Logs:Fort, from the ground
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 12 June, 2013 |
| Who: Hattie, Elaruth, K'zin, Rasavyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'zin goes to visit Fort Weyr on his rest day, meets Hattie, and does not create an interWeyr incident. (Yay!) |
| Where: Lakeside Grove, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 13, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Clear as a bell, the sun shines in pale winter skies, though an occasional sharp breeze blows. |
| Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions, Meara/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions, Ali/Mentions, Alida/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions, N'ky/Mentions |
  |
| Lakeside Grove, Fort Weyr Hardy mountain trees cluster together on the far end of the lake, providing a shady retreat, beneath high, spreading branches. Right along the edge of the trees, several stone picnic tables are set up to welcome fresh air diners. Here and there within the grove, tumbled boulders from ages ago provide places to sit for those taking a break from a walk around the shore. Toward the bowl wall, the trees grow more closely together providing a somewhat secluded spot for a private conversation or quiet contemplation.
It was to the lake shore, rather than the bowl, that Rasavyth's descent brought them. It might have been the pale golden hide of the dragon there that drew them to that spot after blinking in from between and sharing their greeting and duties to the watchdragon or simply interest in the lakeshore itself. As the slender, aristocratic, and not yet full grown (either that or the smallest of the small) bronze warbles a cheery greeting to the Fortian queen. His rider slides from the straps after hooking helmet, goggles and gloves into the pouches on them, pausing to stretch as he hits the ground. K'zin's progress toward the grove is not immediate. The lakeshore is given a long look-see, first. He even crouches to feel the snow. But eventually, curiosity has him heading for the cluster of trees. His expression is one of interest as he takes in the trees, brown gaze skimming about until it falls to the Weyrwoman. The knot has him jerking to a halt to snap a crisp salute. "High Reaches' duties to Fort," comes the teen's baritone. Elaruth's greeting in answer to Rasavyth is bright, if quiet, and though she acknowledges the young bronze with a slight dip of her head and the brush of a vivid blue-whirling gaze, she's content enough in her sandy nest that she doesn't lift herself out of it and go to investigate the newcomer more directly. At the sound of her queen's gentle voice, Hattie's attention is drawn in the direction of the lake shore, and so she clocks K'zin's approach perhaps before he notices her, focus snapping to the weyrling to give what is not an entirely pleasant, assessing once-over. "Fort's duties to High Reaches' queens," she replies, the intensity of her study not lessening in the slightest. "Who do you belong to?" The question is seemingly phrased ambiguously on purpose. The goldrider's glance surely caught him before he, her, for he's within speaking distance, though a good ten feet between them before he realizes he's not alone and stops to salute. A slight blush shows under his dusky-skinned cheeks at the question. His salute drops away and hands come to hang awkwardly at his sides. For all that, K'zin tries for a friendly, professional tone as he answers, "Rasavyth, first and foremost. Then to the Weyrlingmasters, ma'am." He gives a quick glance over his shoulder, back in the direction of the bronze on the beach. "I'm sorry to intrude on you. I just--" He flounders for a moment and then straightens up a little and his words flow more decisively. "Rasavyth and I had never been on the ground in Fort before." To Elaruth, Rasavyth is nothing if not friendly. A tenor purr that oozes a shimmery charm reaches toward the Fortian gold. « Please allow me to extend our duties and respect to you and yours. » The touch carries a complex concoction of home-y comforts, woven with an edge of indefinable humor, and even more faintly a sensation of 'wrongness'. It's the kind of gut feeling that can be seen at the periphery, but if ever sought straight-on, nothing can be identified as that 'thing' that causes it. She can't quite have Rasavyth or Elaurth in her direct line of sight, so it's with her queen's borrowed senses that Hattie considers the weyrling bronze, her head tilting as her dark eyes gain a glassy, distant quality and the sight of one half of the whole is swapped for the sight of the other. "Is he of Iesaryth or Hraedhyth?" the Weyrwoman queries once she tunes back in and her gaze sharpens on K'zin. "I'd likely assign him to Iesaryth, but given that I'd not immediately identify Elaruth's gold daughters as hers, I should probably say Hraedhyth and call it an exercise in not judging by appearances." Tired of leaning, Hattie sets her mug down on the table and edges back to sit on one of the benches, sweeping the tail of her long leather coat behind her. "And your name?" she asks. To Rasavyth, Elaruth has never been one to be drawn by charm unless already sold on its source, and so it's with a guardedness born of highly-tuned senses detecting the wrongness beneath it that she offers him a polite and careful, « You are welcome here, » that breezes through the low-lying white mist shielding the waters of the marshes beneath, a faint chill drifting up from shallow water. « You will not enter the cavern. » Not a request, nor is the cavern 'any' cavern, but identified by a sudden heat and scratch of sand shared. K'zin can't help but laugh in a brief show of surprised amusement, "We get that a lot, actually. He's Hraedhyth's son, her only bronze one from this last clutch, though sometimes I think Rasavyth finds himself with more in common with Iesaryth. She's been a comfort to him more than once when others didn't understand." The weyrling's manner is just as friendly as his dragons, but without any trace of creep-factor. Maybe it's just the fact that his lifemate's mind oozes (like so many unpleasant things) that earns him that aftertaste. The only edge K'zin's manner has is a touch of nervousness. "Interesting that Elaruth's daughters have that same quality. Of difference." He doesn't pry however as he shifts his weight, hands tucking into his pockets. "I'm K'zin, ma'am." The wrongness is an aftertaste. The ooze might just be a little too slimy. But he can't seem to help it, or possibly even be aware of it as Rasavyth responds cheerily, though with an undercurrent of continued respect. « Thank you. We are most pleased to be exploring here. You have a lovely home. » What they saw from the air seemed so, at any rate. Then he is quick to answer her not-request, « We wouldn't think of it. We have only the politest of interest in your cavern; our congratulations and well-wishes for a healthy clutch. I have never seen eggs before. » Not with his own eyes. There is mild curiosity, but also patience, since he would not think of disobeying her. « I had never seen this place before either. » He turns the topic back to something more pleasant. « I should like to see it in its other seasons, I think. Though winter carries a peculiar sort of beauty. » He muses. (To Elaruth from Rasavyth) "Hattie," the Weyrwoman supplies as a matter of politeness, assuming that her knot will have already identified and named her, given that he's aware of her lifemate's name. "Well met, K'zin," as a matter of course too. "What are you hoping to find here on the ground?" Not literally, one assumes. "I've noticed that out-Weyr weyrlings often gravitate towards the bar, though I confess I'm not sure if that's because of its reputation or wanting to have a few drinks out of the view of prying eyes and watchful weyrlingmasters." She shrugs one shoulder, not judging either way. "You're welcome to view the clutch, but I'm afraid Rasavyth must not land on the ledges in the cavern." To Rasavyth, Elaruth does her best to ignore anything that unsettles her, yet there remains a distance in her voice and a bank of sparkling mists that keep wrongness and slime from reaching further, protecting that which she would want to keep unsullied. « It is lovely, » she can agree, though she's not at all boastful with it, merely quietly proud and protective. « You might have eggs of your own one day. » And then he will see them, being the implication. « The seasons do not change it much. It is always home. » "Well met, Weyrwoman Hattie." The young man responds in kind with manners. He rocks forward onto his toes and then back onto his heels as his expression shows him to be considering the question she poses. "Well, bars aren't bad, but I wouldn't say that I'm looking for one. I don't know that I could say I'm looking for something in specific. This is-" K'zin pauses, eyes rolling skyward as he makes a mental list, dropping his gaze back to the goldrider to deliver, "-my fifth place ever. With my feet on the ground, that is. Sixth if you count wherever I was that one time I greeted the tithe train with Wingleader Z'ian. Anyway, I've been repeatedly told that travel is good for a person. Congratulations on the clutch. Besides the eggs, and he won't, of course," Immediate deference to the requirement, before he continues, "Is there anywhere in specific you might recommend for me to see before I head back to 'Reaches? Anywhere that makes Fort Fort?" It's a slow change, a subtle shift in the ooze. As Rasavyth converses with the queen, his ooze becomes less pronounced and instead, there is a ooze-dotted reflection of the bank of sparkling mists, mirroring that which is offered by her mind. « I dearly wish it shall be so. » Daddy Rasavyth. « But only time will tell. » There is appreciation for her words of the seasons. « What do you like best about your home? » He asks with genuine curiosity. (To Elaruth from Rasavyth) "I'll convey your congratulations to my junior," Hattie replies, peering beyond K'zin as if talk of the clutch could conjure her. It doesn't, of course, and so she adds, "You may be able to do so herself if you view the clutch," as she reaches to reclaim her mug, lifting it to her lips. "I've always found home more comforting," the goldrider remarks, voice faintly hoarse from hot beverage meeting chilled insides. "But I'm likewise told that travel is supposed to be broadening, especially for weyrlings. You might never have the same excuse to just 'visit' places ever again." As for what makes Fort Fort, she considers this and still is not entirely committed by the time she responds, for, "Sights don't always make a place." However: "You could visit the Solarium, though the roof is no longer Ancient glass. There are the baths too, or the springs. The living cavern." And then, wryly, "The bar." Notably not mentioned: the Records. To Rasavyth, Elaruth is quietly appreciative, a thin beam of pale sunshine slanting through the reflected landscape whether the calming of ooze is by design and intent or otherwise. Her response is not patronising, though there is an overwhelming sense of simplicity and even the questioning of the necessity of an answer. Isn't it obvious? « The people, » she tells him, meaning made clear with the passing of both human and dragon shadows over the mist. « You must love your people too? » "Thank you," Those manners again. "I'll give them myself if I run into her," K'zin adds to assure Hattie that her words have not been missed. "You would find me to be a kindred spirit in that regard, ma'am. I've always preferred home best. But--" Here he hesitates for a moment, carefully choosing his next words, "The more that I come to understand about my home and the way that the world affects it, the more I think getting to know more of the world is necessary, to serve home well. It's one thing to read about in a book or see on a map, but quite another to be in a place, conversing with those who live there," A gesture encompasses the place and the woman. "I imagine sights don't often make a place. But it's a starting point. I'll do my best to get a look at everything. I'm sure it takes many more than one visit to really get a sense of a place, especially one so large as this." He reaches up to push a hand through his dark locks, "I don't want to over-stay my welcome," With her or at the Weyr. "By your leave, ma'am, I'll get right on that exploring?" He gestures, back the way he came. Sunlight begins to show in the reflection as well, the bronze's mind showing interest in the mist, in the sun, and the shadows that pass. Rasavyth's agreement is immediate and strong, swelling with pride. « But of course! They are the richness, sweetness, and sourness of life all wrapped together. I should very much like to hear about your people, and tell you of mine if you like. My brothers and sisters can be so terribly droll. » The friendliness of the chatter is paired with how very genuinely he does, indeed, love the people of 'Reaches. Young though the bronze is, there is a distinct loyalty that can be sensed to his home and those who dwell there. (To Elaruth from Rasavyth) Maybe Hattie means to joke, but her words escape in a distant, wistful tone. "Everything is always better in books." Realising how silly she might sound makes her grimace, though she manages not to blush by what might just be sheer force of will, jaw set as she gives K'zin a last few moments of vaguely approving study. When she can speak and not betray herself again, she tells him, "You're always welcome, as long as you check in with the watch dragon." As he did. "And as long as you don't do anything that requires you to be retrieved by your weyrlingmasters," the Weyrwoman adds with a cheeky little smirk. "Go on," she encourages with a nod of her head out towards the body of the bowl, as one might send off a much younger man. To Rasavyth, Elaruth shares soft laughter in the form of the light rustle of reeds, mist beginning to lift away from the marshes little by little as she grows more comfortable in the young bronze's presence. « Come and tell me of your brothers and sisters, » she invites, as if she could draw him physically closer to where she's settled in the sand. « And I will tell you of my people. » Hers as much as she is theirs; protective, not possessive. "Thank you, ma'am. And of course. We've been strictly warned, now from both sides." K'zin's grin is warm. If he noticed her foray into possible silliness and discomfort, his face shows no note of it. But perhaps that's those manners again. With her blessing given, he salutes before turning on his heel and heads off for more exploration. To Elaruth, Rasavyth won't come too near, not wishing to discomfort the gold with too much proximity, but he will move gracefully closer and settle to regale her with tales of his clutchsiblings, providing vivid impressions of their minds: Solith and her breezy forgetfulness, Cailluneth and her rainbows, Ilicaeth and his sandy grit. And on and on. She'll find him as eager a listener as a story-teller, pleased to know whatever it is she might wish to share with him about her people. His questions stay polite and encouraging, but never prying and certainly not rude. If it weren't for that weird edge that haunts in the peripheries of his touch, he'd be the perfect congenial conversation partner. |
Leave A Comment