Logs:Delicate
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| RL Date: 9 April, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist, Hattie |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: A 'Reachian bronzerider gives his regards to the Fortian Weyrwoman. A 'Reachian bronze does certainly not snap, crunch, or otherwise disrupt baby dragons under a Fortian gold's watchful eye. |
| Where: Bowl Falls, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
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| Bowl Falls, Fort Weyr To see Elaruth with the weyrlings of either group, her children and grandchildren respectively, is not so uncommon a sight, and this sunny afternoon is one that she has chosen to spend outside with those now not-so-small dragons, though the Weyr's senior queen continues to dwarf all of the much younger crowd. At the moment, there's a game of chase going on around the pale gold, who observes the proceedings in a laid-back fashion, while her rider sits some way away, her bare feet in the water of the channel leading to the waterfall. To see Hattie sat there is likewise not something out of the ordinary, but the human half of the weyrling pairs seem more wary of her than their lifemates are of Elaruth, leaving the Weyrwoman well enough alone. Up on a Fortian rider's ledge, Lythronath has been kept out of the way, if certainly a presence, watching the goings-on in the bowl below with rapt attention. His rider is not up on that ledge with him, and it's A'rist who's the first to actually enter anywhere near the scene playing out with the weyrlings. He's scanning, between the grouped dragons, the riders, the 'Reachian bronze, the weyrwoman. There's some more play accomplished before he's actually moving up to her, giving all others ample enough space. To Elaruth, Lythronath's attention is, for now, just that; a mental pressure, not intense enough to explode into words. He sees them, all those little... things... of hers. To Lythronath, Elaruth is not one to bother with words when she doesn't have to, and so, not provided with any to answer, doesn't offer her own in response, but there's no denying her protective instinct - a net of fog hovering over those little presences nearby. Hers. Hattie tilts her head only enough to acknowledge that there is someone moving towards her, unwilling to engage them in conversation until she's more sure that it is in her direction that they're moving. Once she's established something of A'rist, being his age and height, she remarks, "You're not one of mine." A moment later, she amends, "Ours," with a brief glance towards her bright-eyed lifemate. She studies him for no longer than is absolutely necessary, then declares, "You're one of the ones who got bashed up in that flight." She pauses, reaching down into the water to clean dusty hands. "Not you, really." A'rist lifts his head a bit higher as he draws nearer, trusting his feet not to let his face plant for the space required to answer, "No, ma'am." He glances back down again, for a few more carefully placed steps. "I-" and she has it in one, leaving the young bronzerider only with a less eloquent, "Yeah," when he's looking back up to her, close enough to talk, not an invasion. "Lythronath," is supplied. "High Reaches," too. And finally, "A'rist." None of that talk has drawn any attention from that lounging bronze above, still watching, intensity more raptor now, than simply rapt. But still, just watching. The Weyrwoman rests her elbows a little north of her knees to let her hands drip dry, and looks past A'rist to where two of the weyrlings have paused, one of whom gestures towards the bronzerider, to mutter something to each other. They don't do subtle well. "Hattie," she responds, her tone one that suggests that she assumes he knows. "Why?" It could be a loaded question, without any other details to guide just what she's asking, until she adds, "Another one catch his eye, or is this a social call all of your very own?" "Weyrwoman," with a quick dip of his head. A'rist does know. "Umm," says the young man, first, glancing vaguely upward, sort of where his dragon carries on ignoring him to watch the littles. "That's not why. Just seeing someone." Delayed comes, "A visit. We were getting ready to leave, actually, when we saw-" and that would be when those 'being watched' prickles must start to set in, and bring his head around to look back at all those weyrlings. "'Seeing'." Hattie toys with that word for a moment, then slants a funny little smile up at the young bronzeirder. "All sorts of double meanings there, usually," she claims, giving a brief shrug of one shoulder. If that signal is all there is to go on, she doesn't seem apt to press any further, but is simply making an idle observation. When A'rist looks back, one of those weyrlings, a girl who can't be much younger than him, giggles and shoves at her friend to move along, which they do. "You're of an age to be one of them, unless you've a scarily youthful face," Hattie remarks. "You might make some friends." A'rist looks back as they turn, and that, with a bit of extra heat about his cheeks. "No. There were lots of really young ones," nose wrinkling faintly at the distaste of grouping himself into that category, "in our class, everyone kept saying. But we're through." In case the knot on his shoulder wasn't sign enough. He looks Hattie full on, adding, "Not that I want to be unfriendly. But Lythronath... I don't mean to disrupt your weyrlings is all." And there's the beginning of a grimace. "Ma'am," is some sort of balm. "Are you disrupting them?" Hattie asks, tilting her head again. She darts another look just past him, to where there is now nothing but empty space, until a loping green fills it up as she travels on past and towards the channel of water. "Or is it that Lythronath wants to disrupt them?" Now she lifts her dark eyes to Elaruth, who looks away from the game at hand for long enough to look back at her, then up. "Would conversing with them be considered a problem?" By him, not her, she seems to suggest. "Lythronath. He isn't sure what to do with them, I don't think." There's no sense of wonder, there, so much as calm caution. At any rate, it's taken some of the awkward face-making away from the 'Reachian bronzerider. "I suppose not. But they're weyrlings. Your weyrlings. Mostly we'd just stuck around to come and speak with you." Still, A'rist is looking back out toward the group. "Did you want me to talk to them?" To Elaruth, Lythronath's attention coalesces into one observation: « Little. » To Lythronath, Elaruth offers one in return, her voice a mere murmur: « Delicate. » Not that some of them look delicate, but still. "Not if you don't want to." Said with another shrug, of the same shoulder, before Hattie straightens her back and lets her toes break the surface of the water for a moment or two. "As long as he understands that they're babies and need careful handling, I don't think we'll have a problem." She could be speaking for Elaruth there, who studies A'rist himself for a split-second, then dips her nose to meet that of Isyath's very undersized bronze. "What is it that I can do for you, if it's me you're after?" « Snap, » has all sorts of unstated meaning, surely. (To Elaruth from Lythronath) "He understands they're small and breakable," A'rist confirms, in time to his dragon. That caution hasn't left him, though, it should be noted, nor has Lythronath left the ledge he occupies, though the angle of his head has changed. "I guess this was really it. I saw you, and... it didn't seem bad to come and give High Reaches' regards, when we haven't broken anyone or anything in your Weyr. Ma'am." To Lythronath, Elaruth is calm and firm when she states: « Gentle. » Hattie cracks the tiniest of smiles, though it might be difficult to tell whether she's genuinely amused - and amused by A'rist - or if it's wry sense of acknowledgement that's brought it forth. "And if you had broken someone or something, you wouldn't have felt the need to bring your Weyr's regards?" she asks, not unkindly, and not even coldly, a measure of warm humour lacing her (rhetorical?) enquiry. To Elaruth, Lythronath is equally firm when he answers: « Boring. » And also, « Crunch. » A'rist tries a bit of a smile back at the Weyrwoman, though it is, at best, uncertain, his eyes dancing over her face for some sort of readability. "Then it would have been like last time. It wouldn't have looked any better on us. And... probably you wouldn't want me talking to your weyrlings?" But it's an uneasy attempt at humour. There goes the calm that went with the caution. To Lythronath, Elaruth is not quite so gentle this time, a subtle, even force applied when she tells him to, « Stay away. » Now, there's the tang of salt and something like ash. "That depends whether it was inadvertent breaking," Hattie considers, propping her chin on one hand. "I don't think getting scratched up in a flight is really terms for banishment and isolation from any particular population." Though then her expression darkens the slightest bit and she gestures emphatically with her free hand. "Of course, there are always exceptions to that. Since you don't seem intent on being one of them," today, "Fort's duties to you." That's rather specific. Her lips part, as though to say something more, but her gaze is drawn back to Elaruth, who is suddenly sitting up, alert. "Though perhaps it would be best to take your leave before that bronze of yours upsets that for you." To Elaruth, Lythronath offers up a blunt, « Yours, » for that force to press against. It does offer some give, to the will of the gold. "We're grateful for that." A'rist is grateful for that, bobbing his head once more to the Weyrwoman, regaining some confidence in the set of his shoulders and relaxation of his facial expressions. And then there's Lythronath, rising and shaking out his wings, half-stretching, half-clawing at the stone beneath his feet. But it's Elaruth who gets the bulk of the bronzerider's inspection. "I won't argue that point," comes through a tighter throat. Elaruth's attention is drawn up to the walls of the bowl again, meaning to seek out Lythronath, though whether she finds him or not is another matter. Whatever the case, she rustles her wings as the prelude to opening them, which is enough to get the attention of some of the weyrling dragons and lull her back to conversing with them before she gets any further. For now. As for Hattie, she pushes herself to her feet, dirtying her clean hands, then steps out of the channel and swipes her sandals from the ground. "Don't let him do that for you every time, hmm?" are her parting words for A'rist, gentle, where she could be harsh. Maybe she and Elaruth have switched roles for a moment. "Yes ma'am," comes A'rist's answer back, letting the weyrwoman make her way before he bothers to go his own, careful not to intersect. He's all furrowed of brow when Lythronath does drop down to collect him, but that takes place far enough away from delicate weyrlings that there's no snapping or crunching.
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