Logs:Bippy, Lippy and Brat-babble
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| RL Date: 24 January, 2016 |
| Who: Catling, Kh'tyr |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Catling's having trouble with her roommates. Kh'tyr offers advice. |
| Where: Solarium, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 11, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Blume/Mentions, Dahlia/Mentions, Maeva/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, Ninwayzan/Mentions, Olivya/Mentions, Relli/Mentions, Tranel/Mentions |
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>---< Solarium, Fort Weyr(#2156RJs$) >---------------------------------------<
Up at the top of the stairs, the light grows stronger where a landing
opens up and leads the way into a spacious, nearly perfectly round room
with smooth walls. Small groups of couches, chairs, and low tables are
arranged in a circle around the edge of the room, large circular rugs in
summer colours sat beneath each collection. The walls are mostly bare and
washed with a pale shade of cream, though one wall is dominated by the
shallow etching and pale lines that make up a vast tree with many
diverging branches. The main attraction to the room lies up above, the
roof made up of multiple panes of coloured glass that glow warmly when
even faint light filters through.
In winter or during stretches of particularly bad weather, the roof
shutters remain shut and the room is lit with a collection of glow-lamps,
the glass stained to match the panes above and mimic their usual effect.
At the back of the room, a wide doorway leads through a short passageway
to the Sanctuary.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Catling F 15 4'10" waiflike, copper hair, green eyes 9m
Kh'tyr M 33 5'9 solid, dk. brown hair, dk. brown eyes 0s Dusk often signals the dinner hour on Fort and tonight is no different. It means that the Solarium, even with it's convenient location near the Sanctuary and its variety of baked goods and hot drinks, is sparsely populated at this hour. It's nice for Kh'tyr who's stretched across the full length of one of the couches, his boots on the floor beside it, and apparently snoozing. It's a very bold or a very tired man who would dare doze so publicly. The brownrider is possibly both. On the low table next to the man is a plate with a half-eaten pastry and a mug of long-cooled klah. He probably meant to just rest his eyes for just a moment, and then... this. "I don't smell and I *do* bathe," growls a small voice. Catling enters the room in a fine fury, her cheeks flushed pink and her lips thin and pale, her hair unbound and wild, and her eyes glittering like small jewels. Irritated jewels, and she stomps a little, though for all of that, her feet don't make that much sound. She is cloaked as if she's been recently out and came back in for supper, for she is carrying a couple of stuffed buns with her. When she sees Kh'tyr, though, she pauses. She watches him a moment, then moves closer and sets her buns down on a table. Gently she tugs off her wool cloak, then moves to lay it over the dragonrider. It probably says something about Kh'tyr's turns in his profession that despite how Catling's approach doesn't make much in the way of sound, by the time she's seeking to lay her cloak over him, he grumbles, "Didn't you ever learn to keep it down when a man is sleeping?" The tone implies it's something every person should know. A single eye winks open to eye her before closing again. "Keep the cloak," is added as he rolls to his side, and asks, eyes still closed, "Why are you pink all over?" "Relli says I smell bad, and Tranel says it's because I don't bathe," answers Catling. "And I don't smell, normally, except right when I get out of the tanner's or the like, but then I go bathe right away. And then Maeva says I'm lying about my age and oughtn't to be here alone." The girl half-growls. "And I've been working *hard* since I got here, and they..." She shrugvs her shoulders. "Brat-babble, I guess. But it's still irritating. I just want to fit in." Kh'tyr looks like he regrets asking by the time she's gotten to the second name. By the third, the brownrider has silently admitted he won't be getting any more sleep now and is sitting up, pushing through disordered hair, yawning and rubbing the stubble on his face. He stares at her like she might be talking gibberish and then reaches for the cold klah as better than nothing and by the end he's gulped the rest down and set it back on the table to stare at her some more. "And why do you you want to fit in with Bippy, Lippy and Brat-babble?" He re-names the guilty parties. "They sound like idiots." "Because I room with them, and it would make life a bit more bearable," answers Catling simply, though her lips twitch at the new names. "Because I'm lonely and would like friends." She shrugs her shoulders and sits down in one of the chairs. "And because it would be nice to not be short-sheeted twice a sevenday. I've decided that most girls my age are idiots." "Fifteen, right?" Kh'tyr briefly checks as he picks up the remaining half of whatever it was and shoves it into his mouth. Chewing and swallowing, he appears to think. "I think you can do better than those three for friends. If you're having trouble with your roommates, ask the assistant headwoman to be moved. Most people have some kind of roommates their whole lives, but you don't have to put up with shitty ones unless they live in your head." "Fifteen." Catling nods her head. "Though those three are seventeen, eighteen, and eighteen. "And if things don't get better, I probably will ask for a move come spring. My bunk's up against a warm spot, and I like that part very much." The girl winks. "Enough to last through winter. And Maeva doesn't spend all *that* much time there, so..." The girl shrugs. "But.... really, Im not *that* important. *You* look exhausted." "Then you definitely don't need them. If they're still talking shit like that when they're adults, they're doubly stupid." Kh'tyr's pronouncement is absolute. "Faranth save me if any of them decide to Stand for the upcoming clutch and manage to get dragons too stupid not to choose them." That's an unpleasant thought and he rubs his hand across his face. "More wake-ups than usual last night with less than usual circumstances. Love in the barracks makes tired weyrlingmasters wasting our wakefulness on keeping idiots from hurting their dragons by pursuing their feelings." He rolls his eyes emphatically. "Don't you do that to us if you end up in the barracks, got it?" No love. Kh'tyr is anti-love, clearly. "I've waited this long. If I do Stand and I do Impress, I'll wait until my dragon is mature enough to handle it. No. until the both of us, together, are able to handle it." For a moment there is a sort of wistful longing in the girl's eyes. "Learned self-control early. Made life easier." Her lips close thinly for a moment, and then she shakes herself. "So with your self-control, you'll survive the winter with three bitchy roommates. Don't let them get you all pink," Kh'tyr advises as he leans back against the couch. "Find better friends. There are more than just them in the Weyr. There's a baker kid. Ninwayzan," he enunciates each syllable carefully, "He's about your age, I'd guess. New to the Weyr, too. Holdbred. Might try to make friends with him." "Even self-control needs release sometimes," answers Catling with a soft twitch of her lips. "But I will remember. Ninwayzan." The girl says this a couple of times, to make sure she doesn't mispronounce it too badly. Then she clears her throat. "Might I ask you something else? Relli says I'm too small to Impress, and that the dragons wouldn't even be able to see me. I... I can still Stand, though, can't I? I mean..." "Choose a good outlet," Kh'tyr recommends, not seeming to care if she pronounces the baker boy's name correctly or not (and given the mouthful, it's a lot to assume that Kh'tyr's interpretation wasn't slightly odd). "Bippy is being a bitch because she can, because you let her get to you," the assistant weyrlingmaster writes the girl off completely, again. "Fifteen." He ticks off on his fingers, pausing at the second finger, "Are you healthy?" "Fifteen, yes," answers Catling. "And.... I have recovered from the plague and my strength is back. I feel... myself again. So... as far as I understand it, yes, healthy." She tilts her head. I can run fast and carry half my weight if I need to... though that... is very tiring." She clears her throat. "Bippy." She snickers softly. "That wasn't a question." Her age. He'd already asked. Kh'tyr wiggles that first finger to make the point. Then the second as she answers about her health. "Then the only other thing is if you've got the guts to ask someone permission to stand. Weyrleader, one of the weyrwomen, the weyrlingmaster, the headwoman." He lists off the powers that be. "And then of course, there's the matter of if you're sure it's something you'd want. I've already told you it's not all rainbows and happiness." The brownrider considers her. "Why would you want to be a rider?" "How about the assistant weyrlingmaster?" asks Catling, her voice soft. Not quite, but almost sly. "As for why I would...." The girl thinks a moment. "Nothing is all rainbows and happiness, and anyone who says otherwise is either too new at thing to know better, or is trying to sell you something. Why would I want to be?" She sighs. "Well, from what I understand... the dragons do the choosing. And, well, why do people want to get married? Well, no, people get married for all sorts of reasons. Some are good, some are just downright greedy. I'm just a girl. I'm learning my place, you know? And I don't know what that place is right now. And it seems to me.... that the dragons deserve as many choices as they can get. And I'm willing to try. I'm not afraid of them. They're people. Just... different people. Dragon people. So." All ten fingers wiggle then and fall back to his knees. "No power in my knot," Kh'tyr answers, tone just a little dry. "Going to have to talk to someone more intimidating than me." As if there could be anyone! "Dragons do the choosing, but you have to be there or near enough to be chosen. Then again, some say if you were supposed to be chosen and aren't there, you kill the dragon with your absence, but others think there's more than one suitable person for a dragon. No one really knows for sure. Dragonriding isn't what it once was, not with Thread gone, but we face different challenges now and we're still, largely, acting like we were then. So what would you, Catling, bring to dragonriding in the Interval?" He challenges her, but there's interest for her answer so he's not just being an ass to be an ass, it seems. The girl closes her eyes a moment to think. She doesn't rattle an answer right off, but takes enough time to collect thoughts that have been growing in her mind surely as eggs growing in a gold. "An understanding of life outside the weyr. Though there's enough of it, aye, but a good balance is... good. Willingness to learn. One of the harpers told me that half of intelligence is actually being willing to open up your ways of thinking and knowing that you're not always right, and that there's always, always something new to be learned. Patience. Determination. Beyond that.... sir, I wish I could tell you what I would bring. All of myself, wholeheartedly. Beyond that.... I don't know enough about it to tell you what I might be able to do." Kh'tyr's gaze is shrewd as he gazes at the young woman. Something in her answer must please him, though one would never know it from his impassive expression. "I'll put in a good word for you, with Olivya. With the Weyrleader if I have occasion to speak with him between now and when." Whenever the gold gets around to laying those eggs that would make any of this a relevant conversation. The brownrider is pushing to his feet and shoving those feet into his boots, doubtless a warning of his impending departure, but he pauses to look down at the girl. "You want to stick it to those girls? Wake up at dawn, watch the weyrlings do their physical training and start mimicking the drills on your own. If you Stand, if you Impress, you'll be better off than the rest." Tips from the master, maybe. "The Weyrleader asked me if my hair attacks people," muses Catling, her lips twitching. "He might worry it attacks hatchlings, too." She steps out of the way, then grins. "It seems petty to want to stick it to them... but yes. Yes I do. I will do that, and be grateful. Because even if I don't Impress.... it'll make me all the stronger to do whatever work I am set to. Thank you sir." She looks at her buns, and her stomach rumbles. "The smallest hatchling is large enough to withstand your hair, rest assured." Kh'tyr answers, seeming unsurprised that N'rov would ask about such a thing, as if that sort of question is only to be expected. It might say something about the brownrider, or the Weyrleader, or their relationship that this is the case. Any speculation will have to be done solo, though, since he's picking up his plate and mug, "If you pick up physical training," he adds, pausing just by her, "make sure you start eating more. Wouldn't want you to turn sideways on the sands and be missed," there's something gentle in the way he teases, though, doing so almost certainly just because the girls had commented on her size. The tone says 'chin up' and 'own it' even if the words might be hurtful without it. Then he's off, striding toward the Sanctuary to deliver his plate and mug before heading back to work. "I'll work on that, sir," answers Catling, flushing again, though only slightly. She offers a slight wave, then goes to grab her plate. She looks around a moment, then kicks off her boots and curls on the just-vacated couch. "And thanks for the warm seat, sir. Thanks for being my friend.... even if you'd never ever admit it." She murmurs this softly, then sighs, wiggles her toes in her socks, and commences devouring her dinner. |
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