Logs:Treasure Hunting
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| RL Date: 29 April, 2013 |
| Who: C'wlin, Telavi |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Two Weyrlings, hunting for treasures in a storeroom, sharing secrets and poking at discarded things. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Weather: Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air. |
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| Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr(#273RJs) Massive in scale, the Weyr's main storage passage connects to the kitchen on one end and the outbound tunnel on the other. Large enough to admit a wagon laden with goods, the tunnel easily permits the unloading and organization of supplies into the various storerooms. Branching off from this corridor are multiple caverns, the nearer two being 'open' stores from which residents can readily help themselves, while the deeper stores are kept locked up tight with a posted sign and inventory hung on a hook outside of each. An alcove next to the public stores serves as a catch-all area for reshelving items whose destination is uncertain; two sets of stone shelving and several bins hold these items neatly until a stores assistant has a moment to deal with them. Though the storage caverns vary in size, shape, and the smoothness of their walls, all belong to the same system: whitewashed walls, swept floors, and most importantly, neatly labeled and inventoried shelves providing ample space to stow all the supplies a busy Weyr needs. Though there's no direct internal lighting, a glowbasket may be brought in from the niche outside each cavern, the better to ward off pests and the inky dark of deep caves. Contents: Telavi Obvious exits: Weyr Entrance Kitchens Dinner's over, the summer sun's finally fallen... and a couple of weyrlings have descended upon the storerooms like a very, very small swarm of locusts. "So what are you looking for, C'wlin?" asks Telavi, dithering between the shelves of clothing and the shelves of supplies. "I wonder that the weyrs will be stocked with. Please let them be cleaned before we get to them, please." "I'm looking for writing materials," C'wlin comments, walking alongside Telavi with hands clasped behind his back. "And perhaps an easily moved desk." A look is given his fellow weyrling, expression fairly relaxed considering that his features give him a constantly entitled air of brattiness. "What are you looking for?" he queries, tone easy this summer eve; a rarity for the former-harper as well. Hey, maybe Mr. Uptight took some chill pills. "Mmm. So not just a table, then, or is it that any old flat surface becomes a desk once you get ahold of it?" Telavi's smile in C'wlin's direction is quick, lighthearted, so different from the tenseness of earlier that day when she'd slid from Solith's neck for the first time. But she doesn't look at him long, instead standing back far enough to get a better look at the higher shelves, and then actually jumping up to see if that helps. "I'd love an armoire, large enough to store bodies in or at least all my clothes, you know? One of the old ones with the pretty carved doors," which isn't likely to be on a shelf. "Although some sort of press for hidework seems more and more practical," her tone tinged with ambivalence there. "An armoire, eh? I don't think it'd be up there," C'wlin comments, though he does not jump to look. He is not going to call attention to the fact that he's not taller than his fellow weyrling. He might have short-man syndrome. Instead, he turns the conversation to: "I'd prefer a desk with drawers, with possibly some secret drawers where I can store my valuables." Not that mentioning it doesn't invalidate some of the secrecy, but whatever! He seems unconcerned. "I haven't thought about the furniture, myself. Other than the desk. Mostly so I can write my music." A glance askance has him asking, almost actually curious -- but don't take it personally, C'wlin is just a hard boy to get to know! -- "You get your flight legs yet?" "Not unless it were a very, very tiny armoire," Telavi says with a sigh, and starts walking down the row, though it doesn't stop her from conversationally catching up on the desk while she's at it. "If they're really secret, how would you know they were there? Because if we see a desk, and it has a label that says 'Secret hidey-spots here!' and then later I see it in your weyr, well, that would pretty much give it away... ahh, this is more like it." Actual furniture." She pauses, testing the drawer of a smaller press. It opens, but squeakily, so of course she has to try it again. It still squeaks, and C'wlin's question is still hanging out there. "No. But we did try it today, anyway." The next door proves to squeak too, and she murmurs something about waxing it. "You and Athimeroth look so... at ease." Surely that's not envy. C'wlin cannot help himself: laughter escapes. Yes. That light-hearted sound that comes involuntarily at Telavi's description of a secretive desk. Along the way, he picks up a tarnished silver mirror and eyes his reflection. The item is discarded just in time to answer, "That would not be ideal." Admittance comes with mirth still lingering in chilly, perfectly enunciated tones, though a hint of a long-discarded accent picks up in some of the words. Clearing his throat, the bronzerider continues: "I would look for a rather large desk. And that is entirely too squeaky to take home with you. Go for the bigger one. It's uglier, but you could put a nice finish on it that would be better." Beat. "Assuming, it doesn't squeak." Once again, attention falls upon his fellow weyrling, eyeing her thoughtfully. "Well, we are. For the most part, anyway. Sometimes Athimeroth has plans he would like to follow through on, but it's a matter of controlling his impulsive nature. Are you afraid to fly? Afraid of heights?" Questions come nonchalant, as nonchalantly as he tests the limits of a gnarled old traveling trunk. It's not an accent that Tela seems to recognize, but she does glance briefly back at him, whether from being sensitive to even such fine traces or perhaps just because. "I hope you mean, by 'I could put a nice finish on it,' 'I could have a nice finish put on it.'" He's not the only one that can sound haughty, though hers is tinged with laughter. Of course she has to try the new desk, and of course this one's drawer squeaks too, but then she hops up to sit on the desk and there's not even a little creak. "They could be repaired, you know... Oh, no. I never have been, my best friend and I when we were little had net ladders between our families' ledges, and we'd climb up and down them all the time." Or at least once in a while when they dared themselves to do it, in the summertime when it wasn't raining. "I'm afraid Solith's plans still revolve around playing, flying, being oiled, and... looking around, really. Athimeroth?" "That too," C'wlin comments, lips touched in crafty little smile. "I would also be of a sort to 'have a finish put on it' rather than be doing the dirty work myself." He lifts his hands, wiggling his well-tended fingers, "These hands are not meant for menial labor." Let's not count all the menial labor he's had so far in tending to Athimeroth! "If you're not afraid of heights, then why sit so uneasily on Solith when you fly?" He steps up on that trunk and stands, testing his weight on the aged wood. It groans. "Is she a rough flyer?" As to his bronze's plans, the boy presses his lips together. "Oh, all sorts. Namely, to do with ensuring that I'm making sure he's taken care of well." Nimbly, he side-steps delving too much into his dragon's plans. That's the question, isn't it? It's a question that has Telavi straightening her legs to examine the point of her toes, flex her ankles, and then point her toes again. "It's our first time," she protests, though habit keeps a smile lingering on her mouth. "What kind of expectations should anyone have for their first time? And she's so small, well, not so much smaller than the others but at least some like Cailluneth are sturdy. Athimeroth looks as though he could handle just about anything, though I'm not sure what more taking care of him could entail..." She sighs out a breath, then slides off the desk at last to go prowling through the other furniture, poking open drawers and shaking legs. "Hm." "But not your first time with heights," C'wlin points out, hopping off the trunk to go poking around through the stuff as well. He comes up with a strange contraption of wooden sticks, canvas and twine. "Sometimes," he mutters in an aside, "I have to wonder what people were thinking when they put stuff down here." Tossing the useless thing behind, he continues the original vein of conversation, "Athimeroth is sturdier, yes." This, he allows. But the highest expectations are not levied only upon himself, but upon others as well. "Solith is still a dragon," he reminds, but not unkindly, "And she's ready to take you on, it's a matter of," now he taps his temple with a strange spoon that has tines like a fork, "believing it. What do you think this is? Can't be a spoon. Nor a fork." It's not a point that Telavi seems to feel requires a response, though she's quick to laugh at his next comment combined with the sound of the contraption falling. It's not laughter that's long-lived, though, and after a moment she gives the other weyrling a cool-voiced reply, cool as her glance is not. "Is she really? How remarkable." Also, "Spork is the proper name. They'd have them at Benden for picnics." Benden, Benden, Benden. She disappears around the corner, though not out of easy earshot. "Do they now?" This time it is C'wlin's turn to voice a cool-reply, giving like for like over that silly little thing called a spork. He tosses it atop some basket that sits upon an old, stuffed chair. Winding his way through the furniture, the bronzerider finds treasure -- or what might be treasure. Rather, he finds a desk that might meet his needs. Jumping to an entirely different conversation, he asks: "Where do you hope to get a weyr at?" The thing about C'wlin's rising to the bait, it warms Telavi's mood considerably, though the change in topic can't hurt. "Somewhere that doesn't smell of the feeding pens or baby dragons, somewhere that isn't too noisy, somewhere that isn't too quiet. The lake is pretty, so that would be a nice view," of the lake itself and possibly those who splash within it. She even asks, after some thuds and creaks mark her messing around with more things, "How about you?" Lips press together, irritation flares, but C'wlin's a cool cucumber most of the time and so ruffled feathers merely get soothed back down. "I don't know. Haven't really thought about it." Brows draw in, brief, before expressions smooths. "The lake is probably the most attractive to me as well, though I don't know how many vacancies it might have." He closes the drawer and stands away from the desk. "I'm not finding anything that begs to be taken back with me," he comments, tone wry and yet still contemplative. Maybe his standards are just too high! "That is the question, isn't it. I wonder how many people have died off recently. Or... transferred," and though implications rest lightly in Tela's voice, she doesn't linger upon them. There's a quiet sound that might be a drawer moving in and out, in and out, though still it doesn't squeak. Not that the girl says anything about it, yet. "And, of course, if the inside of the weyr is much nicer somewhere else... how often would we be sitting on our ledges, anyway?" We humans. "Well spoken," C'wlin murmurs, making his way back to the store's entrance, pausing to add, "I'd go for a nicer inside than outside, but there's something to be said for location." Location, location, location! Features sharpen, a slyness coming to the boy's expression before he turns to go. His parting statement? "Death does seem to want to linger here. See that you're not next with that rickety desk!" Purposeful rhyme? To hide something else? Possibly. "Athimeroth is calling. Gotta go." Without further adieu, he's taking the exit rather quickly, to the left! It's certainly a rhyme that brings Tela's laughter chiming after it. "Enjoy," she calls, without teasing him about dragons and leashes. Or else, excuses. As it is, she's freed to move on with new purpose, and perhaps find some secret drawers of her very own.
CommentsK'zin (Wakizian (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 01 May 2013 11:15:54 GMT. <
Because I forgot to actually post this earlier when I finished it... Awesome stuff! :D I really like getting this look at C'wlin and his bond with his lifemate and the way it seems almost... I don't know, easy? Between the weyrlings to chat about stuff related to being weyrlings.
I also really liked Tela's explanations and not explanations of Solith (and C'wlin's of Athimeroth too, for that matter). I just really loved it.
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Thank you!! It was fun!
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Comments
K'zin (Wakizian (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 01 May 2013 11:15:54 GMT.
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Because I forgot to actually post this earlier when I finished it... Awesome stuff! :D I really like getting this look at C'wlin and his bond with his lifemate and the way it seems almost... I don't know, easy? Between the weyrlings to chat about stuff related to being weyrlings.
I also really liked Tela's explanations and not explanations of Solith (and C'wlin's of Athimeroth too, for that matter). I just really loved it.
Ceawlin (Ceawlin (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 01 May 2013 23:05:09 GMT.
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Thank you!! It was fun!
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