Sticks and stones...
Who: Lujayn, W'chek
Where: Lake Shore, HRW
When: Day 10, month 6, turn 26
Another early morning at the lake. Lujayn meets W'chek. Their first conversation is a tricky minefield, but at least there are skipping stones (and no broken bones).
It's a pleasantly cool morning at the Weyr, sunrays warming the air while comfortable breezes sweep over a cloudless sky. As the pleasant weather continues, so does Lujayn's early presence at Reaches' lake. Wearing sturdy work clothes for the day ahead, it's doubtful that the rider has come for a swim. Dragonless and unhindered by riding straps to scour, the woman has made her way to the shore in pursuit of an old hobby. She kneels periodically on her relaxed progress across the shore, picking up rocks and tossing most of them aside or palming one from time to time to tuck it away in her pocket.
A bit down from where Lujayn's been walking, Zhikath has settled into the grass a bit up from the sand, stretched out so the sun hits as much of him as possible, sound asleep. Meanwhile, W'chek is out in the water, doing what appears to be a lap across the lake and back. Not a small thing; no little pond, this. On getting back from the far side, he climbs out onto the shore, water streaming off his shorts, and wanders back up near where his dragon is for a towel. He dries off brisky and ends up, as he's doing so, watching Lujayn's progress. He wraps said towel around his shoulders and then wanders down towards her. "What're you doing?"
Paying little attention to her surroundings, Lujayn startles at what seems like a sudden appearance by W'chek. "Collecting rocks," She digs in her pocket to display a small handful of flat, round stones, "I haven't practiced skipping stones for ages. It's relaxing." Looking past the rider to focus on the slumbering Zhikath for a moment, Lu smiles. "And you, practicing for /between/? The water must still be freezing."
"It's a bit chilly," W'chek admits without any trouble, and the wet towel itself appears to be cool enough that he's still got goosebumps despite the morning sun. He'd probably be warmer without, but it shows no sign of budging. "Skipping stones. Yeah, I've done that before. Well, not recently. W'chek," he tacks the introduction on a little belatedly. "That's Zhikath." There, all taken care of. "It's good exercise, the swimming. I used to run, when I was younger, but it started making my ankles sore."
"Lujayn, Rielsath's." The goldrider replies easily, expression relieved to not have to make such formal introductions from one rider to another. "Running's what I'm better at. That's what I did before." She eyes the lake, appreciative of the endurance it would take to swim across. "Trying to wash a dragon in that is enough exercise for me, even if laps around the bowl get boring after a while. You can't be that old?" She doesn't seem embarrassed at the question; indeed, the rider before her doesn't look much past her own age. Turning one stone over and over in her palms, Lu turns to the water and flicks it across the shallows. It skips halfheartedly, just the once, earning a wry half-smile. "A little rusty."
"Oh, no. Just old enough to realize I'm not fifteen anymore, though." W'chek manages a faint smile for this, but it's a bit less easy than it ought to be, like this is actually not a comfortable subject to be talking about. So, in time-honored fashion, he changes the subject: "You were at Igen, weren't you? For quite awhile. I remember when they did the swap when we were still weyrlings. Why come back to the cold? I would think Igen's got better weather."
Lujayn retreats into a similar smile of unease, though she barrels through with a characteristic all-or-nothing attitude, laying it all out. "I was supposed to come back earlier, actually, when Ezalea left High Reaches for Igen." Another stone goes flying, more to see the splash than attain any skips: it sinks straightaway. "Rielsath had a clutch to look after, and then I was requested to stay on at Igen by the Weyrleaders there - so I did. It was the dragons more than anything that made me come back. There were some comments made about 'Reaches.. well," Not enthusiastic about smearing any names, Lu glosses over that part. "Rielsath took it up with the other girl's queen. Can't have that going on." Another rock, ker-plunk. "I understand it was a rocky time here while I was gone. High Reaches is more my home than Igen, even more than Fort was. It was easy to come back." She sighs, aware of how long-winded this might be carrying on. "And the weather?" Skip-skip-skip. "I love snow."
"If it had something to do with Tiriana and Teris, it was probably true," W'chek says, a bit of a sour note on it. Not a fan, evidently. He stands there and watches her with her stones. "Weather's a bit worse up here than it was down in Nabol, where I'm from. Started to wear on me, this past winter. Had talked about how I'd sooner live somewhere warmer. But I can't really go, now." He finally steps away, though only far enough to retrieve his shirt and swap that for the wet towel, pulling it on very quickly before he turns back to the goldrider.
More likely to defend her Weyr than doubt the people who run it, Lujayn tilts her head when W'chek's tone turns bitter. "Not the friendliest of people," Is her agreement, going no further. "You're staying because of Zhikath?" The question is doubtful; transfers can usually be arranged for the health of riders, stints in Southern or Monaco, but she doesn't press what might be another uncomfortable issue. Trying to find safer ground, she takes a few steps up the beach to reach for a handful of rocks, closer to the napping bronze. "He looks healthy." A compliment, that's always a good place to start, right?
There's a momentarily choked noise, W'chek's hand going to his mouth as he takes a deep breath. "Something like--an accident, couple months ago. My weyrmate--supposed to go together." These partial sentences are about as much as he can manage on the issue, turning to look at his dragon there, too. There, another subject, so much easier: "Healthy as your proverbial horse, yeah. Sometimes don't know how I swung that. He's almost irritatingly perfect." The bronze shifts a bit at this, eye half-unlidding, peaceable blue-green, and the bronzerider actually manages a smile.
"Oh," It's more of an exhalation than any sentence, "I remember." Had she not just met him, she might have reached out with a sympathetic arm, a comforting hand or a shoulder. But even the gregarious Junior has boundaries, and all she can do is offer a warm smile and a compliment: "Well, you're not irritating at all. So I guess he had to balance that out a little bit?" One hand extends after a moment, but not for comfort; there's a stone there, if the rider wants to try his luck with skipping. "Sometimes I think if they're /not/ irritating, there must be something wrong."
The stone is taken, and W'chek turns it over and over in his hand, like that might wear the flat surface even smoother. Then he makes an attempt at skimming it out towards the water, but it goes too high, hits vertical instead of horizontal, sinks with a deep 'plonk' beneath the surface. "He does good at keeping me on the straight-and-narrow. I think he misses drilling sometimes, but I haven't been ready to go back to... all of that, yet." He waves his hand, like that could encompass everything that goes with being a rider.
Lujayn can sum up all of 'that' herself, the dragonriding lifestyle even without pressures of duty. "You didn't fly the Comet Pass, then," She muses, hands resting in the empty pockets of her jacket. "I don't know if I would be ready to go back to that, either. Watching the fighting wings drill is so different." Allowing a bit of admiration for the rigorous formations, the flaming techniques, everything that the queens' wing does in a much smaller scale. "Rielsath was young enough that she doesn't bother me about it, being able to fight and drill and be a menace of the skies," She looks over her shoulder as if expecting the gold's name to be a summons. It isn't, luckily, and she can continue in peace. "There are plenty of other things to do besides drill, thankfully. What do you do besides swim?"
"Oh, no. I remember it, but... just from the ground. Or from being shut inside supervizing a large flock of sheep, anyway." W'chek crosses his arms, lifts his shoulders in response to that latter question. "A lot of reading, I guess. I'm working on re-upholstering my sofa." Oh, such great excitement. "Stuff I can handle at my pace. I'm supposed to be just trying to handle things at my pace. That's what everybody says, anyway." A faint furrow of brows. "I keep myself busy enough."
Remodeling is actually something that Lujayn can latch onto, and she does so with great enthusiasm - even if it is just a reupholstered couch. Off she goes. "I've been trying to rework my weyr ever since I came back. It was so much the same," She shakes her head, not sure how to explain. "But I couldn't really take up and move Rielsath to a teensy ledge by the spires. The storage staff has gotten used to seeing me every sevenday or so, trading in furniture or asking for different rug arrangements." She laughs briefly at herself, this image of an indecisive, inexperienced interior decorator flip-flopping on curtain colors. "There was a lot of sentimental stuff cluttered around," Naturally, from someone who holds onto friends and the past alike, it would be hard to let go. "If you need any pieces, I'm trying to shove off this old wardrobe. It hardly fits out the door."
"I've already been trying to cut back stuff. But the sofa was--well, it was the only one they had in storage at the time we moved out of the barracks that was long enough for me to lay down on properly. But by the time we moved last, well, the batting's practically been falling out of it." The 'we' is so habitual that W'chek doesn't seem particularly moved by talking about what is presumably the weyrmate he lost in this context. He goes on with an easy smile. "You could consider just painting it or something? Make it feel different without having to move the thing."
Lujayn considers the option, "I've been liking the natural style - already scoured off the painted bits of rock, that kind of thing," She tries not to return too much to the 'we' of W'chek's weyr, a distraction of sorts from painful thoughts. "I could paint it the color of the stone. Take some time making it blend in." Now it's gone from furniture to a piece of art? "That's a good idea.. you'll let me know if you end up wanting it?" Ever hopeful, she pauses midway through a turn that will take her back up towards the weyrbowl. "I put my old sofa back into stores recently, it might still be there. If you don't mind olive green."
A faint snort: "I'm not really much of a person for color or style, to be honest. Bety--" Okay, that went a bit too close. Deep breath! Get composed. "Anyway. I just figure, there's no point wasting such a thing if it's fixable, and it really seems to be. Base is still sound, just the cover that's gone all ratty." W'chek puts his hands into the pockets of his still-damp shorts, although they're at least getting a bit dryer in the warm morning air. "Sure, I'll let you know. But if it's that big, imagine trying to haul it all the way up there." He extracts one hand again to jerk a thumb in the direction of the weyrs above.
"It could be fun," Lujayn follows his hand with her eyes, neck craning up to take in the distant sky-high weyrs. "But you're right, too. Don't fix what's not broken." At a loss for words, she picks up one final stone to keep for later, expression thoughtful. "I'd better get going. Good luck with your sofa," What else is there? "Morning, Zhikath," She doesn't forget the bronze either, nodding respectfully to both before departing in earnest.
"Have fun with your decorating," W'chek responds in kind. "Regards to your queen." There, he even has some real manners, even if it's an afterthought. Then he wanders off in the direction of his own dragon, and soon the pair of them is headed back airborne.
Where: Lake Shore, HRW
When: Day 10, month 6, turn 26
Another early morning at the lake. Lujayn meets W'chek. Their first conversation is a tricky minefield, but at least there are skipping stones (and no broken bones).
It's a pleasantly cool morning at the Weyr, sunrays warming the air while comfortable breezes sweep over a cloudless sky. As the pleasant weather continues, so does Lujayn's early presence at Reaches' lake. Wearing sturdy work clothes for the day ahead, it's doubtful that the rider has come for a swim. Dragonless and unhindered by riding straps to scour, the woman has made her way to the shore in pursuit of an old hobby. She kneels periodically on her relaxed progress across the shore, picking up rocks and tossing most of them aside or palming one from time to time to tuck it away in her pocket.
A bit down from where Lujayn's been walking, Zhikath has settled into the grass a bit up from the sand, stretched out so the sun hits as much of him as possible, sound asleep. Meanwhile, W'chek is out in the water, doing what appears to be a lap across the lake and back. Not a small thing; no little pond, this. On getting back from the far side, he climbs out onto the shore, water streaming off his shorts, and wanders back up near where his dragon is for a towel. He dries off brisky and ends up, as he's doing so, watching Lujayn's progress. He wraps said towel around his shoulders and then wanders down towards her. "What're you doing?"
Paying little attention to her surroundings, Lujayn startles at what seems like a sudden appearance by W'chek. "Collecting rocks," She digs in her pocket to display a small handful of flat, round stones, "I haven't practiced skipping stones for ages. It's relaxing." Looking past the rider to focus on the slumbering Zhikath for a moment, Lu smiles. "And you, practicing for /between/? The water must still be freezing."
"It's a bit chilly," W'chek admits without any trouble, and the wet towel itself appears to be cool enough that he's still got goosebumps despite the morning sun. He'd probably be warmer without, but it shows no sign of budging. "Skipping stones. Yeah, I've done that before. Well, not recently. W'chek," he tacks the introduction on a little belatedly. "That's Zhikath." There, all taken care of. "It's good exercise, the swimming. I used to run, when I was younger, but it started making my ankles sore."
"Lujayn, Rielsath's." The goldrider replies easily, expression relieved to not have to make such formal introductions from one rider to another. "Running's what I'm better at. That's what I did before." She eyes the lake, appreciative of the endurance it would take to swim across. "Trying to wash a dragon in that is enough exercise for me, even if laps around the bowl get boring after a while. You can't be that old?" She doesn't seem embarrassed at the question; indeed, the rider before her doesn't look much past her own age. Turning one stone over and over in her palms, Lu turns to the water and flicks it across the shallows. It skips halfheartedly, just the once, earning a wry half-smile. "A little rusty."
"Oh, no. Just old enough to realize I'm not fifteen anymore, though." W'chek manages a faint smile for this, but it's a bit less easy than it ought to be, like this is actually not a comfortable subject to be talking about. So, in time-honored fashion, he changes the subject: "You were at Igen, weren't you? For quite awhile. I remember when they did the swap when we were still weyrlings. Why come back to the cold? I would think Igen's got better weather."
Lujayn retreats into a similar smile of unease, though she barrels through with a characteristic all-or-nothing attitude, laying it all out. "I was supposed to come back earlier, actually, when Ezalea left High Reaches for Igen." Another stone goes flying, more to see the splash than attain any skips: it sinks straightaway. "Rielsath had a clutch to look after, and then I was requested to stay on at Igen by the Weyrleaders there - so I did. It was the dragons more than anything that made me come back. There were some comments made about 'Reaches.. well," Not enthusiastic about smearing any names, Lu glosses over that part. "Rielsath took it up with the other girl's queen. Can't have that going on." Another rock, ker-plunk. "I understand it was a rocky time here while I was gone. High Reaches is more my home than Igen, even more than Fort was. It was easy to come back." She sighs, aware of how long-winded this might be carrying on. "And the weather?" Skip-skip-skip. "I love snow."
"If it had something to do with Tiriana and Teris, it was probably true," W'chek says, a bit of a sour note on it. Not a fan, evidently. He stands there and watches her with her stones. "Weather's a bit worse up here than it was down in Nabol, where I'm from. Started to wear on me, this past winter. Had talked about how I'd sooner live somewhere warmer. But I can't really go, now." He finally steps away, though only far enough to retrieve his shirt and swap that for the wet towel, pulling it on very quickly before he turns back to the goldrider.
More likely to defend her Weyr than doubt the people who run it, Lujayn tilts her head when W'chek's tone turns bitter. "Not the friendliest of people," Is her agreement, going no further. "You're staying because of Zhikath?" The question is doubtful; transfers can usually be arranged for the health of riders, stints in Southern or Monaco, but she doesn't press what might be another uncomfortable issue. Trying to find safer ground, she takes a few steps up the beach to reach for a handful of rocks, closer to the napping bronze. "He looks healthy." A compliment, that's always a good place to start, right?
There's a momentarily choked noise, W'chek's hand going to his mouth as he takes a deep breath. "Something like--an accident, couple months ago. My weyrmate--supposed to go together." These partial sentences are about as much as he can manage on the issue, turning to look at his dragon there, too. There, another subject, so much easier: "Healthy as your proverbial horse, yeah. Sometimes don't know how I swung that. He's almost irritatingly perfect." The bronze shifts a bit at this, eye half-unlidding, peaceable blue-green, and the bronzerider actually manages a smile.
"Oh," It's more of an exhalation than any sentence, "I remember." Had she not just met him, she might have reached out with a sympathetic arm, a comforting hand or a shoulder. But even the gregarious Junior has boundaries, and all she can do is offer a warm smile and a compliment: "Well, you're not irritating at all. So I guess he had to balance that out a little bit?" One hand extends after a moment, but not for comfort; there's a stone there, if the rider wants to try his luck with skipping. "Sometimes I think if they're /not/ irritating, there must be something wrong."
The stone is taken, and W'chek turns it over and over in his hand, like that might wear the flat surface even smoother. Then he makes an attempt at skimming it out towards the water, but it goes too high, hits vertical instead of horizontal, sinks with a deep 'plonk' beneath the surface. "He does good at keeping me on the straight-and-narrow. I think he misses drilling sometimes, but I haven't been ready to go back to... all of that, yet." He waves his hand, like that could encompass everything that goes with being a rider.
Lujayn can sum up all of 'that' herself, the dragonriding lifestyle even without pressures of duty. "You didn't fly the Comet Pass, then," She muses, hands resting in the empty pockets of her jacket. "I don't know if I would be ready to go back to that, either. Watching the fighting wings drill is so different." Allowing a bit of admiration for the rigorous formations, the flaming techniques, everything that the queens' wing does in a much smaller scale. "Rielsath was young enough that she doesn't bother me about it, being able to fight and drill and be a menace of the skies," She looks over her shoulder as if expecting the gold's name to be a summons. It isn't, luckily, and she can continue in peace. "There are plenty of other things to do besides drill, thankfully. What do you do besides swim?"
"Oh, no. I remember it, but... just from the ground. Or from being shut inside supervizing a large flock of sheep, anyway." W'chek crosses his arms, lifts his shoulders in response to that latter question. "A lot of reading, I guess. I'm working on re-upholstering my sofa." Oh, such great excitement. "Stuff I can handle at my pace. I'm supposed to be just trying to handle things at my pace. That's what everybody says, anyway." A faint furrow of brows. "I keep myself busy enough."
Remodeling is actually something that Lujayn can latch onto, and she does so with great enthusiasm - even if it is just a reupholstered couch. Off she goes. "I've been trying to rework my weyr ever since I came back. It was so much the same," She shakes her head, not sure how to explain. "But I couldn't really take up and move Rielsath to a teensy ledge by the spires. The storage staff has gotten used to seeing me every sevenday or so, trading in furniture or asking for different rug arrangements." She laughs briefly at herself, this image of an indecisive, inexperienced interior decorator flip-flopping on curtain colors. "There was a lot of sentimental stuff cluttered around," Naturally, from someone who holds onto friends and the past alike, it would be hard to let go. "If you need any pieces, I'm trying to shove off this old wardrobe. It hardly fits out the door."
"I've already been trying to cut back stuff. But the sofa was--well, it was the only one they had in storage at the time we moved out of the barracks that was long enough for me to lay down on properly. But by the time we moved last, well, the batting's practically been falling out of it." The 'we' is so habitual that W'chek doesn't seem particularly moved by talking about what is presumably the weyrmate he lost in this context. He goes on with an easy smile. "You could consider just painting it or something? Make it feel different without having to move the thing."
Lujayn considers the option, "I've been liking the natural style - already scoured off the painted bits of rock, that kind of thing," She tries not to return too much to the 'we' of W'chek's weyr, a distraction of sorts from painful thoughts. "I could paint it the color of the stone. Take some time making it blend in." Now it's gone from furniture to a piece of art? "That's a good idea.. you'll let me know if you end up wanting it?" Ever hopeful, she pauses midway through a turn that will take her back up towards the weyrbowl. "I put my old sofa back into stores recently, it might still be there. If you don't mind olive green."
A faint snort: "I'm not really much of a person for color or style, to be honest. Bety--" Okay, that went a bit too close. Deep breath! Get composed. "Anyway. I just figure, there's no point wasting such a thing if it's fixable, and it really seems to be. Base is still sound, just the cover that's gone all ratty." W'chek puts his hands into the pockets of his still-damp shorts, although they're at least getting a bit dryer in the warm morning air. "Sure, I'll let you know. But if it's that big, imagine trying to haul it all the way up there." He extracts one hand again to jerk a thumb in the direction of the weyrs above.
"It could be fun," Lujayn follows his hand with her eyes, neck craning up to take in the distant sky-high weyrs. "But you're right, too. Don't fix what's not broken." At a loss for words, she picks up one final stone to keep for later, expression thoughtful. "I'd better get going. Good luck with your sofa," What else is there? "Morning, Zhikath," She doesn't forget the bronze either, nodding respectfully to both before departing in earnest.
"Have fun with your decorating," W'chek responds in kind. "Regards to your queen." There, he even has some real manners, even if it's an afterthought. Then he wanders off in the direction of his own dragon, and soon the pair of them is headed back airborne.