Logs:Weyr-Shopping
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| RL Date: 11 June, 2015 |
| Who: Laine, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: It's Laine's turn to get a weyr! |
| When: Day 19, Month 13, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: I'daur/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, T'mic/Mentions, Z'kiel/Mentions, Leova/Mentions |
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| One by one (and sometimes, two by two), the weyrlings have been called aside after class to receive their weyr. It's been long enough, now, since the first, that some of the weyrlings are getting grumpy about it; Quinlys has remained sunny in the face of any and all opposition, promising wholeheartedly that there will be plenty of 'good' weyrs left for everyone. Today, as drills end and the snowfall gets worst, Olveraeth extends a thread of stars towards Lifreyth and says, « It's your turn, today. Shall we go shopping? » Quinlys, shaking snow off of her shoulders, aims a sunny smile towards Laine, beckoning her closer. If Laine and Lifreyth have been getting impatient, they haven't showed it--but there's a relieved tinge to Lifreyth's bright reply, a drifting and settling of dust on sun-lit shelves. « Ooh, yes. Coming! » Laine meets that smile of Quinlys' with one of her own, lazy and crooked, and sends one hand through her short hair to dislodge any settling snowflakes. As she approaches, the weyrling shrugs deeper into her jacket and stuffs her hands into her pockets. "Do I need to bring anything?" "Your brain," is prompt, and, of course, paired with that brightly cheerful smile. "But no, nothing more than that. Before we go... what are we looking for? What's vital? No baths, mind, but... if there's anything in particular, it's better to know to begin with." Olveraeth extends his starry sky over Lifreyth's library, and seems pleased with the effect of it all. "Half-a-brain okay?" Almost sheepish, the way she says it, slouching, but Laine smiles anyway, then sets her teeth against her lower lip. Thinking. "Haven't been in many, frankly, so don't have much idea what to look for. Just... take us around. We'll know if we don't like it. Yeah?" That last is directed back over one shoulder to her lean, pinstriped brown; Lifreyth doesn't seem too fussed by the whole thing, though there is a touch of playful complaint in his mindvoice as those dusty rooms of his expand all in a sigh under Olveraeth's night sky, « The barracks have gotten so... small. » « Have they? » Olveraeth is amused, beneath all those stars-- not to mention that distant nebula, colours swirling within the brilliance of his thoughts. « Or is it that you have gotten so large? » "Half-a-brain? I don't know... well, we'll give it a try. All right. I'll take you to a few, and we can narrow it down from there. I have a list. Mount up and follow us, right?" She doesn't wait for a response: she's already turning to clamber up her still-larger blue. "All hail the list," Laine chuckles dryly, but wastes no time in following suit. As Laine scrambles up her lifemate's length, Lifreyth sighs, again: a thoughtful breath of air winding from some distant, cooler corridor. « Bit of this, bit of that, I suppose. Like how the Spires seem so much larger. When we're up there, 'leastwise. » « And everything below then seems so small, » agrees Olveraeth, with a huff of mirth. « Just wait until you can travel between, young Lifreyth. Then even distance will seem... relative. » Despite her mention of a list, Quinlys doesn't seem inclined to actually consult with it... perhaps she's already memorised it all. Olveraeth pushes off from the ground, circling upwards in a way clearly designed to battle against the still-falling snow. He drops abruptly, angling down to a landing upon a large, wide ledge. >---< Puddle-Keeper Weyr >---------------------------------------------------< This ledge is enormous, reaching well out into the bowl so that it catches sunlight for much of the day, with easily enough room for several dragons. Unfortunately, it's been worn away in the middle, leaving a depression almost large enough to be a dragon's couch that, left open to the elements as it is, regularly fills with water. Or snow. Or ice. In fact, even with all that sun, it takes a long, dry period for it to dry out entirely, meaning it regularly contains stagnant, sometimes even slightly smelly, water. Perhaps that depression was intended as a couch, because there's no room for a dragon within, the passage narrowing immediately to human-sized only. It's angled for protection from the elements, though, meaning that however wet or cold the dragon outside may get, it's always sheltered and relatively warm within. The interior is impressive: high ceilings, shelves carved straight into the stone, ornate glow-holders ready to be filled to light the room. There's even some leftover furniture, all of it in excellent condition: a large desk, a comfortable, well-padded armchair, a bed two or three times the size of a weyrling's cot. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< There's a wibble-wobble to Lifreyth's upward path, cutting across wind and snow, that almost seems intentionally playful, although Laine's scrunched- up face as wipes at her eyes with her sleeve seems to indicate that she feels otherwise. Lifreyth's landing, usually so smooth, ends in an awkward little hop as the brown narrowly avoids landing directly in the ledge's deep, worn pocket. Laine's dismount lands her right in the middle of the snow-filled depression, and the weyrling's eyebrows lift. Olveraeth leans his head down to look at that depression and huffs (though he manages, carefully, to avoiding huffing too much on Laine, because that would be seriously rude). His rider, avoiding the depression altogether, grimaces as she follows his gaze down. "I always forget about that," she says, half-apologetic. "There's a reason no one chooses to move in here, I guess, even if it is super nice inside." Laine swings one boot through the snow puddle, kicking up a little puff of flakes, and grins over at Olveraeth. Lifreyth, too, cranes his neck to take a good look, then saunters closer to the passage leading in; when it's proven rather quickly that the brown, no matter how lean, cannot squeeze though, there's a creaking of wooden shelves and the wafting scent of polished leather. "It's bigger on the inside," Laine's echoey announces once she's weaved past his head and eased her way into the weyr (snowy boots and all). "It is pretty nice," she says as she reappears. "Does the ledge get much sun?" She shades her eyes as she turns, tracking the ledge's respective position to the sky. "Huh." Then, as she squints up, she asks, "How'd you pick your first weyr? Are you still in the same one?" "Lots of sun," is Quinlys' answer, coming as she tracks her way after Laine towards the weyr itself, though she doesn't venture inside. "Pretty much all day, from what I remember. Once of its good features, right?" Of her own weyr, she laughs, brushing more snow off of her sleeve as she does so. "First and only. I'd rate a better one, now, if I wanted it, but... we're happy where we are. We have this tunnel; I can see the stars. That was pretty much it, for me: saw that, knew it was ours. Sometimes it's like that." Laine grunts noncommittally and sends up another flurry of snow with a kick of her boot. "Sun's good. Inside's nice. Pot hole is kinda weird." Lifreyth has edged around it, sweeping snow off the ledge with his twitching tail as he goes, and cirumvents the perimeter of the depression with dragon- sized footprints. « A solid... maybe, » he finally decides, and Laine, crossing over to join him, nods. "And how's it been with everyone else, getting theirs? Do they just know?" « 'Maybe' is better than 'no,' » decides Olveraeth, cheerfully enough. "You could maybe try and fill in the pothole. I don't know; I've never been a weyr-renovations kind of girl, though I hear Leova had a window put into hers, and... like, retaining walls or something?" Quinlys trails off, unconvinced and uncertain, and then shrugs. "Some just know. T'mic, for one, dithered a bunch, and wasn't sure, and then suddenly... decided. I've known people who picked the first one they saw, and some who had to tour everything before deciding. Personally, I'd want to check out a few first, just to make sure." « No would be limiting, » Lifreyth responds brightly, a lightbulb somewhere sputtering to life and casting long shadows on uneven stacks of books. « Though, really. It's not about where we are, as long as we are together, so any will do in a pinch. » Laine chews thoughtfully on her thumbnail as Quinlys speaks, but looks doubtfully down at the ledge. "Maybe?" She sounds neither very convincing, nor convinced. "We're not in a pinch yet. Let's check out the next one. What's your list say?" Quinlys accepts all of this with a sharp nod, managing even not to shiver despite the freezing winds. "List says up," she reports, though the list has still yet to actually show itself in any physical manifestation. « Ah, » says Olveraeth, pleased. « Wisdom, right there. Any place can be made home, if only we are together, and make it so. » Quinlys is quick, after that, to haul herself back up between Olveraeth's neckridges-- and off they go to another ledge, this one slightly further up the bowl wall. >---< Nautical Hammock Weyr >------------------------------------------------< The broad, flat ledge of this weyr is unremarkable, just a simple stretch of cool grey stone, a little claw-scraped at the edge. It's the two different sets of stairs that make up its most unusual feature: one series going up, the other down. The steps leading upward are entirely outside, curving up the rock face to end at a small summit--a lookout of sorts. The space is about six feet square; an enterprising former owner has stretched a hammock diagonally across the space to take advantage of the almost constant sun this area receives. Other than a dingy, weather-assaulted blanket and a planter full of dead flowers, there's little else up here, though the view downward into the bowl is amazing. The second set of stairs from the ledge is covered with heavy canvas more often found in ships' sails. Past that, the weyr is a tidy little space, dominated by its painted walls. Though the baby-blue color has faded slightly and there are numerous scuffs that have taken the paint off in places, it's held up remarkably well--better, at least, than the furniture. The wood looks like driftwood, though at this point it's little more than a pile of rubble that might once have been chair, or table, or desk. The buggy hammock strung up at the back is rotting where it hangs. The decorations on the walls, though, are still serviceable: a faded painting of a ship at sea, a couple of fishing nets hung on those blue walls, and, in the corner, a tiny wooden replica of a boat in full sail. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< Up, then. Up Laine goes to Lifreyth's neck, then up Lifreyth goes in Olveraeth's wake. Then down: Lifreyth's landing is tidy, this time, with no pesky pothole to impede it, and Laine slides down with her narrowed eyes fixed on those stairs. It's the first set--the stairs winding up--that catches her attention, and the weyrling wastes no little time in scrambling up to the lookout at the top. "Neat," drifts down after her. "Good view?" Quinlys, again, hangs back, lingering upon the ledge itself rather than crowding Laine-- an excellent real estate agent, eager to point out features, she is not. "Bet it'd be nice in summer. Maybe less so... now." Although the view must surely still be spectacular, snow-covered as the world below is. "From what the records say," she does add, "one of our former weyrlingmasters used to live here. And possibly R'hin, too, at one point?" She's less sure on that. Lifreyth shifts, delicately breezing his wings (mindful of others on the ledge) so he can settle back on his haunches and angle his head up to the summit. "Great view." She's up there for a stretch of time longer, running her hands over the wall leading up and away from the little platform, squinting against the snow as she looks up the length of it. Then she's on her way back down, picking her way over snowy steps. Once she's back on the ledge she balls her fists on her hips. "Wonder how much of a death wish it'd be to try climbing it. In the summer, obviously. Hard to tell, now. Inside?" The word precedes her as she begins to make her way up those canvas-covered steps into the weyr. Quinlys casts a wary and disbelieving glance at the wall and the platform above it, as if trying to discern exactly how much of a death wish Laine has (so little faith!), but dutifully shrugs her shoulders in answer. "Your neck," she says, cheerfully. "Just try it after you're out of my care, mm? If you end up with this one." This time, she does follow Laine ito the weyr itself, digging her hands into her pockets as she goes and not-quite-managing to suppress a shiver. "Ew," she says, of what is found inside, though there's an appraising glance around all the same. Cheerfully, back over one shoulder, the weyrling promises, "After. If this is it, which..." Now that she's made it inside the weyr, Laine nudges at a heap of rotten wood with one toe and dittos quietly, "Ew." She purses her lips. "Can I... repaint?" Laine sucks air through her teeth, then chuckles. "You sure take me to the nicest places, Quinlys." But then, more thoughtfully, she says, "Wouldn't wanna haul a furniture up those stairs in the winter, but. Cosy it up some, wouldn't be bad." "I know, right? I'm the best." Quinlys' smugness is audible as well as visible as she says that, though her tone, afterwards, is more thoughtful. "Repaint, absolutely. And you could... I don't know, just get a mattress to start with, and worry about the rest of the furniture you need come spring. With a bit of work... it could be okay. But I can show you others." Beat. "Maybe not the blue and orange one. Unless you like the idea of trying to paint over that." Laine squints and rocks back on her heels, tilting her head, mentally populating the weyr with... well, anything but rotten furniture, really. "It could be okay. Kinda charming, in a kitschy sorta way." She saunters to the far corner and picks up the small boat replica, bringing up to her eye to sight along it. When she turns, it's with the boat still in hand and a funny expression on her face. "Wouldn't mind seeing one more. But--can I have this?" She lifts the model ship. Quinlys bites back the laugh that is obviously lurking there, but shrugs her shoulders in reply. "Given on one's claimed this place, yet, I don't see why not. Just don't make a habit of scoping out the empty ones and graverobbing them, right?" There's a beat, and then the bluerider lifts one finger to tap at her mouth. "One more, okay. What strikes your fancy: the blue and orange one, the one with the door, or... hm. The one that's a little more difficult to land on, but has a really cool shape to it?" "Weyrrobbing," Laine corrects, but grins crookedly. "'Least, I hope no one's died in here." Puffing out her cheeks in thought, Laine decides, "the one with the door? Or--whichever. I kinda feel like... As long as there's no heaps of dead rats or, like, there was a string of suicides 'cause it's haunted, I'm okay with it. But, yeah. Show me another one." She gestures with the boat. Lead on! Quinlys gives the weyr another glance, and then laughs. "In here, hopefully not. It's weird, though, knowing that the people who used to live in a lot of these places are dead now." Beat. "Not to get all morbid at you or anything. The one with the door it is-- follow my lead." This time, she's the first to depart the weyr itself, and to hurriedly clamber up onto Olveraeth again-- the blue eager to be moving-- and back into the air. It's a short circuit around the ledges before he's landing again, this time upon a large, if otherwise unremarkable, ledge. >---< Blue Door and Murals Weyr >--------------------------------------------< Largely unremarkable, this ledge, with its edges worn by claws, is big enough to fit two dragons comfortably. A low, broad entrance to the weyr forces larger dragons to duck to enter, but the space beyond opens to a spacious double-wallow lined with wherhide. The soft leather is worn in places, bearing signs of many a dragon's belly oiling it up over the turns, darkening its color. On the opposite wall, a line of hooks marches neatly toward the rider's area, a basket perfect for storing gloves dangling from one. Past the wallow is a squared entryway with an actual door, painted an incongruously bright blue in the dimness of the weyr. Stepping past the door reveals that the walls of the interior weyr have been equally brightly decorated with a series of murals depicting the Reaches' territory: the Hold and its lighthouse, the Seacraft and Tillek's port, the apple orchards of Nabol, and numerous smaller holds under the Weyr's coverage, many of them presenting sea views. Sticking out like a sore thumb among the other locations is Crom and its coal mines. The rest of the weyr is sparsely decorated, boasting an empty bed frame made of sturdy skybroom polished to bring out the rich wood tones. Along the same wall, four long square nooks have been cut into the stone to form shelves; the back of each is painted the same blue as the door. >----------------------------------------------------------------------------< The pair are quick to follow, Laine burying her nose into the lining of her jacket as she mounts, cradling that boat in her lap as Lifreyth banks after Olveraeth. As the brown lands lightly on the ledge, he murmurs a low, pleased noise and as soon as Laine's slid down, he squeezes himself into the shelter of the wallow. "Hmm!" Laine follows, with a curious little hum of her own, and pushes open the blue door into the weyr beyond. "Murals," she says, not unhappily. Quinlys, half beneath her breath, "Ought to've given this weyr to Z'kiel-- remind him that this is home." But no: no, she's here with Laine, and is now turning an appraising eye upon the brownriding weyrling, one brow raised. "Pretty cool, aren't they. And there's no rats or suicides, so far as I know." Laine completes a circuit of the weyr, trailing her fingers over the murals as she does, and once she reaches the cubbies cut from the stone wall, she slides the model ship into one of them. "This one." She nods as she does it, reaching out one finger to tap the ship until it's settled to her liking. Then there's another nod from Laine, firm and decisive, and out in the wallow a contented rumble (accompanied by sunny, dusty sunbeam) from Lifreyth. "I'll fight Z'kiel for it, if I have to. No, this one is good. No rats is definitely a bonus." "Tempting," is Quinlys' comment on the topic of Z'kiel, but she shakes her head. "He's got a different one, from what I understand, so you're good." Olveraeth seems pleased by this; pleased that they are pleased, pleased that the job has been successfully completed. "I'll mark you down for this one-- all yours. You can get extra furniture from stores, and... move in whenever you're ready. Take your time, if you need to." "You know he'd win," Laine notes wryly, "So it's for the best." The weyrling moves to the empty bedframe and seats herself gingerly on it, bouncing experimentally on the wooden slats. "Awesome. So awesome." She tilts her head up toward Quinlys. "Thanks. For taking the time." There's a few sque-eeaks as she bounces. "And, y'know. All the other stuff." The not-getting-us-killed (yet) stuff. Quinlys can't-- and won't-- argue with that, though she laughs anyway, and afterwards, gives a slightly more serious nod towards the weyrling. "You're welcome," she says, the corners of her mouth turning up. "Shall I leave you to it? Let you get settled in?" There's an enthusiastic nod from Laine, paired with a quietly pleased smile that she just can't seem to suppress. "Awesome," she repeats, just for the hell of it. "If I can convince Lifreyth out of the wallow into the cold. Otherwise I might be sleeping on slats tonight." She pats the bedframe. "See you tomorrow?" "Good... luck with that?" Beat. "See you tomorrow. Don't be late, just 'cause you've got your freedom now, right?" But Quinlys doesn't wait for an answer: she's on her way out the door, stride not much less than a skip. Another happy customer! |
Comments
Edyis (12:51, 13 June 2015 (EDT)) said...
[1] So yes I can't help giggling over this!
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