Logs:Meeting Wesley
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| RL Date: 28 September, 2008 |
| Who: Paige, Wesley |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tiasheth's bath gets delayed in favor of helping weyrbrats make sandcastles. Paige meets harper Wesley and chats about children. |
| Where: Lakeshore, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 11, Turn 17 (Interval 10) |
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| Fort finds itself with a touch of indian summer today, the clear blue of autumn just a wee bit hazy with what's sure to be the last warm day of the turn. So, taking advantage of it, Wesley's set up shop outside. He and a couple of nannies have herded a group of children from the lower caverns outdoors, and the whole lot of them are currently employed in building sandcastles, barefeet and all. The nannies really do most of the supervising, leaving the harper to patter from castle-to-castle and discuss with the children how well it's going and which hold they're attempting to replicate. "Fort, 'cause it's the nicest!" "Boll-- look, this is the beach!" "I'm not building a hold, I'm building the Weyr!" Proclamations like that. Tiasheth's original purpose in gliding over toward the lake may have been to swim, or perhaps even to bathe, but the petite green is quick to veer instead for the shore, eyes whirling in delighted blue-greens as she warbles happily at the children and their sandcastle-making. The slim woman that dismounts is shaking her head while slipping brushes back into a bag clipped to her dragon's harness; scrubbing, it seems, will have to wait while there are youngsters to consider and interact with. Grinning cheerfully at the group, Paige's approach is nevertheless a bit hesitant, halting just shy of joining them. She, after all, doesn't want to intrude. One or two, the braver little boys-and-girls, wave happily to Tiasheth, recognized and then regaled with a long chat about the castles they're building. They turn to the nearest nanny, not the harper, and one little boy points out cheerfully, "She can help us get /lots/ more sand!" At which point Wesley, standing a few mounds down from that group, slouches over with a doubtful peer toward the green, toward the green's rider; "I'm guessing you didn't come down to get enlisted. We'll be clearing out soon if you need the space?" His smile is quick, amused, quirky, while he looks at all the expanse of beach not occupied by his troupe of children. Delighted by the children, the green is only too happy to find a blank expanse of sand and scoop up a good measure in a paw for the castle makers, shuffling forward a bit to carefully deposit a mound within their reach. Paige glances amusedly over at the dragon's movements, unable to hold back a little giggle for the little boy's suggestion. "Careful, ya'll be gettin' her t'wanna try and build one o'those, " she warns laughingly, attention turning to Wesley as the harper slouches over. "Naw, but she dun mind. Got time fer a bath later. 'Sides, she adores lil'uns." As if to prove that statement, Tiasheth carefully rakes more sand toward the children in an attempt to make more of it more accessible. "Y'helpin' 'em make these?" she wonders then, tilting a look down at the various forms taking shape near each group. Wesley turns over his hands, caked with a fine layer of sand, and looks down at them for a second like the answer to Paige's question might be suddenly obvious? But he raises his eyes afterward with a self-effacing smile; "Supervising, you might say. We're supposed to be having lessons--" A groan radiates from the children, and he's forced to talk over the top of them. "But we decided to come out here and get some fresh air instead. Wesley," while he surreptitiously wipes his palm on his thigh. "Harper. Babysitter." And offers a handshake. "Maybe the fresher air'll help 'em focus better later, " Paige suggests, a little grin curving at her mouth for both the children's groan and the harper's introduction. "I wasn' so great at lessons, either. Had a rough time with 'em fer a while last turn, " she offers to the youngsters, even while she reaches over to shake Wesley's hand with her much smaller one. "Nice t'meetcha, harper Wesley. Paige, Tiasheth's." Helpfully added: "Tha's her pushin' 'round the sand, " as if it weren't already rather obvious. The same, self-deprecating quality to his humor, Wesley answers her first comment with an amused, "I'm hoping more for utterly-exhausting them, but focus is probably a nicer word. --Paige." He turns, pocketing his hands, to look toward Tiasheth when she's focused in the conversation. "Yes, I might've guessed that on my own eventually. Quite an accent you've got, do you mind if I ask where it came from?" Detached, it's a lot easier to see how little kids work, how they gravitate to the new piles of dirt provided by the green; never mind that there's acres of perfectly good dirt, this dirt is new and exciting! "'Less y'tire 'em out too much, " Paige muses, "and then they'll wanna take a nap, not do anythin' with lessons." Watching the kids as they work, she gives an easy shrug as he inquires about her accent, blue-grey eyes amused as they return to him. "Oh, 'course not. I'm from Balen Hold. Lotta folks from the mountain holds seem t'have somethin' similar. Dunno if'n ya've met S'fox, Inorath's rider, but he's from one o'the ones 'round Fort and got a bit o'one, too." "Frankly?" Wesley lowers his voice at that, turns his head, covers his mouth with two fingers like all that's necessary to hide his words from the children. Not a one of them is actually listening to him. "I'm counting on them having a nap after this and skipping history." He glances up at the unusually warm sun, down at the bright-faced children, and shrugs with helpless acceptance of the fact that he's just a very bad professor. "I haven't met S'fox. I haven't met anyone over the age of nine, seems like, but now I'll recognize him by the accent, so thank you for the help." "Oh." She follows his glance; bright sun, bright children, lots of activity. "I reckon yer chances o'them doin' tha' are good, " Paige opines, giving him an amused look. "Y'spend tha' much time with the kids? S'lot o'folks 'round here older'n nine, las' time I checked." Meanwhile, Tiasheth's still providing sand for the children, crooning with interest as she peers over toward this mound, or that one. " -- Any o'them makin' Fort?" "Hold or the Weyr?" Wesley gestures with an open palm for Paige to precede him down the line of dirt-mounds that are, in the minds of children, reasonable representations of the magnificence of Pernese architecture. To answer her other question, he adds, "Not voluntarily. Teaching is just one of the dangers of the profession, sadly, and they won't let me wear Harper Blue unless I suffer it. Do you--" He nods down at a raised pile of sand at his feet like it's important. "Have children?" Paige's smile for the children is warm and earnest, eyes bright as she glances from mound to mound, not unlike her lifemate. "Weyr, " she replies. "S'what Tia wants t'know." There's a glance back for his explanation, pace slowing so that they could proceed down the line together, if he's agreeable. "Me? Naw, I dun - I dun got kids, not yet." For all that the words are casual, her cheeks do pink just a tad. "I ain' so far removed from tha' time in m'own life, yet. Reckon I'd like t'wait a bit 'fore I - think 'bout having a kid or bringin' it up with him." "With...?" Wesley's ear piqued to that, yes; he keeps his pace about that of Paige's, a little more inclined to dawdle now and then and sweep a stick or a pale or a shovel toward one of the castles rather than leave it littering the pseudo-path in between the remnants of children's castles. His work is all in vain, though, since the nannies start rounding up their charges with many "awwww do we have to?!"s for their efforts. "Not that it's any of my business, but you did sort of bring it up." His chuckle allows for the possibility that she'll just gloss right over his curiosity. Before the children wind up taking all their tools, he leans down and snatches a spare stick to hold behind his back-- for some arcane purpose of his own. "Oh, " and Paige flushes a bit, suddenly shy. "M'sweetheart." She may as well have just pronounced, in glowing tones, 'the love of my life.' "He's got two already; the one I've met's awful cute. I jus' dunno if'n he'd want another in a few turns. They'd be a bit far apart in age." Still, her expression turns wistful as the nannies begin to round up their young charges; Tiasheth, too, looks terribly sorry to see them all preparing to leave, dipping her nose down to whuffle a goodbye over a little girl who's scrambling to pick up her tools. Little smile, just a small one, for her tone more than anything, and Wesley utters a realizing little "Ahh." He continue spacing along, pauses in front of a particular sandcastle that's arrayed in such a way as to very-roughly depict a bowl-- the raised walls on the outside, the flat expanse in the middle, even a bit of damp sand that was probably the lake before the water drained back into the ground. Rather than interrupt her wistfulness, he bends with the collected stick to spell out "Fort Weyr" in a sandy filigreed script in front of this architectural offering, looking up in between letters to watch the children run off, to watch a few of them wave an eager farewell to Tiasheth and "thanks for your help!" Warbling after the departing children, Tiasheth shuffles a bit closer to watch Wesley spell out "Fort Weyr" in front of that one sandcastle, eyes a pleased aquamarine. Perhaps a silent nudge from her is what pulls Paige from her thoughtful silence; blue eyes glance down at the castle, then down at the fancy script. "Tha's purty good, " she says at last, impressed with the chlidren's handiwork. Squatting briefly, she leans over to press a couple of gentle depressions into the walls, just enough to leave behind small marks. The weyrs, of course. "Y'got any, yerself?" Kids, that is. "No." Wesley chuckles, puts a flourish and a blot under the handwriting with a flair that looks silly considering it's just scribbling in the dirt. He straightens, lifts a grin to qualify, "I was apparently too busy making nice handwriting to make any people. Which is probably for the best, though if you know anyone looking for a dumpy fellow with nice handwriting but no marketable skills-- please. Send her over." His smile, coyly bright, ends the line of thought. "It's been nice chatting with you, Paige," and it sounds authentic. "I 'magine the nice handwritin's easier t'deal with'n makin' people, " Paige quips before getting to her feet, smoothing her hand quickly over her slacks. "S'lot o'nice folks, " she adds, and leaves it at that, expression warming for his sentiments. "Been nice a'chattin' with ya, too, Wesley." Utterly genuine, she moves to fetch her scrubbing supplies from Tiasheth's pack, giving the harper a little grin. "Hope those kids're more likely t'listen t'yer lessons t'morrow." Wesley calls back, "Thank you!" Except he doesn't sound like he's holding out much hope, or maybe it's just that he's hoping not? Anyway, with the stick-stylus still in hand, with his hands loose behind his back, he strolls off after the nannies and the children and leaves the wind-and-water to demolish an afternoon of very hard work. |
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