Logs:Rocky Respect
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| RL Date: 8 June, 2015 |
| Who: Hattie, Rasaid |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Saluting is important, even if it means stopping work. |
| Where: Lake Shore, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 13, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Early in the morning and late in the evening, the cold rain falling turns to almost-pleasant snow, but most of the day is mired in a bleak, gray drizzle. |
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>---< Lake Shore, Fort Weyr >------------------------------------------------< The lake's shore is a broad crescent of golden-hued sand, stretching from the southwest wall near the feeding grounds and around to the southeast where the sand gives way to soil and leaf detritus from a cluster of hardy mountain trees. Where the lake deepens, clear blue water darkens to murky teal, hiding stony depths. Dragons often sun here and riders use the lake for dragonwashing in the warmer seasons, while all of the Weyr's denizens may enjoy walks and picnics among the large, smooth boulders that interrupt the smooth flow of sand. Many of the Weyr's children also play at skipping stones with the wide variety of rocks available along the water's edge. >------------------------------------< 10D 13M 37T I10, winter afternoon >---< A break in the rain has brought a few brave souls out to the shore of the lake for some fresh air while the chances of not winding up soaked to the skin are good, and among those few trailing along by the water are the Weyrwoman and her queen, the latter stepping steadily with her paws just in the more waterlogged sand, where the cool water can wash up and over those sensitive paws every now and then. The voluminous, fur-lined hood of Hattie's leather coat has been drawn up, concealing much of her face, yet surely Elaruth's presence so near is enough to mark her for who she is. Neither seem to be in any hurry; no clear destination in mind. Rasaid is hardly quiet as he interupts the calm along the shoreline. Each step is loud as he walks with his burden slung over his shoulder. It's full of... something. Something very heavy because it makes the well built man bend under the weight. He's wearing a well worn cloak that at one point was probably very nice, but still does the job of more-or-less keeping the weather out. His attention remains fixed on the pathway in front of him and he gets within just a few steps of the woman blocking said path before he realizes she is there. A grunt comes with the realization as he lifts his eyes up. Woman, then out to the water, dragon. He'd shrug, but there's a bag on his shoulder. "Scuse." And he jerks his head at the pathway. Hattie just... stops. She achieves a halt, booted feet digging into the sand, and looks up Rasaid up and down, then still... doesn't move. Elaruth hesitates the moment that she realises her rider has stopped walking, even if it is a moment after the goldrider, and though her focus likewise finds the Candidate, hers is diverted to that which he's carrying, her slim muzzle aiming a nudge at it. It's a gentle motion, but it could be enough to dislodge or unbalance it. "Do you think that you could manage to speak an entire word or is that much of manners beyond you?" Hattie puts to him, her dry tone devoid of amusement. Rasaid stumbles as the bag is pushed sideways, and he steps right into a snow drift that hasn't //quite// washed away yet. Rather than answer the woman right away he shuffles out of the snow, shaking the wet from his boots and, now very wet, pant legs. If some of it flicks towards the woman surely it is not deliberate. "Dunno. Mayhap." He resettles his heavy burden on his shoulder and looks up again. "Ma'am. Salute. But ain't got hands." They grip the heavy sack over his shoulder, the infinitesimal movement hard to see in the hands, but evident in the way the bag itself shakes. "Scuse." There's no reaction from Hattie, even as droplets strike her long coat, and very little of any invested sort of response until Rasaid repeats that half-word that she seems to object to so much. She continues to refuse to budge, and since she doesn't move on, neither does Elaruth, the pale little queen choosing to settle just in the surf of the lake. "Let's start with some basic common sense, shall we? Or do I assume you have no idea about respect?" The Weyrwoman gestures to the bag and states, "Put that down," in a tone a little too cool to be pleasant. "And maybe you can start with that salute, since you can't manage 'please'." Rasaid stands for a moment before shrugging once. "No skin off m'back." Swinging his burden around he settles it with a heavy THUNK on the ground, the contents within sounding like a cascade of small rocks clinking together as they resettle into a new arrangement. After brushing his gloved hands together Rasaid does the salute. And then he'll repeat, "Ma'am." It isn't that Elaruth appears to have no idea of boundaries, for she doesn't invasively intrude upon Rasaid's personal bubble of space, yet, now he's no longer carrying the bad, she noses his way to take a sniff somewhere near his shoulder before she shifts her attention to investigate the bag settled on the ground. "Good," Hattie drawls, her manner somewhere between patronising and irritated. "I suggest that you at least go out of your way to manage that much in future, and betters manners, besides, if you'd like to make it to the hatching without someone or other assigning you further work." Her head tilts. "What's your name?" Dragon anywhere nearby is still novel enough that Rasaid takes notice now that pesky things like heavy bags are not a distraction. He eyes the gold for a moment, before a grunted, "Pretty." issues from his lips. Then it's back to the not-so-happy human half of the equation. "Better manners." It's like he's making a checklist in his mind. "Stop work. Salute. Don't mind work. Rasaid." At some point she might get a full sentence out of him. While Hattie's growing frustration may as well be gathering around her in a dark cloud, Elaruth remains the metaphorical light, nothing of her rider's mood in her calm blue eyes, nor the careful tap she means to deliver to Rasaid's nearest arm before she retreats back into her own space. "Are you doing this deliberately, Rasaid, or was your education so thoroughly neglected that I need to ensure that you have intensive lessons with our harpers?" It /sounds/ like a genuine question, even with the taint of irritation there. And yet she can't argue on the matter of her lifemate. "Yes," she agrees, "she's beautiful." Rasaid reaches up one gloved hand and scratches at the back of his neck, silence issuing after the irritated question directed in his direction. "Well." He begins to reply, then pauses, shrugs once and drops his hands. "Can't rightly say. Don't mind workin'. Lessons ain't too bad. Do I keep m' bed and meals?" Important stuff there. Rasaid's expression is schooled into mute passivity. Hard to tell if he's being dull on purpose, or if it's how he really talks. "You can't say whether you're speaking this way on purpose, or whether your education was lacking?" It's rather plain from the dark look that Hattie fixes him with that she believes she's being played. "If you require more intensive lessons, you'll have those as well as the ones you must already attend, and your Candidate duties. If you manage to keep up your end of the bargain, then I see no reason why you'd go without food and shelter." She manages to sound quite dull herself when she affects disinterest and tells him, "You'd have very little free time." "Mayhap both." Rasiad raises an eyebrow at the woman's inflection at the end, but he doesn't rise to the bait. No, he'll just stand there as solid as a rock next to his possibly-filled-with-rocks bag and wait out her words. "Welp. No freetime, no chance for trouble. Less I'm forgettin' to salute." It comes out from his lips without a slightest of blinks. "Fewer chances for you to forget 'please' and 'thank you'," Hattie remarks, the twitch of one shoulder hardly a shrug. "I'm going to assume that that's agreement and make sure one of the Journeymen draws up a schedule for you, in that case," she decides. "If this is some farce you've decided to deliver for your own amusement, I can safely say that it won't be amusing for very much longer, especially if the harpers find you're wasting their time." A threat and a promise both, and /then/ she finally (finally) moves out of the way, stepping around Rasaid to continue on her journey with her queen without so much as a 'goodbye'. "Got it. Please. Thank you." Rasaid half turns to allow the woman to continue on his journey, watching for a moment. A sudden thought hits him and he pauses in his bend down to retrieve the bag. His words are puncuated by a grunt as he hauls it to his shoulder. "Ma'am?" He calls the question after her, not expecting too much of a response, "Why's the weyr needin' rocks?" "It's probably firestone!" Hattie calls back, both without missing a beat or looking back, her sedate pace one that still makes considerable progress along the shore. Or perhaps it's just that she wishes it to /look/ sedate, when it's in-fact a more brisk escape than she'd like to admit to. "Firestone." Rasaid repeats, this time true confusion covering his face for a few moments before he makes the connection. "Dragons. Fire breathing." It makes sense. He begins his own shuffle back to the weyr with his sack over his shoulder. It's after he's taken a few steps that he mumbles, "Thought firestone was black." |
Comments
Roz (18:56, 8 June 2015 (EDT)) said...
Ahahah! This was funny. Oh, Rasaid. <3
Kaleidoscope (10:19, 9 June 2015 (EDT)) said...
This made me laugh! I love Hattie's reaction to Rasaid, and then Rasaid's sort-of-lack-of-reaction to Hattie, and I can't wait to see what comes of the resulting extra lessons, if anything. Fun! <3
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