Logs:The Notion of Fate
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| RL Date: 13 March, 2013 |
| Who: Quinlys, Xhaeon, Alida |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A weyrlingmaster slacks off by talking to a candidate or two. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl |
| When: Day 23, Month 3, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Steady, today's snowfall sticks, creating dunes on the bowl floor. |
| Mentions: Meara/Mentions, Rhaelyn/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Riorde/Mentions |
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| Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr 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. Xhaeon is emerging from the dragon infirmary of all places, lingering around the entrance of the tunnel leading into the infirmary's bounds, peering this way and that, nosing through the snow with a slender wood rod. It's obvious he's looking for SOMETHING, but not immediately obvious what. His sanity, mayhap? A greenrider walks out of the tunnel to meet her lifemate, and affixes him a brief, arch-brow look of query. (He ignores it - or would have ignored it, had he not been so absorbed in trying to find whatever-it-is that he missed that whole one-sided exchange!) Further across the bowl, just outside the weyrling barracks, a group of weyrlingmasters (presumably, since their number do include Quinlys and Meara) are at work hanging rugs and tapestries on poles, and beating them with paddles. Evidently there are some perks to being 'in charge', because the bluerider disengages, meandering off across the bowl with dust in her hair and on her cheeks. She's still a fair few paces from Xhaeon when she stops, abruptly, to stare. "What are you doing?" A dusty Quinlys is an adorable one. Just in case anyone was wondering. It's a measure of exactly how distracted Xhaeon is that he doesn't pause to enjoy the sight - instead glancing up, essaying a quick smile, and keeping on with his rather sighted blind-man feeling around. "I'm looking for something," thus sayeth Captain Obvious, because that's totally not apparent, right? He finishes poking at a pile of snow and stops, sighing with an unusual amount of vexation - given his typical, rather laid-back attitude. A hand through fresh-shorn hair, and grey eyes focus on the bluerider again. "Sorry. I lost my sketchbook. I can't find it anywhere." Srs. Bsns. Only then, a little belatedly: "Uh, sorry. Weyrlingmaster. Spring cleaning, is it?" Except it's rather obviously not spring with snow on the ground, aye? "You dropped it in the snow?" Something in Quinlys' tone speaks to complete 'wtf', but at least her smile is friendly enough. She'll even kick at the snowdrifts with one foot, just to see if maybe there's something over here, though it's a pretty idle kind of gesture. "Something like that," she adds, in agreement. "Any day now, the weather'll warm up properly. And... any day now, we'll have another group of weyrlings in to make the whole venture basically impossible. Time limits, makes everyone work faster." Except... Quinlys, apparently. "I don't know where I left it," Xhaeon admits. "I don't..." His voice trails off, as something about 'lost item' paired with 'cute girl' clicks. The dawning comprehension on his face is probably quite comic to see. "I..." Ahem. He shakes his head as if to clear it, focuses on Quinlys' words again (though this time there's less frustration than a moment before). "Oh. That's right. Got any inside information about when we should expect that? I'll split my winnings with you." A flashed grin, and he pokes at a different pile of snow. "You uh." Beat. "You have something--" He gestures vaguely, full-hand, circularly at his face. Something -there-. Quinlys' brows raise, probably both because of that admission and the comic look on his face; she smirks, though it's more generally amused than in any way mocking. That fades quickly enough, especially once he's gestured at her face: she grimaces, scrubbing at it for a moment with equally dirty hands... and then giving up and reaching down for some (relatively) clean snow. "Do you often lose track of your things like that, mm? Careless. Tsk. No idea, no. We'll know a few hours ahead of time, but really... it's a crap shoot. My guess is before the end of the seven." Her words are muffled: rubbing snow on her face does that to a person. "I try not to," comes Xhaeon's rather overly-sincere response to Quinlys' question. "Sometimes it just happens." He watches her efforts to clean her face and can't help but laugh, though he poorly attempts to stifle it after a moment, setting his face to arights. Lines are crooked (like the line of his half-grin), and he shakes his head, again. "A seven?" His expression sobers a bit. "I'm sure the goldriders'll be glad to be done with it. The Sands, and-- everything." And then: "That looks cold." Well. It does. Quinlys doesn't seem to be offended by Xhaeon's laughter, though she rolls her eyes and shoots him a glance that is at least mock chiding. "Teach you to laugh at me," she grumbles, good naturedly, as she reaches to grap for her scarf, presumably to mop her face... and then thinks better of it. Stupid dust. "It's fucking cold, yes, I'm quite sure they'll be glad to have it all done with, though it just means the start of busy for me, and-- well. As long as you try. I guess that's the important thing." Alida heads in from the western bowl. Xhaeon is standing around with a thin wooden rod of some three feet in length - looks like a thin cane, or a crop perhaps, except without the popper itself - in front of the dragon infirmary entrance, highly amused at Quinlys rubbing snow on her face. "A full two dozen." The man twists to lean a hip against the tunnel wall itself, squinting down at Quinlys thoughtfully. "That prompted your promotion, didn't it?" His voice is curious. "Do you think Weyrlingmaster Meara and yourself will be able to separate which weyrlings go with which clutch?" The question isn't smart-assed, though from someone else it may have been; a bit belatedly he brings out a hankerchief, a firedamned hankerchief for Faranth's sake, and offers it to the dusty bluerider. See? He can be helpful. ... Sometimes. Quinlys gives Xhaeon a look for that handkerchief, quietly amused, but accepts it gratefully, wiping down her wet-and-now-less-dusty face. "You... won't want this back. Now. I'll get it cleaned. Mm, right. I mean, Meara had been thinking about training up a replacement anyway, but it all worked out for me, this way. We're just not used to clutches this big, anymore, and Meara's getting old. So. Apparently the queens are confident about whose eggs are whose, but Olly's got no idea, and... it's hard to know if they'll all know, really. We'll see. It won't really matter, I guess. They're all High Reaches dragons, lineage-wise, to some degree." "What?" A little defensive, but more embarassed. Doesn't everyone walk around with hankerchiefs? Xhaeon waves away the offer to have it cleaned. "It isn't as if it has my initials monogrammed into it." Though that would be sweet. He stays reclined against the tunnel-wall, thoughtfully watching the snow drifts across-the-way, and turning to eye the procession of beating tapestries and rugs. He nods along, with a snort of amusement for her gratuitous remark of 'old' Mear. At the end, "Seems like," so casual, "It would be important to some, to know." A tipped-up eyebrow, a smile smothered. "I'm sure I can ask your dad about it." A'quin holds all the secrets of the universe. Finished with both her hearth-leaning chores *and* her bathing, Alida finds herself still a little restless, the heavily-coated and hooded candidate out wandering the Bowl, given the relative quiet of the early evening. Green eyes wander, taking note of various riders and dragons as they move about, the Pars female silently observing their interactions as she strolls. Quinlys laughs, making no attempt to explain herself, as she tucks the now-dirty handkerchief into the pocket of her coat. At least her face is mostly clean, now. Cleaner, anyway. Mention of her father has her wrinkling her nose, however good naturedly. "I'm quite sure he'll regail you with his opinions, if you ask. How this dragon's shoulders clearly come from Cadejoth, and that one is just exactly like... I don't know, Teonath or something. Someone long dead. Stupid busybody greenriders. Of course, Arekoth and Szadath have the same parents, and Hraedhyth the same father, so the only really different one is Iesaryth. Would it be important to you, if you Impressed?" For now, with her back to the bowl, the bluerider seems unaware of Alida. Xhaeon is keeping an eye on the happenings of the bowl, as it were, so he does notice Alida; his grey eyes rest upon her for a moment, but once it appears that she's not doing anything terribly interesting, he refocuses on Quinlys. "It's a wonder that they don't hatch with three wings or missing teeth or-- deformed, you know, with so much of the same stock." Xhaeon seems to realize exactly who he's talking to, belatedly, and pulls himself straight with a clearing of his throat. "Not like I'm trying to compare them to herdbeasts or anything." Maybe some people in the back of Keroon... "But all that shared blood." Pause. "Ichor." He corrects himself. At the question, pauses a moment. "I... don't know, really. Would it make a difference to you, looking in?" He's curious. Wonder-of-wonders: Alida actually chooses to continue walking amongst people out here in the cold. Maybe it's because dragons are also involved. No matter, the young woman finds something out here interesting enough to linger...and to finally approach a particular blue rider she finally espies from long-sighted eyes. Those perceptive greens soon enough take in Xhaeon's eyeballing of herself, but the guard remains silent, letting her boots' crunch off the gathered snow pre-warn Quinlys of her approach. When she's finally close enough to be heard, the candidate inquires of the rider - without any preamble - "What's all this stuff I' ve heard about some dragon 'r egg in the past?" Beat. "Guess somethin' turned out badly." Shrug. Luckily, Quinlys takes the talk of inbreeding in her stride, laughing openly, the sound carrying through the snow-filled bowl. "It's a bit much, isn't it?" she confirms. "Cadejoth's line has been involved in every clutch since he hatched, except Rielsath's last, and that... well, she was his dam, so it's not exactly any better. Crazy dragons." His question leaves her thoughtful, chewing on her lip in consideration, though that contemplation is interrupted by Alida's approach. Her head turns, and she abruptly smiles her greeting to the other candidate. "What's that? Which dragon or egg? And-- Xhaeon, no, I'm not sure it would make a difference, though maybe I have some bias towards Szadath and Hraedhyth." Xhaeon shifts to focus on Alida, his brow furrowing at her question. He doesn't immediately butt in, though, the question having not been directed at himself, personally. He'll go so far as to nod at her, politely, in greeting. To Quinlys, "Prolific," is the single, dry statement he has to say in regards to Cadejoth's extreme virility. He's like the Impressive of High Reaches. His smile at the bluerider's admittance of bias at the end is inward-directed; it isn't as if it's anything he wasn't already aware of. He seems tempted to say something - his mouth opens, even - but he seems to think better of it and just shakes his head, lapsing into silence for a long moment, focusing out at something-or-another across the bowl. Listening to the talk of draconic inbreeding has Alida's eyes focusing even more on rider and Smith, the guard remaining silent as she takes in what they say, her mittened hands tucked under her armpits to keep them warm, in the meantime. Xhaeon's bob of head recieves a like motion in reply, bare courtesy given before she concentrates upon the rider again. When Quinlys inquires back, the blonde's breath plumes upon chill air with a clipped reply of, "I can't remember the name of the beast. But a couple someones've mentioned the same name to me before...something about 'look at what happened to this dragon...' You know, like I was supposed to feel bad or be ashamed or something." Shrug. Xhaeon's opening, then quick closing of his yap draws a flick of eyes over to the male candidate, Alida curious as to what might've been cut off. "Very," is Quinlys' reply to Xhaeon, even: she's not exactly throwing all her support behind Cadejoth, but nor is she disparaging him outright. Alida's explanation draws abrupt understanding, and a narrowing of her gaze. "I wouldn't call them beasts, if I were you," she says, quietly clipped. "And frankly, I would feel ashamed, if I were you. A couple of candidates fought in the galleries, back when I was a candidate, and fell onto the sands, hurt one of the eggs. Amareth's got funny wings, as a result. She very nearly wasn't able to fly at all. Can you imagine, Impressing a dragon that might never fly?" Faranth. Xhaeon's gaze sidles away, mayhap a bit discomfited by the sudden change in temperature between the two with Quinlys' reply. He scrounges around in his memory-banks instead, straightening a bit and clearing his throat. "Amareth. Greenrider Ray... Rhaelyn's, isn't she? Wasn't she an exile? I'd heard a bronzerider talk about it, as if he was familiar with them, once. After..." He trails off, doesn't look at Alida, doot-de-doot, oh look, there's an interesting thing over there, half-covered with snow, he's going to walk off a step or three and prod it with his stick. Just like a man. "Noted...though I've heard some other riders refer to them as such..." Alida murmurs after a scant bob of her head to Quin, the guard holding to her 'neutral-interested' expression as she listens to the rest of the story. A faint glimmer of mixed embarrassment and ire gleams within clear green eyes for a spare moment before the palest-blonde woman simply nods her understanding, then simply continuing to look at the Weyrlingmaster, while Xhaeon speaks, then looks away. A small, thoughtful filing of lower teeth upon upper lip precedes her alto, "Likely I can't." It's not snarky at all, more factual. If Quinlys is surprised by Xhaeon's ability to pull up that name, it shows in her expression for only a moment; then, she nods. "Exiles, yes. Actually, our former Weyrwoman, Iolene, was one of the others involved in that incident. And Riorde. I'm amazed any of them actually got to stand." Her eyes follow the taller candidate as he takes those steps, but then tracks back, studying Alida. "If a dragonrider chooses to call their own dragon a beast, well, that's one thing. But for a nonrider... there's too many people who see them as nothing more than a beast of burden, like a runner. No," she adds, exhaling. "Suppose you can't. Just... think on it." If Quinlys had been around for the bronzerider's drunken tale of Rhaelyn's woes (and his rather lengthy and poetic waxing upon the best of her, ah, assets), she'd be less surprised that Xhaeon remembers the name. The hazards of weyr living. "A good thing that they did," he murmurs in response to the bluerider's comment. "Or maybe not," pushing forwards to change the topic- "I guess, depending on how you look at it. Do you think that there's only one rider out there for each dragon? The notion of - fate? Destiny?" His glance includes Alida into the question. Listening to Quin, it seems as though it's *Alida's* time to want to butt in with something...but luckily for everybody here, she resists the sudden urge, and simply nods again, the guard drinking in the information like a silent sponge. However... "They do?" A faint look of surprise raises the holder's eyebrows some, inspires her to go on with a slightly disparaging, "How the Shell could they? Anyone who's seen 'em can tell they're intelligent..." Ahhh, and *there's* the rub. So many people *haven't* seen dragons that it's likely a minor miracle enough humans *do* think of them as noble. And then Xhaeon's changing the subject, which evokes a think smirky-grin from the young woman, though she remains silent to let him be answered. "You'd be amazed. Even people who have seen them seem to think them no more than dogs, sometimes." Quinlys is offended on behalf of dragons everwhere, and no doubt her dragon in particular, though not so offended that she can't glance between one candidate and the other, once and then twice, before she accedes to the topic change. It probably is best not to think too much about the whole exiles thing. "I-- well, for me? I think it's all about best fit. I don't think Olly would've gone between if I'd broken my leg and not been there, though it's hard to think of it as a possibility. I mean, what are the odds? That of all the possible people who ever lived, the one that is perfect for you is actually there, on the sands? The numbers don't add up." Any look from Alida is met with a blank look from Xhaeon; especially anything that could remotely be described as 'smirky'. No habla Alidaese. He squints along with Quinlys' thought, nodding as she goes. "Perfectly rational. Not a romantic, I see." There's a glint there for Quinlys, a laugh ill-hidden. "Wouldn't fate preclude all that pragmatic practicality?" He's playing devil's advocate, with a healthy dose of obnoxious alliteration. Listening to Quin's further thoughts on dragons quiets Alida's smirk, the green-eyed woman quirking her hooded head at the rider's lattermost comment. "I've always thought the same. Shells, a baby dragon could wander the whole Weyr in search of the correct person... or the 'leaders could drag people through the Grounds to offer up the right one." To Xhaeon's words of 'fate' the guard offers a small roll of eyes. "Tripe. We make our own destinies." Nod. Quinlys smirks in reply to Xhaeon's words, and that glint, too. "I'm with Alida on this one: no such thing as fate, either. Only the dragons really know how they pick, but I'm pretty sure it just comes down to a matter of-- well, like I said. The most compatable. They do pick people from the galleries, on occasion. They don't care if you've been searched or not. Maybe they don't even care if you said yes or no-- I've no idea. So, basically? It just is, and there's no use getting romantic about it. I--" She breaks off, eyes rolling. "Am apparently needed elsewhere. Apparently Weyrlingmasters aren't allowed to just make assistants do all the work?" Madness! "I'll see you guys later." Xhaeon snorts, amused; he doesn't say anything counter to the argument that the two of them propose, though he doesn't necessarily volunteer that he agrees with it, either. "Just another mystery. Something we may never know." That last statement is said as if he's quoting something, and his eyes lazily scan the skies as if looking for a particular dragon, just in case (that fate does exist?), but evidently he's left disappointed. "Later," is his call after Quinlys, eyes watching her progress away shamelessly. "So that's true..." Alida murmurs of Quin's words about dragons picking from the Galleries, the blonde then nodding silently at the bluerider in agreement. With the silent call of what's likely Olly comes the guard's smirky-grin once again, her next words lightly mocking, more humored: "Yeah, where d'you get off being so damned lazy?" Snort. "Later. Give Olly a scritch from me." Huh?? Quinlys laughs over her shoulder, which probably counts as an answer to several things. Or not. It's hard to know. Xhaeon eyes Alida as if she's grown a second head, but is well-enough mannerful to restrain himself from asking any dumb questions. He shakes his head, though, with an amused snort, and starts off towards the living caverns. Indeed, maybe she *has* grown another head. Still, Alida *is* herself, and as such, the blonde enjoys being a burr under people's saddles. With a certain quiet hint of dark glee, the blonde purposely trudges beside Xhaeon through the accumulated snow: the proverbial monkey on his back. Is she smiling impishly within her hood? Unknown. Is that a glance askance? Probably. Xhaeon switches the hand wielded the hardened, polished length of caning, though, so that it's swinging loosely in the hand to the outside of Alida rather than in between them; he's silently courteous, at least to that point, though he doesn't seem too bothered by deliberately steering his walking in a way that leaves her slogging through heavier snows to keep pace with his longer stride. The guard is nothing if not fiesty, and she lengthens her own stride and pace to meet Xhaeon's, Alida plowing through the banks of snow like an irresistable force. Even when they hamper her some, she doesn't lose much time in striding right up beside the Smith again...keeping equal pace with him *until* they're nearing the entrance to the huge living cavern. At that point - like a muscle car from long ago Earth - 'lida hits her own accellerator, and pulls past Xhae with rapid footsteps, leaving him behind in the figurative dust as she merges into the main stream of cavern traffic. Where she goes is anybody's guess. |
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