NorCon MUSH - User contributions [en]

Logs:Weyr-Shopping

2015-06-12T05:29:39Z

Laine:

{{Log
|who=Laine, Quinlys
|what=It's Laine's turn to get a weyr!
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=19
|month=13
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.06.11
|quote="It's bigger on the inside."
|mentions=I'daur, R'hin, T'mic, Z'kiel, Leova,
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon Laine grin.jpg, Lifreyth happy explorer.jpg, Icon quinlys olveraeth stars.jpeg, Icon quinlys casual.jpg,
|log=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?"

"''Weyr''robbing," 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!
}}

Logs:Aspiring to Mediocrity

2015-06-04T15:33:02Z

Laine:

{{Log
|who=Edyis, Laine
|what=Edyis and Laine sort of catch up.
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|custom=23D 12M 37T I10, winter night
|day=23
|month=12
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.06.03
|quote="Now it's all, like, responsibility and duty and some heavy shit."
|mentions=Quinlys, Z'kiel, R'van,
|type=Log
|ooc=Feel free to edit, correct, and alter away!
|icons-new=Icon edyis plotting.jpg, Icon edyis akluseth hopeful.jpg, Icon Laine shrug.jpg, Icon Laine Lifreyth happy explorer.jpg,
|desc=>---< Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------------------<

Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge

bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever

so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and

surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but

less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's

grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained

meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.

At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns,

including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to

the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the

southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass

through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of

redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the

very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake,

there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl,

standing out amidst otherwise an empty space.

The snowfall is light and intermittent throughout the day until it tapers

off completely into a frigid night. The ground is damp, though very little

sticks.

-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------

Edyis F 20 5'4" athletic, brown hair, brown eyes 0s

Laine F 18 5'4" trim, dark hair, grey eyes 9s

---------------------------------< Objects >--------------------------------

[Lifreyth] and [Akluseth]

>----------------------------------------< 23D 12M 37T I10, winter night >---<
|log=It's just after dinner, and Edyis and Akluseth are out in the bowl, enjoying the free time that may be harder to come by for their silver threaded clutchmates. Except that 'free time' looks suspiciously like Edyis attempting to test out cargo straps, and Akluseth having none of it. That there is a satchel with a few bottlenecks just barely visible nearby, makes the scene even more suspect.

It's taken a while to adjust to the added workload from that aforementioned silver thread, but Laine has begun to appear again at the dinner table with her clutchmates, purple-bruised bags under her eyes and all. She's even managed (gasp!) to be ''sociable'' once in a while--tonight, however, was not one of those nights, and it's with a hood pulled up and shadowing her eyes she's tromping through the bowl. Lifreyth precedes her in long, gliding, hop-steps, but his path averts abruptly when he spies his brother and Edyis, and he settles nimbly beside Akluseth and begins nosing at that satchel. << What's all this, then? >> For her part, Laine hunches deeper into her jacket, but begins to pick her way across to the weyrling pair in Lifreyth's wake.

<< Firewater >> Akluseth returns to his brother in a rich tenor, his waves touched with amber and smelling richly of spiced rum before the waters return to their normal oceany colors and scents. "Damnit! Can't you just stop... growing?" Edyis mutters to her lifemate, pulling the straps off and studying the ruined leather. Dark eyes catch sight of Laine, and her brows knit together faintly with worry. "You... don't look so good. No offense." The once scribe offers as she checks the stitches in the leather.

Lifreyth brings his muzzle around, delicately nipping at the top of one bottle--not quite so as to break it open, but ''tasting'', ''testing''. << What's it they do? A toast? To good health? >> He settles himself, stretches his length. << Maybe your health has been ''too'' good, >> he observes, turning one whirling eye on the ruined leather. His lifemate draws alongside, and slouches against Lifreyth's shoulder. Laine chuckles, but it's a clipped sound without much merriment. "Feel like shit. You look like... ''trouble''. As usual." But some interest's been sparked, somewhere behind those tired, grey eyes. "Your straps are broken," she points out. Helpful.

<< Selling? Drinking? Sharing? >> Akluseth's flow of words seems almost endless as he ''suggests'' possibilities. << The Wise Girl would know better than I. You are welcome to one if you like. >> Edyis dark eyes dart briefly to the brown nosing about her satchel right in time with Laine's words on trouble. "Remind me to introduce you to my influences sometime when restrictions are a little more lax." The former scribe coughs with an eager smile. "Add to the list of things I am not good at, leatherworking. How is life as one of the ''chosen ones''" She teases warmly, and without any touch of rancor.

A curious tongue flicks out at cork, and teeth set again against glass. ''Gratitude'', a wash of dusty, musty, library air, winds briefly among those swaying weeds. Lifreyth accepts the offer, and he claims a bottle, lengthwise, with his mouth, gingerly closing those sharp teeth around it. << Have you? >> Tried it? Drank it, sold it, shared it? It's not clear what he's asking, but Lifreyth is satisfied to settle into the snow and hold the bottle. "Mm," Laine grunts, an acknowledgement if not an enthusiastic one, crossing her arms over her chest. She musters up a crooked smile. "Brutal and sleepless. I'd much rather be smuggling booze in my free time."

"Hey being a huge disappointment can have some unintended upsides if I do say so myself." Edyis chuckles darkly tossing the ruined straps over one shoulder and claiming the satchel and remaining bottle from their place on the ground with another chuckle for Lifreyth, and smuggling. "You get to see a different side of the weyr though, learn how things are done and why. It's important, what you are doing now you know?" Akluseth snorts softly into his lifemate's hair, setting the curls to jumble about her face for a moment. <> Warm currents are sharing the sensations and their variations if allowed from expansive oceans to that queer and dusty library of contraptions.

"Ugh. Jealous. Aspiring to mediocrity was my gig. Now it's all, like, responsibility and duty and some heavy shit." The brownriding weyrling unwinds her arms so she can scrub at her eyes with knuckles of one hand. "And homework. They should've given it to you. Or Z'kiel." Laine screws up her face and returns to her sullen, arm-crossed posture. "Trade you my homework for fixing your straps." She's joking... but only half. Lifreyth receives the shared sensations willingly, neatly filing them away, agreeing, << Laine, too. She has... fond memories. Fuzzy--but fond. >>

"Pretty sure the red star would freeze over before Quinlys ever willingly handed me a silver thread. Perhaps she isn't wrong in that, still, I'm settling for a truce and making it out of weyrlinghood in one piece. I was a little surprised Zak didn't make it though, considering how hard he works." Edyis smile twists into a grin, "Depends on the homework, as long as it is something I can actually complete for you, you have yourself a deal." Serious or not evidently. "I love the wine flask you made though it will be a while before I can fill it with something worthy of it. Still looking for someone who thinks the portable cup idea is doable."

Laine looks distinctly ''unconvinced'', brows arching. "You study harder than most of us ''chosen ones''," (the sarcasm is thick) "And you're smarter than, like, probably all of us. Combined. How about I give you the thread out of my knot and we'll see how long Quinlys takes to notice?" There's another laugh, but this time, at least, there's some genuine amusement there. "But, if you don't. Making it out in one piece is a good compromise. I'll settle for making it out, period. Heard they lose kids, sometimes, when ''Between''ing starts." The brownriding weyrling purses her lips, shifts from one foot to the other, and is grateful for the topic change. "Oh, hell," she snorts. "Put anything you want in it. Use it for water, for running. Just ''use'' it. That's what it's for."

"Ha. R'van is probably about six times as smart as I am, and he didn't get a thread either." Edyis points out amused. "It isn't about who is smarter, or who can study harder. That part is easy enough to make up. You guys were all chosen because, with the exception of Yesia, you all seem to possess people skills. That isn't something you get from taking notes or studying." Edyis offers with a puff. Her expression shifts to something unreadable when betweening is mentioned, and she focuses instead on the lighter part. "Oh no. I fully intend for it to be christened with a delicious white wine, possibly of the Benden variety."

Laine frees a hand to wave it breezily, a dismissive sort of gesture, but she's smiling faintly while she does it. "Well. ''Whatever'' it is. They're gonna be pretty disappointed when I turn out to be a total deadbeat. Or a drunk. I haven't decided yet." Beside her, Lifreyth stands in one fluid motion, still gently clasping that bottle in his teeth, and Laine pushes herself away from his flank. "Well... Okay. But don't wait ''too'' long to christen it. And make sure you share with me when you do." Under the shadow of her hood, Laine breaks into a crooked grin. "We're off to bed, though. G'night, Edyis, Akluseth. Good luck with your smuggling ring."

Edyis smirks. "I would take it as a kindness if you didn't since I have marks on you to stick it out to the end of the program." Cue an unrepentant lopsided grin. "You know I will, if only because you always find me when I have something good to share, sleep well Laine."
}}

Logs:It's Bigger On The Inside

2015-06-04T05:38:13Z

Laine:

{{Log
|who=Laine, Laine{{!}}Lifreyth
|what=The night after Impression.
|where=Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=25
|month=7
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.04.20
|type=Vignette
|icons-new=Icon laine pointohyou.jpg, Icon Laine Lifreyth take a look its in a book.jpg,
|log=She dreamt, that first night, once exhaustion dragged her away from Lifreyth’s wallow and onto her bed too tired even to crawl under the blanket, of a library she’d never seen.

It was a maze of vaulting ceilings, dusty shelves heavy with books, and oak cabinets paned with glass doors. Books with leatherbound spines cracked and pages dogeared lay splayed on every available surface.

In every room a clock, ticking with the low, steady ‘’wub-wub’’ of a heartbeat. As she drifted through the hushed space, that pulse followed closely--so closely that once or twice, she turned, expecting to see ‘’something’’ behind her. But Laine was alone.

She was drawn to the curio and trinkets that smattered shelves and tabletops. Pausing, here, to tap at a kinetic bronze sculpture that whirled planets into orbit; there, to smooth a fingertip along a translucent globe alight with a purple electric energy that sought out her touch.

When she lifted a heavy jar to inspect the blue liquid sloshing and the lumpy pink mass inside, she saw movement behind her in the reflection off the glass. She whirled, nearly dropping the jar.

That metered clock skipped, once, and quickened. Even as she struggled awake against the lull of sleep, Laine thought she could hear a breathless ‘’chuckle’’. That library dissolved around her, and she glimpsed--for an instant, as she knuckled her tired eyes--a swatch of black sky peppered with sparkling, laughing white stars.

He was there when she woke. That ‘’awareness’’ scampered at the edges of her consciousness, neither presumptuous nor obtrusive, like a pulsing current of energy or the gentle ticking of a clock.

<< Morning. >> Pithy. Cheeky. Expectant. << Did you sleep well? >>

Laine propped herself forward on her elbows with her blankets crumpled at her feet. Across from her, the perceptive pinstriped brown lounged on his couch, his sinuous tail swinging rhythmically like a pendulum.

<< Since you're up... >> The hopeful touch of his mind was a puff of dust, as though blown off an old tomb. ''Itch''. It made Laine scrub at her nose and vigorously scratch her thigh.

The way his jaw hung open, teeth flashing white, she might swear he was ‘’grinning’’.
}}

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Laine: Created page with "{{Log |who=R'van, Keysi, Farideh, Laine |what=In the evening following Fort's hatching, High Reaches' weyrlings share their thoughts on the tragedy. |where=Hot Springs, High R..."

{{Log
|who=R'van, Keysi, Farideh, Laine
|what=In the evening following Fort's hatching, High Reaches' weyrlings share their thoughts on the tragedy.
|where=Hot Springs, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=11
|month=12
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.05.30
|quote="I don't think I want to ever see anything like that again. It ''can't'' happen often-- right?"
|weather=Light snow.
|type=Log
|ooc=This is all I have of the log; if there's more, please add it in!
|icons-new=Icon Keysi angry.jpg, Icon r'van srs.jpg, Icon farideh troubled.png, Icon Laine down.jpg,
|desc=>---< Hot Springs, High Reaches Area (TP Room - HRW) >-----------------------<
Even further north than the Weyr itself, a short flight between crags and
over crevasses that even a wing-scarred veteran of Fall might undertake, a
cluster of clearings lies low in the shelter of hardy trees and ancient
stone. The outer two clearings might have been lost to more stubbly trees
Turns ago, if it weren't for the centre-most: a natural pool of warm,
softly bubbling water several dragonlengths across, with enough space for
perhaps a half-dozen people and their lifemates. Though the air is cold
all Turn round, and snowdrifts frequently whiten the ground, the
geothermal activity heats the mineral-scented water to such a consistently
comfortable heat that it becomes a refuge for those who don't wish to
travel further afield to wash their dragons.

Of the clearings that abut the spring, the nearest is only a few steps
away, though it's small enough that only a few dragons can lounge at once.
A steep trail descends to its substantially larger neighbor, a
gravel-strewn crescent with enough space to spread out and enjoy the crisp
air and the mountain range's admittedly spectacular views.
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Out
>----------------------------------------< 11D 12M 37T I10, winter night >---<
|log=Dusk. A gentle snowfall drifts down from a winter-dreary sky, though the air is is warm and humid in the hot springs clearing and flakes melt where they float into steam. A small group of weyrlings have made the short trek over crags, beyond the Weyr, and claimed the softly bubbling pool for themselves--their conversation somewhat muted, voices subdued, dampened by the heavy evening sky and news trickling through their number, from dragon-to-dragon, from weyrlings who attended the hatching at Fort. Among them, but separate, some distance from her peers, Laine has positioned herself against the pool's curve, her head resting against the edge and grey eyes staring up into the descending snow. For his part, Lifreyth, too, seems sobered--his bulk is plunged deep into the water, only his headknobs and lidded eyes visible through the floating steam.

The small brown lands with overly-practiced agility, more apt of a blue dragon than his own tone of hide. Even for a young one. Perhaps it makes up for all the falling he did when he was restricted to the ground. Keysi slips from his neck ridges in not-yet quite so practiced effort and pauses, a hand on his shoulder as he settles at the pool's edge. Not much room for many dragons there may be at this upper pool, but he fits. He's small enough. Not that he'd admit it. His eyes are still laced with orange, the facets slowly whirling, watching Keysi with that severe intensity that she herself shares. They both seem tired, more tired than they have been. For her part, she's meshed into the leadership program ontop of the weyrling training with almost too-much ease given her nature. So this exhaustion is more than that. An old off-white tunic overlies her bathing suit. Whether she's just that modest or has more to hide, remains unclear as she sits on the ledge to put her feet in the water next to Laine. "Hey." Simple, effective.

The ''mood'' -- Farideh's mood, anyway -- has been disquieted since returning from the Fort hatching, where more than a few of the weyrlings were witness to the green hatchling going between. It might have been surprising that she chose to venture from the Weyr to the hot springs, but then again, there's a serenity the clearing and its bubbly pool offers that the crowded Weyr can't. She's been in a small group comprised of a few of the green weyrlings, smiling here and there falsely, and not offering too much by way of conversation. On the tail end of some gossip-y, giggle fest, Farideh makes quiet apologies and shifts to the side, moving along the wall, staying low in the warm water so the much cooler air doesn't set her bare skin to goose-prickles. "Laine, Keysi," she says, quietly, resting her arms on the outer portion of the pool's edge, head pillowed on her forearms. Roszadyth is relaxing in the clearing, curled up like a giant feline.

Vadevjiath lands heavily in the clearing, not long on the heels of his brethren; and he settles there in a crouch to let R'van slide down. They're pretty good at this by now, considering the head start they had on everyone else--wingleader's prerogative--but there's not really any joy in it tonight. Rafe's expression is furrowed in thoughtfulness as he removes and folds the bronze's straps, and Vadevjiath slides into the water first.

"Heya. Keysi. Farideh." Laine's eyes lid heavily and she draws her arms across her chest, an unconscious imitation of her lifemate as he sinks lower into the water, weight and bulk shifting as Vadevjiath enters the pool. Giving space. Those grey eyes flicker open again, slowly, dark purplish bags vibrant against her fair skin. "You guys were there." It's almost a question. Almost. R'van's arrival is tracked only as a casual note; it's her lifemate that earns the weight of Laine's tired gaze.

Neianth appears uninterested in getting into the springs' water, but eventually he settles down at least to lay where he landed a mere stride or two from the pool itself. Vadevjiath's landing is given a greeting rumble, but that is all. His focus is elsewhere. Keysi gives in to the warmth of the bubbling water as the steam rises just enough to dampen the rest of her skin and make her shiver from the chill above and the light yet unforgiving snow. She submerges to neck-deep, and sighs. The tunic rises slightly as it threatens to float while the rest of her sinks, but it's pulled down shortly enough. "Aye." Is given to Laine, a nod of greeting around the same time to Farideh and R'van. All in some sort of order. "It was.. unpleasant." Understatement. "Are you doing alright?" This, to Farideh specifically.

''Does'' Farideh notice their wingleader's arrival? She must, but she makes no pretense of saying ''hello'', nothing more than casual observance. "Yes," she says, quietly, her eyes flicking to the side, to both Laine and Keysi. "We were and--" A sigh. "I am. It was-- unexpected. I thought-- I ''knew''-- no, I thought, they always, found ''someone'', ''anyone'', but she just--" She shakes her head and curls her arms a little more protectively together. "I don't think I want to ever see anything like that again. It ''can't'' happen often-- right?"

For once, even R'van is quiet, taking his time in getting in the water. When he does, he settles in near the trio of women with a sigh for the warm water. "Unlikely," he says, in answer to Farideh's last question. "Considering everyone seemed equally--" surprised? distraught?

Fully submerged, Lifreyth may be forced to resurface eventually, but for now he's only a gauzy brown shadow under the rippling water. He's shielded his mindtouch, usually so light and open, from his clutchmates; what remains behind, dim but not wholly concealed, is ''frustration''. His lifemate shrubs her face with her palms, a motion that turns into a rough tousle of her short hair. Laine swallows before she speaks. "They talked about it, before." Her eyes remain fixed on Lifreyth's immersed form, breaking away only to flick from Keysi to R'van to Farideh and back. "But I didn't think... Must've been awful. I can't imagine."

"No." It's a definitive, but at least in agreement with R'van. That might be a first? "Back then.." Keysi trails off after Laine speaks as if not really wanting to finish her statement, though she would eventually. There's obvious self-blame in that, her usually level tone not-so-much with that as it dips with something like guilt. At least her expression remains unreadable. Her intense eyes drop to the water's surface, a scarred hand placed there just to feel the bubbles. "We did not have enough Candidates, but at least those few were the right Candidates. They did have enough Candidates, and they were not so lucky. Both times someone made a choice to limit Search." There's more angry than sad there, and it's evident by the dragon behind her more than her own expressionless expression. Scratching can be heard as white talons on blackened paws move over the rocky surface. Crouched sorrel beast never quite rises, more slides closer until his tan-touched nose can huff just behind her head. He lays his head there, almost touching but not quite.

As everyone speaks in turn, Farideh becomes silent, simply listening, sheltering her expression from the rest with the wrap of her slender arms. It's Keysi that she focuses on, finally. "I wonder ''why''. They-- ''we'' did because of the terms of the deal with Igen, but Fort--" Her brow furrows, and she shakes her head, heaving a world-weary sigh.

Vadevjiath lurks on the surface with a dangerous sort of stillness to him as he watches the other dragons. His temper is heated as ever, only just restrained, while R'van seems mostly tired, his own disquiet redirected--sort of--into practicality. "Well. I expect they're paying the steep price for it now," he answers with a lift of his shoulders. But the idea still doesn't seem to sit well with him; Vadevjiath's anger is contagious, visible in the set of the rider's jaw.

Water sheds off Laine's shoulders as she sits up straighter, lips pressing hard into a line of distaste as she quietly regards Keysi. "Didn't know they'd limited the candidates." She unfolds her arms, draping them across the pool's edge, and shakes her head with a cough that almost sounds like a bitter laugh. "Could've happened just as easily to any of the dragonets at ''ours''." That scowl deepens. "''Are'' they? Paying a price?"

"Aye." Is Keysi's cautious reply to the weyrling wingleader. The orange-laced eyes behind her continue to slowly whirl. "I do not know. I've not kept tabs on their politics too closely." Is her answer to both Farideh and Laine. Her gaze shifts from one to the next in their small collective. "It could have. I thought it would, remember?" Keys lets her hands sink under the warm water, and lets her head ease back on the stone ledge to dip her released and unevenly cut hair. At least the months since she's sliced it off had given less obvious jagged lines to it. "They were upset, obviously. The junior weyrwoman- Lilah, if I recall?- she was trying to pull everyone from the galleries that she could. But some even turned away."

"It wouldn't have mattered. It ''shouldn't've'' mattered. Dragons Impress to people in the stands all the time-- people who don't want to Impress, people who ''shouldn't'' Impress. There should have been ''more'' on the sands, more than the handpicked few and the people who came to gawk. Searched from the Fort coverage area, or ''any'' other area, really." Farideh's words carry fervor and conviction this time, her head lifting to slant a frustrated stare towards her peers. "That," she assures them, which she ''obviously'' has no right to do, "will never happen here, again."

"Never," says R'van blandly, "is a very long time." It's his contribution to the conversation, his expression more brooding than anything else; he has that distracted, dragon-talk look in his eyes.

"So a dragonet ''died'' because of-- of someone's political dick-waving. That's some fucking bullshit." There's a dark flicker behind Laine's eyes, once that's matched by a surge of resentment radiating off Lifreyth like steam as he breaks the surface of the pool, silent as a shadow. Laine leans her head back again, resting it on one arm as though the weight of holding it up were too much, and her thick brows knit over slitted eyes. She doesn't quite meet Farideh's gaze, an expression of reluctant agreement twisting her mouth at R'van's words.

Keysi only listens to Farideh's fervor, quiet for the moment, but not relaxed despite her reclined position. Every muscle tense, her dragon tense. If only she could have- A snort from behind her cuts off her thoughts. And she refocuses on the group. "It's in your power." Pause, "Eventually." That follow up is slightly strained. They're all so young, yet. "Realistically, yes, but it only takes one person to put certain change in order. Someone aught to learn something from this." Irritation rising. She's not perfected her control. "Knowing 'never' is virtually impossible should not dissuade the effort." Grey eyes settle on R'van for that, though her voice remains.. barely.. calm.

"It's not ''unusual''," presumably the political dick-waving, "but this time it had unfortunate consequences." Farideh frowns, casting a baleful look at R'van. "Can't you ever have something ''positive'' to say? Something that doesn't make everyone want to throttle you?" She's saved the waste of more breath with Keysi's proclamation, and appears both impressed and startled by the brownrider's words. "No. It shouldn't, and I can't think of a reason it should ever ''be'' implemented, other than for ''political dick-waving''. We didn't need to close our doors to Search outside of High Reaches' either. It was all just a-- just-- a ''tactic''."

"Effort, no. But promises? Assurances?" R'van's calm; in fact, having someone's barely contained anger focused on him him seems to make him ''more'' calm. The shake of his head dismisses the latter idea. There's a glance to Farideh, just for a moment; ''there'' that calm is boiling off, just a little, just for a moment. But though the tension's evident in his expression, he bites back the reply, at least.

Jaw tight, Laine doesn't ''speak'' but grunts quietly as though exhausted by the effort of maintaining her outrage. There's a twitched, aborted motion from the hand closest to Farideh, a placating gesture beside the other girl's shoulder, before R'van's offers his level reply. "Don't-- she ''knows'', R'van." Laine draws in a long, slow breath through her nose. "It's all well and good to implement ''changes'' and ''rules'', but--" her eyes are closed, voice strained but steady, "--only that dragonet knows why she went ''between''. Why no one there suited. Impossible to prevent. But worth ''trying'' to."

"I was not innocent of it." Keysi says to Farideh on the note of High Reaches tactic. "I don't believe many of us were. I agreed to stand specifically after a quarrel with Quinlys regarding who should or shouldn't be allowed to stand. I took a side. I was wrong." It's a statement only, as if she long ago had already admitted that. "You can't lead on 'mights' and 'maybes'." Is her partial disagreement to R'van, though she's collected at that. He's not utterly wrong, but she's (still) hardpressed to fully agree with him. For Laine's words- the truths regardless of politics, Keys has even fewer, letting her gaze drop back to the water instead. There may be a small nod in there somewhere.

An angry exit might be more dramatic if Farideh could actually ''stomp'' away and slam a door, so that everyone could hear it. As it stands, they're in a ''pool of water'', so the only recourse she has is the dissatisfied sound she makes, before she turns and sloshes away, back to the gossiping greenriders on the other side. They, at least, don't seem to care about the political value of the day's earlier event, however unhappy they may be with the choice of riding leathers' a certain bluerider chose.

"We don't have anything else, except 'should' and 'probably'," is R'van's answer to that. The lack of firm foundation doesn't seem to bother him at least. He watches after Farideh for a moment, lips pursed; but he lets her go in the end, in favor of a similar look at Laine. The cautionary note may be less than appreciated, but he'll not argue with anything else there.

That deep breath? It's exhaled all at once, a sigh of-- frustration? Dismay? Laine passes her drained and narrow-eyed gaze over her (remaining) companions, and as she shrugs her fingers splay palms-out in the universal gesture of ''I'm out''. Sides? Politics? Leadership? It's above Laine's paygrade (and presently that's ''nothing''). "I don't envy her." Parting words, apparently. The brown-riding weyrling pushes herself deeper into the water and toward her lifemate.
}}

HRW:Weyrlings/Month3/Recap

2015-05-26T17:00:14Z

Laine: /* Laine */

{{WeyrlingNav |title=Month3}}
== Edyis ==
Month three is a time of change, and Edyis and Akluseth seem to hit their stride, and there are glimpses of the kind of teamwork the two ''could'' be capable of in the future. She is still orderly and precise, where Akluseth is all about improvising and getting the job done.

Edyis is calmer, less openly rebellious though that occasional twitch of her jaw might suggest there is more going on beneath the surface. Lessons are welcome, and she throws herself into classes, taking detailed notes and careful to ask only pertinent questions. She still spends much of their downtime studying. Politics and dragonhealing are favorite subjects though the thread fall charts draw some interest. In drills, she often wants to know the why behind a particular maneuvers. She is also happy to help out her fellow weyrlings, or at least the ones who don't irritate her, either helping with studying or keeping up with the course work. The pair is far less withdrawn this month.

Akluseth is as ever a chaotic mess of energy, useful for keeping up with the strenuous exercises. But, not so good for sitting still for long periods of time. His fascination with water remains, and while he prefers Edyis's company, he can often be found sunning or swimming in the lake when she is ''occupied.'' His clutch siblings are more attractive to him now, always happy to get caught up in a new adventure or some physical challenge. He's protective of his smaller siblings. Keeping a careful eye on them to make sure they don't get into trouble.

== Farideh ==

The third month of weyrlinghood comes with its ups and downs for the gold pair, as par for the course. While Roszadyth is busy spreading her wings - << ''Almost flying''! What a wonderful adventure! >> - and getting know the dragons around her, far beyond the scope of her clutch siblings, Farideh throws herself exhaustively into her new duties. Being ''right'' and ''good'' at these skills seem to be important to her, for all that she swears off wanting to actually lead or runthe Weyr, and spends a great deal of time studying records and penning notes when not otherwise detained by the regular weyrling activities and weyrwoman training.

On the whole, Farideh's brief spurt of energy, after weeks on weeks of being exhausted, dies beneath the strain of these added responsibilities. When she isn't studying, or training, or attending to Roszadyth's needs, she can be found napping-- in pretty much any location, in any kind of awkward positioning. Curled up on her cot? Yes! Sprawled out in the corner? Yes! Hunched over the table? Yes! Basically, while she's busy with her own issues, she's not particularly making any extra time to hang out with her fellow weyrlings; anyone that needs her attention will have to accept it being split between the different pathways her mind is otherwise occupied with.

And that comes with the added benefit of her being way too tired to verbally spar with others. Hurray!

== Keysi ==
As time goes on, Keysi and Neianth become inwardly focused, at least through the duration of month three. Although the first two months should have been given to it, they spent this month focused on each other, improving their bond and finding their flow. Few have likely interacted with them beyond seeing them during drills- completed with no less determined and exhausting intensity as before- and she's even less inclined than usual to strike up conversation. Classes have found her present but silent, with an intermittent glaze of her eyes indicating she may not quite be paying full attention. The pair have come to terms with the push-and-pull of each other. The concept of separation meaning something different for them, as it does for those pairs that are particularly close and work better that way. It was a learning process, one that required Keys to take lessons given and adapt them. This is a new concept for her, the girl who prior to Impression was so by the book in her craft. << Mind like water, not like ice. >> Neianth reminds her now. A light bulb has come on, Keys adapting herself from her experiences during her times of trading and fighting, less so from healing, and they've set the start line to only flourish from here.

== Laine ==

Though some may have been holding their breath for the time when all that lack of sleep has caught up to Laine, month three apparently isn’t it. In fact, the weyrling pair seems to have honed the art of sporadic wakefulness, snatching catnaps where they can (not quite so publicly as Farideh) and staying up long past curfew, well into the early hours of the morning. Laine even seems brighter and more attentive in lectures, but she quickly vanishes once they conclude and rarely sticks around, even for socializing. Although she’s struggling, still, with the more delicate elements of social graces and political maneuverings, she excels with the leatherworking aspect of her lessons. And threadfall charts, wing formations, and even sketching practice are ‘’boring’’, but it’s Lifreyth’s interest in them that drives Laine to pore over her homework by glow-light, and as a result she’s quick to (correctly, even!) answer questions in class.

The physical training seems to bring out the best in Laine, who was already quite fit to begin with. She enjoys the self-defense classes and can often be seen exercising outside of the regular calisthenics schedule (typically by moonlight). Lifreyth throws himself eagerly to the prospect of gilding and hunting on the grounds, and although he’s not so overt a leader as Ahtzudaeth or Vadevjiath, the brown begins to find joy in sharing choice pieces of wisdom with his clutchmates--not overbearingly, but kindly and gently.

There’s a downside to the pair’s erratic sleep schedule. By the end of the month, they’re rarely seen outside of lectures and drills, and Laine is similarly absent from group breakfasts and dinners. This hasn’t, however, stopped Lifreyth’s in his persistent (prying?) inquisitions into the minds of the dragons of the Weyr.

==O'nahi ==
== R'van ==

This is the month the strain starts to show for R'van. His self-mandated long hours are leaving him worn, and while he hasn't resorted to Farideh's rampant napping, he's starting to look like it wouldn't go amiss on him. While he can follow along well enough on the mechanics of drills, especially after the first few exercises, the physicality of it is something he's still having to work harder at--not least because this kind of gruntwork isn't something he enjoys. In his free time, he continues to work on his secretive side projects: pouring over records, writing detailed papers, and disappearing off for his experiments whenever he can. At least it keeps him out of everyone else's way; the close quarters and increasingly frayed nerves of weyrlinghood mean he's been more obnoxious than probably typical. Where he's always had a dry, smug sense of humor, now he struggles not to be just short with others, too blunt and too supercilious by half.

Vadevjiath, meanwhile, is coming into his own--for good or bad. As the weyrling dragons move into more adult exercises, Vadevjiath is beginning to assert his strong will, less the content youngster he once was. He seems to want to play at being wingleader during drills, and won't shy from giving orders to his fellows--whether Olveraeth likes it or not. When they start hunting, their initial attempts inelegant and unsuccessful, it will be Vadevjiath that has a plan to make it all work, and it will be Vadevjiath that musters a crew to take beasts down together. He can be quite brutal about it: while he might use others as pawns to help wrangle beasts in range, he enjoys making the kills himself. Even if he's always generous enough to share with all those who help--and none of those who don't.

== Rook ==
== T'mic==

Month three is, in all ways, a time of growth for Jorrth and T'mic. T'mic clearly loves the harder physical training (although it seems his well-loved little belly will never, ever fully disappear, no matter what kind of muscle he manages to put underneath it), and Jorrth is eager to test his own limits, even though at the beginning of the month he's still the teeniest, tiniest blue in the clutch. However, in the second half of the month, Jorrth hits a sudden and intense growth spurt, and will start catching up to the other blues, and taking on more adult proportions. It also puts an end to T'mic's ability to carry his dragon around; bittersweet for the pair. Jorrth needs oiling twice a day at least, and will be eating to keep up with some of the browns. Yes, there will be thicktail. And yes, T'mic still reminds his dragon to chew his food well before swallowing, even if he is clearly growing up.

Although T'mic has a clear knack for diplomacy, he struggles with some of the concepts in the other more advanced classes. He'll regularly express dismay at how come people can't just treat each other nicely and get along during their politics classes. And he's still doing some catch-up for basic reading, writing, and arithmetic (when he doesn't have to put them off for oiling his lifemate), and his dedication to these studies seems to be slowly overcoming his lack of a natural talent for them. Drills, meanwhile, go ''incredibly'' well for both of them. Jorrth is naturally attuned to the group more than the individual, and teamwork, and so, formations, come naturally to him. His growth spurt means that he's actually a bit clumsier when the drills get more complicated than when they'd started them, but he's as tenacious as his rider, and will put all his attention into perfecting his motions. And the re-perfecting them, when suddenly his legs are longer a few days later. Again and again, over and over.

Most socialisation will occur on the feeding grounds, or while Jorrth is getting his oilings. Jorrth will always do better at the hunt when he hunts with others; even by the end of the month, he won't be all that successful on his own. Still, for all that they are busier now than ever, neither seems excessively stressed by their challenges. Sometimes frustrated at the end of a long day, yes, but not stressed. It's one of their superpowers, it seems.

== Yesia ==
== Ysaera ==
== Z'kiel ==
With the denial of his request to transfer post-graduation, there is a distinct - if initially subtle - shift in Z'kiel.

Though the first sevenday of the month finds him even more sour and irritable than before, the second sevenday marks the transition into a man resolved to do whatever it takes to be ''the best''. He'll never outright say it, but there is no need; the sheer amount of ''effort'' he puts into his studies will show as much. His reading and writing will improve slightly as a matter of course - and though he doesn't have an especially keen interest in politics and diplomacy, he'll grit his teeth through the lessons and do reasonably well.

It's the real work - the Threadfall charts, the formations, all of ''that'' business that he'll shine in. He'll take to all of it like a natural-born dragonrider. He might be best at working alone, but it rapidly becomes clear that he's also pretty good at working with a team - once he's grown to accept them ''as'' his team. Naturally, Ahtzudaeth will take credit for ''swaying'' his rider's thoughts - the more cynical might view it as a successful ''breaking'' of the Igenite's will. Either way, Z'kiel will start to push himself - and the others - to do their best.

It won't be until the end of the month, when his dragon's discomfort and his studies ease, that he'll start to reach out to his fellow weyrlings in earnest. For those that are struggling with the exercises, he'll even offer to train with them and coach them along - though usually in return for help in keeping Ahtzudaeth's hide from itching. After all, what else is he going to do? Sleep? The itching makes it impossible, so why not trade coaching sessions for oiling help?

Ahtzudaeth's itching slowly abates toward the middle of the month and vanishes entirely by the end. The situation is uncomfortable, but he handles it in his usual, good-natured way - mostly by joking that, << The itching is just youth and inexperience leaving the body, nothing more. >> Physically, he's in excellent shape - the exercises are exercises that he's been doing for some time already and he, much like his rider, will gladly take up coaching duties for his brothers and sisters should they need it (and even if they don't). He'll persist as a patient, steady presence that can easily be leaned on for advice and answers - though he rarely seems to reach out for the same. Hunting will be an interesting affair, particularly since he'll get his start on dazed tunnelsnakes long before the herdbeasts - one of the perks of having a former hunter for a rider! - and will, as he so often does with regards to all other lessons, appear to have a natural talent for it.

HRW:Weyrlings/Month2/Recap

2015-05-26T16:00:09Z

Laine: /* Laine */

{{#pagetitle: Month 2 - Recap}}{{WeyrlingNav |title=Month2}}
== Edyis ==
Exam results:
*Reading: A+
*Writing: A+
*Arithmetic: B-
*Local History: A+
*World History: A+

 
All that time in the Records Room, and her compulsive need to ''know'' and study pays off in not being seated in remedial lessons. In most classes, she takes extensive and detailed notes in shorthand, but none of it helps much with her people skills. She ''does'' help anyone who asks, but has become more withdrawn, often only in the barracks when required to be. She is keen to follow the letter of the rules, but the spirit of them is something else entirely. There are all the makings of quiet rebellion starting to brew beneath the surface, ''especially'' after haircuts. Classes provide some relief; Edyis is the most engaged in Dragonhealing classes, often talking with the instructors after class when they will allow. Self-defense, however, is a complete and perhaps obvious frustration. Often distracted or struggling to pay attention, strangely when singled out she can usually demonstrate or answer questions effectively, but often she's reading something for another class. It is the etiquette lessons that seem to be the most challenging, (unsurprisingly to some) and often she stays after class to ask questions when the instructors allow.

Akluseth is his usual restless self, often frustrated by his rapidly increasing size that limits the places he can explore. He is beginning to take an interest in his clutch mates and other dragons. The new exercises added into the physical routines has helped with his ability to focus and his sometimes (unintentionally) disruptive energy. His recklessness is most noticeable, sometimes starting an action even before the instructor has finished their sentence. His relationship with Edyis seems to have changed somewhat too, and while he can't explain to anyone what goes on in his rider's head he reacts to her moods more quickly. Often fiercely so.

== Farideh ==

Exam results:

* '''Reading''': A
* '''Writing''': A
* '''Arithmetic''': D
* '''Local History''': B-
* '''World History''': A- 

Much of month two is spent studying and reading, and then studying for more in preparation for the placement exams. Farideh has been adamant about succeeding and not ending up as the last of their class, though the actual results vary in the end. She throws herself into her duties too, and seems to enjoy the morning and evening laps that she does in the bowl. Others may notice she spends less time in the barracks, when Roszadyth is sleeping or otherwise occupied, and more time in the records room or wandering the lower caverns. She isn’t deliberately ‘’aloof’’, but seems to have a lot of things on her mind and bonding with her fellow weyrlings isn’t high on that list.

Roszadyth is as kind and sensible as ever, and seems to be having more of an impact on her lifemate in terms of rerouting her temper. As for herself, she takes her own part with delicacy, not exactly throwing herself into the extra exercises that now include the dragons, but neither does she withhold. She continues to enjoy spending time with and talking to her clutchmates.

== Keysi ==
Exam results:
* Reading: A+
* Writing: A+
* Arithmetic: A
* Local History: A-
* World History: A-

Month one ended in frustration, month two in a sense of self-resolve that may have some heads spinning. Keysi and Neianth appear to have come to an understanding, one in which they’re never seen apart and they simply feed off of each other- to betterment, not detriment so far as was feared by the once-healer since day one. Together, they’ve refocused that energy tirelessly into studying and training to the point where some may wonder if she even sleeps. Her pre-Impression self has returned in full-fury, and the examinations provided little difficulty given her history of travels, and turns within the HealerHall. Her change is not perfected, certainly, and Keysi is still prone to funneling and amplifying Neianth’s impatient annoyance into her interactions with her fellows and superiors. Delayed, she criticizes herself for the things said, but has yet to be humble enough to apologize openly.

She seems to have taken a different approach to the classes than she did initially, while Neianth continues to pursue his own training with over-enthusiasm and doesn’t quit even when the sessions are over- even if his awkwardly long legs and wings make things more difficult than he deems fair. At first, they‘wasted her time’ in her opinion. However, she’s come to realize just because she knows so many things, doesn’t mean she’s too good for it. Even in the self-defense courses that are so painfully basic, she’s polished a couple of the rough and dusty edges of her modesty and has remembered just how important those basics are, in everything. And In a gesture towards Weyrlingmaster Quinlys, Keysi cut her hair herself.

[[Logs:Virtues_of_Growth|See Month 2 Vignette]]

== Laine ==

Exam results:
*'''Reading''': B+
*'''Writing''': B
*'''Arithmetic''': A-
*'''Local History''': C
*'''World History''': C-

Marks saved only by the grace of her craft, Laine does not prove to be a keen student. The placement exams land her squarely in the middle of the class, with math, surprisingly, emerging as her strongest suit (must’ve been all that measuring twice, cutting once business). Admittedly, she ''tries'' to study for the exams, but… that sleep schedule of hers and Lifreyth just keeps getting weirder. Not yet to the point of nodding off in class, she’s holding it together, apparently, through force of will alone. She’s most alert and attentive in the self-defense and first aid classes, though her enthusiasm for the etiquette classes is lacking. The calisthenics and physical exercise are embraced willingly--it’s not uncommon, even, to find the weyrling running laps at odd hours.

Lifreyth remains his self-possessed, cheeky self, offering support to his lifemate and his clutchmates in spades. His unbound curiosity takes him not only to the farthest permissible edges of the Weyr (and ''sometimes'' a little further beyond that), but also has him exploring the minds and personalities of the dragons of ‘Reaches with that probing inquisitiveness. Some consider it charming; others, snooping--but in any case, Lifreyth isn’t one to complain if he’s rebuffed.

==O'nahi ==
== R'van ==

Exam results:
* '''Reading''': A+
* '''Writing''': A+
* '''Arithmetic''': A+
* '''Local History''': A+
* '''World History''': A

If it weren't obvious already, R'van's a smart guy. He finishes exams with flying colors, though his history scores certainly benefit from being a local: it's his least favorite of them all. He also may have tried to show off on the math portion, with his own notes written in on higher-level applications than what they'll likely be tested on. Because R'van is also a smart ass, and that's becoming readily apparent as weyrlinghood becomes more of a stressor. He's early to rise, late to bed, often working on his own secretive things: reading well after curfew; taking advantage of Vadevjiath's naps not to rest himself, but to push on with his own personal agenda. While he does well enough in dragon-related classes, he's not tops there: it's just not the same kind of priority. Of course, all this focus on his own business means he continues to be disconnected from his peers, and even the one he's been friendliest with--Farideh--seems mighty pissed at him by the end of the month.

Vadevjiath, for his part, is growing steadily, but it's increasingly clear that Ahtzudaeth and even Lifreyth are outstripping him in that department. He makes up for it in single-minded determination, pushing himself hard--if, maybe, not quite so bullheadedly as Neianth. He doesn't seem to mind his rider's independence, at least, though they seem overall well-bonded. On the physical side, while R'van can keep up with the exercise regime without much trouble, it's not his best skill. He's thoroughly middling in fact, and for the most part content with that: his arrogant competitiveness is reserved for academia. He should probably work on that.

== Rook ==
== T'mic==
*Reading: C
*Writing: C+
*Arithmetic: C-
*Local History: C
*World History: B

 T'mic is much more aware of the people around him and the changes in his and their lives in the second month of weyrlinghood than he was in the first. He may show some nervousness when talking about the far-off future, but he seems settled enough now to take the here-and-now and near-future as they come. It's easy, after all, with Jorrth by his side. Not that he'll have had a chance to ''show'' his new outlook on life much.

The harper testing does not go all that well, and not just because he didn't really get his head into the game in time to study. T'mic isn't one of the quick ones, and his catch-up classes consume a great deal of his time. That he does notably better with anything that can be taught or practiced orally rather than in writing may have bumped some of his grades upwards. Although he can read and write passably, his retention of what he reads leaves much to be desired. But he's tenacious, and so far refuses to give up.

He intends to send his clay baby-Jorrth to his mom in Benden.

Jorrth is still adorable, and still smaller than general growth rates (or, you know, the code on game) suggest he should be. He seems to learn more quickly than his rider (though this has yet to create any friction between them). His interest in anything and everything is hardly a secret to his clutchmates or the weyrling staff.

== Yesia ==

Exam results:

* '''Reading''': A
* '''Writing''': B+
* '''Arithmetic''': C
* '''Local History''': B-
* '''World History''': C 

As it turns out, Yesia's pretty smart. One of the few who didn't fret about harper exams - "''I'll'' do fine," marked the weeks approaching testing, and a quiet, insufferable gloating came after - her scores earned her quite the reprieve in most cases. She struggles with math and world history, and when the time comes also is not amazing at memorizing dragon anatomy, though she does enjoy playing with the clay and her sculptures are good, even if she can't name the parts. It can be noted that after several negative encounters in month one, Yesia's eased off being so - terrible. This might be somewhat Aeaeth's doing, or maybe she was scolded one time too many, but she can be caught frequently catching herself, biting her tongue, and replacing cruel outbursts and insults with cutting smiles and manipulation of those who haven't already been alienated by her. Some weyrlings don't get much of a break from her reign of terror - caught in her crosshairs, they're likely to continue to feed into mutual animosity. 
For her part, Aeaeth is beginning to balance her internal relationship with Yesia and her external relationships with her clutchmates. Where she was largely disinterested in them in month one, she seems more keenly aware of the other weyrlings' presence, and is certainly more bubbly and interested in the dragon gossip mill, should any of them provide something she deems worthy of sharing. It won't take long before someone realizes this is a bad idea, because Aeaeth is not above ''sharing'' this information, sometimes with the entire class during calisthenics, sometimes just with Yesia, who will use it later as a strategic conversational barb. There is a possibly unhealthy co-dependency brewing between the pair, even if it's hard to tell if someone should address it as such.

== Ysaera ==
== Z'kiel ==
* Reading: C-
* Writing: C-
* Arithmetic: C
* Local History: D
* World History: D

If it's possible, the former hunter grows more introverted – for the most part. Z'kiel has little to say – but, considering his exam scores, it's no surprise: he has little time to casually chat with the load of remedial work that he's been burdened with. He is, as a result, a bit short-tempered – but no one will really see the full force of it. Indeed, his quiet and removed nature may well make it seem that he's just ''busy'' and nothing more.

That agitation has only grown since the removal of his braid – and his subsequent shaving of his head. Toward the end of the month, he'll be seen more and more often with bruised and split knuckles, but the source will remain unknown. He's not talking and it clearly hasn't resulted in anyone ''else'' being put in the infirmary, so it can't be that terrible. And, considering he's still shouldering the burden of studying and lessons well – with an intense and silent stoicism – there probably isn't much reason to remain concerned.

It helps, too, that he's physically in peak condition; the physical lessons are the ones he shines most strongly in and it's not uncommon to see him exercising when he's not drowning in studies or seeing to Ahtzudaeth's needs.

However: it is no secret that, despite the limitations of the posted notice, he has written and submitted his own request to transfer.

Ahtzudaeth, however, will have none of it. If asked directly what his thoughts are, he'll respond in the same way – with a ''chortle'' and a mild, << High Reaches is our home – and he knows it, as surely as I do. This shall pass. >> The bronze, in direct contrast to his rider, is far more talkative and eager to give advice – asked for or otherwise. He, as usual, takes easily to the lessons as presented and is more than happy to help his fellow weyrlings out when they need it. Whatever dark moods have claimed his rider have seemingly no effect on the perpetually good-natured bronze.

It's toward the end of the month that the bronze displays signs of severe itchiness. The healers will note nothing appears to be wrong and the episode – which will last nearly a month – is perhaps due to a combined burst of rapid growth and his rider's stress.

Laine

2015-04-30T03:57:54Z

Laine:

{{Profile
|picture=Laine full colour.jpg
|where=High Reaches Weyr
|Has rank=Weyrling
|craft=Tanner
|birthplace=Nabol
|mother=Muraine
|father=Lorron
|siblings=Rorden (+6), Mathias (+2), Lorgan (-3)
|playedby=Ruby Rose
|status=Active
|face=Face-Laine.jpg
|body=
== Description ==
Laine sports a short-cropped, thick and glossy head of dark hair that seemingly defies gravity, standing stark and upswept, unkempt. Her small, pert nose sits between high cheekbones, and her skin is fawn and fair, reddening and freckling in the summer. Slate grey eyes are bright under thick, dark eyebrows and her mouth is small with full lips and even, white teeth.

A trim, sturdy young woman, with a small bust and narrow hips, Laine nearly reaches five and a half feet, and looks to be in her late teens. Her shoulders and arms are athletic and lean; her hands are strong, though her nails are chewed ragged. Her clothing is unremarkable, although her soft brown leather jacket looks well-loved (and well-worn). The braided knot on her shoulder reports her as a brown-riding 'Reaches weyrling.

== WYSK ==

* Nabolese; born to orchard-farming parents in a small cothold not far from Esvay Hold
* Three years have been spent training at the Tanner Crafthall in Igen
* Has been at the weyr since early Turn 36, under the supervision of a posted journeyman
* Impressed Destiny in the Stars Brown Lifreyth at gold Niahvth and bronze Reisoth's clutch in the summer of Turn 37 

== Personality ==

[http://www.16personalities.com/isfp-personality '''ISFP - The Adventurer''']: ISFPs live to find ways to push their passions. Riskier behaviors like gambling and extreme sports are more common with this personality type than with others. Fortunately their attunement to the moment and their environment allows them to do better than most. ISFPs also enjoy connecting with others, and have a certain irresistible charm. 

[http://kevan.org/johari?name=NCLaine Contribute to Laine's Johari Window.] 
[http://kevan.org/nohari?name=NCLaine Contribute to Laine's Nohari Window.]

== RP Logs ==

{{NewLogs |name=Laine}}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}

{{Icons}}

}}
{{Character-Categories
|Categories=Crafters, Nabol, Brownriders
}}

[[Category:Characters]]
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]

Laine

2015-04-21T04:18:59Z

Laine:

{{HrwProfile
|picture=Laine full colour.jpg
|where=High Reaches Weyr
|Has rank=Weyrling
|craft=Tanner
|birthplace=Nabol
|mother=Muraine
|father=Lorron
|siblings=Rorden (+6), Mathias (+2), Lorgan (-3)
|playedby=Ruby Rose
|status=Active
|face=Face-Laine.jpg
}}
== Description ==
Laine sports a short-cropped, thick and glossy head of dark hair that seemingly defies gravity, standing stark and upswept, unkempt. Her small, pert nose sits between high cheekbones, and her skin is fawn and fair, reddening and freckling in the summer. Slate grey eyes are bright under thick, dark eyebrows and her mouth is small with full lips and even, white teeth.

A trim, sturdy young woman, with a small bust and narrow hips, Laine nearly reaches five and a half feet, and looks to be in her late teens. Her shoulders and arms are athletic and lean; her hands are strong, though her nails are chewed ragged. Her clothing is unremarkable, although her soft brown leather jacket looks well-loved (and well-worn). The braided knot on her shoulder reports her as a brown-riding 'Reaches weyrling.

== WYSK ==

* Nabolese; born to orchard-farming parents in a small cothold not far from Esvay Hold
* Three years have been spent training at the Tanner Crafthall in Igen
* Has been at the weyr since early Turn 36, under the supervision of a posted journeyman
* Impressed Destiny in the Stars Brown Lifreyth at gold Niahvth and bronze Reisoth's clutch in the summer of Turn 37

== RP Logs ==

{{NewLogs |name=Laine}}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}

{{Icons}}

{{HRW}}

[[Category:Characters]]
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]
{{Character-Categories
|Categories=Crafters, Nabol, Brownriders, Flurry Wing
}}

Logs:Getting Along

2015-04-21T03:50:11Z

Laine: Icon update :)

{{Log
|who=Laine, Keysi, Rook, R'van, Z'kiel, Farideh
|what=It's been a long week, but the weyrlings make time for ''play'' after work.
|where=Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
|day=3
|month=8
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.04.20
|quote="Is impressing side by side all it takes to make family?"
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon Laine Lifreyth peeking laughing.jpg, Icon laine djhugdealer.jpg, Icon Neianth amused.jpg, Icon Keysi neutral.jpg, Icon r'van vadevjiath.png, Icon rafevan.jpg, Icon Zadkiel.jpg, Icon farideh short.png, Icon farideh roszadyth.png
|log=It's just under a week, now, since the hatching, (only?) nearly six days passed. And between oiling, feeding, sleeping, mucking, oiling, feeding, and more oiling (and more mucking) it's anyone's guess how the weyrlingmasters have managed to get those sleep-deprived new weyrlings to smush ''anything'' into those mushy brains of theirs. But lessons they must have: today's, ''separation'', that crucial element that distinguishes the dragonet's hunger from the weyrling's. Whether or not the lesson's been ''absorbed'' is questionable, but class has let out for the day. Next up: "free time". As if such a thing existed. But the weyrlings are left to tend to their needs, and their dragons--some making a beeline for their cots and couches, others working on homework passed down from the weyrlingmasters. Lifreyth? He's not doing any of that. He's skidding up and down the length of the training cavern, clumsily tumbling over his paws, sinuous tail lashing, while Laine watches on, laughing helplessly, breathlessly.

Separation. Not that difficult a thing for Ahtzudaeth and Z'kiel, as it turns out; whether that's because the bronze is canny or the human-half is that distant is difficult to say with any certainty. The bronze is fairly glistening with oil and his stride is curiously sedate as he pads alongside his rider. It's a funny thing, truly; from time to time, one or the other will nod and make some noise as if in response to something said. After a time, the Igenite slows to a stop and sucks his teeth, his initially inward focus being forced outward at the sound of a weyrling dragon skidding along. His forehead furrows. Ahtzudaeth ''chortles''. Somehow.

This particular weyrling lesson was a hard one on Keysi and her tiny dark brown. As opposed to Z'kiel and his lifemate, separation feels near impossible for her and Neianth. The stern-eyed, intense girl seemed utterly reluctant to hear any of it, her arms crossed throughout the lecture. Not a single question asked from her corner, not a single motion of acknowledgement. The first few days with Neianth had been difficult, some may have noticed, with concern etched on Keysi as it never had been before. Now, with some time together it's as if the pair have merged into an understanding and it's almost before they're released that she's already standing and the nigh-blackened brown is shadowing at her feet. Both appear aggitated. Both, as reflections of each other. Clearly, not a word of the lesson sunk in. Only when Neianth sees Lifreyth running does the predatory diminuitive dragonet pause, curious, intent on his clutchbrother. But silent. Waiting.

Separation? That's a ''thing''? The bewildered look that seems more present than not on poor forlorn Rook's face is just amping up at ''skidding''. Rhiviyth thinks this is a GRAND idea, and well why didn't she come up with it?, but that doesn't matter because she can rectify her lack of involvement in this spectacularly ideal recreational activity by willfully pushing past her dumbstruck lifemate to trumpet imperiously at Lifreyth. YOU. Teach me the magic of your WAYS. "Rhiviyth!" comes the scratchy squeak from Rook, who hurries after the sweeping green, flushing florid.

The idea of ''separation'' is both a simple and complex issue for Farideh and Roszadyth. They are as one, but each seeking the best for the other; their first week has been less taxing, filled more so with adoring looks and silently taking each other in. At the end of another busy day, of chores and ministrations, Farideh's seated at one of the tables in the room, one leg bent and the other dangling. She's been mulling over a sheaf of parchment for a while now, chewing idly on the end of her writing utensil, and as yet, no words have been written, while Rosazadyth, graceful and poised, is quietly watching her clutch siblings from her dignified place nearby her lifemate. All of the commotion makes the once-laundress lift her eyes from her task, squinting in Laine's direction.

It takes a few more gasping breaths before Laine finds some sort of composure, collecting herself from the doorway and spreading her fingers in front of Lifreyth as he careens toward her. The brown is scrabbling for purchase as he braces himself with forepaws, sliding to a stop at her feet. But then there's ''Rhiviyth'' and she's calling out and Lifreyth drops, his butt high in the air, wriggling, anticipating--then dashes off again, in the opposite direction. Laine watches him go. There's nothing else she can do but lift her hands, palm up, then drop them again to her sides. "It's time to run," she announces to the weyrlings still in the training cavern with a shrug. Who's she to say contrariwise?

As the other weyrlings arrive or otherwise make themselves known, Ahtzudaeth looks to them - one and all - to issue a welcoming rumble. Sure, they just finished a lesson together, but there's no reason he can't ''re-greet'' everyone. << Lift your paws more, >> is issued with an earnest sense of being helpful. As for the lanky bronze, he'll just sit ''here'' and flex his wings. "So it would appear," is Z'kiel's response to Laine, though his attention is quick to slide to each of the weyrlings in turn, taking their measure, their actions - their reactions. He clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. There's a slight knitting of his brow at the sight of Farideh and it's to her that he partially turns, a wordless inquiry writ on his face as he lifts his chin to indicate the parchment.

YAY CHASE PREY GO. You can legit see the thought-bubble over Rhiviyth's head when Lifreyth wriggle-dashes away, and after flinging her forequarters down like a wolf-puppy at play, she romps after the brown with a keen sense of merry violence about her way. Rook? Rook just cringes, then shrugs her narrow shoulders at Laine's philosophical statement. "I guess so," the awkward little bumpkin says, her voice thick with the accent of those who live far to the north. "I'm sorry," she feels pressed to day, her hazel eyes momentarily very large as Rhiv turn-turn-turn paw-flail rump-skid rump-skid ''rump-skid'' FISHTAIL ALERTs around a sudden obstacle. (Pro tip: it's a dragonet. Pro tip 2: it's Ahtzudaeth.)

Neianth is not overtly playful as Lifreyth, but his stark white talons click click click upon the stone floor as he approaches Lifreyth- no, stalks- with ''better'' but certainly not perfected coordination. There's an exchange that switches Keysi's path to follow him. "I don't believe they're racing." A beat. "No, ''playing.''" She corrects some private thought shared between them. Nei pauses as if this is news to him, his dark wings ticking once above him, perhaps annoyed by that. Fine. The girl herself remains non-interactive for the moment, standing near the middle of the room, somewhere not really 'out of the way' of the play-zone.

From where she sits, still with one leg dangling and her left wrist resting on her knee, Farideh has quite the vantage of the various dragons romping around the training cavern. Her eyes sweep from Laine and Rook, to Keysi and Z'kiel. She only stops chewing on the top of her pen when the later weyrling jerks his chin at her paper, and her gaze drops to it too. "I was trying to think of something to write to my parents. They don't-- or maybe they ''do''-- know. By now." There's an emotionally-weary sigh, and she sets her pen down too, to stretch her arms over her head and give a yawn. "It's harder than I thought, to put the words down," is on the tail-end of said yawn.

There's no romping from Vadevjiath, though the bronze is still watching them when he settles to one side, tail curled over his sharp talons: content to watch, apparently. R'van trails after him, rubbing at his jaw; he's looking a little worn around the edges but not so much as some. Fortunately, Vadevjiath has been quick to take to schedules and orders, minimizing disruptions to life as much as possible. "Is it?" he wonders idly, on the heels of Farideh's admission.

Lifreyth, if he hears Ahtzudaeth's directive, doesn't pay it much mind--and when he executes a tight circle around Neianth, there's something to the pinstripe brown's movement that suggests a purposeful agility. He even flicks his narrow tail-tip in passing so it neatly grazes his clutchbrother's nose. Tag! You're it. And the brown is ''off'', winding and wending his way around tablelegs and chairs, somehow--despite those scurrying paws and that slender, writhing torso--avoiding knocking anything over. Laine leans one shoulder against the doorway into the barracks. She's only got eyes for that brown of hers, although she flicks an inquiring look to Farideh as she speaks. "Want me to write it?" She might be joking. She ''must'' be joking: "''Dear ma and pa''," she sticks a tongue between her lips and mimes writing, "''So I fell onto the hatchings sands the other day...''"

Rook's words catch Z'kiel's ear and he glances in her direction. "Don't apologize." His accent is heavy; the weight of his words is heavier still. The Igenite will seek to fix the poor young woman with a steady look that edges perilously close to a stare, but the weight of his regard will be a brief thing to endure. He removes himself from any risk of draconic chaos, which pulls him inexorably closer to Farideh for now. He doesn't sit next to her, but he'll stand there, at a ''safe'' distance, whatever that may be. "They can be difficult. Words." His mouth twists - and Laine's contribution earns a double-click of his tongue. Amused? Thoughtful? "I have struggled with my own letter. Perhaps," and this might be a joke, deadpan as it is, "we should write each other's letter." As for Ahtzudaeth, he's no slouch; his wings snap shut the moment Rhiviyth seems to be careening wildly in his direction. He tightens down, makes himself smaller, and waits until the green has clumsily fishtailed her way away. Only then does he rise to his feet, his movements fluid. With a snap and shake of wings to settle them, the long-limbed bronze gives in to the game - though with less sprinting and more calculating observation.

Neianth, seated back on his black-brown hewn haunches mantles his wings that dwarf his tiny form as he's circled by Lifreyth. Up. Bigger, broader. Attempting to be ''intimidating'' despite being almost a foot smaller than his clutch brother of the same color. There's a little hiss, a little show of teeth. Taunting, maybe. But when that tail-tip touches his little nigh-tanned nose, the explosive youngester is on up on his dark paws. Intense and intent as he's off to give pursuit! Significantly less playful, however, as he's in it for the ''challenge'' alone. Keysi's unmoved by this, folding her arms, apparently finding it now to be a regular occurance. He turns down no challenge just the same as she. She must be prodded by some unspoken suggestion as she finally does move, angling towards the small group collected around Farideh. But with the conversation on letters, she has no words and simply finds herself taking a seat on a debilitated old chair nearby.

Dragon> Breathless even in his mind, Lifreyth's touch filters through glass panes stained and aged with time, sunbeams with motes of dust drifting sideways. He's all awhirl. A great mobile brass sculpture, perhaps recognizable (to some) as a model of the sun and planets surrounding it, spins and spins and spins. The model has tarnished somewhat with age, but moves gracefully. (To Flurry dragons from Lifreyth)

Rhiviyth, having ''successfully'' completed the slalom of bronze as she does, has utterly lost Lifreyth and skids to a stop, lifting her head high. She's ended up more-or-less in the area of those surrounding Farideh. Then she's poking her pointy nose with little care to things such as personal space right up over R'van's shoulder. Hi there. Whatcha doin'? Rook blushes again under first Z'kiel's statement and then the utter unmannerliness of her green, and then she's stepping forwards with a farmgirl's lack of grace. "Rhiviyth!" she hisses, grabbing at the incalcitrant green. But she doesn't apologize to R'van. 'Cause Z'kiel said. But maybe her eyes do turn forlornly towards Farideh and Keysi. They look so calm.

Dragon> Sunbeams refract and bend through water, casting silver gold lines to dance and play across that brassy structure, a sea wind testing at those shapes perhaps seeing if they are capible of movement. (To Flurry dragons from Akluseth)

"Have ''you'' tried?" is accused of R'van, with no small amount of frustration, but it's followed by a bemused look at Laine. "First, I would never call my mother ''ma'' nor my father ''pa''. They would surely guess it wasn't ''me'', and the circumstances wouldn't really ''matter''." Farideh scrubs at her face, focusing on her cheeks until they're quite pink from blood flow. She wears a thoughtful expression after, brows drawing inevitably together, as she turns her head to the side, to eye Z'kiel askance. "I appreciate the offer, but-- it must be done in my own words, in my own time. It's the ''least''-- most ''appropriate''--" Is that a guilty glance at R'van? It could be, but her eyes flick quickly towards the green at his elbow, then to Roszadyth, who is still sedately lying and watching with ladylike restraint, and finally to Keysi, a question lingering in her eyes for the latter. "Alright?"

Suddenly there's a green nose under his arm, and R'van hardly has time to shift out of the way before Vadevjiath reacts. Outwardly, the bronze is suddenly sitting up a little straighter, his shoulders hunched, a hiss escaping him. His matching mental pushback isn't so targeted as to only Rhiviyth at this young age; it spills outward toward the other weyrling dragons, too: fierce territorialness, shy of words but clear nonetheless. ''His.'' R'van clearly feels it too, because he's deliberate in putting distance between himself and Rhiviyth too then, edging against his bronze. Point made, Vadevjiath settles somewhat, wings ruffling particularly, and Rafe admits to Farideh like the entire scene is perfectly normal: "Well, no." Point to her.

Dragon> Slowly the soft refrains of tinkling piano keys rise from Roszadyth's silence, paired with a saccharine chorus of girlish laughter and the warmth of undiluted sunshine. It's ''felt'', insinuated, the gold's contentedness, her ''delight'' at simply being present and watching everyone else ''play''. She's not far, just not particularly ''close'', her musical notes and gentle mind touch much more a periphery feeling than a true ''commandeering'' presence. (To Flurry dragons from Roszadyth)

"No," Rook scolds Rhiviyth, as if she were a barn-cat or a hound, and not a bloodthirsty dragon-to-be. Rhiviyth doesn't seem to much mind -- her lifemate ''or'' Vadevjiath's territorial claim over his rightful turf -- even as the green gets scooped right up off the ground. BYE GUYS, IT WAS FUN. She drapes her head over Rook's shoulder as the farmgirl stomps back towards the barracks, whirling eyes happily watching the scene she's being forcibly carted away from. Rook, meanwhile, looks near close to tears. BRB, gotta go figure out the meaning of life and what wretched god she pissed off recently.

Lifreyth leads Neianth in a merry chase for as long as his dark-hued brother will follow, keeping a pace or two ahead unless Neianth manages some burst of speed--until, unceremoniously, the larger brown will ''flop'' down onto the ground, not far from Laine, panting but otherwise still. Only his tail, twitching enticingly, is in motion, weaving across the floor. Seeing Lifreyth so exhausted, Laine, too, moves closer to the small group of weyrlings, and where Z'kiel doesn't seat him, Laine does. She hooks her heels into the stool and observes that dragonet drama with brows lifted in faint surprise--but by now, surely, there's been a similar tiff or two. The tanner watches Rook go, with a little cringe that might be apology for winding up the green, then turns back to the other weyrlings.

To Farideh, there's only a single, melodic hum-grunt from Z'kiel. Assent, probably. A dip of his chin concedes her point and he moves slightly away, granting her more space - more room to breathe. Keysi is regarded from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable - and then there's Rook again, inexplicably finding her way to the center of his focus. Of course, it might be because Ahtzudaeth is sneaking toward Rhiviyth in an attempt to reach out a long limb and ''tag'' her with a single, lengthy digit. He's quick enough to dart out of the way if there's a risk of collision between himself and the green's rider - but that will only happen if the risk is great enough. Of course, even the best laid plans can fall to bits in the blink of an eye and the abrupt departure of green and rider is enough to leave the bronze blinking in their wake. With a chuff, he turns away - and, to his credit, he endures his brother's territorial outburst with a soothing swell of patience and understanding - and makes his way to the furniture that's been piled against one wall. Let the studying commence. And the climbing. That, too.

"I've no burden similiar." Is Keysi's reply at its simplest to Farideh, said light enough to be dismissive but not dismissive of the importance of her letter. She's otherwise unreadable, quiet, intense but not overly focused on anything. Tired, perhaps as they all are, perhaps maybe a touch more as she's always up before the morning bell is rung. Neianth's is unperturbed by the bronze-territorialness as it's not in his immediate area of interest. He's not fast ''enough'' and this aggravates him enough that it spills over into a physical and mindtouch manifestation. As Lifreyth flops to a halt. Neianth slows to a striding pace, and then circles his brother, low and haunched as if circling 'prey' before eventually stopping in his tracks with a low rumbling. The irritation lingers but is much faded, only shown as an occassional tail-flick. It speaks only of- Again?

The departure of Rook and her green is followed by Farideh's green-brown eyes, her face set in an unhappy expression. It's after they've disappeared into the barracks that she breaks her stare. "Don't you have anyone to write? I thought you had parents, in Nabol," is strictly for R'van, with uplifted brows, a mark of puzzlement that shifts onto Laine. "And you?" Not of letters, but it seems to be more in tune with what she's asked Keysi, to whom she flicks another, puzzled frown. "Has ''no one'' written a letter to anyone in this past sevenday? Shouldn't that be-- a requisite? Do you lot not know how to write?" Some of that fire is back, in lieu of the overwhelming ''calm'' she's been exhibiting now that her mind is linked to Roszadyth's demure one.

Though Vadevjiath's visible irritation fades quickly, he's still watching after Rhiviyth intently, and Rafe has his fingers pressed white against the bronze's jagged neckridges. Carrying on a conversation internally is difficult enough with experience, and R'van doesn't have that yet. It slows his response to Farideh somewhat, distraction evident. "Yes," he confirms where his family's concerned. "But we're not close. I have more duty to my craft," the present tense of which makes his mouth twist wryly, "and they, of course, are already aware I won't be returning as they wished."

Revolving his head around on his short neck, Lifreyth tracks Neianth's pacing and circling with cheery, blue-whirling eyes and the sentiment, echoed: ''again''. It's somewhat more self-satisfied, although it lacks any hint of arrogance. The brown yawns a wide yawn, then, and slides his forepaws out before him, stretching out that long torso of his as he settles, splayed, on the cool stone floor. His eyes, half-lidded, are nevertheless ''alert'', bright and watchful. Laine yawns, too, in tandem with her brown, and barely bothers to conceal it in the crook of her elbow, acknowledging Farideh over her sleeve with lifted brows. Once she's done yawning, the brown-riding weyrling just shrugs. "I ''will''." She'd sound defensive if she didn't look so unconcerned. Laine leans forward and props her elbwos on the table. "Just-- haven't found the time. ''You're'' only doing yours now," she points out in light of Farideh's accusations.

Ahtzudaeth eventually clambers back down from his precarious perch, spurred by some urge or another that goes unvoiced. Soundlessly, the bronze makes his way back to the barracks, with Z'kiel eventually following suit in his instinctively silent way. No further words from the Igenite. No need.

A subtle shift in Roszadyth's posture could be construed as just ''settling'', but it's nocuous enough that it brings Farideh's distracted gaze on the gold, which eventually flicks past, to Vadevjiath. "Have you settled it in your mind to make High Reaches your home, then?" is posed to his eventual-rider, her focus lifting ''there'' briefly and is moving onto Laine next. "It's more complicated than ''that''. I am sure by now, if they know-- and how could they not ''know''-- that my mother has had my name stricken from the records. I am ''orphaned''." Farideh looks amused, with only a ''slightly'' sad smile curling her lips up, while she leans to prop her elbows on the stone-topped table and her chin on her interlinked fingers. "How do ''you''," to Laine, though it's more an extension of her question to R'van, "feel about it? Is High Reaches your ''family'' now? Us?"

"Shall we go back the Smith Hall by fire and force instead?" wonders R'van dryly, though Vadevjiath certainly looks curious. Maybe sarcasm is lost on the serious bronze still. Rafe, for his part, sounds more philosophical than anything else, and when it seems apparent that his dragon is done marking his territory, the former smith releases him, settling down to a seat on the floor with his back against Vadevjiath's side. "Is impressing side by side all it takes to make family?" That's a more rhetorical question, or if not, at least it's one that ''R'van'' doesn't seem to have an answer to. "Though I should think this would be enough to get you back on any records. Not everyone gets a weyrwoman into the line, after all."

"Stricken orphan, huh?" Laine cradles her chin in her hands, looking decidedly unimpressed (for the family, not the girl herself) across the table at Farideh. After a moment of consideration she decrees, "We'll adopt you." Well. The ''Weyr'' will. "Not like they've got much choice." Two fingers flick at Roszadyth: ''gold''. "They'd rather disown you than have a weyrwo--" Laine abruptly trails off as Lifreyth starts to his feet and peals a short, urgent noise. Her head swivels instantly around. There's silent communion between the two and Laine, without a word (they'll understand), lurches away from the table to attend to her dragon.

"I think it's ''more'' than that," Farideh notes to R'van. "Living through a cave in, the death of the Weyrwoman, installation of a new Weyrwoman, candidacy, and then surviving a hatching together--''and'' Roszadyth tells me they're all ''lifelong'' clutch siblings." Because that ''matters'', that ''lineage'' and ''blood''. "I--" Her sentence is cut premature as Laine gets up and follows her dragon out, leaving Farideh to turn her unimpressed expression on R'van once more. "I think my mother would as soon see me marry a cotholder than become a rider, gold or not." Her frown deepens, and before ''she'' stands, Roszadyth's chubby form lifts from the ground, stretches, and starts to move towards the barracks in Lifreyth's wake. "Sorry. I should--" There's an apologetic smile for the former smith, but she's quick to collect her things on the table and silently traipse after her dragon.

"A goldrider, at least," answers R'van with typical practicality, "is useful." His lips are curving into a smirk, though there's nothing mocking behind it at least where she's concerned. No need to explain why they're suddenly disappearing: even after not even a week, it's hardly unexpected at certain points. Rafe waves her off with a gesture; he and Vadevjiath are staying put for the time being.
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