Logs:Speaking of Fate
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| RL Date: 7 November, 2015 |
| Who: Quint, Silva, Alysce, N'klas |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quint meets some weyrlings and Alysce is inappropriate. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 3, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge
bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever
so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and
surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but
less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's
grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained
meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.
At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns,
including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to
the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the
southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass
through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of
redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the
very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake,
there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl,
standing out amidst otherwise an empty space.
A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is
humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today. "Zaisy! Just stay still!" There's an edge in Silva's voice as she's totally trying to bathe her little blue. He's perfectly happy in the water though, and can't seem to not flick water here, there, and pretty much everywhere. This includes in Silva's hair. Somehow she managed to find the time to do it as fashionably as possible with it so short. Sadly, said fashion is so not living through Zaisyreth's exuberance. There are white bubbles of soap resting in it, and one side is plastered against her face. At least the water is warm, even if the air around is cold? There are advantages and disadvantages both to the crafter's area being set away from the main complex of tunnels. One advantage is that of somewhat privacy; and one fairly big disadvantage is having to cross the icy-cold bowl in winter to get to the rest of the Weyr. Still, Quint's rugged up in his long coat, and the harper's got a good stride going, humming some tune under his breath. It's not so much a distracting that Silva's voice doesn't carry as he walks past the dragon infirmary, slowing and, finally, stopping, head tipped as he watches for a moment or two, a familiar of familiarity creeping into his gaze. "Somehow," his amused voice carries, "Many, many harpers before me must have resisted the urge to write stirring songs about recalcitrant young dragons. I imagine most people prefer to hear the stately epics of adult life." No pity for Silva? She's shivering when wind reaches down to brush against her, and Zaizyreth manages to soak an entire leg of Silva's clothing when he turns and sends water sloshing outwards. "They're not very stately right now!" The words come along with a pout as Silva gives up trying to do the whole clean-thing, and instead moves to inspect-the-damage Not really so much pity as bemusement from the Journeyman Harper, truth be told. "Not very," Quintus agrees, with a low laugh, that fades a moment as he adjusts his position to something that might well be safely out of water range. "You, uh, might try getting in with him? At least then the water'd be warm, and if you're, mm, not worried about getting wet, perhaps he won't find so much delight in it?" The experience of many hours spent with young children, one could guess. Silva stops trying to inspect the damage to stare at Quint. "But my clothes Unless... You..." and her eyes get really wide as her voice drops down to a whisper, "You think I should get in naked?" The obvious distress Silva takes from these words translates itself to the blue in the water and he's going to helpfully not help by batting his head against Silva's backside. It's okay friend. :( "I... well, it's the norm of a Weyr, but you needn't if you feel awkward about it. Plenty of people weather bathing suits." Quint observes, with a practicality that radiates calm in distinct opposition to her obvious consternation. In an apparent attempt to distract her, he clicks his fingers. "Siva? Silvee? Sisha?" Frowning: "Oh, dear. My master would be wroth at me for forgetting a name, truly." It might well be put on, but if so, he's got the act down pat. A curved line appears between Silva's eyebrows, as she frowns to try to assimilate his suggestion. "I... guess that would make sense..." At lease he isn't asking her to clean Zaisyreth naked. A few more moments of ticking thought before that frown gets replaced with a smile. "Thank you so much! You totally just solved a huge problem. Like, I could bathe him before I do my hair, and like, then he wouldn't be able to mess it up!" Even his forgetting her name doesn't dampen her sudden inspiration, "Oh! Silva. And this is Zaisyreth." Stepping aside (not that at this point Silva's small body blocks much of Zaisyreth), she gestures at the blue. Her enthusiasm earns an easy smile in turn from Quint. "Glad to have helped," he replies, easily. Another snap of his fingers soon follows as she offers her name. "Silva, yes, of course. That one that-- mm." There's only a marginal beat before he presses on, "Zaisyreth, is it?" his gaze goes to the blue, with the slightest of bows, and a friendly grin. "He's a handsome fellow." His gaze flickers from dragon to rider, with another tip of his head. "How are you settling in?" At the barracks? At being a rider? The question seems purposely vague. "He's the most beautiful of the clutch." Silva says that with all sorts of posessive pride in her voice. Of COURSE she impressed a little jewel of a blue, it would ruin her outfits otherwise. Reaching out she smooths a hand along one of his headnobs fondly. "Oh it's... well. Like... Um." That's a hard question, especially when a blast of cold air hits those wet parts of her and she shivers abruptly. "It's... I mean, Zaisyreth is pretty." It's cold but, thankfully, neither snowing or raining. Quint is dressed in a warm coat, standing at the entrance to the dragon infirmary where Silva -- in contrast -- is clothed but also wet, and Zaisyreth is in the warm dragon bath. Quint has the gaze of one long considering and patient, watching the weyrling. If he's perturbed by Silva's answer, or lack thereof, it doesn't seem to ruffle the harper. "Well." He takes in the exchange with a twitch of lips. "He is." There's a brief pause, tone gentling a bit, "If you want to talk to someone, I'm a very good listener. And I know how awkward it can be to adjust to a Weyr -- if not a dragon, mind. But," with a rueful grin. "Perhaps not when you're half-cold, mm? Maybe you ought to just give up and get in." Silva's just a whirl of emotions today, from annoyed, to aghast, to happy, and now her eyes begin to well up with tears. The icy wind isn't kind to this new set of moisture. Even as she tries to wipe her tears away she'll throw herself at Quint and attempt to wrap him in a fierce hug. "Thank you so much, you're so nice." It is likely that someone has told Alysce the direction that Quint has gone, because she can't so often pop up in his vicinity without some sort of help or direction. Yet, she is his apprentice, and maybe that comes with some innate inner compass to where her Journeyman is. She is in a dress, obviously made for a gather, a dark red that hugs her breasts and waist and drops in perfectly gathered folds. Luckily, a cloak covers the rather low cut of the dress, protecting the apprentice against the cold of High Reaches until she finds somewhere warmer. "Quint," she greets the Journeyman's back, but catching that hug--. There is a fierce draw of the young woman's brow upwards as she stares from behind them both. Khajith romps in the direction of said infirmary and, more to the point, said bath; he's not even as long as Quint is tall, yet, but he has momentum. And he's coming more or less from behind Alysce, as though there's beginning to be a line that he just can't wait to cut. While his rider's trudging that way as well, angling from the barracks, it'll take him substantially longer to truly arrive. N'klas yawns, and into his hand no less-- if more to trap that escaping warmth than anything like politeness. As if it isn't awkward enough to be the target of a young girl's grateful hug, Quint's apprentice just has to show up right about then. Still, the Journeyman is gracious enough about it, and it seems it's probably not the first time he's been on the receipt of such a thing, patting Silva's back briefly. "Well, I do try my best," he observes, with a grin, before he expertly seeks to disentangle himself from the hug. "Oughn't let your Zaisyreth get jealous now though, hm?" Alysce's greeting turns his head, brow rippling momentarily in reaction to her outfit, no doubt. "Alysce--" whatever he was going to say is cut off by the sight of a romping blue of all things, bemused expression reflecting his reaction more clearly than words can articulate. It takes a little bit to disengage Silva, she's showing her gratitude gosh darn it. Take her being non-critical for a bit. But then there is N'klas and Silva is going to instantly control herself. Patting her hair, only to remember that she looks so not-her-best she sighs dramatically. "Zaisyreth never gets jealous. He's like the best, because he is." Zaisyreth speaks for himself yo. Moving over in the water he'll even make room for Khajith to jump on him, the movement sending water slashing over the size. "N'klas, like, Quint says we should get INTO the water to help them bathe, because, like, then it wouldn't be so cold." Alysce's expression only grows sharper the longer Silva takes to disengage, but it's to Quint that she carelessly, dismissively says, "Well, I came to ask if you wanted to go to a gather, but clearly you have your hands full here." She turns on a heel sharply, ready to flounce off in a dramatic exit that only a dramatic young woman in a snit could make. But the approach of the young blue dragon has gone unnoticed, and she isn't prepared for Khajith there before she's tripping over him and landing on her knees. "Shit, shit shells." Her gaze lifts to the dragon, then Silva and Quint, and then finally finds N'klas and apologizes, "Faranth, I'm sorry. Is he--?" A not-yet-large blue who slows, casting an eye over the man-- he pushes towards his thoughts, not words but a there-ness, crisp and invigorating as saltwater if he's perceived at all-- and perhaps it's that distraction as much as youthful gawkiness or girlish flouncing that leads to such an unexpected encounter. No joining Zaisyreth yet, not when Khajith's flicking his overlong tail free of Alysce with a hiss and circling around to inspect it and see if it's all right. Only, when he does that, his tail keeps escaping. "Aw, Khaj," Nik grumbles. To the girl, the girl with the cloak, "He'll survive. Shells. At least it wasn't your wing. Gotta watch out for people, I keep telling you." "It sounds it," Quint is possibly humoring Silva, at least until she releases him, except that the harper's sentiment seems genuine for all that, glancing between the pair of blues with equal parts interest and bemusement. "You're very lucky," is what he murmurs, finally, low enough to be meant only for her. While Silva shares with her fellow weyrling, Quint's gaze goes to Alysce, amusement warring with surprise at his apprentice's reaction. "Now, Alysce--" he begins, at least until her ungainly trip. He manages not to laugh, to his credit, taking a step in her direction with the intention of assisting her, gaze on N'klas curious more than anything as he does so. "Yes." That is quiet enough too, after her spill of words, it can easily get lost. But now she has an OBJECTIVE. While the girl, who Silva will only spare a SLIGHT judgmental look for, has her run in with the blue, the weyrling is encouraging Zaisyreth up and out of the water. "Oh, come on. You're done enough. We'll come back tomorrow!" When it's a little warmer! Or something. And with a cheerful wave the pair are off again. "I'm fine," Alysce murmurs firmly to her Journeyman, but she doesn't reject the help he offers and she lingers near even once she's gotten back to her feet with his help. "I'll just have to change." That sounds softly frustrated though the apprentice doesn't linger over it as she exhales a sigh instead and her own gaze lingers on N'klas as well. The slide of her gaze is likely more appreciative than Quint's though, and it comes paired with a crooked, slow smile. "I'm glad. I think I owe him something, though. What does he like?" N'klas can spare a wave back to Silva, cheeks reddened with more than the cold; Khajith swings his head over to scent the paler blue as he passes, then hunkers low enough to half-circle Nik and lean against his ribs, eyeing the remaining humans with a quick-whirling gaze. Belatedly, "You sure?" to Alysce and her fineness; to Quint, "Sorry, sir." And then he just has eyes for Alysce. "Ah." The next mutter's more under his breath, but it's his dragon who answers, in a youthful rumble. He doesn't turn her down. Instead, running a hand through what used to be a forelock and now is just air, "Shiny things are good." Quint's hand remains steady under Alysce's arm -- at least until he's assured she's stable enough -- after which his hand drops down and into the warmth of his coat. "Perhaps it's fate's way of telling you the gather isn't the place to be, today?" he suggests, wryly, in response to her notion of changing. The harper's blue eyes track Silva and her dragon's departure, with a flicker of a smile and a wordless nod in her wake. It seems only natural that the harper's gaze should come rest on N'klas, again, after that. The apology earns an easy dismissal: "They're growing. Still getting used to the their bodies, as I understand it?" he regards Khajith, now. A laugh sparks in Alysce's black gaze as she lifts it to Quint, answering him with a challenging, "Are you speaking for fate now, Harper?" That same amusement is still held in her gaze when it slides back to N'klas, and there is a soft hint of flirtation in her tone as she adds, "Shiny. That I can do. Promise." Her own fingers lift to black hair, sliding through it as she twists it from one shoulder to the other. "That they are," N'klas says with relief, once he's blinked and can notice the journeyman again; Khajith's kept his wings furled since that first run-in, their colors hidden, but his eyes gleam. He leans. His young rider has a rueful cast to his mouth, fingers curving as though to touch black hair or seawater-hued hide but in the end addressing neither. "Which Gather?" he asks. "It's going to be a while." "Who can say," Quint says, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "Fate is, after all, a fickle and changeable mistress." He takes a moment to regard both apprentice and weyrling, listening to their conversation for a beat, before he says, "If you'll excuse me. I'll leave you two to it." With a nod that encompasses the pair of them, he turns to resume his original course for the main caverns. "Mm, I'll see you tomorrow morning. Let you know what fate had in store," Alysce replies in a murmur, a brow curving upwards briefly for him. Her gaze follows Quint for a long moment, forgetting about N'klas for the time, but the apprentice does not follow the Journeyman. But then all of the bright weight of her attention is back on N'klas with a smile. "Farmcraft. Sounds boring, but I need to get out of the Weyr and to somewhere warm." A pause. "Faranth, I forgot-- You must feel a lot more trapped. You can't even drink." "Sir," is N'klas' farewell. He doesn't vanish while Alysce looks after Quint that way, doesn't freeze while the world goes on around him for that time; when she looks back, he's got a bit of a smirk, and that brightness doesn't dazzle quite so much as before. Which isn't to say that it doesn't. "Nah," he says easily. "We get one. One, with dinner, and count ourselves lucky. Don't worry, you weren't rubbing it in... except for the warm part." "One," Alysce repeats, aghast by it, but her humor plays easily on the single word as well. "One drink while you have to remain cold and miserable and alone. Can't even get yourself warmed up in the traditional way." The suggestiveness of her words is enough to imply what traditional way she means even if her smirk didn't. "I would die." Khajith's still here. Still here, and looking at Alysce and her cloak and her damp knees. N'klas scratches his throat absently, but that doesn't change the draconic staring any. "So alone," he agrees. "That vast cavern, an insignificant figure in the-- no, not in the dark: in the light of a single basket of glows." He's back to more of a grin than his own earlier smirk. "But I don't have to worry about you dying or anything, do I? That harper, he's quite a guy." Alysce's gaze drops down to the dragon briefly at the continued staring, only once it has started to prickle at her skin, but she only lifts her black gaze back to N'klas with a flirtatious smile. "That is quite the figure you'd strike. I would say I'd like to see it, but I'm sure they have rules about others in the barracks," she teases lightly in response, her smile caught in the corners of perfectly shaped lips. "Oh, Quint? The fate thing? No, he's probably just upset that I am not staying and doing lesson plans or something equally boring. Copying notes for him." "No, you don't get to see my 'barracks,'" and the boyish smirk's back, N'klas prying his gaze from that smile. "We have enforcers. No, I was thinking the main cavern. It's bigger, see. More dramatic in its loneliness." Khajith sighs, a heavy sigh, and leans that much more heavily against Nik, who braces himself automatically. "I'll make you a deal," disappears into a murmur to the blue, who seems at least temporarily satisfied. To Alyce again, "Funny, Fate has me copying notes a lot too. Don't suppose you're good with history?" A laugh slips past Alysce's lips, light and soft as she wrinkles her nose in a artful gesture at the bluerider. "Well, if you won't show me yours, I won't show you mine. And besides, the main caverns are very rarely only lit by one basket," she points out easily. But her shoulder rolls up in a shrug as she adds, "For the most part, yes. I grew up at the Hall, so I had access to all of the teaching songs from around Pern." Nik's laugh comes out more like a snicker. "I guess I'd have to run around shading them, then," he says, "to be dramatic enough. So you're a harper, then?" It's a guess on what they said, but N'klas looks to want it to be a good guess. "Apprentice or journeyman?" could be flattery, could be that he really doesn't know. "I'm N'klas, by the way, and this is Khajith," who gets a wave of his thumb before the bluerider very properly extends his hand. There is a hint of amusement for that proper gesture, but still Alysce moves to take it. Not without, however, dragging her thumb against the shape of the bluerider's knuckles. "Senior apprentice Alysce," she introduces herself, before she repeats his name with a slow precision. "N'klas." "Senior apprentice Alysce," means to be very impressed, and possibly even debonair, except for how his voice cracks like that. Because that, with her thumb; and then she goes and says his name that way and suddenly N'klas jerks his hand back like it's on fire. "No, she's just--" that was out loud, wasn't it. Nik looks from his dragon to the older girl again, straightens to his full height, and says red-faced, "I... better go wash him. Right now. Because. Night, Fate." It isn't quite one word, but almost. Alysce only seems amused and partly triumphant for N'klas' reaction. There is a hint of laughter in her tone as she tells him in a murmur, "See you around, Lonely." And her hair is tossed over her shoulder even as she turns on a heel to retreat much more gracefully this time, with a slight sway to her hips. "I am not lonely!" the teenager yells back over his shoulder. "I have a dragon!" Who warbles, shoves N'klas again, and races him inside. Khajith wins. |
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