Logs:Which one are you?
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| RL Date: 1 November, 2013 |
| Who: I'zech, Rojeth, Telavi, L'sha, Rillaeth, G'laer, Teisyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The day after the hatching, AWLMs meet two(four) of their new charges. |
| Where: Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 2, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions, Tajent/Mentions |
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| Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr 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.
If one walks just right, one doesn't have to walk through the slush. Telavi minces in from the barracks proper as though she doesn't even see the mess, her hair pinned up under what might still be one of those same caps from weyrlinghood. She doesn't have circles under her eyes, but this is, after all, only the first day. "I'zech. I'zech, I'zech, I'zech," and it may be the first day, but she whines. A brow cocks up even before he slow-turns his head, before a sideways look answers the repetition of his name. He might mean to be Mr Deadpan, but at the last second he has to fight a bit of a smirk that wants to creep across his face. "Do you..." he asks, turning back to the pressing of fresh klah through the grounds. "Need something?" A huff of breath might almost be a laugh, if he deigned to be amused. "You know, once upon a time it was the weyrlings who did the whining. But maybe it was just you." However, I'zech does pull out two mugs. Telavi waits for him to pour, too, though her teeth are pretty white and shiny and possibly even pointed before she's back to frowning. "I'm making up for lost time," she informs Mr Maybe-Smirk. "Though, isn't it nice being able to just pick them up and move them when they're in the way?" Pick them up and move them? Maybe it inspires I'zech, since, when the pouring is done, he doesn't just hand the mug over, but rather reaches out for a handful of Telavi's clothes like he might be able to just haul her in toward him. Success at that, well, that would graduate him from maybe-smirk to definitely-smirk, dark thing that it tends to be. "I don't think I ever moved Rojeth. Gotta have a little respect." For his bronze, if not for his former weyrling. "What are you whining about?" And then he can press a mug to her hand. Success, yes, her heavy jacket's easy to hold onto-- but that ups the likelihood that she's treading on his toes. "Respect," Telavi repeats, not quite doubtfully. The weyrlingmaster's assistants have klah, but as yet, only the two mugs have been poured. "Would you do the same with these? Now that you're older and... wiser." This is just what the weyrlings expect of their masters, right? One of them manhandling the other, dragging her around by the front of her jacket and her scuffing up his boots? Anyway, it would be hard to tell, since I'zech looks like he just rolled out of bed and half-bothered to get dressed. His boots are untied for extra tromping, his hair is disheveled, his face unshaved. It's probably an easy guess that beneath his own jacket he wears a shirt that's wrinkled and possibly even stained. Who knows. Who wants to know? Anyway, with Telavi tugged in and a mug pushed on her, he lets her jacket go to tend his own cup. "Did I respect you guys?" he asks with a snort and a quick glance toward the barracks to see if anything is escaping. It's warmer in there than out here, but perhaps a little less slush has been tracked across the floor. Maybe a bit less muck, though. Ah, early days with dragons. L'sha wanders into the cavern, with Rillaeth trailing not far behind. He looks down at her as he walks. "Let's take a look around in here, okay?" He looks around the cavern, making note of the murals and diagrams. Eventually he notices the weyrlingmasters' presence and snaps to attention, saluting (or at least, giving an approximation of the salute he's seen weyrlings give). Rillaeth cocks her head up at her lifemate curiously. « What the heck are you...oh! » She peers over at the other riders. They're tough boots; surely one can take an extra-hard step. "You didn't carry Solith around," Telavi says as though that were the only mark of respect, the greenrider sliding down onto the couch, careful of her mug. "But then, I kind of think I beat you to it..." Walking sounds are ignorable. Words, though? Words she pays attention to, and then tired or no, she has a charmed-- or possibly charming-- smile. "Look, I'zech. He saluted me. Which one are you, dear?" Only she's looking at Rillaeth, not at L'sha, for all that she can't possibly expect the green herself to answer. Can she? 'Which one are you?' Now where has I'zech heard that line. He snorts another half-laugh, dragging his feet around as he turns to look at their new charge. "Don't get too excited," he tells Telavi about the saluting. "I had to pay him extra to get you that." Though, of course, L'sha has received no such payoff in reality. Anyway, he gives the kid a jerk of his chin in a greeting. "You two holding up okay?" And meanwhile, the young green might feel the creeping, clammy fog of Rojeth's mental touch -- from wherever he is, because he's not here in this cavern. He says nothing, yet, but as unannounced as that fog might be, surely it's no mystery that it belongs to I'zech's bronze. L'sha maintains the salute, staring straight ahead. "L'sha and Rillaeth reporting for duty, sir...Ma'am." His eyes dart toward the other riders a bit uncertainly, hoping he got that part right. Rillaeth starts to look bored, so she starts to explore the cavern, zipping here and there with the speed she showed on the hatching sands. Telavi has to laugh, might even clap her hands if it weren't for the mug she holds; she takes a grateful swallow and offers, "What a pretty name. I hope the payment wasn't too," she slides a glance at the more senior assistant, "arduous." Solith peeked in earlier, literally, and then went right back out again; there's no overt sense of her light breeze, of her sun-through-leaves, though Tela's watching the dark dragonet go with interest enough for two. "The whole point of payment is to avoid arduousness." Or so I'zech says with a tip of his head and a wrinkle of his brow to inform his fellow weyrlingmaster. They're an inspiring pair, the sketchy-looking man and the girl sitting on the ratty old couch with a mug in her hands. The bronzerider sips his own klah, a glance keeping tabs on the activity of the sprightly young green. "L'sha," he repeats, turning to Telavi again. "This is L'sha." He's super helpful. "Ma'am." He does seem to find that amusing. And meanwhile, Rojeth's fog is finally accompanied by a voice, like a rough, eerie whisper on the chill wind. « What are you discovering? » he asks Rillaeth. L'sha shifts a bit on his feet, as if unsure exactly how long he's supposed to hold the salute. "Rillaeth and I are well, sir." Rillaeth trots back to her lifemate and circles around his feet. Rillaeth's is like a voice in the lonely, utter blackness of between. « Oh, this and that. So what do you guys do for fun around here? » Telavi wrinkles her nose at I'zech, for that, but smooths it out nearly as quickly-- possibly in case it freezes that way. She's in time. She doesn't, however, tell L'sha to relax; maybe she thinks it's the senior assistant's job to handle such important matters. Maybe she's just comfortable, stretching out her legs, pointing her toes in the direction of the little green and giving them a little wiggle. The tips of her shoelaces, with their little turquoise weights, bounce. "I'm glad you're well," she says, sipping her klah. "It's too bad about all the slush by the entrance," she adds with a sigh, and a long, meaningful glance towards it. I'zech seems perfectly content to just let L'sha salute indefinitely, because how is that not funny? Ho hum, he'll just sip his mug and act like the poor kid isn't starting to feel a bit awkward. "Good to hear." He turns a thoughtful glance on his counterpart to wonder, "Think it's too early to make them do general chores?" Because maybe they chould give them a few days to focus on eating and mucking and oiling before putting them to work on other things. Or... maybe not. Because there is that slushy floor. And meanwhile, « Nothing appropriate for ones as small as you, » is Rojeth's snaking reply to the green's question, the crackle of amusement in his voice. L'sha is still holding his salute, though his arm seems to be getting tired. Rillaeth bounds over to Telavi's shoes, inspecting them thoroughly. « Ooh, those are pretty! » Whirling eyes drink in the colors and follow the bouncing tips of the shoelaces. She bugles as she sees Teisyth and G'laer enter. « Hiya, sis! » She zooms over to greet her clutchsister. "Rillaeth's doing wonderfully," Telavi points out from where she's leaning back on the couch with her legs stretched out, her hair bundled under a cap, her hands cupped around a mug of klah; there aren't any rings under her eyes, a smudge at most, but give her time. She wiggles her toes just a little bit more, even, rewarding Rillaeth's approach before the little green bounds off again. "I can't imagine that it would hurt anything. Besides, she might enjoy it... so why don't you go ahead and help, L'sha? The shovel's right by the door, and it might be easier on your arm." Only Teisyth isn't on the ground to be greeted. Her bugle-honk in answer is enthusiastic (and loud), causing G'laer to wince as it comes from right next to his head. A sheet has been borrowed from somewhere and has been wrapped around Teisyth, whose small form is against the former guard's back, leaving room for her wings to unfurl (making it look a little like G'laer has cracked-glass wings of his own), the rest of the sheet having been tucked and tucked and tucked again in a way that secures the dragon to him. Her tail is wrapped around his waist though as a safety belt. G'laer comes to a stop rather than approaching the group when Rillaeth's zooming form draws near, blinking down at L'sha's lifemate. It's the green darting for Telavi's feet that brings I'zech's attention to something he'd probably have missed otherwise -- those little turquoise weights. Whatever he thinks of them, it's hidden behind another drink. But that drink is missing something, yes it is. If only all these weyrlings weren't around... "There you go," he chimes in for Telavi's suggestion to L'sha, taking a seat on the arm of the couch with a damp bootheel hooking just beneath the occupied cushion. "Ah, here's another one," he remarks at G'laer's arrival. "Which one are you?" Hah, he got to say it this time! L'sha takes that as his cue to finally drop his arm, then rubs his shoulder a bit. "Ow." He glances over at G'laer and Teisyth, then gives a cheery wave to the other weyrling pair. With his other arm. He turns and nods to Telavi, then heads over to the door to look for the shovel. Rillaeth warbles happily up at the other green wrapped around G'laer. « What's up? » All that bugling has Telavi's tired shoulders tucking up about her ears, instinct before she wedges them back down, though her feet that had drawn back in the very same gesture... they stay put against the couch's base. If she's been indoctrinated into the mysteries of Quinlys' desk drawer, they aren't helping her either, not right now. Though last night, when the little ones were waking her up again-- Now she follows I'zech's glance to the newly-arrived pair and their dragonet-wrap, and those green-today eyes light up for all that her smile's half-hidden by her mug. "Clever. Especially," but then she turns her head. "Oh, thank you, L'sha. That will be a big help." When he's address, the older weyrling's eyes pull away from Rillaeth and find I'zech. "G'laer," The answer is simple and direct and comes with a crisp salute, though distinctly more guard-esque than rider-like, and dropped as soon as it's executed. A nose bonks him on the side of his head, so he adds, grudgingly, "Teisyth." For the green who honk-bugles a greeting to the AWLMs, too, her perkiness irrepressible. Then headlamp big eyes which whirl a swirl of blue and yellow-ish turn on Rillaeth. « Oh, nothin'. » Teisyth's alto drawls slowly. The slowness doesn't make the general happy-go-luckiness of her mood less, if anything they seem to go naturally hand in hand. « G'laer just takin' me for a ride! It's great! You should have L'sha do it fer you. » (To Rillaeth from Teisyth) There's a twist of I'zech's mouth as he looks over this winding of fabric that cleaves the green to her lifemate. "G'laer." 'The wrapped one'. "And Teisyth." Eventually he'll kind of remember some of these names. The resounding honk of greeting has the bronzerider lifting a brow and then drawing in a long deep breath as he turns to Telavi. "Give me that," he tells her, reaching for her mug as he starts to get up. "Hey, you know, you can work on the slush, too," he tosses out to G'laer, head tipping toward L'sha and his search for the shovel. It's Teisyth's turn to feel the clammy mist of Rojeth's touch creeping in, just checking up on her though he remains unseen. Lights! Bright lights! A pair of them alligned together stream in concentrated circles they search through the clammy mist. There's a wave of delight as Teisyth discovered that her lights paired with Rojeth's mist - even if she invented the look of it and he just provided the feel - make a sort of luminescent glow. That's fun! The lights vanish. Then come back. Just to see if it's the same. Other than being a little silly and tasting a little nutty, the green seems quite herself. No distress to speak of. (To Rojeth from Teisyth) L'sha finds the shovel and goes to work clearing the slush away from the entrance. He sees G'laer's snappy salute and bonks himself on the temple with the heel of his hand. "So that's how you do it," he mutters to himself. Rillaeth warbles up at Teisyth. « Cool! » She runs over to L'sha to see what he's doing, poking her nose into the slush, then jumping back from it. « Yeek, that's cold! » "Teisyth. And G'laer," Tela murmurs testingly, but either she's finished her klah or she's finished with it, for she stands easily enough for all her aches and-- yes, I'zech can have the mug, but with a roll of her eyes barracks-ward, "Someone's snagged... something. I don't even know." Maybe Solith was listening to different dragonets, maybe it's just long-haired intuition, but she hurries for the barracks proper before the first creel bounces off stone. Telavi has left. G'laer doesn't seem overly eager when I'zech directs him to the task of the slush, but he shrugs, "Alright." Whatever. He does move to where there isn't slush to take a knee and unwrap the carefully tucked fabric so Teisyth slides down the last foot or so to the floor. She shakes her wings out and then her boxy body, readjusting to having use of all her limbs again and the bed sheet is balled up and set on the couch before the man is moving toward a shovel, Teisyth soon puttering along at his heels. "Shovel?" He asks of L'sha, as in 'where did you get the-.' I'zech can't help but laugh, just a short bark that he gets under control, when the secrets of saluting are finally revealed. He spreads a wide flash of teeth in L'sha's direction, cheeky now that the cat is out of the bag. Sadly, when he receives Telavi's cup and finds it empty, he opts just to sink back down again, taking the seat that she vacates so suddenly and watching her dash off. "Okay, so," he says, relaxing back with a spread of knees as he turns his attention to the two greens and their busy lifemates. "Let's run through some of the basic questions. Has everyone eaten? Not just them, but you guys, too." Rojeth's mist tries to ebb where the lights show up, an uncatchable thing, but they still reflect through the fog, illuminating it to opacity before it recedes and repositions. Only the lights do the same a bit, don't they. And maybe, just maybe, it's not a bad game, one intangible sensation chasing after another. There's a crackle of unseen branches swaying, an unnerving sensation of laughter, but laughter just the same. (To Teisyth from Rojeth) L'sha, saluting, following orders, calling people 'sir' and 'ma'am'? What's gotten into him? He looks around for another shovel and eventually finds one, handing it handle-first to G'laer. "Here you go." He looks over at I'zech and nods. "I haven't eaten dinner yet, but I fed Rillaeth about an hour ago." He scoops up a shovelful of slush and deposits it in a pile outside the training cavern's door. Rillaeth watches her rider curiously, but stays away from the slush, having learned her lesson. One of G'laer's brows arches at L'sha, at the shovel. "You could've just said 'look for it.' I've got eyes, as it happens." This is probably a G'laer version of 'thanks' as much as it's also 'could've done that myself.' To I'zech, his voice lifts to answer, "More and less. More her, less me, but only because she keeps wanting to eat what I do." Which is ridiculous, of course, so says the man's unamused tone. He starts shoveling. In the meantime, Teisyth makes her own discovery of the slush. With thick hide, or maybe it's just the way she looks all weather-worn already, the cold doesn't bother her and she goes wading in, not that it's much 'wade,' but she can fix that. By lying down in it, chuffling her delight. Not a bad game at all! Fun! The sensation flows freely from Teisyth's mind which leaks giggles and guffaws as the beams chase the uncatchable fog. Until the laughter. The unnerving laughter. Abruptly, and comically, her mind clambers in a sensation that can only be described as 'back.' Away from the mist. It's spooky. Only... she can't resist her curiosity, so after a few moments there are little creaks and her mindtouch inches back forward, the beams of light zipping around. « Hello? » Her thickly accented alto calls out into the fog, uncertainly. « A-anybody there? » (To Rojeth from Teisyth) "Alright. Well, they usually bring food in for the first few days at least. I'm sure something will be along. And when it comes, you eat." That's an order. Pretty easy so far, right? Who's the best weyrlingmaster? Ok, so it's probably not I'zech, who now nestles the empty mug between his thigh and the arm of the couch so that he can drag a hand through his hair, an eye cast toward the open maw of the cavern to gauge how late in the day it is. "I could use something to. Anyway, eat when there's food, just cram it in. Let's see. What else is there..." His glance falls on Teisyth, watching her get friendly with the slush. "Do you guys have questions?" L'sha absentmindedly runs a hand over his head to brush away strands of hair, only the hair isn't there anymore. Old habits. To G'laer, he remarks, "Well, I could've, but that would've been rude." He nods at I'zech's instructions. "Yes, sir." He thinks a moment, then shakes his head. "No questions at the moment, no." He scoops another shovelful of slush out the door. To Teisyth, Rillaeth projects « Brrr. How can you stand that? » "It would've been practical. You pulling your weight, me pulling mine." The older man answers the younger weyrling's claim of rudeness. He works as he listens to I'zech, focused too much on the slush at the end of his shovel, until he becomes abruptly aware of just what Teisyth is doing slithering through the muck and having a grand ol' time. "Teisyth!" He barks, his tone one of sharp rebuke, the shovel arresting as he stares at the green. She freezes, then dares to lift her muzzle just enough to look back and up at him. This prompts a question from G'laer to I'zech, "How do you control them?" Clearly, G'laer is no good with children. Especially since the rebuking only served to have Teisyth and her muck-covered form hurrying over to him to rub right up against his pants, the cold making his body tighten despite her fervent attempts at apology. « Oh, I dunno. It ain't bad. I don' really feel it, if I'm bein' honest with you. » The candor in Teisyth's tone suggests that it'd be a blizzardy day in Ista before Teisyth's likely to tell a lie. Well, a lie that isn't grossly exaggerated to the point of ridiculousness, anyway. Her attention to Rillaeth is abruptly pulled away by the rebuke of her lifemate, a sudden flash of distress before her mind is focused elsewhere. (To Rillaeth from Teisyth) "You can try asking. Or explaining," I'zech rolls out, looking dubious about the elder weyrling's tactics so far, narrowing his eyes a bit as the scolded green goes begging for forgiveness. "She'll teach you. Or maybe she'll just learn to ignore you." Either way, the bronzerider gives an easy shrug. His attention moves between his two charges, calculating something. "What did you two do before?" he wonders before going to drink only to discovered he's downed the mug already. A sigh has him getting up again, this time to leave both mugs in the bin for washing. "I'm guessing you weren't a nanny," he remarks of G'laer. L'sha jumps a bit as G'laer snaps at Teisyth. He looks a little more than dubious at the other weyrling's behavior, but doesn't say anything. G'laer knows his opinion. At I'zech's question, he replies, "Well, I grew up here, and I was Tajent's assistant in the lower caverns until I was Searched." The internal forgiveness-seeking must become too much for G'laer after I'zech's spoken and shrugged, G'laer's jaw clenches before he shifts to reach down and disentangle the dragon from his leg, after which he crouches to be more on a level with the two-foot-tall dragon. She draws nearer, between his splayed knees and he pulls the tucked edge of his tunic out and uses it to clear the bits of slush that still cling to her. As he mops, he answers dryly, "I won the award for most delinquent in the chore of assisting the nannies during candidacy." So, no, not a nanny. "Guard. At Crom." Where, as the local saying goes, 'They train them tough as diamond.' And in some parts of the world they add more comedic and less appropriate words about how the guards in turn manufacture diamonds of their own. I'zech does his best to look impressed at L'sha's credentials, though the, "Not bad," he offers might come off a bit more genuine. As for G'laer, "Oh, I've had a few of you now." Guards? Crom? He doesn't say but he lets a sharp grin spread wide. "And you know what they say about Crom guards..." Chances are, he's thinking more of the diamond production rather than their fighting-toughness. "Listen, how about I run out and see if they can get dinner over here, huh?" Not that he's actually asking, but he tosses it out anyway, and pulls a skullcap from his jacket pocket to smash down over his head. "I'll try not to track too much in when I get back." Like he's a damn hero. "And you guys try not to get into two much trouble." After that, he's out into the snow, leaving the two weyrlings to their shoveling. "Stick with me and you'll be rich." G'laer doesn't miss a beat at quipping that toward I'zech. Although, if he can joke about it, he's probably not the world's best diamond producer. Alas. Still. "Teis, let's get you cleaned up properly." After all, the needs of the dragons come first, so the shovel is set aside and he scoops up the green easily and heads for the barracks, snagging the abandoned bed sheet as he goes. Maybe he'll be back to cleaning up the slush afterward. Maybe. |
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