The thing about bronze dragons is that, even when they're not huge bronze dragons, they are generally larger than most of the others. That's probably the reason why Quinlys has had Olveraeth invite A'rist and P'kavi on a weyr hunting trip without any of the others; and also why she's warned that they simply can't be too picky. Correspondingly, P'kavi has chosen the very first weyr they've looked at, almost even before they've stepped inside, which leaves the bluerider to shrug, and eye A'rist consideringly. "What're you looking for in a place, then?" she wonders. "Maybe we can keep this simple."
So simple a question as that, and A'rist looks a little bit herdbeast-before-the-dragon, staring wide-eyed at Quinlys. "Um." Right. "Mostly space for Lythronath, I guess." Lythronath, who has spent the trip, so far, seemingly disappointed that he's not encroaching on anyone else's territory, all fired up upon landing, and now pointedly tapping his talon on the ledge, head drooped. "He needs that space that's really... really his. Or else..." Well, they've all seen the barracks over the last few months.
"I can't afford to lose any more cots," confirms Quinlys, though at least she sounds relatively cheerful about it. She studies the roll of hide that, presumably, contains a list of available weyrs, rolling out her shoulders as she does so. "And maybe not too close to the feeding grounds, too, eh? Well. The trouble with that is that the more space there is, the more in demand it's going to be. Especially if you want some space for yourself... it tends to be kind of a trade-off, and you may not feel like you need it now, but just wait. Although... hmm. Hmm."
Tick tick. Tick. Bored Lythronath is bored, and sways his head from side to side. "But if we're closer to the feeding grounds," counters the young bronzerider, possibly but not necessarily influenced directly and in this moment by that ticking dragon out there, "there'll be less splatter when he hauls up his painting beasts. Just that I'm pretty sure he's going to. And," a slow nodding begins, "pretty sure it helps, really. Room enough that it can stop might be good, too, though. Before he gets to mine. But weyrlings aren't supposed to get the big weyrs, are they."
Quinlys turns her head to give Lythronath a wary glance, and seems, in doing that, to make a decision. "Right," she says. "Well, there's one... I've not visited myself, but I know the ledge is plenty big, and it is near the feeding grounds. Weyrlings aren't supposed to get the nice ones, but we'll find something that works, okay?" She gestures towards the bronze as she, in turns, heads back towards Olveraeth, who leads the way across the bowl and towards the feeding grounds, landing upon a nice big ledge: there's plenty of room for both dragons.
Poorly Designed Weyr
A decent-sized ledge marks this weyr, suitable for a couple of dragons to lounge on. It's neat and tidy, swept clean of any dust or debris the wind might have blown in. The couch at the back is equally clean, spacious and fronted by an immaculate fireplace. Further in, the weyr is of average size, a cozy little space, though it's devoid of furniture.
Unfortunately, the layout of the weyr is cumbersome nearly to the point of unworkable. The entry to the weyr's interior is directly behind the dragon's couch, with not quite enough space left around one side of it to squeeze past. A sleeping or just plain mischievous dragon could easily trap his rider inside until he could be prodded out of the way.
Another ledge! Lythronath tips his wings in such a way as to both break his speed, and make himself look absolutely enormous. He growls when feet touch stone, and doesn't quite wait for A'rist to be fully dismounted before charging into... another vacant couch. The dragon snorts. « Empty. » The rider makes sure he has his balance properly before following, hugging the wall to do so. "Fireplace," gets commented as he goes.
« Empty, » confirms Olveraeth. « You can't have someone else's weyr, Lythronath. You have to have your own. » The blue is more than content to stay out in the open - it is, after all, a beautiful summer afternoon. « Nice view of the feeding grounds, » he adds. "Fireplace," agrees Quinlys, trotting after A'rist, her hands slung deep into her pockets. "That's useful. Hmm." That 'hmm' is a little less positive, though: she's eyeing the way through into the actual weyr, and her expression is dubious. Still, she keeps her opinion to herself.
A'rist is experiencing the way through, too, while Lythronath looks around. One claw-scrape to the floor of the couch, once A'rist is into the weyr, and he turns. « Empty, » is just as disappointed as before. It's only a matter of time before he starts ticking talons again. Once he's reached the weyr proper, and turned to look back toward the couch, A'rist, too, is frowning. "There's no give and take," comes a moment later, once he's had time to knot, and then un-knot, his eyebrows.
"It's pretty awful," agrees Quinlys, placidly. "Not a weyr I would pick. That's probably why it's on the list. Don't worry - there's bound to be something better out there. She cocks her head back towards the ledge, then promptly turns upon her heel so that she can lead the way out. After mounting up, Olveraeth leads the way further upwards, and then hesitates, hovering above a ledge covered in... junk. The look Quinlys aims at A'rist is almost horrified; there's no real way to miss the frantic way she shakes her head and attempts to nudge Olveraeth onwards into some other direction. Oh no. No, no, no.
Junky Old Weyr
What was once a spacious ledge is now a disaster, cluttered to overflowing with, well, junk. There's old chairs and tables, a rotting bed, chests missing their lids and filled to overflowing with smaller items. Everything is in a state of disrepair, pieces of furniture littering the stone floor. The only open space isn't so much open as just filled with less hazardous things: faded blankets and old clothes are piled irregularly around, some larger quilts stretched out as 'padding' on the stone. Cleared off, the ledge could easily hold a pair of good-sized dragons; as it stands now, it's a tight fit for even one. Something is liable to get either shredded or inadvertently shoved off the edge of the ledge into the bowl below if one isn't careful.
Inside the weyr, it's the same story all over again. Floor-to-ceiling junk dominates the once-roomy interior of the weyr. The single large room and the dragon's couch at the fore are piled with all the broken furnishings that haven't overflowed to the ledge: a couple of tiny beds, three-legged chairs, hides everywhere, and more clothes in sizes ranging from babies' to large men's. The protection from the elements seems to have better preserved these items, at least; though they're coated with dust, there's nothing a little fixing-up can't mend.
The weyrlingmaster can shake her head all she wants; Lythronath has seen the ledge already, and he's swooping forward, talons eager to rake and dump and make a space. It's a pseudo-landing, the dragon balancing on his hind legs (while A'rist clutches the straps and looks like he's trying to break his teeth against each other) and beating his wings now and again for balance, and scratching. Oh, and then stomping. Oh, and also, throwing. At least the ledge will be a bit cleaner (sort of) once they move on.
« Lythronath! » warns Olveraeth, from above, though of course it's too late to stop the bronze outright. Hopefully, there's no one below to be hit by falling furniture; hopefully there wasn't anything actually worthwhile sitting out there on the ledge. « We'll find a better one, » the blue adds, conciliatory, emphasising the smooth, near-graceful motion of flight as he attempts to lead the way onwards. « This one is big enough, » he offers, as he drops into a landing upon the next ledge. « Perhaps this one. »
Cold and Windy Weyr
This huge ledge is large enough to fit a pair of bronze dragons, but the downside of that is that not only the cool breezes of summer but the freezing winter winds as well. Air circulation is definitely not a problem here. The dragon's couch at the front of the weyr suffers the same treatment as the ledge, being cold and constantly windswept. Even a faded tapestry can't provide an effective break for the wind.
The narrow entrance to the back room acts like a wind tunnel, sending the freezing winds howling through the weyr. Creative furniture placement could divide the sizey room into two separate ones; pushed to the side out of the way of direct wind exposure are cot and press, along with a table and a couple of small chairs in good condition. Here, dust proliferates, out of reach of the wind. A fireplace is on the opposite wall, a fortuitous addition to a space that never quite feels warm.
« Emptier, » Lythronath replies joyfully. Whatever efforts A'rist had been making in concert with Olveraeth's have the dragon in the air again. And that last tidbit he'd nabbed gets dropped halfway to the next ledge. And whatever it was A'rist was going to say is swept back into his throat by a gust of wind just before he dismounts. The weyrling, instead, just coughs, unbuckles, and gives Quinlys a nod as he heads in, already tucking his arms around him.
« Hmm, » says Olveraeth, rather less on the joyful and more-- well. His skies are full of stars, forever and ever and ever. This time, after they land, Quinlys doesn't get any further than Olveraeth's forelimb, and she's shivering in her summer-weight clothes even then. "I remember why we never stayed here," she mutters, presumably to herself, though there's something almost fond in the way she stares through the entranceway and into the couch.
"It can't be windy everywhere," A'rist answers back, and goes to test his theory. By the time he's done, and back out, Lythronath is crouched down and bobbing his head. "I'll remember it," is the most straight reporting Quinlys will get. A final look to the bed and press, and then he's moving to his dragon, arms moving just a little stiffly.
"It can," is Quinlys' view on the subject, made with a shudder. "You'd want all the furs in the world, I tell you, and some other form of body heat." This time, as she clambers back into a proper seated position atop her blue, she hesitates. "Look," she says, finally. "The rest on my list, they're more or less the same as this: there's a reason they're vacant, and on the weyrling list. But... I know of one. Most people haven't considered it because it was Z'ian's, see, but I know it's big enough, and the location is good. It's the absolute best you'll see, I promise you."
Body heat talk is enough to make the boy blush, and focus very hard for a moment on hauling himself up. He's recovered, by the end of the 'list' discussion, to such a point that he can look at her, at least. He lifts his head, managing to look both purposeful and agreeable all at once. "Let's see that, then."
Well, yes. That was the point, after all, wasn't it? Quinlys is oh-so-smug as she grins at A'rist, then gestures towards her blue to lead the way: back into the air, and towards a ledge with brickwork and boulders. It really is a nice ledge!
Brickwork and Boulders Weyr
This ledge must have been damaged somehow, many turns ago, for there are definite signs of rebuilding across the ledge - not to mention deep pock-marks in the stone that must, surely, have been made by something harder than draconic talons. Long and wide, it's well sized, with plenty of room for a bronze and some company, with a pretty enough view out over the bowl, and a decent amount of afternoon sun. The entrance into the inner Weyr has been partially bricked up, suggesting that it must, once upon a time, have been much wider: as it is, there's still room for a bronze to reach the stone couch indoors, and the brickwork renovations have allowed for a better angling of the passage, keeping the weyr inside protected from the elements. Jagged stones sit on either side of the entrance, looking rather as though they were once part of the walls.
A narrow passage leads past the dragon couch, curving around into an interior that uses walls made from bricks to delineate between different spaces. Two stone steps lead down into the main area, which has been made almost perfectly square by the reddish-hued bricks: the steps at one end, a hearth at the other, and passages off in either direction on the other two sides. This main area is big enough for a couch and a table, but probably not much more.
To the left, the passage weaves around towards the outside, culminating in a small bedchamber - big enough for a full-sized bed and nothing more. Rather more impressive is the tiny shuttered window that lets in natural light, the rough shape - and the bricks correcting that - indicating that it, too, is here thanks to that long-ago disaster.
The room off to the right of the living area is barely large enough to be called a room, but could easily be used as a tiny office, or perhaps a storage compartment.
Yes, a nice ledge. And also, « Empty. » This is the most boring outing everywhere. Except for all those furniture bits on the bowl floor now. But A'rist dismounts and looks interested, at least. "Z'ian's old weyr," gets repeated to Quinlys. A few steps to the entrance, and he's reaching out to touch the brick, testing.
This time, Quinlys does dismount, swinging down to the hard surface of the ledge with practiced ease. "Z'ian's old weyr," she confirms. "It might bring you luck, though I guess it's debatable as to whether that's good luck or bad. I think it might have been hit by the meteors, or maybe something before then, I don't know. Either way--" She gestures towards the entrance, encouraging A'rist to step inside, so that she can follow. « Empty. For now, » offers Olveraeth. And, « Only as empty as you let it be, don't you think? »
"And then rebuilt," A'rist finishes as he withdraws his hand, rubbing his thumb over his fingertips, seemingly thoughtful. He proceeds through the entrance, leaving Lythronath to claw at some of those stones at the entrance, and so, several steps behind. It's around that main sitting area - or whatever it is - that the bronzerider asks, "Why would people not want it, just because it was Z'ian's? When all the other ones are..." Well.
Quinlys keeps herself to several steps behind A'rist, her stride lazy. It's hard to tell whether she's been in here or not; if she has, it was certainly when it looked more, well, lived in. "A lot of people still think he's going to come back," she says, finally, with a shrug. "Reclaim his knot. Or at least his wing. So it would feel like poaching. But... it isn't. He didn't even live here before he... left, remember. And it seems stupid to keep it empty, right? It isn't really on the weyrling list, but..." Her pause is dramatic, and clearly for emphasis. It might work better if she didn't just leave it hanging forever.
A'rist makes a bit of a face at that explanation. "If Hraedhyth flies again before he gets back, then he won't have that to reclaim, though. The knot, I mean. The wing, sure, but..." But he has to stop and look around the sleeping area. "It's all set aside sort of. The weyr, I mean." Lythronath leaves scarred stones in his wake, and goes proceeds to the couch. « Empty, » he decides of that, too, again, turning and making his exit perhaps solely to give Olveraeth a long look. Tick. "It isn't really on the weyrling list," A'rist continues, "but you're offering it to us."
« Empty, » agrees Olveraeth, all over again. He's not bothered. "Someone ought to have it," points out Quinlys. "And... a lot of the ones with bigger ledges and couches? People pinch them, as soon as they're available. Because they have a weyrmate, or because they're greedy, or whatever. It's always slim pickings for bronzeriders, so... you might as well take what you can get. What will fit. If Z'ian does come back, that'll be tough for him, won't it? But it's not your fault." Beat. "It's really well designed. Or do you want one of the other ones we've seen? Because I don't have all day..."
A'rist nods, taking another look at that sleeping area, and then hurrying (she doesn't have all day, after all) to poke his head into that... alcove. Storage closet. Thing. Once he's seen the place in full, it's another nod to Quinlys, but this one, far more decisive. "No. This one's good."
Given the exaggerated way Quinlys exhales, a person might be excused for believing they'd already looked at hundreds of possible weyrs, instead of a perfectly respectable handful. "Good," she says, firmly. "It's yours, then. I'll have it entered into the records. Get what you need from stores." She glances around, as if to take one more look at this place before it truly belongs to someone other than Z'ian. "He was a good man, our former Weyrleader. You should try and live up to him."
A'rist goes from looking over some of the brickwork again to straightening himself up. "Thank you," for the weyr, presumably - for showing it to him. "I will." For the rest. But no matter the rider's new take on things, when he reaches Lythronath again, the bronze is still quite certain that this couch is « Empty. » Oh well. Give it time.
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