Logs:Dragon Ride
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| RL Date: 27 October, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, V'ret, Zoth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh doles out "advice" to new weyrling, V'ret. |
| Where: Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 2, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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| Little more than a sevenday since the Hatching, which proves to be just enough time for total exhaustion to have set in. For some, anyway. For V'ret, this whole business of 'wake up on your own at six' has quickly turned into 'get roused by a neighbor and then nod off again at least once before properly getting moving'. By midday, he's looking seriously worn. Zoth, on the other hand, is scarcely bothered by any of this, and evidently bound and determined not to waste precious time on sleeping. By mid-afternoon, V'ret has gotten away only long enough to go to the baths himself and wade back through the bowl with snow-frosted hair to find the bronze already waiting just inside. Anxiously? Maybe. "See, back, it's fine, no, it's okay..." To judge from how quickly the reassurances start, anyway. "Is there a problem?" A certain dark haired goldrider comes in right on V'ret's heels, bundled up in heavy layers, carrying a lidded basket that she promptly sets down near the inside of the training cavern. Farideh is looking between the young bronze dragon and his tall lifemate, but there's a smile pasted on her face, even as she unbuttons the front of her jacket and shrugs it off. Her eyes don't waver as she walks towards them, eyebrows raised in question. Tall only for a moment, as V'ret is soon hunkering down, though he's starting to drip melted snow, to get down to eye level with his dragon. Or close enough to it. "We're fine," comes out defensive, perhaps for a reason when the little bronze makes a pitiful noise that doesn't sound at all fine. "He woke while I was gone. I didn't leave him here awake." "Ev--" It takes a moment, in which Farideh exhales. "V'ret. I'm not accusing you of anything. Sometimes-- you have to. You try not to, but-- it's best to avoid it, and yet--" She shrugs lamely, studying the bronze with a contemplative air. "How are you adjusting? Are you getting enough sleep? Eating well? And him? Zoth, right?" Without getting up, V'ret starts pulling his coat off--though without getting up, he's limited to just leaving it there on the floor. At least that way he can sit on it, instead of directly on the stone. Zoth nuzzles in against his shoulder like he's the only person alive; not the slightest thought for the woman, whatever her title. "Ev is still fine, if it's easier." However shadowed his eyes might be, his voice has managed to mellow a bit in tone, just in this short time. "If three hours a night is enough, then plenty. I eat when I can. I think he's eating for both of us." A wan smile with only a glance up. "He's a fine-looking fellow, though, isn't he?" "Only three? Does he sleep? Dream? I always found it hard in the beginning because Roszadyth wanted to sleep in when we were supposed to be training. Now, she's up with the sun." Farideh rolls her eyes towards the ceiling, but turns and returns to her basket, which she brings to the nearest table along with her coat. "Of course he is. He takes after his dame," she says, quite seriously, while she's busy sorting through the contents of her tote. "I hope you aren't being too hard on yourself. I think that's easy to do. Feeling inadequate, in the beginning, before it becomes routine." V'ret spends a few moments with his head resting against Zoth's shoulder, looking like he might nod off just there--and perhaps in recognition of this fact, he straightens again and starts dragging himself to his feet. "He sleeps at night. Quite well. I don't. I can't get him to nap during the day for longer than twenty minutes, which rules out my getting to catch up. I don't feel inadequate." Or at least he can manage to say that with a straight face, even when bone-tired. He steps over to the table, there, leans against it. "But I would have expected you to tell me I was." This and that, and the kitchen sink too? It's a veritable spread of food things that Farideh pulls out, after she lays down a checked cloth on top of the table. "Why don't you? Sleep." She looks up from the feast she's brought -- rolls, fruit, cheese, and cookies, along with a water skin and juice skin -- to study V'ret, at closer vantage. "Me? Why would I say that you're inadequate? I'm quite certain that it's you who's had an issue with me for some time," she points out. "You seemed," V'ret observes, regarding all that food with only a distant sort of glance, "to be quite ready to have me run out of the Weyr, a few days ago." A little more than that, now, but perhaps under the circumstances he can be forgiven a hazy internal calendar. "It's always seemed more natural for me to be awake during the dark hours. As far as my mind's concerned, our curfew is in the middle of my work day." Only the slightest of pauses before he adds, "I've already been told I'll adjust." "Does it matter now?" The stare Farideh gives V'ret is pointed, but just like that she's sitting, surveying her spread with a pleased expression; perhaps it's not even for the weyrlings! "You will. It takes time. It's only been a sevenday." She gestures to one of the seats at the table. "Why don't you sit down and rest? I think," with a sideways glance at the bronze, "he'll survive through it." Evidently Zoth has decided that rather than actaully walking around with all the awkwardness that a dragon has at nine days old, he's just going to sit there and hope that someone mistakes him for a very solemn and slightly glowery dragon who happens to be very far away. He does not look pleased, but there's at least no noticeable complaint. V'ret does look back at him regularly, though, perhaps just to check that he hasn't stopped existing in the last few moments. It doesn't stop him from pulling out a chair, turning it to sit in it wrong way 'round. "A lot of things are different, now." "How?" is the next question Farideh poses, as she starts to dissect one of those rolls. Evidently, once seated, V'ret feels comfortable enough to reach over and take one himself, without asking nicely, without even acting as though he ought to have to. Entitlement. Nine days with a shiny dragon and he owns everything. Or else maybe he's just hungry enough not to be thinking about it. "Mornings. Rules. I'm surprised they let us speak to members of the opposite sex, at this stage." Bread roll in hand, though, he doesn't seem to really know what to do with it, tossing it from hand to hand. "Getting intimately acquainted with an entirely different kind of flesh on a daily basis. I thought that one would take longer to get used to, but it isn't so bad." "Mornings. Rules." Each word is punctuated by a different exaggerated expression, until at last she leans forward in conspiratorial manner, to whisper, "Lucky for you, I'm already pregnant." Farideh sits back with a much amused smile, and scoops those bits of her roll into a pile, that she doesn't yet eat. "I think there are worse things. Hopefully, you don't get one of Quinlys' silver threads. Hopefully, you stay remarkably functional and non-jaded, but I don't have high hopes for the latter. After a turn-- after many-- you'll remember this part and laugh." There's something new: V'ret is capable of blushing. Cheeks suddenly aflame, he looks away, but it's his dragon that has his attention, now, so maybe it wasn't her? Or wasn't just her? Or maybe it's just a convenient excuse. Weyrling dragon and rider are almost looking daggers at each other, but nothing gets said aloud. After a moment, Everett crushes the roll in his hand, tears off part of it, sticks in his mouth. The chewing gives him another few moments to respond. After: "Why would you hope I wouldn't get picked?" The blush is noted, but Farideh is kind enough not to comment; she fills the void by merrily eat those torn pieces of her roll. Dusting off her fingers, she tips her head towards the inner barracks and Quinlys' lair, beyond. "It's hard enough adjusting to being a rider. If you get the silver thread, it's double the work, maybe triple. I had a hard time of it. All the studying and extra lessons. All of those expectations and responsibilities. When all the other weyrlings are out playing and doing Faranth knows what. Besides," and she leans forearms on the edge of the table, "I'll be assisting with some of those leadership lessons and they're quite boring. Unless you have a thing for endless, dreary politics." "People get this idea, you don't like mornings, you have a problem with working," V'ret muses, looking down at his bread, taking another bite, this one smaller. "Take away the things we're not allowed to do and I hardly know what to do with myself. Proper work would be a welcome distraction. I've had a couple nights, him asleep, I've started to wonder if anybody would notice if I went out and pulled half a shift at the Snowasis. At least then I wouldn't just be staring at the dark. But, curfews." The him in question finally seems to have decided that V'ret is not returning to his side anytime soon, and starts to make his ungainly way over towards the table. Rather than just settling beside his rider, though, he seems to intend to crane his neck enough to inspect the food. "Find new things to do. Run laps. Pick on the younger weyrlings. Read a book." Farideh waves a hand dismissively. "You'll be busier soon. It's only been a sevenday, V'ret," she says, a little more censoriously. "What do you look forward to the most? Flying? Flaming? Luring holder women into the night with just the promise of a ride on your dragon?" Yeah, your dragon, Ev! His dragon! Who appears to have found the food on offer entirely unsatisfactory, and gets down to plod over to V'ret. There's a silent exchange, evidently, and V'ret puts a hand out for a caress that betrays any lack of obvious fondness in other exchanges. "I prefer Weyr women, if it's all the same. At least, the ones with less concern about obligations and permanence than enjoying the moment." Faintest of sighs. Hardly noticeable. Wistful. "I'm just looking forward to being able to have my own space. And travel." It's honest enough. Complete? Maybe not. "You say that now." Farideh's smug smile transfers easily from V'ret to his bronze, where it lingers, before returning to the weyrling. "Those are good. Reasonable, at least. It's nice to have your own place, and not only that but a place you can call home. You'll have a wing, and eventually, friends." Her smile edges wider, but falters when her eyes flick to the entryway. "Hm." "Hm?" An echo of her noise, but that's clearly a question mark, there. V'ret's attention has, of course, been diverted in the midst of this by more blatant food theft and a bit of attention paid to his dragon, but apparently he wasn't so distracted as to not notice the look at the end. The goldrider shakes her head gently from side-to-side, and sighs in V'ret's direction. "You will find that sometimes, even grown dragons are needy," Farideh informs him, and pushes her chair back. "I need to attend to this and-- well, I'll be back, but do help yourself." She spreads her hand, motioning to the food on the table as she stands. "You'll excuse me, V'ret?" But before he can say yes or no, she's already turning and making for the exit, her coat grasped by the collar in one hand. |
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