Logs:Scavenging a Fleece
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| RL Date: 10 March, 2010 |
| Who: Gabrion, Taikrin, Tiriana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Gabe and Taikrin seek out the Weyrwoman for the scavenger hunt. She awards them with more than just a fleece-- the first egg-touching amongst their candidate class. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 2, Turn 22 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: The snowfall is light and intermittent throughout the day until it tapers off completely into a frigid night. The ground is damp, though very little sticks. |
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| Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black. The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat. A frequent figure in the galleries, Tiriana isn't looking so hot right now, metaphorically speaking. Literally speaking, she looks quite hot, sweating as she is, but with a grumpy expression that makes clear her current thoughts on being stuck there. Iovniath, meanwhile, is on the sands, for once not turning her eggs carefully one by one. She's retreated to a corner of the cavern to daintily eat a meal brought in for her. Gabrion trots into the gallery area, going just a little too fast for area pedestrians to be entirely safe, and stops short when he sees Tiriana. "She's here!" he calls over his shoulder, and approaches at a more decorous pace. "Hi, weyrwoman. You look - hot," he remarks. Then, after a pause, he adds, "I mean in the temperature sense." A lanky, pimple-faced teenager near the back of the galleries first looks up at the call Gabrion pitches over his shoulder, and then with interest piqued, catches the rest of his could-be flattery. The ruddy-haired kid can't help but snicker a bit at the idea of any woman over the age of twenty considered /hot/, but what do thirteen year olds know, and eventually, he goes back to throwing boogers at a nearby thirteen year old girl. "--- one more day!" Taikrin stomps along several paces behind Gabrion, apparently embroilled deep in an arguement with her candidate guard -- an older man by the name of Jerron. "Y'ain't gotta keep on like a shardin' tunnelsnake." The man appears quite beleagured, as apparently they've been having this argument for quite some time, and finally snaps, "Fine, you stupid slut. Go play your game. I'll wait here." And wait at the entrance he does, folding his arms across his chest with an air of annoyance. Taikrin, for her part, manages to look quite pleased with herself despite the insults, and takes the steps in twos to catch up to Gabrion. "Knew I could get rid of 'im! Just took a little--" Erk. Literally, as she catches sight of Tiriana. "Uh! Weyrwoman. Ma'am." Color flushes her cheeks, but it has nothing to do with the heat. All the insults are what get Tiriana's attention, with a waspish look for the candidates that are causing all the commotion. "Do you have to yell quite so much? Be respectful," she tells them, voice sour. "Iovniath doesn't like all the running and yelling and... stuff. And me neither. What do you want?" "Sorry," Gabe says, chastened by the scolding. "Uh - we wanted to get one of those fleeces from you? If we could, please." See, he can even be polite! "For the scavenger hunt," he explains. Glancing back towards Taikrin again, he mouths, "What's his deal?" and motions toward the guard. Taikrin's face shifts from pink to white in record timing at the scolding, and she draws to a halt almost directly behind Gabrion in a way that's not /quite/ hiding behind the smaller boy. "Sorry!" she yelps in a voice lowered to a ridiculous degree such that it's barely audible. "We was, uh-- didn't mean t'bother ya, Weyrwoman ma'am, we're just, uh, th'hunt thing, see, an' they said maybe we could find y'here and uh--" Tiriana sighs. "Oh. The hunt," she says, sounding not quite so enthusiastic about it now. "Faranth. Why did I even bother signing up for this thing? It's down there, in my bag, so help yourself." A gesture points out the satchel there, stuffed with all sorts of stuff. It's only then that she actually takes the time to look at her pair of accosters, and Taikrin in particular. "Oh. It's you. How's the arm?" Gabrion walks toward the satchel, but then hesitates even as he's reaching for it, and looks at Tiriana just to make extra super duper sure it's really okay to dig around in her bag. "Any uh... particular place in there?" he asks. Taikrin picks at the top of the cast nervously as Gabrion moves towards the satchel, craning her neck to follow him for a moment before snapping her attention back to Tiriana. "Uh. S'good. Healer says couple more sevendays, an' it'll be good t'go. Be glad t'not have this thing on no more. Uh. Thanks f'r askin'." A swift glance out towards the eggs, then Taikrin blurts, "How long d'you reckon, ma'am? That they got t'go?" "Hell if I know. It's pink. It can't be that hard to find," Tiriana says, rolling her eyes at Gabrion. She shares a look with Taikrin--boys!--before shrugging again. "How much longer? Er. I don't know, until they're ready, I guess. That's what Iovniath always tells me when I ask her, and she should know better than anybody." She pauses. Then, abruptly, "You want to touch them?" Gabrion digs around in the bag for a minute or two, and comes up with - sure enough - a piece of pink fleece. He holds it up so Taikrin can see, grinning triumphantly. "We are so going to win this," he says. Then he squints at Tiriana. "Touch wh- /oh/. The eggs? Can we?" A hint of a smile appears on Taikrin's face at Gabrion's success -- and his obvious pleasure in it -- but is quickly subsumed by surprise. "We can /do/ that?" Her jaw drops, then snaps back shut. "I mean, like-- we ain't gonna hurt 'em? I figured they was just puttin' me on, talkin' about it." She sidles over towards Gabrion to present a united front. "Didn't reckon I'd actually, uh, get th'chance, like." "If you want to. I was down there earlier, and they were pretty hard already," answers Tiriana, standing up and dusting herself off. "Of course you can't hurt them. Or, well, at least not now, so much. If you're gentle and don't go haring off." Gabrion's eyed hard for that last one, but she's already walking down the steps toward the sands. "He--" and here she gestures at the waiting guard, "is not invited." Gabrion flashes a grin at Taikrin, for the part about the guard not being invited along. "We'll behave," he promises Tiriana with an angelic smile. "I've never gotten to /touch eggs/ before," he adds, excitedly. Taikrin too looks inordinately pleased at that last part, enough to flash a smirk over her shoulder at the unfortunate Jerron. "We'll be quiet as-- uh-- quiet," Taikrin tacks on by way of reassurance as she falls into step just behind and to the side of Gabrion. "Shards, huh?" is whispered down at Gabrion with a rather reverent air. "Reckon we win anyways." "You better," is Tiriana's threat, as she leads the way down onto the sands. Iovniath has finished her meal, at least, and steps back over to her eggs after scrubbing her mouth and talons clean in the sand. Her well-hollowed spot is curled protectively around the golden egg, but the others she leaves more open to perusal. "Well, go on, then. Pick any one you like, it doesn't matter. I don't think any of this really matters much, but some people swear by it, so. Iovniath says it's not for the dragons, though--it's for you guys. Whatever /that/ means." "Huh," Gabrion says thoughtfully. "For us?" He hasn't got any more of a clue what it means than Tiriana, but he heads for the nearest egg, the brown-splotched one, and gently lays a hand atop the shell. "S'hotter'n I reckoned it'd be," Taikrin murmurs as she steps out onto the sands, keeping one wary eye on Iovniath and her golden egg. She pauses a moment besides Gabrion, then moves on to a larger russet-shaded one just beside it. "Yeah, f'r us, ma'am?" She's obviously pretty confused about that part. The egg is regarded carefully for a moment before she extends her undamaged hand in an exhaggeratedly slow motion. With a final glance up at the dam just to be /really/ sure, the hand comes to rest feather-light against the shell. "S'warm! They really-- d'they know we're out here, like? Saliqa said babes know stuff, in their dam." Tiriana snorts. "Hell if I know. She says she always knew me, though. Didn't need me touching her egg to figure out I was the one. That was just so..." She trails off, head tilting while she shoots a look at the proper gold, hovering over her eggs and trying not to look nervous when the two candidates traipse down amongst her egg. "So I could figure out she was the one? Or--get comfortable. Or something. I don't know. They don't really... remember most things well. A few days, that's about it," she explains, with a glance between the pair. "So I don't figure Iovniath really remembers anything about before she hatched, or right after, or anything. But she still says she /knows/ this stuff. Like, in her gut or whatever. You know that feeling?" "Weird," Gabe says. "Hard to imagine how you'd know stuff without remembering it... but I guess the gut thing, that makes a kind of sense." He idly strokes the egg as he talks, then turns, glancing around the sands, and strolls over to a different egg to examine it. "How'd y'know she was here waitin' f'r you before they hatched?" Taikrin is genuinely curious; enough so that her gaze lifts from the egg before her to focus on Tiriana. "Are y'spposed t'know, before? That how it works, like, so's people don't get ate?" She remains in place at the palely russet egg, working her hand very softly over the apex of the shell. "What, y'ain't got, like, instincts or whatever, Gabe? Like, what tells y'that someone's stalkin' after you at night? You know, down in yer belly? Reckon it's like that, Weyrwoman?" "Yeah!" Tiriana latches onto Taikrin's words with an enthusiastic nod. "Like that, exactly. She doesn't remember the details, just--the feeling, sort of. The details are always vague for them, after a little bit. But she'll remember the feeling of it, that Cadejoth's her mate, that Isforaith is her favorite, that sort of thing." She walks away from the pair, over toward her gold, where she sits down heavily on the gold's foreleg. "They don't really... see things like we do." Gabrion laughs. "I don't know, should I have instincts in my belly?" he jokes. "Maybe something I ate flushed them out." He lays his palm atop the second egg. "How do they see them then, weyrwoman?" he asks. "I mean, how is it different?" Taikrin makes a face at Gabrion, obviously unimpressed with his sense of humor. "Y'ain't got a bone of self-preservation in that body of yers, y'know that Gabrion?" Must be why he's been hanging out with a Very Dangerous Criminal. She drifts away from the first egg, finally, heading closer towards Tiriana and Iovniath. An oddly green egg is picked, then, to receive the next inspection. "Is it 'cause their eyes are all different, like?" There's not a hint of guile in that question; apparently she's serious. Gabrion wanders off toward the eggs in the corner and keeps quiet, just listening to the conversation. "That's--well, that, too," Tiriana agrees with Taikrin after a beat. "And who around here /does/, anyway? Believe in self-preservation. Faranth, that's why I have Iovniath, so I don't get myself killed already. I just meant--mentally, you know? They don't think like us. I mean, maybe some of them do more than others, because they're all different, but. Like Iovniath. Iovniath, she's... bigger than me," is her attempted explanation, with a lot of vague handwaving about as though that will mean something to the convict. "Always thinking about dynasties and legacies and ten moves ahead of everybody else, instead of just the, you know. Murder 'em now, figure out what to do with the body later." "I believe in it, right enough. Had more'n enough excitement, me, t'last a while. Ma'am." Taikrin doesn't overtly indicate her cast, though she can't help the fact that her gaze lingers on it briefly despite the allure of the egg before her. "Bigger? I reckon that..." At mention of the gold, Taikrin's head tips back to allow a full view of the dragon. "Dynasties? Like, plannin' an' stuff? Guy I, uh, worked for, he used t'do that. Played some funky game with colored stones. Smarter'n me." She gives a shrug, apparently unconcerned. "Reckon they're smarter'n us, 'cause they're so big, Weyrwoman ma'am?" The green egg is left as Taikrin is once more on the move, selecting an egg that's again a bit closer. And she's most /definitely/ not eyeing that gold egg. Definitely not. Why, that would be improper! Tiriana snorts. "Don't know that size has much to do with it. Cadejoth's big, for one, and he's dumb as a brick. Like a dog, follows Iovniath around, hangs on her every word. He's no fun, you know? Just boring when they don't have any fight in them," she remarks, wrinkling up her nose. "But then, she doesn't like the fighting ones, either, because she says it's bad enough she has to deal with me and anyway, the dumb ones are easier to manager. She likes managing things." She lingers against the gold's side, nestling further in so she can get comfortable. "It's all hard to explain. You can live in Weyrs your whole life, I guess, and you never really /get/ it until you get one. I mean, I've lived in four of them now, and all." "Didn't really figure they had, like personalities." Taikrin might be resting a hand on a blobby brownish egg, now, but her attention is fixed squarely on Iovniath. "Dumb ones an' fightin' ones an' plottin' ones. Figured they was just--" she pauses a moment, searching for words, then shrugs. "Dragons." Okay, maybe her gaze /does/ linger a bit long on the gold egg, now. "How d'they know they ain't gonna hate th'person they pick, bein' babies an' all when they do it? 'Cause they don't--" Uncertainty reigns then as she pauses, licking her lips, before blurting, "--don't end up just like th'ones they pick, do they?" Tiriana rolls her eyes. "Faranth, even dogs have personalities. Runners. Any animal. You think a dragon wouldn't at least have /that/ much?" she wonders, head shaking in disbelief. "And they're--Faranth, I don't know. I don't know what they're looking for. Different things, I guess, but--mostly just somebody who... completes them. Sometimes it's somebody like them, and sometimes it's somebody not. Me and Iovniath, we both /want/ the same stuff. We just don't see eye to eye on how to get there. She's all patient and manipulative and crap. And me--well. my vote for fixing Balen was storm the Hold and kidnap every last one of their kids to stand, just to teach 'em. She... stopped that." Obviously. "But it'd be an honor f'r th'Hold, wouldn't it?" Taikrin: enabler. "I dunno, though," she continues in more conversational -- if still vaguely confused -- tones. "Ain't been 'round animals much. Ain't seen too many, 'cept maybe a couple /real/ mean dogs." The rest of the information is absorbed with a soft 'huh' of exhaled breath. "Like a real tight gang? After th'same stuff, like?" She's quiet a moment more, pondering these revelations, before her expression /does/ become guileless. Completely innocent. Really. "Say, uh, Weyrwoman ma'am-- how come she likes that'n so much more'n th'rest of these eggs?" "Not if we stole them when they don't want to give us even one," snorts the Weyrwoman. But gangs-- "She says we're not a gang, she is a lady and thank you for remembering that," TIriana interprets Iovniath's own snort, a gesture somewhat more ladylike than her rider's, at least. There's nothing quite so demure about the way she curls up tighter around that big gold egg, though, and shoots Tiriana a look that can best be summed up as 'terrified.' "Oh, that one? That's the gold one. She's... kind of protective." Understatement. The 'Oh' that Taikrin gives is terribly nonchalant, as is her following statement. "Reckon that's the one that's got 'em all worked up, then, what with me an' Zarenya an' all." It takes a moment to sink in that perhaps Tiriana is /not/ the best person to be confessing this to: her face goes pale, suddenly, below the sheen of sweat from the heat, and she starts babbling nervously again. "I mean-- ain't like I'm gonna be a criminal no more, day after t'morrow comes, an' Zarenya's pretty enough anyways an' of /course/ y'ain't a gang 'cause that ain't proper--" Her gaze drops, abruptly, to the shell of the egg that's before her, and after a couple deep breaths she continues more slowly, "Reckon they're all pretty good, anyways, not just that'n." Tiriana doesn't seem at all bothered by Taikrin's admission. "You can touch it if you want. Can't she," she says, with a pointed look at Iovniath. The gold doesn't back away an inch, but does uncurl slightly, opening up the egg to the possibility of handling at least. "It... doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would," she admits at last, reluctantly. "Or Iovniath--she just trusts that her kids have some sense. And me--I mean, when you've already been exiled from one Weyr, you can't really go pointing fingers at convicts." A faint lift of her shoulders follows, and then a stifled yawn. "S'not late, 'M not tired," she announces, although Iovniath is already nudging her up toward the doorway. Reluctantly, "You two should probably get back, too." Taikrin isn't about to look a gift-horse in the mouth -- especially when it's something of this magnitude. One wary eye is kept on Iovniath, and the other on Tiriana, as she steps carefully across the sands towards the gold and her egg. "Day after t'morrow, won't be a convict no more. First of th'month an' all," is the offhanded comment, as if it were common knowledge. Once she's close enough, she reaches her good arm out to it's maximum length, and only then barely brushes the shell of the golden egg with her fingers in a swift touch. Barely a moment later, she edges back towards the galleries in a somewhat odd sidestepping motion that allows her to keep a wary eye out. "Reckon we shouldn't keep y'from-- well, keep you. Uh. Weyrwoman. Thanks f'r--" The casted arm is waved, generally, at the sands. "-- this." "Really." Tiriana hears this with a lift of her brows, a faint albeit tired grin. "Congratulations, then. Now you won't have to deal with /him/ anymore." And she jerks her head to indicate the unfortunate guard, left to look on while Gabrion and Taikrin get the grand tour. "You're welcome, though. Wasn't no big deal--probably have some bigger groups down here, soon, if Iovniath can stand them. Made tonight a little better, anyway." She shrugs, straightens, and finally starts shuffling toward the exit herself. Taikrin really is inordinately pleased at this confirmation: she too shoots a glance over her shoulder at the much-beleagured guard. "Can't wait, me. Can take a bath without 'im havin' t'keep a real close look, like." She pauses on the ramp to the stairs, taking one last look out over the sands, then offers a smile made wan with the remnants of nerves. "Glad we could help, ma'am." Gabrion is beckoned over, and then she really does turn to go-- but not before offering a last, "Be lookin' forward to it!" And then they're back off into the cold, snowy night once more, with a grumbling card dogging their steps. |
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