Logs:Not Making Assumptions
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| RL Date: 29 January, 2016 |
| Who: N'dalis, Olivya |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: N'dalis and Olivya meet at the nighthearth. |
| Where: Nighthearth, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 12, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Although the clouds are patchy with glimpses of sky in the early morning, they turn gray but rainless around the time the sun comes up. The overcast weather, with a hint of humidity, carries throughout the day with early evening winds starting to break up the cloud-layer. |
| Mentions: Ebeny/Mentions, Kh'tyr/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, W'leri/Mentions |
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An irregular archway leads into the alcove that houses the Nighthearth. This cozy little nook contains a hearth, protected by a grate that can be used to prop chilled feet to warm on cold days, that is surrounded with a several leather, upholstered chairs. A small table pushed against the same wall as the hearth is kept stocked at all times with fresh, hot klah, a pot of stew, and a basket of baked goods including breads and both savory and sweet filled rolls. The Weyr's aunties also keep the space supplied with a stack of perpetually renewed afghans in interesting color choices, while the Headwoman's staff ensures that some of the older towels are always on hand on a row of hooks for riders ducking in off of sweeps in bad weather. Otherwise, the Nighthearth is undecorated but for the motley collection of mismatched mugs, bowls, and spoons that line the mantel for general use. Something about the humidity outside-- even though it's not actually raining at present-- makes the cozy warmth of the nighthearth especially appealing, this late night; there's a warm fire, fresh klah for those not afraid of preventing themselves from sleep, and the lateness of the hour has left it quiet. Dal's not a brooder as such, but he is a man inclined to solitude, and solitude is what he's found: he sits nestled in one of the chairs with his feet upon the grate, dark-eyed gaze staring into the flickering light of the hearth flames. Fresh klah, warm fire-- That seems to be exactly what Olivya needs at the moment after a long day of dealing with weyrlings. She is still wrapped in her usual uniform of choice, with her bright red jacket and her knot making her easily identifiable. She invades Dal's solitude carelessly, her iced blue eyes slipping over the man there even as she sets her direction towards the klah. "How old is this?" she even asks, interrupting with a hint of a smile at the corners of her lips. N'dalis glances up, head turning so that he can consider Olivya more directly, though he takes his time in actually answering. "I believe the attendant replenished it... it's probably at least half an hour old, I'm sorry." He makes a sympathetic face, the tone of his voice suggesting that he, personally, wants to apologize for the state of it, though it can scarcely be his fault. Olivya's brow lifts slightly, and then she rolls a shoulder upwards in a shrug that is at odds with the otherwise proper way she carries herself. "I've had worse, I'm sure," she admits dryly, reaching for a mug to pour herself some klah despite the answer. "But if I am going to keep my eyes open another moment, I have about two seconds to get klah inside me." There's that flicker of a smile again, enough to catch if someone were looking for it. "You wouldn't rather just get some sleep?" Dal's question is light but with some evident curiosity. He's too polite to let his gaze linger too searchingly upon the other greenrider; nonetheless, it's clear he has some interest in her. As if to soften the question he adds, after only a moment's pause, "I do remember how exhausting it can be, not that we stuck in the job for long." "And let the little brats ruin my night as well?" counters Olivya without missing a beat, her dry humor sparking into an edge as she meets that gaze without seeming to mind it. She is sharp despite the claimed exhaustion, adding in question even as she sips her klah, "You worked with the weyrlings?" N'dalis doesn't smile, not outright, but there's some sense of amusement in his placid expression nonetheless; mere hints. "Very briefly," is a little embarrassed; a little wry. "We joined Ebeny's training program after our weyrlinghood, but... mine was the clutch wherein the barracks collapsed. Upon us." Olivya doesn't move to take a seat, instead using the advantage of height to study N'dalis over the mug of klah. She replies simply, "I found records of that in the Weyrlingmaster's notes. The training program and the barracks collapse." A pause, before she adds for his benefit, "I've discontinued the training program. Hopefully that won't affect you?" A simple shake of the head serves as Dal's answer, though after several moments of silence he adds: "We've no desire to go back into it, no. I'd rather avoid the barracks, where possible." Still, he half-studies Olivya, now, his head tipped back so that he can consider the weyrlingmaster. "How are they progressing?" "If that ever changes-- I'm sure I can be persuaded to give you a tour. Though I'm sure you've seen the changes since, but perhaps you could tell me what is new or not," Olivya offers with a hint of humor. Her fingernails where they curve around the mug of klah tap softly, giving her a moment's thoughtful pause before she answers the question posed. "They are doing well. Some drama, but that's to be expected between teenagers, isn't it? Other than the hormones, they are one of the smartest, all around, groups of weyrlings I've worked with." Dal's expression is polite, but non-committal; plainly, he has little interest in venturing back into the barracks. What holds more interest for him is the weyrlings themselves, surprise briefly visible about his expression-- "Are they now. I won't assume that is because they are mostly from Fort, and thus..." Superior? It must be a joke, though there's still no smile to encourage the impression. "In any case, I'm glad to hear it." Olivya replies without a smile either, though not without that bare curve of a single brow upwards as she counters, "Mmm. And then I won't assume it was because of the influx of Monacoan Candidates and bloodline. This time, finally, Dal's mouth curves into something akin to a smile. "Indeed," he agrees. "Assumptions, as they say-- well. I'm sure you know what they say." "I wouldn't want to do that to either you or myself," Olivya confirms that she indeed does know what they say. The mug of klah is tipped towards N'dalis almost like a toast or salute before she takes another long swallow from the precious thing. After, she adds lightly, "It is nice to meet you-- ? I am Olivya, green Ivraeth's." "Dal," answers the other greenrider, letting the name hang before he corrects it: "N'dalis. Green Suraieth's. We now fly for Malachite. It's nice to meet you too, Olivya. Properly, rather than by reputation. You've settled in by now, I hope." "For the most part." What parts she hasn't gets left unsaid as Olivya's lips finally hold a smile, if only a polite thing for N'dalis. Her interest sharpens though, as she identifies, "You ride for wingleader W'leri, then? How have you settled in with your new wingleader?" N'dalis' nod confirms that, yes, he rides for W'leri, though it takes him a few moments longer to pull together an answer. "He's direct," he says. "But he has vision. Ideas. I like that. I understand he's not everyone's cup of klah, but..." A firm nod. "We're pleased to be flying for Malachite." "Vision and ideas are good traits to be found in a wingleader," Olivya agrees easily, echoing his nod with a tip of her chin. She finishes off her mug, her soft blue eyes dropping to the inner shadows of it to consider it before she sets it aside. "He's certainly not-- everyone's cup of klah, as you said. But who is?" "No one," is an answer for a question that doesn't require an answer; Dal seems somehow pleased with it, nonetheless. "And how are you finding your weyrlingmaster team?" Olivya's smile is drier where it reappears, but she answers nevertheless, "We work better together than I imagined. I'd like a more permanent replacement for when I lose Ista's lent help, but now isn't the time." A pause, as she considers Dal with an interested study. She likely isn't considering him for that position given what he just said, but--. "The real test will be in how we handle the second clutch once they join the barracks." A slow nod answers Olivya's words, N'dalis' expression more thoughtful and reflective than anything else. "Eighteen is a large number to have on its own, let alone when you have a group that will be-- four months ahead? I wonder how weyrlingmasters during the pass managed. It seems... a situation designed for chaos." "A lot more practice," suggests Olivya with that seemingly habitual dry humor, though she nods in an agreement for the sentiment. "Four, yes. They just turned 3 months a few days ago. Luckily Kh'tyr is a strong number two; he'll be able to take the focus on either group as necessary." N'dalis' exhale is something akin to a snort; amused, nonetheless. "Practice makes perfect," he allows. "I'm glad you've got Kh'tyr; I know Ebeny was glad to have her more experienced assistants, too. It makes a difference, when you can trust those around you." "You have no idea, darling," Olivya practically exhales as well, her amusement bleeding through the words and flashing in the slow curve of her lips. "Well, I will leave you to resume staring into the fireplace. Don't get too close, will you?" N'dalis fixes a look of serious consideration upon Olivya, but accepts her departure with equanimity. "Don't stay up all night," is his rejoinder. "And I will do what I can." Olivya's words are warm, the bit of a husky edge as she counters, "No promises." And for a moment, there's a sly hint to that smile. Her fingers lift into a salute for the man, before she retreats without her mug. |
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