Logs:Logical Fallacies
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| RL Date: 15 February, 2013 |
| Who: K'del, Nicky |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Nicky supports K'del, yay! K'del searches Nicky, yay! |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 13, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
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| Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself. A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs. Wind, rain, and snow combine to make for miserable, sleety weather today. It's not exactly pleasant out here today, not when the precipitation can't seem to make it's mind up about being 'rain' or 'snow' (or some combination of the two), but it's not unusual for High Reaches... and a person can't spend the whole winter indoors. Still, the lake area is largely deserted as a result of the weather, and that gives K'del plenty of room for his wanderings: he's presently wading through old snow on his semi-circuit of the lake, his gaze wandering between the terrain in front of him, and Cadejoth, who circles above, enjoying the fresh winds as they play havoc with the natural thermals. Despite the miserable weather and the cool, damp air, Nicky is outdoors as well. He's bundled up against the elements with a wide-brimmed leather hat to keep whatever the precipitation has decided to be in that moment away from his face, with a long coat and boots to match. It would seem to be the ideal combo for plodging through the snow, even if the knees of his trousers are a tad wet - perhaps from falling, or perhaps from kicked-up water as a result of his meandering. And meandering is about the right word for it, as he walks seemingly aimlessly, occasionally kicking at the snow as he approaches K'del - to whom he nods and smiles with lopsided shyness, once he gets within a decent distance of the man. "S-sir," he greets, touching two fingers to the brim of his hat in a sort of salute. Even in his heavy coat, with a wool hat on his head and a scarf around his neck, K'del is a recognisable man: he was Weyrleader for more than a decade, after all, and his height and looks are certainly distinctive. He's not surprised, then, by Nicky's greeting, though his mouth twitches just slightly about the corners. "Afternoon," he says, pausing in his progress-- and for good reason, too, it seems, since he promptly kneels to lace his boot, something easier said than done given the wet, mostly frozen state of his laces. "Don't slip. There's ice patches, that direction." He indicates behind him with a turn of his head and a nod, an easy gesture. With his gaze drawn to the spot behind K'del where there is apparently treacherous ice, Nicky wrinkles his nose. "O-oh. Thank you, sir. There's some, um..." He turns around behind him, wiggling fingers to indicate the area that he's just come from, too - not quite around the curve of the lake, but rather off to one side. "And some, um, near the Craft Area, too." Shifting one leg forward to be able to see a dampened knee, he winces a little and rubs at what looks like a few remaining snowflakes, possibly ice chips, that are still clinging to the fabric of his trousers. "I-I, e-er, found that out the hard way." "Ice everywhere," says K'del, with the edge of a laugh in there. "Guess that's about what you have to expect, this time of Turn. You didn't hurt yourself, I hope?" He's still kneeling, still battling with his shoelace, but now his attention is lifting back towards Nicky, regarding him with what certainly seems to be genuine concern. "It can be pretty treacherous." "N-no, sir. More pride than, um, anything else... maybe I'll have a bruise?" One of Nicky's knees seems to be wetter than the other, and is the one he favours with a moment or two of rubbing before straightening his gangly, coltish body out and slipping his gloved hands into his pockets. "Nothing I can't live through, sir." He offers the man a crooked smile that could be intended to reassure that he really is ok, while he watches with the lace-fiddling. "Um... e-excuse me, sir, but... um. You w-were the W-Weyrleader, right? Before..." There's an uncomfortable twitching of the teen's nose and a tweak of his shoulders; a non-commital half-shrug to fill in the gap where he doesn't explain himself. K'del's nod acknowledges Nicky's answer to his question, though his expression has already turned hard to read - and becomes steadily harder still when faced with that question. He doesn't have an immediate answer to it; indeed, his gaze lowers, refocusing in upon his shoelace as though it is the most important thing in his world at present. Finally, and only as his hands draw away again, and he begins to rise once more, he confirms, "I was." It's stiff, and if Nicky knew him better (or at all), he'd probably find it out of character-- but he follows it up by a rueful smile. "And now I'm just a rider, so there's no need to call me 'sir'." Nicky perhaps picks up on the stiffness of that tone, as he shuffles his weight uncomfortably, squinting down the length of his nose down to his large feet. "I-I grew up calling men s-sir, sir, and y-you ought to still be called by th-that, i-if it's ok? O-or I can stop." The latter part is added almost as an afterthought, tagged onto the end in a 'just in case' manner. He clears his throat, blowing out a soft plume of breath that freezes in the air before him. "M-may I share an opinion with you?" Something in K'del's expression relents, his smile turning both more genuine, and perhaps a little apologetic, too. He tucks his hands back into the pockets of his coat, and says, "Of course you can-- as long as you share your name, too." His tone is very nearly teasing. "If it makes you more comfortable to call me 'sir', then by all means, continue. Wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything." "Nicky, sir. I'm N-Nicky." The long-limbed teen removes his hand from his pocket to offer it to the bronzerider, a coy smile tweaking up one corner of his mouth in an affable, if somewhat watery smile. "M-my folks drilled 'sir' and 'ma'am' into my head, sir, a-and most in the Crafts I work with prefer it. Um..." He licks at his lips nervously, chewing on the lower one as he casts his gaze almost furtively around them. Then his voice lowers, and he leans just a fraction towards the older man. "If I m-may, sir, I... um... I-I think y-you would have been, um, better to be --" The farrier-in-training looks around them again, then swallows down his stutter-causing nerves as best he can to continue, "W-Weyrleader, s-sir... um... s-so they say b-back home." It's easy to switch the blame to those not present! K'del takes Nicky's hand within his own, gloved fingers, shaking firmly: he's got a strong grip, one that implies business - or would, if he were attempting to make a deal at this particular moment. Nicky's shared opinion seems to please him, though, because his expression suddenly lights-- as much amused as it is anything else. "Do they now," he says, not a question. "And you agree with them? Nicky. Because you are allowed to have your own opinions... and you live here, now, so you've probably got a better view of everything than the people back home do." He pauses, just for a moment, then adds, "Won't be offended if you think differently." Nicky's own grip is firm, with the suggestion of more strength held back during the exchange. He seems relieved by K'del's reaction, his shoulders loosening up a little and his smile coming a little easier as a result. "They d-do, sir. I-I..." A pause, long enough for his Adam's apple to bob as he swallows, stalling for what he's about to say. "I-if it's ok, sir, I think, um, W-Weyrleaders sh-should be..." His fingers flex anxiously by his thigh, before he slips his hands into his pockets - they're balled into fists, if the bulges where they rest are anything to judge by. When he gets it together to continue, his voice is dropped low, almost a whisper - that cracks midsentence, in the manner a teen boy's voice is wont to do. "Sh-should be bronzeriders. Sir." It certainly seems, from K'del's expression, that he approves of the strength of Nicky's grip, though it's entirely possible he's a little surprised by it - probably due to the proximity of verbal uncertainty. Nonetheless, his smile is broad, and again, genuinely pleased, as he listens to the young man's answer. "That's my opinion, too," he agrees. "Not because there's anything wrong with brownriders, mind, but it seems like if you go down that slope, who says that a Greenrider shouldn't be Weyrwoman?" A logical fallacy if ever there was one, but perhaps he's not entirely serious. Or perhaps he is. Above, Cadejoth banks, sending the bronzerider's gaze upwards, an affectionate smile playing across his mouth. Following K'del's gaze, Nicky nudges back the brim of his hat to look at the bronze up above, too. He doesn't look for long, though there's a hint of a smile - accompanied by a suggestion of more confidence - when he drops his gaze from the sky down to the snowy toes of his boots. "N-nothing /wrong/ with them sir, n-no. There's nothing wrong with, um, /anyone/, a-and p-people sh-should be able to make their own, um, paths... b-but a Weyrleader o-ought to be a... a man." There's an awkward, uncomfortable roll of one shoulder in a half-shrug, as he looks to the rider for the hopeful approval of his opinion. "N-not that women c-can't do things th-that a m-man can, but... b-but it shouldn't be t-two women, um..." The train of thought, wherever it was going, fades into silence - perhaps Nicky's hoping K'del can fill in the blanks? "But it helps to have a balance between the two?" That's K'del's offering, made as he turns his attention back towards his younger companion. "One man, one woman, working together. It's tradition, and that's not always reason to keep doing something, but it's also common sense - in my opinion." He looks rueful all over again, as though in admitting that he's also acknowledging how it can be taken. Still, he seems to be in good company for these opinions, for now. "What do you do about the place, Nicky? It's obvious you're newish, I think? You obviously don't come from here." "Balance, sir, that's it. Balance." Nicky nods, lifting his hand to brush an escaped curl out of his eyes and back under the brim of his hat. "Tr-tradition becomes tradition for a reason, th-though it's sometimes g-good for it to change... but s-sometimes things should stay the same, b-because they're best that way." He seems to gain a little confidence from their similar opinion of things. "I'm here training with my u-uncle, sir. W-wel... /finishing/ my training. As a farrier. Maybe another turn or so and I'll be done, th-then I'll be p-probably go home again, sir. I've only been here... maybe two months, now? J-just under that, perhaps." K'del nods, again approvingly. "Guess we'll see for ourselves, this time, whether tradition is - in this case - for the best," he remarks, surprisingly neutral. "Not that a different brownrider - or set of brownriders - couldn't change it, perhaps, but... it's not so much that brownriders can't lead as that perhaps it's better to stick with bronzeriders, for any number of reasons." One of his hands escapes from confines of pockets so that he can reach up and adjust the hat on his head. "A farrier, huh," he says, his voice taking on a certain far-away note; he's glancing up again, tracking the bronze who is sweeping lower and lower to the ground. "You like the work?" "Yessir, I do. It's the p-perfect balance for me; I like runners, but all that Beastcraftery s-stuff is too much for me to want to learn, a-and I w-wanted to be a Smith like my uncle, b-but didn't want to do all the A-apprentice work... th-this way, I can work with runners /and/ work metal, too." It's perhaps the most confident, certain thing he's said during the whole conversation - certainly, Nicky's eyes brighten and his smile is a little firmer as he says it. "My da says it's honest w-work, and it'll c-come in useful on the farm when I'm d-done training, sir. We get a l-lot of runners come through home, p-plus those what work the herds." Seeming faintly distracted, K'del nods his acknowledgement to Nicky's explanations; his smile has dimmed, somewhat, and turned thoughtful and serious. "Sounds like an ideal mix," he remarks, genuine despite whatever else it is that's on his mind. "I-- look. Not even sure I should tell you, since you're happy with what you're doing, and I hate to complicate things or distract you or--" He breaks off, digging the other hand out of his pocket and putting both behind his back, hands loosely clasped. "Cadejoth's never been much of a search dragon, but he thinks you're interesting. No obligation to say yes, but if you wanted to..." More than ever, he seems uncertain, as though he's not sure what answer he wants to hear. Nicky's eyes widen for a moment, before narrowing in what would seem to be confusion. Where K'del takes his hands from his pockets, the teen digs both of his deeper into his own, the flex of his fingers within them visible against the fabric of his coat. He chews on his lip for a moment, before venturing a tentative, confirmation-seeking "/W-wanted/ to... wh-what, sir?" While he bites down on his bottom lip, his brows furrow beneath the brim of his hat, low over the glimmer of confusion - and possible hope? - in his brown eyes. K'del's cheeks pinken with sudden embarrassment. "Stand," he explains, hurriedly. "For the clutches on the sands. I-- only if you really want to. Not because you feel obligated, or anything like that. It's-- just an option." For a tall man, for a man who spent so much time as Weyrleader, he seems amazingly uncertain and awkward, as though he'd rather sink into the ground and disappear, right about now. Add that awkwardness to Nicky's, and there's a whole lot of it between the two of them. "/Oh/," the trainee farrier says, his eyes wide once more, shadowed as they are by his hat. He runs his tongue quickly over his lips to moisten them in his prolonged moment of silence, before one corner of his mouth is tweaked by the beginning of a smile... that just keeps on growing as he starts to nod his head slowly at first, but with increased enthusiasm that leads to a surprised little laugh. "I-I think I'd like that, s-sir." It's hard to tell if Nicky's answer pleases K'del or not; he lets out a little breath, one that almost tries to be a laugh, but doesn't quite manage it. "I haven't just ruined your chance of enjoying your profession, have I? There's no guarantee of Impression, you know that, right? So-- it could all be for nothing." Not that he can entirely withstand the power of that smile - the hint of one, pleased and proud, begins to twitch around the corners of his mouth. "Oh, oh n-no, sir, no." Nicky shakes his head, that smile flattening out into an almost-pout. "The f-forge will always been there, sir, a-and the runners, too. H-having the honour to be a c-candidate m-might not, sir - b-but I don't have much kn-knowledge of dragons, sir, o-or of the Weyr, though I'm learning! Is that... um, is that ok?" He almost looks as if he regrets his little confession once it's out, as a flash of worry crosses his expression. "G-guarantee or not, s-sir... I'd be h-honoured to have the chance." Finally, this answer seems to more or less satisfy K'del, because his smile is increasingly unrestrained. "Oh no," he says. "Believe it or not, I was once in a pretty similar position to you-- no experience at all, before I was Searched. You'll learn." His gaze slides up towards his bronze again, but only for a moment. "You'll do just fine. You'll need to move your things to the candidate barracks, and report in to the Headwoman, or one of her staff. They'll tell you anything you need to know. Congratulations... candidate." The crooked smile that Nicky offers K'del suggests that he's certainly willing to learn. "Th-thank you, sir! And thank you to Ca-Cadejoth, too..." He echoes the bronzerider's glance upwards for a few brief seconds, before looking down once more and grinning at his toes. "I'll need t-to tell my uncle! He'll be... /oh/, h-happy, I think. H-he told me once that he wanted to be a r-rider, when he was y-younger - I c-can't wait to tell him. Sh-shall I go m-move my things and report in now, sir?" "I hope he's as happy as you think he will be," says K'del, with only a hint of quiet concern - a hint that he hurriedly brushes away in order to smile indulgently at Nicky. "Go on," he agrees. "Anyway, it's cold out here. Imagine our Weyrwomen would be most unimpressed if one of their new candidates ended up in the Infirmary with pneumonia before he even had a chance to stand. Go on. And good luck." Nicky laughs, pulling his hands out from his pockets to give K'del much the same hat-touch salute that he did when their paths first crossed. "Y-yes sir, I'll get myself indoors a-and settled in out of the cold." His polite head-bob is a little exaggerated due to his enthusiasm - echoed by the wide, goofy smile that shows off the gap between his too-big front teeth. "Th-thank you again, sir. I-I'll try to make you p-proud." A repeat of that semi-salute, and off the trainee farrier-cum-candidate goes! |
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Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Sun, 17 Feb 2013 20:23:38 GMT.
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Congrats Nicky! :3
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