Logs:Rocks
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| RL Date: 1 January, 2016 |
| Who: Dahlia, Mirinda, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Wing names are Very Serious Business. |
| Where: Mirinda's Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 9, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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| So breakfast's happening, as it often does, and N'rov pauses layering his bacon with more cheesy grits to say, "Pass the citron," and then, "Rocks. What do you think about rocks, wing rocks." "Wing rocks," Dahlia repeats, wrinkling her nose. "You mean like the names we have now? More of them or of the ones we have now? Citrine has always seemed fairly obvious to me." The youngest comments before sipping on her citrus juice. "I've never given rocks much thought," admits Mirinda, who eats-- as always-- whatever she's picked up, largely without seeming to notice what it is. She's usually the first to start; almost always the first to finish, too. "Do we need new ones? Can 'fossil' count as a rock type, at that?" N'rov reaches for the jug, then, unabashed about it, and drops a couple lists on the table when he's done pouring. Non-identical lists, it must be noted. "I'm looking at disbanding two or three, recreating one or two, or thereabouts. And I'd like to get your ideas before I let the wingleaders get at them, to figure out which ones give you hives ahead of time." So as to not use them... probably. "Fossil is more of something in the rock, I figure, instead of a rock itself. It would be fun, but not exactly," his grin is quick, "inspiring." At least Dahlia wipes her fingers again before touching the lists, drawing one toward her, nose already wrinkling again as her eyes drift down the list. "Why are some of these even on your list?" She wants to know. Are they his lists? It's an implied question. "Gneiss? Schist?" She gives him the eye, the one that says only N'rov's list would include something that sounds so close to-- "It would work for the retirees," points out Mirinda, with amusement. "But they might resent that." She reaches, taking one of the lists in the hand that isn't holding on to her fork. "If we name a wing 'Gabbro' I may have to throw a tantrum," she advises. "I'm not a fan of 'Tuff' either, though both are probably too obscure to be useful anyway." Thankfully. Dahlia's suggestions make her mouth twitch, but she exhales and says, "Chalk." N'rov smirks at Dahlia. But, "Those," he informs her loftily, "are minecrafters' lists. I chose to give them to you both without advance commentary." As for Mirinda, "Can't you just see it, though? 'I ride for the Tuff wing!'" only he pronounces it "tough." Leaning for a better look, he nods in confirmation before adding, "Gabbro's a kind of bland rock to look at, too. 'Chalk.' Breakable rock, but one that leaves its mark?" Dahlia has to take a moment to close her eyes at Mirinda's first, opening them to pin her with hazel gaze that still dances with contained mirth, her lips pressed into a firm 'I'm not laughing' line. The look she then turns on N'rov is dubious. "Because you just wanted to see what jokes we would come up with that you hadn't already?" She eyes the list a little more before saying, "I rather like how Tourmaline is on the tongue, but a bit long, maybe. Feldspar sounds too much like something they'd teach in basic dragonhealing." "'Chalk' would be appropriate for a weyrling wing, I would've thought," is Mirinda's opinion on that. "But I don't know that we need to change that wing's name. I actually like Feldspar. What about Granite? Strong and stable." She pauses, spooning up another serving of her breakfast to chew and swallow. "Which wings do you intend to disband, N'rov?" N'rov's easy shrug doesn't refute their junior's accusation in the least, and neither does his grin. "Tourmaline's pretty well the opposite of Feldspar, I figure. 'My dear sweet Tourmaline, prettiest girl I've ever seen,' except she was always 'Rosaleen' in the original," and now he glances at them with brows up: do they remember? "I wouldn't object to putting them both in the pot, unless the dragonhealing really is too much. Granite, I like. You know it'll be rhymed with 'Damn it.'" Which wings, though, that's another story. "Obsidian's one of them. It got hit too hard. That said, Malachite used to be green-heavy, historically, and I think that agility's important to retain." "As least you don't take our opinions for granite," Dahlia says as if she's not paying the least attention. "I like Malachite," for all that N'rov made her hand off duties to them in the still too-recent-to-let-him-forget past. "Zoisite, rhyolite, labadorite," she murmurs more to herself than the other two, wrinkling her nose. "I'd like to name the weyrlings Chalk," she belatedly agrees with Mirinda, "But probably there will be grumbling about any changes so... maybe best to leave some things as they were." "Dee," says Mirinda, who is all-but giggling. "The jokes are getting... boulder." Her nose wrinkles; no, she's not an aficionado of bad jokes, not really. "There have been changes in name before, though, haven't there? I saw in in the records... Citrine used to be Pyrite, I think. I suppose we could see what Olivya thinks, if she wants the change." That's something N'rov can laugh at, and does, the more so when Mirinda tops it off. "Watch out, you two. I can't sand it much longer." He doesn't leap to any of the quietly-said names, though he listens, and nods with interest to Pyrite-that-was; "Precedent's always valuable. But I agree, it wouldn't be worth it if Olivya weren't all for it, and they're already hatched. Maybe next clutch, that should give us a while. The other thing about Quartz," he pauses to drink deeply of his klah, "It's a solid name, but I don't see a fighting wing wanting it, not after it's been for weyrlings so long." Dahlia laughs with N'rov after Mirinda's addition, grinning at the other two as she sets the first list down and reaches for another. "No, I'd imagine not," she agrees of Quartz, her shoulder roll sufficient to sign off on having no strong opinion really about changing it or not. "Pyrite. That's worse," she decides. She'll keep Citrine if those are the choices, thank you. "It would be nice if we could reuse the old badges. Splice them together or turn them over. Although, we could offer up a design contest to the seamstresses... Better if we wait toward winter when there's less to do outside and people get a little stir crazy with less marks for booze." "No one wants to go back to Quartz," agrees Mirinda, she who has never flown for, or in, Quartz. She sets down her plate, picking up her klah mug in its place, and glances back at Dahlia. "Mm, that's not a bad idea. Waste not, want not. What about Limestone? Or is that too much like Sandstone? Cromcoal. I don't suppose that would work, either." "That's something to remember," N'rov (the non-weyrwoman, the man who hasn't had to manage resources all his riding life) has to admit. "That not only do we have to deal with change in identity, which for most but not all riders will be a fresh start, people are going to have to sew these badges and it's going to be work and time and components." But: "I see what you mean about skipping more -stones, too; there's a lot to be said for individuality. 'Cromcoal: the wing that gets your clothes dirty but keeps you warm.' Is 'Topaz' too glittery? Does it sound too much like 'ass'? Would 'Mica' be too flaky?" "Don't give anyone ideas about being flaky," Dahlia recommends to N'rov. "It'll be a pain in your topass later." Nothing to see here people, she looks just so damned innocent. "Slate is nice and short." Then she looks at both, "Is Coral a rock? That's kind of nice. Do they use that at Ista or somewhere south?" Tangent. Mirinda's lips press together, all these jokes encouraging a laugh that doesn't actually eventuate. "No Coral at Monaco, though it does seem a little tropical for Fort. Topaz seems too glittery... but maybe I'm thinking too boringly." She presses her lips together, and stretches. "Onyx. Will you offer wingleaders the opportunity to pick names? They might feel more ownership, that way." "Coral... Is that on the list? It grows kind of, offshore at Boll," but beyond that, N'rov shrugs after that earlier, requisite smirk. "Reefs and things. Good with fish, tough on boats..." This shrug is deeper. "I like that one. 'Onyx.' I'm on it. And, yeah, I'd let the wingleaders choose. I just want to whittle down the pool, that's all. What do we have so far? Tourmaline, Feldspar, Onyx, maybe-later-Chalk?" "At least I didn't suggest barnacle," Dahlia mutters darkly before drinking from her juice. "Turquoise sounds too much like the color it is. Then you'd have greens comparing hides, blues too. To see if they make the color cut." There's a brief look of amusement for that before she smooths it into something more appropriate for Serious Weyr Business. "I kind of like Barnacle," admits Mirinda. "Though I'm not sure how much people within the wing would. Turquoise is lovely, but... yes." The goldrider sets her empty mug down, then straightens, nodding. "Tourmaline, Feldspar, Onyx, possibly Chalk. I think that's a solid list." Beat. "Unless, of course, we want to change the naming scheme altog--" Her smile is mirthful; she's teasing. N'rov winds up with a grin. "Maybe that's the real reason why they changed up Malachite, back when," he says before looking at Mirinda, and then listening, and then sitting up to... "Mirinda," their weyrleader grumbles past a laugh, and makes to shake his fist in the air. "You had me there." "Oooh!" Dee latches onto Mirinda's teasing suggestion. "Southern flowers!" There's a broad grin. That would totally fly here at Fort, right? "Weather? Snowflake wing," she flutters her lashes as she says the name, just for both of them. Obviously, Dee is no more serious than Mirinda was. "Varieties of laundry stains?" She's going to come up with these the whole rest of the day, too. Worst Wing Names Ever. And, because it is Mirinda: "Cleaning products!" The end. |
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