Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Help"

Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr

Wedged between the lake and the rest of the vast bowl are the dusty feeding grounds. Here, the well-trampled ground is contained by a sturdy wooden fence, cutting right through one end of the lake to section it off into a muddy watering hole for the animals. Several gates allow people in and out, while at the back, large overhangs of rock provide the herd -- a mixed bag of herdbeasts, wing-clipped wherries, and fat porcines -- shelter from storms or the hot sun. What grass survives is usually bloodstained, but feeding troughs are stationed around the edges of the pen.

A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today.

Here's how the (admittedly flawed) logic goes: Helgret needs a dragonrider. Dragons need to eat. Sometimes dragons' riders stop to watch them eat (getting a bit fuzzier here...). While bonding (by watching them turn herdbeasts into gore, or course) with their dragon, they might be more susceptible to persuasion! And so this cold winter night finds Helgret stomping a little square into the snow by the feeding grounds, hands tucked under her arms as she tilts her head to scan the sky every few steps. Here, dragon, dragon, dragon?

Lucky for a certain girl with flawed logic, weyrling dragons tend to eat more often than their older brethren. This would be the cause for the not-fully-grown brown to fly over the pens. He drops with unfaltering speed and pins a young beast to the snowy ground, crushing its neck underneath his talons; blood goes everywhere, so there's her gore for the day. Zmeyth's human half is slower in making his way to the feeding grounds. He's hunched upon in his leather riding jacket, boots crunching with each step in the snow, and not really paying attention to where he's wandering except that he is, wandering, in the direction of the fenced in pens. Helgret is largely ignored, save a sideways glance, as the weyrling steps up to the wooden post nearest him, settling gloved hands on the topmost board. He'll watch, with grim expression, while his dragon rips chunks of flesh off his prey. That's bonding.

Target acquired. Initially it's the dragon that draws Helgret's intent gaze, tracking its movements as she seeks to discern color and identity in the fading light. Perhaps she can gain an edge over the target if it's someone whose secrets she knows. As Zmeyth strikes his prey, she turns away with a slight wrinkle of her nose. Is it the gore or just that she doesn't have any gossip to dish this time? Time to make her attack...er, approach. Sauntering up to the rider, Helgret settles her arms onto the fence rail next to him. Just out for an evening stroll, you know. "Hi," she offers. Very eloquent.

Zmeyth is busy chomping away on delicious herdbeast offal, too busy to care what two humans are doing in the twilight of the Reachian winter. That leaves V'ros to handle his own situation. She's there, nearby, and he's just going to tense up as he gives her a frown, brow furrowed. "Hi," he says back, but it's hesitant, colored with all types of awkward, regretful nuances. But there's no more after there, just a continuation of the frown as he tries to divert his eyes back to the brown in the pens.

Hmmm, this might be more difficult than she bargained. "So," Helgret tries again, pressing a little closer. "Being a weyrling is a lot of work, yeah?" The smile she offers is perhaps a little /too/ cheerful. She just wants to be your friend, V'ros.

Closer. Right. V'ros doesn't make a move to step away from the girl, but he's not beyond leaning to the side, away from her. "Yeah.. yeah, it is." He's gone from directing his focus to his dragon to staring at her with open confusion, his hands gripping the railing a bit too tight. "Do I.. what do you.. uh." Not sure what to say, as if he ever does, but especially not now. He just stares.

It's not much of an opening, but it might be the only chance she gets. "I know, right?!" Helgret enthuses, as if in response to a much more enthusiastic answer from him. As if he were just as willing a participant in this conversation as she. "All those lessons and drills and being bossed around by people, on top of feeding and bathing. It must be exhausting!" Right, right? Work with me here.

Enthusiasm is met with stunned silence. Some anxiety over the whole thing in his eyes. "You.. you know.. what?" V'ros licks his suddenly dry lips and tries looking back at Zmeyth to quell his apprehension. "It's.. it's okay. It's not so bad once.. you get used to it." He doesn't look at her at all; ignoring the issue, maybe that will make it go away. His hands keep clenching and unclenching on the board.

"I mean, yeah, I bet it's totally worth it. I want to be a greenrider someday, or really whatever dragon picks me, but it can't be /that/ bad." It's not /quite/ a conversation, but surely not for lack of trying on Helgret's part. "But still so much work! So...I thought, maybe you might want some help?" So much for subtlety, but the cold is starting to seep through her insufficiently thick clothing. The bright beaming smile--yes, it's still aimed straight at him, even if he's not looking--remains fixed, but she's started to shuffle back and forth a bit and pull her jacket in a little tighter.

"O..okay." V'ros does take a step to the side, putting some distance between them, but at the same time, he turn to angle himself towards her. Farther, better vantage. "You.. want to help.. me.. with, what?" He gives her an up and down look, taking in her short height and lack of suitable clothing given how cold it is. His gaze says it all: what can she do for him?

Perhaps a weyrling wasn't the best choice of targets for Helgret's mission, but she'll take what she's given. And even if she gets nowhere, well, this is almost /fun/. "Oh, with whatever you need help with! I could do some of /your/ chores for you if you're too busy or clean stuff or look after children--though you probably don't have those, if you're a weyrling, I suppose. But if you did..." Her enthusiasm falters slightly, but she maintains the insistent smile. "Are you and your dragon running errands outside the Weyr? I could help with those!"

V'ros might have taken the bait if she had suggested something else, but all he's got for her is a frown and a disapproving tone. "I don't need help with my chores. Quinlys would string me up if she knew I got someone else to do those." He shifts so he's facing the pens again, where Zmeyth is finishing up his kill, ripping what's left off the bones and cracking some of those too. "What.. why would you want to help? Don't you have.. chores of your own, to do? A job?"

Well, he's got her there. "For fun..." Helgret tries, though the her tone lifts into a wry almost-question at the end of the word. Because she totally picked the most "fun" person on Pern to try out her plan. "Of course I have stuff to do, I just get bored, and what's more fun than getting to help the weyrlings?" She's really stretching now, but where's the harm when he's already looking at her like she grew a tunnelsnake out of her forehead?

"For.." Amusement doesn't come, but his frown gets more severe. "You're fucking with me." V'ros' realization may be slow.. his response is quick. He shoves away from the fence, taking a couple steps into Helgret's space. His face is a mask of anger. "It's not funny. Go bother someone else." Then, he just walks away, no longer worried about the cold or the snow. Zmeyth finishes up eating about this time - his brown bulk twisting around, intelligent faceted eyes swinging after his lifemate. They find Helgret too, and stare eerily. It doesn't last. Like the rider, the dragon is swift to leave the feeding pens, winging up, up, until he's grappling onto a ledge and disappearing beneath the overhang of some outcropping.

"What?! No! Why would I...I just want to /help/!" Helgret calls pointlessly after him, though if he listens carefully he might hear the sound of a giggle from somewhere behind him. "YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND ME IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND!" This last is yelled after the weyrling, the laughter cut short for a moment as she's caught in the dragon's gaze. It resumes, a quieter chuckle, as she saunters back towards the warmth of the lower caverns, rubbing at her upper arms. Fun as that was, it's too cold for this nonsense.