Logs:Find the Idiot
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| RL Date: 8 June, 2015 |
| Who: Isidro, C'stian |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Search, find, idiot, Isidro, whatever. |
| Where: Northern Bowl, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 13, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Cold, wet, awful. |
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This section of the Bowl is just as devoid of plant life 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 leads a set of stairs to two ledges for junior
goldriders. Above and slightly east of those ledges sits the Weyrleaders'
complex, which a second flight of stairs leads to. 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.
Early in the morning and late in the evening, the cold rain falling turns
to almost-pleasant snow, but most of the day is mired in a bleak, gray
drizzle. Many would think that rank hath its privileges, but being wingsecond of Hematite and the rider of the bronze who caught the latest gold to clutch apparently does not count as sufficient rank; C'stian is out in the cold, grey drizzle on some errand, riding leathers on and hands stuffed firmly into the pockets in hopes of preserving some warmth. His normally-unruly hair is flattened against his skull by the damp, and his mood seems somewhat sodden as well. In the vicinity, a brown lands, but only one party dismounts, offering enough vociferous gratitude that it's clear the pair are not really friends. "Find some way to make it up to you--promise!" That dragon simply sits, bored, throughout this process, some comments are made by the rider to the effect of it being nothing at all, and the young man who's just dismounted is soon left behind as they take off again. He's got a rucksack, and a muffler wrapped about a dozen times around neck and head, only just pulled down for that attempt at speech. It's not the best thing for the damp, but you'd think he was half-frozen as well. He starts to make his way to the living caverns entrance. Somewhere along the way, a patch of mud, his footwear nowhere near enough traction for it. He doesn't go face-first, but it's a near thing, flailing arms and the bag dropped. But Isidro's got his own two feet under him, miraculously. He just has to collect himself again. C'stian watches Isidro nearly take a spill, and winces; that can't have been fun, especially not in all the wet and damp. He shifts direction, making his way over to check on the other man and the dropped bag. "Hoy, you alright there? Only an idiot'd be out in this weather." And what's that say about you, C'stian? "Well, sir, pleased to inform you that you have found your idiot!" Good-natured about it, evidently. Shamelessly so. Isidro hoists the bag up again--it must be light, even in that coat he's clearly built like a five-year-old's drawing of a person, all edges and lines and no filling-in. "I made the extremely unwise decision that today, it being my day off, would be a brilliant day to go visiting my mother, which only got me six lectures and a muddy bag." Pause. "And she did all my taking-in and hemming, but never mind that." "Ah. Mothers," C'stian notes, his tone dry even if nothing else is. "You have my sympathy on that score, believe me. Mine's an instructor at Healer Hall, and I'm certain she'd have a few choice words for me about being out in this rain. But everyone has errands to run; the Weyr doesn't stop for weather, unfortunately." A brisk shake of the head. Brisk enough to nearly shake the scarf loose, in fact. "No, it doesn't seem to. I mean, it can't, can it? Weather happens. Things still need to be done. Not going to stop cooking meals because we don't feel like it, right? Imagine you folks aren't going to get it easier than that. At least you could get out to somewhere sunnier if you had some free time?" Big smile from Isidro. "If you lot collapsed when you got a bit of a chill, expect going between would be mighty difficult." "Between's cold, but it doesn't usually soak into your clothes or drip down the back of your neck and along your spine," C'stian points out, with a hint of a smile despite himself. "There's a special kind of misery that comes from water in your boots." He glances upwards abruptly, as a shadow passes through the rain, and then shakes his head. "And as cold as Between can be, it's worth it; freezing rain doesn't have a lot of payoff." Head cants to the side just so, thoughtful, regarding C'stian. "Well, there's something to be said for getting cold and wet every now and again just so you can get warmed up after. Maybe you just need to find somebody to warm up with." This could definitely be construed a particular way, but there's also something about it that skews more towards the sharing of hard-won tidbits of wisdom. Isidro, currently a combination of Dear Abby and a mud puddle. "Certainly going to need it just standing out here. I," pointedly, "am going somewhere dry," pointedly as in actually pointing with one finger towards the cavern entrance in question. C'stian seems about to agree, but moments later a bronze dragon lands beside them in a shower of mud and cold rain. "Augh! First Egg, Liesanth, what was that for?" the bronzerider remarks, exasperated. "When I said we needed to get back up to the weyr, I didn't mean for you to soak me half to death. Or anyone else, for that matter," he adds, with an apologetic look towards Isidro. Liesanth seems to have at least some marginal degree of contrition for this, because he stretches his wings to provide a momentary shelter. The thing about having arms with the circumference of Isidro's arms is that they are really, really not useful in shielding one from, for example, a broad spray of droplets of muddy water. The best he can do is get a hand across his face, and peer out from between fingers after the surrounding area seems to have become suddenly less wet instead of more. A quick peek up at a wing that blots out the sky. "I believe I am at least nine-sixteenths alive." Still good-natured, after all this. "Well, that's better than half," C'stian remarks, wiping a bit of mud from his own face. "So I guess we'll consider that a win. Still, very sorry he did that." The dragon twists his neck to gaze curiously at Isidro, as if wondering precisely what this sodden thing is. Whatever his commentary is, C'stian's attention shifts to his bronze lifemate now. It's a bird, clearly, all skinny legs underneath that coat and scarf, all chirpy voice and toothy smiles. Birds being known for that. "It's fine! Completely fine. I am completely and totally fine." And brushing his face off on his sleeve, just in case there's any residual mud spatter there. Liesanth tilts his head, regarding Isidro with evident bemusement. After a moment, C'stian turns back to look closer at the resident himself. "How long have you been at Fort?" he asks finally, as if this is an oddly important question. The oddness of the question is enough to lend that smile a brief, frozen quality before it fades into a sort of puzzled expression. "A few months, now. Long enough to be reasonably settled, I guess. Came up here because I didn't fit in at home. Hardly the first to do it." Preemptive explanation, like Isidro's been asked that follow-up question more than a few times before. But this time: "Why does it matter?" "I suppose I was just curious," C'stian answers, with a glance to his bronze. After a moment, he turns his attention fully back to Isidro, and elaborates, "Given that Liesanth here seems to be of the opinion that you would be a good choice to stand for one of the eggs in Eliyaveith and his clutch." Good choice. Brilliant choice. Isidro exemplifies everything one wants in the rider of a fighting dragon, for example in the way that he sways and seems to come just short of fainting on that news. To his credit, he doesn't actually collapse. His voice is fainter, though, when he answers. "Oh. Yes. Of course." At least the shock doesn't linger. "Of course. What... what do I have to do, now, then? What does that actually mean? Aside from going out there when the eggs hatch and, evidently, doing a lot of dishes?" This earns a chuckle from the bronzerider. After all, he's not /that/ much older than Isidro himself, and wasn't /that/ much younger when he was found on Search. "Other than the chores, which apparently you're already familiar with and which there will be many of," C'stian notes, "you should go to the weyrlingmaster to receive your knot. Then just get to know the other Candidates, and be ready to come onto the sands when it's time." "Huh. Well. Easy enough." Composure is coming back, maybe being shielded from the weather for a moment is helping with that. His hair curls quite a lot when it's wet, and Isidro ends up pulling off one glove to fuss with it, like even without a mirror he can just tell that it's misbehaving. "Knot, chores, play nice, see how it goes. I can do that. Sure. Might as well. Something to tell the grandkids, right?" This seems to strike him as completely hilarious. C'stian seems slightly bemused. "You remind me a little of me as a Candidate," he notes. "That's not necessarily a good thing; I was pretty certain I wasn't going to Impress, so viewed the whole thing as a sideline. Don't pin all your future hopes on it, but don't write it off, either." He moves now out of the shelter of his dragon's wing, preparing to mount up, and adds lightly, "And get indoors before you end up catching a chill and having to stand while sick." "You seem to have turned out all right," Isidro observes, with a smirk he doesn't have a right to after that little wavery episode. "I think... I think I'll be fine, you know? I'll be fine." Repeating something enough times is known to make it true. He takes a deep breath, raises a hand to the bronzerider in a sort of farewell. "Thanks. Think I've got some warming up to do, anyway." And the first stop for that is the dry caverns. With an amused smile, C'stian mounts up on Liesanth. They do, out of politeness, wait until Isidro is clear before taking to the sky in another shower of muddy water. |
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