Logs:Unrealistically
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| RL Date: 28 January, 2016 |
| Who: Roszadyth, Farideh, N'rov, Vhaeryth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh makes a trip to Fort and happens upon N'rov. |
| Where: Weyrleaders' Ledge, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 12, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions |
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| It's Fort, so it's raining. Vhaeryth flashes out of between and into a long, showy spiral over his Weyr, touching minds with dragon after dragon, home. If N'rov gets wetter, so be it. That's what leathers are for. Rain, so unexpected. It doesn't stop the pair from High Reaches that appear from between not more than a minute after the Weyrleader and his bronze. It's Roszadyth's sunny exuberance that meets Vhaeryth's mind touch as she wings down to the muddy muck that is the weyrbowl. Vhaeryth is still in the air, and moreover, he isn't touching that muddy muck; it may be his muck, but he's having nothing of it. His warmth greets her, welcomes her, and invites her: he has stone, and he can share. This way: down to that ledge on the Bowl's edge, a narrow flight of stairs (human stairs, not dragon stairs, and therefore unimportant except for identification) higher than his mate's. His landing is quick, deft; N'rov glances upward (tracking, will-she won't-she) and does not shake his head. No? Ok! With Vhaeryth's instruction, it is a delicate landing that Roszadyth makes on the ledge he so helpfully provides. It takes Farideh's much longer than that to unbuckle and dismount, and she's buttoning up her jacket when she steps towards N'rov, smiling. "Hello, Weyrleader, sir," she says, as polite as it is teasing. "I've yet to congratulate you. I can only say sorry, and now, congratulations to both you and Vhaeryth." By then N'rov's standing out of the way, not incidentally under the overhang (Vhaeryth may be just fine with the rain with the moment, drawn out in a long arc that lets it runnel along his lean frame, but he can have it), and he sketches her a bow; "Well met, Acting Weyrwoman," is all things amused. "Waiting for rank? Welcome to Fort." Dragons make convenient umbrellas, but Farideh doesn't make it within the overhang completely dry; not that she seems to mind for the moment. "Me? Faranth, no. I wish fervently, every night, that Irianke comes back in one piece and soon." She laughs, standing back to consider N'rov and his fancy new knot. "It suits you, I think." And after a short pause: "I was just going to see your Weyrwoman, but I suppose a couple minutes to catchup wouldn't hurt." N'rov strikes a pose, shoulder angled so she can better see, his profile held high like a dramatically militant statue's; in the next moment he's relaxed again, smiling, wholly at ease. "Maybe you'll have your wish tonight. Tell me, is it better if she wakes you up or saves the surprise? And," his glance down towards Zaisavyth's weyr is briefly, elusively fond, "I won't keep you as long as all that. Though I had expected you," and gray eyes are very much on Farideh now, "over to admire our set of 'ovoids.'" 'Admire.' It's inevitable, Farideh's laugh. "I would gladly wake up before dawn to be told that Irianke is back and all is reinstated, and I can continue on as things were before. As it is--" She sighs and glances back out to the ledge, to the dragons and the rain. "Eggs. Oh, no. I'm afraid Roszadyth will get ideas. I know, I know-- it's unrealistic, but a part of me still worries, sometimes. Unrealistically." She adds, at the end: "If I have time, I'll go and see them. I heard there's plenty." N'rov has to laugh at that, and look over at her Roszadyth (whom Vhaeryth is contriving not to drip on) as though in speculation, even squinting one eye and bugging out the other before resuming his usual urbane stance. "And yet," for unrealistically. Then he's not laughing, not even a little, though he doesn't let himself grimace. "One would think Taeliyth were trying to repopulate the Weyr on her own. I suppose it shouldn't be hard to find a few more warm bodies, but finding those that could be right for our dragons... is more difficult." Roszadyth takes the eye-squinting stare in stride, though Farideh presses knuckles to lips to keep from laughing riotously at the imagine Fort's weyrleader portrays. "And yet, she rose early once, and clutched a queen we did not need," she murmurs, her eyes turning from the bronzerider, to the gold, and back again. "We can only hope. There's no fast, easy way to discern which are the ones, right? Mirinda's queen's eggs found appropriate matches. Are you really very worried?" At this point, she's watching him closely. "Unrealistically," N'rov says wryly, "I am very worried that every yellow-looking egg will be a queen." Unrealistically, but not without sincerity. "As for matches, any matches..." he unfastenes his loose hood, pushes it back, runs his hand through his short hair. "It's hard to say. It's happened before. It shoudn't happen again, and yet. Evidently I'm not worried enough to be hitting you up for your extras, however," and that has a wry crook to his mouth too. "You would be in possession of the greatest life force on Pern," literally, even. "Do any of them look like a gold's egg in particular?" Farideh is curious about that, joking or not, though her own expression changes quickly in response to his wry one, full of wariness. "K'del would kill us both if I made that kind of promise. Have you had trouble? I've heard of the holds' tribulations after--" The plague shall remain nameless, for now. "I would worry. I do worry, for us, and it wasn't as bad, there." "Don't worry; I don't want you dead," N'rov assures, momentarily grand for all the seriousness, the speculation in his gaze. He speaks frankly with her; "No, not our clutch; they all Impressed, they're hale, they're growing. They're good to see. It was before, and the concern lies in combination with... yes. That. But there's enough to deal with, without buying worry, and Mirinda has capable hands." He glances down the stairs for a moment before looking back at Farideh. "Speaking of whom... shall I escort you to see her? She can no doubt enlighten you on our might-be-golds to boot; all I suppose is that none shout it, but some sidle up and whisper that they might." "Are you sure?" says Farideh, voice low and ominous, but of course she's joking! Or is she? Smile bright, she turns to face the path leading to the weyrwoman's weyr. "I'm glad to hear it, and I hope that this second clutch does as well. Shall we adjourn? I don't like to stay gone long. You can call me superstitious, but nothing good ever happens with the Weyrwoman, true or acting, far from home. We've seen enough in recent turns, that I'm anxious to put my feet back on High Reaches soil. I'm sure you understand." And then, she's ready to go, equally as bright eyes on the weyrleader. N'rov seems to take all this in stride; "My thanks, O Superstitious One. Given that ours is currently very wet soil..." the weyrleader duly offers his arm (he's been trained!) and, with a grin down at her, proceeds. If Mirinda doesn't beat them to it, he'll even introduce the Dramatic One, Vhaeryth's queen, before leaving weyrwomen and Zaisavyth to their dealings. |
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