Difference between revisions of "Logs:Srs Bsns"

>---< Nighthearth, Fort Weyr(#2044RJs$) >------------------------------------<

  An irregular archway leads into the alcove that houses the Nighthearth.   
  This cozy little nook contains a hearth, protected by a grate that can be 
  used to prop chilled feet to warm on cold days, that is surrounded with a 
  several leather, upholstered chairs. A small table pushed against the same
  wall as the hearth is kept stocked at all times with fresh, hot klah, a   
  pot of stew, and a basket of baked goods including breads and both savory 
  and sweet filled rolls. The Weyr's aunties also keep the space supplied   
  with a stack of perpetually renewed afghans in interesting color choices, 
  while the Headwoman's staff ensures that some of the older towels are     
  always on hand on a row of hooks for riders ducking in off of sweeps in   
  bad weather. Otherwise, the Nighthearth is undecorated but for the motley 
  collection of mismatched mugs, bowls, and spoons that line the mantel for 
  general use.

The thunderstorms have persisted in being a coming-and-going annoyance throughout the day and now into the evening. If there were a sunset to be seen at this hour, it's obscured by gloomy grey cloud cover, occasionally made brighter by flashes of lightning. The rain is coming down again now, but those few occupying the nighthearth are tucked safely away from all that nastiness. Dee is one such, the tall teen draped across one of the upholstered chairs, book in lap and plate of pastries nearby along with a steaming mug. The candidate looks nearly downright cozy, save for the way her brow has a creased line that betrays her inner ill-ease.

The rustle of fabric punctuated by a few choice words sworn in a rough voice announce Eadgyd's arrival. Her jacket is still draped over her head, leaving a trail of water dripping behind her. If the rest of her clothing is anything to go by, the jacket wasn't exactly effective protection from the elements. The young woman swings the jacket off of her body, paying no regard to the way it sends little droplets spraying chaotically across the room. She does a neat swap of her jacket for one of those convienient towels, leaving the former on a hook and ruffling the latter over her hair. They may be meant for riders, but surely no one wants a stablehand causing water damage. "Evening," is grunted in a low tone as she passes by Dee. A glance is spared for the candidate, but with food so close, her attention is heavily divided.

"Oh hi," comes nearly as the same word instead of two distinct ones. Dee's hazel gaze lifts out of her book as if startled, though the tone is friendly, so perhaps she was looking for a distraction. The leather of the chair makes a couple of odd noises against itself to speak of the teen's change of position, sitting up more properly and setting the book aside to follow the newcomer with her eyes, hands folded together now in her lap, pastries and beverage evidently forgotten. Is it rude to stare? Well, Dee blinks a couple times as her eyes follow the older girl just in case.

It takes a moment for Eadgyd to recognize the sensation of eyes upon her with her ability to multitask greatly diminished by an empty stomach. It's only once she has sloppily ladled her bowl full of stew - pausing to swear again when she sloshes hot liquid onto her hand and uses the towel to wipe it clean - that her focus slides back to the girl she greeted only moments before. "What are you doing?" she asks, although the brusque tone turns the words into something more like a demand. She sets the bowl of stew aside and reaches for a mug, filling it up to the brim with klah. A few bread rolls are grabbed and shoved into the stew, and with her stew-stained towel around her neck she carries her messy meal over to a spot on the floor. Can't be sitting in those nice leather chairs with damp clothes, after all.

"Nothing," is not the truth, but the question prompts Dee's cheeks to touch with a blush and her hands to move to her knees, fingers flexing here. Still, it's only a breath before she's tracking Eadgyd again. It's only once she's sat down that the candidate leans forward in her seat to ask quite directly, "Are you Standing? For Eliyaveith's clutch?"

This question gets an immediate reaction, in spite of the fact that Eadgyd is all but shoveling food into her mouth the moment her behind hits the floor. She uses the rolls to scoop up as much stew as she can, taking the kind of massive mouthfuls that make it impossible to form words around her latest 'bite'. Still, the manages to snort a laugh, which swiftly turns into coughing. One hand goes up to cover her mouth until she manages to swallow, and then she wipes across her lips with the back of her hand. "I hear there's going to be one this time," she remarks bitterly. "Don't know. Are you?"

The single syllable, "Yes," is infused with Dee's belief that there will be a clutch. There are more rumors to found that belief on, but surely she couldn't be so different than candidates Searched for Eliyaveith's 'first' clutch who believed. "I have the knot that says so." That isn't, however, to say that she will, her tone implies through its uncertainty. "Shouldn't you?" is asked of the girl whose name Dee doesn't know with some small measure of desperation. "You look the right age to be able to and-" The sentence stops there because she gets That Look, the one that probably a hundred faces (at least) have worn when referencing the unfortunate loss of the green hatchling at Elaruth's recent hatching.

Eadgyd believed, once. And it's not so impossible to think that she could again, given her youth and the lack of substantial grounds for her cynicism. But right here, right now? The girl is all spittle and grit, her lips twisted into a scowl as those questions keep coming. "I was searched before, doesn't mean I'll do it again." She snatches up her mug and takes an angry gulp of klah. Hot klah. Her jaw clenches shut as she forces herself to swallow it, tears springing to her eyes. It's only sheer stubborn determination that keeps her from sucking in a cool breath of air through pinched lips. "Why should I have one?" she finally grinds out, glancing to the other girl in question. "Because of what happened? Doesn't mean people have to take the knot."

Eadgyd's apparent rejection of the idea seems grounds enough for Dee to slip forward off her chair (the leather protesting as she does) to arrive onto her knees on the floor and therefore that much nearer the other girl, as if Dee's physical presence might impart the importance of this matter. The last words, however, are like the wind dying in the billow of a wanting sail and whatever (no doubt impressive) argument Dee was about to make leaves her lips as hollow. Still, she rallies after a breath, "No," she agrees, "People don't have to take it. But you Stood before," she grasps at what's offered her, "Mightn't you like to be a dragonrider? Isn't that reason enough?" Reason enough if the green is not. Brown brows are lifted into high arches, granting Dee an inquisitive look but also a painfully innocent one. Too much feeling and not enough reason in her make-up, to be sure.

As Dee moves closer, Eadgyd's lips pull back from her teeth in an unvoiced snarl to mark her personal territory. She grabs her bowl, sloshing a bit of stew over the side. There's a brief glance toward the mess, but instead of moving to mop it up she simply picks up one of the soggy rolls and begins sopping up more stew with it. "I said I was searched, not that I stood. Can't stand for a clutch that isn't there," she returns around a mouthful, probably spraying a few crumbs in Dee's direction if the girl gets too close. Of course, that means she's been around long enough for Elaruth's clutch as well. There's a challenging lift of her chin and a glint to her eye that all but dares Dee to call her out on it. "I might like to to be dragonrider. But I also might not. That's your entire life decided for you, right there. Are you ready for that?"

"No, not really," Dee's candid rejoinder is coupled with her next phrase in a way that suggest the former to be of little importance in the grand scheme of things, "But if you were Searched, and you accepted it, mightn't you try again? Can you imagine if that happened again? So soon?" 'Ever' is really what she means, her eyes all wide and full of feeling. She doesn't advance anymore, however, so that's something. Perhaps it was the snarl (not that she seems the type to be put-off by much).

"But it's not trying, is it. It's committing." This matter-of-fact response is spoken after Eadgyd finally swallows and wipes the back of her hand across her mouth again. Both girls are on the floor, the more ill-tempered of the pair looking rather damp as she shovels more stew into her mouth. "I can imagine. It wouldn't be nice." For a moment, her tone softens just enough to acknowledge the tragedy, but that softness doesn't last for long. "But imagine some poor dragon bonded to someone who always wonders what their life would've been like doing something else. Can't be good for them, either."

Dee's pastry and drink, once abandoned on a small side table, are suddenly remembered in the fact of Eadgyd's last words. It can't have anything to do with the fact that the brunette has turned pale. It might even have more to do with the fact that she needs a bit of comfort when a drum of thunder booms from outside the safety of the cozy cavern, than with Eadgyd's words. It definitely has nothing to do with the fact that she's now looking at the girl askance as she picks up her mug from where she now stands. "I'm sure a person could get over it. Would." The word is echoed so softly that it's definitely meant for herself alone.

Also decidedly moist: Isidro, damp black curls clinging to his forehead. He's been inside long enough to wipe off his face and shed his coat, but not long enough to be dry. For the purposes of getting dry, there's fire. That'll also do to warm his outsides. For his insides, a mug and a hot beverage. Despite the awfulness of the weather, though, he's all smiles on his way in. And humming, if not tunefully. "Don't you two sound terribly serious." Doesn't he sound completely unapologetic for the eavesdropping.

As the other girl finally gives up the ghost, Eadgyd sits up a bit straighter and finally moves to set her stew back on the ground. She tugs the towel free from around her neck, using the damp fabric to wipe off her hands and scrub up the small splotch of stew off the ground. The expression on her face is the closest thing to cheer the girl has shown this entire time, whether because of a nearly full belly or Dee's retreat would be hard to say. The darting glances she casts in the candidate's direction might suggest the latter, however. "I'm sure," she muttered with dry humor. Her fingers have just wrapped around the handle of her mug as Isidro makes himself known, and her response is equally unapologetic: "Only serious to her."

"It's should be serious to both of you," Dee turns on Isidro and the nameless girl with a frown; clearly, Isidro is guilty by association (or lack of white knot). Evidently, she'll kindly give Eadgyd the job of doing any explaining to the skinny boy, because picking up her book, pastries and mug, she's moving for the living cavern.

"It should be... wait... what?" Poor Isidro, all his good mood, he's not at all prepared for flouncing girl. His brain might be too waterlogged to catch up. It's not too waterlogged to register that the girl in question requires some space at the moment, however, so he settles for looking to the other female in the vicinity for some explanation. "Is she unhappy with things? Why would she be unhappy? I mean, I know they have the candidates doing a lot of dishes, but..."

Eadgyd does her best to bite back a laugh as Dee flounces off, choking the sound back with a poorly timed cough over the rim of her mug. "Oh yes, so serious," she intones with a roll of her eyes. The mug is tilted back for a sip (cooler this time, thankfully), so it takes her a moment to notice that Isidro's eyes are on her instead. Her gaze assesses him up and down, light eyes narrowing as she settles on an estimation of his age. "Did you know you should be a candidate? You look like you're the right age." She jerks the thumb of her free hand in the direction of Dee's departure. "She wants to recruit you."

"I feel elderly compared to most of them that I've met so far. Turns past twenty!" Two is plural. Isidro could probably have passed for a bit younger than that, of course, if only from his demeanor. Since this now counts as a conversation, he sits himself right down with her. One hand keeps the mug, the other runs back and through his hair, at least unsticking it from his face, even if that doesn't dry the ringlets. "I didn't know they recruited. I thought you had to have a dragon..." Pause. "I don't know what. Stare into your soul? Something like that."

There's a glance toward the towel piled up on the floor, but given its recent ecounters with stew, Eadgyd decides against offering it to this fellow weather victim. "I'm sure she still thinks you should be out there. It will be all our faults of another dragon goes between on hatching day." Though her hand doesn't move where it holds the mug, her tone suggests that she might as well be throwing both hands in the air. She reaches down to pick up a small piece of bread that's been dipped in the stew, and it's around this bite that she answers, "You do." Another roll of those green eyes. "If they need the candidates, they'll tell us. Don't let some touchy-feely girl tell you otherwise."

The bit about the hatching fades Isidro's smile considerably, and he lets out a long breath. "That does seem... terrible. But it happens, doesn't it? If sometimes a puppy doesn't make it, then sometimes a dragon won't." He eyes his own mug as though accusing it for not having something, say, more soothingly alcoholic inside, but ends up having another drink anyway, and settling with both hands wrapped around it. "Are you from here? I'm not." That may have been obvious. "Did not come for dragons, just a place I could be myself. Not much of a farmer."

"It happens," Eadgyd agrees in a voice that's considerably more callous. Her moment of empathy has passed, replaced now by a bitter frustration. Luckily, that seems to go well with klah. She takes another swig, and then yet another when the first fails to satisfy. "I'm not." Perhaps that was obvious, as well. The she runs her free hand through her hair, ruffling the short strands which are already well on their way to drying. Her clothes are less eager to do so. She repeats the gesture after a moment, simultaneously asking, "So what's yourself if not a farmer and no dreams of becoming a dragonrider?"

A laugh, just a small one. Isidro smothers it, as though trying to be a bit more sober in the face of this girl with her callous voice. "Mostly, I run plates back and forth for the kitchen, fetch things from storage, basic food preparation. They're starting to trust me with a knife now and then." A smile, quickly restrained, as though with the mental reminder that the joke is unlikely to be appreciated. "Things are just more relaxed, here. I prefer it. Folks don't care if you do what you like, so long as the work gets done."

"I'm surprised you're not fat," is the assessment Eadgyd surrenders after another moment's quick assessment. This is followed by a toothy - though not entirely kind - grin. "So you want to cook?" Her stew is almost gone, and so it's to that bowl that she turns as she awaits an answer. She tilts it and her head back, finishing the last of it with an impressive (disgusting?) mouthful. "Mmaye," she manages to articulate around bulging cheeks. It almost resembles agreement, with a little translation. She holds up one finger as she chews, finishing off that mouthful before she attempts to speak again. "Work's all that matters around here. I'm in the stables."

Fat is one thing he is definitely not, but the comment rolls off like water on the proverbial fowl. "I'm not sure," Isidro admits, clearly to the second part, not the first. "But it's better than having to be responsible for all those fields. It's a start. I've made friends. I don't have to go out much in the bad weather unless I want to. Bit cooler here, but that helps." He has another drink, as though just the reminder requires warding off.

Eadgyd has swiftly replaced step with klah as the scrawny girl is apparently /starving/, and it's across the lip of her mug that she eyes Isidro now. Her free hand lifts, waving up and down to indicate the whole of his body and its current state of not-so-dry. "Did you want to go out in the weather, then?" she asks in a dry tone, before tipping her mug back for a swig. Upon swallowing, she tilts the mug so she can stare down into it, assessing the remainder. Not nearly enough left.

"For the purposes of being sociable, it's not so bad. And at a reasonable hour, and not the crack of dawn, which is when virtually everything on a farm seems to happen." Isidro makes a face at this--again, retreating after just a moment, like too much animation is going to offend her when her interest seems to be so much more on her drink. "But I do think that as toasty as it is in here, I need to go get a proper change of clothes." At which point he starts pulling himself up again, birdlike balance. "Isidro. I forget. I never had to introduce myself at home."

The mention of being sociable has Eadgyd's nose wrinkling up in unconscious distaste. Still, she does agree, "No one really wants to be on a farm, I'm convinced." Brows lift, and she makes a little twirling gesture next to her head with one finger. Crazy, all of 'em. "Yeah." This agreement is grunted quickly, before she finishes off the last of her klah and sets the mug down with a clattering impact. She then reaches for the towel that sits on the floor, wiping her mouth with the rain-soaked cloth. "I should do that, too. And get this," the towel is held up with stew stains visible, "Cleaned." She piles her dishes together on top of the balled up towel, balancing precariously. "Eadgyd, call me Ead, or whatever suits you."

"Yes, ah--probably will want to get someone to soak that before it ends up with brown spots forever, or it'll be bound for the rag bag." Brown, towels, not a good combination, right? Not that Isidro will go so far as to spell that particular connection out, not in mixed company. Maybe there are still some farm-y kind of habits there. "Eadgyd, Ead, I will try to remember. It seems to have become Sid, since I got here. I guess it's not just the riders get nicknames. Probably see you around soon enough? Stay dry, meantime." His own mug still has something in it, and rather than sacrificing it or trying to down it all at once, he just strolls right out. Mugs are mugs, it'll find its way back to the kitchen sooner or later.

And this is why Eadgyd can't have nice things; they end up in the rag bag. She glances down at the corner of the dirty towel that sticks out, snorting as her thoughts drift in the direct Isidro so tactfully avoided. "Sid?" There's a little arch of her brows, but whatever comment she may have on that nickname stays (surprisingly) locked behind her lips. "You too. Or wet, if that's your fancy." And with that, the girl is shortly on his heels to deliver dishes to the kitchen. Then that dirty towel is carted off to the appropriate place with haste - and stealth. No one needs to be known as the person with suspicious stains on their towels.