Logs:Green
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| RL Date: 3 December, 2015 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jocelyn and Aidavanth fly together for the first time. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 6, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ellerey/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Lys/Mentions |
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| It's a lovely, bright summer afternoon; perfect weather for flying, really, though for most of the weyrling dragons that still means flying alone. Not so for Aidavanth and her rider, today, as Olveraeth's summons suggests: « Bring your straps. It's time to go. » Out in the bowl, Quinlys waits alongside her already-strapped blue, thumbs hooked through the belt-loops over her trousers, the light breeze rustling the pony-tail of her hair. It's a few minutes before Aidavanth and her partner join Olveraeth and his; one has to glide over from the direction of the lake and the other emerges from the training area at an awkward jog, arms piled to overflowing with loop after loop of coiled straps. « It's time, » the orange-gold agrees, stretching briefly before settling carefully next to where Jocelyn comes to a stop. The weyrling's expression is hard to read, but her, " Weyrlingmaster, " is a steady enough greeting. "I apologize if we've kept you waiting." "Waiting, in the sunshine, on a day like this, is truly a tragedy." Quinlys' answer verges on insouciant, matched by the lazy draw of her smug smile, though she does straighten from her slouch to adopt a more formal pose. "She's looking good in the air," the bluerider adds. "Now-- get her strapped up for me, and let's see how they fit. If all goes well, we'll have you both in the air this afternoon." Such a treat! « Let me know if anything feels wrong, » Olveraeth tells Aidavanth, furling his wings carefully. « Both with your straps, and once we're in the air. We don't want any accidents. » Jocelyn carefully slides the straps onto the still-growing queen, who obligingly drops low to the ground so that it's easier to get loops over appendages and clip everything into place. It's a slow process for the redhead, who is at once both meticulous and awkward in her maneuvering of the heavy, undyed leather. Everything seems to fit well enough once it all comes together; the stitching is solid and the straps, snug without being too tight. Despite clear evidence of patchworked additions that were probably sewn into the length within the past seven, there's yet more letting out to be done in the near future since Aidavanth fills this first set almost completely. « They feel like they'll soon be too small, » she confides to Olveraeth, « but they feel secure. » If only the same could be said for her weyrling, who finally finishes getting everything just so and takes a small step to the side, expression anxiously expectant. As she watches the whole process, Quinlys is alert, and quietly patient; it can take as long as it needs to, it seems, at least from her perspective. "Good," she says, having held her silence until the very end. "Do you trust them, Jocelyn?" It's an honest, direct question, one that she puts out there to be answered, adding no further comments in the immediate sense. Olveraeth, on the other hand, offers his agreement. « You're growing. Like a weed. Like a flower. But as long as they feel secure. » And, then: « Do you trust them, Aidavanth? » "I must, " says Jocelyn with a lift of her chin. "If I can't trust my own handiwork, I think I have bigger problems at hand than the potential for straps breaking five feet off of the ground." Aidavanth is pleased by the blue's little compliment, even as she straightens to her feet with a less than graceful unfolding of her lanky limbs. « Jocelyn works hard and prioritizes our safety above everything else, » she answers staunchly. « I trust her. I trust them. » And underneath all of that fierce loyalty is an impatient sense of let's-go-let's-go. Right answer, Jocelyn. Quinlys' return nod is approving. "All right," she agrees. "Are you ready, then? Mount up." « Good, » returns Olveraeth, with a scattering of bright, bright stars. « As she should. As you should. Besides-- you would never let her fall, would you? » Even if those straps did break. « We'll take a few low circles to get a feel for it, and then aim higher. I'll stay close, but, » And he seems amused by this, « I probably can't catch you if anything goes wrong. » Not that anything will: Olveraeth, without hesitation, is confident. Shoulders set tensely, Jocelyn's first time mounting her own dragon is no less awkward than the handful of times she's clambered up onto one for travel in turns past. Her grip on the nearest, secure section of straps is white-knuckled long before she actually scrambles up to straddle burnished hide, feet testing holds gingerly before she finally settles in, buckling herself to Aidavanth tightly and testing the fit with sharp tugs. « I'd never let any harm come to her, » vows the fledgling gold, turning her head slightly to see what little she can of her rider atop her neck. Her rider - who wraps both hands tightly around the closest neckridge on the tail end of a long exhale. « We will be careful, » Aidavanth promises to both Olveraeth and Jocelyn, eyes picking up speed even as growing muscles shift restlessly in anticipation. "It'll get easier," comments Quinlys of the whole mounting process, though she conveniently does not mention how much more difficult it will likely get, first, as Aidavanth continues to grow. She waits on the ground until she's satisfied that the weyrling is buckled securely in; then, she turns to clamber up her own dragon's side and buckle herself in. « No, » Olveraeth agrees. « You never would, I know. » Being careful? That goes without saying. "When you're ready," Quinlys calls, all attention focused upon the other pair. « Push off hard from the ground, then use your wings, » comes her blue's instruction. « Take your time. » Jocelyn grimaces, posture taut as muscles ripple beneath her; Aidavanth shifts forward with careful steps, wings unfurling to stretch briefly open in a promise of what's to come. Perhaps she gives her partner more warning than the bunching of hindquarters that precedes her strong launch upward, perhaps she doesn't: in either case, the pair is quite suddenly airborne, supported by the broad wingsails that with regular practice and instinct, beat steadily into the breeze to send them gliding slowly while holding them aloft. There's a momentary, small wobble as the dragon finally must adjust to the addition of these new, so-important variables; the weight of her rider, the way the air currents feel a little different than when she flies alone. « Balancing, » she observes, « is a little different like this. » But it feels good to her. So very good, to be together. « It takes some adjustment, » confirms Olveraeth, though he can certainly no longer remember making that adjustment, though his rider likely can. He joins the gold pair in the air after a few seconds, pushing himself aloft with practiced, comfortable ease. It's much more difficult to talk out loud in the air, and so the blue takes charge: « She wants to know how yours feels. And how you feel. Give yourself a little more altitude when you're ready. Try gliding, too, as well as using her wings. » He'll demonstrate: a few beats up, then a low descent that falls short of actual landing. « Tall, » relays Aidavanth after a short pause, laced with all of the wryness that Jocelyn herself would no doubt use if she were within comfortable speaking distance of Quinlys. « I feel - capable. » It's a matter-of-fact statement, even as her wings push the pair higher and they can revel, together, in the way that the breeze buoys them upward. Careful to follow the blue's angle while judging her descent, she glides downward in a motion that begins as a tiny drop before it evens out, air spilling over filmy wingsails as she resumes hovering a short distance above the ground. There's a flash of triumph, followed by an uneven, internal sensation. « ... I think we should practice landing, » says the still (relatively) small queen decisively in its wake. She's already letting herself closer to the floor of the bowl by the time she's done speaking. It isn't the smoothest of landings, but it's a safe one despite the bumps. Jocelyn looks anything but steady as she fumbles with the buckles and shakily makes her way down from her perch to stand on solid ground, face white and expression, green. Moments later, she's wobbling toward the nearest patch of grass before the nausea completely overtakes her - and overtake her it does, leaving her heaving. Olveraeth's pleasure for Aidavanth's triumph is obvious; stars shoot across his heavens, leaving spangled trails behind them. Those trails fade abruptly, however, as the queen lands, the blue following rapidly behind her. When Quinlys steps up behind Jocelyn, a few moments later, it's with an expression of distaste and dismay-- and some sympathy, too. "Jocelyn," she prompts. "Are you-- take a breath. Take a moment." « She's okay? » Olveraeth has more audible concern than his rider, his wings furling carefully about him as he regards the young queen and her rider steadily. « Sometimes that happens. » "She'll get... smoother as she gets larger," Quinlys offers, then. Jocelyn's shoulders tremble long after the pressure on her stomach recedes. She's quick to retreat some steps away after wiping her mouth with a sleeve, chin tucked as far down toward her chest as she can hold it. Aidavanth closes some of the distance between them, leaning down to press her nose gently against the top of her rider's fiery head. « She's okay, » she tells Olveraeth quietly. « She's more upset than ill. » There's some unhappiness there, too; she feels responsible for the weyrling's negative reaction, even if they were both happy to be aloft together such a short time ago. "That's how everything is supposed to go, isn't it," Jocelyn says flatly at some length, voice quavering as she finally turns red eyes onto the weyrlingmaster, one hand lifting to angrily wipe at those weak, weak tears still left on her cheeks. "It'll all smooth out with time enough to get used to everything." As quickly as the bite claws through her words, it's gone again, having left only weariness in its wake. "I've always felt a little nauseated after flying, " she admits quietly, "but it never really felt like - that." « Perhaps the stress and the anxiety that this would happen - made my unpracticed flight feel worse, » Aidavanth supposes softly, voice a hair smaller than usual. She's so sorry. Oh, Aidavanth. Olveraeth's sympathy is there, so obvious in the tone of his voice and the expressiveness of his message-- far more expressive than it often is. « Yes, » he agrees. « But it will get better. It will. You're not to blame, Aidavanth. There's no one to blame, no fault here. » "Jocelyn--" Quinlys breaks off again, pressing her lips together as she attempts to pull words together. Her shoulders get drawn back again. "It's fine. You're not the first, and you won't be the last. If you like, the healers might be able to help with some techniques, and with practice... she's still learning, and still growing. She'll be bigger than most when she's done, though, and that does tend to make them a little more smooth. You're going to be fine." « It must get better, » Aidavanth replies stoutly. Her subsequent exhale is as much physical as it is mental, a gusty sigh that rushes forth as she takes a careful step back. « She is not yet - » There's a pause while she searches for a suitable term. « - over the hump when it comes to some of what we must learn. I'm sure that once she gets past that, the rest will fall into place. She has been - is - very frustrated with herself. » The weyrlingmaster's logic seems to get through to Jocelyn; at any rate, she gives a sharp nod, shoving her hands into her pockets with an uncomfortable, little 'ahem.' "One more skill to hone, " she rejoins dryly, brow knitting into a frown. "We'll - practice. I'm sure it'll be more enjoyable than the dancing lessons." She's in earnest, apparently. More briskly, "Speaking of growth, ma'am; we're starting to feel a little pressed for space, especially since we're right between Evyth and Virisceth. I don't want to move before everyone else gets to do so, but if it would make Aidavanth and her siblings more comfortable ... at the very least, I've been thinking of requesting assignment to a larger couch, even if it's only for another few sevens or so." « It will, » is a promise from Olveraeth, so very, very sure. « She... many of them struggle. She is not alone. It's not supposed to be an easy adjustment. » If only. « But you support her; that's what matters. » "You will. Every day, now. With supervision, for now, but-- we'll get you there, I promise." Of that request, Quinlys hesitates, tapping one finger to her mouth. "Mm. It does seem silly to move you to a different couch for only a few sevens... let me make a request of the weyrwomen and see what they think. Besides, the older group will be beginning to move, soon, so it's not so out of place. I'll get back to you. In the meantime... go clean yourself up. We'll try this again tomorrow. It'll be easier." Not a promise, but she does sound sure. "Every day, " Jocelyn repeats reluctantly, straightening with a low exhale. "Alright. I - know it's the swiftest route to improvement. Tomorrow, then." She certainly doesn't need to be told twice to go get cleaned up; with a politely muttered farewell, she's quick to set off for the lower caverns where she remains after a bath until the dinner hour, holed up in an empty classroom with notes and another social lesson to follow with a harper. She'll eventually rejoin Aidavanth in the barracks, but the dragon has quite a wait ahead of her. Fortunately, there's dinner to hunt and socializing to pleasantly pass the time - and the promise of another attempt to fly as a unit with the next day, hopefully with fewer meal displacements. |
Comments
Alida (00:37, 4 December 2015 (PST)) said...
I can tell you already... Virisceth's not going to be too pleased with her sister suddenly leaving for her own home. ;)
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