Logs:Home Sweet Home
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| RL Date: 11 April, 2008 |
| Who: Lujayn, Satiet |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Satiet takes Lujayn to her new lodgings, which are met with delight. Lujayn is overjoyed; Satiet smiles. Rielsath plans mischief. |
| Where: Weyrling Barracks; Bowl; Lujayn and Rielsath's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Just after lunch, Satiet's slight frame darkens the entrance to the weyrling barracks, her gaze searching, perhaps already knowing Lujayn's whereabouts. Or thinks she knows at least; with a dragon like Teonath, sometimes the whole honest sharing thing falls through the cracks. Still, the blue-clad woman rises onto the tips of her booted toes as she looks past struggling E'dro and W'jar, her hesitation to fully step into the barracks demonstrated in the hand that lingers at the entree archway and the faintly wrinkled nose. Rielsath> Lujayn senses that Rielsath alerts her rider sharply. « She's here, look out! » Lujayn is stretched out on her own cot, lying on her side with what looks like another itemized list of a storeroom before her. The other noise and activity in the barracks might as well not be there, but all it takes is a stirring from Rielsath, a little warble to get her attention. The weyrling is on the alert then, sitting upright. Smoothing back her tawny hair with one fidgeting hand, Lu looks around her for the source of her gold's warning. It's easy to spot Satiet in the doorway, a little easier to pretend she didn't see her from all the way across the room. But who likes anything that's easy? "Ma'am," She waves across the room, folding up her ledgers idly. Interest sparks at Rielsath's highly-attuned awareness, tiny starlit glimmers in Teonath's mind that dance casually at the fringes of Rielsath's mind; brushing past, inspecting, but not quite making any attempt towards actual communications -- content in her distantly amused study for now. Lujayn's recognition of Satiet's arrival pulls one corner the weyrwoman's mouth down, particularly as E'dro and W'jar swivel to stare as well, their own greeting a scrambled version of salutes that leave her looking more pained than approving. No greeting is made towards those other weyrlings, the wave the other goldrider sent causing Satiet to crook one finger in the air in a come hither motion bolstered by a delicately-voiced, bluntly-worded share: « You leave today. » Lujayn swings her legs over her cot, getting to her feet in one quick motion. Curious, she slides around the scrambling E'dro and W'jar to the doorway, as Rielsath raises her own head to watch what's going on. Lu stands before the Weyrwoman with a smile that's almost expectant, waiting for some word, some further instruction. Rielsath> Teonath senses that Rielsath sends a gentle fall of snow over the sparks, frozen things with a core of burning fire. It's as much to protect as it is to play with the little stars, reluctant. « This is my home. I've always been here. » The silence with which Lujayn approaches tilts Satiet's head to one side, the woman's dark hair falling across her cheeks and over her shoulders, only to be raked by in a quick irritable motion behind her ears. Idle fingers play with the strands tucked and piercing eyes, so palely brilliant in their hue, just wait until Lujayn makes it across the room, past the struggling boys to find the smile so expectant on the gold weyrling's face. Well? Just as expectantly, Satiet's groomed brows lift, as if waiting for some sort of response - one that's shared just seconds later to smooth out her sharp features. "Do you agree with your dragon, Lujayn? That this," the barracks, High Reaches, it's all vague in that flippant little wrist gesture, "Is your home?" Rielsath> Rielsath senses that Lujayn tries to build a sense of freedom and independence, quickly. "Something that's /yours/." Something to explore. For now, Teonath allows her rider to do much of the speaking, more interested in the imagery of the gentle snow that shrouds her sparks, their flickering light dying slowly under the blanket. They melt, sparkling silver bleeding and blending seamlessly into the frozen landscape, and then the mother addresses the daughter with acceptance: « You have. » Indeed, there is no recollection of a time without Rielsath at High Reaches, no time without Rielsath shelled. (Teonath to Rielsath) Rielsath> Lujayn senses that Rielsath is firmly rooted, dark crimson blending with earthy browns and the cold gray of stones. It's different than stubborn for stubbornness's sake, but stubborn nonetheless. « We belong here. » It's difficult for Lujayn to keep up the silence, peppered by shared thoughts from her lifemate. That smile fades the smallest bit, uncertainty clouding her gray eyes when they focus on Satiet's face. "She can't stay here forever," Is her eventual reply, addressing nothing of her own feelings. Coolly, "Should I pack?" Rielsath> Teonath senses that Rielsath replaces the snow with an easier wash of sunlight, snug and familiar, this new gold-silver melding of electrum. As her rider can't hold silence for long, she cannot withhold the curious questions that come from such an introduction: « Where do you want to send me? » The slighter woman has to look up to study Lujayn's face; it's certainly not a position that must make Satiet any happier. But the faded smile, the uncertainty of the goldrider's eyes quirk the senior queenrider's lips to one side, the fingers tugging at her tucked hair falling to her sides. Accompanying her words is a simple shrug and impassively shaped features. "Have you ever lived alone?" It seems her attempts at being more imposing than she already might be, threatening even in what little she says, are tossed aside carelessly, the turn of her body poised to exit the barracks with the expectation hinging in the conversational question that Lujayn will follow. Rielsath> Rielsath senses that Lujayn separates herself from the tight embrace, the piercing light. Bit by bit. "I'm going now." Lujayn is being careful, still watching the woman before her and choosing her words with more caution than she might normally. "I've worked alone on long runs by myself, but that's different than living, isn't it?" One last glance back at where Rielsath sits, the other weyrlings who are listening-not-listening, before her feet break free from that expectant stance and move to follow wherever Satiet leads. "And Rielsath, she's never alone." Almost true. Always talking, always nosing around. Always something. Sunlight, so different from the starlight dance offered earlier, suffuses Teonath's thoughts in return, the landscape of her daughter's mind reflected across a mirror in the older dragon's: sun-scorched sand superimposing over snow. « Nowhere. » The one word tinges crimson about the edges, possessive. (Teonath to Rielsath) Unaware, or feigning obliviousness to Lujayn's caution with words, Satiet saunters into the bowl. "No, you're never quite alone when you've a dragon. Some," she pauses, a glance cast briefly back to the barracks, pale eyes oddly narrowed, "Moreso than others." The older woman fails to elaborate on that and remains quiet for a stretch of time, about ten paces, before her cool alto shares, "For most weyrlings, their weyr is the first time they've ever had a place of their own. It's exciting." A hesitant pause. "And lonely. Even with a dragon." Lujayn keeps pace easily, words beginning to flow with that same ease now that she's back in familiar motion. One step after the other, more refreshing than a stagnant standstill in a doorway. "I am excited. A place all my own, without all that mess and noise. Privacy." Her thoughts are one after the other, soft. "Do you think I'll be lonely, even with Rielsath?" Snowflakes or a dervish of white sand? There's sun all around, but never enough to melt what's gathered on the frozen mountains. Rielsath hangs to that one word, possessive herself towards a place to belong. Hers. A rare moment of silence, basking in the sunlit crimson, but something in the barracks steals her attention. A beat of unbearable tension, then her athletic body leaps and she follows after Lujayn with something fierce and burning in her mind. The motion nearly knocks W'jar against the wall if he can't move out of her way quickly enough. So loudly that Teonath is also privy to the shrill call: « Wait! If you're going, so am I. » And all is well again. (Rielsath to Teonath) Their trek across the bowl is long, the barracks at one end, their eventual destination at the other. About halfway there, the slender woman halts her steps, turning with one of her hands rested on her hip, to face the junior most goldrider. "You drew the short straw," states Satiet, in the middle of the bowl. It's almost an apology, the way her sharp chin cants down and those dark lashes sweep over her eyes briefly. "The last time I mentored weyrlings, a weyrling, I wasn't the Weyrwoman. The slight woman's mouth shapes into the driest smile ever, one that deepens somehow at Rielsath's exit of the barracks. In the wake of Rielsath's call, one broadcast so loudly, Teonath's laughter rings low, an effortless sound that trembles the sand and snow, jostling it out of place. « I thought, » exhales the sand-rasping sound of the gold's thoughts, « That was your home? » (Teonath to Rielsath) Lujayn is quick to turn when she senses her dragon's haste, taking advantage of Satiet's halt to let the gold play catchup. It doesn't take long, and as soon as she slides to a halt before them Rielsath arches her neck downwards to regard the women before her. Bright blue is sparked with a more agitated yellow, both whirling quickly. "I figure things out well enough on my own," If that was an almost-apology, this is almost-forgiveness. "Or if I haven't been, no one's complained about it." Even more easily now that Rielsath's arrived, leaning back into the presence of her lifemate. "That must have been a while ago, then..?" Rielsath> Teonath senses that Rielsath has escaped those ground-shackled things, abandoned images altogether in a wash of warm gold. Words come more brightly, insisting. « Only if she's there, too. And she left. » This is non-negotiable. « You wouldn't go anywhere without her. » Icy blue, that's Satiet. Satiet's eyes do the ruminating for her, the blue going glazed in thought before she finally pronounces, "A little over five turns ago," as the length of time it's been since mentoring. "Tavrie," is her continued one-worded explanation of who she had mentored, the faint, distasteful crumple of her nose saying more than the cool-spoken name conveys. But it does cause the pale, studying eyes to sweep Lujayn and then Rielsath over once more and comment idly, "You seem to be holding up a lot better under the pressures of being a weyrwoman than she did at any rate." Is she? Those eyes do the asking, brows arcing quizzically. "Thank you," Lujayn has the sense to find a compliment in that statement, or imagine one if it wasn't really there. "No one's been getting after me for mistakes, so I must be doing fine," She shrugs, eyes flicking momentarily towards the ground. "It all gets done eventually." If not immediately. She manages to smile, looking up with a hopeful cast to an almost hesitant face. "Do most people have a hard time with this? All riders, even?" For once, there's a smile, the slightest curve that carries no hidden agenda other than it's touched about the corners with some sort of reminescent sadness. This expression, eyes trained to Teonath on the Weyrleaders' ledge behind them, is more honest of her own opinions than Satiet's more neutral and generic response: "It depends on the person and the dragon." The moment, soft and verging on poignant, is gone though, with a toss of her raven curls. "Come along, your new home is just over there. It belonged to Tavrie." And her short steps resume towards a step of stairs near the entrance to the Snowasis. For the longest time, there's silence from Teonath. Perhaps she's thinking of the fierce loyalty Rielsath has for her rider. Perhaps she's just busy or napping or, worst, lost interest in this bright-hued daughter of hers. But after a long pause and shortly after Satiet's turned to stare up at her ledge, the desert queen replies, « We travel separately. Sometimes. But I will follow whereever she goes. » (Teonath to Rielsath) Hand resting on Rielsath's head, the gold lowered to a crouch during their pause, bright eyes follow Satiet's line of sight back to Teonath. Glancing down at her lifemate thoughtfully, Lujayn once again leads the way. The gold's steps are immediate this time, curiously tromping onwards. One word sticks in the weyrling's mind: Belonged. Past tense. "What happened to Tavrie?" Now eying the stairs, another glance back to Rielsath. Comparing the sizes. Rielsath> Lujayn senses Rielsath's dismay. « I can't go that way. How do I get there? » Rielsath> Lujayn bespoke Rielsath with "I'll meet you up there. Go on." A rush of wind, rising quickly. "You're a dragon, aren't you?" Rielsath> Teonath senses that Rielsath is quiet but always present, the darkness of her silence a starfield in night sky rather than any lonely, barren void. She eases back into her mother's words, the complex rainbow of an aurora enveloping her simple response. « Me too. » The weyrwoman's hand turns to indicate those wall-hugging steps, inviting Lujayn to take the first steps towards her new home. For Lujayn's concerns, there's a flat response, "She transferred to Monaco." Tavrie, sore subject, take note. Then a correction, more for the younger goldrider's sake than any particular desire to explain the situation further, "Thread's return has impacted the southern Weyrs far more than it has us. Her dragon was needed." Satiet's mouth parts, about to speak again, but a simple head shake dismisses those thoughts. Instead, more kindly, the alto pitches lower, "It's one of the larger weyrs at any rate, and still mostly furnished." So private are these thoughts, the actuality of the intensity of their respective bonds, and so quietly Teonath dwells on them, that it's clear these are never shared wittingly with her rider. They are instinctively understood, an underlying element to the veneer they both present of their interactions, but never spoken of. And in the silence of this share with her golden daughter, Teonath adds her own to the aurora filled sky, brightening the starfield that backdrops the rose-gold hues and setting each twinkling light pulsing. (Teonath to Rielsath) "I see," If anything, Satiet's response only heightens her interest concerning this mysterious subject, all too obvious from the bright tone the pair of words adopts. "We're scheduled to fly resupply soon, aren't we?" At the mention of Thread, her churning thoughts find a different track, helped along by her lifemate. "Rielsath thinks a lot about Thread." A scattering of snow and an extra gust of cold wind behind Lujayn announces the young gold's departure, eschewing the stairs for a more graceful arrival. Her icy pinions spread wide, the sheer frost over a fiery body, searching for the place to call home. "You are." As flat in regards to the weyrlings' first brush with Thread as riders as she was with Tavrie, Satiet's shoulders twitch, discomforted. Or else that was a response to the cold wind of Rielsath's departure setting a'shiver the weyrwoman's thin-clad figure. The smooth brow knits, "Does she? Don't they all?" The rhetorical question follows after the gold's flight and eventual descent to the ledge. "More than I'd like for Teonath to at any rate, though she possibly dwells less on those kinds of thoughts than others. - You're Fortian bred, right?" Non-sequitur subject change! Rielsath> Teonath senses that Rielsath is somewhere in that sky now, twisting around the aurora and poking her nose after each little star. Searching, though there's more to the feeling than just imagery. Settling onto the ledge for the first of what will become countless times, the glow of rosy dawn joins the other celestial bodies from the horizon. Lujayn moves to ascend the steps on the edges of the latest question, the haste of excitement getting into her motions instead of the caution one should take with slippery stone stairs. "More now than she used to," She explains, mouth twisting up in a grim smile. "Then she's reminded that only the other dragons get to breathe fire and gets all sulky.." Words as fast as her steps, nearly rushing. A pause, turning to make sure she doesn't make the rude mistake of leaving Satiet behind in the conversation or the climb. "Yeah, Fort Weyr." Something about Lujayn's response, particularly in relation to her dragon, evokes a tiny smile from Satiet, a smile that lingers as she follows gingerly after the weyrling towards the high-placed ledge. "She sounds like a handful. They say dragons find their best possible match on the sands." A beat passes, the weyrwoman's eyes seeking Lujayn's face for something of the 'handful' Rielsath seems to be. Approvingly, "But I don't think I've ever seen you sulk. Or seem upset. You take things in stride. Much like your move here." She pauses there, measuring her words with a drop of her chin before voicing them aloud. "Why did you choose to come to High Reaches?" Lujayn listens, still for the moment. "She can be." Her face fairly glows with that admission, fondness battling with periodic exasperation and coming out as amusement, even accompanied by a small laugh. Her expression is surprised when it comes to the praise, but (as she has been accused of doing) takes it in stride and resumes her climb. Not far now. "I came because Sionath wanted me to Stand." That extra capital 's'. A simple answer, but probably not satisfactory. "It was my duty." "And duty-bound, you're required to stay here," surmises the weyrwoman, a lack of judgment in her thoughts. "I always wonder at those who agree to be searched by Weyrs other than the ones they've been beholden to all their life. Where could the loyalty come from?" Satiet's passing glance doesn't linger to watch Lujayn's reactions, turning to train onto the tapestry that keeps the inner weyr safe from the winter weather. Thin arms wrap about her body, shoulders hunched inward and quick steps take her to the tapestry's edge to unlatch and hopefully, escape from the cold soon. "Do you miss your home?" Such a carelessly posed question. "I would stay even if I didn't have to." Lujayn's reply is immediate even as she steps into the weyr, stubborn arguments lost in wonder at the size of the cavern. A sharp inhale, taking in every little sight through wide eyes. It's all she can do to keep from running off like a distracted child, eager to explore every niche and feature of her home. "This is for me?" She asks at last, forgetting to answer whatever questions had just been asked. It's really not fair for Satiet to ask such a question of missing home and what not when presenting Lujayn with her new home and after the weyrling steps into her new weyr, Satiet follows in. She drops to the side wall, back pressed against it and angled in such a way as to try and catch sight of the goldrider's reaction. She can even forgive the lack of an answer to her question, a sliver of pleasure lighting her pale eyes for just a moment before the more senior rider's composure smooths her face back to neutral. Her, "Yes," is matter-of-fact, as if this type of chamber should be taken for granted rather than cause such pent up delight, but she is, in the end human, despite what gossip might say, for she has to ask, she /has/ to, struggling to keep her alto even, "Do you like it?" Lujayn holds herself in place just long enough for an equally brief, though infinitely more heartfelt, "Yes." She beams widely towards Satiet, looking almost gleeful enough to embrace the older woman in a fit of girlish delight, but thankfully those energies are diverted. Plants? Furniture? Is that a /bath/? Unable to remain still, Lu zips from place to place - no leisurely tour here. The girl stops only when she has to wrestle with a rusted trapdoor, laughing at her own efforts to wrench it open. It seems, in fact, that the laughter has been at a low bubble since she entered the weyr, a thing in the perpetual background. "It's beautiful. Thank you!" As the door screeches open and Lu promptly sticks her head inside the chute. "Hey, what's this?" Rielsath> Lujayn senses that Rielsath is immediately curious, trying to illuminate the darkness. « What're you doing in there? That's even too small for you! » Rielsath> Rielsath senses that Lujayn is as bright as ever, almost overpowering her lifemate's natural sunniness. "It looks like an elevator. We can send stuff up and down." Rielsath> Lujayn senses that Rielsath's intrigue is all sorts of lively colors, orange and yellow and a field of flowers. « Oooh... » The wheels are turning in that busy head. Crowded, but not as much now with the largest of the bunch making her successful exit. "Soon," responds the weyrwoman, Satiet's delight curbed at the reminder that there's more work to do; other weyrlings to 'outfit' into homes. "After they've completed their discussions with I'daur and Persie in regards to mating flights." The slight woman eases herself off the wall, taking in the rest of Lujayn's new home with another sweeping glance that returns to the youngest of Reaches' goldriders. It's a sizing up look, one that takes in everything about the younger woman's attire and personality in one flicker of her lashes. "I expect you to conduct yourself as decorously and as neatly as before," she begins, less admonishment and more of a reminder that softens in her continuation. "And I should have time next month, after you all begin betweening, to take you and my other mentees to Weaverhall. You should dress as a representative of the Weyr." Lujayn stills a bit more under the Weyrwoman's gaze, hand stopped halfway from where it was reaching for that basket of bread. Looking down at her attire, clean but unremarkable, she hazards a question. New weyr, new wardrobe? "That sounds wonderful. What kinds of clothes?" If one can't always go around in work clothes, that's news to Lu. "Decorously," The word is repeated nearly blankly, energy reined in for this more serious topic. "Okay." Her sizing up of the once runner comes up with one word. One, brightly spoken word: "Dresses." And magnamiously, she allows, "You may keep your other clothing though for day to day purposes." But for now, advice, future plans, and presenting of overly large new homes for young girls seems to be done for Satiet waves her hand about to indicate the entirety. "If you require anything more, you know how to requisition from the stores. I hope you'll assist your fellow weyrlings in procuring nice things for their weyrs as well. Hmmm?" Luckily, it's punctuated with a brief upward turn of her lips, a flickering return to some kind of pleasantness. "Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Lujayn." There's no definite reaction to the word, but Lujayn's imagination is away with her. "Yes ma'am," Is all she can manage clearly, on her way to being overwhelmed by just a few changes. "I'll make sure to help them, too. Everything already in here is so nice, I don't know what else I would need..." The weyrling trails off, remembering to make a salute before Satiet departs. "You too." She'll pack her things from the barracks eventually, but they're not going to run off between now and the time it takes to explore the weyr to complete satisfaction. With Rielsath as her shadow, she turns to see what's down that little tunnel. "Another room!" Faintly echoed, if the Weyrwoman is still close enough to hear. The Weyrwoman is still close enough to hear, but with her back to the weyr and her path set for her own home, she's allowed to react: smile indulgently, duck and shake her head as she travels down the steps to the bowl. |
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