Logs:Fairer Temperatures
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| RL Date: 21 September, 2011 |
| Who: K'del, N'muir |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two bronzeriders share pleasantries at Boll in the midst of a rainstorm. |
| Where: Southern Boll |
| When: Day 2, Month 11, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Wet |
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| Southern Boll Hold, Boll Area The low-slung stone building of the hold sits atop a rampway lined with cotholds that leads up to the main courtyard. Here a fountain tinkles in the tree-scented breeze and captures rainbows from the sun during daylight hours. Firelizards frequently flit in and out of the water, bathing, playing and wetting their whistles. The doors to the great hall are frequently left open to invited cooling breezes indoors and the massive windows use sliding shutters of thick bronze instead of the type that swing outward to provide more airflow. Splashes of color from jewel toned stained glass sheets fall across the courtyard's flagstones from many decorative windows. Outside the hold, the immediate vicinity is kept as green-free as possible, though the jungle endlessly encroaches on the main structure and the outbuildings. A staggering line of cotholds tucked into the trees dots the landscape, alternating with open meadows and the tidy lines of fruit orchards. Beyond the cotholds, the roadway eventually slopes downward to the hold's golden sand beach and the docks. Branching off to the west, a side road leads the way to the Weaver crafthall and its outbuildings. The continuous fall of rain throughout the day has washed the outer courtyard of the Hold clean until its puddles glimmer in the fading light of dusk. Even the bronze dragon standing watch in the courtyard looks polished to a fine gleam. Inside, however, is quite the opposite. No matter how diligent the lower caverns staff, the Great Hall is paved with muddy footprints. N'muir emerges from the mouth of the Hold doors, his lower body caked in half-dried muck, face solemn. Dark eyes lift to the heavens. "I'm tempted to say I prefer the snow," he remarks, apparently to no one in particular. K'del and Cadejoth have been here a few hours, though the latter has spent most of that time trying out the winds, damp though they are. Inside, his formally-dressed rider is just watching after a departing figure when N'muir makes his remark; it draws his attention away from his former companion and towards the bronzerider, instead. "Not exactly the weather I was hoping for," he rejoins, with a rueful twist of his mouth. "When we came south for the afternoon. Least it's not /cold/ rain, as such." Beat. "Guess that means it hasn't stopped while I've been inside, huh?" Bijedth plays the part of the quiet sentinel, staying ever-alert over the comings and goings of the Hold. His greetings to the Reachian bronze overhead is quick and to the point, his mind reaching up with a flicker of lightning while N'muir catches K'del in his sights. "Weyrleader," he greets with a professional and practised salute. Then there's another glance to the sky, his mouth not quite smiling. "With that much rain I'd rather it continue into the night and allow me to try rinsing off some of this mud on the ride home," he admits. He searches his arms for a dry spot, unmuddied inch but in finding none, strains to wipe his brow on his elbow. "I hope you didn't come here to spend a rest day in fairer temperatures than the Reaches?" That lightning catches Cadejoth's mental chains, sending sparks into the mental air: his greeting in return is a flick and a twitch, a faint jangle tinged with joy: flight! Air! Sky! (Rain!) "High Reaches' duties to Fort," returns K'del, matching N'muir's salute with an equally professional one of his own. "Mm-mm," he adds, shaking his head. "My favourite. Wet through, going Between, coming out frozen stiff. And people say we riders have cushy lives-- no, no, if I'd been here for restday relaxation, I'd've probably just turned around and gone somewhere else after I arrived. I had business." Presumably personal and not professional business. At first there's nothing from Bijedth, whose whirling eyes continue to stare motionless out over the spread of the courtyard. "And Fort's duties to the 'Reaches," is the automated but earnest expression in response. N'muir then digs into his pocket to retrieve a small strip of leather. "I can take the freezing - I have a difficult time with chaffing riding leathers." A smile appears as he slides his fingers through his dark, curling hair, fastening it up with the bit of fabric. Next to come out are mud-smeared gloves and riding hat, neither of which give N'muir much happiness to look upon. A finger rubs at a stain on his hat. "I've heard you've had your hands overflowing with business lately. It's a happy sight to see you in seemingly good spirits given the sort of rumours we've been hearing over in Fort." Bijedth and N'muir simultaneously glance to the sky, both with amicably envious eyes. "Staying long?" "Chaffing," repeats K'del, glumly, and with feeling. The older bronzerider's latter remarks draw a more rueful smile from the young Weyrleader, who shakes his head as he shrugs his shoulders into an easy gesture of 'well, what can you do'. "Life goes on. Not much we can do about it but deal, right? And things have... gone a little quieter, of late. For now. I heard your senior was glowing again; that true?" His gaze flicks out towards the weather, squinting to peer at the clouds through the distant rain; "I /was/ thinking of heading back, but given the weather-- maybe it'll stop." He doesn't really sound convinced. "Cadejoth says-- Bijedth, is it? And you're-- that is, of course, I'm K'del, and he's Cadejoth." The Fortian finally breaks a true smile, accompanying it with a light chuckle. "I have often wondered how Istans make it through the rainy season," he quips darkly. Bijedth turns his attention back to the courtyard and its happenings but it isn't long before he's giving longing looks up at the sky. "I see news travels just as quickly to the Reaches," N'muir remarks, straightening his shoulders. "I haven't seen it for myself but Fort is buzzing about it so it must be true. It's a very good thing to see Elaruth so strong. But with every senior's flight there's always some worries about who might end up in the hot seat." His eyes flick to the Weyrleader. "But I'm sure you know more about that than I do, sir." His hands stuff the hat onto his head and the gloves find themselves being stuffed onto hands. "Yes, Bijedth, and myself - N'muir. It's a pleasure to formally meet you, Weyrleader. I'm not sure we'll be staying much longer. Bijedth is excited to get up there." Up in the sky, Cadejoth extends a silver-threaded chain, dangling it enticingly at the Fortian bronze even as he's sharing the exhilaration of flight. Nice of him. "News always travels fast," grins K'del, his smile tinged rueful as he adds, "Yes, of course. Can't say it was /my/ intention, for one, to end up where I am, those turns ago. Still; generally seems to work out of the best, and as I understand it, Elaruth and Mecaith are fond of each other." He inclines his head into a nod, concluding, firmly, "And you, too, N'muir. Seems like your dragon and mine have similar proclivities. Shan't keep you, if you're eager to be away." Gloomy dark clouds gather around the end of Cadejoth's dangling chain, thickening with more and more thought. Bijedth is stewing - lightheartedly, that is. His eyes whirl with happy excitement while anticipation sinks into his joints and coils his spine. N'muir bobs his head and puts on a small smile, his eyes sliding out to something in the distance, and for a moment his mood seems far from at ease. And then all is returned: the bronzerider's smile flashes, his head inclines and his hand comes up to salute K'del once more. "I have to indulge his whims once in a while - otherwise I'd stay longer. Clear skies, Weyrleader." Before long he's clipping his way through the puddles and climbing between neckridges - and just in time. The bright electric threads of Bijedth's lightning spark to life, and when his thunder booms, he's piercing the skies. « Til we meet again. » That reaction seems to amuse Cadejoth, who extends more and more of his metallic chain, letting it rattle and weave in the winds. As the other bronze launches into the sky, the paler of the pair returns, gleefully, « Until then! » Crash and boom. Light. It all seems to enthuse him no end. His rider returns the salute, agreeing: "And to you, N'muir." He stands where he is, watching them go; once they're gone, he hesitates, then turns back towards the indoors. Maybe the rain really /will/ stop eventually. Maybe. |
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