Logs:Positive Thinking
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| RL Date: 4 July, 2014 |
| Who: Azaylia, Valenros |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Valenros is charged with sketching Hraedhyth's eggs. Azaylia mucks it all up by being a ray of sunshine. Roz mopes. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
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| Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black. The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat.
Fog or no fog, candidates have to do their duties. Valenros arrives in the galleries, weary face and all, with a satchel slung over one shoulder. He moves like someone with rocks in his shoes, steps weighted down. His feet bring him to the side of the stands where Azalyia is, though he certainly looks surprised when he sees her, sprawled out on her stomach. "Er.. hi.. sorry.. um, I need to.." Pained, he sits down a couple feet away, pulling paper and a charcoal piece from his satchel. "They want to.. uh.. they said I should.. while she's.. know you.. eggs." If she can make any sense of it, perhaps she can tell me what it means too. Azaylia bends her legs at the knee, crossing bare feet at the ankles while her dress bunches and preserves the rest of her modesty. Turning a page, her eyes flick up to catch sight of Valenros, surprise shifting into a gentle smile. "Hello." There's a quick glance between her lifemate and the candidate, arms helping to push herself right side up. "If you want to see the eggs, now's your best bet." Even if Hraedhyth's curled bulk is blocking some of the coveted cluster. Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, "Are you supposed to... draw them?" The former holder is quick to avert his eyes as the goldrider readjusts herself, his fair cheeks flaring red as he bows his head over the paper in his lap. "Hi.. yeah." Valenros presses his knees together, his lips likewise, and steals a sideways look at Azaylia. "Yes.. they.. uh, the scribes, they want to.. know what they.. look like, for the, uh, records. Before.. she.. she.. um, hides them. Or.. they hatch." He shrugs lamely and starts sketching a shaky-looking egg - really, it looks kind of like a deflated orange more than an egg, but A for effort. There's a slip of blue leather to act as a bookmark, the goldrider closing what she's reading and pushing it aside. Azaylia walks closer, aiming a look down at the first deflated orange, smile growing some. "She's not much for hiding them. It's like a dare, that way." She invites herself to sit next to the candidate, folding long legs under her as she chooses a perch. "Valenros." It takes that long, but she remembers with some pride, "How do you like candidacy so far?" Never mind that he probably wants to concentrate on the task at hand. Concentration is a fleeting thing, certainly it's flown once the goldrider has seated herself by him. His blush deepens, his sketching ceasing completely as he looks up from his work. Stricken look and all, "M-me? Like.. candidacy? Um.. it.. it's different. I'm not.. not used to sleeping with so many.. other.. people. And uh, the chores are hard something.. but.. it's ok." Another lame shrug, Valenros's brown eyes flicking away as he resumes his drawing, this time detailing the play of shadows on the Reparo Egg. "It's.. it's ok. I.. I like it, I guess." With gentle amusement, "I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable?" Azaylia aims a tilt of her jaw over toward the sands, "Or is it Hraedhyth?" Which would be understandable, considering the tawny queen's reputation. Clearly, something must be the cause of his darkening cheeks and all that stuttering. The Weyrwoman folds her hands in the cradle of her skirt, "You guess?" A light tease, hopefully made obvious by that persistent smile, "I'm glad you've managed to settle in, adjustments and all." "N-no.. no ma'am." Words belie the blush that continues to bloom on his cheeks, the way he keeps his eyes downcast. "It's just.. hot.. is all." Valenros doesn't factor in that it's winter right now, and snowing outside. "It's.. very different. I don't.. I don't think that.. uh, it's easy, for anyone. Except maybe.. the ones that grew up.. here." He sighs lightly and looks at Azaylia again. "What was it.. what was it like, for you? As a.. a candidate?" It's unclear whether or not Azaylia believes him, but the goldrider chooses to leave it be. "You get used to it." Or at least she does, what with the nature of gold dragons and all. Valenros' question brings about a thoughtful tilt of her head, "Well... Things were much more tense between Craft and Weyr, then. I was a Beastcraft apprentice and I asked to Stand. I didn't expect to actually Impress..." The last is said with a breathless laugh, given how things turned out. "I kept up my craft duties, mostly. And I was used to sleeping in dorms." Her smile takes on an embarrassed tilt, "I'm not being very helpful, am I?" "You a.. asked? Why.. if you.. don't mind?" Valenros doesn't seem to be able to wrap his mind around that one. "Does anyone ever, uh, expect to.. Impress? You have to be.. pretty," he mumbles low, "cocky." He shakes his head and looks out across the galleries, sweeping a glance over the other people in the stands. "I don't know.. what, I'll do, um, after. Not everyone.. Impresses, so, I don't.. I don't know. I don't have a .. a craft." Now who's not being helpful? But he smiles, a little bit. "No, you're alright. That was.. uh, helpful." He's a pleaser, after all. This time it's Azaylia who averts her gaze, eyes sliding off to the side and finding her lifemate. "I... my Journeyman didn't think weyrfolk were a good influence on me." With a soft, knowing smile, "It was a way for me to stay. If I hadn't Impressed... I'd probably have been in big trouble." Looking back over at Valenros, she leans over to give his forearm a little pat. "Even if you don't Impress, you're welcome to stay. There will be other clutches, and 'Reaches can always use working hands." Craft or no craft. Valenros stares at the hand patting his arm, but to his credit, he doesn't blush this time. Might be a pinch pale though. "I don't know.. if I could. This life is.. hard. Not used to it, and ..long term, I don't know if I want to.. spent my life in the archives." That doesn't leave him many options - a fact which he well knows, if the glum expression on his face is any indication. "You got lucky then.. Impressing, not getting in trouble. I still.. uh, wouldn't know what to do if I Impressed either. It's.. a lot. All of it." He's pretty much given up on the drawing at this point, the charcoal dropped into his palm. Azaylia's hand doesn't linger, returning to her lap as she listens to his concerns. "You could do something else?" A gentle suggestion, quiet voice even more so. "Try out a lot of things until you find something that fits you. There's no rush?" Not that she sounds certain, head tilting curiously as she watches Valenros. "That's if you don't Impress, of course." Her smile returns, "If you do, then you'll have weyrlinghood to look forward to. It's hard work, but it's worth it." Not that she's biased or anything. "I could, but.. I don't have any, uh, redeeming skills. Anything more than reading and writing anyway." Valenros taps agitated fingers against his leg, half turning towards Azaylia. "There's no rush, but.. spending all that.. that time in the dark records, I just.. I envisioned something else.. is all." His eyes are clear, even if a frown mars his smooth brow. "I doubt I will. I'm not.. uh, not very.. brave, and all you dragonriders are. I wouldn't.. wouldn't make a.. good one." "You could always learn new skills." Stubborn, in her own soft way. Talk of bravery has her brows lifting in surprise, "I don't think I'm very brave." She lifts a hand, trying to half-cover her smile's sudden return, "In fact, ran from Hraedhyth when she hatched. She was a very angry baby." Hardly a heroic tale to lift Valenros' spirits, but there it is. "There's no checklist on what makes someone a better dragonrider. But," She'll lean over, sturdy shoulder knocking into his gently, "I think you're looking for reasons to mope." No blame, just honesty. "Like what? How to wash dishes? How to bake a cake?" Valenros sure it just that - mopey. "All dragonriders are.. brave. You have to be to.. you know.. have someone else, up here," he touches his head, "and to be able to just get on a dragon and just.. fly." He heaves a louder sigh and shakes his head a bit, his mouth shifting into a rueful quirk. "I bet that was.. um, funny." And then he sudden realizes who he's sitting next to, whose shoulder hits his, and sits up really straight. "I.. I don't.. know. Maybe. Kind of. Yeah, I guess. It's.. hard to.. think positive when.. my life can change.. any second." "Everyone likes cakes." Once again, she's the sunshine to Valenros' stormy gray. "Could learn to tend runners, or you might have a way with children in the creche?" Azaylia ticks off her fingers, only just realizing what she's doing and shoving both hands back into the folds of her dress. "And I bet it was funny, up until she caught me." Then there was blood. "It could be change for the better." Unending positivity aside, "You could use candidacy to test your skills, if you'd like. There are a ton of jobs that need to be done at the Weyr. And it sounds like being a scribe isn't the right fit?" Valenros doesn't look convinced about the cake. "I don't like.. runners.. or.. kids." That rules out that, and makes the list of things smaller. "That would.. uh.. be scary." Hungry dragons chasing you around. Stuff of a holder's nightmares. "It could, but.." But but but. Silence settles, at least on his part, as he thinks about that. "I can read and I can write. And I know a lot of useless manners and etiquette crap. Managing ledgers. Making negotiations. Settling debts. Don't know that.. any of those, things.. are.. useful to me here." After a long moment, "Is there anything you like?" Azaylia sounds doubtful, at least playfully so. It's now that she admits defeat, giving a soft sigh and an apologetic smile, "I don't have a perfect job to offer you. Just that you're welcome to try and find something, here at the Weyr." That is a loaded question. Valenros starts and stops several times. "I like.. home." It's a simple, quiet statement, but it carries a lot of emotion. He frowns, then suddenly starts packing up his things, including the unfinished doodles. "Thank.. ah thank you, for talking .. to me. But I should.. I really need to.. I'll.. see you." He's still frowning when he gets up and shuffles out, a little more energy in his stride. |
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