Logs:Weaponry
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| RL Date: 20 September, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, Serah, A'ryk, Hattie |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Brieli goes looking for her cousin at Fort, finding her being armed by A'ryk in the stores. Iesaryth calms Elaruth. She's just that laid-back. |
| Where: Stores, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 11, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Stores, Fort Weyr Fort's stores are made up of a series of caverns of different sizes and hold the vast majority of the Weyr's perishable and non-perishable supplies. Accessible from both the kitchen and the tunnel to the outside of the Weyr, stores is split into two levels, with the lower levels dug down deep along a sloping passageway where it's always chilly for perishables and the upper level containing mostly dry goods. Second-hand clothing, cleaning supplies and second-hand extra linens are available in open stores. Several 'junk' rooms are also kept unlocked with a 'free to take' policy on items that are too broken to throw out but not in good enough condition to warrant a requisition. The rest of the caverns are usually kept locked and require permission from the headwoman or the storeskeeper on duty for access. "On the move, in the forest." Preference for short. "But..." No accompanying reason, just a suggestive trace of Serah's finger in the air above the elegant shape of one of the hanging longbows. Many look longer than the girl should be able to handle. Like that she used at the show game. "All of them." She bluntly answers, short and dry, for A'ryk's soapy jest. Rather than all-out laugh, the corner of her mouth perks blithely up at the finish of his thought. To his summons of seeing, she darts a look over her shoulder in order to keep track of his whereabouts. The box is intriguing, but the allure of the hardly examined enough weaponry dulls her efforts to follow him. "Never had a dress." She lingers, then brusquely spins on a heel to examine these so-called things, taking just seconds for her face to darken with confusion in the light of the equipment's condition. Daring to grab up a vest in her disbelief, she turns it over, fingers expertly examining for wear. Sharply, she puts it down. The catch; it burns invisibly. "Why are y'doing this?" There's the distant sound of ocean waves and the sparkle of bright sun on the water, now likely somewhat familiar, though salt spray and wind do not stir the reeds of the marsh; do not touch the still waters. Iesaryth politely notes her presence to Elaruth, though she is sure to reassure that she and hers will not go near her clutch, lovely though it is. After letting off her rider, she'll retreat to the rim - a view she always enjoys - she seems able to easily find a positive in anything. (Iesaryth to Elaruth) It might be that the sound of the waves and tang of salt are familiar enough by now to not cause alarm, or is it that there's something faintly... comforting? About them. A distant familiarity beyond that of Iesaryth's touch, memories stirred without quite surfacing. Elaruth is appreciative in her brief response, once that gentle fog of memory has lifted, star-strewn dawn light glimmering until it fades and melts into nothing. (Elaruth to Iesaryth) The door to the normally locked storage room still hangs open, allowing voices to carry beyond. Not there's much of anyone down here this time of morning to hear. Hooking his foot on a shelf, leaning his shoulders against those standing opposite, A'ryk stretches himself casually across the aisle. "Because you're a hunter. Because I know the South better than any of these Northerners who think that just because they've got their dragons with them they'll be safe, who think that the worse thing they've got to worry about is some rogue feline getting too curious, who think that a bit of fire is enough to deter every predator." He can't keep the scorn out of his voice, though it's mild. "Because I'm a paranoid son of a--" well, she can fill in the blank. "If you ever meet my mothers," yes, he just used the plural, "don't tell them I said that." His mood lightening as he tosses the Candidate a wink. "I'll make an appointment with our Tanner that's a cobbler, but I don't know if he can have boots ready in time. I'd like to test your draw, as well." Back to bows again. It's not all that odd to see Iesaryth in the air above Fort, or on the rim, so it's likely not a huge shock for anyone to see Brieli slipping into the stores - it's her expression that's different than usual. Though she walks with the same confidence, she looks more than a little wary about where she's going. Who knows if Hattie wants her poking around in here? Maybe A'ryk's not the only paranoid one around here. But she's still on a mission to find someone, as weird as it might be to go wandering into another Weyr's stores, all organized differently. Perhaps it's a little like a needle in a haystack, but she's determined. Sliding hands into pockets so she doesn't go /touching/ anything, she makes her way around like she knows where she's going and /totally/ should be there, until she can come upon the open door, a somewhat familiar one - one less so. That might give her pause, but she'll still call out, "Serah?" It's a smooth voice, but weirdly accentless. She's appreciative as well, if only for her continued presence. And if the sounds are soothing and the memories fond, as distant and foggy as they may be, Iesaryth does not quite /go/, but lingers around the edges of the Fortian queen's consciousness, the rise and fall of waves faint, as if far away. (Iesaryth to Elaruth) She's not sure what to make of that wink, after that litany daring to soothe the wariness of her face. Serah's briefly conflicted curiosity over his plurals is banished, considered not as important as the prospect of handling one of the displayed pieces. "Said I've got boots," she murmurs, perhaps at last embarrassed by the singular attention; the retort barely holds water, lending no actual confidence towards the condition of said boots. Clutching the leather vest between her hands, risking bringing it closer and closer to her chest, she's stepping with barely hidden eagerness towards the bows when it almost looks like her ears prick up at the sound of her name. Head turning that way, she walks distractedly to the box to let the vest slip back in on her way to the locked room's open doorway. "M'um." Waiting to look the other girl in the eye, she flicks her own to the side, chin barely moving, with an indication towards the man still inside. With her precious eggs to guard, surely Elaruth will not let herself be lulled to sleep by those faint waves, yet it's as if she might; as if she /could/, if only she allowed it. Those in the galleries, hoping to catch a glimpse of her clutch, should be grateful for Iesaryth's continued presence, for the protective mother folds her wings as she calms, permitting them to see what she has shielded so determinedly. (Elaruth to Iesaryth) It's probably also not all that odd for Iesaryth to have, on occasion, perhaps picked up a flicker of distant flames, a sense of being /watched/ with a protective sort of wariness behind it. Interloper. Mild in the days following Elaruth's mating flight, but stronger now in the wake of her clutching. "Hand-me-downs. Or am I mistaken?" earnest in his desire to know if he's made an error, hearing something in her words that wasn't there. The blue firelizard that's been perched with silent patience upon his shoulder crawls onto the shelf behind, scuffling between boxes still in place, mere moments before A'ryk straightens back out of his easy lean. Casting a look toward the door with raised brows, though it's Serah's reaction that has him more interested. Stepping out from between the shelves, the bluerider's open curiosity fades into something more guarded, or maybe that's just more formal. "Fort's duties to High Reaches and her queens," is offered, though his accent still makes him sound like it's the wrong Weyr he's speaking for. A little bit of the openness allowed to return, after protocol has been observed, "I won't be keeping Sureshot much longer, if you've business with her." Iesaryth is all soothing ocean waves and bright sparkle of water on waves that might dim a little at being so watched, but it's likely something that she's used to. But today, there's a bit of marshy depth there too, not /part/ of her, but skating at the edges of her consciousness. Lingering outside the door, Brieli doesn't quite enter the room yet, but she's stepped just into view when Serah come to the door, offers as formal a greeting as she's likely to get. The pair are quite a contrast, the weyrling's hair as tamed and straightened and curled carefully as the candidate's are a mess. And she blinks suddenly, in a distracted sort of way, dark eyes going wide - that might be the one similarity. Shaking her head a little, "I'm sorry, I... they told me you'd come this way." But not /with/ someone. Attention shifting to the bluerider as he steps out, she flashes a quick smile. "Reaches duties to Fort and her queens," she replies automatically, though the plural takes just a moment to come out. "Sureshot. That works," she allows with a quirk of lips, glancing back to the other girl briefly, assessingly. "I didn't mean to interrupt. It's nothing pressing." What business she might have is left alone. To Elaruth, Iesaryth doesn't seem to expect much beyond enjoying the breezes and blue skies of the bowl for the time being, so the flicker of surprise might be hers, or someone else's entirely. But she is pleased that she can help, pleased that some of her own ease and general easy-going nature is Elaruth's, at least for a time. But she can still understand the protectiveness, it's something that's related to fire in her mind, but perhaps those still waters now as well. "I got summoned." Serah's general dislike for the notion isn't weeded out of her voice when she says it, despite the summoner -- and his rampant generosity -- being right there. The nickname brings the graces of a smile, without the actual expression. "Have y'ever shot?" It's a new, foreign interest to be seen on her, lighting up those deep eyes and a sullen face made better for sulking by her pale, restless coloring. An honest need to know shines on Brieli. Until the clarification, "Hunted," while staring at the contrastingly similar face seems to cool her. A hint of wryness comes late to her mouth, her eyes. Both gone when she sidles backwards, giving Brieli space and A'ryk her gaze. "Y'wanted me to draw..." She must've missed his follow-up, and some notion of knowing she has softens her words almost as if apology -- but, in the end, too brisk for that. Here is business, too, and Brieli's simmers beneath. Without precisely needing the clarification, she struts up to the case, picking, after all, the longbow she'd nearly caressed. It's gripped much more ably now, examined then tested in turn, fitted against her bracing, and strung. It isn't, nor does it look, effortless, but with the bow kept in good order even while stored, Serah proves able. And enough to fit forefinger, middle, and ring onto the string to draw, with a gap between the first and second for an imagined arrow to sit. "She wouldn't give me her name the first time we met, but she outshot a bunch of snot-nosed Holder brats with a bow that was almost big enough for me," A'ryk says easily, tone and manner seeming to indicate he's just naturally chatty. "A'ryk, blue Ginanguth's," is added for manners sake, though a return introduction probably isn't necessary. Edging past, giving a wave of his hand that invites Brieli further in, it's back to the wall of bows, standing back to watch Serah with a practiced eye. "I want you to pick two, after," he adds, tapping the table of blades with the tip of one finger. "One for your hip and one for your boot, in case someone objects to the former. They can't have a dragon hovering over you at all times." Privacy for certain things a necessity, no matter what. And perhaps to help sell his generosity, "The Tanner can fashion 'em special so the sheath won't chafe, or show." Nodding to himself, visibly pleased with her demonstration. He's making no offer of a bow to compliment the knives, however. Interested, too, in how the goldrider is going to answer the question put to her. Arching fine brows for 'summoned', Brieli is nonetheless amused, glancing from Serah to A'ryk with another of those little twists of her mouth. "Remind me not to summon you." Her tone is light, dark eyes shifting to the bluerider like, figures, right? Her gaze is quick to shift to the bows, the weaponry - and it takes her a moment to answer, perhaps a touch reluctantly - but convinced by that need to know. "I'm better with knives," she'll admit, in an offhand, dismissive way, as if 'better' isn't that good at all, as she takes a step or two into the room. As if she hadn't noticed Serah's shift in expression at all. But she's very interested in the girl's actions, watching closely. "Brieli," she offers to A'ryk, even if it might be unnecessary. "Iesaryth's. And I'm not all that surprised." There's another little blink as she watches the bluerider go about arming the candidate, but she says nothing, just smiles. After a beat, she'll tell Serah, "He's right, you know." Though, but her tone, she figures the other girl might know that already. Glancing at Brieli for the appreciation of her admittance, however downplayed, does nothing to disturb Serah's practiced stance with the bow. More than posing for A'ryk, she's lost in the comforting action - or found. Talk behind her goes by like a buzz as she sights down the line of her arm, enjoying the particular strain of holding such a tall, taut shape at the ready. Reluctantly, she loosens. Running a couple fingers down the string, she then undoes it. Contemplation akin to waiting for the trap to spring keeps her a touch aloof even when eyeing the spectacle of knives. The bow's set lovingly back onto its hooks. "Do I then bribe th'Tanner t'secrecy?" Possibly a joke. For all his generosity is questioned, doubted on her face, or merely suspicious, the second she gets to the knives, she spares no expense lifting them, testing their balance, feeling the grip. Not for show; the natural actions of someone who's been often taught. No longer preoccupied by purpose, A'ryk asks, "Would you've come if I'd /asked/ you?" Not without a smile though, one with a hint of sheepishness to it. "By my reckoning, I'm about due to shove my foot down my throat. I think we've been in here long enough." Teasing, and also self-deprecating, shouldering the responsibility for his own gaffes. "They had it coming," he'll add to the topic of those Holder boys. "Faster with their mouths than their minds." Chuckling, shaking his head, "Why bother? He fashions boots meant to conceal knives all the time. Acting in any other way than that it's normal'd just be /more/ likely to make him talk." He scratches at an eyebrow, looking for a moment like he might say something more, but with his gaze sliding to Brieli he instead keeps his trap shut. "Or kill him. But you do that often enough and there's no more Tanners, and then what do you do?" Brieli's is a dark humor, her words edged with wry sardonic amusement. But given the way Serah handles those knives? Not out of the question. Folding her arms, she has to allow to A'ryk, with a sigh, "I /suppose/ you have a point though, that they do it often enough. And I certainly do not doubt that they had it coming." With a slight grin, "Nor that Serah wuld be happy enough to give it to them. At least no one got punched." And there's maybe something self-deprecating in her tone, some memory surfacing. "Have you known each other a while, then?" "Y'outfit /all/ the candidates you lure in here, then." Another flat-toned 'joke' from Serah, while she reverse-grips a four-inch blade. Either that or the rising suggestion that there's an entire Weyr out there with hidden weaponry in their footwear. Perhaps it's this that's sobering, causing her to tighten her grip, as she blandly notes, "Supposedly there's a trainin' room I'm t'prefer over faces. Even th'ones who tell me how big their bronze dragon is goin' t'be." Eyes move to A'ryk, weighing maybe whether she really knows him or not, and the knife is set down uneasily. "The rider shot, too," she eventually allows of him. Appreciation, and some remembered slight of her own, sinking into the words. To some misguided, but well-meaning, credit, she scowls lightly at a different memory but keeps it to herself. "Someone might've gotten punched, if they'd not had the sense to back down," A'ryk seems easy enough in saying, expression darkening slightly. Perhaps lulled into allowing his own hint of a violent streak to show in the face of dark humour. A shake of his head follows, "Not all that long. Nor all that well. And no I don't." Smoothly shifting from answering Brieli to answering Serah, no more humour as he settles a look weighted with grave intent upon her. "I've seen your skill with a bow. I've seen you handle the knives. Ask anyone here that knows me: I don't trust any one with weaponry whom I don't believe is experienced, or who doesn't also respects them as what they are." Dangerous. "Forgive me, but I need to report for drills soon. And I can't leave either of you in here alone." Locked storerooms are locked for a reason. He is genuinely apologetic, at the need to usher things along. But no matter how resistant she is, he /is/ going to make sure that Serah leaves with arms loaded down with brand new gear. With a purse of her lips, "That sounds wise. Less satisfying. But wise." Brieli glances over the knives and how Serah's examining them before suddenly, "This might take a bit, yes? I'll leave you two to it. I really don't know if I should be lurking in your stores anyway." Not that she's bothered, but there's some mild concern in her last - and then A'ryk sort of confirms her thoughts. Glancing to Serah, "I'll find you later? Or if not then, another time." It's not like she'll be away that long, after all. And though their connection still might be a mystery, she offers the candidate a brief smile, then a nod for A'ryk before starting back into the main stores. "Nice to meet you." She'll leave them to their weaponry and ask questions later - and maybe give them one last curious look over her shoulder. /Interesting/. |
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