Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Short Forever"

Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr

Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn, graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake.

Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the careful to get the job done.

A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today.

An intensity that might be familiar, honed only twice before and possibly beyond the length of a dragon's memory. Hatching. Accident. Having overstayed her welcome during the latter, Hraedhyth is once again scratching at Ghislaith's door. There's no whimper, each rhythmic stroke punctuated by those pulsating drums, focus matter of fact. « Mine wishes to know where Yours is. » Rumbling contralto doesn't demand Sabella's location, though there is a persistent heat that expects some kind of response from the young green. (To Ghislaith from Hraedhyth)

She's a contrary dragon. With all the windows and doors closed it's easy to ignore Hraedhyth for a time. But not forever, no. Not with that heat persisting against her dry wood, the whispy grass curling up from the abuse. With a creaky groan a wrought iron gate swings slowly open, inviting the gold to look upon an image. It's the diving cliff by the lake. Sabella is there, spending time outside despite the cloudy, cooler weather. She's silence otherwise, simply supplying the information requested. (To Hraedhyth from Ghislaith)

And Sabella is out here on the diving cliff. She's not doing anything particularly exciting. It's a cooler day out than the last couple of ones and so it's time to break out the oversized sweater again. The greenrider had her sketchbook out for awhile, but it's been hard to draw with her good arm in the cast. So like in many other instances this past month, it ends up pushed off to the side. Instead, she's picked up several small stones from around the area and she's tossing them over the edge and watching them land in the water far below. Plunk.

If Hraedhyth has forgotten her daughter's peculiarities, she is quickly reminded. Despite the queen's flames, there is little threat of that wood catching fire. It may grow uncomfortable after a time-- an expectant stare that is willing to last as long as it needs. What she lacks in unending patience is made up in stubborn will, even as drums pick up the rapid rhythm of rapping fingers. The image is snapped up by eager jaws once it's offered, a sooty chuff of thanks all that remains as Hraedhyth withdraws. Ghislaith is a spectral inspiration, it seems. (To Ghislaith from Hraedhyth)

The wrought iron gate slowly clangs shut. A bolt thrown across from the inside and locked into place once Hraedhyth has withdrawn. If one were paying attention, it would almost seem as if someone was peeking out from behind the curtains to see if the visitor had gone. (To Hraedhyth from Ghislaith)

Between lingering duties and... Ghislaith, Azaylia doesn't appear right after Hraedhyth's initial inquiry. When she does, the goldrider is wearing a soft smile that hints at uncertainty, even more so when she stops feet away from where Sabella is sitting. The sundress has been tucked away, warm blue dress and leggings better suited for the cool and somewhat ominous damp in the air. "Sabella." She greets easily, even as the tilt to her head asks what her inflection didn't: does the weyrling mind company?

Ghislaith must have warned Sabella at some point that the goldrider was coming. But it's not like it makes a tremendous amount of difference, she'd be sitting here on the cliff one way or the other. The broken arm is still in a sling, kept protectively close to her body while she's out and about. Hauling the good one back, she flings one rock as far as it will go across the water. "Oh, Weyrwoman." Maybe not the Weyrwoman right now, but one of them at least, still. The greenrider twists back to look at her, and tips her chin in the direction of a dry spot near her. "Do you want a stone?"

"Sure." The polite curl of her mouth brightens faintly, Azaylia walking over and dropping into the spot next to Sabella with some grace. "And please, call me Azaylia." Crossed legs cause her dress to tent from one knee to the other, hand leaving the dip of her lap to hover expectantly. "I feel a little silly," She explains her lingering unease, "I haven't had a chance to see how you're doing, since." Since. Her glance at Sabella's sling isn't pointed, though it is well timed, curiosity in her dark gaze. "But that was a while ago. So... I'll just ask how things are going overall." Not a fantastic solution, and she knows it judging by the awkward skew to her lips. "Though, I guess you have Weyrlingmasters and friends for that." The goldrider gives up on justifying her concern.

Sabs reaches over, plucking one of the smooth stones from her little collection and handing it over to the woman next to her. Then she pushes the pile between them, an open invitation for Azaylia to grab another one later on if she so chooses. "Oh, sure. I forget sometimes, it's easy to fall into formalities." It comes out like an apology and she flashes her a quick, easy smile. Choosing one of the rocks for herself she glances at the goldrider out of the corner of her eye. "I've been fine. I suspect if it was worse than just a broken arm they'd have talked to you about it. But as it is?" She's lighthearted about the scare, somehow. "I guess so. But it's always nice to have someone asking again. I'm alright, overall. How have you been?" Flicking her wrist she sends the stone shooting out over the empty space.

Azaylia's hand closes around the stone, flashing a grateful smile as writhing fingers coax the rock from her palm to fingertips. They idly rub at the smooth surface, waiting to see how it's done before she cock's her arm back and uses only her wrist to lob the rock over the edge. It doesn't go as far, but it makes for an interesting sight before it disappears. "Still." No excuse for taking so long to check on the weyrling. "I'm glad." She sounds it, plucking up another stone. It's polite, it should be expected, and yet Sabella's question catches her by surprise. "Oh. I'm alright, thank you. Well," She tosses another, this time seeing how far it can go without putting too much force behind it. "Feeling guilty. I wish I had the time to knit these days. I could make you an arm cozy." It might be difficult to tell if she's joking or not, but knowing the weyrwoman... good thing for Sabella she's been busy.

Sabs takes another into her hand and flings it out there, watching it fall down below. "I like to throw rocks when I'm thinking about things." It comes without there being any question posed from her cliff companion. "I usually throw them into water or you know, just away from things. This is a good spot for it." Maybe she's making casual conversation, maybe this is her round about way of answering something else Azaylia asked or wondered about earlier. "A cozy? Don't feel guilty. They're taking it off next seven and it's been too warm lately to wear anything like that." Just in case the goldrider was thinking about doing it anyway.

"So soon?" But then what does Azaylia know about healing? Tension has her squeezing a new stone, an involuntary spasm of one who realizes just how awkward she is. At least she's not stuttering. "Good thing I didn't. Though, I think summer's just about over. So it might be nice to have a few warmer things to wear." The offending rock is tossed out in a high arc, wanting to watch it's fall. Perhaps if she imagines her nerves tied to it, the goldrider can be rid of them. Rather than reach for another the woman eases back, palms flat and keeping her propped as she glances Sabella's way. "What were you thinking of?" Curiosity bests her for only a moment, "I mean, if you don't mind me asking?"

"So soon? I'll be wearing it a seven or two over a month when they take it off." Sabella prompts, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye again. The smile tugs on her lips again and she takes yet another stone. This one she doesn't throw, she just pops it from one hand to another. "I suppose. I'd probably want two cozy arm sleeves as opposed to just one though, yeah?" Azaylia might be feeling awkward, but the greenrider appears to be at ease. And that last was something of a gentle tease for her. "Oh, plenty of things. The last month, my arm, studies, boys. The weyr that I'll be getting after everyone else gets theirs. How I'm going to be in the barracks by myself for at least a little while. I'm wondering how quiet it's going to be. Flying again. You know, the usual."

Azaylia's own laughter catches her by surprise, "I'm sorry. It probably feels like you've been wearing that for forever." A hint that the goldrider feels quite the opposite, that there aren't enough hours in the day. "Probably. And a shirt attatched. Unless you wanted to walk around with just long sleeves." She takes the tease in stride, amused smile kept as she listens to all that plagues a young woman weyrling. It doesn't last long, concern lightly wrinkling her brow, "Are you? That..." No it's not fair, but rather than criticize the Weyrlingmasters, "You aren't allowed to be carried by other dragons? At all?" Surely there's someone in her class who would, unless it's Healer's orders.

"Only a short forever. I'll be glad to get it off. My skin is itching something bad." Sabs glances down at her arm in the sling before she lets the stone fall from it and into her good hand. "We don't need the shirt. We could just attach clips to the top part and it could be worn with any sleeveless top. Versatile." That doesn't have the earmarks of a serious suggestion, not really. Her smile is a quick flash just before she flings that rock out over the edge, down into the mists. Gone. "I guess that I could be. But I think that I'd rather not, seems awkward. We'll take our sevens in the barracks. It'll be like having our own gigantic weyr for awhile until we can get up in the air on our own." There is some pang of sadness there, it probably does feel unfair. Even if it is necessary.

After a sympathetic wince for the itch, "I think you might be onto something. I'm sure it'll catch on." Azaylia's voice is particularly airy when discussing Sabella's novel idea. Dark eyes follow the rock as it cuts through the air, mouth pulled to one side in displeasure even if the greenrider seems resigned to the barracks. Moments pass, goldrider so impatient that she's still mulling things over while trying to speak. "I... could..." It slows her words, drawing them out in order to let her brain catch up until, "There's no way I can promise you any weyr in particular. But there is a list of which ones are available. I could copy down a few that sound nice? Where they're placed in the Weyr. It'd give you something to look at?" While she's spending those sevens in the barracks. It doesn't seem like too much trouble, brows raising only in silent question as she glances at Sabella.

"I'm a trendsetter." Sabella shoots over the goldrider, amusement cutting into her tone. "They said that I might be able to choose my weyr. I just couldn't move into yet until they were sure I could get around without crashing, it's only fair I get the same treatment everyone else did." But the offer to at least get a peek at a list, well. "It would be nice to have something to mull over while I'm deciding which cot I'm going to sleep in each night." That sounds like it has the makings of a joke, but then. Maybe it's not exactly. "You don't have to do that though, you're busy with things other than making lists."

Understanding leaves Azaylia in a quiet "Aaah." So they're not locking Sabella up in a cage to taunt the weyr-less green weyrling. It certainly sounds as though the goldrider has been picturing the worst. Still, she doesn't seem interested in taking back her offer. "It'll only take a few minutes. I've got the longer list," Longer than the one she's likely to hand over, "On my desk." With the anticipation of her class getting their own private spaces, it makes sense that she has a copy readily available. "And I can have someone run it over." It might not look like such a nice gesture when there's little to inconvenience the goldrider. Her eyes flick upward in thought, casually, "Some of the boys' cots might smell good." Because boys typically do, and the weyrling mentioned them earlier.

Whether or not it's genuinely a nice gesture seems to matter little to Sabella. If she's not retracting the offer, the weyrling isn't going to do anything to suggest that she should. There aren't so many rocks left there on the cliff, it would be a shame to waste them. She takes one and turns her wrist down, flicking it underhanded into the air. Her green eyes flicker in Azaylia's direction once at the mention of boys specifically. "I'm sure that they do. Men are like that. I don't know how they manage to pull it off naturally. I need to wear some perfume or body spray or else I smell like a dog." It's probably not that dramatic, really.

Azaylia looks to have been struck, and then she's laughing again, "Oh, I bet you do not." At least there's no argument when it comes to man-smell, something weyrwoman and weyrling seem to agree on. "Well, if I had the barracks to myself those are probably the cots I'd sleep in first." Multiple, because otherwise there's a chance on missing out. Subtle anxiety has been growing since reassuring that quick copywork is no bother, finally manifesting itself into the goldrider sitting up. "Though, you are right. I am busy." Her smile is easy now, though apologetic, "I should get back to my desk." She's slow to rise, dusting her back end off and doing her best to make sure no debris is aimed at Sabella. "I'll send you the list when I can." It may take day, or a seven, but it will get to her.

"I bet that I do, would you like to check?" Obviously she doesn't think Azaylia would really, because it comes paired with almost immediate laughter. Sabs is onto her next to last stone soon enough. "I've got a couple that I mean to sleep in, the rest are for amusement purposes." The goldrider is quickly getting to her feet and making her escape from the cliff. She tips her chin up and wiggles the fingers of the hand holding the rock. "Alrght. Have a good night? Afternoon? Whatever. You know what I mean." Hopefully. There's an easy smile for the nervous junior, meant to be reassuring possibly.

"No thank you." Not quite singsong, but delivered even lighter than Azaylia's usually soft speech. It seems that whatever was making her nervous is gone, smile not as easy only due to the happy energy behind it. "I do. And you, too." The weyrwoman leaves Sabella to hopefully have a good 'whatever', purposeful steps managing to balance caution as she makes her way down the steps.