Logs:Fair
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| RL Date: 19 January, 2013 |
| Who: Leova, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Hraedhyth is called in for a check up. Leova gives Azaylia a reality check. |
| Where: Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 11, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Fog begins to coalesce in the very early morning hours and lingers throughout the day, soft and still and clammy. |
| Mentions: Brieli/Mentions, Barnabas/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, F'rint/Mentions |
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| Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr The vast cavern has much the same odor of redwort and numbweed as the human infirmary, though here it's seasoned with coppery ichor rather than the iron of blood. It's also laid out similarly though on a much more massive scale, its walls lined with a number of places for patients, in this case large dragon couches recessed into the floor for ease of access; nearby cots provide space for riders. Tucked into the western curve is a huge circulating pool of warm water, by which are kept vats of oil. The healers' duty station is a counter on the north side of the room, a checkpoint before the storage rooms behind it that are now shared with the human infirmary, hosting supplies that are as neatly labeled and carefully scrubbed as the rest of the infirmary. The senior dragonhealer has an office there as well, and human-sized double doors have recently been built as a direct route to the human infirmary, while opposite a wide winding tunnel leads to the east bowl. It's been a busy day for evaluations, fog or no fog: several of the weyrlings, a blue dragon with an arthritic back, and now... other company. Leova's got her sun-rusty hair tucked back behind her ears, a fresh mug of probably-klah, a fresh file before her. She's not pacing. Azaylia's tall form breaks through the fog, brisk steps carrying a puff of chilly air into the cavern with her. It's the much larger, slower form behind her that might startle a soul, Hraedhyth's gait noticably hesitant. It may be how the weyrwoman is able to keep ahead, stopping to turn and place hands on skirted hips. "We can go after. This is important." The gold doesn't hunch, but she has stopped, giving a stubborn growl before taking the final steps over her rider, and into the dragon infirmary. Azaylia hurries, finding Leova with a smile, "Hello." Both a greeting and subtle apology for the wait. Funny how the dragonhealer's demeanor looks so much more at ease now that Azaylia's come into view, her and the scowling teenager behind her... er, the growling gold. "Afternoon," she says, moving to greet them. "Make yourself comfortable. How's she... how are you feeling, Hraedhyth? Just a look-over, not as intensive as when you were weyrlings." All that poking and prodding, those measurements. To the woman, "How are you feeling." It's not Hraedhyth doesn't trust Leova, or that she has a wariness tied to the Infirmary. As a gold, she has aided in calming several injured dragons. And yet... "She's impatient. We were going to go to Ista, or was it Igen..?" Azaylia trails off, only to give a shake of her head. "Well, either way, she wants some new oil." The gold in question gives a low rumble at the greenrider, sounding subtly sulky as she settles on her stomach and waits. "We're both fine." The weyrwoman answers honestly, hands folded in front of her. "Fresh oil, we can certainly manage." With a direct glance at Hraedhyth that doesn't stop Leova's smile from turning up at one corner, "Afterward. Any particular scent mixed in? Fish or no fish?" Fish would be very fishy. "Flowers, or there's a new twist on herbs that just might aid absorption better. Anyhow. You'll have guessed why we asked you in: U'sot's inclined to think she might rise soon, and we want her, and you, in the best condition possible for a long flight, not a short one. We don't want a clutch that small again." No pressure! Hraedhyth looks unamused by the suggestions, though Azaylia's biting her lip in order to stifle her laughter. "Something smokey, if we can manage. Or spicy. Igen might be best for that." The reason why they've been summoned has that smile gone in an instant. She turns to stare at that tawny hide, breath held as if the queen might start glowing at the mere mention of rising. "Soon? Not, soon-soon?" Her old standby excuse isn't uttered: Hraedhyth isn't much of a baby anymore. "I... I guess you're right. You and U'sot know best." It doesn't seem as though she'll argue the need for a check up. Smoky gets a nod: smoky can be managed. But beyond that, Leova's looking at the pair quite intently. "Not today," and there's dry humor to the estimate, easily missed. "Which is good! We want there to be time. It's great that she's traveling more, too, building her endurance back up. Keep at it. Long flights, in particular. Anywhere you especially want to go? Better sooner over later, before you get stuck." Vrianth may not have to deal with eggs and sands, but there's an underlying personal note to it all the same: even for those few short days of proddiness, they're still bound. Now Leova's walking past Azaylia, towards the other woman's lifemate. "Lean down, Hraedhyth? Please. I can't reach." No, not a baby anymore. Azaylia doesn't mean to be rude, attempting to give both Leova and her dragon equal amounts of her attention. "Y-yes. She's never been much of a flier." Which might be an odd thing to say about a dragon, but there it is. 'Long flights' is murmured under her breath as Leova passes by, arms traveling up to grip her elbows. "Uhm? O-oh. Well, Igen. And then the Weavercraft Hall..." Hraedhyth rumbles low with each exhale, letting it be known that she is still not fine with having her plans put on hold. Still, the gold doesn't make much trouble for Leova, rolling from her stomach to lean on her side, making it easier to reach that wide head. "There's a slate over there, on the counter. If it helps to take notes. Made me feel better, anyhow." With that, Leova's off for inspection time, poking at Hraedhyth's teeth and then gums with pleased noises of appreciation. "Good, good... Anything interesting in the market? Oh, and if I were you, I'd make sure your weyr's tidy: nothing they can break or fall over on or what have you. The boys get so... so..." inarticulate-Leova-making. There's a double-take for the slate, and eventually the weyrwoman decides that yes, she might want to take notes. "I thought I was ready." What little confidence she has is officially obliterated. Taking up the slate, she marks what has already been mentioned in her whimsical, rounded script. Hraedhyth's thick, forked tongue might come dangerously close to tasting Leova, wriggling inches away from the woman's body. "I kind of want something... Something like what Brieli wears." She admits, although shyly. "With fur, maybe." Another note jotted down, for making her weyr man-proof. "Oh. I should probably have Bones, uhm, stay somewhere else?" "I'm sorry. We don't, we really don't want it to be hard." For all her genuine solemnity, Leova doesn't seem to fret over the new possibility of being licked. Rather, it's as though it summons her smile back to her eyes, and she holds out a palm: fine, fine, have at. If it'll entertain her. Something of that warm humor enters the greenrider's voice when she replies, though she doesn't turn back. "How do you mean, like what she wears?" It's a soft question. "And... bones?" Hraedhyth doesn't expect to be humored but she's not about to pass up the oppertunity to give Vrianth's rider a taste. She's considerate enough to drench her hand on purpose. Azaylia looks up from the slate, the humor in Leova's voice giving her pause. That's not a rhetorical question, is it? "You know." Doesn't everybody? "Pretty things. That... make her look even nicer. Short things." The weyrwoman is all too eager to leap onto the subject of her stray. "Bones. He's a big man," She gets up onto her tiptoes, hand height possibly exaggerating. "Loud. He sleeps on my couch. He's a gardener." Jolly Green Giant. That's not a rhetorical question. Although, at the moment Leova's staring at her dripping hand, her boots having escaped just in time. "That's a lot of spit," she murmurs to Hraedhyth. "Looks like you've been saving up for me." Amused, probably anyway, it's another short trek to wash her hands before bringing a second stool to join Azaylia. They don't have tea. They don't have klah. At least they have slates. "Girly things? Except hers are more... girly-elegant, I guess. Seems like short things would make your legs cold, but pretty is fun," not that one would know it to look at her, "and push-up-able is convenient. And yes, I'd... not get rid of the gardener, but let him know to get out of the way when the time comes. Though. Reckon he could be trusted to watch your back? Maybe, when she does start glowing, he can shadow you and make sure you get to where you need to be. Not stuck down in the storerooms or something." Those amber eyes are thoughtful as they rest on Azaylia, the greenrider's boots hooked on the rung so she can let her shoulders slouch, invting the other woman to speak her mind. "Hraedhyth." A quiet scold, half embarrassed and half amused. Hraedhyth will certainly seem pleased with herself, huffing and rumbling to make it sound as if she might speak for herself. When Leova approaches with a second stool, Azaylia takes the hint and sits on the one that is there already. "There's tall boots for short things." She admits, head ducking to stare down at her own writing. "Just... pretty things that might make me look, uhm, better." The gold dragon gives a yawn, stretching her mouth muscles before closing them with an audible snap. "I'll make sure to tell him, then." Not sounding too pleased about the idea, even less so at having a shaggy bodyguard. "I trust him. I just... he's better in small doses." She falls silent for a moment, stylus tapping at the corner of her slate. "Leova? Can I ask you a question?" Never mind that she already has. The greenrider only has time to murmur in genuine bemusement, "Think you look good, but if you want to try something out," why not? Another, even briefer interjection: "Could find someone else to look out. If you wanted." But with Azaylia going on, she doesn't return to the earlier issue, or issues. Rather, "'Course." Have at. Azaylia ducks her head even further to whimper a "Thank you." at Leova's murmur. "Maybe Taikrin, or..." Her eyes glance up to the greenrider's face, dropping when she's prompted to go on. "If Hraedhyth rises first," As if there is any chance that she won't, at this point. "And I'm Weyrwoman. Really, actually the Weyrwoman." This is when she straightens, looking over at her wingmate with some concern. "Do you think that I should-- Do you think that it'd be right for me to stay in Glacier?" Leova's quick headshake says not Taikrin, though she doesn't immediately elaborate, not while being so intent on what Azaylia has to say. Nor does she argue the 'if'. "Iesaryth could still surprise us," she agrees. And then she exhales, her glance dropping, her mouth pulling to the side just slightly. "Reckon that would be between you and your Weyrleader," the greenrider says after a moment. But then, steadily, "Since he's not here to ask, and you're asking: don't know that that would be... fair. She's a queen already, but then she'd be their queen, their senior queen, and it would... unbalance things. They get protective. Especially when she's with clutch, and slow. The queens' wing needs someone strongminded who can guide them when people move in and out, too, pregnancies and injuries and such. Wouldn't have to be the senior. I suppose. But then I'd wonder about juniors getting uppity, not respecting the senior. And the senior, she'll have other duties. Plenty. And the last thing about being fair is... the Weyrwoman can already affect who's going to be Weyrleader, you know? At least when it comes to getting rid of him," not that that helped Tiriana with K'del. "He's got the wings to take care of. He's got something to do. He needs free rein some places, you know?" She shrugs, one-shouldered, searching out Azaylia's gaze again. "Other people, they might tell you different, might say you can do whatever you want. At least it's not Fall. But I think, from what I've learned about dragons... it'd make for trouble. I'm sorry." Determined though she is to keep her attention on Leova, it makes the sadness in Azaylia's eyes all the more obvious. She'll nod at some points, hold her breath at others. Not meaning to interrupt, the soft, sad murmur is easy enough to ignore, "I'd miss everyone so much." She wouldn't a part of them anymore. Only after Leova's apology does she mean to be heard, taking in a shaky breath beforehand. "Okay." Not a sound of agreement, but acceptance. "I just don't... I don't want you, or F'rint, or anyone thinking it's because I'm too weak to make it. That I quit because things got too hard..." What? "No. Oh, no, Azaylia." It's awkward, but Leova leans over to offer the other woman, still her wingmate, a hug. "We wouldn't think that." "I remember you said, once, that I was different because I could always quit and... I don't want to." Not meant to be an accusation, Azaylia clearly doesn't blame the greenrider, easing into the hug. She's a touch more experienced, wrapping an arm around Leova and making it a slightly better fit. "You sure?" For all that the goldrider may not fit in, she is still reluctant to give up the niche she's found in Glacier. "I don't want to cause any problems." Especially for her wing, and her Weyr, which is why she has not raised any arguments about staying. She doesn't try to cling for too long, shifting out of Leova's personal space and brushing at her eyes with a knuckle. "Sure," Leova assures, or means to. She touches a hand to the other woman's hair, not quite a pat, and doesn't withdraw until Azaylia does, though then she's quick to straighten. She's quiet for a few moments. Then, awkward in a different way, "Might wonder why, not Taikrin. Reason is, should be a body as is neutral: blue- or greenrider, someone who's not a rider at all but knows what to do. Somebody who's not going to be... caught up. Or too much favoring someone who is." She hesitates. "If you make it a closed flight, should make it easier on you too. Easier on the 'Reaches besides." Azaylia isn't crying. Glacier riders don't leak from their eyes, which may be why she's swift to put her hand down. A sharp inhale, not a sniff, "Oh. That makes sense." Another note added onto the slate. "And I was planning on having it closed. I can't imagine Hraedhyth tolerating any strange dragons." The gold has been well behaved despite her rider's emotions, which may explain why her gaze is intensely focused on them both. She gives an impatient snarl, to remind them of her presence. Azaylia gives a star, "Ah. R-right. How is she looking?" Her weak smile is a bit on the sheepish side. Definitely not a sniff. Though Leova's gotten up to retrieve a soft piece of cloth, that's only so that Azaylia can wipe her hands! "What, no stray bronzes from Fort? Or Monaco?' Her tone has lightened, though there's still a soft quality that even that snarl doesn't immediately destroy. Though it does interrupt. "Right. Good, mostly," and now her voice shifts audibly into dragonhealing mode. "But her muscle tone in her wings could be better, I've got to say. Think 'just blood,' 'long flight,' 'high flight.' Leave the caverns to the headwomen, do your visiting, but also take her out with relays of smaller dragons, push her if you can. Not to strain, mind! If she does favor local bronzes, where their riders would do right by the Weyr... could be a time to see what they're made of." Amber eyes search out Azaylia's brown: does she understand what Leova's getting at, here? "Maybe I should spread the word: chase at your own risk?" Azaylia doesn't sound terribly serious, the small smile managing to stay on her face. The professional note in Leova's tone has her straightening up, eyes a touch wide for fear of the worst. "Sorry." As if it's her fault her dragon prefers tusseling on the ground, though it very well could be! "Just blood. Long flight. High flight." Repeated under her breath, each earning a soft nod. There's one last dip of her jaw, she does understand what Leova is getting at. "I'll... do what I can." It doesn't sound very comforting, as though there might not be a favorite. It's a quip that gets Azaylia an amused glance in her turn, to start off. It's an offer that has Leova attempting to comfort in her turn, "Just as easy if you don't have your preferences, won't be disappointed," to end with. And in between, not the apology but the the reassuring repetition reminds Leova, "Do you have any other questions for me? Beyond, 'Where is that oil I asked about so long ago,' anyway?" That, she asks last of all, with a quick, conscious curve of a smile: it's all good. "I know it might not be the best time for it, but I want the flight to be fair." Azaylia at least seems aware of that, of how the Weyr is in need of some stability. "It's tradition." She offers, perhaps as an excuse. Hraedhyth is already rising to her feet and giving a good shake that has her hide shifting on that bulky frame. Her rider laughs, "I don't think so. Thank you, Leova. For the talk." As well as for making sure her dragon is healthy. "I think I'll have her fly us for a bit, before between." Whichever destination they might decide on, today. "I hope it goes well," Leova begins. Then clarifies: "For you." Her glance, sliding to Hraedhyth, includes the queen. "The oil won't be instant, but I think I know a supplier," who would be delighted to have his goods blended into a gold's oils, especially one with the odds flying her way the way they are. "We'll have it delivered. Shouldn't be more than a couple of days." She studies the other woman, then finally says a little solemnly, "See you, wingmate. Clear skies." Enough emotionalism. She'll busy herself with collecting both stools to set them back out of the way. Azaylia can keep her slate. And then... and then a break before the next visitor, though filing down the elderly green's too-long claws will by comparison be a breeze. |
Comments
Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Sun, 20 Jan 2013 04:46:50 GMT.
< ...and push-up-able is convenient.
Noooo. >.>
Azaylia is dealing so well, go her!
Taikrin (Taikrin) left a comment on Mon, 21 Jan 2013 07:26:05 GMT.
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What? Of COURSE Taikrin is the optimum bodyguard in this exact situation, Leova. :( Who could POSSIBLY be better to protect her from those shifty bronzeriders? WHO?
Leova (Varied) left a comment on Tue, 22 Jan 2013 02:40:18 GMT.
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Taikrin, Optimum Bodyguard. Bodyguard Prime?!
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