Logs:Calling
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| RL Date: 4 October, 2015 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Z'kiel, Ahtzudaeth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ahtzudaeth likes how Jocelyn looks. A Search happens - maybe? |
| Where: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Windy, rainy, sleety, and gross. |
| Mentions: Jounine/Mentions |
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>---< Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#250RJs) >-----------------------------<
The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only
sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of
daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond,
allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven
jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late
afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the
bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far
north.
Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward
to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by
more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground
here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in
spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most
frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the
Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching
sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.
Wind, rain, and snow combine to make for miserable, sleety weather today. The weather is approximately the precipitation equivalent of ten gallons of herdbeast manure shoved into a five gallon bucket. It's just a bad time for everyone involved, frankly. There is a slight lull in the onslaught of wind and rain and sleet, but it's a lull that isn't destined to last terribly long. Ahtzudaeth is hunkered in the bowl a dragonlength or two from the entrance of the living cavern, one wing partially spread to provide shelter to his rider. Inconveniently, Z'kiel is on the opposite side of the bronze, away from the living cavern, and he's busy pulling bags down from the beast's straps. He is not amused. Ahtzudaeth, for his part, seems amused, gauging from the whirl and hue of his eyes. Wrapped into the thick bundle of layers and coats that make up traditional High Reaches winter garb, complete with one of those fur-lined hoods to provide some sort of headcover against the wintry assault, a figure is steadily making its way through the ongoing sleet from the other side of the bowl. Its hands are stuffed deep into pockets and head, bent as a slow but steady stride brings its owner toward the western end of the caldera. Apparently headed in the direction of the lower caverns, its progress slows as it gets within speaking distance of bronze and unamused rider, scarf wrapped tightly enough about its face to reveal little save for a pair of light eyes. "If that delivery's for the caverns, I can help carry it in." Jocelyn's alto is considerably muffled by the scarf about nose and mouth, never mind that the wind could carry her words easily away. The wind might well waft those words away, but Ahtzudaeth is aware and he swings his great head around to study Jocelyn. His maw gapes in a grin and his other wing unfurls to offer some shelter to her as well. Z'kiel grunts something, but it's (un)fortunately muffled by his heavy jacket. He shoulders several of the bags and it takes a low warbling - no, a chortling - from his better half to get the man to look around. Hnnnh. "Sure. This one and this one," two other bags are hefted in a hand as he eventually steps around the bronze beast. "For the kitchen," he explains further. Jocelyn shifts to duck under the offered cover of that unfurling wing, stepping forward to take the two additional bags once Z'kiel's brought them around. Gloved hands emerge from her pockets to heft the bags up to her own shoulder, hooded head dipping in an acknowledging nod. "Alright, " is her verbal agreement as she resumes her trek toward the entrance to the caverns, glancing back briefly at her draconic observer. "Tell him I said thank you for the momentary shelter, " are her first words once they reach the threshold where the sounds of the elements begin to break in favor of the indoors. The bronzerider sucks his teeth and nods, waiting until Jocelyn has the bags securely shouldered before he starts after her. But, as they start toward the caverns, they're not alone. Ahtzudaeth lumbers after, his steps light - for a bronze, anyway - but his interest obvious and keen on something. Another chortle escapes him, his maw still gaped just that little bit. Jocelyn's words are noted with a grunt from Z'kiel, but his features tighten a little and he cuts a look back at the beast. "It was a pleasure," is probably a direct translation, said in a tone that's clearly reserved for such things. A beat. Then a deep furrowing of his brow precedes: "Says he wants to ask you something." All for preceding fully indoors to get out of the weather, Jocelyn nevertheless pauses when the desire to make an inquiry is relayed. The set of her shoulders shifts, even if the movement is difficult to ascertain through all of those layers. "We should get these to their destination, " businesslike as ever. "If it's a quick question ... ?" Still, there's an almost uncertain slant to her gaze as she turns slightly to face the bronzerider more fully, insomuch as she can. Looming behind the tall Igenite is the dark, sharp visage of Ahtzudaeth - and his eyes are terribly bright. His maw gapes a little wider when Jocelyn looks back, but it doesn't take much for Z'kiel to step, just so, and block out the view. "It's quick," he grates out. "The bags are weather-proofed," in case that's the concern. But. Deadpan, he intones: "He wants to know if you're ready." The words come slowly. Carefully. "For the eggs. No," he stops, frowns, and tries again, "For the ones in the eggs. The hatching?" That's half-asked over his shoulder at the bronze who is, for his part, trying to use a wing to shield them from the return of the wind and rain and nastiness. "I think that's what he's asking. If you're ready for the hatching." Shoulders tensed in unease relax slightly; this question, she can handle. "We'll be ready, of course, " is Jocelyn's reply, short and quick. "It's mostly a matter of following a good routine the day they're ready, and managing the candidate class between now and then." A roll of one shoulder allows the bags to be brought down as she ducks just inside the entrance to rest them against a wall before pulling off her gloves and starting to unwrap that scarf. "Do these need to go into cold storage?" "No," is emphatic. Vehement, even. It's dialed down a bit, but only to answer her question, "No. Dry goods. And-" Another glance back ends up with Z'kiel sucking his teeth and grimacing. "No," is in that strange, vehement tone. "Are you ready? He's-" There's a shake of his head, a dark glare angled over his still-burdened shoulder, and a loud chortling from the bronze. Almost a proper laugh. Almost. "He says you don't look ready. You're missing something. Here." He points at her shoulder, where a knot presumably already hangs. Reaching down to take up the bags again, Jocelyn automatically straightens to glance down at the aforementioned shoulder, brow creasing as one hand quickly pushes back the hood of her outer coat so that she can better aim a narrow look at Z'kiel. "Well, assure him that I am wearing my knot today, even if it isn't visible under all of these layers. I won't abandon protocol the day of, if that's what's bothering him." "No. That's not-" Oh, the frustration. The normally calm former hunter is getting flustered - but it's not at her. "You should get a new knot from the Headwoman." Context leaves the phrase to hang oddly until he has something to hang it on. Z'kiel continues slowly, as if struggling to parse whatever's coming in, "If you want to Stand. Your face- he sees you differently. He sees..." Hnnnh. A shoulder rises. Falls. A helpless thing; words have failed him. And then he straightens, shoulders squared and hands resting on the straps of his bags. "He's calling - and he thinks they are, too. He says they are," but on that point, he sounds dubious. Ahtzudaeth chuffs - and, by Rukbat, if he doesn't sound smug. That dubiousness fades in favor of a much firmer, much more solid: "Will you answer?" "A new knot. From Jounine." Skepticism laces the assistant headwoman's tone up until the bronzerider continues. And then she goes still, regret and discomfort warring briefly over her face. "I answered that call as a child, " she says quickly, but her voice doesn't hold completely steady. "I didn't - " One hand lifts as if to reach in Ahtzudaeth's direction and promptly drops again with a tremble. "I'd have to discuss this with someone who wears a bigger knot if I'm to give it any consideration, " she says after a long moment, the tempo of her speech brisk once more. "I understand there will need to be as large an available number of options for the clutches as possible, but I don't want there to be a - conflict of interest." To go from managing the candidates to being among their number might prove more than just a little awkward. "It's your life," Z'kiel replies evenly. He steps aside a little, just enough to allow the bronze to poke his head in a bit. "Your choice. The Weyr will not crumble if you say yes. Jounine will find more to help her." A beat. Then: "They will not take away your turnday." That's with a sidelong, and very confused, look to Ahtzudaeth. Maybe that's a translation that should have stayed internal. "There are twenty eight eggs out there." A dip of his chin, a grunt. "It's your choice whether to stand with them or not. You'll have to go to the Headwoman for the knot anyway. He doesn't think she'll protest. I don't, either." "Some people wouldn't mind losing a birthing day, " and Jocelyn allows some dry humor to color her words, however briefly. She sobers again, lifting both bags back up to her shoulder. "You have my word that I'll think about it, " she says to what she can see of the bronze, before turning back to his rider with lifted eyebrows. "Dry goods, you said. I'll go ahead and take these two down." There's a throaty sound, a near-grunt, from Z'kiel - and that's that, ultimately. Ahtzudaeth settles where he is, forepaws crossed just so while he watches and for as long as he can watch, at any rate. Despite the young woman's words, the beast still looks terribly amused at something or another. The once-Igenite lifts his chin, wordlessly motioning Jocelyn onward and he'll follow with his bags in tow. |
Comments
Alida (20:24, 4 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
More luvs for Ahtzudaeth! ;D
Z'kiel (19:42, 6 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
Of course he'd have to make it difficult for Z'kiel to explain. Because why make it easy, when he can make it fun?
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