Logs:Sweet vs. Sticky
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| RL Date: 11 January, 2015 |
| Who: C'stian, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: C'stian and Telavi are thwarted for carbs, but it's just a small, local shortage, right? Also, Liesanth is a wingsecond! |
| Where: Three Trees Waystation, Fort Area |
| When: Day 14, Month 10, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Elise/Mentions, G'var/Mentions, K'zin/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions |
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| The afternoon's peaceable as autumn goes, the bowl of the hills secluding the warmth of the day against the colder winds that might otherwise blow it away; the waystation itself should be too-- perhaps there are fewer passersby, but that might have to do with how late it's getting in the season-- but there's a disheveled greenrider staring at the waykeeper, her eyes wide and green and utterly horrified. "No," she breathes. "No, it isn't possible." "'fraid so," the waykeeper replies, evidently unwilling or unable to alter reality just to appease the greenrider. Alas, pastries cannot be conjured out of air alone. "We're just not getting much wheat in these days. Thrown the whole kitchen off." He pauses, shading his eyes and glancing up as a bronze dragon descends from the sky to land a short distance away from the waystation. Solith looks up from her sunning-- dragon!-- and up-- Liesanth! In fact, « Liesanth, hello! » greets him in his descent. Telavi doesn't look. Telavi does not look anywhere but the waykeeper, as unskilled or unwilling as he is. Her lips still shape that oh, but smaller now, pursed into an all-but-silent exhalation. "Do you... is there anywhere else you'd recommend... but they aren't yours; yours are the best." "Sorry," the waykeeper repeats once more. "Far as I know, everyone nearby's been short on their shipments. Must have been a bad crop." Solith is altogether pleased, « Do you enjoy the sun? It is comfortable here, not many pointy rocks! » but Telavi is not. Telavi sighs. She's just starting to turn when-- if it weren't so sad, such desperate times, she might laugh. Instead, her eyes brim with decidedly mixed emotions, a tremulous quality to her mouth as she has to answer the latest arrival, "They're," doleful, ever so doleful, "out." And, "I wanted some too." And she was in line first! "Out?" The bronzerider's expression turns crestfallen. Crestfallen with a side of 'hungry'. No pastries? He turns to watch the waykeeper stomp off, his dismay clear. "They can't be completely out, can they? I mean, I know there's been a bit of a wheat shortage in the area, but... no pastries at all?" Liesanth is less concerned with the pastries than his rider, as he settles down to wait in the sunlight. « Are there too many pointy rocks at your Weyr? » he asks curiously. « I would make them clear the rocks away! » « No, no, » sunlight-bright merriment there, « not except the ones I scratch my back on, and those are the good kind, » Solith explains. She has an image to share, an arch of stone leading to some weyr or other with protrusions just so... not that the green has so dainty an affect that she can't roll on the ground if she has to. « This was the other place, before. You could clear, 'make them clear'? if you like. » Telavi, now, "There has?" Poor Fort! "I was going to come yesterday, but things happened and now," well, the other rider knows. "Now I'm starving." « I could! Well, probably. I am now wingsecond! » Never mind that it's really his rider who is, Liesanth presumes this means the other dragons have to do what he says if he really needs them to. The actual wingsecond offers Telavi a sympathetic look. "Well, they do have a few other nice things to eat here," he notes. Even if none of those things are the pastries. "Don't you have pastries back near High Reaches?" « You are? » is lit up in genuine excitement-- the powers that be have recognized Liesanth's worthiness and also triumphs!-- rather than anything at all like doubt; « Today? Before today? » Telavi 's been biting her lip, staring after the waykeeper; her reluctant, "What's good?" turns into a quick look back at the other rider. Up at the other rider. How could he-- "Those are fighting words," she says in a gruff imitation of Fort-speak, sternly. "Hey, you're the one who came all the way to Fort to find pastries," C'stian points out lightly, grinning at the greenrider. "So I can only assume that you don't have any pastries there, or else ours are just that much better. As for what's good... there's some decent grilled meat dishes that are pretty decent. Normally I'd suggest the little meat-rolls, but if they don't have enough wheat for pastries..." He trails off sadly, as he realizes there are no savory meat-buns, either. Liesanth, however, is still in a much brighter mood than his rider; there is, after all, not presently a shortage of herdbeasts. And he has other victories to celebrate, besides. « Before today. And yes! The Weyrleader himself came to ask! Because he knows someday I will catch a gold! » « He did? You will? » Solith is not quite clear on the excitement of this last part, but perhaps Liesanth will enlighten her! Telavi, now, she is not grinning, the prim set to her mouth refusing to give any clue like that away. After a moment of silence for the meat-buns, though... "I suppose the grilled meat will have to do, for now," she says on a sigh, leaning out to call after the waykeeper that yes, they have found a way to cope. Somehow. While they wait, "For the record-- you're... C'stian, right?-- we have perfectly good pastries. It is just that they are different pastries, and sometimes a girl wants these." « Of course! I am going to be the Strongest and the Fastest, and golds go to the best fliers, » Liesanth points out to Solith. It's not that there's any particular gold he wants, apparently, so much as that he just wants the achievement. "Bronze Liesanth's C'stian, yes," the bronze's rider confirms. "And you're Solith's. Telavi, wasn't it?" He pauses to make sure they hear a confirmation from the waykeeper, and then laughs. "Well, if High Reaches still has pastries, maybe I'll have to try a different type myself and head out your way. Get away from our wheat shortage." Poor C'stian, as yet unaware precisely how far that shortage extends. « Oh! Well, if you want one, » Solith is game; more power to him! « We have only one, so we must keep her, or really she keeps us, » the green thinks. Tela's looking amused-- C'stian's use of adjectives, or something else?-- even before she starts wandering towards a table. Possibly even towards a particular table, though she doesn't seem to have decided yet which: something about the different cloth flowers in their little vases, or which is by a wall, or which is nearer where the man or a server is due to emerge? Along the way, "Do that. I know a place that's got lovely slices with apricot, they preserve them with brandy and they're scrumptious." Little does she, too, know. "Ugh, now you're making me even more sad there's no pastries," C'stian remarks as he follows along. As for the adjectives... well, you can't really blame him. When it comes to their interactions, the dragons know each other better than the riders do. "I'll definitely have to try them." « We used to have many, but we lost one, » Liesanth notes, perhaps not caring to be precise when it comes to quantities. One, two... many. That's sufficient, right? « She went away to another Weyr. » « Ours went away, » but Solith isn't sure where, her voice dimmed with the association of bad place and her long tail curling about her. Telavi's expression fades with it, but that might be coincidence; certainly it's more like mischief by the time she glances back at C'stian-- is he going to tell?-- and switches two of the flowers before sitting with a good view of the exits. This one's blue. "As long as it doesn't get worse," she says as she slides out of her jacket. "Imagine, you all coming to visit with your helmets out..." "Now I imagine someone just waiting until we have a shortage of sweets, and then conquering the region by being our only supply. Demanding trade concessions for sticky buns." C'stian shakes his head, settling in at the table. He watches the flowers be switched, then mimes keeping his mouth shut. As far as mischief goes, after all, it's far below the level of the prank war two of Fort's wings are currently embroiled in. His dragon, meanwhile, turns slightly more somber at Solith's thoughts. He has no words to make it better, but instead he simply edges a little closer and offers thoughts of sunshine and warmth, and other dragons nearby. "Mmm, sticky buns," Tela teases with a mock-wistful glance to the ceiling: O Faranth, grant them! But then, when she isn't knocked on the head by falling pastries, it's back to C'stian. With a smile, this time. "It's funny, you know; at High Reaches, I mostly hear people calling them 'sweet buns.' Which are, I must say, generally sticky... I don't suppose you have idea where the crossover is? Out Ruatha way maybe?" Solith's settled somewhat, the tip of her tail playing back and forth as she slowly eases into those warm thoughts; she turns to Liesanth a little more, gaze reflecting him beneath her inner lids. "You know, I can't say I've ever done a comparative study of the linguistic idioms of various regions," C'stian replies mock-thoughtfully, as if trying to consider how this grave oversight could have happened. "Somehow, that was never part of weyrling studies, or Healer training. Though we riders are probably more aware of them than most people, given we ferry things around all over." Outside, Liesanth settles into the sunlight, appreciating the rest for as long as he gets to have it. 'Linguistic idioms' get a brilliant smile. "Indeed," Telavi says, her voice grave if nothing else. "I feel as though a study ought to be... to be initiated. Not only that, future weyrlings should be required to chant about such things while running their endless laps; it's good for them, and such practical matters as the names of area Holds really are issues that will be covered in their post-weyrling life, whereas this might be-- and has been!-- missed entirely." "I'm going to let you be the one to tell the current crop of Fort weyrlings that," C'stian suggests. But whatever else he was about to say is cut short when a newcomer hurries into the yard, glancing around. Upon spotting those in leathers, he huffs over towards the table. "You, there! Which of you is the Fort rider? I have a very important meeting to get to, and we are already late!" His tone is accusing, as if that lateness is the fault of the rider, not of the passenger who wasn't at the waystation. Tela wrinkles her nose at him-- as if!-- but then there's that arrival, who gets a raised-brow glance after which C'stian's the recipient of something more sympathetic; while she refrains from actively interceding, she defuses with some polite, not-practiced-looking light talk... and with brightly addressing the other rider as wingsecond on the way out. If the waystation's lost a sale from not sending a server out sooner? Today's going to be the least of it, as time and harvest go by. |
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