Logs:Children and Adults
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| RL Date: 2 March, 2015 |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 21, Month 2, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Winter afternoon |
| Mentions: A'rist/Mentions |
>---< Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr(#290RJs) >-----------------------<
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.
Commands: +list/eggs It is early in the afternoon, and with the impending promise of eggs on the sands and the other odd rumors flying, it probably isn't too surprising to see one or two curious onlookers seeking to steal a peak at the sands, or even just sneaking in from the cold. Edyis just happens to be one such individual, dark eyes scanning for signs of inhabitants before she dusts off the layer of snow that has settled on the leather of her borrowed coat. The subject of such talk, Irianke has not been laying low as some might, and instead has gone about her business, head held high in spite of the murmurs that die off when she walks into a room. Today is no different, the entering weyrwoman's footfalls also signalling a quiet hush to the conversation people are having in the galleries and one by one, individuals trickle out. The goldrider sinks onto the steps that lead down onto the sands with an audible sigh. A pad of paper rests on the tops of her knees and her dark blue-gray eyes look upon the empty sands with all their glittering shell fragments. Edyis watches the Igenite for a moment, her lips pressing together as she watches the occupants exit. Instead, she pads over to where the woman sits plopping down in the open space nearby. "I wanted to see for myself if the gossip about Lythronath sitting on the sands instead of Reisoth was true." Edyis explains, glancing over at the woman's note pad thoughtfully. "Already planning egg arrangements?" It is at the very least an attempt at levity. A side glance is spared the voice that's suddenly so near, Irianke's hands layering over the large notepad. "Not right now it would seem. Which, thank Faranth. I don't know if Niahvth could have held her bladder for much longer while leaving Lythronath on the sands himself. I tell her," the goldrider looks about to confess something. She sounds like she's about to confess something and abruptly changes her mind. "He's harmless for now." "Lythronath is not harmless." The scribe states blandly, though the words do not seem to carry any malice. "He wouldn't hurt Niahvth or the eggs though I don't think. A'rist would never allow it. Still, I can only imagine how unsettling it must have been for her. He can be rather frightening at times." If she notices the note pad being covered, it doesn't show in her expression. "He's harmless." Irianke turns, her arm reaching behind to help brace her body in the angle she needs to find Edyis. "Because Niahvth would stop him." For the weyrwoman, it's as simple as that. "She finds him confusing. But not frightening. I'm sorry," the Igenite interrupts this conversation to inquire, "Have we met? I feel we have, and yet... I can't match a name to a face in your case and the last few months have been just a jumble of faces with mismatched names." "Last time he chased, Cadejoth was grounded for a while after." She says simply. "He isn't like any of the other dragons I've observed, except perhaps Hraedhyth." The question, though earns something of a chuckle. "We have, although you never asked for my name, and I never gave it." She offers with a wry smile. Irianke shrugs and just says, "He is still a dragon that answers to the queens." The same meaning repeated a third time might do the trick. "Well then, I suppose I was remiss that time we met and here I am now, asking for your name. What is your name?" The sketchpad in her hand rolls over her knees and flattens as she stretches her legs out, and then comes up to rest on the same level as her elbow, at the base of that first tier of seats. "Meaning he is harmless to you and yours, which if you will forgive me, isn't quite the same thing as being harmless." She tilts her head then, studying the older woman more fully, more thoughtfully. "My name is Edyis." She provides, "I thought your dancing was adorable." Unsure if the statement will jog a recollection or not, but provides it. Looking to the sands with the discarded shells, "Does that happen back in Igen? People suddenly scattering when a goldrider enters the galleries?" "No." Irianke shakes her head, an amused glint gleaming in her eyes as they study Edyis. "In the context of your concerns, he is harmless. He will be commanded off the sands when it is time and should he try to disobey, he will realize the limitations of being him. You aren't Weyrbred are you?" The last inquiry is asked without any judgment and is shortly followed by, "I wasn't. But there are things you learn quickly about the hierarchy of dragons, irrelevant to their personalities." Edyis' other thread of conversation isn't quite entertained just yet, though her amusement abates into a gently humored recollection at the mention of her dancing. "I concede the point." Edyis states with amusement, As for being weyrbred, the question earns a chuckle. "No, I am not. I suppose it must show quite badly for you to pick it out so easily. Igen is known for traditional roles though if memory serves?" Tilting her head as she traces that line of thought, apologetic. "I'm afraid the politics of Weyrs is a subject that will always elude me." "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean by traditional roles in a way High Reaches Weyr is not?" Irianke slides her body so her back rests against a metal rail, and her legs stretch across the length of the second top most stair. "There's a Weyrwoman and Weyrleader her and beyond a brief foray with a brownriding Weyrleader or two, High Reaches and Igen seem similar." The goldrider flips open the top of her sketchpad to reveal a blank sheet and plucks a pencil from behind her ear to start sketching idly. Just lines for now. "We also had a greenrider as an acting Weyrleader for a while." Edyis points out, "At least if the records are to be believed, and there are at present four chromatic wing leaders. Five If you count the Weyrlingmaster's wing. Is it the same in Igen?" She glances over, curious. Edyis adds, "I've never been to Igen Weyr, myself so I don't know what it is like there." "The acting role is something mirrored across Pern as far as I know, when the Weyrwoman in question chooses someone she trusts after a Weyrleader steps down or dies. Igen has never been in that situation in my time there, but the histories imply it has happened before." The lines Irianke sketches out starts to gain shape, thin and sharp angles; a face. "If you're asking me about the Igen Weyrleader's changes, then I'm afraid I don't know. Those happened after I arrived at High Reaches and I choose not to involve myself in Igen's politics while I am here. Before I left, our wings... I don't even know how to answer this question. Are you always so curious about other Weyrs? How many turns do you have?" Edyis chuckles almost self-depreciatively, "I am curious about everything, I am told it is not a very attractive trait." She pauses for a beat, "Well, for example, most of 'Reaches wings are structured to drill for thread, but also have other skill sets. Avalanche for example tends to do search and rescue." Brows furrow at mention of Igen's politics, "Is it a difficult choice? Remaining uninvolved with things at your home weyr that is? I think it would drive me insane." Tilting her head at the last question, "As of tomorrow, twenty." "High Reaches is my home for now. My duty is to High Reaches Weyr until the time the Weyrleaders decide it isn't." Surely, a person can't be so singlemindedly duty focused as Irianke professes to be. "I cannot muddy my thoughts with what is going on back at Igen when it might impact how I work here. Granted," the goldrider continues to sketch on her pad, glancing up every so often to catch the lines of Edyis' face and recreating it on paper with quick lines. "Well, that's neither here nor now, is it? Twenty turns. Happy early birthday. Do you plan on celebrating?" Edyis studies the older woman, simply listening as she speaks. "Even the most duty minded I would wager would struggle with such a self imposed limit, if you will forgive me for saying so." She picks up on the trailed word, "Granted?" At mention of her birthday she smiles, "I think I have only ever celebrated it once since living here." It's a very rough sketch, though mannerisms and some essence of personality seem to be contained in those rough-hewn lines. Irianke pulls the sheet off from the binding neatly and rolls it up, holding it out to the young woman. "Here's your first gift then, for this year." Enough about her, the Igen woman side steps the other comments Edyis has made and focuses on the birthday. The turnday. "Twenty is momentous, though," she confides with a warm, if brief, smile, "Don't ask me how I spent my twentieth turn day. I think the fact I can't remember speaks volumes about what happened that day." Edyis is caught off guard by the unexpected gift, accepting it with a smile. "Thank you," she states genuinely, holding the rolled paper between her hands carefully. "I hadn't really thought about it, until you asked." And of not remembering what happened, the younger woman can only chuckle. "Maybe it's for the best that you don't, I can think of several occasions I would rather forget. But I suppose, if you tell me it is supposed to be momentous I should come up with some plan that would turn ears and faces red back home shouldn't I?" "Twelve is when Weyrfolk consider a child an adult, able to do adult tasks and take on the formalities of giving back to the society that raised them." Irianke slides down the steps one by one until her booted feet are on the sands and she reaches down to rub a few grains between her fingers. "Twenty is when people stop looking at you like your opinion is the overinflated thoughts of a child who thinks they know everything, acts like they're an expert in everything, and has the sense to balance it with the realities of the world. Twenty. Mark the occasion with fanfare and fun before you get all those heady responsibilities on your shoulders." The goldrider stands, sketchpad tucked under her arm. "And to answer your earlier question. No, generally, people wouldn't think to treat a weyrwoman with such temerity at Igen. But I can allow that people are hurt and upset by what they perceive is a slight. It doesn't bother me. Duty, right? Of which I have a few to tend to before dinner tonight." Edyis regards her at that listening intently and mulling over the words for some time in silence. "Mm. In that case I will be sure to celebrate. Thank you very much for the gift, and I hope that the rest of your evening is far more enjoyable." For her part Edyis seems to wish to remain in the warmth a little longer, considering perhaps the Weyrwoman's advice. "Celebrate. Forget being an adult for one day, because when you are, it's so very hard to go back. Go drink up life, drink up liquor, drink in the love of a friendly face with warm loving arms, and wake up to face a new day as an adult. I hope you have a good turnday." Irianke speaks as though from experience. The goldrider nods in lieu of any words or gestures of departure, and turns to walk across the long length of sand towards the exit that leads up towards the ground weyrs, kicking sand with her floating sort of gait. |
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