Logs:Iovniath Does Not Look...Happy
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| RL Date: 8 July, 2011 |
| Who: Beven, Emmeline, Meara |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Meara meets Emmeline and Beven. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 3, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Tiriana/Mentions |
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| Sheer, unadulterated curiousity drew Emmeline out to the galleries. After missing all the partying and proverbal fireworks, she could at least check out for herself if the fuss was worth it. So there she is, leaning over the rail as if that's actually going to help her see /inside/ those sac-like ovoids on the sand. Beven comes up into the galleries to get a peek at the eggs, whistling ever so softly to himself as he looks out onto the sands once he's found a seat out of the way. Down on the sands, Iovniath is stalking warily, Cadejoth nestled not far away, though his tail keeps tapping against the sand in an agitated kind of way. No one in the galleries seems /too/ concerned, though: there's a low buzz of conversation amidst the other occupants, along with the gentle shuffle of footsteps as people come and go. Meara's steps are lighter than most, and take her all the way down to the front section, not far from Emmeline. "I'd be wary, if I were you," she says, conversationally. She's middle-aged, but looks youthful, still: her expression is amused. "Iovniath does not look... happy." "Like rider like dragon, then?" Emme suggests, keeping her voice understandably low given the comment, and accompanies it with a smile for the woman. "Evenng, ma'am." She does take the hint to pull back up a little, which also makes it easier to given Beven a nod of greeting when he passes by her. "So how long do they sit on the sands for? Do they get any bigger? Or is that pretty much... it." Beven hmms a little and he blinks a bit as he hears Meara's comments and then Emmeline's and he just stays very quiet and out of the way, though he does offer a salute to the gold if she happens to look up at the galleries, not that she'll probably even see it, but respect is always a good thing if a dragon is... irritable. Meara's low chortle is accompanied by a gleam in her eyes for all that she says, "Now, now. Iovniath's a very nice dragon, actually - but she's a new mother, and there has been--" She trails off, shaking her head. "Let's just say that there's good reason for it. Not having noticed Beven, she makes no acknowledgement of him. Instead, she drops into a seat down in that front row, and adds, "They'll be on the sands a couple of months. They'll get harder over time, but they won't grow or anything, no. I'm Meara. And you are?" "I've never actually met her, so I believe I'll take your word for it." the girl decides, turning 'round so she can face Meara as the woman takes a seat nearby. "Though I have to tell you, dangling a half bit of information in front of a harper apprentice like that is sheer cruelty." See? Pained expression. All Beven's salute earns from Emme is a comically quizzical expression. "What are you saluting?" Blink. "Sorry Meara. I'm Emmeline. Ah... well met. And your knot. Wait, let me see if I can remember." Chewing on her lower lip for a moment, her brow furrows in heavy concentration. "Weyrlingmaster.... I think?" with head angled to try and count the loop and tassel combination a bit better. Beven hmms and looks over at Emmeline, "You never know what she might be looking at, and better to be nice and respectful than have her upset at me for something." he murmurs back at the girl, "I'm Beven." not realizing or maybe ignoring that the name wasn't given to him, but to Meara, "Nice to meet you both." he says pleasantly before pulling out a scrap of hide and he starts making notes on the eggs, "Da will probably just throw this away, but who knows." "In this mood, I'm not sure she'll notice," remarks Meara, easily, though her gaze has gone back to the queen with a certain amount of narrowing. "But it never hurts to be polite. Emmeline - well met, by the way - I'm sure you'll find out everything in due course. Word always does get around. And yes: Weyrlingmaster. Well done. I'm the one who'll end up training those eggs out there, once they turn into dragons." Her gaze flicks on towards Beven, but aside from her brief nod, she adds nothing more to him. "Huh. Interesting." Thus, Emmeline futher cements the obviousness that she's not xactly weyr bred. "Word does get around." she agrees, aother brief smile apearing. "Though somehow it always changes from person to person in the telling." There's another look out at the eggs, and back at Meara. Then the eggs, and the woman once again. "Do you enjoy yur job, then? It must be difficult, training a newly hatched dragon and then grown person as the rider. I hear we're more stubborn and set in our ways as we reach the maximum age for impression." Beven hmms and he scoots a bit closer to the pair, interested in the conversation even as he's writing notes, multitasking with the best of them. "Broody queens can be very dangerous. Been here all my life, seen my fair share of hatchings, not everyone comes off the sands unscathed, so best to always show respect, whether in the galleries, or on the sands. Especially on the sands, not that I've ever stood, but my best friend Gradina, she stood several times and she always told me Queens are scary when you are near their eggs." Meara's remark is firm: "There haven't been any real injuries in some time now, and I intend to keep it that way. I doubt Iovniath will hurt anyone." She seems pretty convinced of that, for some reason, though she distracts herself from it by tossing some hair out of her eyes. "I do like my job, yes. It's-- not always age that makes the difference, though. Some people are more set in their ways, in general. Some bonds are more difficult than others. Some /dragons/ are more difficult than others. It changes, every time. I think that's what I like best: that it's always different." Emmeline suddenly looks alarmed. "Wait, back up. People get /injured/. Even up here!?" Yes, that was pretty near a squeak. "And they actually want people to go out there on the sand willingly?" First she looks at Beven, and then at Meara. The woman's competence and firm tone do wonders to calm the panic in the poor exiles eyes. That, and the continued talk of the job itself. "I can see why it would be a job you could do all the time, if it keeps changing." she agrees then, still looing a bit wary. Beven hmms and he blinks a bit, "Don't think I've ever seen anyone in the stands get hurt, but hatchlings are clumsy, just like any newborn baby." he says with a shrug of his shoulders, "Even baby runners can hurt someone when they are learning to walk good and proper. And herdbeast calves, talk about lumbering around and being clumsy." "Up here?" Meara's head shakes firmly: no, no, no. "Not up here. On the sands, during the hatching - well, it /has/ happened, but not often. But you're perfectly safe up here. We usually get the candidates onto the sands to get more used to the experience," she adds. "So that they're calmer, come hatching day. And we do classes." She gives Beven a short nod, agreeing, "Just right. Clumsy, confused - all of that." More smoothly, with a definite note of 'changing the subject', she continues, "I think variety is something we all need in our jobs, don't you?" Emmeline latches on to the change of subject like a barnacle on a ship's hull. Whether she believes what she's now being told or not is another story entirely, but at least the girl seems quite willing to let it drop. "I suppose so. Variety, I mean. I know it's been nice to learn more about the areas of being a harper that I had no idea about, on the Island. Does that count as variety?" And to Beven, "What craft or job do you have, if I can ask?" Beven smirks, "Oh I get plenty of variety in my training as an apprentice, specially during the winter, I get a choice, clean the wherry barn, the runner stalls or the herdbeast stalls, how's that for variety?" he says in a teasing tone, eyes twinkling just a bit. 'The island'. If Meara hadn't worked it out, earlier, she certainly has now: she nods, cheerfully. "So," she puts in, glancing at Beven, "You're an Apprentice. Beastcraft, from the sound of it? And you're a harper," she adds, this time to Emmeline. "All these smart people around me; goodness. I never quite had the motivation for that kind of thing, when I was your age." "A choice in the rankness of scent, I'm guessing." Emme decides, with a dry tone. "Can't say I envy you /those/ choices." she admits, failng in her attempt to stop the wrinkled nose she makes. "Yes ma'am. Junior Apprentice." Which apparently makes the younger Beven of higher rank then her. A situation she's had to grow rapidly used to. "How would it make you less smart to be teaching young dragons? I would think it takes intelligence to be able to do that. Am I missing something?" Beven nods and laughs a bit, "Well, mine wasn't so much motivation as da's a journeyman beastcrafter. He's refused to walk to master status, not that they mind too much, he says he enjoys being posted at different places, so he's planning on staying a journeyman for a few more turns. He started me in on being part of the beastcraft from the time I was old enough to walk, so it just came natural like." Meara runs a hand through her hair and laughs. "My family were all crafters, and I think maybe I was supposed to join them, but..." She shrugs her shoulders, easily. "Isath came along, instead. Which worked out all the better for me." She's obviously listening intently to both the apprentices, but explains, rather than asking more questions, "I fell into Weyrlingmastering, too, frankly. I'm not saying I'm stupid, I promise. But it's a different kind of smart." "Yes, I can understand that." Emme agrees, nodding towards Beven. "Where I'm from, any craft knowledge was passed along only to the eldest of the bloodline. In my case it went through my great-grandmother, to my grandmother, my mother... and now me. But I guess you could say it's all been a, ah, hybrid version of the actual craft as it's practiced out here." That probably makes no sense to anyone but her. But, at least it gets across that her craft wasn't entirely her own choice either. "I think it sounds interesting. Though, I couldn't see myself being able to work well with animals. We only had fish where I lived. I wouldn't even know where to start. And dragons, well..." No, she just shakes her head. Beven nods, "Yeah well that would be me, da doesn't have any other family except me and my ma and him were't married, she's a greenrider at one of the Weyrs, I never met her, but da came here when I was about two turns old I'd guess and been here ever since. He recently got posted to Crom Hold so he left here during the summer, but I like High Reaches and decided to stay and finish out my training here. So guess I qualify for the oldest of the bloodline after him." The rambling, run-on nature of Beven's sentences makes Meara go briefly cross-eyed and hesitant, but she shakes it off in order to nod. "I like High Reaches, too. I Impressed at Telgar, but-- here is home. It's best." To Emmeline she adds, "I'm glad it seems like you /like/ your craft, at least. Given that you're following it even now that you don't /need/ to. Good for you. Well," she glances from one to the other. "If you'll excuse me? I have some things to do, and Isath is being twitchy." Beven blinks a bit, "Twitchy? Never considered that a dragon could be twitchy. I know runners and herdbeasts get that way, and wherries, well those things are just flightier than a gold rising." he says with a shake of his head and a grin to Meara, "Nice to meet you Ma'am and you and your lifemate have a good evening." Emmeline flashes a broad smile at Meara. "I /do/ like my craft. It's helped me keep my sanity while we adjust to all this." Her hand gestures broadly across the hatching cavern, and is followed by a nod of agreement. "Pleasure to meet you. Both of you, that is. I should be getting back to the classroom now." More studying to do! "My regards to Isath." she adds politely, after a moment taken to recall the nicety. "Dragons can be anything they want to be," says Meara, firmly. "And right now? Isath is twitchy." She draws herself up to her feet and inclines her head towards them both. "A pleasure to meet you both. And thank you." And then? She's gone. |
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