Logs:Anchored
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| RL Date: 3 April, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Faryn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two girls, in different places, experience the explosion, and use each other as anchors during the chaos. |
| When: Day 5, Month 6, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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| "It ain't nothing to worry about, they says. If'n you're askin' me, I'd say it's one hell of a problem. Imagine, all them littles. Holders--" There's some clucking from the various women in the laundry, of ages from twenties to middling, while they work around the sinks, washing and rinsing. Occasionally, an odd, loud laugh breaks out from the groups focused on their tasks-and gossip. That's what they do the best; those laundresses love their gossip. A few are talking of the upcoming nuptials of Benden's Matthias and that woman, Nalisse, or of the meat shortages, or even of the traditionalist movement at Igen under F'rain. Stuck on rinsing and drying duty, Farideh's only half-listening, her hands wrinkled and reddened from the wash water, her face drawn from a long day spent tidying other people's clothing. She glances up from the towels she's wringing out, to mark the thick-cheeked woman with the graying mouse-brown hair who is busy giving an accounting of Nimae's malicious nature according to a cousin of her cousin's cousin. This time of day is all about finishing up, wrapping up tasks, putting away gear and filtering like ants, to and fro from weyr to bowl, from baths to caverns, from bowl to quarters. For the herders, things aren't quite done; there are herds to be counted, beasts to be marked for slaughter, runners to finish their daily exercise, troughs to fill; it's not a small wonder these particular crafters are often late to meals, but there are other lives to care for. Faryn's drawn a good lot in that regime today, guiding a chestnut colored runner to the stables and putting it to bed. There's no gossip, in the stables; it's not by rule, just nature, and the horses don't care about who's marrying whom, even when they're to pull carriages or wagons for the ceremonies. It is this that the apprentice likes. There is routine to it - fresh hay, cool water, the ache in her palms as she rubs a beast down to keep them walking the next day. A serving of oats. Checking hooves for stones and loose shoes, and murmurs of affection that nobody else really hears. Sometimes, there's even laughter when one of the horses gets close enough to mouth at Faryn's hair or clothes. "Yes, I'll be back tonight," is her assurance, even as she ducks away and out of the stall. A muted thump is felt throughout the Weyr, as if a giant were stomping in the far far distance. It's dismissible by many who are in places with too many people around. Less so if you're alone. If you notice. You wait. You listen. But nothing else twinges funny. Maybe it was just your imagination. The laughter from the laundress, and the dull talk from those in the bathing pools and cavern, dies down after the thump. Quiet reigns for once, while everyone waits, everyone listens for another sound to follow, or some telltale sound of disaster or distraught. Farideh straightens from her task, green-brown eyes flying to the entrance of the cavern, though her brow furrows in confusion. She lets the towel slide open in her slack fingers, but soon, the many voices of the laundry pick back up, and everyone shrugs off the one-off sound as just one of those things. The rugs are in the tack room, near the back, and getting them is always a chore with how high they hang. For Faryn's height, it requires a stool and good balance to acquire one, both of which she has, and eventually she's lowered the dark red blanket and is making her way back to her charge with it draped over her shoulder. The sound is louder, here, but not quite loud enough to forestall her more than a moment. That being the case, it's the runners who have her on edge, when she notices their agitation: tossing their heads and dancing with a little awkwardness in their small quarters. "Hey, shh," she says, to the beasts at large. A couple turn to her with wide, spooked eyes; the others don't acknowledge her at all. Her face sets into a frown, and she drapes the rug over the nearest door, standing on tip-toes to reach up and gently touch the runner inside, offering comfort and trying to calm it. "Shh. One of the dragons probably landed hard outside, that's all. You're fine, shh." The seconds pass into minutes, and when most people have shrugged off the thump as nothing to be concerned about, a low rumbling BOOOOOOOOOOOM is audible within the lower caverns. Even if you don't hear it, you most certainly feel it, this fine evening just before dinner. Whatever this second event is vibrates the very floor you stand on, the walls you cling to, the knick knacks on your shelves. It isn't quite so shocking as to unbalance most, but it is distinct and certainly not your imagination. "That bitch'd sooner throw u--" but the words fade under the onslaught of that BOOM, more so with the laundry being part of the lower caverns. Before the sound has even stopped, people are screaming, others are jumping out of the pools and running for their clothes. Some of the laundresses, a tad more cowardly than their stouter compatriots, cling to each other in distress. The damp towel drops from Farideh's hands, her eyes lifting to the ceiling, as if anticipating the whole thing to come down upon them in the next instant. She has a moment of clear panic: her eyes widening, her heart thumping wildly in her chest, her breathing labored and raspy. She's frozen to the spot, unable to move, despite the vibrating floor and screams from just outside as weyrfolk rush to safety; from whatever it is. Someone grabs her by the elbow - a middle-aged laundress with a stern face - and pulls Farideh out of her own head, prodding her towards the doorway. It's a mad dash once there, with everyone pressing to get out and away. The runners might have had something to do with that soothing --the runner in question has already calmed, and Faryn's moved to the next, convincing it to lean gently into her hand while she pets his velvety nose -- and then comes a real roar of sound, so much louder and more jarring than before. Faryn, on her tip-toes jerks with sudden surprise, falling to the flats of her feet and taking a step back, which is just fine, because the horses in the stables are suddenly frantic like there is fire at their backs. They scream and kick their stalls, one of them rears and lashes violently at the air, and Faryn has a short moment to be relived that the animals are locked up, and that she's not on any of their backs. Her voice is assertive when she tries again to calm them, "Oi, no, stop!" They're not hearing it, and she's not staying when she nearly takes a hoof to the temple. They're safe here, at least; she's already scanning the stables for anything that might have changed, and there is nothing - the ground is solid, the roof overhead has not lost integrity, and at this rate it seems they might be more likely to do their own damage. Still, she's drawn out of the stables for help, her concern clear on her face. What on Pern? There. The Weyr itself seems to sigh, and there's one last low rumble before silence. The good kind? Those in the bowl suddenly see a few dragons who live above the Weyr entrance area skittering off their ledges, lifemates in various states of dress or undress in tow. There is a lot of wild sounds, babbling, and incoherent talk, as people stumble and run towards the bowl and assumed safety. It did sound like the boom came from the deeper bowels of the lower caverns, and so people are running away from that direction, naturally. After the woman lets go of Farideh's arm, she's left to be swept up with the rest, moving almost unthinking, though her eyes do scan those faces around her, looking for anyone familiar. When she makes it outside, she takes a deep breath of the fresh summer air. Safety? Clarity? Those things should come, but the dragons overhead and the cries of confused weyrfolk only add to her own anxiety, even as she takes a few stumble-steps backwards and continues to look for someone she knows, someone she can anchor herself to in this tempest. The bowl is chaos. Faryn's intention had been to find two or three other herders, enough to be a presence in the stables and calm the beasts, and maybe have company for dinner. It had been the plan because considering that something big, of any consequence, had happened was more than she wanted to address internally. It wasn't worth getting worried about until it was necessary; chances were, in this weyr, the sound had just been something silly. Except entering the bowl drew her into a crowd of panic, one that made her breathing quicken and her panic rise instantaneously despite the firm resolution she'd had upon arriving. The dragons were taking to the air, and all at once Faryn was turned around - only Rukbat's point in the evening sky kept her directionally sound, but it wasn't important. "What - " She's jarred by someone, and then another, and by the time she's bumped in the crowd several times is tense, alarmed, unsure of her own steps. Then - "Farideh!" It's unlike her, but Faryn reaches for the other girl quickly, snagging her sleeve and twisting out of the herd. In looking for an anchor, she's become one, however briefly. The dragons overhead are mesmerizing, but so is the sea of faces. None of the ones she's come to appreciate with time and affection are to be found. It's when someone snags her sleeve that the wild, unhinged quality to Farideh's face recedes under recognition. "Faryn!" Her hands reaches out to claim the other girl's, to try and link their fingers in a stronghold that would be hard to separate, given the strength in her usually fragile wrist. "What's happening?" anxious verdigris eyes scan the herder's face, and without speaking the words, she's asking for reassurance, for understanding. Maybe Faryn's just more panicked than she looks - her expression has settled slightly in finding someone, and she allows their hands to latch together without any protest; her own grip is firm in response, maybe even reassuring even when her words can't be. "I don't know," she admits, bumped again in the back but without the time or energy to devote glaring at them. Maybe she's just acutely aware that she's not the only one being bumped. "You heard it, didn't you? The rumble?" There is foolishness in the question - of course, she must have - but it doesn't process. Her eyes are dark as she scans the area, her forehead furrowed, tracking dragons leaving ledges and weyrfolk all at once, but not apparently processing any of it. Tension skitters through the crowd, increasing the longer their questions aren't answer, the longer that boom doesn't have a cause. Though, there are whispers and speculations, running from mouth to mouth, hand to hand. Squeezing the hand she's latched onto, Farideh, brow deeply furrowed, nods her head in an affirmative answer. "I was in the laundry and everything-- there was a boom, and the floor felt like-- it felt like-- I've never felt anything like that before," she says urgently, her eyes lit by fevered emotion and fear. "What if it was--" She bites down on her lip, ending that train of thought, and allowing her eyes to roam towards the caverns that people are still vacating. The murmuring silences the crowd keeps falling into are particularly uncomfortable for, and Faryn rocks back from them like that small distance is enough to keep it at bay. "In the stables, too. The runners...I was trying to find someone to help me settle them down, before they beat themselves to death in their stalls, but...." Not now, apparently. She glances once that direction, something sad in her eyes, but they're not the primary function in a weyr; they'll wait. The dragons, on the other hand, each carving paths in the sky as they vacate ledges, is worrisome, and their clear agitation isn't helping to calm her. She manages, anyways, to stand almost still, at least until Farideh's implication. Her eyes widen then, with sudden understanding, and the worry she was controlling well floods back into her eyes. "No," she says, with a modicum more confidence than she feels, "people are still coming out. I'm sure there's nobody...." Stuck, is what she might be ready to say. Or hurt. "Damn, why aren't you taller?" Her query is brisk, to change the subject, like Farideh's height somehow affects her own. "I can't see anything." "I don't know. I don't-- understand." Not a single word of the mumbling and rumoring makes a lick of sense to the candidate, who continues to wear her consternated expression. "Maybe it was just-- perhaps someone had--" Farideh squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head. "I don't know. I hope everyone's fine. It didn't sound good. It sounded like-- it sounded like the earth was opening up and swallowing the Weyr whole," which is absurd, but this teenage girl's mind will wander to most obscure things when she's completely terrified. "It will be fine, right? It'll be--" Her lips compress, her eyes lifting to Faryn's face. "Nothing bad's happened," and if she tells herself enough, perhaps she'll become convinced; it's positive at least. A very patient expression has settled on the herder's face, somewhere above that concern that keeps flitting through her eyes. Maybe it's having the younger candidate there looking for reassurance that pushes her towards being responsible, rational calm. Or maybe it's just her, compartmentalizing until an answer presents itself. "It didn't sound good, no, but whatever it was, someone will know what to do. They're dragonriders, right? Their job is to solve crises." The smile she gives is gentle, in a way. "It wasn't swallowing the earth. It was probably just an accident." She gives a tug of Farideh's hand. Giving them both a sense of purpose will probably help, which is likely the reason she says, "Come on, we'll see who we can find. Someone out here has to know something." "You're right-- they're dragonriders, they can-- fix anything." Farideh parrots hollowly, in a small voice, but seems to find resolve in the other girl's guarantees, in the tug of her hand. She follows where the herder leads, and that's to work to the crowd and seek answers amidst the chaos. |
Comments
K'del (21:51, 3 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
That was really lovely. Yay, more perspectives on what happened!
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