Logs:Flight Talk
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| RL Date: 31 May, 2014 |
| Who: C'stian, N'muir, Reesa |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Weyrling and assistant weyrlingmaster talk about flights. N'muir does not help overly much. |
| Where: Sunning Spot, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 12, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'dre/Mentions, E'ten/Mentions |
| Despite her rider's current status, Khiabeth is the sort of dragon that is unhindered by notions of "safe" overriding "fun", and her path from ground up to the sunning spot is taken with her usual indulgent notion of flight -- fast ascent, tight turns, and a perhaps slightly jarring landing. Reesa's too used to her dragon to do more than mutter distractedly, fading into a sigh of acceptance as she undoes the dragon's straps and watches the green settle into her favorite spot to catch the last of the afternoon light. Pulling the towel from her shoulder, the greenrider sets it down on the edge of the ledge, and she, too, settles down there, feet hanging over the edge, peering downwards to watch the Weyr below. It's a flight style that the somewhat headstrong young bronze already lounging up in the sunning spot approves of; Liesanth raises his head to watch Khiabeth's ascent with curiosity. This, his attitude seems to say, is how you're /supposed/ to fly: enjoying every moment of it, exulting in the chance to be in the sky. (And ignoring anyone who tells you you're going to crash, die, or end up in the lake.) The weyrling leaning against Liesanth's side, his attention drawn by his dragon's sudden interest, also glances over, and then pauses to stand in order to offer Reesa an appropriately respectful salute in greeting. There's a pleased acknowledgement from Khiabeth - she notices Liesanth /noticing/ - though she's used to that too, and seems more interested in sorting out the best spot to catch the most of the afternoon sun from. The weyrling rider's gesture earns a grimace from Reesa, who makes a face, "Didn't mean to ruin your lounging time." But since she's looking, the blonde squints at Liesanth thoughtfully. "Couple more months, he should be fully grown. Has he chased, yet?" While that question from a weyrlingmaster might be nearer an interrogation than a question, it's curiosity that laces the blonde's tones. "No, it's fine," C'stian replies with a grin far more easy-going than his first few months in the weyr. At Reesa's query, however, he pauses and glances back at Liesanth. "No..." he answers, albeit slowly. Perhaps if the bronze has not actively /chased/, he's certainly starting to feel an /interest/ in doing so that his rider is not entirely certain about. "You're craft bred," Reesa says, more acknowledgement than accusation, though it's a fine line. "I imagine it'll be quite a shock," she says, thoughtfully, following C'stian's look to Liesanth. "You weren't here for Isyath's flight, were you? Or Elaruth's before her?" "Healer Hall," C'stian confirms, though Reesa's own tone may lend a very faint defensive edge to his answer; he may be a rider now, but he was a Healer for far longer. "And no, I wasn't here for them. I know about flights, but only what I've been told or read." Which is, in all likelihood, not remotely the same as experiencing it. As if to make C'stian that much less comfortable with the topic, Liesanth glances back at the pleased green and lifts his head to regard her thoughtfully. After all, she likes to fly fast and crazy, and the headstrong young bronze loves to race. "Huh." For some reason this makes Reesa twist a little bit away from her perch on the edge of the ledge to look at C'stian more carefully, as if she's trying to place him for a moment. It passes, though, and she grimaces expressively. "It really is one of those things you can't explain, but it's also... amazing." Of course, /she/ always wins. "Bronzes never catch her," the greenrider adds, of Khiabeth, with a grin. "She's too fast. She likes blues - they can keep up with her." C'stian offers Reesa a rueful grin. "That will just make him want to race her /more/, whether or not it's a flight," he notes, though the exasperation he voices towards his lifemate has no ire to color it. "He likes going fast, and he likes challenges. And he doesn't seem to think he should ever lose." Which makes C'stian look forward to mating flights so much, based on everything he's heard. Bijedth wings up from the Bowl below to perch precariously on the edge of the platform, his broad, bronze sails arching high for a moment as he balances against the stone before settling. N'muir is strapped to the bronze in full flight gear, a gloved hand lifting to pull down his scarf for a moment. "Ah, Reesa! I have something for you," is his concise explanation. "'You mind if I drop it by later tonight? If you've got things to do I can leave it on your ledge?" Despite his eyes hidden behind goggles, N'muir's attention swings to C'stian and back to Reesa. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" His attention drifts back to the younger bronzerider, lingering there. "Sorry, what's your name? Liesanth's rider, right?" "Well, she certainly won't say no to a race," Reesa answers with a laugh. "She has her dam's love of flying. Liesanth sounds like he takes after Isyath. She was the same, always up there," she points towards the sky, then adds with a wrinkle of nose, "Of course, queens always get their way." Khiabeth knows she's being talked about - she's not-so-coincidentally stretching out in the patch of weak sunlight she's managed to snare for herself. When Bijedth alights, she presses hands against the ledge, shading her eyes from the draft his wings rouse. "You do- uh, sure," she says quickly, in response to his question. "Actually," she snaps her fingers. "Perfect timing. We were just talking about flights, and you," with a finger waved in the Weyrleader's direction, "Are a bronzerider. You can talk about what it's like to lose- right?" "C'stian," the weyrling replies with a nod -- and a now almost-habitual salute -- towards the weyrleader. He looks perhaps a little out of his depth on the discussion of mating flights; as one of the craft-bred weyrlings, it's something he had only ever heard of, never really been exposed to. Still, he offers Reesa a grin at her question, adding in a lighter tone, "I'm not sure I'd be willing to suggest the weyrleader has ever /lost/." Because, you know, respect your superiors and all that, right? "Right, C'stian, of course," N'muir mumbles, mostly to himself. Then, despite his goggles, he becomes consumed by the expression of a man caught unexpectedly in a sticky situation: his posture straightens and his shoulders tense, gloved hands flexing against the leather that surrounds them. "Uh... flights, yes. Certainly. Everyone has lost flights - Bijedth has lost many." They are words for the sake of words, coming out in a distracted, reluctant way. He clears his throat and Bijedth immediately begins to unfurl his wings, a strangely argumentative rumble escaping the bronze. "And, you know, I really wish I could stay and discuss this but I have business to attend to in-" Will either of them notice that brief pause in his voice while he thinks? "Gar. So, I should be going. Clear skies!" By the time that last syllable is out, Bijedth is heading sky-ward, N'muir's gloved hand waving after them. Reesa looks a little bemused at C'stian's comment to her. "But he lost /plenty/ of times, before he caught Elaruth," she's agreeing with N'muir. "I mean- the winning is /easy/, that's the part you don't have to think about. It just /happens/. What /you/ need to know is how to lose- how to handle it." Which is presumably where the Weyrleader comes in. Or /would/, if he weren't running away. With a wrinkle of her nose that rather suggests it's not the first time, the blonde continues, "Most will find a willing bedmate. That's the easiest way. But some- some hold or craft bred find that difficult. Which means you'll need drink. Maybe stash a good bottle of something in your weyr. I'm not- maybe you should talk to E'ten." A beat, while she considers that situation, and with a gulped laugh, amends, "Or maybe E'dre." C'stian watches the departing N'muir with something approaching sympathy; it's an awkward topic, after all. But he turns his attention back to Reesa, the grin making an appearance again. "Actually," he admits, "I've still got four bottles left of the handful some friends down at the Hall sent me. It's not /good/ drink, but it's /strong/. So I suppose I have that part covered." Despite the awkwardness of the topic, Reesa has that casual demeanor around her that suggests she's weyrbred- or at least used it to enough not to be uncomfortable. "Four bottles might be enough," she says with a little grin. "It depends whether he takes a fancy to greens or not, and how /much/. Plus, you don't get time off the next day unless it's a gold flight, so if you have early sweeps," she wrinkles her nose. "Winning is a /lot/ easier. Is he charming? That helps with some greens, I hear." She's giving Liesanth another speculative look. "He /thinks/ he is," C'stian replies, resting a hand on Liesanth's neck as he glances at his now-dozing lifemate. "I'm not certain everyone else would agree. Though he's certainly convinced no small number of his clutch mates to race him already, and he's very determined; when he loses he just takes it as a sign he needs to try even /harder/ the next time." The weyrling shakes his head, as he glances back to Reesa. "I expect he'll view mating flights as another type of race to try." And that... probably counts for something, right? "Persuasive is good. It might serve him well," Reesa says in a manner that is probably meant to be reassuring. "But you might need to ah- convince him only to go after the ones that really matter. Save his strength, you know? Or he'll wear himself out." A pause, and a rueful grin, "And /you/." A soft groan. "You know... this is /not/ what I expected life to be like when I was younger." C'stian seems to be trying to make a joke out of it, though there's perhaps an edge to it that's a bit too genuine. "But... you're saying that if he wins, that part comes naturally, at least?" Reesa's lips draw downwards briefly, in an attempt to be sympathetic, but it doesn't last all that long. "This is /exactly/ what I wanted my life to be. With /her/," her glance at Khiabeth is a mixture of pride, adoration and enthusiasm. "Of course, she made me /work/ for it, but..." a brief ripple of uncertainty passes by as swiftly as it appears, before her gaze flicks back to C'stian. "Well, yes. You just sort of... /want/ that person, even if it's the first time you've set eyes on them in your life. But it's... it's just /lust/, and afterward it can be awkward, especially if they're hold br-" she stops, abruptly, then clears her throat. "Sometimes it's nice if you don't immediately run away as soon as you wake," she says, reproachfully, as if she's unfairly anticipating what he might do. "I wouldn't!" C'stian replies instantly, though he's honest enough that after a moment he admits with a grimace, "...I think, anyway. I mean, I don't really /know/. But I'd like to think I wouldn't." The way his cheeks have flushed suggests perhaps he's not exactly terribly experienced in this area even /without/ dragons and mating flight involved. "That's what they all say, and then they wake up next to you and take one look and run screaming like they've just seen some monster from the greater depths of the ocean. It's very disheartening," Reesa's frowning, either in memory or possibly at him for the anticipation of what she thinks /he'll/ do. "I mean, it's awkward, you know? My first flight was with a bluerider I barely knew, and he totally freaked out and left. It's not like /I/ made him win. It's Khiabeth that decides." She's noticed his fluster, judging by the look she's giving him through the curtain of blonde hair, making a noise that is presumably sympathetic. "I'm just saying... it can be awkward for both. Or it can be fun for both. I prefer the latter." "They don't actually /scream/, do they?" C'stian asks, regarding Reesa slightly dubiously. Because, you know, /that's/ the part he seized on. "That seems more than awkward; it'd be downright rude." He pauses, and perhaps proves his craft-bred origins by adding, "Though it's probably always going to be a /bit/ awkward if you don't even know the person." "Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, a /little/," Reesa concedes with a lift of her chin. Only a /little/. "But, you get what I mean." A pause, before she says, "Well, often you only remember flashes, bits and pieces. It's all very overwhelming. Sometimes," and her expression seems earnest enough, "It's more fun the second time, when you're in control of all your faculties, but the memories and /emotions/ of the flight are still right there. Not that," she admits, after a longer hesitation, "You /have/ to, but. Sex is a thing to be enjoyed, not avoided or dreaded. Flights are the same." "That makes sense." The nod C'stian gives Reesa is probably meant to signify his acceptance of the advice. It still has a slight edge of doubt, however; perhaps he'll not fully understand what it's like to live through a mating flight until Liesanth actually takes it in his head to chase someone. Even if vague interests on his dragon's part might be starting to give the young weyrling some idea of what he's in for. "You should talk to E'ten," Reesa says, after a pause. "He's craft bred, like you. He'll be able to give you some advice. Just... don't listen to his more stick-in-the-mud thoughts," she says, although there's a fondness in her voice as she says it, like she's teasing the absent bronzerider. One hand pressing against the ledge, she stretches the other out in C'stian's direction, "Give me a hand up, would you?" she asks. This, he's certainly willing to do; he steps forward, offering Reesa a hand up. "Of course. And... yeah, I'll try to talk to E'ten. And maybe the weyrleader." Though N'muir seemed so very willing to discuss the topic earlier... Once Reesa's got her feet safely under her, she releases C'stian's hand with a grateful smile. "Good luck with that," she says, as he states his intent to talk to the Weyrleader. "Don't worry," she reassures him, "You'll be fine. Both of you." Khiabeth's moving slowly, stretching as the last of the sun fades away. "I'll see you at tomorrow's lessons." She's careful and deliberate about climbing up onto the green, in contrast to the green's abrupt drop off the ledge and downwards towards their own ledge. |
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