Logs:Happiness Shows
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| RL Date: 23 December, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, C'ris, Ethran |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: C'ris brings Ethran a present. |
| Where: Farideh's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 8, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Sisha/Mentions, Y'rel/Mentions, Mielline/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, N'klas/Mentions, Kasey/Mentions, Drex/Mentions |
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| Weyrlife is the same, for the most part, day in and day out, with the regular rest day thrown in for balance; it's early morning risings and crowded caverns, basic needs met and comical miscommunications. After all is said and done, in the morning rush that is, Farideh has found some alone time with her son. She relieved the nanny, who was more than happy to have a couple hours to not change nappies or soothe sudden tears, and took the baby on a walk through the caverns and back to her weyr. Now, she is curled up on the couch, before the fireless fireplace, cheek pressed to the top of Ethran's downy-soft head, while he is sleeping soundlessly on her chest. The moment is peaceful, for now. There is no draconic warning to C'ris' emminent arrival; perhaps he's asked Mivength, but the message has gone ignored and unrelayed. So it's with hesitation that he mounts that short flight of stairs from the ledge, lingering for a moment in the protection of the tunnel's entrance to Farideh's weyr. But if his booted steps weren't enough to give him away, he then clears his throat before offering, "Hey, sorry-- I don't know if you were expecting visitors, but I brought Ethran's gift." He tugs the strap of his leather satchel upwards, a smile pairing with the gesture. Drills have left him in his leathers, smelling of dried sweat and firestone and wind, with his fluffy hair a mussed mess. Boots steps are heard, but her eyes, when they lift to the doorway relay surprise. "C'ris," Farideh greets, quietly but with pleasure in her voice. "It's fine-- come in, come sit, anywhere and--" Normally, she would have free hands to play hostess and offer up a drink, but with Ethran snuggled up against her, she makes no move towards the sideboard. "You really didn't have to," she half-heartedly admonishes; the usual give-and-take as far as gifts are concerned. C'ris takes the invitation in an easy stride, moving from the doorway to one of those upholstered chairs and claiming it by gingerly sitting at the edge. But his attention? His attention is all for the baby there, studying his soft features with a soft smile lingering on his own lips. He seems to remember himself after a second, at least, as he rushes to assure, "No, I wanted to. You had a baby. That is reason enough-- I mean." He shrugs up a shoulder, before reaching to draw his bag into his lap to look through. "How are you doing?" "I had a baby," Farideh confirms, shifting on the couch cushion so she can see the bluerider better around Ethran. "Two months ago, now. Everyone always talks like that-- time goes by so very fast, and faster when you have children." She watches him with unconcealed curiosity as he rifles through his bag, and jiggling the baby on her arm when he stirs. "I'm fine, I suppose. I'm hopeful Irianke lets me fly again, soon. Roszadyth wants to stretch her wings beyond High Reaches-- which she would never do without me-- and I would like to visit somewhere warm," because their summer isn't warm enough. "Did you find everything you needed the other day?" "It's an amazing thing," is all C'ris offers to that confirmation, a softness in the way he looks over mother and child. "He's very--." A pause, so that he can concentrate on his bag before he pulls out two carved toys. They are not finely-carved, obviously made for younger hands if not quite as young as Ethran; one is stained black, the ship, and the other is painted white, a dragon that can be fit around the ship to cradle it. "I thought-- Everyone'd be getting him dragon toys, but I thought he should have something of his father's life, too." He considers for a moment holding it out to her, but he eventually settles the paired toys onto the coffee table. "We looked and have some thoughts, but I am supposed to let him know--. Need to figure out what would fit best in the weyr." "He's perfect," the goldrider fills in, smiling. "Five fingers, five toes, but Drex swears his ears stick out." Farideh lightly touches one of the tiny, pink earlobes experimentally, but then her attention lifts and hones in on the toys that C'ris sets down on the table. She looks mystified for a space, before scooting to the end of the sofa and carefully-- so carefully!-- picking up with figurines with her free hand, protecting Ethran's fragile head with her other palm. "That's very thoughtful, C'ris. I haven't gotten as many dragon toys as that-- and I'm sure Drex would be mad about it-- but he'll appreciate this. It's beautiful." "Apprentice's work, but--," C'ris dismisses with a shrug, though he's smiling. His gaze falls back onto Ethran, before he questions hesitantly, "May I hold him? If-- he won't wake or anything." "What a talented apprentice." The goldrider turns the figures around in her hand, studying the toys with an assessing eye, suddenly for the craftsmanship. "You'll have to tell me his or her name," Farideh says, setting it back down, with a smile. "Oh-- of course." And with that she stands and steps over to the bluerider, one hand cradling Ethran's head as she gently lowers his body to her arms in preparation for the transfer to C'ris. "He sleeps pretty soundly, when he's already asleep." C'ris is obviously not used to holding babies; he is awkward as Ethran is settled into his arms, but he does his best to mimic Farideh's hold as he accepts the weight of Ethran. "Does he-- sleep often? Not waking you up crying all night?" he questions with geniune interest. But once Ethran is settled, his attention is torn away to the baby in his arms, to coo with absolute shamelessness, "Hey there, little man. Hi. I'm C'ris. You look so strong already. Going to grow up to be a dragonrider, are you?" Once the baby is settled, and she's patted him down, needlessly, Farideh retreats to the sofa, sighing as she sinks down onto the seat cushion. "No," is amused, her brows drawn together, "he stays in the nursery with the nannies overnight." She reaches for the toys again, giving them more attention now that both arms are free and she can take each piece apart. "I do not advise telling that to Drex, or within his earshot. I suspect he thinks he'll become a sailor one day, but who knows-- a rider, a sailor, a crafter. He already has all of the doors open." "Yes, he does," agrees C'ris, that smile lingering. And he adds again to Ethran, "You can have anything you want, can't you? Anything at all. Your mom and dad will give you anything, and if you ever need-- I will always be here for you, too." Yes, he's already making promises to the baby in his arms, thoroughly enchanted already with him, even if he still holds him awkwardly. "It must be-- overwhelming to think that one day he's going to grow up and everything that he is will be--." He doesn't finish that thought, shaking his head slightly. "You should have one of your own, C'ris." Farideh, the great promoter of Irianke and K'del's Reproduce For The Weyr initiative, points out, slanting the bluerider a look from underneath dark lashes. "You're thinking too far ahead. I'm stuck on the fact that he's not going to be this size forever, and that he's here," and not inside her uterus still, apparently. "It must be quite how K'del was feeling when his sons stood for these last two clutches." C'ris only flushes at the promotion, shaking his head in a simple gesture that rather lacks as an answer. Instead, he'll admire Ethran's fingers and agree, "I imagine he was proud, though. That he raised them to be-- I don't know. Weird, though." He looks up to smile at Farideh, asking her instead, "Is it-- not as bad as you thought, at least? Ready to have another one?" The ship is being admired, now. "I suppose that he was. Weyrs have their traditions too, and having another generation Impress seems to be-- a thing." Farideh sounds uncertain, or unconcerned, as she turns the toy around and around, still appreciating the handiwork. "Another one?" she asks, half-croak, as her eyes tear from the toy to the bluerider. "No. Not another one. Not-- no. It's not so much that it's bad-- it's that I don't have time for one, less for-- two." "Maybe when Ethran's older," suggests C'ris, a friendly edge of teasing as he shifts the baby in his arms. He's gotten more comfortable holding him, enough to lean back into the chair at least with Ethran settled against his chest. "I'd want a weyrful. All perfect and loved and--." He stops, shaking his head in dismissal. "When Ethran's older-- I'd think that would be more distasteful. I don't know how K'del does it, with teenagers and babies at the same time." Farideh puts the dragon back around the ship, and sets the whole set on her lap, chin falling on her fist. "I think you'd make a good dad, as much as any rider can be. Family seems more suited to-- non-riders, but-- you like children." "I don't think-- I mean, we haven't talked about it because it's way too early," admits C'ris, because he has thought about it, but. He continues hesitantly, "I don't think Quinlys wants them. I mean, if everything works out and we end up--. You know?" A pause, as he stares at Ethran for a moment. And then as if convincing himself more than her, he adds, "And you're right. Family is better for non-riders. It's-- Hard to raise a family in a weyr. They'd be in the nursery all of the time, anyways." With her elbow perched on the arm of the sofa, hazel eyes trained on C'ris, Farideh listens without giving away what she's thinking, if anything; who knows, she could be dreaming about shoes. "You shouldn't trade that away if you want them-- maybe you can make an arrangement of some sort. Mivength catches greens sometimes, doesn't he? It happens." She doesn't look the least bit guilty about that comment. "It is, but there's some satisfaction in the lineage." "Not often. He doesn't-- He's picky about who he chases and most greens don't like him," admits C'ris; because he's an asshole, he doesn't add. "Even if he did-- I mean, it wouldn't be my kid, would it, you know? Most greenriders wouldn't know, even if they wanted to keep it, and--." He shrugs a shoulder upwards, dismissive, as he exhales a soft sound under his breath. "Sorry. It really isn't-- It's fine. Don't worry about me, Farideh. I'm glad this hasn't been what you feared, though." "Is he rude?" asks Farideh, clearly not getting the memo. "You never know. It seems a shame, if it's something you want." When he waves away her concerns, her expression sours a bit and she rolls her eyes towards the ceiling. "I'm glad, too. I'm almost able to fit in my pre-pregnancy pants, just two months after having Ethran. That is something," she says, sounding a little more enthused. "It's not the same, but we're-- well, getting along. How's Quinlys?" Well, ok, since she asked: "He's an asshole." C'ris doesn't seem happy about that, but what can you do. He only sighs, and plays with Ethran's little fingers, fascinated with his larger one compared to them. "The weight'll come off in no time, once you're back in the wing, too. All of that climbing up and down and flying--," he offers assuringly to Farideh. "You know, if you ever need anything at all, I-- Well, you just have to ask. You know that, right? I'm not working with the weyrlings anymore, and without the plague weyr... I have a lot of time on my hands again." A pause, before he adds, "She's good. We're good. Trying, but it's nothing, uh, official. Until we figure it out--." "I wasn't aware," is Farideh's sincere reply. "I'd have thought he was more-- Roszadyth like, more you-like." She seems legitimately baffled. "It should, if Irianke says I can-- not that I've felt up to climbing or running, yet. I could muster up the courage to get out." Instead of pouting about it -- though it's highly likely that she's thinking about it -- she frowns at C'ris. "Is Frostbite not keeping you busy? You could pick up a hobby. I hear some people quilt. Others, pretend to be sailors in Ista and go on jungle adventures." No names. "That's good. I'm happy you're happy." "My mom, uh, wants me to work at becoming a wingsecond, so I can be a wingleader one day. But, it's not really-- I mean, I guess if I can't work with the weyrlings, it'd be a good alternative. But with the wings being condensed there's not as many spots and with Mivength being the way he is, well. And I'm not really good at other things. Sailing or quilting or anything," replies C'ris lightly, but he smiles back in reassurance to the goldrider. The baby craddled in his arms also gets another smile, his attention drawing briefly to Ethran before he refocuses on Farideh. "I am happy. I am. I-- hope you are too." "Your mom," rings bemused, "wants you to be a wingleader. I don't think it's an unattainable goal, and you have some experience with the weyrlings now. I'm sure Quinlys could recommend you, though that might be construed as favoritism, but-- K'del makes the decisions, after all." Farideh smile is tight, but only for mention of their hallowed Weyrleader. "Someone will die one day and you'll have your opportunity," is perhaps too pragmatic, too.. soon. "Of course I am. I have Roszadyth, my health, and Drex, the baby, the Weyr-- you." C'ris winces only slightly at Farideh's amusement, but he only shrugs up a shoulder to encompass his reaction. "I don't know that K'del--. I mean, I'm not a bronzerider or, well, much of a leader. It doesn't matter," he replies dismissively. Instead, he focuses on the latter and adds sincerely, "You do. I think-- your happiness shows, you know. J'sae thought you were really nice. It's-- good." "I'm confident K'del doesn't base his decisions on the color of the dragon each wingleader rides. Sisha, Y'rel, Mielline, Quinlys-- our wings would be a lot less colorful." Farideh's eyes drop to the baby he's still holding, her expression momentarily dreamy. "Does it? Did he? That's surprising. I thought I was still considered uppity by many, not friendly. Should I practice in the mirror again? Exercise my no skills?" She's tickled, obviously. "Well, no, but, still. I am still a shit leader," C'ris points out, self-actualized enough to realize that. But he smiles when he says it. He shifts as she looks at Ethran, straightening. "Do you-- want him back?" A pause, before he adds, "I don't think you need to. It's nice, to have someone happy. And friendly. I like it on you." The smile Farideh gives C'ris is enigmatic. "I should probably take him back to the nursery. I have a few reports to look over and I have a meeting in a bit-- but it was lovely, for you to bring the gift by and take the time to visit." She takes her cue and returns to the bluerider's side, holding out her arms to receive the still-sleeping baby. "Really." There is only a bit of reluctance in giving the baby up, but C'ris does so with all the care in the world, as if Ethran might be made of glass. "Ok, I won't keep you longer, but--. I'll come by again soon and visit," he promises easily. "And if you ever want anything--." How many times is he going to make that offer? Well, apparently that will be the last time, since once the boy has been given back to his mother, he rises to stand as well. Farideh gathers her son close and tucks him up under her chin, nestling him there in a comfortable position so he stays blessedly asleep. "We appreciate it, but truly, we're fine. Go, get Quinlys some flowers, or a beer-- something, shoo!" She waves her hand at him and laughs. "Right, right," C'ris says with a laugh of his own, ruffling his hair with a duck of his head before he turns to leave. "Bye, Farideh. Bye, Ethran!" And then he's gone, only the sounds of his boots against stone lingering for a bit before he's out of the weyr. |
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