Logs:Welcome Wagon
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| RL Date: 4 September, 2012 |
| Who: Azaylia, L'hai |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A month or two late, but it's the thought that counts... right? Azaylia and Hraedhyth welcome the 'new' transfers in their own way. |
| Where: Way Up High Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 9, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Brieli/Mentions |
| Way Up High Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Heavy canvas blocks off the inner weyr; behind the covering opens a large curved tunnel in that segues into a steep and narrow staircase downward. Tatty fabric hangings on the walls are weighted with tassels and tinkling bells. The rooms of the weyr are fair in size, a well-ventilated trio of chambers around a central hearth made from the same stone as the windbreaks outside. The decor is time-worn, dominated by light, natural colors and antique lacy fabrics, and more of the lanterns found outside. On a day with more forgiving weather, Hraedhyth might not be as bold as to lumber into the unfamiliar weyr to get out of the rain. The gold has enough sense to shake the water off only after her rider has dismounted, and is behind the heavy canvas. Azaylia pushes the hood of her dark cloak down, adjusting the basket held in the crook of her arm, making sure it's mostly dry. "Hello?" A poor attempt at being heard above the driving rain with such a quiet voice. Hraedhyth finishes drying off, already looking to find the bronze's wallow... whether it's already occupied or not. As she moves, the gold utters a low, thunderous growl to announce their arrival. If she had left it up to Azaylia, they'd be here all afternoon. An empty wallow for what, on an initial sweep, would seem to be an empty weyr. A couple of lanterns, sheltered by the ledge's design, and the swatch of canvas, are dimmed and do not reach wastefully to the interior. Quiet. Then, the wash of liquor is a trick on the nostrils. It seems so strong, only to sink into the recesses of the mind. A heavy smacking of rain and then the bronze tower of Kolniveth thunders to a factual landing on his ledge, flexing his massive wings more as a gentleman's comfort - as if he were a person, smoothing back his hair - than consideration for the weather; his only aim is that of not splashing Hraedhyth. Whiskey and the crackling of a homey hearth wash past the gold, enveloping her beyond the cold wet of outside to indulge in his hosting. What present smog is there is now the wafting of a cigar as he sheds thoughts of the outside, productively no more bothered by the persistent rain the second he's out of it. Besides, there's company, and he's smug enough to puff at her. « Well now. There's a kid in my weyr. » (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) It's not empty for long, Hraedhyth's drying bulk possessively lounging in the comfortable dip within the cavern. Another low growl for the bronze as he arrives, more of a signal to her lifemate than anything. It shows, as her oval face peeks from behind the canvas up at the bronze. And up. "Oh." Breathless, she seems torn between greeting the possibly riderless dragon, or delving deeper into the weyr to find the not-so-new transfer. A pointed glance to her gold, doing her best not to sigh at her lack of manners and self indulgent ways. To Kolniveth, Hraedhyth adds her flames to his hearth, understanding that she is a guest while also making herself quite at home. She'll wrap herself in the warmth, unneeded with such an inner blaze as her own, but the young queen is still appreciative. « In your wallow, too. » Smug begets smug, amusement carried in the drumroll which borrows its beat from the pouring rain outside. « Where is Yours? » An abrupt question, carried over from her rider no doubt. Since he's unperturbed by the growl, Kolniveth must read into its meaning; his matter-of-fact ritual ending as he settles down outside of the wallow his guest has occupied without further complaint. His massive bulk seems not nearly enough lessened by his lounging, that tail flicking back and forth in crisp, deliberating motions that, to the uninitiated, are actually relaxed. Head tipped to notice Azaylia's peeking, he lifts his chin and cocks it smartly towards the inside of the weyr. The inside where, at first quiet, there's the sudden tinkering noise of life - as if someone were abruptly startled. If smugness could clink glasses... nevermind that the queen's share is watered down from the brutally straight-up of Kolniveth's amusement. The thumping of his tail seems to be time to the drum she beats. « Wuddya know, she even says it's mine. » Abruptness does nothing to startle the bronze's highly attuned business model; he appreciates it, no less, with another whiff of bourbon and fresh ink. « The rider'll be here. » (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) Azaylia isn't expecting a physical answer, giving a little start at the bronze's tipped head. With a shaky little smile, she'll follow his silent directions which are reinforced by Hraedhyth's relayed message. "Thank you." A near whisper, she ducks back into the inner weyr, pausing at the sound of life from within. That's a good sign, right? Boots fall with deliberate steps as she follows the stairs down, stopping short of a full on invastion. "H-hello?" Worried now, "Is this a bad time?" Would his dragon have let her proceed if it was? A snort of black soot she's tracked inside just out of youthful spite, « It's yours. » She'll admit that, sweeping the powder back into the hearth if only because she's thought of somthing better. « But the Weyr is Mine. » The whole territory, the tribe is hers, and that includes him now. Watered down or no, she's tasting and testing, doing much the same when it comes to the actual bronze. So far, she hasn't found him unpalatable. Yet. (Hraedhyth to Kolniveth) "Coming," drifts out a voice, annoyance too familiar to be really intended for his guest, "I'm coming." Kolniveth's deliberate yawn, as if he were disguising a grin, is a more likely target. Add in L'hai's slight startle as he steps out of the first of three personal rooms to find Azaylia there; he reins in long strides so as not to advance straight into her. "Uhh... hello! Yes." The bronzerider, clad in tunic and pants slightly stained by the aftermath of something, peers at her through thin, expensive lenses. It's a sharper gaze than might be expected on first impression. When he unrolls a hand, it points an upside-down finger at her. "Azaylia, then." She'll sort out no disagreement in Kolniveth's mind, his brisk, « You'd be a shitty queen if it weren't, » not made of the burnt smell of an insult, but a blunt encouragement. Damn straight he's hers. Retreat is not the right word, but the bronze relaxes to his corner, lounging in the hearth of his mind as well as his bronze form stretches against the weyr wall. Just lightly attentive, in respect to company. (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) Azaylia hesitates even more at the annoyed note carried by an unfamiliar voice. Then again, what else does one expect when meeting new people? Slightly startled, meet wide deer-gaze. The junior purses her lips and takes a step backwards, "I'msorry." Mumbled, quick. "I really should've, I wanted it to be a surprise but I realize now that it could be rude to..." Hraedhyth watches the yawn, turning her head and giving a snort towards the stairs. Riders, right? The young woman stops at her name, "Ah, yes. Hraedhyth's rider. And you're L'hai." A motion upwards, "Kolniveth. The new, ah..." Not so new, despite busy weeks feeling as though they've flown by. "The transfers." To Kolniveth, Hraedhyth refuses to be startled. No. She isn't, that's the sort of thing for her rider. Ignore the puff of black smoke and the impact on drum skin that hits a little too hard. « You are strange. » Blurted, shoved at him, trying to disrupt his cool calm. The fire crackles and dances, energy demanding an outlet and finding none in what is a downright pleasant visit so far. There may even be the faintest twitch of muscle beneath tawny hide, a physical sign of awkward, youthful discomfort. L'hai says, "What? Why..." In seeking to understand her need for apology, L'hai nearly sounds impatient, but his expression is anything but irritated; more curious, he looks her up and down, then up the stairs when she indicates, leading him to deftly pull the glasses off his nose and slip them into a front pocket. "I am, I'm-- yesss. That," the finger wags at her, then drops to smooth over his marked pants' thigh, "It's not you, weyrwoman. It's a-- thing he does. Nevermind. Was there something I-- we-- could do for you? Ahh..." courtesy snaps into place as he glances aside and notices the unlit hearth and registers something of their surroundings, but he's stalled by a secondary questioning look at Azaylia." Noise passes right by him. Smoke entwines with smoke, though he puffs a little more dismissingly at hers than his own, just to clear his space. « You're not so bad yourself, kid. » (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) With black cloak, warm fall dress, and a basket tucked in the crook of her arm, Azaylia could be on her way to Auntie's house rather than visiting a strange bronzerider. Head tilting ever so slightly, she watches L'hai with open curiosity that is far less sharp than his own inspection. "Oh!" That same basket is slipped forward and offered, "Welcome to High Reaches." Nothing so forward as wine, but there's a variety of baked goods, dried fruit snacks, candies. A small tunnelsnake skull painted the black and blue of their home, courtesy of Hraedhyth. All tucked beneath a scrap of protective fabric. "I meant to come sooner..." But things come up. Surely he knows how it goes? To Kolniveth, Hraedhyth does her best not to fidget, still unused to the calm that settles between them. It's easy, suspiciously so. « Lil' Queen. » She argues without any true effort, a mutter of drums in the distance. Slowly, over time, she might press more into his mind in an attempt at finding comfort. One which is echoed in leaning against him- still too unnerved to cuddle as enthusiastically as she usually does. "Oh!" The man echoes, a second late to wrap acknowledging hands around the basket, "Well-- no, I mean. That's very thoughtful of you, Azaylia." With two fingers, L'hai flips the fabric across to inspect inside, all while striding towards the inner curve of the room to place it across a little table. "I'd certainly hope you'd have more important things to do than come greet me personally." What, on others, could be a joke sounds awfully honest from him. Approaching Azaylia again, he swoops the hand down and means to slip the burden of the cloak from her arm. Up close, he smells unmistakably of dye and leather. A puff of smog. « Kids ask questions. » A dim impression of their first meeting, so catalogued. Massive block that he is, there seems to be no twitch to have her up against him - neither encouraging nor dismissing. It just is. And since he's not in the middle of doing anything... a'right. Whatever. (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) Azaylia manages a small smile when he accepts the basket, where there may not be liquor but there are little bags of tea buried within the spoils. "I wouldn't put it like that." She argues gently about what duties are more important, pausing to look confused as he offers to take her cloak. It's an awkward moment before she realizes it, letting the damp fabric fall to her arm and into his hand. "Thankyou. Uhm, what I was saying before- It's also a goldrider's responsibility to make sure the riders of the weyr are happy. Comfortable." And if it isn't, then she's officially adding it to her already long list. "I won't stay long if you... you seemed busy." Fanning her flames also has a purposeful gust for his smog, combated by the fresh air of her plains. « You never ask questions? » Flat, disbelieving, and likely living up to his nickname for her with such an inquiry. Lack of annoyance might as well be consent, more of that dark gold bulk leaning against him. Her cuddle partners are rarely enthusiastic. (Hraedhyth to Kolniveth) Hesitance sits on him when she seems reluctant to hand over her cloak, and his hands fumble in his perceived misinterpretation - only to purpose again when she lets him. "Busy? Yes, I suppose so," he skips right over the other adjectives. "But your cloak can at least recover." To point, L'hai steps over to the hearth, slinging the cloak over a small stand there that allows it to hang full-length in front of the warmth that appears when he gets a flame going. His head pops up as he stands. "Anyway, the color's setting, so this'll pass the time. And I happen to have some fruits and candies available." « I ask the right ones. » Though it resonates brassily, it's not all brag in the bronze's cool tones. Fact. That he imparts upon her with the scent of rolling machinery, the grinding of the gears less audible than sensed, and smelled in their scrape of metal over metal. Quick, efficient. A diagram of thought. As she huddles even closer, there's a slight adjustment from him. It ain't cuddling, okay. (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) "Color?" Carefully curious, not wanting to overstep her bounds even as she takes a few more into his weyr. Fingers reach up to tuck away loose strands that have manage to escape the dual buns at the back of her head, eyes wandering over his living space. "You've been settling in alright?" She'll find somewhere to sit, tucking her dress against the back of her knees as she does so. A proper lady, or rather someone who is far too nervous to be anything but. "I hope Hraedhyth isn't bothering Kolniveth?" A worry that is often voiced, perhaps more than it need be in some cases. Another unladylike snort, felt rather than heard as it blurs the line of physical and mental. Hraedhyth isn't arguing, at least. His adjustment is something familiar, a masculine discomfort she latches onto with a pleased rumble. Cuddlin'. SNUGGLIN'. Low chuckles are buried just beneath her ever present drums, regaining some of her confidence in the face of his efficient, mechanical mind. « You are clever. » Like a question, and yet not. She is no child. « My Sister enjoys clever bronzes. » Not that she's suggesting the two meet, or talk. Yet. Still possessive, protective about the younger gold. (Hraedhyth to Kolniveth) "Just a couple of belts," L'hai describes, raising his hands to emphasize that each finger tip has been darkened to a different color than his natural. "It's, ah, good to be working. So, yes. Yes, to your inquiry. I mean, the first one. Well. That is-- you can hope all you want, but I find that does very little to actually persuade them. As for it, it's no more than he deserves." After some starts and stops of walking, he manages to drop into a seat mostly across from her, his hands clenched over his knees. "She's about, what now, 10 months. A good size. That is, depending on your definition of good." She'll find she's latched onto a sense of begrudging exasperation, more than the more outwardly inconveniencing effect of true discomfort. He can snort, too: full, mature, and lightly patronizing. « Alright, kid. Why don't you extend my courtesies to the dame? » Goading, disguising his acknowledgment of her hierarchal system. She's protective, okay. He knows how to work the line. (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) It takes one of those patented moments for the peices to come together, "You work with clothing." Azaylia is so close. "A weaver, then?" L'hai, or rather his clothes, earn another glance that leaves her confused. Hmm. Not very stylish for someone who works in fashion. "Or, leather?" She tries, much less sure of her guess this time. His odd though observational speech has her laughing softly, "He seems very nice." If such a judgement can be made from the tilt of a dragon's head. A blink of surprise, "Why, yes. She is." Unused to anyone but friends and Weyrlingmasters taking an interest. "Uhm, we're almost graduated. Still, wonder if she'll ever stop growing." To Kolniveth, Hraedhyth gathers herself up, fur bristling in a way that's more proud than offensive. « Maybe I will. » It's a threat, possibly having to do with Iesaryth's own brilliant mind. For now, her hide is drying and there's warmth to be found within his hearth and her flames. With a too big yawn, she'll gladly intrude where her rider won't by resting her head across the bronze's shoulders. Naptime. "She will." Short, practical; L'hai missing right over any friendly exaggeration. It comes after the quickly opening mouth she left gaping and quiet during her wrong guesses. He licks his lips before transitioning, "And leather, yes. I was a tanner, and I intend to be again. There was a-- I got somewhat -- " the gestures happening freely with his hands may be meant to fill in the blanks, but they are barely demonstrative. "Anyway, there it is." A flash close to embarrassment flicks across his gaze, causing it to also turn, aiming it on the fire as he reaches out a hand to test against her cloak. Well. She's right about the naptime, so the kid can stay. But don't nobody be getting any ideas. (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) Azaylia is unsure whether L'hai is being serious, or perhaps taking her playful comment a step further. Either way, it coaxes a laugh that sounds more nervous than it should. Realizing this, she clears her throat, "Tanner." Something she can work with, hands folded politely in her lap. "I just got my new leathers the other day. Maybe I could save the trip and just stop by here?" Another softly lobbed joke. Upon catching the embarrassment in his expression, she leaps into action almost quite literally, reaching for the basket and plopping it somewhere between them. "Here, try some. You can tell me what needs improving, for future transfers." Yes, this is going to become a thing. Conversation, awkward or no, will continue for as long as L'hai is willing to humor the goldrider. Startled into looking over at her, L'hai's eyebrows rise while his eyes soften, then narrow with intended purpose. Scooting forward on the chair, he dutifully tips the fabric away and claims the first breadroll. In the midst of ripping it in half, he catches sight of the more eye-catching Weyr colors and turns his hand aside to squeeze a few fingers in and edge the foodstuffs so he can see more of the apparent skull. "If they're any kind of new ones, a day's longer than needed to break them in," he blithely goes on while doing so, "But you're welcome to come in for touch-ups or you need a bit more shaping. Can't speak for your trip, since I don't know who you'd regularly see. There's a dead animal bit in here." Azaylia is clearly pleased as he partakes, warm smile and straight back as close to preening as the junior is going to get. It lasts throughout his tanner talk, "I'll keep that in mind, about breaking them in." It's obvious by her bright tone that she will, too. That confidence all comes crumbling down as he notices the skull. Clean and dyed though it may be, it's not very appetizing. "Ah, yes..." Fingers that were comfortably laced are now twisting nervously. With a patient sigh, "Hraedhyth insisted. She means well. It's something like... she wants you to feel at home. Here, at High Reaches." What that has to do with a deceased tunnelsnake is likely not worth explaining. As she's spoken, he's curled his hand very carefully around the skull, lifting it up to peer at its decorated formation. L'hai's fingers hold it up with respect, instead of disgust. He turns it this way and that throughout her explanation, then sets it along the table beside the basket, apparently utterly satisfed that she's explained. "Depends also on the animal the leathers were made from. Bovine is typical," he continues seamlessly, "Actually, ah, if the rain lightens up, you could use that, too. Damp, not drenched. Softens it." He plucks up a fruit snack and mashes it into the bread. "Then you just-- oh, exercise a little, and you'll find it starts to-- recognize you, if you will. Why a skull?" Azaylia watches him with only a hint of embarrassment once she realizes that he's not grossed out by her dragon's well meant gesture. She almost gets whiplash, so unexpected is he to seemingly ignore the oddity on the table in favor of leather talk. "O-Oh." Doing her best to keep up, "I don't quite know. I guess it's probably bovine, I didn't ask for anything special. Except maybe the color." A glance upwards for the rain that can still be heard, if not seen. "That's useful- oh." And again, back to the skull. "She collects them." The words tumble out, maintaining her quiet tone. "Hraedhyth. It's just something she's always done." A second time, L'hai absorbs her answer, then his mouth seems to turn agreeably, nodding in its own way. Now that the bread's been mashed, he eyes his dyed fingers regretfully. Setting the food down on the table, he rubs his hands consciously over his thighs. "Well, if you need anything else," he offers, opening a palm towards the basket, "It appears as though I owe you." Shadows cross over his face as he contemplates. "Not that... it would take all that for a favor regularly." L'hai is bound to find out how strange the warrior gold is eventually, it might as well come from her rider. Azaylia has a smile born of mild relief, though it could just be that the bronzerider is too polite to react to her gold's odd notions. "Mmm? Oh. No, really you don't owe me anything." The argument is approached delicately, breathless tone sounding surprised. To come to an arrangement, "A favor as a friend, maybe?" Shy smile persists. "But, I should let you get back to your work." And Hraedhyth will need rousing, which has the junior standing and brushing hands over her skirts. "Again, uhm, welcome." And stuff. "Oh, well... alright." L'hai grudgingly agrees to her terms, with the air of not quite accepting them, if his lightly perturbed mouth is any indication. Rolling up to his feet, he, with a good scrubbing of his hands, fetches her cloak off the stand and approaches her, giving it an expert snap with his hands that gets it draping properly as he naturally moves to swing it over her shoulders for her. "Thank you, weyrwoman," he mentions, a gentler emphasis on the title meaning to impress some unconscious note onto her. "Consider your duties well and done." Smog. Gears. A jolting prod from one sturdy bronze shoulder to a nearly equally boxy tawny one. « Okay. » Time's up. (Kolniveth to Hraedhyth) Azaylia gives a startled, grateful, "Oh." as L'hai helps her into her cloak. "Thank you, bronzerider." A gentle tease at his using her title, still unused to such formality. "Have a good evening." There may be a bounce in her gait, climbing the steps back out and looking to wake her lifemate. It seems she has some help, Hraedhyth lifting her head off of Kolniveth's shoulders to greet her rider with a warm rumble. Then it's back out into the rain, leaving the bronze pair to their business. |
Comments
Comments on "Logs:Welcome Wagon"Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Wed, 05 Sep 2012 02:49:23 GMT.
Azaylia is so thoughtful! Someone has to be.
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