Logs:Reporting for Duty
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| RL Date: 27 February, 2016 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Quint, Silva |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Reachians gather to depart for Fort's Hatching. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 2, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Steady, today's snowfall sticks, creating dunes on the bowl floor. |
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Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge
bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever
so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and
surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but
less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's
grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained
meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.
At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns,
including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to
the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the
southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass
through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of
redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the
very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake,
there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl,
standing out amidst otherwise an empty space. In the steady snowfall Zaisyreth is acting as Silva's umbrella. They're waiting for someone they're transporting, and the little rider is pacing a bit in place, making a tiny snow free spot for herself while Zaisyreth provides the relief. The heavy snow makes movement across the bowl require a fair sort of effort. It's probably by a harper's grace that Quint manages to do it without looking completely awkward, his coat already dusted in snow as he angles towards Zaisyreth and his rider. While many of High Reaches' residents are settling down to dinner, the news of Fort's impending hatching is already spreading, and the Journeyman Harper looks eager to beat the rush. When he gets close enough to recognize Silva, there's surprise, however brief, in the man's expression, before it smooths away into an easy smile. "Weyrling Silva," he greets, with a nod for Zaisyreth, stopping just outside of the shelter of the blue's wing. "Uh. You're on transport duty?" "Don't just stand out there!" Silva reaches out a hand towards the harper, offering up the shelter of her dragon's wing to the man. "Sir," oops, Silva's face is pretty much covered, so if there's a look of chagrin it's hidden, "isn't it horrible weather? Even Zaisy says he'd rather be elsewhere. I really hope that Fort isn't so bad." Yep, if Zaisyreth's hide and her height weren't dead give-aways, that voice is. "Like, when," insert name of another weyrling here, "said he wasn't feeling better it like, didn't take any thought to volunteer. I mean, it's not like transport duty is hard." A beat or two, "unless the passenger smells. That can be hard." Quint opens his mouth, undoubtedly to offer some witticism in return, when Silva's hand reaches to tug him into the shelter, and he coughs instead, giving a nod of his head in gratitude. His free hand brushes through his hair, dislodging the snow that's collected there in his trek across the bowl. "Well, actually," he begins, with a somewhat apologetic grimace, "Fort and High Reaches share very similar weather. But, we will be in the hatching grounds, so that, at least, will be warm." He's glancing at the blue, perhaps momentarily distracted, when gaze darts back to the weyrling with a noise that might be stifled laughter. "Well, I can assure you, I bathed this morning. So I hope I live up to your standards." "Drat it," Silva scowls slightly, then sighs, her shoulders rising and falling. "I guess like, at least we'll be warm inside. Sorry Zaisy," Silva reaches out a gloved hand to pat her blue gently, Zaisyreth probably one of the few individuals who Silva will say sorry to with any degree of regularity. "If not, like, at least my nose is all numb!" The prospect of getting out seems to have lifted Silva's spirits from where they've morosely settled lately. It's not impossible to be around her! "Have you ridden before sir?" "He'll be able to enter the grounds as well, at least?" Quint tries for comforting -- but then he doesn't actually seem certain how a dragon will take such a thing, glancing at what he can see of the blue's profile. He's standing with Silva under Zaisyreth's wing, out of the seemingly ever-falling snowfall. A few other dragons are starting to wing their way in as news of the pending Fortian hatching spreads, although many are caught in the midst of dinner. The harper grins at Silva, nodding, "Many times. You'll find me a well-trained passenger. Can I give you a leg up?" he offers politely, even though most riders are probably well-used to doing without. Silva's a little too short to scramble up without Zaisyreth's help, so it's not at all any particular change for Zaisyreth to put his leg out. "Want me to help you up?" Which would be slightly comical actually. Sadly, movement onto Zaisyreth requires the blue to retract his wing and leave the two in the snow. Alas. Laced into a long-sleeved dress of High Reaches blue and wrapped in a thick, fur-lined cloak in an attempt to keep at least some of the snow at bay, Jocelyn looks a little too polished to be hurrying out of the dragon infirmary, brow pinched and gaze almost absent as she strides to meet Aidavanth, who crosses the bowl from her ledge and lands with a warm sound of greeting for Zaisyreth. "I know, " says the redhead almost crossly as she pauses at her dragon's side, a glance turning for the blue and his passengers. There's a thoughtful cast to her expression, before she lifts her chin and marches in their direction. For her classmate, there's a surprisingly pleasant, if brief, "Hello, Silva, " before pale eyes settle on the harper. "Quint, " she says in greeting, clearing her throat. "You are welcome to sit with me if you wish when you arrive if it gets you a closer view. We wish your sister well." "Uh," a brief pause, as Quint watches Silva, before he quickly ducks his head as the makeshift shelter of the blue's wing retreats. "No, no. I'm quite good, just get settled, and I'll--" he's watching Zaisyreth for clues, then back to Silva to await her ascent, not inclined by training or politeness to do so before the rider, it would seem. Jocelyn's arrival earns a pleasant, "Weyrling Jocelyn," and a nod, and if he's surprised by the offer, masks it well with a slight shift of his body and an easy, practiced smile. "Thank you. On both accounts." Warm thoughts reach out from Zaisyreth towards his clutchsister. Their destination, though Jocelyn has already surmised it, is given over. « Shall we fly together? » As he speaks to his sister Zaisyreth's leg extends, and Silva scrambles her eway up. This, at very least, is done without thought. It IS possible to get good at some things by simply doing them over and over. "Good, " says Jocelyn with a little nod, chin jerking back in the direction of her lifemate. "I should - I'll look forward to seeing you there, shall I?" And without further ado, she's hurrying back to Aidavanth's side, gathering her skirts to mount up. « Together, » the orange-gold agrees, and springs aloft once her rider's settled. Up, up and away. |
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