Logs:What Should I Know?
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| RL Date: 13 December, 2015 |
| Who: A'sran, Dahlia |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A'sran and Dahlia meet and exchange the most important details. |
| Where: Lakeside Grove, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 7, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Cendon/Mentions, Dorbin/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, Wulfan/Mentions |
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>---< Lakeside Grove, Fort Weyr(#2047RJs$) >---------------------------------<
Hardy mountain trees cluster together on the far end of the lake,
providing a shady retreat beneath high, spreading branches. Right along
the edge of the trees, several stone picnic tables are set up to welcome
fresh air diners. Here and there within the grove, tumbled boulders from
ages ago provide places to sit for those taking a break from a walk around
the shore. Toward the Bowl wall, the trees grow more closely together
providing a somewhat secluded spot for a private conversation or quiet
contemplation.
Piling up during the night, the clouds darken and thicken oppressively in
the early part of the day. At first distant, thunder roams closer so that,
before lunch, the rain and lightning arrive, coupled with a quick,
directionless-seeming wind. Throughout the afternoon and evening, the
storm continues, eventually petering into a light rain that lasts through
the night.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
A'sran M 26 6'1 athletic, red-blonde hair, blue eyes 46s
Dahlia F 18 5'9" sturdy, dk. brown hair, hazel eyes 0s The clouds are impressively arrayed, layering the sky that speaks of storm to come. Still, there's nothing falling from the sky yet and the summer day is warm enough that the stone picnic tables in this grove are lovely places to take breakfast or even to get some work done. Dahlia has none of the latter, but she does have a plate that she's working her way though. It's sparsely filled but she's eating dutifully, a mug of klah no longer steaming there to wash it all down. Hazel gaze roves across the other occupied tables and the movement farther afield. The herb garden draws her eye more than once, but it seems like this is one of those rare moments where Dahlia isn't doing more than just feeding herself like any normal person at breakfast time. "What are we looking at?" At some point -- whether his light approach was heard or not -- A'sran appears beside Dahlia's bench, holding his own mug; the latter's contents are questionable. He is amused by her nomadic stare, allowing his blue eyes to traverse a similar path, until they fall to the top of the goldrider's head. "Do you have an appointment? Should I make my excuses, ma'am?" Dressed in a gray tunic and black wherhide, his lean frame looks crisp, clean, despite the large-eyed bronze up on a high ledge, on alert. Dahlia's eyes might have passed over A'sran, even lingered on him however briefly, before he made his approach, but perhaps she didn't expect his eventual destination to be her. The weyrwoman has a wry, slightly sad smile for the bronzerider's question, "Life," which seems to be all too philosophic for her to immediately pursue. Instead, she looks to the older man, "I have a lot of appointments. Hazard of the knot. None just now though, if you'd care to join me...?" She leaves space in silent inquiry of his name. "You make it sound dreary." Habit makes the bronzerider check the bench and brush off the seat before he sits down, long legs stretching out in repose. "Dare I ask what is on your mind? Do you prefer I guess? Your shoes do not match your dress, or worse, your weaver made the waist of your gather gown too small?" A'sran says, amusedly. His blue eyes widen and flick her way, but his lips settle resolutely on the edge of his mug. Siiiiipping, so she cannot see his smile. "Sorry, I meant the opposite. Except maybe the clouds. Those are a little dreary." Dahlia rallies a warmer smile for the bronzerider. "Watching life is one of my favorite things to do, these days." Even if it seems to make her melancholy. "If you keep guessing like that, we'll be here all day before you even get warm," is amused and teasing as the teenager plucks up her own klah mug and takes a sip. "And it's rarely a good idea to ask a goldrider what's on her mind. Usually it's something mindnumbingly dull like the number of blankets we have in the stores, or the status of the cleaning efforts to put the candidate barracks back in order before we have eggs. You ask a question like that and let a goldrider talk and you might just fall asleep. Did you need a nap?" Is that why he's talking to her? All this comes with light, good humor. Maybe, despite the bit of melancholy, she's in a good mood. Whatever the bronzerider has stashed in his mug seems to be fortifying, enough that he gives the weyrwoman a sympathetic glance instead of making light of her plight. "You do know that Mirinda was confirmed Weyrwoman, right? You are her junior. You are young. I hear Ista's juniors and Telgar's often turn Pern on its own," he tells her, though he sounds like he has experienced it more than he has heard about it. "Why are you worrying about blankets and sundry? We have stores assistants and assistant headwomen for that." "Fort isn't Ista or Telgar," Dahlia points out neutrally. "I'm worrying about just exactly what's in my job description to worry about. Currently, it's the restoration of the lower caverns and making sure everything is in order going forward." As she reaches for a roll on her plate, "Would you prefer if I only worried my pretty little head about dresses and when the Holds will start having gathers again?" She asks it so innocently, but the trap is pretty obvious. "We could be," A'sran muses, "but the infirmary would be overstressed again with all the hypothermia patients." His smile, dimples included, suggests he is joking. "I think you could afford it. It is not all play and frivolousness. I can see the benefit of Fort getting back on its feet and making new connections. Pern expects a downtrodden Fort, beaten down by the curse of the plague, but if a pretty little thing like you shows up to Bitra's next gather.. will they be surprised?" He winks, resuming his sipping stature. "I talk out of my head sometimes. Most of the time. A'sran, Leczuth's." "When Bitra decides to have a next gather, I'll do my best to put in an appearance, for Fort," Dahlia assures the bronzerider in a tone that might suggest she'd like to reach across the table and boop his nose, he's that adorable. "In the meantime, I'll be doing what I can to help my home recover from this-- 'curse'." Her tone is bland, but there's still a small smile pressed to her lips. "Any advice about what dress I ought to wear? I've this stunning one of burlap..." Cough--hyuh--cough--what? A'sran does his best to keep the contents of his mouth.. in his mouth, and not, say, all over Dahlia. "Burlap? Come, now. You can do better than that. I heard wood shavings make a fine, supple dress," he murmurs into his mug, his face a blank slate save the errant tic at one corner of his mouth. "Ooh," Dahlia perfectly imitates a young woman presented with the opportunity for a dress of fine purple silk. She leans forward, eyes slightly wide, brows arching a little, "Do you think we can afford that kind of finery?" She blinks those wide hazel eyes so innocently. "Perhaps I ought to simply consider a clingy dirt number." Wouldn't that be a sight? Quite the impression the weyrwoman would leave if she showed up to Bitra's gather clad only in a rub of dirt. "I might come back a few body parts shy thanks to frostbite Between, but sacrifices must be made in the name of fashion and drawing the world's eye, yes?" A'sran pretends to contemplate her dilemma, his blonde brows scrunched up together, but his blue eyes twinkle with mirth when they fall to the goldrider sitting beside him. "You would look wonderful in nothing, I am sure," which is, oddly, not a sexual advance, coming from him. "Dirt, dust, burlap." "Then I suppose I'm set," Dahlia seems easy in this. She might even have even had it been an advance. "Maybe I'll save that for special occasions. I'm told holders have delicate sensibilities and might not be able to appreciate the cutting edge of fashion." If that edge is nudity. "But enough about me. A'sran, what should I know about you?" She does seem genuinely interested, even if the question is quite broad. "I look forward to your debut," A'sran pledges, hand over his heart. "Me?" He leans over in a conspiratorial manner, lowering his voice when he adds, "Lord Dorbin is my father's second cousin, once removed. I grew up at Greystones Hold, and from there.." His hand spreads out to gesture to his person, clothed in riding boots and his Carnelian knot. "I can dance a mean minuet. I know the best places in Benden to get wine on the cheap. Leczuth has never won a gold flight, and.. we keep out of trouble." Pause. "Mostly," with a wink. Dahlia gives an emphatic look to confirm him at the appropriate moment, but other than that she leans a little forward and listens attentively. "Sounds like you'd be the sort to know your way around a gather," she observes, "and a Hold for that matter." Her eyes fall to his knot and linger there. "And do you aspire to having Leczuth win a gold flight? Or you to anything else?" This might suddenly be some sort of job interview; there are a lot of positions passed around and probably some of the riders Dahlia's never met personally that she suddenly does are looking for one of those positions. "I know a thing or two about them," A'sran confirms, raising his mug to his mouth again. It's the rest that gets subtle nods and.. a blank stare. "What? Become Weyrleader? A Wingleader? I heard some of my 'mates talking. They said they thought N'rov would be the sort to shake things up. I.. I have never aspired to much. To be comfortable? To be happy? To be loved?" this last one with a bat of his lovely blue eyes. "My ma used to say I never had the drive to become someone.. in an affectionate way, of course. I would rather play the jackal." "Well perhaps you'd be kind enough to lend me your company for a gather once they're happening more regularly again. I promise I'll find something nicer than burlap." The way this invitation is issued, it doesn't seem a sexual advance. Rumor would have it that Dahlia often took different riders as escort to gathers in the past, particularly those savvy to Holder ways and graces. "We've lost enough wingleaders and 'seconds that even if N'rov weren't naturally given to shaking things up, there will have to be changes. Those sound like good aspirations to me." There's an approving smile - maybe she's easy to please. "I suppose Leczuth could have a different drive? What's he like?" "It would be an honor," and that is the real deal, dimpled smile or no. "Leczuth is.." A'sran seems unsure how to begin. "I do not think anyone would understand him as well as I do. He does not talk much, but he sees and he understands. I have never known him to have motivation for one thing or another. Let the cards fall where they may, he might tell me. Leave it be." Shaking his head ruefully, he glances upwards, to the higher ledges. "A wise man." "Great," Dahlia has a grin for him. "I'll ask Taeliyth to speak with Leczuth when the calendars start filling with dates again." In the meantime, there's the dragon to consider. "That sounds fascinating," and she means it quite genuinely. "I'm sure Taeliyth would be interested in hearing about what kind of things he sees and understands if he were ever of a mind to speak with her. "How long have you been together?" "I did mention he.." A'sran clears his throat. "..does not talk much." In the statement, there is a warning, slight and understated. "We have been together nine and a half turns. It never feels that long. I can still feel the hatching sands under my feet and his.. call," he says, mouth slanting in a lopsided grin. "It was not too long ago for you, but a lot has happened since then. Does it feel like a long time?" "As it pleases him," Dahlia dismisses her suggestion that easily. The amount of time gets a low whistle from the goldrider. A long time indeed, to someone only a turn and change bonded. "I think Impression is one of those moments one never forgets. It does sometimes feel like a long time, in the amount learned, in the memories made, but in time..." She shrugs. "It'll be turns until I can even begin to grasp what it might be like for you, to have been with him for so long." It has been a long time since A'sran stopped being apologetic for his lifemate, and he is not about to start now, not even for a weyrwoman. "It is a defining moment, as they call it. Impression, graduation, first love, wedding, first child, promotion," he says, ticking each off on a finger, until he runs out and has to start double-counting. "You know all about me, now. What should I know about you? Better than the gossips say." "Formative moments," is repeated, but with an amused warmth. She doesn't add 'almost dying' but it might be tempting. "Perhaps you ought to tell me what you know already so I'm not covering old ground?" That's suggested with a slight arching of Dahlia's dark brows. A'sran has to get resettled if he is going to be telling secrets, and one leg bends over the other, ankle balanced precariously on the opposite knee. His fingers drum against his thigh. "I should pick the juiciest bits. Southern transplant, secret Monacoan spy, sent here to scout the layout for the eventual invasion. Farmer? Code for fellis-dealer. Strumpet of the highest degree, but if you are looking for extra marks, I can see if they are hiring at the Blushing Boudoir?" He squints and hums, sorting out those details he wants to share. "Bastard child of Lord Wulfan. Former lover of Cendon's steward, and a bit of a pushover to boot. Go ahead, fill in the blanks." "I don't blush in the boudoir, I'm afraid. Weyrbreeding has to be good for something." Dahlia's not really sorry in her jest for why she might be disqualified for such a profession. "Sounds like you know everything, though," she tells him, deadpan. "Just a few details missing. Daughter of a blue and greenrider, named after their favorite flower, which was not part of my decision to join the farmercraft, though after the fact it did seem oddly fitting. "Never been to Monaco, though I hear it's nice." She gives a little shrug of her shoulders, "It took time for me to make Fort my home, but it is now and I'm just trying to do the best I can by it. I only spent a little time at Farmcraft Hall, so I'm always working to improve my knowledge of Holds," which might explain some of her earlier questions. "And I like to play in the dirt, walk in the rain and make wishes on shooting stars." Finally, A'sran comes to the bottom of his mug, and makes a sad face to prove it. "It is refreshing to find such a candid goldrider." He sets aside his alcohol-vehicle and loops one arm around the back of the bench. "Dirty, rain, and shooting stars. Now I know what to get you for your turnday. Dahlia," he offers his other hand, palm up, "it is a pleasure." "In month nine," Dahlia tells him, though playfully. She takes his hand, "And you, A'sran. I shouldn't keep you from the rest of your day." The fact that she says this to him probably is meant as something of a joke, given their conversation. "I'm sure I'll see you again." For the gather if no other time. "For the gather!" Excitement briefly brightens his face, sparkling in the depths of deep blue eyes. "You wear burlap and I can come in a crate. Paint Benden red.. or gold, if you prefer. A pleasure," he repeats, squeezing her fingers before he rises in one elegant movement. "Enjoy the rest of your day, ma'am." And with that, and a quick grab of his mug, the curly-haired bronzerider takes his leave, humming a bawdy bar tune under his breath; if she knew those types of things, she might recognize the melody as a song.. about a flower girl. |
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