Logs:The Great Snowakoth Meltdown
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| RL Date: 8 October, 2014 |
| Who: H'kon, Iska, K'del, Raija, Ishadel |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: An accidental playdate, and the fallout that follows. |
| Where: Lakeshore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Weather: Not too windy, with packable snow. |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, Dilan/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Fist Mitten: a salute to one of the greatest made-up band names ever. |
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| Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr Raija's master plan is already beginning to take shape. It's the shape of an oblong snowball, one that is already getting to be as long as the little girl is tall. It's not being rolled by Raija, though. H'kon, recognisable by that tuft of a cowlick at the front of his forehead since the snowball has started putting up resistance and forced more body heat out of the little brownrider, is the brawn to Raija's brains. And Raija... has decided to keep those brains warm by retrieving and donning said toque. Supervision requires such adornment. Iska's a turn younger than Raija, her progress through the snow just a little more unsteady, but her enthusiasm is unquestionable. She's long since abandoned her father and brother, after all, those two making more sedate progress towards the lake shore, the one on the other's shoulders. The logical one, promise. "Whatcha making?" she demands, once she's close enough to see, the question firmly directed towards She Who Is Clearly In Charge. One side of the snowball is starting to grow an overhang, and this requires more immediate supervisory attention. Raija looks back to the younger girl, sparing one mitten'd hand to push her second toque up out of her eyes, and then using both hands to pat at that overhang until it drops. "A Snowakoth." The H'kon of burden waits obligingly, and receives a pat with mittens for his troubles before Raija turns back to Iska. "That's his body." "Snow...akoth?" 'th' is hard, though, and at three, Iska's still struggling with it (which is adorable, obviously). At least the question is a little less demanding, this time, though now there's dubiousness in it, as if she's not entirely convinced Raija isn't having her on. K'del's at least in sight, now, though he's clearly taking the circuitous route; Ishadel's squeals echo as they round a bank of old snow. "No, Snowakoth." Raija's pronunciation isn't perfect, at four, but this one, she's got down. The correction is a hint precocious, but mostly, just a correction. "It's a Arekoth, made from snow." H'kon has slowed his progress faintly, since Iska's approach, and is watching her out of the corner of his eye. Iska's, "Oh," is only half-interested, or at least pretends to it; it's perhaps belied by the interest in those eyes, and the way she rises up on her toes to get a better look. Her chubby, mitten'd fists move to her hips, holding there right up until the moment K'del comes up behind her, hand resting upon her shoulder. "Daddy," she says. "Make me a snow-joth." You can just imagine the pronunciation for that. "H'kon." That's K'del, nodding to the other rider. "We'll need stones to make his eyes." It's H'kon who has suggested this - before K'del has shown up, of course. "Lots of- Weyrleader." He makes to straighten up, according a quick nod to the bronzerider, though one hand rests on that snowball. Raija, after some careful consideration, is willing at length to invite, "I guess you could help." K'del nudges his daughter in the square of the back, giving her a soft push towards Raija, H'kon, and the Snowakoth-in-progress. "Go play," he suggests. "Go on." But Iska's less certain, now, her little face drawn into a frown. "Iska." Reluctantly, she steps forward. "What can I do?" It's definitely a demand. Her father, meanwhile, lifts Ishadel down from his shoulders, setting him onto the snow. "You're all well, I hope?" H'kon doesn't offer further prompting, nor further ideas. H'kon stays with his hand on the Snowakoth body, eyes drifting down to Raija, whom he watches. Raija takes time to weigh her options, and also push her father's toque back up. It sticks to her own, both slide back, and a few strands of hair escape. "Let's get stones," is decisive. Fully expecting that Iska will get to work, Raija takes a moment to inspect the snowball body before declaring, "Good," and heading down the path left by said snowball to scuff about for those necessary stones. It leaves H'kon jobless (but for making sure no one gets too near the ice) and nodding. "We are." Awkwardly. "And you?" Like Raija, Iska is significantly younger than her older siblings; on the other hand, she spends most of her time with her mother and brother, and there she's the leader. It clearly puts her in a quandary over Raija's instructions, one she solves only when her father gives her another nudge forward. Rocks? She can get rocks. "Also well," confirms K'del, reaching down to adjust his youngest son's position on the ground. "Giving Ali a break, so I've got the kids for a few days. It's nice." Raija, meanwhile, seems entirely too pleased that she has succeeded in bossing someone around. But she doesn't have time to bask or gloat; there's the task at hand. H'kon nods while still having an eye on the girls' progress. He does have to tear his gaze away to consider the bronzerider for a moment while contemplating an answer, at length trying a (still really awkward), "That... must be nice. With them so far." 'Usually' almost might've been added, except that terseness is H'kon's friend, and he's busy being over-protective and trying not to be. Back to supervising he goes. Having finally made her decision to participate, Iska is, at least, an enthusiastic helper. Finding rocks on the lake shore is not precisely difficult, though it does involve sifting through the snow; she's cheerful about this, regardless. "Mmm," says K'del, his own attention torn between three directions. It's when he glances back at H'kon that he adds, "It's always difficult, being away from the people you love. Wish Ali were here, too, but..." Yeah, that's clearly not going to happen. At least the snowball has cleared away a pretty good amount of surface snow. Although Raija has already deviated from this trail, since obviously the best rocks and stones are the ones that are better hidden away. "I would imagine," H'kon nods, gravely. He shifts his feet in the snow, hunches his shoulders, dusts his mittens on the base of his coat. "You find it manageable?" Not looking at K'del. Still. Well, you can't take the obvious ones. They're no good; that's why they're obvious. Iska even goes so far to consider a few long and hard before discarding them; no, no, no. "Manageable... well, guess so. It's what we've got. You make it work, because, well, what other choice've you got? Least we're both riders, though once Isyath rises... You're lucky, at least. Both of you here." It's been turns, and still, H'kon goes red about the ears. Though in the cold, and with his toque gone, it may also be blamed on the snow. "Yes," is quick acknowledgement. One hand has now become a fist mitten, which he taps at his hip. "I believe it will be easiest to have the wings folded back. Unless they are made only of sticks." Now, he glances over his shoulder to the bronzerider. "More fun, if you try and sculpt them out of snow." For K'del, too, it's easier to focus on this; a safer topic than their families, or anything person that might bring back the awkwardness of previous meetings... and previous fists. "Folded back, definitely. Least this snow is packable. Sculptable. Not too powdery." All important things. "Do you... want a hand?" H'kon dips his head, a sort of agreement. More fun. Another nod. Good snow. Raija has found some absolutely choice stones, which she now cups in her mittens, hurrying to try show them (off) to Iska. "Your help," nods H'kon, who's gone back to watching the girls, "would be much appreciated, I'm certain." Iska is appropriately admiring, and more than a little wistful; hers aren't nearly as nice, even if they're all going to the same purpose. "Can I have that one?" she wants to know, pointing a chubby fist at one of Raija's. Clearly, her father is relieved to have something to do, and though he's still keeping an eye on one-turn-old Ishadel, at least that child seems content to simply throw handfuls of snow around. "I'll work on the tail, shall I?" 'No,' is the first impulse, and has Raija pulling her cupped hands back toward her. But she looks up to her father, and settles on the compromise of, "You can have the round one." Whether or not the first stone will make it into Snowakoth's eye or into Raija's pocket remains to be seen. "I'll start on the head in a moment," H'kon says, the division of labour dutiful and practical in sound. The moment is spent monitoring the drama of stones. The round one is not the one Iska's got her eyes on, but a glance at her father is enough to leave her more-or-less satisfied; enough, at least, that she accepts the stone in question. "Okay," she agrees. "We gonna put them in his eye now?" K'del's breath escapes; relief. "Girls, huh," he says, mostly a murmur, towards the other rider. Though, of course, he has a tail to work on. Any stones that escape in transferring the round one from mitten to mitten are gathered up - with snow - before Raija is ready to boldly lead the way over to where the dads are working. H'kon has a fairly respectable attempt at a dragon head in progress, scooping snow out and away, patting, re-packing. "Yes. When my dad is ready." Her dad, who just hit an extra-firmly packed clump, and has left a divot in the Snowakoth's chest. His eyes go wide. "Are... they all like this?" Once he's started fixing it. Raija, despite getting a concerned furrow, offers no immediate outburst of dismay to see the Snowakoth so maimed. "They're just... girls." K'del's more amused than anything, the glance he aims at his daughter utterly affectionate. Of course, his experience with girls is relatively limited; that's clearly not the point. "Your dad's shorter than my dad," announces Iska, who has craned her neck up to get a good look at the two men. "But he makes an okay dragon. Even if he is broke." K'del looks at her. "Iska. Come help me. Let's give him a good long tail, mm?" H'kon looks warily to K'del, then to Iska, and then to Raija. For her, he turns his attention back to fixing Snowakoth's chest. "It's a really good dragon," insists Raija, hurrying, suddenly, to get to to where H'kon has successfully smoothed out the chest, and is finishing up the slope of the dragon's head. Rocking back on his haunches as Raija approaches, he holds out a hand for the stones. To be informed that, "I'm going to put them on," as the bigger little girl looks back to Iska, at the boring tail part. Iska, undaunted, sticks out her tongue, and instead nestles in to her father's side. This might be more effective if Ishadel did not choose this moment to wobble towards them, teetering right into the half-made tail. Iska, immediately, begins to cry. "His taill, daddy!" K'del, immediately, looks utterly stricken This is just as Raija has formed H'kon's hands into a bowl, and is dumping stones into them. "No!" is a bit of a wail, and she's going to the butt end of the Snowakoth to inspect the damages, mittens up to hide her face up to those amber eyes, which are wide with horror. H'kon moves, too, a few crouched steps to kneel at the fallen tail. "It's okay." That might even have been offered to all the kids, perhaps even K'del, and in strangely steady and calm tones at that. "We can fix it." In the wake of H'kon's calm, K'del is quickly recovered, hauling Ishadel up to hug his hip, while Iska buries her face into his side. "We can definitely fix it," he agrees, firmly. "Like... dragonhealers. Right? He'll be good as new in no time, promise. Iska, come help." Her tears turn to snuffles, shoulders shaking, but she gives a hesitant little nod. "Fix it, daddy," she says, between hiccoughs. "Fix it." "My brother's going to be a dragonhealer," chimes in Raija. "He could fix it." Of course, with Dilan nowhere to be seen, she'll simply have to wait on K'del, upon whom that amber stare settles. H'kon takes one crouch-step backward, but when Raija makes no sign of following, stops, and joins in the waiting. Pressure. Before K'del can do anything, he has to set Ishadel down again, helpfully out of easy reach of the injured tail (or anything else important), although with mobility a factor... well. The bronzerider glances up, eyes moving from his son and daughter to H'kon and his daughter, and then, finally, to the Snowakoth. "Well then! Iska, do you and your friend want to help?" Even if they don't, he settles himself down to begin smoothing out the snow, patting it back into a tail-like shape. "I wanna be a dragonhealer too," decides Iska. "Better'n your brother. Best ever." "No one's a better dragonhealer than my brother!" Raija is shaking her head, firmly. At least K'del is spared her stare for a moment. "He even talks to dragons!" It's Raija's turn to have her hands on her hips. It's H'kon's turn to reach out for the back of the little girl's jacket, though his other hand keeps the pebbles well palmed. Iska's little chin lifts in the air. "My mommy is a weyrwoman an' my daddy is a weyrleader, an' no one is better'n me!" Her voice is reached up for a high-pitched squeal, that range so perfect for annoying others; it's enough to make K'del cringe, falling back from his efforts to try and grab for his daughter. "Daddy tell her! Tell her! Daaaaddddyyyyyy." Now, K'del is spared a look. And a concerned furrow of his brow. Raija is already starting with her rebuttle, a hand raising ominously to hover over her shoulder. H'kon grabs it before it can fly, into Iska, or Snowakoth, or any other innocent bystander. And that interference brings a shriek. And that shriek? That brings a wail, the kind that precedes a full-on tantrum; Iska throws herself onto the ground, barely missing the Snowakoth's tail, screaming into the snow. It sets her brother off, too - of course it does! - which leaves K'del to grab for one, and then the other, and to turn towards H'kon a look that he's clearly hoping will suffice as expression of apology and dismay. Raija, too, has turned into a full-blown tantrum. Another swing lands on H'kon, square on the shoulder. And then another. Only some of the rocks make it to his pocket, an unconscious gesture interrupted by a meltdown. K'del gets a nod, the furious little four-turn-old is wrangled, and H'kon makes for a place where his daughter can calm down, leaving the Snowakoth to stand wingless, legless, eyeless, and alone. |
Comments
Edyis (21:01, 9 November 2014 (EST)) said...
This was just awesome. <3
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