Logs:Family Business
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| RL Date: 30 September, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, Serah, Hattie |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Brieli checks in on Serah (and events) at Fort, making a few uncomfortable realizations in the process. Iesaryth continues to be a good visitor. |
| Where: Northern Bowl, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 12, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions |
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| Northern Bowl, Fort Weyr This section of the bowl is just as devoid of plantlife as the central portion, the sandy soil having been packed more solidly due to the sheer amount of foot traffic passing through. While there are weyrs located to both the east and west, there are very few toward the north. Toward the northwest would be the ledges for the junior goldriders, while a second flight of stairs leads up to the Weyrleaders' complex. A little to the northeast is the entrance to the hatching cavern, while an entrance to the living cavern is located directly to the east. At the opposite and distant southeastern end of the bowl would be the lake and feeding grounds, with the weyrling barracks and infirmary to the southwest and southeast, respectively. It might be a bit cool at Fort this autumn morning, but apparently the weather has nothing on High Reaches' today - when Iesaryth appears in the clear skies above, the sunny gold (and her rider, more's the pity) is covered in snow. It's quick to blow off and start melting in her lazy spiral down to the bowl, but she still gives a shiver as she lands, with a pleased whuff of air for skies and sunlight. It's a near identical shiver to Brieli's after she dismounts, brushing the flakes that remain from her hair, her jacket. The young, now rather large, gold doesn't dally in decamping to the rim, though the warmth here is likely appreciated, wherever she has to be. Though the tide slips in with a blast of /snow/ blowing over the waves, it's quick to melt off, and waters warm after a few brief moments. Iesaryth's presence is as mannered as always, perhaps more cautious as the sevens wear on and Elaruth's eggs come closer to hatching. Dropping off her rider is a small thing, before winging to the rim, pleased with the clear skies, the light and warmth - things she'd have to live without were she not to stop by. (Iesaryth to Elaruth) The troupe of candidates moving out from the far distant feeding grounds takes advantage of the sight of the foreign gold, slowing their pace or watching as if it were a duty worth pausing for. Several girls scuttle together, heads nearly knocking, as they more than likely discuss features they believe Elaruth's offspring to one day share -- or not, depending. Proving that weather, all comparative, settles in your blood, each is bundled up as though it were Fort suffering. Though their obvious task -- most hold a shovel or half-heartedly steer wheelbarrows -- may've meant longer hours and earlier ones, necessitating the wrappings. With the feeding grounds so far from the living cavern of their destination, the string is spread out, with varying clumps at different distances identifying cliques of friends, or-- Serah. Somewhere towards the front middle, the dark haired girl is tugging with soft winces at the gloves on her fingers. The whole of her moves as if caught in a layer of sludge, slow, but desperately not trying to show it. Purposefully ignoring any dragons means missing their riders. All is still, the heavy mist hovering over the marshes silencing any noise, any bubbling or splashes from the shallow water beneath. Tugged to a few moments of consciousness by Iesaryth's touch, Elaruth answers with a glimmer of distant starlight beyond the pale hues of the dawn, the younger queen's presence not considered a threat; not today. Nearby, there's the sense of a heavy storm and lava's heat respectively: she can sleep safe in the knowledge that they will watch over her and her eggs. (Elaruth to Iesaryth) The clumps of candidates are each examined in turn as they pass, even the state of her hair unable to distract Brieli from her purpose, though quick fingers do rearrange curls while she's at it. She's slower to undo her jacket or her scarf, despite relative warmth and the complicated knot on her shoulder. If the big dragon didn't give her away... Her sharp gaze eventually falls on Serah, fortunately slow, even if it's not feeling so fortunate at the moment. Rather than calling out or greeting the candidate, she just waits until she can angle her steps to fall in next to the younger girl with such similar coloring. With a sidelong glance, "Are you going to make it? Today, I mean." It's asked quietly, quiet enough that her cousin won't lose any cred with the others. Quick to withdraw, the tide is quiet, sound far-off. The young queen is not inclined to disturb Elaruth or her guardians, despite her chilly arrival. Iesaryth seems content, however - something of that security appreciated, if only abstractly. (Iesaryth to Elaruth) Having subtly shifted herself to be walking normally while sensing footsteps on approach, Serah does nothing to ease this appearance even once a sideways glance has identified her new company as Brieli. "Yeah," confident, but also quiet. Not the defensiveness that might be expected, either. Head turn pushing her hair from the way, she wears a few little scrapes, a bruise against one ear. Now that Brieli's there, Serah casts a second, further backwards, look to track a fleeting shot of the missed -- ignored -- gold dragon. It lingers, then, sniffing, she looks forward, snapping the glove finally off of scraped hands. Natural as the approach had been, quite a few of the candidates being behind Serah, they've noticed the goldrider's agenda. Comes with that complicated knot. It seems to take her a second to think to ask, "How're you?" Those injuries are eyed, but Brieli doesn't comment on them beyond, "I heard there was something of a disaster. Unfortunate, but possibly well-timed. Are you all right?" Because Serah doesn't necessarily /look/ all right, but the goldrider can still give her the option of dismissing any concern. Sliding hands into her pockets with another little shiver, she can ignore any attention on them like she ignores most scrutiny, but it keeps her tone low, even for a simple explanation: "Elaruth likes her to be up high, away." The scraped hands might get a look too, as she responds wryly, "Cold. It's snowing in the mountains. And graduated, with a bit of time on my hands. I'm sorry I haven't been by more often, but we don't want to... push." "Yeah," again, dull, almost put-out by a concept of concern, but then Serah shakes her head like to startle herself out of a trance and fits Brieli with a more attentive look, her tone softening minutely, "Mudtrap. Some wagons down. Nothin' I ain't been through a'fore." With the show; the most likely cause for the perturbed quirk of her lip that she dismisses, glancing ahead. Letting her cousin talk has Serah holding out that tired hand, splaying her fingers then curling them tensely in one by one to stretch and force stiffness to shuffle around. "We?" Is a little tight, protective, even, or envious, as her mind injects a translation before ever giving Brieli time to. Lightly, "Hopefully, set by no one we know." Brieli has some dark humor for that, lips quirking into a smile, but it's there to cover a thread of tension, some real uncertainty. She'll only betray that in a flickering glance Serah's way; how would either of them even know? But moving along... "Maybe it was fortunate that you were there, then. Unanticipated." Apparently, she's been putting some thought into the whole thing - or someone is. Watching the hand-stretches, she answers simply, regardless of any conclusions being drawn, "Iesaryth and I. Not with a clutch." In no hurry, she matches steps to the younger girl's, whether speeding up or slowing. Uncertainty that Serah absorbs, her mouth a creased question only for herself as she eyes matter-of-fact on her hands-- only to share that glance with Brieli a second later; a little secret between cousins. Moving along is the same brisk pace, not letting those gossiping girls a foot closer. "We got people out," she agrees, with a shrug, though the set of her jaw proves this far more important than her natural low tones suggest. "Dragons spooked th'runners, though. Had t'be fetched for supplies wagons should've had." Slices of annoyance in her voice, in the tug of her mouth, hinting at the larger issue she avoids when the subject of /we/ has her lips thinning in familiar attitude. "Not your best friend, then?" A mock that, snapped out, she immediately regrets with a turn of her head away from Brieli. There's a shrug from Brieli, more diffident at the thought than she might actually be. It certainly darkens her gaze for a time, before, "That's good." That they got people out, that Serah could help in that. "Maybe they'll remember that if your people end up in trouble," she offers up, not sounding particularly sure about it, but it's a nice idea. The bit about the dragons arches fine brows, though she doesn't look surprised; as casual as she can be, "Did it remind you..." It's not likely a question that needs finishing. That snap of the candidate's has her fully bemused, though - blinking over Serah's way as if she has no idea what she's talking about. "Sorry?" It hasn't really upset her, partially due to that confusion. "It's nothing, it's not important," assures Serah's turned head, shoulders attempting to rise in her usual protective slouch but too needy, too stiff to want to stick there, and she rolls out of it with a huff. "I-- " the attempt to answer the more probing question washes expression off her face in her sudden thinking: oh. She looks, momentarily, lost, then displeased, then her lower lip loosens, shudders, and closes with what had been missing before. "I din't..." her chin bows shamefully as she steels that reaction. "Didn't even think t'it. Jus' on what needed done, and how this wagon weren't prepared-- all th'stupid dependence on dragons..." Anger closes her jaw, as if to make up for lost time, for even an hour's worth of slacking. Brieli seems skeptical about 'nothing' and 'not important', but she only gives that up in a glance, lips pursed - okay. The tall dark girl tilts her head to the side for a moment, considering Serah's response before looking over to catch that shift in emotions; with the shade of a smile, "It's better that way." She doesn't try to tell her cousin it's all right, or will be - but there's no condemnation for /doing/ over /freezing/. Kicking a loose rock in front of them, "Why be traumatized forever?" It's not a choice, but still. Curiously, "Were they /suspiciously/ unprepared?" Because, Serah's argumentative mouth suggests, because-- but it trails on unspoken, just wrestled around by her lips several more seconds before the crease of her eyebrows transforms it all into a deeper thought, the perturb of trying to recall something unattainable. "Not what I can say," she decides, bringing a scabbed thumb up to chip off an edge of her fingernail between teeth, "For they din let us hang 'round t'talk. Tried," her neck stretches, cracking it, "But got herded up like cattle. Fair's all they ever treat candidates like." Sidelong, she glances to the candidates milling unsuspectingly around them, chattering and maybe even hoping, "So much goods t'be bartered to their hatchlings." Suckers. Turning forward, she rubs those hands over her thighs, regardless of how the day's work has dirtied them. "Could be they jus' spoiled by dragon thoughts much as anyone else. Got sloppy." /Unacceptable/, forms that expressive mouth. Who's Brieli to talk about leaving anything in the past, anyway? Or maybe that's a burden that only she would carry; one that she doesn't want Serah shouldering just due to blood. There's something faintly protective in her glance, before she's just listening, clearly interested. Not even that grossed out by chewing on fingernails. "I'm not surprised that they didn't. It's not all that helpful to lose candidates. You have to find more, tell their family. Messy." There's a little smirk for that, but she continues, "It might have been helpful for you to take a look. Oh well." Missed opportunities. She doesn't comment on the relationship between the milling candidates and cargo, but her lips twitch before admitting, "I tend to think the worst. It /could/ be something simple. But few things are." So often seen with that mantle of distant aggression, it's difficult to imagine what Serah might look like underneath it-- if she could shuck it-- would there be anything of the lightly scowling teenager at all. Her sputter of scoffing humor for the loss of candidates is hardly ladylike either. "I've thought t'ask," she admits, hands rubbing for a second round, perhaps relieving of some tension. "Losin' wagons is bad business," said with not just a little amount of folkish superstition. "An' there was somethin' else comin' back. Th'dragons we came back on. Look on some of th'people. Y'set to trap a wagon, you're not going t'go very far. If..." now this, clearly, sends a distinctively disturbed itch up Serah's spine, straightening it, bothering her mouth, the squeeze of her fingers, "the riders found someone..." Weyr justice. "They did find someone." Brieli is disturbed by that as well, now that Serah's reminded her how all of this might be dealt with; her eyes are dark, dropped to watch the ground, and there's a moment where she looks uncomfortably ill. She doesn't explain how she knows - does she need to? - but she'll agree, "It's bad business. Bad all around, I think." There's a few levels to that last comment, as she looks to her cousin, brows drawn together, mouth displeased. At least her own hands are still out of sight. Clearly conflicted, she manages, eventually, "They might like it if you asked. It might make you seem more invested. It might backfire, but if you want to help, no one can really blame you for it." She'd hope, anyway. Backfiring during a time of Weyr punishments sets a similarly uneasy look past Serah, but, with a glance at Brieli, she steels herself into nodding. "I can't not," she finally decides, as much to convince herself as the cousin next to her. "Show's moved out in th'same conditions. Movin' all our lives," a flicker through her eye as she weighs that, speaking to someone who knew her for the few turns that weren't 'all her life', "makes us good, but first time y'get cocky-- " fingers rise to slice across the air, short of her throat, but with the same definitive slickness. With her own nod, Brieli notes, "It only makes sense. For you to suggest it, I mean. If you've seen similar things, it stands to reason that you'd see something unusual." There's a pause, and she can admit to Serah, at least, "It's... always been a danger. I've more often seen that sort of thing blocking the way, rather than anything else. But it's possible they weren't prepared, given the time of year." She's more likely to believe something nefarious than not, but she has to give a nod to the logical explanation now and again. Glancing behind them to the other candidates, she wonders, "Are you nervous, at all?" Serah might not admit it, but it's worth asking. Enough of a pause between asking and answering to suggest she won't, and Serah's apparent misunderstanding muddles it more, "Know th'show can take care of itself," is declared, a little cock of her head to the side and back, "Pity th'thief tries t'approach them canines... but people needs t'survive." Her clouded view on underhanded methods remains so, lost within the quiet mulling of her mouth, a sacrificed grimace when she rolls out one sore shoulder. Jaw hardening, one thing is decisive, "Not being prepared's no excuse," gloves flick against her belt, "It's a consequence." Noise, and foot traffic, increase as they narrow in on the living cavern; a couple of candidates who'd been lagging behind the whole time speed up in anticipation of the warmth, and the baths. "That's good." That the show can take care of itself - if there's a misunderstanding, Brieli clearly thinks it's not worth clearing up; with a little grin for the canines, she points out, "It's not worth doing if you get caught." Basically, /don't/ get caught. It could be their family motto. "At least you know you've done what you can to keep them safe while you're gone." Perhaps she guesses Serah's not counting on impression, is planning to head on back post-hatching regardless of possibilities. Slowing her steps a touch, "I'm not about to argue with that. Do... you need anything? They seem eager to outfit you, so I doubt it, but..." She'll offer. It's the least she can do. Indecisiveness scratches at Serah's eyebrows; narrowly, she looks up at Brieli with a lowered face so that dark eyes are just points below shielding lashes. "There's..." if you're going to tell anyone, might as well be blood-- she sighs, "A report them candidates do." And agitatedly rubs a hand over her eyebrow, doing nothing to ease it. "On th'duties of goldriders," without quite being able to withhold her dirty opinion of the title, even to Brieli's knotted face, "It's not that I can't make the letters--" or is it, considering her voice, her upbringing: a certain diligence to the physical. She stretches out an arm, bracing it in the other elbow, and stretches the shoulder. "It's..." the arm drops, "Nevermind." That indecisiveness tilts Brieli's head to the side, having her a bit confused before Serah clarifies. Enlightened, she's still a bit amused - though it doesn't seem to be at the expense of her cousin. "I didn't need to do any reports on anything until /after/ Iesaryth," she notes, pleased for that at least. It's not really gloating - it's maybe a near thing. That agitation is noticed soon enough, and her brows arch a touch, but she merely offers, without judgment, "I've just been drilled on that to death, to be honest - so it's not as if I couldn't fill you in, if you like." Nothing about 'help', but you know... if she needs a goldrider... "Like I said, I've found myself with some time." Biting her lip, Serah stares over at Brieli, an unyielding rock-- that gradually, begrudgingly, becomes a yielding one. "I'd sooner a demonstration," she admits, which is as much an acquiescence to the not spoken 'help' as is likely coming, with a jerk of her head towards the caverns to indicate they might enter them as the stream of candidates lessens into just a few stragglers, "Or perhaps assure them I understand a gold's th'best for stompin' and general intimidation." It takes several moments, a keen think over, to recognize her snapping for the dry, dark humor that it is -- and not the threat of action it could be. Stuffing her hands in her pockets, the girl steels herself to walk inside sans the pace of her sore muscles -- though the ever darkening of her eyebrows suggests it is soon her brain that will be suffering under it. Looking up towards the rim where Iesaryth soaks up the relative warmth, Brieli considers, lips twitching at the the idea of what golds are good for. "She's not much for either, but she almost got there the other night. Rielsath..." A little shrug, perhaps something she's leaving for fun lecture time. Or maybe it'll be more like a seminar, given one-on-one and the fact that the goldrider doesn't seem all that offended by any of her opinions. Glancing back to Serah, then the caverns, she lifts one shoulder again - why not. They'll go in and warm up, and Brieli can explain what she's meant to do with herself all day when one isn't waiting on eggs to clutch or hatch. It's likely just about as exciting as her cousin expects, but at least the Reachian junior won't think anything of boredom or lack of veneration of her weyrwomanly duties. |
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