Logs:He Likes You
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| RL Date: 17 June, 2011 |
| Who: Azaylia, K'del, Zerenynio |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: K'del tastes wine, discoveries possibilities, and introduces Azaylia to Cadejoth. |
| Where: Craft Complex / Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Tiriana/Mentions |
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| K'del sheds snow as he makes his way down the corridor of the craft complex, and still more as he strips off his outer gear to hang them up at the entrance to the lounge. It's less than a sevenday until Turnover, now, and though arrangements have already been made with the Vintners (and countless other crafters), that doesn't mean a man can't inspect what he's purchased. The lounge is neither busy nor empty, the occupants including both those working and those at rest. K'del, at least, seems relatively at ease as he stuffs his gloves into the pockets of his hung-up coat, then strides in. One of the aforementioned vintners, journeyman Zerenynio, is, in fact, right there -- and, more than that, is already inspecting a lot of wineskins. He has a hide, a piece of convenient charcoal, and an irritable frown in his immediate vicinity; he also has three wineskins that have been segregated from their fellows, as he keeps looking back and forth between them and the presumed list on his hide. "This wouldn't be such a problem if I knew where you came from," he mutters under his breath. Sacrifices have to be made when entering the craft complex in order to find shelter from the steady snowfall outside. Damp clothing does no good even with the warming fires, and yet Azaylia isn't willing to relinquish all of the cozy layers that served her so well during her duties. What's left is an overly fluffy scarf wrapped around her throat, as well as a thinner one hanging on her shoulders. Normal trousers are mismatched when paired with the rediculously puffy sweater, and only one mitten is dry enough to remain on her hand. The other is warmed by a large tray of steaming food. Klah, soup, even the bread has white tendrils floating off of it. The apprentice is making slow progress, trying not to lose her mittened grip while also avoiding bumping into the few folks who are about. It would just be her luck. K'del's attention, unsurprisingly, is immediately drawn to the vintner and his wares. His stride is turned directly towards the other man, and at a regular base, he makes his way across towards him. Despite the focus of his movement, he's not so intent that he can't take a hurried step back, however, as his path crosses Azaylia. The precariousness of her tray certainly draws a wary glance from the Weyrleader, who murmurs, just barely above a whisper: "Careful there." It's only when his immediate personal space is impinged upon that Zeren notices he has company -- and it wouldn't have been impinged upon if he hadn't taken a step back to stretch his neck, having dropped hide and charcoal on the table. "What? Oh. Hello," he says, head still tilted back awkwardly over his shoulder, as he takes in the crowd that absolutely hadn't been there when he started on this chore. "Can I help you with something, sir?" Azaylia's attention is focused solely on her tray and the platters balanced atop it. By the time K'del's gentle warning reaches her ears, it has the herder giving a squeak, head suddenly jerking up as she stares at first the rider, and then the vintner. "O..oh. Sorry." She manages to get out before looking for the nearest surface- deciding to set her things down on the table next to all the wineskins. Planting herself firmly in a seat, she offers an apologetic glance K'del's way which turns into more of a 'please don't smite me sir' look. Hunching in her seat, she grabs the bread and shoves it into her mouth, cheeks bulging so as to muffle any more squeaky words. His hands flying up at Azaylia's reaction, K'del gives the apprentice a very wary glance until she's comfortably seated, and thus unlikely to actually drop the tray; at that point, though, he's got a smile for her, and his hands slink into his pockets most relaxedly. It doesn't /look/ like he bites. With that sorted, at least, he can turn his attention back to Zerenynio and the skins. His smile is rueful. "Guess I just wandered down to make sure you were all prepared with our order for Turnover. The weyr wouldn't take kindly to a shortage." "A shortage isn't the problem, sir," says the respectful Zerenynio ... respectfully. And a little bit ruefully. "I actually have no idea where these three came from, which /is/ the problem. The rest," with a nod at the giant heap, "is all in order, though. I can assure you of that!" And as long as Azaylia's dinner or knife don't get too friendly with them, they'll stay in fine shape, too. With one last peek at K'del, she catches his smile and is comforted in the fact that she didn't upset him. This time. Comforted enough to concentrate on her food, the exaggerated mouthful is dealt with before Azaylia begins to attack her meal with steady, small bites. Dark eyes trail sideways, drifting over to the 'skins in front of Zerenynio. "Turnover's so soon?" Stuttering disbelief is paired with widening eyes, not expecting the thought to leave her lips. K'del's eyes widen, and he gives Zerenynio a confused glance. "You have..." he hesitates. "Three /spare/ skins? That you can't account for? That's--" Strange? His hands dig deeper into his pockets, his shoulders drawing back loosely. To Azaylia - smiling, this time - he adds, "Another six days or so. It seems to have come out of nowhere, this turn, but don't worry: preparations are well underway, if I know my Weyrwomen. Tiriana may not be able to drink herself, but I can't see her standing for a party that isn't done properly." Zerenynio just shrugs helplessly. Yeah. It's that strange! "I know I didn't bring them with me, and there's no record of them in stores -- the best I can figure, sir, is that someone ordered or paid for them or took them out of the stores, and then failed to actually drink them, and just brought them back without ever recording them again. In which case, according to the records they've already been drunk." Smile. Azaylia has already incriminated herself, and so until she's met with a negative reaction she might as well continue to speak. Right? "You know the Weyrwomen here?" Awe forces already soft voice into a whisper of wonder, looking towards the vintner to see if his actions can somehow confirm K'del's importance. It takes a moment for her brain to wrap around the wineskin mix up, but even when she comes to understand it the apprentice is unable to offer a solution. Something in K'del's expression twists at that smile of Zerenynio; it could easily be described as a smirk. It's then that the Weyrleader sinks into one of the clustered chairs, stretching out his long, long legs as he remarks, "Suppose that means it's your lucky day, doesn't it? Can't just put them back. That'd cause more confusion." His smile is somewhat more hesitant by the time it turns to Azaylia, however: his gaze lingers on her for a moment before he allows, "I do. They're just people, you know." Scary people. "Would you like a taste, sir?" After all, there are three fine skins to choose from -- none of which are holding the same wine. "I'd be happy to get you a glass. And possibly you as well, miss...?" Logically, Zeren should be offering his name to Azaylia, too, and possibly to K'del in the event he doesn't remember it. Logic would also suggest that Zeren has forgotten this step. Of course, actually drinking the spare skins never crossed her mind, and so the Apprentice is left blinking rapidly at the two men. Oh. Yes, that'd solve the problem, wouldn't it? Azaylia avoids looking at the rider as she picks at her bit of bread, "People with d-dragons." Zerenynio's offer has her shoulders unhunching ever so slightly, the young woman sitting up just that much more. "Azaylia." She gives her name freely, "And thank you, but... Uhm, I don't think I like wine." Zerenynio's offer draws considerable consideration from K'del, for all that having made himself comfortable, it does rather look like that's what he was intending. At any rate, after a few seconds pause, he agrees, allowing, "I suppose it wouldn't hurt. Don't tend to drink much, really. That's what you get for being raised growing grapes." While he's talking, he's glancing back at Azaylia again, his expression turning unreadable. Finally; "Lots of people have dragons around here. Azaylia, you said? You get used to them, you know. They'd never hurt a person. /Never/." It seems almost deliberate, now, that he hasn't given his name. "When I was an apprentice, I tried to get one to step on me, once." Zeren is talking fast and fetching glasses all at once; he spares a moment to send Azaylia a smile. "Got dared to, you know? After three weeks and four bruises on my knees I gave up, because I was about /this close/ to tripping a dragon and causing a serious injury and I'm pretty sure the Weyrwoman would have skinned me alive and eaten me if I had." He's thoughtful for a moment, twisting and turning the three spare skins for K'den's pleasure and approval and choice before he cracks one open to pour. "Not that I blame her, in retrospect. It was a pretty stupid dare." Azaylia shrinks as much as she can, afraid that she's gone and offended someone. "I know that. I... that there are d-dragons everywhere and that they won't hurt people, I mean." The words come out in a rush, though they don't gain force or volume. "They're just so big." Zerenynio's past bravery (or stupidity) earns him a doelike stare from Azaylia, "You've even seen one up close?" Despite being stationed at the weyr, it's doubtful that the herder has strayed from the stables or craft complex. "I... see them fly around. A lot. Uhm." She decides to busy her lips with some cooled klah, whether there is a third glass or not. "What, seriously?" K'del's laughing, genuinely and loudly, for Zerenynio's story. "That's the worst dare I've ever heard of, frankly. Can you imagine how awful a dragon would feel, if you actually succeeded?" He indicates one of the skins apparently at random, turning, then, to give Azaylia another smile. "They're pretty huge, I guess, yeah. But you really do get used to them, I swear. Probably, someone ought to take you over to meet one, shells. Can't get by in a weyr if you're scared of them." He sounds sympathetic. "I heard similar enough," Zeren agrees cheerfully, and pours as K'den indicates -- three glasses, in varying degrees of fullness. For Azaylia, there's just a tiny little taste. "I /think/ that the kid who was daring me was either stupid or thought that I'd pick a weyrling dragon, but I was pretty stupid, too, at the time. I'd only been at the hold for a couple of months, and we had a two-sevenday trip out to the weyr to discuss tithes -- well, our master was discussing tithes. We were being stupid and trying to get stepped on by dragons." Azaylia does eventually realize that there are three glasses to be had, and in order to be polite she does reach out to take one. The one with the least, of course. What starts as a stiff nervous action eases up at the sound of K'dal's laughter, setting the glass in front of her. "Thank you, ah..?" She never received a name in return. At the idea of /meeting/ one of the beasties of the weyr, Azaylia's voice cracks, "Oh," A delicate cough, "I couldn't possibly. I'm not that scared..." The wine glass is lifted, contents rippling violently in her grasp. "Really." K'del accepts his own glass with a smile, lifting it up in an unspoken gesture of 'cheers!' before he leans in to give it a good sniff: someone knows what you're supposed to do, at least. "That sounds like Apprentices. Your poor Master." He hesitates before answering Azaylia's question, visibly awkward suddenly as he gives his glass a long glance. "Seems like it might be an idea, nonetheless. Think of them like another one of your animals," he can read knots, apparently, "just... smarter." A beat. And then, finally, "I'm K'del." /That/ K'del. "Please don't spill your wine," Zeren says anxiously, watching Azaylia with concern. That would be alcohol abuse, and uncalled for! "If you don't like it, that's one thing, but just sloshing it about everywhere -- that's just cruel." Azaylia obediantly places her glass down on the table at Zeren's anxiety, completely forgetting to taste the wine. That seems to be a good thing as the apprentice still manages to choke on nothing, breath leaving her closed throat in a long squeak as K'del introduces himself. She knows him by name, obviously. "Clear riding skies, Weyrleader K'del." Ooh, she knows she got that wrong, but it doesn't matter as her gaze drops to the table. From beneath her bangs she peers at Zerenynio, wondering if he's known all along. K'del makes a face, a guilty one, at Azaylia's reaction. "I'm sorry," he says. And: "Please. Just K'del. I'm not really on duty or anything; if I was, I wouldn't be drinking." Which he is, and in small, careful sips that are made with a quick flick of a glance towards Zerenynio. He doesn't seem to be a man who especially enjoys wine, but he knows /how/ to drink it, at least. "It's good wine, Journeyman. Where are the grapes from?" Yeah, well, uh -- sorry, Azaylia, says Zeren's guilty face. It clears as he watches the Weyrleader work his way through the wine, answering, "Benden," and then he remembers to double-check the 'skin. "Ahh, the '85 red, that one. There's also the '12 white and the '20 red." Azaylia joins in, completing the trio of guilty expressions as she carefully picks over all she's said to the newly revealed Weyrleader. The apology is quickly followed, "No, no, /I'm/ sorry. I... I don't hate dragons." Please don't think she does! Rather than try to condemn herself with even more backtracking, she attempts to sip at the wineglass once more. Features softly twist into an unreadable expression, as if unsure of how to react to the... unfamiliar taste on her tongue. Peeking over the empty rim, she murmurs, "That's wine alright." Yep. She's an expert. K'del is /probably/ out of his depths, now: talking about vintages. But he nods along to what Zerenynio says, finishing his glass in a few more thoughtful sips. "Benden. Suppose I ought to have known that. Tillek wine - the kind I'm most used to, I guess - has a pretty different taste, I guess." He's not ignoring Azaylia while he talks wine, though; his glass gets transferred from one hand to the other as, continuing, he says, "I don't think you do, Azaylia. Honestly. It's okay. I didn't introduce myself; it was my fault." Zerenynio droops just a little, having discovered that his audience doesn't actually know as much about wine as he maybe thought a little bit ago. Ahh well. Fresh glasses, and the resigned air of knowing he'll be the one washing him as a result; he pours the white, in similar doses, and sets the glasses before his victi-- er, attentive tasters. "Tillek wines tend to be a sort of strong, sharp flavor, with more wooden notes," he says briskly, making sure neither of the open 'skins is going to tip over and spill. "Bendens tend to have rounder, fuller flavors, with a broader variety of fruit notes. Some of it's in the grapes, some of it's in the treatment, some of it's in the soil... I'm hoping that I'll get a chance to grow some vines here, and then maybe there will be some High Reaches wine that will have the best of both worlds." Azaylia parts her lips to reply, only to realize that she'd be disagreeing with K'del. Arguing with the Weyrleader. Mouth dutifully shuts, and the apprentice does her best to take in the information about wine, as it's a subject she knows nothing about. Zerenynio is given the majority of her attention, and so he'll be able to see the confused expression on her face as he mentions fruit, and she peers back at her empty glass. "There was fruit in that?" She wholeheartedly displays her ignorance, as well as disbelief. Still, as long as Zerenynio pours, she'll sip to be polite. "Here?" K'del sounds surprised - and also interested. Very interested. "You'd like to try and grow some vines here?" He accepts the new glass without really glancing at it, not now that there's this other possibility to consider: he seems terribly pleased. "That'd be an interesting experiment. I bet we could work something out." His lips twitch at Azaylia's remark, but he leaves that one to the vintner to answer as he lowers his gaze towards the wine, which is swirled, sniffed, and then sipped at. "Fruity," he decides. "Ah. Yes." Zerenynio tries not to laugh, and reminds himself that there was surely a point in his life where he didn't know that, either. "Grapes, specifically. Wine is made of fermented grape juice. Have you, ah, /had/ other grape juice?" he tries, and gives K'den a tentative, hopeful smile for the reaction, meanwhile. Maybe his plan just might work out. "I, we mostly drank milk and water at the crafthall." Same goes for Azaylia's home, now that she thinks on it. "Sometimes juice but, ah, I never asked what fruit it was." Perhaps it's just different kinds of wine, and it isn't fair to judge all of it by one taste. With that logic in mind the herder lifts up the white, sniffing at it- not even realizing that it actually is part of how one enjoys wine. Another tentative sip... and the sharper note does not escape her tongue, face scrunching before she forces the wrinkles to smooth. "Uhm. ...strong." Between that smile and whatever is going through K'del's head, it /does/ rather seem like there might be further discussions in future. For now, though, the Weyrleader concentrates on his wine. Azaylia's expression makes him smile, though, and he puts in, "I guess it's kind of an acquired taste. I mean, I grew up with it, so it wasn't for me, but I'm not actually a /huge/ wine fan. Probably because it was just that thing at home. More of a whiskey man, generally. " Azaylia nods in understanding. Weyrleader has always seemed like a title that would enjoy whiskey over wine. The rugged ideals /may/ have been placed by a Harper's exaggeration, but so far K'del hasn't disappointed. "I like milk." A weak attempt at adding to the conversation, but panic keeps her from falling completely silent. It might be rude. "I don't think... I like wine though. And I've never tried anything else." Not that she seems to heartbroken over that fact, if they taste similar to wine. It doesn't take long for K'del to finish his glass of the white, and he happily accepts a glass of the last wine, too, smiling cheerfully at the Vintner as he trials the wares. To Azaylia, "There's nothing wrong with milk. We don't all have to be drinkers; it's not like it's /required/, or anything. You might like cocktails, though: they're generally sweeter." Eventually, when the last wine has been tasted, and the Vintner has started packing up his wares again, the Weyrleader turns a more thoughtful gaze on the Apprentice. "Come for a walk with me," he suggests. "A little bit of exercise. If you've time?" Manners and discipline force Azaylia's hand to take the last mouthful of wine that is offered to her. It's debateable whether or not the wine touches her tongue as she swallows and gives the vinter a brave smile that only graces the corners of her lips. K'del's words seem to ease a weight off her shoulders, likely the fear that everyone at the weyr drinks. "I think I'll... maybe try it again. ...In a few years." A soft laugh is cut short by the invitation, the rest of the breathy chuckles swallowed along with nervousness. "Of course, sir. I just need to get bundled, I'm not really used to the cold yet..." Who turns down the Weyrleader? Clearly not she! "You're young," agrees K'del, idly. "Give it time." Never mind that he was Weyrleader already at Azaylia's age - which is certainly not something he's going to bring up here and now. He promises a further conversation with Zerenynio as the Vintner leaves, but, sounding pleased, turns his attention back to the apprentice to assert, "You do that. We'll keep moving to keep warm, but-- it /is/ pretty cold out there." Not to mention snowy. /He/ certainly bundles up: coat, scarf, hat, gloves, all of them put on with perfunctory efficiency. Azaylia stands and picks up her tray, excusing herself so that she can save someone else the task of cleaning up. Upon returning, she'll catch up to the Weyrleader, finding her mittin's missing counterpart, damp coat having thankfully dried by now. Since she's been wearing half of the bulky clothing, it doesn't take long until the herder is prepared for the elements. The donated sweaters fit her oddly, making Azaylia look twice as thick, steps taking on subtle waddle as she fights to keep her balance. "Ready." Enthusiasm carried by the muffled whisper, she looks to K'del. K'del shows no amusement at the waddling Azaylia's appearance, though it's bound to look pretty comical. Instead, he's all gentleman: he offers her his arm as he indicates towards the exit. "Shall we?" Whether or not she takes it, he'll lead easily towards the door, holding it open for her as they pass, and saying, "Winters at High Reaches take a bit of getting used to, I guess. They're pretty, though, when you can get past the cold. And there's - well, skating, and sledding, and all that kind of thing." Azaylia hesitates in taking the offered arm, her hand lifts and hovers before going through with the motion. It isn't often that the herder has to look up when standing next to someone, that fact alone forcing her to stifle soft giggles. Walking out into the cold, she doesn't yet feel it as her head tilts upwards to watch the rider as he speaks. "I heard some people talk about that, those snow games. I just don't know if I could stay out that long." The stuttering has stopped at least, though prompted by his words her dark eyes take in the snowy surroundings. "I do like how it falls, though." "When you're moving about a lot, you warm up pretty quickly," K'del explains, as he leads his way through the courtyard in front of the Complex, and towards the bowl itself. He turns his head to glance at her, amused, though he doesn't indicate /why/, and then-- there, in the distance, a pale, greeny-bronze shape growing steadily bigger and bigger until he's landing a short distance in front of them. The bronzerider's arm tightens on Azaylia's, apparently intended to be encouragement. "I noticed that, when I'm working around the stables that is." Though she's looking up at the falling flakes as she speaks, there's no wicked winds to make her words difficult to hear. Azaylia turns her head just in time to catch K'del's glance, brows pinching with worry. Has she gone and said something stupid? Just as the squirming worry begins to settle within her gut, there is a much bigger distraction than her possibly misspeaking. Much, much bigger. Once the dragon lands, it's as if standing on the same surface as a dragon is too much, and the herder's legs nearly give out. Buckling, Azaylia catches herself at the last moment, fear of dragging the Weyrleader into the snow enough to help her keep steady. "D-dragon." At least K'del is nice and tall, and strong enough to keep Azaylia up even if her legs aren't quite working properly. The bronze settles down upon the snow, giving the pair of them a long and curious glance; his tail wags - wags! - in the snow behind him, enthusiastically. "It's okay," murmurs the bronzerider, encouragingly. "Yes, he's a dragon. His name is Cadejoth, and he says-- hello." He may well say a lot more than that, given K'del's twitching expression, but that seems to be enough to start with. And again: "it's okay." "D-dragon." The helpless squeak is echoed as a response to K'del's introduction, eyes glued to the bronze. There's no fear of her trying to bolt, as Azaylia does the exact opposite and clings to the bronzerider's arm with both of her own. Death hug. "Hesayshello." In order to have that fact penetrate her fear frozen mind, she needs to repeat the words. Shivers that have nothing to do with the cold run through her, and the apprentice whimpers a timid, "...hello." K'del has strong arms, too, and seems more than happy to half wrap them around Azaylia, all very comfortingly (though, of course, an onlooker might raise an eyebrow askance). "Yes," he agrees, firmly. "He says hello." He seems pleased by the timid greeting she offers, and so does Cadejoth, for the bronze huffs out some warm air at them both. "He says it's nice to meet you. And that he hopes he's not scary. He'd rather play with you than hurt you. /Ever/. He likes kids, you know." The last is conversational, easy. "In summer, he acts as like a castle for them to climb on, in the lake." Azaylia listens, as there isn't much else she can do. The grip on the Weyrleader and her unsteady legs make running away impossible, and while she's been able to parrot words... she can't seem to come up with her own just yet. It's hard to tell if K'del's reassuring words are reaching her, cheek squished up against his arm. "I don't..." She tries, voice cracking at first and gaining strength. Well, as much strength as she usually speaks with. "I don't want to hurt his f-feelings." But still, "Sobig." "It's fine," promises K'del. "He understands. I think he'd /rather/ you were comfortable, but he's not offended." The bronze sets his head down upon his forelimbs, suddenly /terribly/ dog like, particularly with that wriggly tail still tapping against the ground. "He /is/ pretty big. Not as big as some bronzes, or as the queens, but plenty big. He's hard work to keep clean, that's for sure." Azaylia is taken by surprise, movements slow as she eventually pulls her gaze away from Cadejoth to look up at his rider. "He still needs you to... give him bathes?" This is news to the holdbred young woman, and the grip on K'del's arm loosens ever so slightly. "I always thought..." She stops, not wanting to embarrass herself in front of the bronzerider and his dragon. Her words fade into unintelligible murmurs, eyes dropping to her boots. K'del, too, will release Azaylia part way, now that her grip loosens. His expression is wry. "He can't really scrub his own back. He can do lots of things that I can't, but-- there's only so much rinsing he can do, I guess. Scrubbing takes hands. Why, what did you think?" He seems genuinely interested, and not inclined to laugh, though there's nothing pushy in his question. The bronze lets out a low rumble. Azaylia won't answer right away, still gazing down at the tip of her boots, nudging a bit of snow into a pile. When she does finally speak, it's slow and careful, giving one ample time to cut her off if she says anything out of line. "I thought dragons were... animals that didn't need people to take care of them." A frightening and all around freaky prospect for someone who's spent most of her young life taking care of creatures. One arm keeps a gentle hold on K'del's, the other dropping to rest at her side. "They're--" K'del squints, and uses his free hand to rub at his brow. "I don't know. I mean, they're as intelligent as you and I are, I can promise you that. But they don't have hands, and I guess they're not necessarily smart in the same ways we are. They're different. Different priorities, different-- whatever. As riders, there are certain things we need to help look after our lifemates, but it's not the same as looking after a runner, or whatever." He gives Azaylia a rueful glance. "That's probably not explaining it at all well, I'm sorry." "I kind of understand." Azaylia tries her hand at reassuring the Weyrleader, looking back over at Cadejoth with more curiosity than fear. She's all but abandoned K'del's arm now, instead hugging herself the longer she stares at the bronze. "So... they don't hurt people because they don't want to?" He did say they were intellegent. "Not because you stop them?" As if needing to test this, a mitten leaves her and she gives the dragon a little wave. Her legs have regained their strength, sturdy youth recovering the longer she stays in the dragon's presence. Cadejoth huffs out another warm breath, then, and curls his tail about his legs, though it continues to flick against the ground even from that position. "Exactly," says K'del, firmly. "Dragons don't like to hurt people. They're like us: /we/ don't like to hurt people, either, most of the time." Cadejoth lets out another low rumble in the wake of Azaylia's wave; his rider suggests, then, "You could scratch his headknob for him, if you like. He likes that." Azaylia blinks, "Oh." Now that makes much more sense. "I'd never hurt anyone..." She promises, words surprisingly solemn as her waving hand drops and tucks itself back under the other. She stiffens standing up to her full height and staring at the bronze as if he were the one that made the suggestion. "...his what?" Innocent curiosity has her taking a step, but just one. "You mean, he'll let me touch him?" Now Aza turns to regard the rider, eyes wide at the possibility. "I can believe that," says K'del, firmly. His last hold on Azaylia withdraws as, instead, he sinks both hands into his pockets, turning attention for the herder to his lifemate. "He would. He loves being scratched and rubbed and oiled-- loves attention, really. See above his eyes, those knob-things? If you scratch those, I swear, you'll have a friend for life." Cadejoth's head rises, easy and eager, as he fastens rapidly-whirling green eyes upon the apprentice. Yes? Azaylia is already taking slow, even steps towards the bronze as the rider instructs her just where to scratch. As her fear slowly begins to fade, that natural love of all things beastly gradually takes its hold on her. She's more than half crossed the distance when her gloved hand rises, outstretched in front to make her intentions clear. The apprentice freezes with one foot lifted the moment Cadejoth lifts his head, her own eyes looking into his whirling pair. Her progress is even more sluggish with the dragon watching her, but Azaylia will eventually reach the bronze, raised arm visibly trembling. "H-hello Cadejoth." Cadejoth lowers his head so that he can watch Azaylia without too much of a height distance as she approaches; his huff sounds very pleased, more than ever, as she gets close enough to raise her arm. Then, he positions his head just so to make it easy for her to reach as his rider says, "He says 'hello, Azaylia'. I told him your name, of course. Just rub, same as you would with any animal who liked that kind of thing. His skin is pretty strong: you can't hurt him." Azaylia is ready to take the plunge, stretching up to touch that lowered draconic brow. Just before she makes contact, the apprentice realizes what a rare treat this is and brings the mitten to her mouth, pinching the fabric and pulling her hand free. The cold is ignored as she drags blunt nails across the base of Cadejoth's headknob, soon using her whole palm to feel and stroke. Speechless, she does turn her head to give K'del barely contained smile, mitten still hanging from her teeth. Look at what she's doing! Cadejoth positively hums with pleasure, his tail thrashing against the ground beside him: yes, he seems to be saying, without actually saying anything at all. Exactly like that! "He says you're good at this," reports K'del, with a laugh. "And are you sure you haven't done this before? He also thinks we should take you flying, but that definitely won't be today. Which means he's going to sulk, I'm afraid." Transferring glove from mouth to her free hand, she doesn't stop rubbing and scratching during the exchange. "No..!" Azaylia assures in quiet awe, "You're the first dragon I've ever touched." An overgrown snowflake, the young woman melts against Cadejoth, leaning on him in something of a hug as her hand continues to stroke over his hide. Even the frightened squeak she gives doesn't still that palm, "Flying?" She finds some relief in K'del's words, watching the rider as if he's going to snatch her up and throw her onto the dragon's back. Baby steps! Cadejoth thrums as Azaylia leans up against him; he seems terribly smug. Hurriedly, noticing her reaction, K'del assures, "I wouldn't do that without you deciding you wanted to, Azaylia. But if you're in a weyr, you /ought/ to do it eventually. It's bound to be necessary at some point, and it's better if, at that point, it's not going to worry you." He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other against the cold. "You're doing just fine with him, now. He likes you." Azaylia is easily distracted from the paralyzing fear of flying, given her current situation. "Maybe..." She offers, noncommital. As the bronze gives off those smug thrums, the apprentice rests her cheek against him. It's very possible she's been swept up into humming softly along with him, closing her eyes, a serene little smile on her lips. Lids flutter open, and while she doesn't lift her head she peeks hopefully at K'del. "Does... he really?" Snow gathers beneath her boots as she pushes harder against the dragon. "I like you too." A shy laugh leaves her smiling lips, looking to the Weyrleader once more. "...thank you." Cadejoth nudges his head against Azaylia in return; a gentle giant. "He does," confirms K'del, grinning. "I'm glad-- I'm sorry. I should have warned you before getting him to come over. I just... felt like it ought to happen." He blows out a long breath, letting the mist dissipate before he adds, "He says you're welcome to come back and give him scratches any time you like. Now that you know who he is. And--" reluctantly, "He's also reminding me that I have meetings later that I really ought to prepare for. It was nice to meet you, Azaylia." "No, it's... it's okay. If you had told me, I might not have been brave enough." And then she would have never have met Cadejoth! Azaylia is reluctant to push off of the bronze, giving one firm scritch of her nails before finally putting some distance between herself and the dragon. "Oh, okay." Her hand pushes back into the warmth of the mitten, lowered gaze lifting to sweep from the Weyrleader to his mount. "It was nice meeting you- both of you. I... I hope all dragons are this nice." She fidgets, but there's a smile on her lips from the encounter. K'del seems pleased, somehow. "Sometimes, it's useful to-- push your boundaries," he allows, quietly. "I'm sorry to cut it short... though Cadejoth says if you want to keep scratching /he/ doesn't have any meetings." The glance he aims at his lifemate is an utterly fond one. "I don't know about all of them, but a lot of them, anyway. They like people." A beat, and then, slowly, reluctantly, he takes a few steps away. "Have a nice afternoon, Azaylia." And then he's gone. |
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