Logs:Making Things Easier
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| RL Date: 27 January, 2013 |
| Who: Brieli, Ceawlin, Kinory, Wakizian |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Brieli only seems super-old around people her own age. She gives Kinory a temporary out, pokes at Ceawlin, and flusters Wakizian. |
| Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
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| Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings. Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed. It's just past dinner time in the living cavern, and with a relatively nice day, at least the entrance isn't muddied or dirtied or wet - but the evening's chill is driving people in from their walks and duties in droves. Some linger for a late meal, some for a cup of something warm, adding to the thinning dinner crowd. Brieli seems to be amongst those eating late; though she could (and usually does) have food sent to her weyr, she's sitting at the end of a long table the evening, on her own. She's not unoccupied, though - between her plate and sharp gaze flickering between the seated weyrfolk, there's a lot to keep her busy. Dinnertime in the living caverns is the best time for a Harper to ply his skills, and thus that is what Ceawlin is doing. Soft melodies drift across the crowded room, blending into jaunty tunes that turn into songs that pull the heart-strings. There's little rhyme or reason for the sounds that come from the lute held in lap, plucked with skill, other than to give the folks 'round the 'caverns something different to listen to as their repasts are taken. Pale blond head is bowed as he plays, seemingly not noticing the others and their meals. From the cups around his little playing station, set off to the side, out of the way, he has been here from just about the beginning of the dinner hours and intends to play until everyone is done. Or so it seems. Kinory's among those in line to grab a late bite to eat, posture hunched slightly in the suggestion of still feeling the chill despite the fact that she's indoors and not nearly as far from the hearth as she could be. It's a small dinner that she puts together, heavy on vegetables and breads with a steaming mug of tea. Leaning up on her tiptoes to try to scout out a seat tucked into a corner or alcove, she has to resort to weaving her way through people to see if any of those more private places are available. She pauses as her search takes her just past Ceawlin to offer him a quiet, "That sounds really nice." Indecision keeps her there a moment longer before she edges her way toward a long table, careful to seat herself several places away from Brieli, not quite within a distance that would suggest she wants conversation. She can be occupied with her plate, too - although in her case, this seems to involve pushing her food back and forth while slowly starting in on it. The music is likely welcome; certainly more welcome than a buzz of conversation that veers schizophrenically between anger, amusement and fear, depending on the table and the time and the people involved. Music is different than gossip. Music is better. Maybe Brieli's thinking that, as her attention lingers on the pale harper lad briefly before the movement down the table has her glancing sidelong that way. The brownrider might not look like she wants company or conversation, but the goldrider is first speculative, then faintly pained, before she takes her plate and cup to shift down those several places. "Kinory." A glance on the plate. "I'd... heard you were feeling unwell." "Thank you," Ceawlin's head lifts when Kinory pauses, his fingers still busy on the strings of his instrument. The song changes only slightly in this action: notes moving from happy-go-lucky to a subtler melody of low tones; the lowest on the instrument's register. But when she moves past, his head drops again, focus seemingly on the song played. Close enough, though, to Brieli and Kinory and those around them that perhaps he might be able to catch strains of their conversation. Were he listening, of course. Kinory greets Brieli with a little grimace and a sheepish cough. "Who hasn't, by now, " she sighs, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. At least maybe next time, whenever that ends up being, I won't, um, faint." And because it's polite and she's clearly seeking a change in subject, she latches desperately onto, "How is Iesaryth?" She's definitely more invested in the tea than her plate. The shift in the music might have the tall dark woman slanting a look back towards the player, eyes narrowing for a moment. Brieli doesn't say anything to Ceawlin, however; perhaps it's expected behavior. Harpers. Shaking her head as she tears up a roll, she tells Kinory firmly, "Don't apologize. It's not as if either of us knew what to expect." If her tone is a little wry, that's likely not due to her flight. She butters the piece of bread, replying, "She's doing well, though I've had to start nudging her to get around before she can't anymore. I don't think she'll like that. Is Ineuth doing well?" Ceawlin presents an innocent view when Brieli chances to look over; head down, fingers on the strings, and melodies come through consistent, only lower. Conversations flow around them, working into the music to give the living caverns their own flavors. The harper apprentice is good at blending in the background with only his music to add to the flavor of his surroundings. When conversations turn 'round to talk of Brieli's gold, at the same time a table's conversation turns heated over some topic or another, the boy's fingers dance across the strings of his instrument changing the low-noted slower tones to something faster, rousing the blood. Higher, faster, and more frequent, the music plays well into his surroundings. The weyrling brownrider automatically follows Brieli's slanting look back toward the harper, but her expression is merely politely confused before she turns back around. "I - imagine that must have been even more difficult, " she ventures tentatively, regarding Iesaryth's flight. There's a slow nod as she spears a forkful of potato. "Ineuth's fine. Sometimes, I wish I had his lack of long-term memory. It might make a lot of things easier." There might be a little smirk for the apprentice still playing away, but Brieli merely shrugs at Kinory like she's not sure what's going on either, before taking a bite of her roll. Once finished, she'll admit, "It wasn't easy. But it doesn't sound like how things went for you or some of the others, either. I suppose it affects us all differently, yes. Some might need some time." Her words are careful; she can't quite look at the other rider for her next. Instead, there's some food to pick at with her fork. "Iesaryth could make it easier. If you wanted to wait a bit before next time to... get used to how it was. Will be. Though not all of them will be like that." She raps knuckles on the table reflexively. Song blends with the table's heated conversation a few paces over, Ceawlin not seemingly paying attention to anyone but to change the music to the theme of the diners that listen. When Brieli's words turn careful in response to Kinory's tentative responses, the music slows. A soft melody that aids in giving the diners the feel of the intimacy of conversation. It serves in getting him some strange looks from the table with the heated riders, but it does aid in quelling them somewhat. Ceawlin? Plays on! Not listening here, nope. Kinory's expression brightens a little. "It'd help, yes, " she says immediately. "I think, anyway." Still, there's a frustrated exhale that she puffs over her mug - or maybe she's just trying to blow some of the steam away. "Weyrwoman Brieli, I know I'll have to learn how to deal with that kind of intensity. He's brown. It could happen again." It's a fact of life, says her tone, even if it's one that she's clearly unhappy about. As Ceawlin's music changes again, she half-frowns, folding her napkin onto her plate. Perhaps having her conversation musically offered for public consumption just destroyed what's left of her appetite. Brieli's attention only flickers up from her plate at the changes in tempo and mood to gauge the conversation. And by her expression, she's not buying that certain musicians aren't paying attention to surroundings, but there are sayings about glass houses... It's only Kinory's answer that has her gaze on the brownrider again, and she offers a brief, relieved smile. No further clarifications needed! "I can let Azaylia know too. Or - not, if you'd rather not, but it's better, in case one or the other is away. And I... well. Yes. But there's no sense in... torturing yourself in the meantime, is there." Looking at the mostly-untouched plate, "I apologize. I wanted to catch you sooner than later." Innocence can be woven through song just as well as jubilee and blood-lust, and Ceawlin is skilled at his instruments. Though perhaps just as damning when the music changes at Kinory's discomfort as it was when it changed to the reflection of their conversation. Though, truth be told, it is not just Brieli and Kinory's conversation that's woven into the tempo of the music, it is the others around him. Notes come jarringly fast now, the upbeat tempo a blood-rousing song that inspires some to dance -- even if in their seats. Don't mind him! Totally not here. Kinory returns Brieli's relieved smile with one of her own, all genuine gratitude. "Thank you. Really. And telling weyrwoman Azaylia might be best, too." Or more comforting, at any rate. And yet, she seems appreciative of how carefully straightforward their conversation about it has been, despite her sensitive nature. "It's okay, " she says as she neatly stacks her plate and mug together, "I know you've - both of you - had a lot on your minds recently." More softly, she adds, "Better you than me, I think. I'm not - made for such things." Politicking, important decision making, forced into being a figurehead; it isn't clear which of the three she means. Perhaps all. "I'm going to call it an early evening, I think. Thank you for your time." Indeed, she leaves half of her plate behind as she departs, casting only a vaguely half-worried look behind her on her way out. Just how much did Ceawlin hear? With a nod, "I'll pass it on." Brieli tells the brownrider briskly, all business now. She doesn't seem much more comfortable talking about any of this than Kinory is, so perhaps it is all for the best, rather than discussions with other weyrwomen, which might come which much more sympathy and possibly, hugging. 'Better you that me' might draw a small wry smile from the goldrider, but she merely lifts a hand by way of farewell as the other woman leaves. It takes some time to stack her plate and the other one, collect what's been left behind to carry it away - perhaps odd for her to bother. As she does, her path may coincidentally pass by Ceawlin, to point out lowly and conversationally, "Everyone thinks Harpers eavesdrop, you know." Maybe not everyone. Everyone suspicious and paranoid. As Kinory takes her departure and Brieli gathers up her dishes and leaves the table herself, the music carries a fun little tune. Though when she stops to lay her conversational bomb, Ceawlin lifts his head and manages an almost-sweet smile. It doesn't really go well with the cold eyes and sharp features, but it is friendly enough. "I suppose they do, though I suppose they wouldn't always be wrong neither." Admission of guilt or no, his fingers keep playing. Notes dropping lower once again; somber even. With eyes pulled away from the strings, the boy can still play, though a few notes are missed, adding a jarring, disjointed sound to the music played. On purpose or technical error due to not looking? With a flash of her own smile, "No, they certainly would not. I suppose one learns how to lull people into a false sense of security." Not implying the apprentice isn't precisely, but. The plates in hand aren't such a burden that Brieli can't linger there for a time, dark gaze surveying the cavern rather than staring down Ceawlin while he provides music for the thinning post-dinner crowd. The tall dark weyrwoman stands off to the side, near the boy's playing station. Conversations still buzz around the cavern, but the music seems to cover most of them. Even seated, it's obvious that Ceawlin would be shorter than Brieli should he chance to stand, but he doesn't. His gaze drops back to the lute, and the jarring notes to the skillfully somber melody disappear and once more it's a low-noted, smooth sound that flows from the instrument. A low murmur comes from the Harper, for the goldrider's ears and not those for the tables near them, "One does learn. If that was one's intention." Peeking at the goldrider from beneath pale lashes, another grin escapes, but this one is canny and goes well with his sharp, entitled features. "Although, as one is just an apprentice, perhaps one must learn to be better," the boy demurs. Foot traffic through this cavern is no uncommon site, nor is the trio of crafters trudging in from the bowl. After a few words are exchanged, two head off about their business, while the third pauses at the coat-hooks to shed his cold-weather wear. Wakizian sweeps a glance about the cavern before meandering past the serving tables, snagging up a literal fist-full of food, and winding his way over towards the music and its maker. With a shrug, glancing down at her stack of dishes, "There's a fair amount one could learn on one's own, I think. 'If that were one's intention.'" Brieli seems entertained by the turn of phrase, at least; she might not just seem taller than Ceawlin, but perhaps older, though there's not that many turns between them. "But I'd guess that crafts are not necessarily about initiative." Her sharp gaze has gone back to flickering through the cavern, and she picks out the boy on their trajectory, telling the apprentice, "You may have a request." "I suppose it depends on the individual," Ceawlin comments, head still down, "But I've plenty of initiative to learn a great many things on my own." Freedom has come in terms of being posted at a weyr almost entirely on his own. "I suppose I might," the boy notes, eyes turning up from the strings only momentarily to watch the one making their way towards them. The song changes slightly; somber still, but it is the dirge of a march that comes in time with the purposeful way the newcomer walks towards them. "One's intention should never be so boldly shown," is his final comment, almost idly spoken. The seed watched as it sprouts doesn't always yield the expected results, and neither does Wakizian's approach. Rather than making a request, he simply, mumbles a full-mouthed, "Eshcush-me-" Swallow. "-Weyrwoman," to Brieli, as he slips by her and takes a seat nearby. Evidently, his aim is not to interrupt, but merely to provide a greater audience, as keen eyes follow to Ceawlin's clever fingers. Perhaps with thoughts along similar lines, "I suppose if there's only so many Journeymen to pay attention, there's a certain amount of latitude you might not have otherwise." Brieli shifts the weight of her very small, only slightly awkward burden; as Wakizian greets her, a passing kitchen worker overhears, notices and comes to relieve her of the plates and cutlery. Offering the woman an appreciative smile, she shrugs at the darker young man - free cavern - and glances at Ceawlin. "Fans, even." She's not grinning, but dark eyes are bright. "Latitude is a blessing," Ceawlin says, changing the marching tune to one softer, more melodious. He plays the emotion of the crowd, picking up on the hints here and there of strife, of the lovers in the corner not trying to hide the fact that the winter might prove to be a good one for them, and to the raucous laughter that comes from across the room. "The weyr isn't the Hall, and I've much more freedom now that I had before. And it will be even more when I walk the tables." Ambition shines in cold blue eyes that meet Brieli's. "I play well for the weyr," is his only comment to the weyrwoman's mention of a fan, though Wakizian does get a considering look, but the boy turns his attention back to the duty of playing. All talks of eavesdropping, freedom, and otherwise are put the wayside now that a more attentive audience is focused on /him/. Total double standard, that! Ceawlin will play until dinner's done, a blend of melodies that keep it interesting at least. "Thank Faranth the Weyr isn't the Hall. Less parents and less rocks." The gratitude colors Wakizian's baritone warmly. His hands are distracted by pulling apart one of the rolls he snagged, his attention clearly not on what his hands are doing. His eyes flicker from harper to rider. "This kind of music is nice- especially after a day of ratta-tatta-tatta-tata-rap-rap-clunk." One hand leaves the mess of the roll in the other and mimes the striking of hammer to anvil, "And can't forget the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh," that same hand makes the motion for working a bellows. "Much more melodic." He nods towards Ceawlin as his hands go back to their picking and pulling of the roll. Considering the apprentice thoughtfully for a moment or two, "Indeed." Brieli isn't inclined to offer up much more - in fact, now that she's not carrying dirty dishes, she'll drift away from Ceawlin's playing station entirely, still musing something over. After all, the boy has a lot of playing-not-listening to do. Folding her arms, Wakizian's words draw her attention primarily due to the sounds he's trying to mimic; bemused, "Don't you have anything for your ears?" She mimes covering them, clamping hands over dark curls. A laugh pops out of Waki's mouth and is cut off abruptly, almost as if the sound surprised him. His grinning expression shows a touch of intrigue, and he rises to follow the path of the rider. The laugh was in response to her mime, despite his own more elaborate ones. In fact, it seems the miming has become a bit of the game to the Smith. His hands rise to mimic her own gesture, "We do have them," 'Them' gets the cupped ears. "But it doesn't kill all the noise, unfortunately. There're still the ratta-tattas-" With invisible hammers, "-and the whoosh-whoosh," Bellows, "-and sometimes the hisssssss-" His hand stabs downward in a fairly unclear gesture, fingers curled as if holding something. "Sorry. That was meant to be hot metal into water. I-" Seems his nerves of talking to a pretty girl have caught up to him, "I'm not a harper. I don't act." "Hm." Brieli's dropped her hands to her side by now, though one does detour on the way down to adjust the bright scarf at her neck. Her gaze following her gestures, her total lack of expression probably doesn't help with the nerves, nor might her shrug afterward. "Better you than me," she says lightly. It has the sound of a quote. "And yes. I rather guessed, with the hammering, etcetera. Were you here for the fire sometime back? Have you been here long?" She obviously has no idea. Right. No encouragement there. Waki's cheeks take on a slight tinge of pink, and a hand finds it's way to push a stray brown lock away from his forehead self-consciously, "Uh, right." Fidget. If one were watching his face, it might be possible to see the gears trying to reset. "Right." The echo of the word seems to bring his brain back into working order, "Ah-about nine turns, give or take. My whole apprenticed life, as it were." He shrugs slightly, hands finding their ways to his back pockets, shoulders curling sightly, pose trying for non-chalant. "But, you know, I spend a lot of time with the-- ah- ratta-tattas and the whoosh-whoosh, so you probably haven't had occasion to see me before. That's another nice thing about the Weyr - as opposed to a Hall, I mean. More faces moving in and out. Always new people to meet. I'm Wakizian, by the way." A hand pops forward in offer of an awkward clasp or shake. By the talk, he really shouldn't take it personally; Brieli just isn't all that pleasant a person. But she tries sometimes - pretending there's no flush or self-consciousness, she tells Wakizian, "Nine turns. I suppose that seems reasonable for your craft, given what you do." Which should likely mean at least she doesn't think Smithing is all muscle, no brain. "And I don't like to get near a lot of intense heat, I admit. My hair..." Her fingers brush it idly. "It doesn't like it." She has a firm grasp and shake, her hand is slender, long-fingered. "A pleasure. I'm Brieli." He knows that, but it's still polite. His grip is as one might expect from a Smith - fairly strong, but not crushing and thoroughly calloused. Wakizian leans in slightly, a conspiratorial edge to his now hushed voice, "Don't tell Journeyman Thraland, but being apprenticed at the Weyr is better than anything I saw the apprentices doing at Minecraft Hall. I'm just lucky I'm favored by my teachers here, else I'm sure I'd have been sent packing for Smithcraft turns ago." His eyes flicker down to her fingers and he released her hand, "The heat's nice on a cold day, but I wouldn't recommend it as a career for you. Your dragon mightn't like your hands becoming new scour pads for her bathes." But what does he know of dragons and the thickness of their hides. Arching fine brows, "Wouldn't... Would you not perhaps stand a better chance of promotion were you at the Hall?" Brieli's not sure how all this works, but she's trying to understand a bit better, by her expression. There's a brief, slight smile, before, "Your secret is safe." Following Wakizian's glance down to her hands, lips quirking bemusedly, "Well. Fortunately, I think I have a career sorted, yes? But I appreciate the advice. Do let us know if there's any more problems there - I'd hate for the crafts to get smoked out again." Politely apologetic, "If you'll excuse me, I've already spent too much time. I should get some work done." "Well," Flustered? Yes. The color's rising again to Wakizian's cheeks and his fingers have begun to nervously thump against his thighs as thumbs hook into his pockets. "I mean-- maybe? But we go back for exams and all that, so I'm sure they could--would promote me if--" He trails off shaking his head a little, "I'm happy here." It's a simple statement, but one that has firm resolve, "If I walk the tables, I'm off into the wide world." There's a flash of gratitude to his look as his eyes lift from where they'd wandered to-- well, anywhere but looking at her, and the gratitude is not for the willingness to field crafter problems, but more for the ending of the conversation. "Of course. Thank you. I will." This tumbles out in babble, and before she's even off herself, he's turning and hurrying in the opposite direction. A keen ear might hear the mumble, "Women. It's like they look at you and the next moment your heart and guts and brain are all on the ground in shambles, and what have you got left?" Maybe too much time at the forge has given him a good conversation companion in himself. Maybe he's just crazy. The world may never know. Tilting her head slightly as the young man rambles on for a moment, something that the apprentice says has Brieli looking faintly disappointed, exasperated - but it passes. It likely has nothing to do with him. As Wakizian hurries off, she'll at least lift a hand to wave in his direction before shrugging at any bystanders, and making her way out to the bowl with quick purposeful strides.
CommentsComments on "Logs:Making Things Easier"Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Mon, 28 Jan 2013 19:37:51 GMT.
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Comments
Comments on "Logs:Making Things Easier"Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Mon, 28 Jan 2013 19:37:51 GMT.
Kinory - SCHO CUTE ;^; *pets and strokes*
Ceawlin - Little snot in an endearing way.
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