Logs:Meeting Weylaughn
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| RL Date: 4 October, 2014 |
| Who: Ashe, Weylaughn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ashe meets Weylaughn by the frozen lake. He's bold. She's bold. They're both bold. In the end, she teaches him how to, sort of, skate. |
| Where: Lake |
| When: Day 25, Month 12, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: the calm before a kick ass storm |
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| Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr(#276RJs) The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself. A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs. Wind and snow make for very bad weather today. The visibility is low, making travel dangerous. Obvious exits: Diving Cliff Lake Bowl Far End of Lake It's not so bad early in the day, the wind and snow just on the horizon in all its impending doom dark clouds glory. Ashe sits on the banks of the lake shore, bundled in her winter finery of fur-trimmed attire, and tries to pull on a pair of ice skates. The rest of the lakeside is pretty clear, as the sight of a horrible no good day has sent most residents to try and finish their work and chores quickly, before the onslaught arrives. The lake isn't precisely a popular choice among those who are outside, particularly with that doom looming on the horizon. Thus, Weylaughn's presence could be chalked up to either confidence, sheer stupidity, or probably both, depending on one's opinion of him. He's bundled up nicely in black, with silver embroidery and accents of purple here and there. The hood is up, the gloves are on, and he's taking what is, for all accounts and purposes, a leisurely stroll along the shre - at least until he spots the young lady with the skates. One eyebrow pops up and he draws a bit closer before he calls, "Hello, miss! What have you there?" And if she has any ear for accents, his is definitely Cromese, with just a bit of a dialectical twist. One last ooomph pulls on the second skate finally, causing Ashe to fall backwards into the bank of snow just as Weylaughn arrives. Lying prone and staring up, the starcraft apprentice stares, blinking successively, before bursting into laughter. "That," Ashe says when she finally can speak in between giggles, "Was for calling me miss, and for the fact that I'm in no state to be overly polite. Could I trouble you to give me a hand?" A soft purple-dyed leather gloved hand reaches up for help. His approach is measured, hands folded behind his back in a peculiarly formal manner. Straight-backed and square-shouldered, Weylaughn might very well appear to be neatly buttoned up in all respects - until the young woman bursts into laughter. There's a concerned creasing of his brow, a momentary parting of lips as an apology is thought of, only for the whole affair to end with a lopsidedly boyish grin of relief. "Ah, my apologies, miss, but I don't know your name. Ah! Certainly. Here..." Her gloved hand is met with one of his black-gloved own and he'll give a firm pull to assist her to her feet. "Weylaughn of Seven Echoes Hold at your service." His grin straightens out just a bit as he adds, "But you can call me Wey, if you'd like." Recognition is fleeting at the mention of where Weylaughn is from, so the apprentice returns in kind with a succinct, "Ashe of Pairi. And thank you." Using his hand, she helps herself up to a ice-skate standing wobble, and then begins to immediately dust the snow off her attire. "Thank you, Wey. I thought I might take my chance with the calm before the storm by testing out the lake when no one's around. Have you ever skated before?" She's not letting go of that hand, the wobbling balance she has not being very balanced at all. There's a moment of recognition in kind for Ashe's origin, but Weylaughn's creased brow is quick to settle out. "The pleasure's mine, Ashe." He shifts his grip just slightly for comfort, but without - hopefully! - affectng her balance at all. He cuts a look to the lake at her question and his smile falters just a little. "Oh," he begins, "we've done it a time or three on the lake at the Hold." He tilts his head and considers her from the corner of his eye. His voice drops to a conspiratorial tone as he finishes, straight-faced, "It's never gone well for me. I've all the grace of a legless wherry on the ice - and that's insulting to the wherry." There's another of Ashe's laughs, both her hands now tightening about Weylaughn's one hand, most particularly after he shifts his grip. "I'm not so bad, but it's hard being here in skates. Walk me to the lake." There's a note of a question there, even if it still sounds more like a command. "Really," the young woman confides, head ducking closer to Wey as if sharing some deep secret, "I've been dying to go to one of the gathers out there somewhere, but can't seem to find the time. Seven Echoes, hmmm?" Curious brown eyes skip to take in Weylaughn's features. "You're a long way from home, sailor." "You're doing better than I would," Wey notes with a laugh. And he is a well-trained lad; demand or request, it results in compliance. He moves only as quickly as she seems able to, with his other hand at the ready should slippage occur. "Ah, it's been a while. I've been to a handful of gathers, but not nearly as many as I'd like." His previously tilted smile sobers up. "And we've not actually been to Crom, which is a pity." A slight shake of his head follows, as if to clear it, and then there's his smile again, renewed and bright. "Ah, well. I'm here on business. Nothing more. I should be back at the Echoes, but I was told I might be able to catch the Weyrleader today to talk." There's a beat, two, then: "What brings you here from Pairi, if I may be so bold as to ask?" "You could be bold," Ashe starts, then smiles, "But I reserve the right to retain any air of mystery I think I have. And if you are the kind of gentleman I've heard Seven Echoes is so famous for, you'll pretend I'm mysteriously charming even if I'm not." Steadier walking than standing in place, when they reach the lake's edge, there's an audible sigh, relief, exhaling in a cloud of chilled breath. She picks the ice with the toe pick and then settles the rest of the first blade and then the second on it, standing admirably but still not letting go of that hand. "There." Concession is a tip of the head and a brief dipping of his chin. "Mysterious 'tis, then," Weylaughn responds. "Though I'm hardly any good at pretending - you are most mysteriously charming, unless you're putting me on." At the lake's edge, he's mindful to keep his boots planted on the ground and far from the ice itself - even if that means reaching out a bit further than he'd feel comfortable to ensure her well-being on the ice. Of course, it takes a second or two for the rest of her words to catch up - or so it seems. "Ah. But, this time, I shall ask" and boldly, at that! "just what kind of gentleman is Seven Echoes famous for?" Faux admiration, for the boldness, teases across her expression in the form of twinkling eyes and a quick smile. "The stuff fairy tales are made of." Ashe doesn't leave it just at that though, and skates backwards, letting her finger tips trail along his hand until she's just out of reach and then dropping her arms to clasp hands behind her back. "Handsome." Warm brown eyes look to Weylaugh. "Check. Charming." The smile's breadth increases. "Check. Unable to skate?" And now she's outright laughing, a merry sound that doesn't go too far in this calm before the storm, "Check? Fairy tales, my man, fairy tales." There's his smile again, skewed with a sense of curiosity that results in a dubious sort of satisfaction. Weylaughn's dubiousness builds with a further furrowing of his fine brow - and as she pulls out of reach, his arm remains extended for a few moments too long. It eventually folds back behind him, allowing him to return to his comfortably stiff and formal posture, but his expression - inquisitive with a side of uncertainty and smiles - lingers throughout her checklist. Frankly, it's the kind of silly expression he'd be yelled at about, but he's wholly oblivious to it. "I wasn't aware," he finally says, "that an inability to skate was something of fairy tales." Yes, that's all he got out of it. Ashe laughs again, skates a few lazy circles and comes about to stand in front of Weylaughn skating backwards. "And, that the lady of the hold is hard to please. Particularly," adds Ashe, with a curious tilt of her head to Weylaughn, "When it comes to her eldest." Toe pick. She stands there with an open expression. "I'm glad to have run into you. If you're still here by Turnover, I'd like to ask you to be my escort. If in name only. A name my parents might recognize and rest assured I'm not off consorting with dragonriders and their ilk." The lad braces against a thin gust of chilly wind, features scrunched up just a little until it passes. "On that, you would be quite right." Weylaughn's expression shifts just a little, his usual smile relegated to something a bit more dignified. "Mother's... particular, but for good reason." He straightens up and matches her manner, more or less; perhaps not quite so open, but amiable enough. "That's a bit unconventional," he points out, but it's a good-natured thing. "But, I would be honored to be your escort." The seriousness splits again, back into that boyish grin from before. Conspiratorially: "It should do well to reassure Mother... well, in the same way that it should reassure your family. Appearances are important and all that." "I'm glad we're copacetic. And should you find someone else to wander off with, I promise, I won't write my parents about it." Ashe smiles brightly and holds out a hand, "Shall I teach you how to walk on ice? Or have you had enough of the cold for today?" There's a bit of a laugh at that and a slight shake of his head. "I doubt that'll be the case. There aren't any proper women about," though that's not his word for it, gauging by the audible air quotes around it. Weylaughn cautiously approaches the edge of the ice, with a glance flicked from her to the ground, to the ice again. "I suppose you could try, but I warn you - limbless wherry on ice." And, with that, he'll brave the ice under her tutelage until such time as he's called for. He'll probably come out of it with a bruised tailbone for his troubles, but it will be a bruised tailbone earned with pleasure. |
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