize on his own sails. "Seeing as we've neither of us /ridden/ a bronze, I think our collective honor will go unimpinged. It's a big thing though, isn't it? Expectation." « Whassat mean? Rewriting history? » N'thei manages to pretend not to have felt that mental nudge, to ignore the question. "Mmm, I feel like rewriting history may be closer to the truth." A'son smirks and rubs his gloved hands on his cheeks. "Oh you're right, I really meant to say our bronze /caretaking/ honor. I suppose we can just let this one incident slide, but next time we might not be so lucky." He sports another grin as he watches the two preen and and dry their wings out. "It is. I don't think I'm ready for what they, the weyr as a whole and they" and here he points at Nikoth and Wyaeth, "seem to want out of us. I'm not a big tough alpha male who wants to be in charge. I'm just a guy." N'thei sniffs, cold as much as a very bland amusement. "Let's just hope it doesn't come to blows then. Our honor." He takes a measure of A'son, smile deepening, and then he's somber once again. "No? Going to make your life hell later on then, isn't it? You can't duck forever, not when people have their eye on you." "Are you kidding? There's no way we can duck /now/ as it is. They're always watching, always asking questions. How do you adjust from going from unobserved to observed all the time, in just several months. It's not an easy adjustment." A'son looks serious and then he flashes N'thei a quick grin. "And you forget, I'm old and set in my ways." He takes on a gruff old man's voice with that. He makes a fist with one hand and holds it out to N'thei, "Deal? We won't punch each other out over anything? Even if our very prestigious honor is at risk." "All that it takes is a little mediocrity. Don't put your best foot forward, no one will trip over it." N'thei scrubs a little mud off the top of his boot with the back of his pantleg, then puts the clean boot back on the snowy ground with a shady smile. "You won't punch my lights out, deal or no, but I'll make the effort to keep my fists at bay." Fingers flexing as absently as Wyaeth's wings twitch off a close shave of ice. "Hey now, if I could get onto a stool or a box or something, then I'd be able to reach you." A'son replies, smirk returning. "Yeah, good luck with that. They keep an eye on us because of them. Can't let future potential leaders be getting inadequate training, now can they? It'll be a fun year and one month." He continues to rub his hands onto his cheeks, generating warmth. Careless, "I don't know. I haven't had so much as two glances since the hatching, aside from that sit-down with I'daur." N'thei watches the cheek chafing and reminds his own chill, throws his scarf tighter around his throat to little avail. "How did yours go, by the way? I'd ask the others, but I'm afraid of getting into a chat with J'ome, Talien has decided she hates me, and Maddie's only good for conversation if you're also a thirteen turn old girl." « You'd get more'n two glances if you put your mind to it, y'know. » « Mhm. » A'son lifts his shoulders, "Mine went okay. I'daur doesn't seem all that intimidating, just somber. Talien hates you? I've barely talked to her all that much over the past few months." He asks, eyebrows lifting with faint curiousity. "Madison latches onto me sometimes like she's seen her long lost older brother. She's a good kid but... you're right, not much for company unless you're also her age." N'thei racks his memory for a spell, but he just winds up shaking his head and giving in with a shrug. "I don't rightly remember what started it with Talien. I only know she teased me about our enforced sobriety." Don't think he misses an opportunity to sound bitter about that pill. "I called her a little girl, and we've barely spoken two words since. But you? You have that older brotherly quality." A'son makes a face. "These rules are what kill me sometimes and are going to make it such a long turn. Though it's not the sobriety one that bothers me as much." He stares off across the lake before casting a glance N'thei's way. "Yeah, I know. I tend to attract people and their need for comfort. I'm not quite sure if it's a gift or a curse." "Which one? Girls?" N'thei glances over at A'son, suddenly confused to something about the other weyrling sitting there on a rock. "I didn't have you figured for a skirt chaser. Strange, to read that one wrong." His sober expression chases into a chuckle; "A little of both, maybe? You might try and tell them to piss off if it comes to close to a curse." A'son lifts an eyebrow at N'thei and snorts, amused. "You don't have to be a straight up skirt chaser or womanizer to miss being with women on a regular basis. And I follow a lot of rules to the book, but I'm not sure that I'm going to be able to happily go along with that one the entire time." His eyes drift over to Nikoth and he purses his lips. "He's just... not ready for that." He laughs outright at the other man's advice. "I don't think I could actually do that. I'd feel really bad if I made them cry." N'thei pulls in the hiss of a breath, scrapes in the cold air across his teeth. "There aren't the kind of women here who make a man sorry for his chastity. There's only two I've seen that make it a hardship, and one of them is the Weyrwoman." He enjoys the thought of it briefly, far-fetched though the notion might be. "There's the rub, as they say. Likely to become your curse at that." After a wordless exchange, Wyaeth rises, wings full of crackles as the ice sheds away; "I'm going in before the ice gets in my veins." Wyaeth, ever-present, seems confused by the ruminations, not quite sure what to make of the idea of the Weyrwoman in such... explicit terms. N'thei is quick to clamp down that line of thought. « Never you mind. » « With Satiet? » There's a long pause. « Really? » « I said, nevermind. » A'son laughs and shakes his head. "Well, I suppose it'll be a more difficult period for me than for yourself." He looks up as the other man prepares to leave. "Yeah, well, have fun warming up inside. Nikoth's not done getting 'tough' as he calls it. I'll be along eventually." He gives him a wave of his hand as he once again bundles up inside of his clothes. "Just remember. Girls don't like boys with chillblains. Good luck, sir." N'thei, chuckling, follows a pace behind Wyaeth. The dragon stops only long enough to shake a dusting of ice toward Nikoth, purely by accident, then moseys into the barracks. |
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