Difference between revisions of "Logs:(2) Domestic Goose Chase"

As the winter sun begins to set, N'muir scurries one way and then the other, chasing after a flock of geese that don't seem to want to go where the Weyrleader would like them to be. Bijedth, meanwhile, watches from a distance, his attention divided between watching the herdbeasts roam in the pens and N'muir dancing around after the geese outside the barn. First, he watches N'muir, then his long tail gives a little flick and, like a lever is switched in his mind, Bijedth's head swivels to watch the herdbeasts. Another flick of his tail and it's back to watching geese. The flock itself is made up of six adult (and rather well-fed) geese with special bronze bands on their legs to mark them belonging to the Weyrleader and at least ten unmarked, younger geese, none of whom want to go through the open door of the stables, much to the growing frustration of N'muir. He emits a train of curses under his breath, every so often letting one punctuate a little louder than all the others.

Viephale approaches from the northwest, Rukbat's retreat behind him making him appear an oddly-shaped, shadowy figure. When he's close enough for the reason /why/ to be visible, he can be seen with one hand clutching a blanket over his shoulders like a cape, and the other holding fast to a lumpy, pointy... something. His path is taking his straight to the stables, so it's only a matter of time before N'muir, Bijedjth, the geese, and the cursing catch his attention. He stops in his tracks, observes the chase with interest for a moment, then cautiously approaches. "You uh--y'need help there, Weyrleader?" To his credit, the young man has an expression of concern, and not of amusement, though the slightly twisted corners of his lips betray the barely contained smile.

Bijedth's attention is caught by the flutter of blanket in the breeze and his tail flicks as he switches his focus from goose, man, and beast to watching the caped young man drawing closer. N'muir briefly tosses a glimpse towards Viephale, unwilling to let his concentration drift too far from herding geese. "Just help me get them in the stables at least, would you?" But something in that brief glance makes N'muir pause and take a second, far more thorough look at the man, squinting against the sunlight. If he's giving Viephale a strange look, surely it might be chalked up to the sun in his eyes, right? "What's up with the blanket? Lose your jacket?"

Viephale nods curtly at N'muir's instructions, prepared to jump in and help his Weyr wherever duty calls--but then the questions start. Vie straightens his shoulders and tightens the blanket around himself, though the flapping corners of the quilt and the bouncing of his curly locks in the breeze don't exactly lend him an air of respectability. "Nah, I'm just, er. I'm gonna need it to keep clean here in a bit." Does that make sense at all? He doesn't give N'muir an opportunity to quiz him further, instead quickly shuffling off around the flock for a good position to herd them. "This a good spot?" he calls, but he must think it is, for he angles himself to face the barn and crouches down a bit, ready to chase after any goose that would dare try to escape in his direction. He even pulls the blanket off his shoulders, holding it aloft in a manner similar to the matadors of old.

N'muir lets the subject drop - for the moment. The geese are a little anxious about this newcomer, eyeing him as they wander to one side, giving him a wide berth. But one of the older, fatter, bronze-banded geese is not so worried, and he wanders right over to that blanket to investigate it, fluttering his wings and exposing his clipped flight feathers. N'muir nods at the younger man and spreads his arms wide, trying to make himself larger as he steps in towards the barn. "What do you mean you'll have to keep clean?" And so the subject returns. "And how can't a jacket serve that purpose?" Bijedth remains, as ever, the overseer of the dirty work, staying far removed from participating while N'muir clucks his tongue at the geese and calls out, "Come on, let's go, I don't have all day."

Oh my. That goose looks much more intimidating to Vie when it's marching right up to him. Still, he's not one to be bossed around by animals, so he resolutely flaps the blanket toward the curious bird. "Go on, now, go join your friends and get toward the barn," he grumbles, careful to keep the blanket between himself and the goose. Better the blanket get bitten than his delicate, tender self. He takes his eye off the prize and looks up to the bronzerider as the questions return. He sighs--no avoiding this, it seems--and holds up the lumpy bundle in his left hand. "I'm heading up to the loft to do my knitting." This explanation provides slightly more detail than the previous answer regarding the purpose of the blanket, but he is not eager to spill any details and dives right back into his promising new career as a gooseherder.

That brave goose is less brave against the attack of a reckless blanket, and it scurries out of the way, N'muir trying to use the goose's momentum to get it headed towards the barn. He closes in, and the avian goes darting into the open door of the stables, though his feathered friends are far less eager to hurry after him. They quack their displeasure at both Viephale and N'muir but inevitably find their way through the open door. N'muir seizes the opportunity to swing the door shut, and turns a successful smile at his gooseherder assistant. "Good!" Bijedth rumbles, his voice a distant sounding thing from the dragonlength he remains from them. N'muir casts a short-lived side-long look at the bronze and then back at the young man. "Knitting?" His eyes slide down to the blanket, and hands get shoved into his pockets. "And... knitting is a dirty task? Are you knitting something out of mud?"

Viephale continues waving and fussing at the geese right up until N'muir swings the door shut. "Well, that was oddly satisfying," he muses, more to himself than to anyone else, his blanket slung over his shoulder and the knitting held in a bunched fist against his hip as he regards the goose-free area around them. Bijedth's loud approval earns a lopsided grin from the young man, though his reverie is interrupted by yet /more/ questions. The lopsided grin drops to an equally lopsided frown, lips pulled to the side in annoyance. "Well, no, knitting isn't /dirty/," he says, exasperation evident in his voice. He's still posed blanket-over-shoulder and fist-on-hip, so he's probably coming across sassier than he intends. "The blanket's for the ground so I'm not getting straw and dirt all over my clothes. And I'm knitting /socks/. Out of /yarn/." The lumpy bundle is presented again as evidence. "I was getting a lot of lip about it back inside so I thought I'd seek out some privacy while I work on improving my skills." He tilts his chin up, prepared for more questions but clearly defensive about the whole thing.

The blanket-toting man is given a thorough once over from head to toe, N'muir even so much as taking a step back to get a proper full study of Viephale from a different angle. "More lip than you're getting for wandering around with a blanket instead of a jacket?" Unconcerned about the defensive tone with which the man is battering back at him with, N'muir lifts his hand in the air and waves it, dismissing the subject altogether. That same hand then fishes around in his pockets, coming out with everything from buttons to loose scraps of hide to rocks, all of which are put back into his pockets. "Looks like I'm fresh out of Candidate knots," he mutters to himself, and that hand that was searching his pockets returns to waving in the air. "Doesn't matter. You've been here long enough, you know who to go talk to about getting a Candidate's knot, right?" N'muir pauses and lifts his attention to Viephale again, eyeing him once more. "Unless you don't want to be a Candidate?" Bijedth rumbles again, this time his sound far more of a growl than that last rumble.

It's a good thing that N'muir is letting the mystery of the blanket drop, for Vie seems visibly distressed at the jacket comment. Why, one more probing question and he might go full tantrum. Can't a man knit in peace?! But as soon as N'muir waves the subject off, Viephale swallows and exhales slowly through his nose. He's just gonna let it go. Before he can make an exit, however, the Weyrleader is going on about candidate knots, and Vie struggles to process it. "Candidate knots?" he murmurs, confused. He crosses his yarn and half-knit sock across his chest as if to ward off any more chaos. "I-- well, yes, I do." Yes, he knows who to talk to, that is, as he hasn't quite wrapped his mind around the last question; however, his response is ambiguous. Bijedth's noises are not helping grease the gears in Vie's mind. "Why, what---" Help please?

N'muir's brows knit and one hand finds his hip, the other swinging out from his side to gesture expectantly in the general direction of the other side of the Bowl as if the answer were written somewhere on the rock face. Or maybe hidden in a cavern somewhere over there. "Why? /Why/ is the first question that comes to your mind?" But since he asked, he'll get a dry, sarcastic answer: "Because I think the white would go well with your shirt." N'muir turns for the stables, pausing with his hand on the door as if suddenly remembering and thinking to look over his shoulder at Viephale again. "So you're going to go get a knot, right?" His dark eyes slide to the knitting. "Can I get a pair of socks too?"

Viephale suddenly seems much closer to 14 than 24 as he clutches his knitting to his chest. /What/ is even happening right now? Is this real life? Cheeks flushed and brow furrowed, Vie doesn't bother to acknowledge N'muir's sarcastic reply. Instead, he just pulls that blanket back around his shoulders and forges on ahead as if the world didn't just turn upside down. "Yes. Yes, I will do that. And yes, I will knit you some socks." He seems very determined to get through this encounter. To that end, he takes a step back toward the bowl and away from his previous intended destination, presumably to go find that white knot, though he does pause to confirm with N'muir that this is the expected reaction. "I'll be off to do that, then?"

N'muir nods his head with an exaggerated motion, maybe hoping his support will help Viephale in some way. "Yes," he echoes. "Socks. Good. And the knot." He begins to turn back to the door of the stables only to swivel his head back around, eyes sliding beyond Viephale to Bijedth for permission. "Sure, you can do that now, yeah. Any time now, really." And if Viephale lingers, N'muir does not, opening the Stables door and casting his farewell over his shoulder before sliding through the gap he makes only large enough for himself, shooing away any geese that try to make a break for the outside world and firmly shutting the door behind him. Bijedth, however, is still here, and watching Viephale intensely from the same spot a dragonlength away.

Viephale doesn't really linger, per se, though his walk back toward the bowl is one of a man truly rattled: hesitant, looking over his shoulder, face scrunched up in confusion. When N'muir's exit is announced by the barn doors being swung shut a second time, he allows himself to stop and stare back for a few moments. Only a few, for his sweeping gaze is quick to land on Bijedth's watching form. This spurs him to action, and he begins the march cavern-ward anew at a quicker pace--whether from growing confidence or some kind of fear is up for debate.