Logs:Tots And Tarts
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| RL Date: 11 December, 2012 |
| Who: H'kon, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After a day of looking after Madilla's children, Azaylia is surprised by a visit from H'kon. He comes bearing gifts. |
| Where: Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 6, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Jo/Mentions, Leova/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions |
| Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs which circle the hearth and the blue rug in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia. Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr despite the newest resident's attempts at tidying what she can when it comes to the piles of hidework on her desk. Behind the workspace, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows, comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries. Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. One of the walls has a full sized quilt pulled taut and secure to reveal the work that went into it. It has a decorative border and a pieced-together design in the middle: the spires of High Reaches, with a tawny gold dragon high above, flying through the blue sky. Embroidered into the lower corner is an 'M' to signify the maker. The hearth is also brand new, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced. These are not the only oddities to be found within their home... Animal remains litter the otherwise comforting space, the majority made up of the heads of various Pernese creatures. Clean and bleached, the largest of the leg bones and skulls are typically featured around Hraedhyth's wallow, some splintered and broken where the urge to gnaw became too great. The smaller, more intricate trophies can be found throughout the weyr. Several are on the mantel, along with a set of carved and painted animal figurines: a runner, bovine, llama, porcine, ovine, horned caprine, pointed-eared canine and lastly, a tiny wherry chick. A ram's head has been painted black and blue and acts as a lovely centerpiece atop the low table, fresh flowers sticking out of it's eye sockets. Why, there are even one or two being used as weights for some of Azaylia's hidework. To Hraedhyth, Arekoth gives the gold the benefit of a, « Hraedhyth, » before jumping into, « he wants to know if you, » and the pronoun is plural, more as explained by the sense of it than any image or direct description, « are alone. » To Arekoth, Hraedhyth is there. Isn't she always? Her presence, those drums, have intensified over the course of the past few days. It is offered to those who need comfort, for the uncertain souls. Along with the faint crackle of concern for those quarantined souls, there is a softer warmth, something shared between her and Hers. « We guard Madilla's pups. » She answers truthfully, as always. « They are asleep. » Otherwise, not a creature is stirring- not even a certain human mongrel. As a floral scented afterthought, « He will have privacy. » Madilla. Arekoth hesitates, but does not probe, either Hraedhyth's mind, or H'kon's. « Privacy's all he needs to know, » is advice; there's nothing protective or threatening behind it. The brown, in fact, is remarkably level in tone and touch. And flight, when he does indeed get to that, backwinging before Hraedhyth's ledge, giving a click-click of greeting, or perhaps warning, for Hraedhyth even before his talons have touched down. H'kon's not long in dismounting, a package tucked under his arm. (Arekoth to Hraedhyth) Not Weyrhealer. Madilla. Hraedhyth is doing as she said, lounging halfway between her ledge and the inside of her weyr. Guarding the precious treasures and trophies inside. There is room enough for Arekoth to rest alongside her, though in doing so they'll block that particular entrance. Clicks earn the brown a husk of a growl, smoke pluming in an attempt at dark, sooty humor, « You look healthy enough. » To not contaminate her. Inside, Azaylia looks frazzled but healthy, doing her best to tidy things up. For once, her weyr needs it. (Hraedhyth to Arekoth) Arekoth waits until H'kon has managed his way inside to decompress a bit, and shift his tail toward trailing along some part of Hraedhyth's hide. « I feel even healthier, » he promises, hints of unapologetic enjoyment of even just the comment colouring his vocal tones now. As for H'kon? He clears his throat no sooner than he's in the weyr, gets one look at the goldrider, and decides, "I've come at a bad time," based on that analysis. Hraedhyth has never taken issue with physical contact, and though it is not the brutal impact of sparring bodies, she accepts Arekoth's touch. « That is good. » Tone far too serious, taking his words at face value. Azaylia looks up at H'kon's words, a loose lock of wavy hair hanging in her face. It's true, the weyrwoman has looked better, arms full of children's things she likely had brought up from the stores. "What? Oh. N-no, you didn't. Really." She straightens up and deposits the mess of toys and books into a chair, pushing her hair back and taking a moment to adjust her dress. "Please, have a seat." One that hopefully won't have a carved dragon shoved up between his buttcheeks. "I mean, what can I do for you?" She certainly sounds worn out, despite being all smiles. « I wonder if you feel as good, » Arekoth muses, shifting his weight and wings until the edge of a sail slides along the gold, either more amused, or more intense, on account of her having missed the first comment. Seemingly. H'kon considers the armful of toys, considers the goldrider, and finally, after much hesitation, sits. That little package is held out once he's settled. "I've brought tarts," is as awkward as it should be, coming out of H'kon's mouth. Hraedhyth shifts, and would possibly duck down under his sails if not for her size. Instead, her own bone clubs relax to overlap the edge of the brown's wings with her own. She won't go wrapping it completely around, but it's comfortable. « I am well. » Smokey rumble sounds pensive, having to think about it for a moment. « I will need to be oiled soon, but I do feel good. » Azaylia's fingers fly to her lips, trying to hide the smile blossoming from between the digits. She looks to the package, then back at H'kon. The sound that leaves her is stifled, but it is most certainly a giggle-coo. Luckily it's not malicious, not with how brightly she smiles as she takes it from him. "H'kon, that's so very thoughtful." Trying not to sound too surprised, "Thank you. Would you like one? I was thinking maybe with a cup of tea- or klah, if you prefer?" H'kon clears his throat again at that little noise from the goldrider, not quite turning his head toward the ledge, though green eyes do dart that way. There's no acknwoledgement of her thanks, apart from a curt nod. "Whatever you have," is attempted in a softer voice, though his throat isn't quite willing; it comes out tight. Arekoth just agrees with Hraedhyth, a churring sort of noise rather than actual words, or really any sort of mental push. It's first come first serve when the queen's not out hunting specific ledges, or dragons. Though she doesn't do it as often, the habit isn't likely to completely die. So, Hraedhyth will ease some weight onto the brown, curling up a bit tighter against Arekoth as her head rests between her front paws. Azaylia may feel a bit guilty for her earlier noise, lips quirking a bit shyly. "Klah it is." There are a few childish delights here and there that she has to walk over, "Sorry for the mess. I'm watching Lily and Dilan. They're..." This is where she falters. "Madilla's children." She's quick to add, "They're sound asleep." All said as she puts a long since cooled pot of klah over a near-dead flame. Just to warm it up. "How're you?" A glance, though she remains by the hearth for a second longer before returning to sit on a seat off to the side of him. H'kon nearly stands when Azaylia starts off, left instead half-squatted, butt not quite on the cushion. "If you need something," is an offer left hanging. And he waits, in that awkward position. "That must be difficult," he decides, still in that same pose. And the usual answer to the question of how he is? "We are both... well enough." And he sits only once Azaylia has taken her seat as well. "Dilan misses his Mama." Azaylia explains further, empathy weighing down her words so they hover just above babytalk. "Thank goodness for Lily. She makes it easy to distract her from what's going on." Perhaps she's too exhausted to mind herself as strictly as usual, or it could be she's stuck in the hands on approach for small children. Whatever it is, she reaches over to the hovering H'kon and gives him a firm little nudge to sit. "It's fine." And to prove it she's right back up again, getting the warm pot, mugs and two little plates to hold a tart for each. "Well enough?" She echoes lightly, "Not great?" Then again, who could be with riders and a hold being quarantined. With another little smile, "Arekoth seems happy enough." "Hmm," is the best the brownrider can give as response to all that information about the children. For all that he, this time, doesn't try standing, he does watch her. Almost hawklike. To keep himself busy, he, at least, sets to unwrapping that little dish of tarts. Thew hole thing is lifted for Azaylia to select the appropriate pieces, out of the group of five. A modest gift of tarts, really. "Arekoth is doing well." Perhaps too well, caried in his voice and the roll of his eyes, if not spoken. The tart doesn't even reach her plate, not at first. Azaylia may be half starved with how eager she is to bite into it. At least she remembers to chew first, "Thank you again. They're good." The roll of his eyes has her giving a gentle scold, "Oh, stop. He's being a perfect gentleman." 'Frazzled babysitter' is an odd flavor for the junior; simultaneously desperate for adult interaction, while still in maternal mode. She'll release the treat in order to poor him a mug of klah, not fresh but not bad. "You don't seem too worried." About the possible illness, though neither does she. The young woman is having a hard time coming down from the frantic energy of the day. H'kon dips his head, again to acknowledge her thanks, but this time, in a slightly more human version of the same motion. "Of all the things he could be, 'a perfect gentleman' is more often far from the case." The mug of klah is taken with a quick, "Thank you," to his frazzled hostess, rested on his knee, supported by one hand. He doesn't raise it to his mouth just yet. "Arekoth and I have not been to Crom in some time, nor the infirmary." H'kon, at least, has minimal contact with about anyone. And Arekoth... well, maybe it's not a dragon-borne disease. "Should it spread... then perhaps." Azaylia doesn't argue, the last bite of tart breaking a smile that might be a little too candid. There's a slim chance of her being as oblivious as Hraedhyth. Food. Klah. Breathe. She's able to ease back into the chair, visibly decompressing with a long exhale that is also used to cool the warm liquid in her mug. "It seems like Jo and Leova were smart enough." Any lingering doubt may be for the fact that Madilla is with them as well. Smart. Hm. "I can't think that it will." To do so might break what resolve she's managed to tape together. "Not here." She quiets herself with a slow sip. "I do not know Jo properly," H'kon starts out, "but I would trust Leova to have handled things correctly, yes." The klah mug is raised up, an echo of Azaylia doing as much, if belated. "At any rate, there are protocols for such things, if it should get worse. Dealing with it might not be easy... but it is known." And he, too, tries some of that klah, attempting a smile when he brings the mug back to his knee. Azaylia ponders Jo and can only share, "We're wingmates. Same with Leova." Pleasantly surprised that H'kon seems to know the greenrider, "She always seems to know what she's doing." A bit of admiration may sneak into her soft voice. "And Madilla..." The look that follows isn't quite an inspection, though he may have felt similar during weyrlinghood. She drops her gaze down to pick up another tart, "...She's a dear friend. You should meet her sometime." Sip. "Uhm. After, I mean." His contorting face manages to bring an easy curl to her lips, though this time she's not laughing at him. "I appreciate you visiting, H'kon. Sometimes I wonder what my fuhm, friends are up to." A fumble, but she's committing to it. That non-inspection strikes him as curious; his puzzlement doesn't look all that different from a frown. "I generally have little reason to be around the healers," comes out as a floating comment, uncertain. "I can try pay better attention, if I come upon her. Afterwards," is an afterthought of agreement for the situation. He rotates the mug slowly on his knee. It doesn't stay straight up, not perfectly centred, and when the brownrider adjusts it, it's with another little frown. "It was good of you to have us. With such little notice." Azaylia doesn't apologize, or make any note of her interest in his face. Or was it his shoulders? "Madilla may not be a mindhealer, but she's wonderful just sit and have a cup of tea with." Not that she's pushing for him to visit, or anything. She makes an experiment of dipping some tart into klah, not looking as though it's a terrible idea as she chews. "Hm?" Finding his frown, even if it may be for his mug, "Of course. It's about as much notice as anyone gives, really." Not that she sounds unhappy about it. "It really isn't a big deal. You can stop by whenever you'd like." Perhaps less frightened of H'kon becoming a semi-permanent fixture in her weyr. H'kon has fallen silent as the goldrider talks. When next he raises his mug to his mouth, it's for a longer draught. This time, he does look to the ledge - where Arekoth has happily slipped into a doze. The next smile that goes toward Azaylia looks forced, even for H'kon. It's perhaps because his dragon isn't ready for a quick getaway that he skips back to, "Would you think it better, if she were a mindhealer?" Azaylia looks surprised, "How do you mean?" It might take her a moment to realize what she's said, with so little context. "Oh. That's just how she said it, during our last chat." She explains, perhaps not realizing how forced this H'kon smile is over the others. "I just meant she's a good listener. I always feel better after talking with Madilla." The more she speaks of the Weyrhealer, the more of that heroine worship begins to shine through. "She's amazing." A hint as to why she's perhaps putting all her effort into the currently sleeping children. "But I remember, you like your space." Despite the fact that he's in her weyr, now. A decision he's beginning to seriously question, though now he doesn't bother to look toward Arekoth. "Perhaps that's a better attribute to be around when you've things to say," carries a hint of humour to it. This time, it's the goldrider who gets not-inspected. And H'kon raises his mug once again, and only after that sip seems to remember the tarts at all. Eyes are on it. "There are times when the ceiling can be too high," is attempted conciliation, surely more cryptic than he'd meant it, before he reaches for the sweet on the plate. Azaylia only hums her agreement after having destroyed another tart. She should probably think about having actual food brought up, soon. With klah and nibblies, the junior finally slows down as far as her talking goes. For once, the well-spoken brownrider doesn't leave her confused. She smiles into the remains of her drink, "I've always liked my ceiling." Her own cryptic answer before, "Are you at all hungry? These tarts are nice but I can't remember if I've actually eaten today." Children tend to do that, even well behaved ones. For all H'kon has had no clear decompression, as Azaylia had a while before, he is at least not so much on guard as not to look upward upon her response. "Hungry?" The 'oh' is more in the lifting of his eyebrows than anything else. And thereafter, he lifts the mug, holding it near his lips, at the ready. "I can leave you to that." And he's draining the remainder. Azaylia is first confused, and then bewildered. There's a subtle difference, mostly in that she looks a little amused during the latter. "You aren't hungry?" And even if that's the case she clarifies, "I suppose it... uhm, it is probably rude to just eat in front of someone that isn't." Is it? She sits up a little straighter, less relaxed now that he seems to be. "But I guess you probably do have things to do..?" Mother hen has lost her steam. "You'll forgive me," really is a request, and the grimace on his face isn't without an apologetic look to it. "I do not mean to impose upon you for supper. And I'm not certain I can simply talk for so much longer." The klah is set down, and his half-eaten tart lifted, given a look, and held. "I would make poor company for you from what you're used to, I'm sure." "There's no such thing as bad company." Azaylia gently explains. It's for his benefit rather than her own that she stands, "I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable." Hands are folded in front of her, hovering in front of her chest as she offers, "I'll have Hraedhyth wake him. That way you won't be the bad guy." Should he accept, there's just so many fun ways the gold could go about rousing the brown. Loud drums? Maybe giving his forehead a big, sloppy lick? It is, after all, to deflect any moodiness from his rider. "No," and H'kon stands, holds a hand - with tart- out toward Azaylia, not reaching for her or offering the tart to her so much as looking to halt any mental instructions she might even now be giving her gold. "Leave him sleep. I've no wish to return to our weyr just now anyway." He shakes his head as he brings his hand back. The look that goes to the tart is outright amusement. "I should imagine there are rather few things we might do in which one of us would not be uncomfortable in some way." The smile from that is fought down, and the brownrider winds up shaking his head again. Hraedhyth is never allowed to have any fun! Azaylia glances down at the tart, then back up, clearly waiting for an explanation. "Oh." She continues to stand, head giving a thoughtful tilt as if he's presented her with a word problem. "I'm sure there's something..." Her lifemate not be the only stubborn one of the pair. "Do you go for runs?" Perking, as it's a possibility. "I exercise in the morning, when there's time." She most likely didn't get a chance to, today. "I do," comes with a light nod. "Often with my wingmates, if not on my own. Avalanche has a stricter schedule than most other wings in Interval." It's not meant, at least, as a slight to Azaylia's own fighting wing. "But," and the tart droops a little lower in H'kon's hand. "I suppose if you wanted," although there's no masking the bewilderment, and slightest hesitation, in that, "then we might arrange something." Azaylia is still standing, though her posture has eased into something more comfortable as H'kon speaks. "I never thought of running with my wing." And given that Glacier is less strict, as far as getting the whole troupe together goes, it's possibly not an option. "I started running with Hraedhyth." It's a wistful glance she aims at the pair of dragon rumps, "Back when I used to be able to keep up." The hesitation is what draws her back, rather than the offer. "That could be fun. Not much talking you have to do when you're running." Exercise. Fun. "Only if you're alright with it?" She's a staticky cloud, who pushes closer like she'd overlap the edges of one with the other, would interweave if it weren't too diffuse for that. Green means go, evidently. At least with his glow. (Vrianth to Arekoth) "Some of us like it. It keeps the challenge up." It's not that, which has roused Arekoth enough that his wings twitch in his doze, that his mind starts to get more active, for all he's showing no signs of lifting his head or leaving. "No- Yes." Clear. "If you like." H'kon stands awkwardly, barely manages to keep hold of the tart when it crumples. There will be some crumbs on Azaylia's floor. And he's left with a fistful of berry filling. "I'd best leave you to your supper then." The brown stretches that twisted front leg, and, although now nearer awake, still shows no sign of actually getting up or leaving. Which means that H'kon will have to take the stairs on his way to... wherever. Static is something that he can - does - work with, better perhaps when not fully aware. A bit nearer wakefulness, the green ripples somewhat, and for a moment at least, the static gets illuminated as tiny arcs of blue. (Arekoth to Vrianth) His tart crumbs are welcome to mingle with whatever the children had for lunch today. Azaylia will sweep it all up, eventually. "Noyes?" She echoes in a murmur, uncertainty highly contagious between the two. Before she's able to take back her suggestion, the brownrider is excusing himself and heading for the stairs. She gives his retreating form a perplexed look before giving a sigh and flumping onto the couch. With the children in her bed, there is no reason for the junior to rise anytime soon, lying there with little to do but to worry and fret. Does Vrianth sense that, that it works better this way? Or is it simply that the distraction is its own reward: the light, the changes. A discreet push here, an opening out there... gently, gently, shift and shh. Eventually, she too will sleep. (Vrianth to Arekoth) |
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