Difference between revisions of "Logs:Turn's End and Search"

This section of the Bowl is just as devoid of plant life as the central
  portion, the sandy soil having been packed more solidly due to the sheer  
  amount of foot traffic passing through. While there are weyrs located to  
  both the east and west, there are very few toward the north.            
                                                                            
  Toward the northwest leads a set of stairs to two ledges for junior       
  goldriders. Above and slightly east of those ledges sits the Weyrleaders' 
  complex, which a second flight of stairs leads to. A little to the        
  northeast is the entrance to the Hatching Cavern, while an entrance to the
  living cavern is located directly to the east. At the opposite and distant
  southeastern end of the Bowl would be the lake and feeding grounds, with  
  the weyrling barracks and infirmary to the southwest and southeast,       
  respectively.

That which troubles the grown-ups in the Weyr has failed to dampen the enthusiasm of the younger population, and thus, this afternoon, on the last day of the turn, the air is filled with the shrieking laughter of children lobbing snow at each other and hiding behind snowdrifts - some of which are being shaped into a variety of creatures - and generally soaring high on the rush of too many sweet treats. While parents and minders and dragons amble through the bowl, there are tables to stop at here and there, providing food and drink, fruit encased in ice and crushed ice with various sauces. On her ledge, Fort's senior queen is calmly observing all, her tail draped over the edge of the rock, and though she must have had a hand in the setting up, the Weyrwoman is finally visible, slowly descending the stairs from that ledge.

Jemizen, neither advanced in turns nor especially troubled, is enjoying the end-of-turn celebration immensely, despite the fact that he is almost comically overdressed. Bundled up in multiple sweaters and furs that don't easily lend themselves to mobility, the displaced Southerner is nevertheless cavorting about in the snowdrifts with some of the children. After being pelted with several snowballs, Jem admits defeat and toddles over to a food-laden table and removes the scarf from his cold-flushed face, so as to more easily stuff his face.

Likely the Weyr would be understanding if its junior weyrwoman never put in her own appearance to the festivities, with Eliyaveith taken to the sands and without children of her own to attend for, yet apparently she has decided to be present for the moment, at least. She must not have been here long, but long enough to have visited a few tables and to collect a cup of crushed ice with a berry sauce seeping through it. She doesn't even have gloves as she glances over the Southerner that approaches the table she lingers at, tracing him from the snowball fight that she was watching. "Not something that you have much practice with at Southern, I assume?" she questions, clearly remembering his origin (or reminded by his appearance) if not his name.

Hattie's progress across the bowl is steady and careful, her long coat almost concealing even her heavy boots. Though she appears to have no particular destination in mind, she ambles, stopped along the way by some of the younger residents of the nursery who are of an age to have not grown into being intimidated by her or her knot. She doesn't linger long with them, but produces something from her pocket and presses it into the hand of one of the older ones, then gently shoos the lot of them away. When she catches sight of Lilah and Jemizen, she begins to move in their direction, a brief detour taken to collect a cube of ice to crack, before she reaches a halt a few feet from her junior. "Lilah," is a murmured greeting. "And...?" She's not got his name either.

So excited about the festivities is Jem that he greets a familiar face of authority with a bright smile rather than his typical innocent puppy expression. That could also have something to do with the fact that, for once, he is not avoiding work and is in fact on an actual earned break. "This is great!" Is exclaimed, brightly, before Jemizen remembers himself and follows that up with a polite nod in greeting and a chastened, "Ma'am," tacked on for good measure. Jem is at least at ease enough to get himself one of those berry-covered shaved ices and chat companionably about the weather. "I'd never seen snow before. It would be even better if it could snow without being cold, but..." He shrugs, then begins digging into his shaved ice. The senior weyrwoman's approach is met with immediately improved posture and another one of those demure nods, and from his already berry-stained mouth: "Jemizen, ma'am. From Southern Weyr."

"Once you go back, at least, you won't have to worry about the cold," Lilah begins to tell him, dark eyes weighted in a study of the young man as she takes a much more subdued bite from her own shaved ice. Yet, even she straightens slightly in subconscious response to Hattie's approach, greeting her with her own polite, "Weyrwoman. Good afternoon."

Hattie pauses only to crack the ice cube between her teeth once more, producing a slightly discomforting crunching sound, yet she manages to speak without entirely abandoning her manners. "Jemizen," sounds more musing than just an acknowledgement, though she inclines her head as though it is just a greeting. She looks him over, then glances to Lilah, somehow speaking directly to neither one of them when she questions, "Perhaps he shouldn't go back? I mean, perhaps he should consider the possibility of staying, as his sister has. If this," she nods to him, "Jemizen is the 'Jem' that belongs with Candidate Dee."

"I've been getting used to the differences in climate, finally." Jem points out. He's wearing exactly one sweater less than he was yesterday, after all. Despite burning at at least sixty watts already, Jemizen brightens considerably at the weyrwoman's mention of his sister. "Yes, Dee's my sister, ma'am!" His brightens dims slightly, and it's almost shyly that he adds, "I'd like to stay where Dee is, if I could."

"Eventually, however, the clutch will hatch. And if she does not Impress, I assume you both will leave?" poses Lilah to Jemizen rather than Hattie, whether or not the Weyrwoman's question was meant for her. "And if she does, well--. She will be part of Fort. Would you stay here forever to be with her rather than returning home?"

"...That could get a little awkward if you were to live your whole lives that way," Hattie says dryly, and into some middle distance, rather than fix her focus on Jemizen. She watches one of the snow-builds in progress for a moment or so, until she turns her attention back to those nearest her. "If he were to follow her onto the Sands, they might both be part of Fort," she idly considers, crunching down the last of the nice. "Of course, then the opposite is just as likely; that she might not Impress and he could, and then she could be left with the choice as regards remaining for /him/."

Jemizen's eyebrows rise at Lilah's questions. "Sure. I mean, I'll stay at Fort as long as Dee wants to, and as long as Fort will have us." He frowns thoughtfully, then adds, lamely, "Er, me." Berry-stained lips curve up in a bright smile that falls immediately at Hattie's words. Frowning thoughtfully and trying to follow the weyrwoman's train of thought, Jem wonders aloud, "Whyever would that be awkward?" Before he can follow this thought to any kind of self-awareness, the hatching sands are mentioned, and he's grinning again, pointing out, "Oh, Dad would certainly like that." And even though Hattie's last comment wasn't precisely a question, Jem has an answer: "Dee goes where she's needed. It has nothing to do with me." Self-awareness will have to wait until another day.

Lilah does not pursue her own thoughts aloud, only the slide of dark eyes to meet her Weyrwoman's in a Look as the young man replies. She takes another bite of the shaved ice, finally adding a simple, "I am sure Fort can always find a place and use for you."

Hattie's focus is rather distant, and remains not on any one thing or person for too long, and so, while she meets Lilah's look, she doesn't exactly return it in kind, though a flicker of something like uncertainty passes across her face. "Maybe we'll consider elaborating about any degree of awkwardness when you're a little older," she hazards, those words more clearly directed to Jemizen. "And I think it needs to be less a matter of what your father would think of your being on the Sands and more how /you/ would feel..." But then she's hungrily eyeing the shaved ice that Lilah has, and already her feet move to take her to find some. "...And how the weyrwoman here feels..." For the moment, she has ice to find.

Jemizen turns his smile back to Lilah, announcing brightly and perhaps a touch too innocently, "I can help wherever the weyr needs me." He shrugs lightly, then, at the weyrwoman's cautioning words. "Me? Ah. I've stood for a clutch before," he calls after Hattie's retreating form, "At Southern." Yet another easy shrug rolls his shoulders. "It was fun. Exciting." If ultimately uneventful and filled with far too much latrine duty for Jem's liking.

"You haven't asked to Stand for our clutch," points out Lilah to that. "Nor did you for Elaruth and Bijedth's, did you?" Despite her questions, the weyrwoman's attention is distracted to tracking Hattie's retreat, watching the Weyrwoman with a hint of buried concern.

A minute or more passes before Hattie returns, having successfully located a cup of ice of her own, too much of a dark, sickly sweet berry sauce heaped over it, and a small pastry on a skewer, that smells faintly of burnt caramel. " Do you really mean singular, or plural?" she asks of Jem, right before she starts in on the pastry. "The clutch, I mean. More than one?" So, the nibbling at the pastry isn't terribly polite, but she doesn't seem to mind much at the moment. She's a little late to catch Lilah's enquiries, yet she glances her way, head tilted.

Jemizen's brows crease as he frowns thoughtfully. It takes a long moment for Jem to find an acceptable alternative answer to 'my father wasn't here to ask on my behalf.' "I... Didn't want to presume myself worthy of a Fortian clutch?" Despite his best efforts, his voice rises at the end of his statement, effectively making it a question and not a declaration of fact. The weyrwoman's return piques Jem's interest, particularly in that little pastry skewer. His eyes remain on that pastry as he answers Hattie, "Ah, yes. Clutches, plural. I've stood a few times at Southern." Thanks to N'jem's insistence and his own nonchalance.

"Mmm," is Lilah's only neutral response to Jemizen's answer-slash-question, clearly disbelieving of /that/ response from the young man but at least she doesn't call him on it as Hattie returns. "You're still young. You still have plenty of clutches to Stand for, if you wish to."

"Admittedly, my enquiry was an attempt to figure out how long you've been Standing for," Hattie confesses, just before she takes another bite of the pastry and a half-step back, as if she fears that Jemizen will steal her skewer. Maybe she's just adjusting her balance. She munches with a feigned thoughtful expression than abruptly vanishes the second that it's safe for her to talk again without risk of sharing her food. "I think that maybe we should all stop dancing around this thought," she declares. "Do you want to Stand for Fort's clutch?" is levelled at Jem, while, "And would you permit him to do so, weyrwoman?" is for Lilah.

Jemizen nods along with Lilah. Plenty of things can be done in the future, why worry about any of them today? Of course, Hattie brings these thoughts decidedly into the present with her question, and Jem responds at first with a dull blink. Eventually he stands up, arrow-straight, and nods decisively at the weyrwoman. "I should be honored to Stand for the Fort's clutch, ma'am." Brown eyes travel over to Lilah as he adds, "If Fort will have me."

There is only the weight of the goldrider's dark gaze on Jemizen at his answer, Lilah's lips twisting into a flatter line, though when she speaks it is only to answer politically, "Eliyaveith and I would be happy to have you Stand for her children. With your sister." There's still a question in the way she watches him, but eventually her attention draws away, to Hattie, before she offers her Weyrwoman, "If you'll excuse me, Hattie. I'd only meant to put in an appearance--."

Hattie doesn't quite manage to stop herself from rolling her gaze skyward at one or the other of them - or maybe at both - and she's barely received an affirmative from either before she's looking to move off and towards the small herd of teens and younger folk who're yelling a combination of, "Ma!" and, "Aunt Hattie!" in a fashion that's more than a little obnoxiously loud. "Go and see the Headwoman in the morning," she tells Jemizen, pausing only to abandon the empty skewer on the nearest table. "You'll have to excuse me too..." is not particularly formal, but she doesn't wait around, more pressed to get to those kids and quiet them down before they can make a bigger scene.

Jemizen is flustered, momentarily, by the heaviness of Lilah's gaze, but once she has spoken he smiles brightly at both goldriders, even as they move to make their exits. "Very honored, weyrwomen," is called cheerily after them, before he ambles down the food tables, in search of one of those pastry skewers.