Logs:Just Observing
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| RL Date: 6 December, 2008 |
| Who: C'mryn, N'thei, P'ax |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 25, Month 5, Turn 18 (Interval 10) |
| Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#343RJs) Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake. At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. Dusk is upon High Reaches when Tausreth sends out his tendril of thought, seeking Yyth's mind with is own and delivering a simple request: for her and her rider to bring themselves to the bowl, and for him (P'ax) to dress warmly. It is, afterall, still a bit chilly. And when they arrive, they will find Tausreth sitting at attention, head held up and keen eyes searching for the young green. C'mryn is just as awake if a bit more laid back, leaning against his bronze's foreleg with his arms folded over his chest.(re) P'ax comes trotting out of the barracks with Yyth, looking mostly perplexed, a streak of what looks suspiciously like blood across his cheek. He's got his coat on and his favorite pageboy cap pulled low over his forehead, hands jammed in his pockets and slumping in a classic P'axy way. "What's up?" he calls to C'mryn when he gets within hearing range. Yyth echoes this for the bronze in her own way, her head tilted curiously. Many people would undoubtedly insist that N'thei has no sense of humor. But there must be one lurking underneath somewhere, for he passes by C'mryn looking like he's completely at leisure, stops to do an intentional double-take, and asks with a highly dubious tone, "Busy night, is it?" Where N'thei himself is going and what he plans to do when he got there is undiscernable; just another man walking across the bowl. Then along comes P'ax, he ahhhs with the new realization, and he adds on second thought, "Apparently so." The weyrling gets a look, one that takes the boy's measure-- and makes no attempt to pretend that he measures-up. All done without really imposing himself on the two of them, with every bit of the posture of a man who will keep on walking any moment now. P'ax is noted, but there is nothing in Cam's manner that would add any sort of light to this mysterious situation. And Tausreth is no help, either, Yyth getting simple amusement from the bronze as he sits, patient and almost smug, waiting for the weyrling pair to join them. N'thei's given a grin - yes, a grin - and Cam shrugs his shoulders. "With luck, it won't be," he decides cheerfully. And suddenly he's pushing off Tausreth's leg and walking quickly towards P'ax. "Kill something?" he wonders for the blood. P'ax lets his gaze skip over N'thei for a moment in measuring return. A shrug is given, dismissing the weyrleader after a polite nod. "Weyrleader." For C'mryn, he lifts his eyebrows. "Nah, Yyth did. I just pulled the bones out. I was just joking when I mentioned making a table but Yyth liked the idea so much, I figured I'd try." A loose shrug and then an expectant pause, waiting for the bronzerider to get onto his agenda. Wondering, out of the side of his mouth; "Shouldn't they salute or something." N'thei's question is meant for C'mryn, just low enough that it's apparent he doesn't mean it for C'mryn alone, asked right after P'ax's polite-nod. Eyes to blood, now that it's been pointed out: "Or at least wash up. --Would like to watch a bit." That last accompanies a shift in stance, no longer leading toward wherever he was headed, now his arms folded across his chest, a get-on-with-it nod for the weyrlingmaster. "A table?" That idea seems to boggle Cam's mind for a moment, the bronzerider's expression torn between amusement and faint horror. The moment passes, and he seems content to let the mystery continue, just smiling cheerfully and rocking on his toes. It's N'thei's comment that prompts him to take a more serious stance, even if his grin doesn't vanish. "Right, well. I'm sure he'd've washed if he knew, but... well. Abrupt." Apparently there will be no time for washing. "Watch? Oh..." Cam's smile wavers just slightly, a troubled wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. "Well, suit yourself, Weyrleader," and he's giving a polite nod of his own now. For P'ax, he says, "So. How would Yyth like to fly tonight? If she's not too tired..." and there's that grin again. P'ax rubs his sleeve against the blood streak with a sour little look somewhere faintly towards N'thei. The moment is past for saluting, baby steps and all. "Sure. Was gunna boil the bones in something strong to get all the flesh off them and let them dry out and then glue them together and put a piece of glass over them. Table. If it doesn't work out, I haven't hurt anything, since Yyth was just going to eat the beasts anyways." He glances at his green and snorts. "She's trying to beat you to it. Her nose is pretty sore from all the crash landings." Suit yourself, Weyrleader. Something about those words touch the aforementioned sense of humor of N'thei, who exhales his chuckle through his nose, a clipped burst of sound coupled by a brief flash of his teeth. Not one of his better smiles, certainly not one to put people at their ease, but better than no smile at all. To make it better-- worse?-- the smile brightens to meet P'ax's sour look, one not lost on the man, but he's all into his observer-mode. "Yes, well," says Cam with a wry look towards Yyth. "Maybe I should have said 'how would she like to fly /with permission/?" And his face splits into a wide grin once again. N'thei, lurking Weyrleader that he is, is given another quick glance for his humor. There's no real fear there, just a curious sort of wariness. A 'why is he here?' sort of thing. But there's weyrlings to keep Cam's attention suitably occupied, so he ignores N'thei. Ignoring him, even if he's standing a bit straighter, chin a bit higher, and looking a bit more 'teacherly'. "So, if that's a yes, I suppose we could get started?" Finally. P'ax doesn't trust N'thei. It makes him stare. "The Weyrwoman already gave here permission. Don't tell her you're trying to.. t-e-a-c-h her, however. She'd strongly object." He adds in a low tone, "She thinks she's going to teach herself." A wry, almost amused smile is fluttered towards C'mryn. "Er, yeah, sure, I'm ready, she's willing." N'thei stares back. /He/ has nothing better to do, apparently; certainly nothing as pressing as attending a dragon on her first legitimate flight. So, arms folded still, he just watches. Occasionally with a glance toward C'mryn and his notable new posture, but he's not here to interfere. |
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