Logs:Light and Heavy
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| RL Date: 25 November, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Lys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A goldrider and a greenrider talk about things, some heavier than others. |
| Where: Greenhouse, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 5, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: C'ris/Mentions, Cendon/Mentions, Drex/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, Nimae/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
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>---< Greenhouse, High Reaches Weyr(#2203RJ) >-------------------------------<
A rustic and unadorned vestibule leads in from hewn spiral steps to a
refitted ledge, enclosed by limestone pillars. Sturdy wooden framework
captures elongated glass panes, tilted to absorb the most light during the
day. The wash of heat from within, lush and humid, persists even into the
dead of winter; the air is heady with the scent of fresh-turned soil and
various flora.
Long, deep troughs of soil line the inner stone wall, planted with an
assortment of broad, leafy tropicals - practical and decorative alike.
Fruit and vegetable baskets hang from rafters, optimizing space, tempting
in reach with a perpetually ripening harvest. A series of stone shelving
is devoted to flourishing, aromatic herbs and new green shoots; even the
softest touch releases a burst of savory scent from tender leaves. Amidst
the greenery, a handful of wooden benches have been scattered, making this
a temptingly warm and secluded spot to sit.
Shuttered vents serve to regulate humidity and heat given off from a small
hot spring recessed into an alcove at the back; a secondary pool with
cooler waters siphons off to provide a constant, fresh supply for
irrigation. A small potting station nearby is cluttered with watering cans
and gardening tools of various uses, with a wooden bin for composting
materials tucked underneath.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Farideh F 21 5'5 pregnant, brown hair, hazel eyes 44s
Lys F 20 5'5" slender, blonde hair, blue-green eyes 0s Time brings with it changes: the slacking of the plague and a more reclusive, ungainly goldrider. It is the temptingly warm and lush environs of the greenhouse that have drawn Farideh from her usual haunts in the weyrleader complex. She's dressed in simple rose-colored velvet trimmed in fur at the wrists and neck, which seems heavy-handed for the temperate weather that has finally started to settle in High Reaches. By now, her belly takes center-stage in her appearance, and it's what she's absent-mindedly caressing as she walks amongst the fragrant greenery on a mid-afternoon stroll. Perhaps something about Quinlys' scolding sunk in because even though the risk that Lys could have been contaminated by her visit to C'ris has passed, she's still wearing the face mask and gloves that had been imposed as both punishment and reasonable caution in the tight quarters that was the barracks. It must make the greenhouse a little uncomfortable with its heat and humidity, but that doesn't stop the weyrling from slipping in. Her walk slows as she catches sight of the very pregnant goldrider, she pauses briefly in her path before heading toward the goldrider, though not approaching overly close. "Hey Farideh," she offers with the look of a smile around her eyes. There is a glazed quality to the way the junior weyrwoman gazes around -- seeing, but not really seeing, lost in her own thoughts. Farideh turns that far-away stare on the weyrling when she speaks her name; a tense moment leads to a clearing of her hazel eyes and slack expression. "Lys," she says, pulling back the slippered-foot she'd placed down to take a step forward. "Are you-- well?" It is certain that she knows of Quinlys' strictures and the blonde condition, but it never hurts to ask, right? "Sore but not sick," Lys answers, before an emphatic, "So much running." Stupid weyrlinghood. She makes her eyes pop a little to lend the words that much more weight. "And Evyth is pushing herself so hard with the exercises for flight that I'm having to massage her every time I oil her," which is also a lot. The way these words come from the blonde is suggestive that she's trying to both lighten and distract from the obvious doom cloud that's been omnipresent in recent months. "How are you doing?" A glance goes to Farideh's belly, but she isn't specifically asking. Undiscernible emotion flashes in the brunette's eyes before she turns her head, eyes lowering to admire a peculiar specimen of blooming bush. "Running will help strengthen your endurance and you'll need that for when she's older, bigger. It won't always be about exercise. Soon, you'll be an actual rider," Farideh says, her eyes lifting to Lys as the corners of her mouth do too. "I've always enjoyed the running part over tossing firestone sacks and jumping-jacks." Her fingers drum against her belly absent-mindedly. "I'm fine. I've managed to avoid everyone who's had the plague this whole time. They say it's receding now. It's less worry, anyway." "I know," comes with a sigh and shrug. The sort that probably would come with the bump of a shoulder as if to urge 'lighten up' silently, if Lys weren't observing such good anti-contamination behavior. "Yeah," she agrees readily, "the tossing sucks more, but neither really sucks less. It's like they expect us to be fit and active and useful or something." The idea. The smile in her eyes exaggerates enough to suggest a cheeky sort of grin behind the mask. "In Fort, I heard. Here hasn't been as bad all along, but." She stops, shaking her head. "Hope it stays that way." The smile is gone from her eyes, nothing but a somber concern left as she asks, "I heard they were worried about Big Bay with them taking in the ships turned away from Ista. Is your family...?" "Useful," is repeated softly, with a careful slant of hazel eyes from underneath dubiously-cocked eyebrows, but Farideh holds her tongue on the matter and all those matters following. She turns to idly scrutinize the foliage nearest her while still lending an ear to the weyrling, and only resettles her guarded stare on Lys when Big Bay is brought up. "I haven't heard anything from Big Bay. I'm sure they're just as fine. Mother is too obstinate to catch anything, and father and uncle are smart enough to stay away from the worst of it. It wasn't too smart of them to let ships docks, but nonetheless--" Shrugging one pink-covered shoulder, she reaches a hand to flick a wilting bud. "I'll be useful," Lys is quick to assure with a teasing lilt of exasperation. "I've been thinking about asking Irianke if Aurora would take a greenrider upon satisfactory graduation. You know, since I'm so well trained at assisting goldriders already." The smile is definitely cheeky. There's a lingering moment for that before she adds, "I'm sure they'll be fine," with the kind of confidence that's probably meant to reassure (as if she needed it). "They'll probably be better off since all those ships with all those goods will need something to do with all of it." "If a weyrwoman was to consider such a thing," Farideh answers, lowering her eyes again, but she can't keep the smile off her lips, "Irianke would be the one. From the rumors, it must have been hard for her, to train under someone like Nimae. Then again, would she be who she is, without that experience?" She makes a sound that is slightly disgruntled, and returns her palms to cradling her belly. "I can't imagine how they can possibly handle all of them. Docks closed at Tillek and other major ports. Sailors must be running amuck all over, not to mention the surplus. I doubt they have warehouses enough. They'll find a way, but--" Features drawn, she looks unimpressed. "Yeah," is soft, Lys' eyes briefly pained. A shake of her head clears that odd look from them, short hair bouncing a little with the motion. Probably, there are things Lys could say to elaborate on Irianke's experience in particular, but what kind of assistant would she be if she volunteered secrets? "Experience can be a cruel teacher, but it can also be good. Good sometimes in feeling and also in the lesson learned. Nothing saves experience from being a hard thing more often than not. "Maybe," is allowed of the sailors, adding a curious, "Is Drex...?" Presumably, out running amuck all over. Any lingering traces of amusement or glee fade from Farideh's face when weyrling brings up the matter of Drex. "Running amuck at Big Bay's docks? No. He's-- I'm not sure where he is. He left. He got it into his head to be some type of hero. To protect me, is what he said, but's it's a peculiar thing, Lys. To want to protect someone's physical body and not their heart." Releasing a tiny sigh, she laughs and skirts the section of potted plants she's standing by. "I'm being maudlin. How are lessons going otherwise? Besides all of Quinlys' exercise plans." "Men are idiots," Lys intones it grimly. "I don't think they know how much worse the heart can hurt. Sometimes I think dying might be less painful than caring about someone and losing them for whatever reason." She's unhappy under that mask and moves to lean against the nearest raised bed, looking down at the plants. "Evyth's enthusiasm is infectious. She's even being a good influence on me by being so scared that if I do something bad enough, or have the wrong attitude that Quinlys will suspend her flight privileges that she has me toeing the line. Have you been enjoying teaching and helping out?" "This one is," Farideh agrees, if not on the subject of all men, since she has little experience with more than just the one, terribly behaved sailor; in respect of the heart. "I hardly think that anything you do, or she, will get you grounded. You weren't around then, but it took me badmouthing Fort's Lilah and K'del. Keep your bad words to yourself and I can see nothing but clear skies for you both," the goldrider says, some merriment returning to her voice. "It keeps me busy. I can't fly. I'm not sure that I would want to. It's gloomy and you know how much I hate the snow." "Try telling her that," is wry from the blonde, but affectionately so. Lys loves her lifemate and that comes through in the way she speaks and in the way the topic softens her eyes. "I don't think I have to worry about anything like that. I only barely know K'del from that time you told us stories in the tunnel and when Evyth tried to steal his lunch and he caught her at it." There's a long-suffering sigh for the latter. "And Lilah..." She shrugs. "Are you getting on well with Jocelyn?" is curious, before she offers a pinched look and, "I can't imagine flying would be comfortable. Is Roszadyth missing that? You flying with her?" "You should get to know him better. I think everyone should get to know the man responsible for their-- the wings." It's a polite answer, and likely Farideh would say more if the circumstances were currently different. "Jocelyn is as Jocelyn has always been. She's efficient and practical, but I think she has a lot to learn-- as do you, as do I. I haven't encountered any problems. Have you?" Lightly, her eyes flit over Lys, and then back to one of the plants. "Roszadyth would love to visit the coastline. Igen. Southern. Benden, even. She misses going to gathers with me and meeting other dragons, but she understands." Lys' eyebrows rise a little in answer to Farideh's suggestion. She doesn't have a sassy remark for it, but just that curious brow raise to invite... more, if Farideh feels like sharing. "No, I like her," the blonde can say this easily of the goldrider. "She and Aidavanth are our barracks neighbors. Aidavanth is good with Evyth. You and Roszadyth will back to all that soon enough. Maybe once I can between all this-- this will be done with and we can go dancing." Lys is a mediocre dancer, but she enjoys it at any rate. "That is good," Farideh remarks, of the younger goldrider. "That you like her. That she is likeable." Brightening, on the heels of such serious talk, her chin jerks down and her mouth breaks into a glorious smile. "Once I've regained my figure and the world is safe to travel again, and gracious, by then you should be graduated, we shall endeavor to find the best of gathers to enjoy together. No men and no silly political talk. Dancing and eating and shopping, free." There's a brief hesitation in Lys' look at the first, but why burst Farideh's brightened bubble. She nods instead of speaking to that first, then with the look of a grin around her eyes, she adds, cheekily, "You can come run with us for the second half of weyrlinghood. To regain your figure." She's definitely teasing Farideh just a little, but the offer is genuine. "Unless you plan on being pregnant for so many more months." Then, "Maybe a little silly political talk, but only if it is silly." For the fun of it. "I might have to, but if I suck in and eat very, very small meals every hour, on the hour, I'm supposed to cinch back to my original figure. That's what the aunties say, anyway. I don't know-- I don't have the experience-- but if that's true, there are a lot of women who like their new size more than their old size." Farideh worries at her lip, unsure, but she's only unknowledgeable. "Only silly. Like Lord Cenden in a fuzzy pink hat?" Lys can't quite help a laugh at the advice of the aunties, but she manages to keep it small. "We must really be growing up. Listening to the Aunties for a change. Who knew they had things worth knowing?" Not Lys, anyway. "I'm sure if you don't like it, you'll change it. You're Farideh." That's a solid and devoted vote of confidence that comes with a smile. "Cendon in a fuzzy pink hat, indeed. Do you think there's a haberdasher anywhere on Pern that would make it? We could send it anonymously. You know, later, when people are ready to laugh again." Belly rubs are in order, but perhaps she's trying to rub off some of that baby weight preemptively. "I never thought I'd be in this position, or any position at all to take their advice." It's thought-provoking, to be certain. "No," Farideh is firm, cutting Lys a sudden, angry look. "We won't be sending Lord Cendon anything. It's best not to provoke him or have him--" She waves a hand and sighs, looking towards the exit. "I should go. It was lovely catching up, but in the future-- stay out of the infirmary? Please?" Surprise meets that sudden flare of temper, but she doesn't comment. "No problem," is the answer to the latter. It is surely coincidental that Lys went to C'ris' weyr and therefore this is a very easy promise to make. "I should head back to the barracks. I can walk you as far as the bowl?" She offers the escort, though if accepted it will be a markedly quiet one - companionable silence if such a thing can be achieved. "No," the goldrider assures the weyrling. "You go on ahead, and I'll just--" Farideh gestures to the door and the way beyond. |
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