Logs:What Happens?
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| RL Date: 1 February, 2014 |
| Who: Finne, Hattie, Vash |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Finne visits to get a look at the eggs. Hattie and Vash are a little bemused. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 12, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Yoinked from beyourownguide |
| The wind and rain that are buffeting the Weyr, accompanied by the ominous crack of thunder and flashes of lightning have not made for a pleasant day to be outside. The air has taken on an oppressive, humid quality, which has driven many away from seeking sanctuary in the warmth of the galleries, leaving the stands relatively empty, save for pockets of people who have taken up residence for quite a while. On the Sands themselves, Elaruth is carefully rearranging half a dozen or so of her eggs, the process a slow and methodical one. Her rider stands in one of the gaps between seats and Sands, drink in one hand, watching her lifemate get on with her work. Finne is one of those people who have ducked out of the horrible weather outside, and stationed herself at the very front. The teenager stares somewhat pensively at the sands, a litany of numbers said under her breath. "... five, six, seven..." And then restarts once she hits seventeen. A second count only draws the total to fifteen and a frown ensues. "Does she ever stop moving them around?" Rhetorically asked, the brunette nonetheless looks around to see if anyone can spare an answer. Vash dashes in from the outside, oiled riding leathers dripping water. She shrugs out of her jacket, showing that something must have gone wrong with her rain gear, because her back is soaking wet. She doesn't mutter. She doesn't curse. She just stares at her jacket while reaching around with her free hand to verify the state of her shirt, plucking it away from her skin. Only then does she seem to realize where she is, and finishes entering the gallery area properly, dark eyes scanning the nearest faces. The pockets of people are dismissed. Hattie is studied curiously for a moment. Finne gets a small frown. Her real reply, however, is a salute. Presumably for the weyrwoman. Manners aren't really involved in the way that Hattie fishes an ice cube from her glass, chasing it around before tipping it into her mouth with the flat of one palm. She crunches the ice with one side of her mouth, until it breaks down enough and that quite unsettling noise fades, leaving another sip from her glass to follow before she sets it down on the ground and glances away from the Sands and towards the source of that voice. "She moves some of them twice a day, at least," she says. "It's unwise for them to stay in exactly the same spot, besides." She tilts her head, dark gaze raking over Finne. "Who are you?" For Vash, there's a lazy half-salute, half-wave in answer, that might as well invite her over. "Unwise?" Finne ignores the inquiry of who she is, and breaks her gaze free of the eggs to find the speaker: Hattie. "Why is it unwise? Are they baking? Isn't that unwise? What if the...," Perhaps she realizes how silly she sounds and stops mid speech. Instead, the girl draws back from staring so intently at the eggs to find Hattie and then the direction of the goldrider's lazy salute to Vash. "Finne. My family's encamped just beyond the horizon line out there." Somewhere. "Just /nasty/ weather, ain't it? I tried to get ma to come with me to see the eggs, but she said something about laundry not getting gathered by idle hands." Simple shrug. Vash takes that wave for an invite, clearly, as she approaches Hattie and drops her sodden coat on an empty bench. She then untucks her shirt, the better to get the wet fabric off her skin. Her gaze vaguely crosses over the pile of eggs attended by Elaruth, but then she turns to keenly study the unknown face, unblinking eyes staring at Finne. "Encamped. You're vagrants?" she asks, tone level, politely curious. "The shells are hardening," Hattie says evenly, seeking to answer all those questions and half-questions with one, to her, simple explanation, right as Elaruth carefully tips over one of the smaller eggs and nudges sand in around it, leaving it to rest against one of her ankles. "Finne," she echoes, giving her another curious once over, eyes narrowing a little as she makes sense of the rest of that information given. "Hattie. Weyrwoman." Just in-case. "Your mother...?" Her gaze darts from one of the girl's shoulders to the next, searching for what isn't found. "...Have any of our riders visited your camp?" Her lips twitch a little at Vash's choice of word, leading her to offer, "Traveller, maybe," towards the greenrider in a more subtle murmur. Whatever sizing up Finne does of Vash must be done in a split second, or not at all, cause those blue eyes pass over the rain bedraggled woman but briefly. "Traders," is her chirping, if slightly tart, reply. "Not that anyone from either Hold or Weyr will be coming out in this mess, yea? But we had a few people come by the other day from the Hold." Finne's head tilts, the tousle of her incredibly messy ponytail moving with the overly cute punctuation to her words. She expels, a much enlightened, "Ahhh," at Hattie's simple response, perhaps filling in the holes with whatever else is in her pretty little head. "What happens, I mean. After they harden. They hatch right? And then they find partners? Riders? People like you? But what happens then. Like... how does it feel?" Vash's cheeks color slightly at Hattie's subtle correction. "Traveller," the greenrider repeats, turning back to Finne with a small, self-conscious frown. "I apologize, Miss Finne. It was the first word that came to mind." She clams up as the trav... no, trader, begins a new string of questions. Such things tend to fluster the greenrider, so she'll just focus on wringing out her shirt instead, though her frown as now deepened to something else. "What happens?" Hattie blinks and returns her attention to the eggs that Elaruth continues to nudge this way and that, the movement of some almost imperceptible. "They hatch, yes," is a little dry, but doesn't lean towards patronising. "They choose from the people who have been Searched, or the galleries... sometimes. Rarely." As for how it feels, that very word seems to put her off, something awkward in the line of her shoulders as she flexes them back. "...Like you've found something you didn't know was missing," she eventually manages to reply. "Like it'll never be just you ever again." That admittance makes her turn to Vash, whether she's flustered or not, to ask, "It was more recent for you than for me. How did it feel?" Finne listens to Hattie intently, that pensive look from just before reemerging. A glance steals to take in the eggs again, maybe just a little wistful. "It'll never be just you ever again. That sounds..." But she never finishes /that/ thought. "Oh!" One can only assume some pin poked her, or some recollection finally hit. "Hattie. You're the Weyrwoman. Our duties to you, ma'am." There's finally some politeness injected into her merry little voice. "Mama sent this along, in case I mean, you never know, right? Not that I /expected/ to run into a personage like you, but in case." Finne reaches into a pocket and comes up empty, and then starts patting down her shirt and pants before diving her hand into another pocket, withdrawing a mostly crumpled scarf dyed in an ombre dye job of rose to indigo. "We picked it up in Igen. Mama thought you'd appreciate it. I don't have anything for you though, I didn't expect to run into you." Finne grins lopsidedly at Vash. "Could you give something next time I s'ppose. I have to run. Promised dad I'd be back before supper!" Vash is avoiding that "feel" word, it seems, as she doesn't even look at Hattie when the question is posed directly to the greenrider. She frowns at Finne again, though, the expression deepening as the girl starts patting down her pockets. She watches that scarf like it might be poisoned, then stops wringing out her shirt long enough to watch the trader run off again. Slowly, she turns her attention back to Hattie. "Traders are kind of strange, aren't they." Hattie's fingers close carefully around the scarf, though it's not given much study initially, her focus on Finne and all she says of her mother and Igen and running into people. Before she has much of a chance to offer anything in answer, it's too late, and she's left staring after the girl in a bemused fashion, what might be a tiny smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. However, the frown dominates, and she shakes her head, then looks down to give the scarf proper study, shaking it out to investigate its colours. "They're... different," she agrees with Vash, slanting a look towards her. "But then, you could have all sorts of /strange/ to train in not so long." Vash gives up on the shirt, leaving the rest to air dry. "Yes," she agrees quietly, expression relaxing to one of contemplation as she looks back the way Finne just disappeared. "But then, that's why I'm going to be there, right?" She shifts her focus back to Hattie for a long moment, then to Elaruth and her eggs. "Seemed awfully keen to come here in this weather just to look at eggs." "They're beautiful eggs," Hattie declares, working on smoothing out the scarf against the bodice of her blue dress, for all that it appears determined to remain crumpled. "Maybe she wants to Stand. If the records are anything to go by, trader stock often Impress. They're as entitled to not like the lives they're born into as anyone else..." She too stares in the direction in which Finne has left. "Not that /she/ seemed unhappy, in any shape or form," she murmurs. "But yes, you're going to be there to help them adjust. All of them. The classes won't be close enough to train together." "Right," Vash replies, voice oddly quiet, vague even for her. She bites her lower lip, still focused on the eggs below. "Should we have asked her to stand, then?" the greenrider adds a moment later, turning back to Hattie. "It never occurred to me to ask someone if they wanted to. But if she came all this way... though I suppose... too late now. Unless she comes back with a scarf." Said more in the tone of fact than expectation. "Do we have many former traders?" Hattie shakes her head, now pinning down one corner of the scarf. "No," she replies, matter of fact. "It's not her right to ask, unless she's of Fort, so we shouldn't ask her, unless Ihvaiyth shows an interest." She glances back towards the Sands and her lifemate. "Elaruth couldn't tell us either way, even if she had been paying attention. If she seemed sweet and harmless, she'd have probably said the girl was okay, but that's no indication of potential." As for former traders, she supplies, "T'rev, on his father's side, not that T'rev was ever a trader proper. Magdesse." Vash's expression clears when Hattie answers. "Oh good. I'd started to worry I was rude to her," she shares, tone brightening as she wipes her hands off on the front of her shirt, which has at least stayed dry. "I suppose I could ask Ihv. If it comes up again," she adds a moment later, then picks up her jacket. Closer inspection shows the part near the collar that needs to be oiled again. She purses her lips for a moment, then gives Hattie a wide smile. "So! How are you, ma'am? I don't know how you and Ali do it. Watching eggs like that," she adds with a glance back toward the sands. "It's not so bad, as long as Elaruth is happy," is the easy, honest bit of the answer that Hattie can provide. "And she usually is, when she's here, even if it involves a lot of sitting around. I've figured out when's best to get work done, over the turns, so it's not days and days of letting things pile up. She's most important, anyway; as long as she's okay, so am I. She doesn't have too many odd demands." She shrugs one shoulder. "It's not really only watching eggs." The Weyrwoman glances back at the greenrider, head tilting. "Are you ready to look after her babies?" Vash listens attentively as Hattie answers, but when the weyrwoman asks her own question, Vash gives her a sudden look of surprise. "There are babies, too?" she asks as a worried frown begins to form once more. "I thought it was just the weyrlings. If there are children involved, too..." She grimaces and starts slowly wringing her jacket. "I don't think that's a very good idea, ma'am. Children are too unpredictable." Hattie makes an odd noise that's somewhere between a snort and a bark of laughter, then bends down to retrieve her glass and drain its contents. "Dragon babies - little dragons. Weyrlings," she clarifies. "And yes, they are as unpredictable as children, before you get any ideas." That's the thought that she'll leave Vash with, as she steps back onto the Sands to give Elaruth her opinion on the new arrangement that the eggs have been moved into. |
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