Logs:Sure, Why Not
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| RL Date: 27 September, 2008 |
| Who: Kasadel, L'vae |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Kasadel gets Searched by L'vae's Bremuth. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 11, Turn 17 (Interval 10) |
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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. You'd think that, in the middle of an autumn afternoon, there'd be few people able to spare the time to egg gawk - but new clutches seem to draw them like flies to honey, and somehow, it's as though half the weyr has managed to sneak away for a few. Among them, towering over most, is Kasadel, standing rather than sitting, one hand on the railing down the stairs, the other loose and limp, half falling out of his pocket. His stare at the sands contains only mild interest: the rest of his attention seems to be focused on a girl several rows further ahead of him, with golden blonde hair. It just so happens that the bench level with that tall young man, right there beside the stair, is occupied by a man who seems to be giving even less attention to the eggs. Not a girl for him, though. No, the wingleader's eyes follow the lines of a book. One heel is tucked up on the bench, his elbow wrapping round it to give support to the hand which holds the pages open. It's when L'vae pauses to turn a page that his hazel gaze roves, catching on the towering youth nearby. The book sags a little as his attention shifts to follow Kasadel's gaze to that blonde head of hair. An edge of his mouth turns up. "Funny, how mesmerizing the sight of gold can be, isn't it?" Not a gold, even though Rielsath down there is certainly the focus of plenty of eyes. Though Kasadel's reverie is interrupted by L'vae's words, the youth is apparently not the type to jump out of his skin; instead, after a moment's pause, his head turns to regard the man addressing him, and with a smile that is not in any way self-conscious, he tells him, "Not wrong, there. Way the light catches it, I suppose, or something." His gaze catches upon the book as he considers the Wingleader, and he adds, "Eggs not so fascinating to you, either? Suppose it's warmer to read here than elsewhere?" "Hmm," L'vae nods, as if this light-catching may be a gravely important revelation. His eyes hold a moment on the girl before turning up to Kasadel. A lopsided smile has replaced the show of solemnity. "Warmer, yes," he agrees easily as the book falls closed. A thumb is left between the pages to hold his place. "And while they might not be fascinating." There's something of a whimsical emphasis on the youth's word, and the brownrider's smile curves more deeply. "I find there's still something a little special about the opportunity to see dragon's eggs. Don't you agree? Or," his amused gaze flicks back to the girl, hand with the book swinging a little that-a-way. "Are you just here to look at those who look?" Kasadel drums his fingers upon the railing, his own gaze seeking out the blonde again, then back towards L'vae, accepting the Wingleader's comments with a quick and unfocused bob of the head. "Kept being told you have to look at them. It's all - 'Oh, you're new, have you seen the eggs yet?' - and so I figured I should make the effort to come. And they are - well, they're interesting-looking. But I think I prefer people to eggs. They're more useful. More interesting. Like doing more than looking. But the blonde... happy coincidence, really." Brows go up in amusement, and the word 'new' sparks interest in L'vae's eyes. They rove, a little, over this teenager looming above. "Useful." He repeats the word slowly, turning it over for consideration. The book has acted as an anchor, pulling his forearm down along the inside of his shin until the cover rests over the opposite thigh. "You have arrived recently, then?" Curious. Kasadel's brows raise at this roving interest, his expression lifting as if to say 'well?' But he makes no comment on that, his fingers stilling upon the railing, finally. "With the Tillek tithe," he agrees, amiably. "Useful way to get here to there, and now I help fix things. Better than growing grapes, anyway." "I suppose," L'vae says rather dismissively in regards to fixing versus growing. He's far more interested in: "Tillek. Were you at the main Hold?" He shift a little on the bench to make for an easier angle as he looks up at Kasadel. "I have family in Tillek. My parents - but I don't suppose we would know the same people." A supposition based on that assessing gaze, perhaps. Still, he smiles. "I'm L'vae," the belated introduction is given with an offered hand. Kasadel begins with an easy, "Briefly, I was, but - my family have a cot, a bit further out. Few vines. Probably wouldn't know your family, no - but it's nice to meet another Tillekian." He accepts the offered hand, his shake very firm, very confident, and introduces himself with a smile. "Name's Kasadel. Kas. You grew up in Tillek, then? Been here long?" Genuinely interested, if his expression and tone are anything to go by, he turns about properly, now facing the railing, and L'vae, rather than just turning his head. "Vintners, are they?" L'vae wonders. His grip is equally sure, callused from rock and leather. "Kasadel, well met." The brownrider's chin gives a little dip, and he settles back upon the bench. "I spent a good part of my life, at Tillek." Perhaps it's not an exact answer, but he's moving on. "I was living there when a lovely greenrider swept me up and brought me here." The book flops again, only this time it's a gesture to the sands. Eyes the color of Tillek's storm-darkened seas, however, remain fixed on the teen. The wingleader's smile has quirked, as if warped by some private amusement. "That was a few turns ago. Do you plan to stay here long? Or is this just a stop, for you, as you escape from... grapes?" "Not proper crafted ones," explains the young man, shaking his head. "But they grow the grapes, yes. Well met to you, also." He seems interested in the brownrider's tale, lips parting into an amused smile at mention of the lovely greenrider; Kasadel remarks, "Could've dealt with that, myself. I don't rightly know what I'm planning, to be honest. Not much for me, at home, so I'm out to seek my - place in the world, I suppose. Fixing things, though, that much is definitely a temporary measure." L'vae chuckles softly in light of that smile, though there's something a little calculating about his eyes. "I see." His propped foot slips off the bench, the heels of his hands shifting to set upon knees. "Out to /make/ your place in the world, perhaps." The wingleader shifts to his feet, considerably closing the distance between their heights even if he still has to angle his gaze upwards a few inches. Eyes are taking in that teenage face, as if looking for the promise held in unfinished features. "It is interesting, that you've come to a Weyr. It's a long road to come, just to fix things. Unless..." One of his eyebrows twitches, and his eyes dodge towards those un-fascinating eggs. Kasadel lifts his hand absently, scratching the recent development of soft shadowy stubble on his chin, his expression otherwise bland as he considers L'vae openly, and with distinctly less calculation than the brownrider displays - which is to say, none at all. "Well, right," he agrees. "Not going to just sit back and wait for it to happen. Can't trust that. Tillek," he shrugs, "was a bit too much like home. Just bigger. They needed people to help with the tithe, and--" he breaks off, frowning, his gaze following L'vae's towards the eggs, then back again. "Unless what?" He sounds genuinely confused. The agreement brings L'vae's gaze back, though it takes a moment for the distance to go out of his eyes. "Can't trust that," the words are echoed softly, sort of in assent. An edge of his smile ratchets up a fraction. The brownrider doesn't answer that question, doesn't finish his thought. Not just yet. Instead: "You remind me of someone," is said almost too lightly. His arms pull up, crossing loosely over his chest. "It's not quite normal, is it, for a farmer's son to trek off just as he pleases? And quite young." Brows lift, partially to look for conformation of that assumption. "Rather impressive, really. I wonder why you didn't look to craft? Seems like someone with your sort of initiative could do quite well." "Who?" Kasadel wants to know, his head tilted to the side in obvious interest, both hands clamping down upon the railing, his knees bending to allow him to shift into a position between suited to talking to someone seated. "I'm fifteen. Not so young. And--" he shrugs, unconcerned. "I've six brothers. The oldest will inherit. The others - they're all successful at /something/. Harper. Vintner. Made a good marriage. Whatever. Got to do something of my own. Don't want to be the second one to do-- whatever. S'why I didn't craft, I guess, though, also, I don't really know what I want to do." L'vae, standing, gives a little shake of his head as he steps towards the stairs. "A Master." The reference is thrown away, as if it's not quite so important after all. He pauses on the other side of the railing from Kasadel, still considering the teen. "Makes sense," the brownrider grants with a little shrug in response to the story of the brothers. The motion drops his arms out of their fold. Successful. That concept catches with a glint in his eye. His smile has quirked with wry amusement. "I'd say you still have at least a few turns to find out, before it's too late." A teasing note colors the dry tone. After holding his gaze on the young man a moment longer, the wingleader turns and begins moving down the stairs. But he only makes it one step before stopping again. "Since you are not sure." Eyes of grayed hazel turn a look back up over his shoulder. "Perhaps I can make a suggestion?" Kasadel leaves the 'Master' comment where it is, registering it with a short tip of the head but no more, drawing himself back up towards his feet as the brownrider stands. "Older I am, the more difficult it is to start something new," he points out, the slight turn of his head suggesting he's curious at the other man's amusement. "Most Apprentices would be younger than me. By turns. But. Yes." His gaze follows the brownrider up, brows raising as he turns back. "All ears," he says, head bobbing, expression given over to curiosity and interest. "I know." Those first words, they rumble a low chuckle in L'vae's chest. "Oh, I know." What starts as more unexplained amusement flattens out with the repetition. Eyes drop to his hands fiddling with his book, tugging a strand of ribbon free from the back to set in place of his thumb. "Stand." One word, and then he lifts his smile-lined gaze back to Kasadel. "For Rielsath's eggs. Let's see if you wait, out on those sands, if your place will find you." Kasadel's expression starts off curious, but relaxes into a rueful smile and bobbing head as L'vae repeats himself. "Guess it's kind of a universal understanding. Gotta be decisive, I suppose." He's taken aback by the brownrider's suggestion, brows nearly disappearing into his hair as the words apparently sink into his consciousness. "Huh," he says, levelly, evidently considering the prospect. "Well, that's not a something I'd considered, but it's sure as anything not something my bro--" He breaks off from that train of thought, and nods. "Sure, why not." He's grinning. Universal understanding may not be what drained the amusement from his voice, but L'vae is not about to dwell on that. The unfinished word is remarked upon by a twitch of a brow. But the lad's grin - that brings an easier laugh. "There are reasons, but I suppose Milani can try to scare you with them once you're properly settled in as a candidate. Shall we, then?" The book now lodged under one arm, the wingleader gestures down the stairs. "I can get you signed into the barracks." A glance down the tiers to that golden blonde head, and then the brownrider shifts his weight into a more conspiratorial distance, his grin lifting up on one side into dimples. "Nerallia won't disappear, if you're worried. She works the morning shift in the kitchens." Kasadel just grins back, looking very much like the teenager he is - an excited, well-pleased one at that. "Milani's the tall girl, the Assistant Headwoman? I don't scare easily. And, anyway, there's no thread anymore, is there? So that's one less thing to be scared about." He doesn't add 'if I'm successful'; he doesn't even seem to have thought about it - expression too considering. He bobs his head, starting for the stairs, and then laughs, his whole upper body twitching with the sound. "Morning shift in the kitchens - thanks. Maybe this'll impress her more than being a handyman did." "Yes, that's her. Attractive redhead," L'vae agrees with a nod. With the new candidate on the move beside him, he starts making his way down to the exit. "And Faranth willing, there won't be," the wingleader says with a sigh to the question of Thread. A glance is turned down Nerallia's row as they pass. "Maybe it will," the wingleader notes as his eyes come back to Kasadel. "No breaking her heart, though," he warns mostly teasingly. "I'd prefer not to have tears in my klah. Besides, candidates have rules." Rules! Emphasized by a rather comically stern tip of his brow. Down the steps and out to the bowl he goes, heading for a grey-brindled brown crouched just outside. Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north. Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries. Kasadel's head bobs quickly - evidently, Milani's a known entity to the young man. "Faranth willing, indeed," he agrees, of thread, though his tone is that of someone with no real experience of the subject; it's all just aacademic. "I try," he adds, in a more cheerful tone, "not to break /any/ of their hearts. Not my fault they get all... involved." His expression is, if anything, smug as he says this. "/Rules/. Well. That's a pain. Workable, though?" He casts a glance at the other man, brows raised. "Or-- workaroundable, anyway?" His pace is fast, long legs carrying him up and out in not too many footsteps, following close behind the brownrider. He lifts his head, considering the brown the rider heads for, and smiles, rueful. L'vae hums, his smile cooling as he tips a look at that smug expression. "Perhaps not," he comments off-hand. "Yet perhaps it is your responsibility." Slight weight given, for the distinction. Eyebrows lift. Apparently, he's not the best guy to talk to about stretching the rules. "I hope you'll be able to live with them. They aren't too terribly strict," said kindly enough, for all he's not offering tips to get around them. The wingleader exhales a long breath, attention turning to the rangy dragon before them. "Here he is." It's a bit unclear whether he's addressing the candidate or the brown. "This is Bremuth." That's a little more obvious, as the rider tips his smile back to Kas. "He'll take us across the bowl, if you like?" Kasadel holds up both hands, expression not exactly more serious, but assenting - "Understood, understood. I promise, I'll be good." Whether or not he is the one being addressed, he does turn towards the brown in question, eyes sweeping over the dragon with obvious interest - and a smile. "It's very nice to meet you, Bremuth," he tells the dragon, bowing his head slightly. "Uh. Sure, okay." "Okay," L'vae relents, apparently content with the promise. His grin is sliding up again as he watches the candidate. The two men stand beside the dragon, having just emerged from the hatching cavern. Bremuth's neck arches fractionally, his snout tipping down in return of the bow. Wings loosen from his spine with a rustle and he takes a smooth step forward, turning to the side before dropping into a lower crouch. The brown's rider takes a breath as if to say something, but apparently amends his decision. There's a moment's pause. "He's pleased to meet you," the man settles with instead, smile curving earnestly enough. "Up we go? Just this way." This way being a step on a forearm and a tug upon straps, an example of the path up to the brindled ridges. The man settles quickly and turns an expectant look upon Kasadel. Bremuth Lean physique dappled with gray, this brown dragon bears a potential grace etched into every parched line of his body, an elegant economy of movement obvious even on the ground, undeniable when he's airborne. Although long in length, he's narrow in form with a scraggy ranginess that elongates the look of his limbs so that his wings seem ridiculously oversized and his legs look comically small, clearly built for grace rather than power. His hide is an unadorned landscape of parched earth-brown, little to break up a seemingly endless vista of cloud-shadowed desert. Brindles of gray blend seamlessly into his baked-clay coloration, the cool undertones absorbed into his dry brown shading-- the first splatter of raindrops soaking into a parched landscape, liquid gray filtered into cracked sand. Bremuth is 33 feet, 6 inches long with a wingspan of 58 feet, 7 inches, standing 22 feet, 5 inches tall at the shoulder. You climb up between Bremuth's neckridges. Kasadel takes a half step back as the brown shifts, but it's a pretty harmless movement so, after a moment, he merely nods his head again, and takes that step forward again, followed by another. He's still looking terribly pleased with himself, and tells L'vae - and Bremuth, by extension - "And I him, of course. But I said that already." His gaze shifts between brown and rider for a moment, as the way up is indicated. He hesitates, then nods, finally doing as instructed, though - "Pretty high up, just sitting here," said as he, too, settles. Awkwardly settles. L'vae waits as the younger man joins him, leaning a little to be more out of the way. Then there are straps, dangling lengths of well-oiled leather fitted with D-rings for fastening. The rider reels a pair in and offers it to Kas. "Quite a bit higher than a runner - or even most dragons, for that matter," he agrees. A curious look tilts his head. "Have you ridden before?" And perhaps more importantly added: "Are you afraid of heights? He will stay low if you'd like." Kasadel accepts the straps, figuring out quickly how to strap himself in, and, as he does so, answering quickly, "No, not afraid of heights. And no, I haven't ridden before." He's a little cool as he says this last, not exactly daring a comment, but a tiny bit defensive nonetheless. "Be fine. Interested. Should, you know, get used to it, probably." "Probably," L'vae agrees, trying to keep his amusement in check in deference to that note of defensiveness in the teen's voice. He loops a free strap about his wrist and shifts a little bit to secure his seat. "We'll give you a look at the view then. Hold on!" The warning almost comes too late, as muscles shift and long wings stretch open. A gentle rock back, and then Bremuth is pushing free of the earth and streaming smoothly into the bright autumn sky. Up, climbing, leaving the yawning cavern of the hatching grounds behind as he stretches towards the Star Stones. Lower Sky, High Reaches Weyr Contained by dark cliff walls littered with dragons' ledges, the vast bowl of High Reaches Weyr spreads out in all directions except the skies above. From this distance, the ground is almost entirely brown, little of the sparse grass visible except in the greener areas that border the lake to the far east. The lake itself reflects clear blue except for where it runs muddily into the feeding grounds, their pens writhing with animal life even from this height. Other, human paths track this way and that over the bowl, especially concentrated at its western end where the lower caverns have most of their entrances. Kasadel can't seem to help himself - he lets out a long, low breath as they take off, and another one, this time with a whistle of fascination, as they climb higher still. "Oh," is all he can seem to manage to say, and in a tone that suggests he's found something in the view - some trace of awe, maybe. "/Oh/." He cranes forward, peering down Bremuth's side to the view below, expression enraptured. Upper Sky, High Reaches Weyr Set within the mountain range like a cupped hand with seven bony fingers, High Reaches Weyr rests in the jagged shadow of its spindles. The inner edges of its cliffs are roughened by a liberal scattering of dragon ledges, surrounding a wide bowl with a lake at its eastern end, the clear water reduced to puddle-sized by the altitude. With the many landmarks on the ground indistinguishable, those higher up stand out, such as the huge aerial entrance to the hatching grounds: located in the western face of the bowl, it's big enough for several dragons to fly through at once. Higher yet, the very rim of the bowl offers several vantage points upon which to land and take in the dramatic views over the High Reaches area; chief among those are the Star Stones that rise up to the east, standing guard until they can again predict the next invasion of Thread. L'vae is wordless, a wide grin his quiet reply to the candidate's fascination. He stretches a look out to the side, enjoying the view himself as they soar high above the Weyr's lake. Breumth's wings sweep with steady grace, carrying them higher yet. Past the watchposted blue and the ancient Star Stone sentinels. As the shoulder of the Weyr falls away, the brown's shoulder dips. The broad curve takes them along the rim and the Seven Spindles swing back into view. When the lake shore slips past below, the pale brown begins to spill altitude as his trajectory focuses on the northwestern entrance to the living caverns. It grows larger and larger, people resolving into recognizable faces until claws return gently to the rock of the bowl. "I--" begins Kasadel, but the words fade away, and he just shakes his head. That's the last he tries to say for the duration of the flight, his incredulous fascination speaking for him, instead, as they continue that path towards the ground. He flinches, just slightly, at the landing, and that's the end of the moment: his expression smoothes itself into something less wide-eyed, more controlled. But he does say, quietly, "Thank you." Pale wings flare wide a moment while Bremuth sinks slowly from landing-stretch into a lower crouch. The narrow head tips a little to the side, the better to see his two passengers out of one cerulean eye. L'vae is quick to free himself of the straps, and he reaches a friendly had out towards the teen's shoulder while leaning a smile around. "You are quite welcome." The smile is held a moment before the wingleader slips down the long distance to set feet upon the ground. "It's just too bad we can't avoid the living cavern crowds, by betweening to the barracks," he calls up cheerfully to Kasadel, stepping out of the way to make room for the candidate. Kasadel looks directly at Bremuth, smiles genially, then turns his attention back to L'vae, and that friendly hand, while he frees himself from the straps. "Different way to see the weyr," he remarks, level, as if to pretend that mere moments ago he wasn't in raptures over it. He follows the Wingleader to the ground, quite a bit more slowly, his gangly limbs in his way, and his newness to the movements keeping him from doing it with complete ease. "Mm," he agrees, with a laugh, once safe on the ground. "That would make things easier." "Isn't it?" L'vae says with a bit of a wink. Book having been sneakily stowed in one of the pouches sewn to the dragon's harness back when they were getting on, the brownrider is now free to slip hands into pockets. His head tips, a silent question about heading for the inner passages of the Weyr. "Yes. I'm afraid will be fighting against the current as the lower caverns head to dinner." It's offered almost apologetically. As his rider begins taking steps indoors, Bremuth fades back a few strides. A final look is extended towards the candidate he's chosen before those baked-clay wings spread again and he flows up into the air angled towards a nearby ledge. "You'll probably still have pretty good choice of cots," the brown's rider offers more optimistically. "I don't think we've been bringing anyone in from the Holds yet." Kasadel nods his head, already taking a few steps towards the caverns, remarking only, "Not sure even the short-cut through the infirmaries would help us out at this point. But it's okay: I've nowhere I /need/ to be, this evening. Unless you do?" He glances back as Bremuth takes off, watching the brown fly off, then, squaring his shoulders, turns back to the walk into the caverns. "Oh? Good. My cot in the resident dorms is a terrible one, really bad position. So it'll be a nice change, if I can score a good one. How long'll I be staying in there, anyway? I don't know how long it takes for eggs to hatch." "You cut through the infirmary?" L'vae asks wonderingly. Bemusement lines his features as he turns a look to the teen. But this evening. He gives a shrug of his shoulder. "I have loose plans, but it's my rest day." His shoulders tip towards Kas as he edges clear of a group of damp-looking kids swarming back to the caverns under the eye of their nannies. The hazel gaze tips up, squinting a bit as he tries to recall. "About a handful of sevens? There about." His features return to their more normal smiling lines. "Not too terribly long." A memory puts a quirk to the line of his mouth again. "Just hope that no one comes in with a young firelizard." "Sometimes," shrugs Kasadel, unconcerned by L'vae's reaction. "Madilla - she's one of the healers - doesn't like it much, but I flatter her and she goes all pink, and then she stops complaining." He's grinning as he says this, well pleased with himself. "Ah. Rest day. Nice. Don't let me take up too much of your time, then, though. Presumably shepherding me is considered work." He sidesteps out of the way of the children, towering above them, and nods. "No, not too long. Oh - shells, I hope not. One of my little sisters... it was a nightmare." The healer's name seems to strike a chord of recognition by the brownrider's expression, but he's soon distracted by eyeing that pleased look. Work? "I would rather think it a pleasure," L'vae counters. As for little sisters and their firelizards, he makes an empathetic sound. "You know, then," said with a nod. "It was, maybe five of them? Someone had been raising eggs by the night hearth in the living cavern, I seem to recall." He sighs out a weary breath, eyebrows lifting. "I think the dragons were less disruptive, when they were hatched. Of course," granted with a dimpling of his smile, "my bias lay a bit differently in that situation." Kasadel, quite oblivious to any looks he's getting, continues through the caverns, chatting easily. "Would you? Well - in that case." He shrugs, apparently having nothing really to add to that. In that case nothing. "Five? Shells. One was bad enough. Hope no one tries that, this time." Obviously interested in the topic of young dragons, he listens carefully to this, nodding just once. "As it would, I imagine. Know which I'd prefer." "I don't think I have seen any suspicious baskets by the fireplaces recently, so your nights should be safe from hungry creeling." Hopefully. Noting the interest, L'vae fixes his gaze more solidly sideways upon the candidate. "It is... a bit unsettling, though. Feeling the huger, the exhaustion." His voice trails off. A near collision with a trio of old aunties turns his gaze forward again. "So many feelings, which often don't quite align with your own." To make up for the more serious note his voice has drifted into, the brownrider edges a smile back to Kas. "Good," declares Kas, firmly. He meets the brownrider's gaze, for a moment, though his attention turns ahead of them again, just in time to miss the aunties, and he just listens without looking. "I'd never really thought about what it would be like," opines the boy, frowning in thought. "By which I mean, it had never seemed a possibility, until today. You really do feel what they do? That's - bizarre." He smiles back, though, apparently unconcerned by this. "But kind of cool, too." A vague nod moves L'vae's chin. "It is kind of cool," he returns the words with amusement. A hand has slipped free of his pocket, gesturing to underscore his words. "Some times more strongly than others. And, I gather, some people more strongly than others." There's less of a crowd, now, as they move into the halls that lead back towards the resident caverns. "Anything else, that you are curious about?" The wingleader's palm tips upwards, invitingly, as he extends the question. Kasadel grins, interest still spread across his face as he glances at L'vae again. "Huh," he says, master of words. "Interesting. And strange. But cool? Yes, definitely cool." He considers, as he walks, evidently at least vaguely aware of where the barracks are, because he manages to head in that direction without hesitating, eventually shaking his head. "I imagine there are no tips to be given for how you can make sure you /are/ one of the lucky ones - and I think that's what I'd most like to know. Otherwise, I think I'm all good." Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr Just off of the main passageway lies the small cavern that forms the hub of the residents' quarters, kept immaculately clean by the headwoman's staff and warmed in cold weather by a stone hearth to the left and well back from the entrance. Comfortable chairs and a plush fur arrayed before the hearth make an inviting spot to curl up with a book or handicraft, or just to sit and chat. Beyond, additional chairs stand in clusters throughout the room, some upholstered with age-softened hide, some plain wood. At the widest point of the cavern, a round table gleams with polish, though its surface is nicked and scarred from Turns of use. Beyond the table, the very back of the cavern often lies in shadow unless the glowbaskets there are unlidded to cast cozy pools of light. The commingled scents of klah, smoke and polish permeate the air along with the sweetness of rosemary and lavender. Tapestries hang across the entrances to dormitories and more private quarters as well as the exit to the outer hall, colorful protections from drafts. "No, I am afraid there are not. Not that I know of," L'vae answers with peaked brows. With Kasadel knowing the way, he truly doesn't have to work at all. Just an easy stroll down into the common room, and now across the broad sitting room to the entrance of the cavern designated for the candidates. The brownrider takes a breath at the sight of the door, giving a single nod to the new candidate's final words. "Alright, then. I'll just sign you in so Milani knows I've sent you, and let you go pick out your place." His strides stop, gaze lifting fractionally to meet the tall teen's. "Good luck, Kasadel." A hand is offered in farewell. "It should be an interesting experience, at the least." Grinning again, Kas bobs his head: "Didn't think so. S'okay. S'probably better when you do it based on your own merits, anyway. I'll be fine." He sounds confident, sure of himself, as though he's already seen himself walking off the sands with the dragon of his choice. He hesitates in front of the barracks, though, nodding. "Thank you - Wingleader. It should, at that." He gives L'vae one last bob of the head, lifts his own hand in farewell, and then marches through. High Reaches' newest candidate has arrived. |
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