Logs:Meeting Okilen and V'delin
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| RL Date: 5 July, 2008 |
| Who: Paige, Okilen, V'delin |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Paige meets Okilen and V'delin one chilly morning. |
| Where: Center of the Bowl, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 11, Turn 16 (Interval 10) |
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Okilen Looking around 16 turns, Okilen is already well-built and grown. He comes to 5'11" and has a medium, but muscled build. Strong-featured, he has a heavy brow, bold nose and strong, cleft chin. Warm, blue eyes as set fairly deeply beneath an expressive brow. Thick brown hair falls with a slight wave to his shoulders when let free, but is often pulled into a tail at the base of his neck. The sun has put streaks of honeyed highlights into it, giving it a richness of color. Short sideburns that run to the bottom of each ear are the only facial hair he exhibits. He has a sensative mouth, much prone to lopsided smiles. Dressed for warm weather, he wears brown trousers, with a brown belt that hold them up around his slim waist. On top he wears a thin white cotton shirt with a scoop neck and no sleeves. Over it, he has pulled a loose, short-sleeved, button-down shirt in dark grey, which he has left unbuttoned to allow for better air circulation. His feet are encased in a pair of heavy boots suitable for any kind of work. On his shoulder, he wears the knot of a resident of Fort Weyr. Paige Small-boned and slender, Paige stands somewhere just above five feet, give or take a few inches. Fair-skinned and dark-haired, she could be called somewhat pretty; wavy, umber locks fall to her shoulders, framing a petite face with large, blue-grey eyes, a pert nose and a small, quirky mouth. Despite her small stature, her hands and feet are callused from time spent outdoors; her limbs, though hardly muscular, speak instead of a wiry sort of hardiness - an innate strength of a mountain heritage. Her attire is simple and rather rustic, consisting of a grey tunic and dark brown trousers that tuck into a pair of sturdy, if worn boots. To accomodate cooler weather, a rose-hued sweater is added to her ensemble, slung casually about her waist when not in use. Paige appears to be somewhere in her early twenties and wears the shoulderknot of a Balen Hold resident. V'delin V'delin is a tall, angular man with sharp and glinting blue eyes. Lines of wind and wear map the visage of this mid-twentysomething, the rest of his expression masquerading beneath a thick caterpillar of a moustache and an ever-present scrabble of stubble along his chin, the latter suggesting he could always use a shave. His clean but tending-toward-oily blonde hair falls messily straight to a blunt line at his shoulders. Bedecked in a standard-issue set of leathers kept more carefully oiled and plied than most, his identity as a rider is apparent. One shoulder dips forward a little more into a slouch and at times moves less nimbly than the other, though that may be hard to tell if the weather's cold enough that he's wearing the extra layer provided by a dark blue thigh-length coat, large buttons closing up the front. The wear at his restless fingertips hints at tannery or leatherworking by recent hobby or trade. Any pride in his clothing likely rests in his leather boots: while perpetually uneven of dyelot, they're well-tanned, and the stitches that join the sole are neat and tidy. Okilen trudges through the chilly autumn precipitation - the kind that hovers between snow and rain without ever really solidifying into either one. It has been tapering off the last hour or so, and as he reaches the middle of the bowl, it finally seems to stop, the sky brightening minutely as the thick cloud moves past Rukbat, leaving it shrouded by lesser ones. Paige, wrapped in a thick sweater, makes her way out of the caverns with a mug nestled in her hands. Her nose wrinkles at the grey skies; shivering a little, she takes a quick gulp of her steaming beverage, wincing and smacking her lips immediately after. Hot. Too hot. Still, she begins to head across the bowl, pausing as she nears Okilen. Expression friendly enough, yet quite uncertain, she manages a head-bob in his direction for a quick greeting. Okilen slows as well, his expression slightly wary as he peers at Paige for a moment. A beat later, he seems to decide she won't bite, as he lifts his hand in a friendly greeting. "Hello, there!" he calls cheerfully. "G'mornin', " Paige manages to reply in kind, exhaling quickly over her mug while cautiously moving her hands about its surface. Apparently struggling with this small talk concept, it takes her a bit to come up with, "Kinda wet out today, in't it? And a lil chilly, but they jus' put on a fresh pot in there." Caverns, presumably, even though she's not quite facing them. "Yeah? I was just in the galleries and it's toasty warm in there," Okilen says affably, his hands in his pockets. "Feels like Igen there." He nods sagely, but then colors a bit, "Or, well, at least... what I imagine Igen might be like. Never been." Paige's expression brightens a bit; the prospect of warmth is as marvelous as the discovery of another who isn't well-traveled. "Me neither, " she says at last, more eagerly. "Been livin' in the cold as long as I can remember. But they say it's hot there. Like, real hot." She shifts a trifle, edging a glance toward the hatching grounds. "Heard it was warm in there; haven't gone in yet, though. Jus' got here a day or two ago." "Welcome to Fort!" Okilen exclaims, a smile flashing across the lad's face. "How are you liking it so far? And where are you from?" he wonders, tilting his head to the side as he surveys the girl curiously. "What brings you to Fort?" Paige returns the smile, shy but pleased with the warm greeting. "Thanks. It's - " Completely different, a total culture shock, an utter surprise to her system that she's working to get over. All of those things. " - a busy place, " she settles for after a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Real different from home. I'm from Balen Hold; it's up in the mountains, real close to High Reaches. And colder, but more ice, less rain." As he surveys her, she takes an opportunity to do the same. "Ma's sister's a bluerider here, " she explains, "and decided to bring me up for a few days t'see what her home's like since I never been to a Weyr before." She's still searching for the lavish feasts and beautiful living quarters she's imagined. Okilen purses his lips thoughtfully. "Huh. That must be different. I grew up here. Haven't really been anywhere other than the Hold." He lifts a hand to scrub it across his head in thought. "Oops!" he suddenly exclaims, spotting figure waving his way near the cavern. "Forgot I was supposed to meet my friend... better go. It was nice to meet you..." he trails off as he realizes he doesn't know her name. "I'm Okilen," he pauses to supply. "Paige, " the slight girl replies cheerily. "It was nice meetin' you, Okilen. I'll see you around, sometime?" It's a hopeful question - after all, he's a pleasant enough fellow. "Hope so! And don't forget to check out the eggs!" Okilen calls as he walks backwards a few steps. Then he spins on the ball of his foot and hurries off towards his friend. Above the center of the bowl, Imirath spreads his wings and launches off his ledge. Above the center of the bowl, Imirath spirals down towards the Center of the bowl, and backwings to a landing. "I'll have a look-see soon!" Paige calls after Okilen as he runs off to meet his friend, finally managing to gulp down a good measure of klah without scalding her tongue. Success! Once her companion's gone, that uncertain look returns; cautiously, she resumes walking, turning vaguely to the northeast, gait slow. Upon Imirath, Lowflying from the west is a dark shadow that alights abruptly, nearly tossing his rider from his perch. "You needn't get cross with me," comes a surly voice from above, and a moment later, a slim man slides to the ground, careful to avoid damp patches of crimson fluid along the bronze's side. "WE are supposed to finish our assignment for the day. YOU can get yourself back here after mealtime." Only once the bronze has turned his back on the rider does V'delin realize there are others about. "Ah, um. Hello there. Didn't get dust in your klah, did we?" V'delin climbs down from Imirath's neck. V'delin has arrived. Paige gives an audible squeak as a bronze alights nearby, eyes rounding as she noticeably gapes. So much larger than auntie's blue. It'll take her a while to get used to this. "Dust? Klah? Oh, er, no, no, " she says hastily, taking another drink to prove it. "S'fine. You're fine. No harm." Stutter, babble. V'delin watches the slim girl take a drink, trying to smother laughter through his irritation. "He probably picked that spot on purpose, just to see if he could dust you," Ven mutters. "I'm V'delin, and that," he jabs a thumb into the burnished dragon's flank, "is Imirath." Imirath chuffs a disgruntled puff of air outward and paces further away, where he proceeds to lick the droplet-remains of his lunch off of his forelimbs. "Slob," Ven adds. "Not you, him. I imagine you're far tidier than he is. Ah," he regards Paige with consideration, "New here, are you?" "I'm Paige, " replies she, forcing her light gaze away from Imirath's bulk to focus more carefully on V'delin. "Fairly new, " she agrees, taking in his appearance with a sweeping glance. "Jus' arrived a coupla days ago. Visitin', actually. Don't live here, or anythin', but my aunt does." "Welcome to Fort Weyr," Ven responds, a bland open-palmed gesture indicating their surroundings. Imirath noisily continues his actions in the background, causing Ven to glance at him with notable displeasure. "No harm in a vist. Plenty of people do. If you stay around long enough, just to warn you, someone will put you to work. It's inevitable." He scratches his face, removing a little smudge left there by Imirath's dusty landing. "You finding your way around well enough? It's a labyrinth around here." Paige brightens up at the prospect of working, but her expression remains dubious. "I dunno if'n I'll be around that long. I'm supposed t'return to Balen Hold by the end of the sevenday; Ma'll miss havin' me around if'n I'm away longer'n that." Although her posture simply radiates the tenseness of the nervous, she gradually relaxes a tiny bit, here and there. Nothing like conversation to help put someone more at ease. "I noticed, " she admits, tone sheepish. "I been stickin' to the caverns and m'aunt's weyr, really. Haven't been brave enough t'go explorin' much, yet." At least she hasn't gotten lost, thus far, by limiting herself to just a few places. V'delin grins the smile of the mischievous, "Your mum keep that close an eye on you, after sending you up to Fort with an aunt who is a rider here?" He shakes his head, mock-sympathetically. "She's wise to call you back before the ways of the Weyr get to you - gambling, betting on the eggs, and other unsavory behaviors." There's a glance around, a pause for thought, then Ven adds, "You should check out the eggs, of course, but with Ciath keeping them mostly buried there's not much to see. The lake, naturally, is one of our most beautiful features. And the herb gardens are quite nice this time of year." What a helpful tourguide. And that's exactly what her parents are afraid of, more than likely. "Not much to see?" Paige echoes, almost sounding disappointed. "But someone told me I should go see 'em. I mean - why'd he suggest it if there's nothin' to see?" Never mind that it'd be her first trip into a Weyr's hatching grounds and would be worth the trek anyway. As the bronzerider notes various points of interest, the girl's eyes flick briefly toward the lake shore, mouth lifting thoughtfully. "Lake, herb gardens. I'll hafta remember those, " she says at last, smile waxing grateful. "Thanks." Ven scratches at his neck this time, then regards his hands as though he might have some sort of rash and be spreading it by the scratching. Disgruntled, he scowls at Imirath, who has hunkered down and is feigning a nap, then wipes his hand on his pants. "Yeah, not much to see. Most leave more of the egg visible. Not Ciath. It's impossible to even tell how many there are, and she won't let anyone out to dig 'em up and count." He rolls his eyes, then shrugs: dragons. "No need for thanks. Just good places to see. Now if you're into gambling...I've got more recommendations." Wink. "That's interestin', " she murmurs, brow furrowing a little. "Didn't know they did that. Hidin' them, that is." Paige's smile widens shyly at the wink, a flash of curiosity that's rapidly displaced by discomfort and pink-tinged cheeks. "Oh. I never been gamblin', " she says at last, heedless of her rapidly cooling klah. "S'not somethin' I should be doin'." But in a strange way, perhaps the offer is still appreciated. Immediately, Ven's back to shrugging, a harmless gesture meant to set the wide-eyed girl more at ease after the appearance of pink cheeks. "Most of them don't, as I understand it, but I sure haven't spent much time bothering with the counting. Trouble is, it makes wagering on the outcomes difficult." His smile thins, then he woefully shakes his head. "No harm in it, and sometimes plenty of good can come of a well-placed wager. Besides, you've played cards before, haven't you, with family or friends? Or tossed a marked flat stone to see which side would land up? It's just like that." Ven scratches at his face again, then frowns. "Have I got a rash starting up there, can you tell? Imirath dumped me in the brush earlier." Paige considers this, thoughtful. "Well, " she hedges, "I once did toss stones like that with another girl at the hold, but, " and here she looks as though she's about to confide a deep, dark secret, "never told mama 'bout it." Promptly clapping a hand over her mouth, she blinks, removing her hand hastily. "Don't um - don't let word get to m'aunt 'bout that, " she pleads, hesitantly taking a step or two closer and mincing up onto the tips of her toes to better inspect the rider's face. "Maybe jus' a lil bit of one? Don't look too bad, though. Had somethin' like that last spring and it went away in a few days; yours might, too." V'delin smirks as Paige confirms her forays into the horrors of pre-gambling. "Your mama must trust you an awful lot," he teases. "To send you up here and have faith that you won't come back with lopped hair and indecent clothing." There's a moment there where the man admires the curl of the woman's hair, deciding that no, despite her small stature she probably isn't too young for him to make eyes at, and he smiles appreciatively as she passes her judgement on his rash. "Shards. Figures it'd be something I've an allergy to that he'd pick. Appreciate your looking, though, just in case it'd have gotten worse than just my scratching likely has made it." "She says I'm grown now, " Paige replies simply, "and I should know what's right and what i'nt." Simple, right? Only when your world is still black and white. Dropping back down flat onto her feet, she just catches the tail-end of the admiring look. Couple that with the appreciative smile and she's all rosy-cheeked again. But to her credit, she manages to keep her tone mostly even. Mostly. "Quite alright. If'n you're worried about it, maybe you should take it to a healer, " she suggests. "Somehow I doubt my mother would bestow such clarity of judgement on me, despite my turns." V'delin makes this admission with some pride - apparently, the perspective of his parents hardly drives his choices. "Nah, don't plan to trouble a healer over it. They've got bigger worries than what brush patch I've met face-to-face, I'd imagine. Plus I'd likely be enlisted into stirring numbweed or some other unenviable task." He makes a face here, despite his eyes flicking with mirth at her mild embarrassment. Paige raises an eyebrow at this, but doesn't look too surprised. Dragonriders, loose morals, lack of right and wrong. Surely they go hand-in-hand for most of the populace? "Oh. Yeah, I guess it'd seem a lil tedious, " she says, a tad distracted. Probably too busy trying not to increase her flush; clearly, she needs to get out more. Lots more. "And smelly, " she adds as an afterthought. "Not the best way t'spend an afternoon." "I confess I've dodged the duty before," Ven easily admits, no compunction to right present in his formative judgement pathways. "Rather than go about for sevendays afterward bathed in the scent." In the distance, a befuddled herdbeast can be seen, an escapee from the pens that immediately catches Imirath's attention. His head jerks to the side, his eyes watchful and his ruse of a nap abandoned. "If you'll pardon me - I suspect he's about to make that poor animal his second course, and I ought to keep a tidy on the remnants since we're out of the pens. It was good to meet you, ah - " A pause for thought, then, " - Paige." "Can't say as I'd blame you, there, " Paige shudders. "That's somethin' even I'd try to get out of." As the herdbeast becomes Imirath's next target, the girl makes a quick grimace. "Ah, of course. Nice t'meet you, too - " And it takes her a few moments longer to come up with, " - V'delin." A shy smile later, she's making fast tracks for the other end of the bowl. No goopy entrails for her! "Mmm, even you?" V'delin's moment of mirth at the well-mannered considering her own escape makes him grin, though that's short-lived as Imirath indeed bounds across the bowl and starts his sloppy hunting ritual. With a rueful smile, the slim rider takes off after, pausing only to be sure he gets a glimpse of the Balen Hold visitor from behind before he goes. After a quick smirky smile, he's off at a run. |
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