Logs:Neither Snow Nor Rain
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| RL Date: 13 June, 2013 |
| Who: Alida, D'kan |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds." The weyrlings' creed as just as unofficial, and ends with spiked cider. |
| Where: Main Courtyard, Nabol Hold |
| When: Day 19, Month 13, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Miserably damp sleet, bordering toward snow. |
| Mentions: C'wlin/Mentions, N'hax/Mentions |
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On the outside of that spiral, what with the bigger wings and all, Kazavoth is... narrating. Nothing out of the ordinary at this point of weyrlinghood, something about the texture and chill of the sleet, and how they (not their riders, of course) had such wonderful foresight to layer their load with oiled canvas. It takes D'kan finally leaning on him, mentally, before he breaks off so they can finish landing properly. « And backwinging... now, » Kazavoth sends to Ilicaeth, his voice changed very slightly like it does when he's relaying his rider. « And down... » « Don't need a runnin' narration... » Ilicaeth notes in his dry, sandy baritone to his brown brethren, the stocky blue making certain to give his somewhat bigger companion ample room to land, even as he backwings to do the same. Chuffing with the small effort of keeping his personal load well-balanced, « So, d'ya' think Solith's coverin' up somethin' by acting like a ditz... 'r is she just really a ditz? » There's no particular judgement in Ilcaeth's inquiry, simply a matter-of-factness. Kazavoth settles on the sleet-soaked ground and furls his wings with a splatter of melt. « Actions speak louder than words, » he answers in his scratchy, light tenor while D'kan makes his way to the ground. The weather has made all sorts of things more difficult, and this would be one of them. There's a moment where it looks like D'kan is going to land face first, but he recovers after tugging on a riding strap of Kazavoth's. « Then again, when you want something to be hidden, you hide it with the most obvious, » the brown continues. « Yer no help... » Ilicaeth snorts within a sudden gyre of golden sand, then shutting up to pay full attention to his landing. He slips a mite, too, one rear leg trying to skid out from beneath him, but he recovers well, the woman on his back soon giving her blue a thump of congratulations for holding it together, then freeing herself and shimmying down his side. Her own boots plunk solidly on the crud they must wade through, though as she has her lifemate hunker down deeply so she can step around and peer at his oilcloth-covered burden, she too skids a little, impacting lightly off a gritty blue haunch. "Shit..." is called out crassly, Alida placing her gloved palms against hide, and calling over to her clutchsib, "Those Holders'd better be on the way..." Speak of the devil: a contingent of burly guys in heavy outerwear are slipping and skidding their way towards the two dragon pairs...and they're not looking terribly pleased about the weather, either. The crass comment gets a crooked grin from D'kan, only just visible since he's removed his helmet and scarf. He clears his throat upon spotting the Holders, then nods his chin toward them for Alida's sake. He moves around their bundle toward the bluerider and starts undoing some of the ropes so the Holders can inspect the item once they get close enough. "I'd ben ten marks if I had them that they make us move it into the Hold," he tells Alida under his breath. Her own voice is muffled behind her gear, but Alida's compensated with volume to make herself heard. Another blurt almost follows, but D'kan's noting of the holders moving towards them cuts her off, the blonde snerking at the brownie's comment. "At least one uv' 'em will try. D'ya' think we should bother tay try, beyond unslinging the loads?" Her tone is touched with some wry sarcasm kept strictly between them, the woman slowly moving away from her position at Ilicaeth's thigh, and pressing herself into his flank, where straps, ropes, and other assorted paraphernalia anchor the furniture on the blue's back firmly. Making a small show of checking everything and looking busy as hell, the bluie and Deke are finally greeted by the somewhat surly holders, their foreman directing them to split into two groups and get down to the unloading. D'kan shakes hands with the foreman before sending a look over the guy's shoulder at Alida. "Weyrlings, that's right, sir," he was answering some mumbled question, "Though Ilicaeth and Kazavoth were just right for the job, but no worries." He points a thumb at the bundle attached to the brown. "I'll help get the straps, if you'll have your guys... uh..." He gestures, glancing between the foreman and Alida. "We just need you to... you know. Make sure everything is good. In good condition. For delivery." He stops, gesture falling. "Sorry, I've never actually been on the delivery end of a shipment before." Alida doesn't shake hands with anybody, the women merely nodding politely, nobody able to see the hard smirk on her face, though D'kan might just catch a flash of green eyes as their gazes snag one anothers'. And with the division of holders and the instructions from the brownrider comes the general grunt and groan-work of both riders slowly lowering the burdens off their dragons, with the holder men easing what turns out to be a new, solid wood bedframe and headboard, plus a massive, solid wood book and hide case into waiting arms. It takes careful handling - the oilclothes firmly wrapped about the items - but after around ten minutes, given the damned sleet, the dragons are finally unburdened, and the men trying not to drop their precious bundles as the move back across the courtyard. The foreman lips off a quick, clipped thanks, politely asks the weyrlings in for a warm drink, and then moves off to direct his crew. After carefully pacing over to her fellow weyrling's side, the bluie murmurs quietly, "Well, we both lost. Wanna bet they thought us both too inept ta' help?" They're 'just' weyrlings, after all. Snork. D'kan is all too happy to let the Holder crew do what they do while he huddles out of the way, and out of the sleet. He nods to Alida when she comes over, then laughs. "True enough." He ducks forward when a bit of sleet sides down his neck. "Thinking we take them up on that drink, what do you say?" He glances over at the dragons, then laughs. Kazavoth has found just the right way to huddle down so he can watch the sleep run down his wingspars. "Well... Kaz is okay out here, I guess." "Yeah..." Alida notes in return, nodding her helmeted head, then chuckling a little at D'kan when he feels the too intimate bite of the sleet on his neck. "Warm drink it is." Already she's setting off behind the workers, but slowly enough to keep her footing a little more sure on the slippery slop that passes for ground, right now. And Ilicaeth? He's simply moving over some towards Kazavoth, and huddling a little with tail curled around his body, looking like an eternal, rocky-blue sentinel enduring the ages. His eyes are inner lidded against the sleet, and on occasion he rumbles or chuffs to his clutchsib. He uses his desert grit and heat as if to stave off the sleet, the winter, a hint of a sedimentary arch tossed up to protect them from the elements. « I think we oughtta' evict the watchdragon 'n take over until we leave. » (To Kazavoth from Ilicaeth) Kazavoth could never be a sentinel enduring anything, but thankfully, he's silent. At least, to anyone who isn't D'kan, who's shushing his dragon with a waving hand as he follows Alida and the Holders. "Think they know how to make a Faranth's Fog? This guy at 'Reaches Hold does it. Always wanted to give it a shot, but... y'know. Kid at the time and all," he rambles on while they enter Nabol. Of course, the foreman's crew still has the rest of the furniture moving to do. But at least they're out of the rain. "Never heard'uh that one. What's in it?" Alida inquires of D'kan's drink, the pair finally warmer and unsleeted upon in the great hall. As she undoes her neckware some, letting her features become more glimpseable, the blonde murmurs very softly in aside to the brownie, "At least you got ta be in the Hold, at some point. With C'wlin 'n N'hax's stunt, likely not gonna get ta see that place fer Turns." Snert. As the two riders dust off, try to dry off, one of the Steward's assistants steps up, and offers to direct the pair towards where a small hearth with small kettles of klah and spiked cider lie warm and waiting. Kazavoth's scorn is mild, but not enough to be subtle. It leaks through his mindvoice like acrid smoke that burns the sinuses. « And take his grungy weyr? In a Hold?? » the brown shoots back, inredulous. « Ilicaeth, out here... here in this fascinating weather, we are warriors! We are strong and brave and... perhaps a bit chilled, but only because we can be! » (To Ilicaeth from Kazavoth) « I said temporarily... » Ilicaeth grunts, somehow rolling his eyes. Acrid smoke he can take, riposting it with gritty-sand sarcasm. « How fascinating would ya' find it if it turned ta' hail? » (To Kazavoth from Ilicaeth) "No idea!" D'kan answers with a laugh. "And I keep meaning to go back to the Hold to find out, but... just keep putting it off, I guess. Since it pretty much means I'd have to talk to my folks, aaaand. Well." He shrugs a little bit. "If I'm allowed in, still, maybe it's like... my duty to go there." Riding jacket is loosened, and the damp parts along the neck where the sleep got in are wiped away with the tail end of his scarf. "You know, prove we're not all... well. You know." He nods his thanks to the assistant and heads toward the hearth. "Then again, with my luck, Kazavoth would butt his way into the worst person's head possible, and that would be that." D'kan starts to pour out some of the spiked cider, then offers the mug first to Alida before helping himself to his own mug. While the dragons sit out in the sleet, which is threatening to turn back into snow any moment, Kazavoth loquacious, Ilicaeth gritty, the two weyrling wingseconds will thaw out a bit, soaking in the warmth of Nabol's hospitality. |
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