Logs:Comparative Experience
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| RL Date: 13 February, 2016 |
| Who: Catling, Dahlia, Jocelyn, Aidavanth, Taeliyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dahlia, Jocelyn and Catling discuss candidacy and weyrlinghood. |
| Where: Galleries, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 1, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Like it's trying to prove a point about winter bitterness, the weather is horrible today. Starting before daybreak, the wind piles up the clouds, which unleash a fury of driving snow and ice. The day is long and dark, and the night is hardly better as wind and snow combine in a blinding blizzard. |
| Mentions: A'sran/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, T'gar/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: FORTY?! WTF. When did it get to be turn 40?! |
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| Lunchtime means a small swell in the number of people occupying the stone bleachers that are the galleries in the monstrous hatching cavern. The heat from the sands is intense anytime, but with snow piling in the bowl from the near blinding blizzard outside the heat here is a welcome relief for many and those with tasks that can be accomplished somewhere pleasant are readily found dotting the steps. Sitting at the front of the galleries is Dahlia, though Taeliyth is up on one of the ledges rather than directly down on the sands with her clutch. The way she sits unmoving way up there might mean she's asleep. Dahlia's lap is usually full of paperwork, but just now that's tucked into a bag at her feet and there's a tray of food that she's picking her way though with a glass of something cool (and a pitcher for refill). Catling makes her way to the bleachers as well, looking cold and tired. Her cheeks are red and so are her fingers, and she rubs her hands together to warm them. She closes her eyes briefly at the feeling of heat, sighing a little for pleasure. She has a basket slung over her arm, filled with a softly-amber-colored fabric. She turns her head and then, seeing Dahlia, inclines her head before settling herself down on a nearby seat. Visitors aren't uncommon to any weyr when there's a clutch hardening on their sands, and the redhead seated next to Dahlia certainly is one of those, knot unmistakably that of High Reaches' weyrling goldrider. Having loosened her flight jacket and eventually removed it while conversing in the heat of the cavern, Jocelyn breaks off her awkwardly offered small talk after a time to glance up toward to Taeliyth, then back down to the sands, gaze speculative. Here, finally, might be the crux of what she's been trying to discuss with the Fort weyrwoman. "How has the experience been treating you?" It's a thinly veiled 'what should I expect, ' even as movement nearby draws pale eyes to Catling, however briefly. "I'm given to understand it's not wholly usual for golds not to enjoy brooding their eggs," Dahlia answers the older-but-lower-ranked goldrider with a dry tone of amusement as her eyes cast up to the ledges. "She does what's necessary, but she doesn't enjoy it. I don't think she minds not being out and about when the weather's so awful," her nose wrinkles for that, "but reminding her of her motherly duties makes me feel all the more maternal." Speaking of maternal, Dahlia's hazel gaze catches the nod Catling gives her and there's a little gesture of 'please excuse' to the weyrling before she's beckoning to the candidate. "Catling," she invites by name. "I saw your name come onto the list of our prospectives. How's candidacy treating you?" It's almost an afterthought that she introduces, "Candidate Catling, Weyrling Jocelyn of High Reaches." And the reverse of names for the goldrider's benefit. The redheaded girl looks up, flushing a little. She rises and lifts up her basket, then moves closer. "Ma'am." She nods her head. "A pleasure to meet you, Weyrling Jocelyn. Congratulations on your position." Then she turns her head towards Dahlia. "Candidacy's been treating me well. The work is hard, but it's a good sort of hard." She shivers, then sets down the basket again and huddles on the bench. "Sorry. Got caught in the snow for a few minutes." "Reminding her of her motherly duties, " Jocelyn repeats with marked distaste, lips pursing. "I hope Aidavanth will be maternal enough to manage, when her time eventually comes." It's not terribly likely that the future ordeal will inspire similar feelings in the older woman, if her expression's anything to go by. It's a dour one that lingers when she glances again to Catling post-introduction, taking in the candidate's posture and demeanor with the sharpness of someone who's sized up prospective riders before. "Candidate, " she replies evenly, chin dipping into a small nod in return. "Congratulations are apparently due to you, as well." Her tone shades faintly approving at the end, for whatever reason. "Lecuzuth is helpful," Dahlia observes for Jocelyn's benefit, "I think perhaps just his presence there sort of making Taeliyth feel as though she should be caring for their eggs, you know?" There is something to be said for visible clutchsires, even if the bronze isn't (at least to the naked eye) apparent on the ledges just this moment. "So even if Aidavanth struggles, you and the clutchsire might encourage her together. It may be turns yet before you have to think about that though. The dragonhealers were saying that it seems like it's longer and longer between risings now." It's probably meant to be heartening. She looks then to Catling, thoughtfully. "Well, hopefully only some of the work is hard. Otherwise I might have to speak with the nannies about what they do to candidates when they're on chores there." There's some amusement for that. "It's hard not to get caught in the snow in winter. The altitude of the Weyr encourages worse weather, I think, though I doubt it was ever much better where you grew up." A little pause allows the candidate to dispute that. "I'm pleased you accepted Search," she adds, her smile a polite thing toward the younger girl. "It was a little milder, being lower down. Not much lower, though, and I was out in it more." Catling shrugs. "And not all of it is hard, no. I don't mind hard, though. It's less hard when people actually appreciate things." She smiles shyly, then glances at Jocelyn. "Thank you," she replies, then glances down at her feet. "But I do apologize for interrupting." No, Jocelyn doesn't know - not yet. So it's with a raised eyebrow that she listens to Dahlia's suppositions, features twisting into a grimace for that last. "Niahvth and Roszadyth rose earlier than expected. I think I'd almost be content if Aidavanth didn't, " but if wishes gave wings, porcines would fly their way to freedom from feeding pens everywhere. That topic, however, gets dismissed with a flick of fingers, and the weyrling half-turns where she sits so that she can better observe Taeliyth's and Catling as they converse. "You're not, " she begins, with a glance to Dahlia, "interrupting. Chin up, candidate Catling." It's not unkind, even if the delivery is rather measured. "It bodes well for your potential, " she adds matter-of-factly after a short pause, as though prompted, "that you don't mind hard work. Weyrlinghood isn't a gather stroll." Catling's apology proves perplexing for Dahlia, her expression shifting to communicate that feeling. She glances briefly to Jocelyn before looking back to the candidate. "But I invited you?" So how could it possibly be an interruption? It's asked nearly at the same moment as Jocelyn's assurance is offered, and it makes Dahlia grin at the other woman. To Catling and in support of the weyrling's words, "Jocelyn has the right of it. If anything, you might pick her brain a little for tips and tricks, not that High Reaches weyrlinghood is bound to be the same as what you'll experience here, but I can't imagine it would be so different." She encourages the candidate before adding her own question to Jocelyn, "How are you liking senior weyrlinghood? That's what you're all doing now, isn't it? I keep meaning to ask T'gar by, but one thing and another, and eggs, so I'm a little out of touch. How close are you to graduating now?" "Are they in your head all the time? Is it weird? Does it hurt? Is it hard to get used to?" Te questions tumble out, and Catling blushes. "Are they harder to care for than babies, when they're young?" She rubs her toes on the ground. "What is your day like?" And then, finally, "Is flying scary, or totally worth it?" "It's felt largely anticlimactic, " the High Reaches weyrling says of senior weyrlinghood, "particularly since my days are no longer so very different from what they'll be like after we graduate in a handful of sevens." Jocelyn's shoulders stiffen a fraction at the suggestion that she'd be a good source for veritable tips and tricks, but after a quiet exhale, she gives a short nod - just in time for the onslaught of questions. There's an uncomfortable clearing of her throat, then: "One, yes. All of the time. Even when one of you is asleep, or using a privy." If it's a romantic series of answers the candidate seeks, this clearly isn't the proper source. "Two, it can be. Three, " she hesitates briefly, "your dragon will never intentionally cause you harm. Four, the experience has been likened to caring for a baby. They eat, they sleep, they defecate - and unlike a human baby, you'll feel when they're hungry, when they're tired, when they itch. Five, the days largely revolve, at first, around that care. You also go to classes and take care of yourself as best you can." She pauses there, first to rub briefly at her temple, then to frown a little. "I suppose it could be scary if you're afraid of heights, but it's certainly a worthwhile experience to share. Even if you get a little airsick from time to time. Some of us do, but there are means to help with that sort of thing. Have you never gone by dragonback? You should learn what that's like, at least." "You have to love how all the other weyrlings get so much time off and for you it's train, do, really just skip to the end but without the knot." Dahlia returns with empathetic humor, smiling to the senior weyrling, but she falls silent for the wealth of answers that the High Reaches woman provides for Catling, her gaze sliding between Jocelyn's face and Catling's. "They're also a lot bigger than babies, and grow much, much faster," she puts in with a glance toward the wheaten gold curled high above on the ledges. "Some, it seemed like, were more baby-like in their thoughts and grow with their bodies where others seemed to have more fully formed personalities. A lot is very individual, I think." To Taeliyth, Aidavanth has kept a respectful distance away from Fort's hatching grounds while her rider visits within, having settled high on the caldera rim. There's no desire for Taeliyth's eggs, and she certainly saw enough of them through Jocelyn's vantage point when the redhead first entered the galleries and descended to join Dahlia. So it's a polite, « How are they? » that she extends to the brooding gold with the sense of her physical distance, meaning as much the other queen's candidates as the offspring that grow within their shells. "I don't mind babies, either. I had to take care of my half-brothers when they were very young. Being able to understand is... encouraging." Catling tugs the fabric out of the basket; it looks like a small tunic. Big enough for the girl, anyway. "I've never flown. Got a chance once, but my father wouldn't allow it." She shrugs her shoulders. "And talking about wanting to.... upset him. So. I put it out of my mind." She starts to sew, embroidering the cuffs. To Aidavanth, Taeliyth's response comes with a deeply earthy smell, something that has nurturing rot as well as budding leaves, the feel of her mind cool as the Wood under a canopy of crossing boughs. Contrary to appearances, the mind isn't sleepy, and certainly she's been aware of Aidavanth in her home. Aware doesn't, however, translate to territorial since the younger gold is just visiting. « They are eggs. » The words hold sardonic humor tinged with just a little bitterness. « They'll be more interesting when they're dragons. » She hopes. At least then they'll do things. As for the candidates, « They are young, » which she finds somewhat displeasing, « but we cannot afford to be picky. Dahlia wishes I hadn't laid so many, » and yet, for all Taeliyth's apparent lack of care for the clutch, there's something smug there. « More than Zaisavyth. » This is the important part, see? A Fortian queen does better on Fortian sands. The proof is there for everyone to see. Jocelyn makes a little face for the younger goldrider, but there's a wry curve to her mouth afterward. "Something like that, " she admits quietly enough to be an aside, watching Catling while she replies. "There's a difference in not minding babies and having one in your head, " she says after a moment. "You can't hand this one off to someone else if you need a break. They're always with you, even when you're halfway across the weyr." But it's on the matter of having not yet flown that she focuses, brow knitting. Drily, "You might want to put it back into your mind before the hatching. You could end up a dragonrider, whatever his feelings on the matter. He doesn't know you accepted your candidacy, I take it." "I can't really see it being similar, so much, to babies. But I've never had one, so I might just be thinking of it wrong. And Taeliyth was never baby-ish." Dahlia relates thoughtfully, looking up at her lifemate and then out to the eggs. Her brows are furrowing as her eyes settle on one egg in particular. "I think I might need to bother Taeliyth about adjusting that one," she makes a brief gesture to it before picking up a piece of bread from her plate. "I think I never thought much," she tells Catling, "about the forever parts. Oiling a gold forever." Just think on that. "Thank you for visiting, Jocelyn. I hope you will again." Then she's onto her feet with a polite, "Will you both excuse me?" To Taeliyth, Aidavanth has a marked appreciation for the other's humor; certainly, there's a sense of wryness brought forth in kind. « So they are. » Eggs. A beat, then: « Jocelyn says the one she's met is, indeed, young. » There's more to that assessment than chronological age, apparently, conveyed with a flash of Catling's face, first holding that shy look, then in the aftermath of that unnecessary apology. For that last, there's a moment where the younger gold shares some understanding; outlaying Niahvth might not be a highly probable scenario, but would it be a point of pride for Jocelyn if she did? Quite possibly. « You've done well by your weyr, of course. I hope, » somewhat delicately, « to do so well when my time comes. » Even if it is a little ways off. "I never liked babies, " Jocelyn says with a sniff, "but this was - different from being on nursery duty." Gray eyes follow Dahlia's gesture to the aforementioned egg, flicking back to the other weyrwoman after with a tilt of her head. "It was good of you and Taeliyth - and Zaisavyth, of course - to allow us the visit, " the foreign goldrider says politely enough, rising in her wake so that she can shrug back into her flight jacket with an uncomfortable tug at the collar, digging into the pockets for her gloves. "Give Mirinda my regards. I should be getting back, myself. It's a fine clutch, weyrwoman." With all of the niceties observed, there's a farewell nod for Catling as she begins working her way to the exit, stride clipped. To Aidavanth, Taeliyth stretches on the ledges above the sands, a lazy thing that may be felt in her touch, as can the hot air that slides under her wings as she descends. Egg-tending, boring. « I'm sure you'll do whatever it is you set out to do. We're strong-willed for a reason. Just don't let Jocelyn convince you there's a better course than whatever you've chosen. » That's her advice to the other gold, for when her time comes - not that she'll remember by then. There's the sense of a smile, a silent agreement that's rooted in a centered certainty. And Aidavanth withdraws her presence for the time being even as she takes off from the rim to wing down into the bowl, lingering at Fort only as long as it takes for Jocelyn to meet her and prepare to depart. (To Taeliyth from Aidavanth) "We always enjoy visitors," is said of both Taeliyth and herself, a warm farewell to the foreign goldrider. "I'll tell Mirinda. I'm sure she'll be sorry to have been otherwise engaged." Dahlia has a little wave back at the redhead as she moves down the path to step onto the sands and go assist with clutchmothering. |
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