Logs:Well-Being
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| RL Date: 7 May, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, K'zin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh practices diplomacy on K'zin. Rasavyth inquires after Roszadyth's well-being and that of her lifemate. |
| Where: Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 9, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Heavy, driving rain makes everything a wet and muddy mess today. |
| Mentions: Drex/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
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>---< Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#392RJLs) >----------------<
All the furniture here has been pushed to one side of the room to allow a
large pathway opposite: room enough to let weyrling dragons pass from the
bowl's archway to the cavernous barracks at the back. None of the
furniture matches, either: it varies from big cushioned, claw-footed
chairs to those of plain wood, while the most seating is at the two stone
tables ringed by low and equally hard stone benches. Without the
tapestries that decorate many of the Weyr's other interior spaces, the
room always echoes with noise, no matter how few are there.
What it does have, however, are several colorful murals: on one wall, a
detailed diagram of a dragon's anatomy; opposite, next to a creaky wooden
door, a number of painted and labeled wing formations. Near the entrance
is a large-scale version of the Weyr's badge, while the back wall, by the
barracks, features a detailed map of the continent. The latter area's also
home to one big, beat-up couch, black or maybe blue -- the thing's so old
and filthy it's hard to tell, though it's certainly comfortable. K'zin arrives in the training cavern just long enough after morning lecture that the majority of weyrlings have dispersed for their free (lunch) hour, relieving J'vain of on-call AWLM so he can go get his own lunch. The younger assistant never comes without food, though, so he has a tray with two stacked covered plates and a pitcher with stacked cups. He sets himself up on one of the tables to pull his lunch (one plate) toward him and pour himself a cup of juice from the pitcher. Rasavyth, despite the driving rain, is just outside, head slipped just inside the cavern so that he's not getting that part of himself soaked and muddy along with the rest of him. A disembodied head appearing through the doorway is always a good distraction from the affliction of after-workout soreness, even for such a dainty thing as Roszadyth. Her reposed form is suddenly on the move, stepping with hesitancy towards the much larger bronze. « Are you not wet out there? Is it terribly inconvenient? » Warm sunshine laces the words, though it's somewhat dampened by midday exhaustion. Farideh's head lifts from the crook of her arm, where it had been positioned while she'd been shifting between reading a stack of hides and lightly dozing. Curious, if sleepy, hazel eyes flick to the dragons, and then to K'zin. "What's for lunch?" she ask, around a yawn. Rasavyth's mind always feels a bit oozy with the charm he naturally exudes with most every word. Now is no exception as he answers with his usual mild amusement at the world at large. « I am, though it isn't. As one gets larger, one learns to think of this as half a bath and simply a good excuse to be oiled. » Any excuse to be oiled is a good excuse as far as he's concerned. One must imagine that K'zin is less than excited to oil all 35 by 23 feet of him (not to mention the 62 foot wingspan) any more often than he generally must. « Do the drills tax you too much, Roszadyth? » His tenor purr holds genuine concern for the young queen's well-being. "Grilled cheese flatbreads and tomato soup," K'zin reveals by lifting the cover off his plate, and then the other still on the tray. "There's extra," he offers, and indeed, there are a couple small dishes of the red soup and a pile of flatbreads (on each plate; K'zin always looks like he's eating for multiples). The little gold doesn't seem to be bothered by the oozy part of the bronze's mind, though her warmth and brilliance amplifies to make up for it. « Taxed? I do not think so. It does make me ever so tired. » Roszadyth is looking up at Rasavyth, curious as a kitten. « Are we to fly soon? » Farideh slips her legs, which had been bent up on her seat, off and leans back, stretching her arms out. "I think I'll have to pass-- I had a big breakfast." She props her shoulders against the back of the chair then, and turns her head to stare at K'zin's offerings. "Why'd you bring so many?" Rasavyth's eyes whirl with pleasant calm, though his mind's amusement radiates to be less simply a side effect of his mindtouch and more an active part of it. « Fly? No. » He'll amend quickly enough, « Glide, yes. Soon enough, though not as yet. Still more of that which makes you tired before that. » But not so much more. « Are you eager for it? » He wonders, mental ooze shimmering all the more noticeably, here and there in the face of her brilliance. "I only brought enough for two," K'zin answers Farideh, seeming confused by the question. It's two if they eat as many mountains of food daily as the bronzerider does. "Seems like some people would rather not make the trek to the living cavern at lunch. Better that there's something fresh here. In addition to the usual," the usual that is around for those too busy to get to the caverns and back. He looks at the brunette thoughtfully a moment. "Are you well?" Skipping meals is a sign or illness where he's concerned, no doubt. "And Roszadyth?" He casts a glance toward the gold before it returns to her lifemate. Roszadyth's disappointment is almost palpable, her shine dulling, her voice somehow faraway and even more soft than usual. « I am eager to learn. It is a shame it cannot come sooner. Do you not think? To have us all flying free in the great blue sky? » Some of her exuberant amiableness has returned by the end. "Am I--" Farideh slants her eyes to the bronzerider, from his mountainous proportions. "I'm fine. I'm tired. Roszadyth is-- very well." Her lips press together, and there's a moment of some indecision on her part before she extends a neutral, "And yourself? Rasavyth?" Rasavyth is understanding. He has an inexhaustible capacity for sympathy. It is disappointing, he can agree, but with gentle regret, « It would be worse to have you fly too soon, before your muscles have developed as much as is required and to have you injured. Injury is terrible. » He says it simply, but there is a deep, dark echo in this thoughts speaking of personal experience he does not share. « You will do well, I am sure, when the time comes, » he bolsters, « And your example of patience for that time will do you credit. » If K'zin is supposed to be formal, he doesn't know it. At least he doesn't speak through his mouthful, but waits until he's swallowed to say, "Good. Yeah. Glad to be getting more sleep," like the rest of them, no doubt. "Has Roszadyth's sleep patterns settled out enough for you?" If nothing else, he seems to have real if professional concern for their well-being in this way, where Rasavyth's concern seems to go deeper than his role here. « I do hope so, » Roszadyth sighs, more a gentle breeze than the actual human equivalent. « I desire to stretch my wings, but if you say it is too early, then it must be. » Still, there's the faint ring of dreaminess in her polite tone, the hint of yearning for that which she cannot have. "Mm," Farideh says, dragging her eyes from the food massacre happening over there. "Yes. She's not been that bad about it. She preferred to sleep in a little more than she should, but even now she's up when I get up, and only naps every once in a while." She shifts in her seat, running her fingers through her sleep-mussed hair. "I'll be glad when they can feed from the pens by themselves. It's not as bad as when we had to cut everything up, but it's still not the independence that-- you experience." « I do say, » Rasavyth will make sure that much is clear, « though were you in my position with what I have known, you would surely say the same. I'm sure none of us want anyone hurt, » right, Roszadyth? There's a gentle probing inquiry there. "Sleep in," K'zin repeats with some measure of amusement, "What an unfortunate problem to have," he looks at his cheese sandwich because that's safe. "Every rider's been through it," he says after clearing his throat. "It's sort of a rite of passage, really. Something that we will all have in common no matter what our individual destinies have in store for us." He looks toward the barracks. "You lot might try thinking about that. The things that you're sharing now." It's not like the lack of warm fuzzies in some quarters have gone wholly unnoticed. The bronze's prompt is considered, from a polite angle. « I would not want to err in such an impudent way, » is what Roszadyth goes with. "Like Quinlys would ever let me. It's hard enough to drag myself out of bed to start the day so early, and even worse when there's two of us to account for," has an edge to it, but it's certainly lukewarm compared to her usual aggression. "I know. I realize. It doesn't make it any more pleasant, any more of an easy task and--" Farideh bites down on her tongue, and busies herself picking at the various fuzz on her pants. "Sharing? What are we sharing, besides the same room?" Rasavyth certainly never means to be polite, but he does take his role as a teacher here quite seriously. « I am sure you would not, » he does not doubt her. He looks at her with a feeling of weighing things. « I should like to ensure your pleasure, » in life For Rasavyth's loyalty and servitude, Roszadyth is merely curious, if polite, with that dappling sunshine and swaying of fabric in an errant breeze. « What would I want for? I have everything I need. » And that, apparently, is within her lifemate, as irresponsible and self-absorbed as many think the once-laundress is. "I don't think I want to remember any of that turns down the line. I barely remember most of it now, not the--" Farideh frowns, glancing askance at K'zin. "Not the beginning. It's a blur, and I can't imagine it being anything less or more than it is now. And some of them have horrible attitudes and I don't want to share a single thing with them," this last bit sporting her usual zeal, chin lifting just a tad. Rasavyth, in turn, is curious. « You don't find pleasure in the company of your fellow dragons? » There's a shift of his eyes toward K'zin that is more easy to feel than to follow, the bronze suddenly, quietly thoughtful. « Something for your lifemate then? Does she want for nothing as you do? » The man considers the young woman's words with a thoughtfulness the mirror's his dragons. Then he shrugs. "Well, then the good news is, two months down eleven to go." There's a pause, "But later on, you will be expected to work with them professionally, whether you like it or not, so it might be worth trying, at least some, for when the time comes." His brow furrows and he doesn't think to keep his, "I wonder if Quinlys will make you a weyrling wingleader some month," from getting out of his mouth before it's filled with sandwich again. Politeness mixes with light amusement, in the shifting of light and play of shadows. « I enjoy them very much. » Roszadyth's wide-eyed stare leaves the bronze, only to study for lifemate with that whirling contentment in her eyes. « A bath? A dress? A bed, alone? A boy named Drex? » But maybe she's gone too far, and she pulls, trying to slip away; confidences are such fickle things, as are secrets. "What? You think she would?" Farideh blanches, and can't help herself from standing up, quite suddenly, mindless of her chair that wobbles on two legs and almost falls over. "I should-- I need to-- bye," and she's gathering her hides, and retreating to the cot-side of the barracks, the petite queen following at a much more sedate pace. There's quiet thoughtfulness in answer and a polite, « Til we speak again, Roszadyth, » from Rasavyth as she withdraws. "She made me a wingsecond," K'zin answers Farideh's question quickly with a meaningful look. C'mon, K'zin? Wingsecond? Still, he looks a little sorry to have inadvertently unnerved her or upset her or whatever it is he did that sends her back toward the barracks. "Sor-" is all he gets out to her back before he perhaps thinks better of it and is left to contemplate his mistake over the remains of his lunch. |
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