Logs:Unsettled
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| RL Date: 4 August, 2014 |
| Who: N'muir, Ulyana |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| Where: Herb Garden, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| In defiance of the oncoming clouds and thunder overhead, Ulyana has taken up temporary residence in the herb garden. She's slowly weaving her way along, with a piece of hide in hand and a writing implement in the other. On a bench nearby is a cloth sack of some sort, still full of food that's been long forgotten. The girl is occupied with jotting down something or another with regularity on the hide, her expression devoid of any identifiable emotion and her manner calculated; mechanical. N'muir finishes locking the last of his geese up in the stables and begins to hurriedly march the long trek across the Bowl when he spots Ulyana over in the Herb Garden. There's a flicker of lightning that reaches out from the threatening sky above, but N'muir's call towards the girl in the garden is overcome by the ferocious crackle of thunder quick on the heels of the lightning's bolt. N'muir's eyes dart up and then over towards his ledge on the opposite side of the Bowl but inevitably gives in to some inner debate and runs over to the garden just as the first few droplets of rain strike. "What are you doing out here? Can't you hear the storm rolling in?" he calls out as he draws closer. The flash of lightning; the roll of thunder. None of these seem to pull the girl out of her intense focus. Ulyana lays down another set of marks just before the hide is struck with a few droplets. Those few turn into a few more and her expression sours. It's that soured expression that's lifted to greet the Weyrleader. "Working, Sir," suffices to answer the first question. By the time the second is responded to, her expression resumes its dull, emotionless seeming - a much more suitable match to her flat affect. "I can hear it. I wanted to get this done before returning." The hide is tucked up against her chest to protect it from the fall of rain. Then her forehead creases, kinking up between her brows as she asks, "What are you still doing out here, Sir?" "Not a lot of good you'll be if you get struck by lightning," N'muir remarks and tries to help her along by reaching for the cloth sack on the bench. "Are you about done?" Working, not eating. He instinctively looks back at the stables and frowns. "Putting away my geese. They end up in strange places during storms if I don't." N'muir's resident geese are not strangers to most native Fortians; he's parented them from goslings in Turn 28 and has remained their caregiver ever since. As for Ulyana, she is the subject of some concentrated study by the Weyrleader. "You are..." Fishing for a name that won't come from memory while his eyes search for a knot. The comment about being struck by lightning earns the Weyrleader a blank look from the girl. Ulyana makes no effort to stop him from retrieving her still-full sack of lunch; instead, her attention switches back to the geese. Or, rather, the stables the geese are in. "I see," says she. "I have seen them before. I can imagine how they would be unsettled by the storm." She isn't. Far from it, in fact. She looks back to him as he scrutinizes her. She's the bearer of not one, but two knots; one at her shoulder that's laid bare by the shifting of a braid and another clipped to her hip. "Ulyana," is her flat reply - and if the name isn't immediately familiar as one of the Candidates-that-shouldn't-have-been, then the makeshift knot at her hip should be enough to fill that in. There's another flash of lightning and the sharp, piercing crackle close on its heels, and N'muir eyes the skies with growing nervousness. "Ulyana," he echoes, attention distracted. The rain begins to fall more rapidly, showering down from the gloomy, black cloud overhead, and N'muir aims a frown up and then lets it fall over to Ulyana. He waves his hand, trying to hurry her along. "I cannot see how /you/ aren't unsettled by the storm," N'muir says in mimicry of her words, adding, in question, "Are you coming along or am I leaving you behind?" The rain is not being particularly helpful, of course; it means Ulyana must clutch the hide closer to her chest in the hopes that the water won't affect it overly much. As N'muir motions for her to follow, he's given a slow blink and a shallow dip of her chin. She follows, though her stride is naturally doomed to be shorter than his own by virtue of their height difference. She might have been silent otherwise, but something he says compels her to respond, "Why should I be unsettled by the storm?" This is a point of genuine curiosity, as if the very thought had never occurred to her before. "Because," seems like a good, solid answer. "Lightning is dangerous, and who bloody well likes to get soaked to the bone?" Not N'muir, by the twisted tone he adopts to utter those words. The Weyrleader doesn't think to shorten his stride and just marches out of the garden and towards the caverns upon Ulyana's apparent submission to his request, perhaps assuming she'll follow on his heels. If /she/ isn't in a hurry to be out of the rain and under the Weyr's protection, /he/ certainly is. Neither answer is satisfactory. "Lightning does not often hit people," Ulyana points out. "And we must bathe." Not that being dumped on by a storm is quite the same thing as relaxing in hot springs - but, to her mind, there's clearly no differentiation. No matter. She will follow as closely on his heels as she possibly can, moving as quickly as she dares with the increasing slickness of the ground. Not that she'll remain as his temporary, storm-formed shadow for long; no sooner than the Weyr is reached than she'll all but vanish amid the people and the slight chaos caused by the weather. There for one minute; gone in the next. |
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