Math and metaphor.
RL Date: 7/28/09
IC Date: 4/27/20 --I thought Ebeny's log title was cute. :)
Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr
Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn, graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake.
Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the careful to get the job done.
The weather today is very pleasant. A few clouds chase each other across the mostly clear skies, and a soft breeze picks up in the afternoon to make for a fine day.
Aleczir's not one of those many seeking a swift fall into the water, thanks. In fact, though the weather's certainly finer that it has been, there's still not much call for traffic up at these breeze heights. So he's alone up here, which probably suits him given that he's standing at the edge of the cliff, peering toward the receding snowline on the surrounding mountains, scratching the side of his head with the butt of a pencil and frowning a peak that doesn't seem so very snowy, lower altitude, not so far from the Weyr, really. In other words, he's so totally in his own world.
It's not uncommon to find Ebeny up and away from the rest of the population, physically in the cliff sense, mentally in the often absent state of her mind. Today, there's probably a bit of both going on, what with the way in which she wanders right to the edge of the cliff and sits with her legs dangling over the outcropping, parking herself almost right on Aleczir's feet. Settled, she swings her legs a bit and it's a few moments before she tips her head way back to look up at him. Oh, look. But no words.
Corner-of-the-eye, Alex attends this approach. But, seeing as Ebeny offers no remarks on her presence, he just kinda lets her get settled without imposing on her silence, also without doing more than tracking her in that sidelong way. Only once she's settled does he start to hunker down, the pencil shoved behind his ear like it belongs there while he slowly lowers to a crouch-- after a shuffled step to keep his feet out from beneath Ebeny, that is. After a long spell like that, leaning over a little to try and get more on her level, more toward her eyeline, he finally breaks with; "What are we looking at?"
No greeting. But words now, a response, a faint smile first. "We," Ebeny begins, "are looking at a very interesting playground." She turns a little and her gaze focuses on him when she continues, "Right this second, I'm looking at you." Her eyes track back to the mountains and she slouches, relaxing, and plants her hands down on the ledge to keep her balanced. "But otherwise - playground."
Aleczir finds the ground behind him with his palm, lifts it when there's a pebble in the way, and redoes the gesture till he lowers from crouching to sitting. "I'm missing something," he confesses without chagrin; likely, this happens to him a lot. There's his expectant expression, his eyebrows raising while he scoots to the edge of the ledge and dangles his feet similar to Ebeny's. "What playground... exactly?" Because, although he flickers a glance at the weyrling, /he/ is definitely looking at some mountains and some snow and stuff.
Ebeny's smile is more sly than silly, yet it might be difficult to discern exactly which her expression qualifies as. She peers across at Aleczir out of the corner of her eye, then raises one hand and reaches it out towards the nearest mountain, one finger tracing along its edges. "Say, how fast do you think you could make that corner, in the air?" she replies, not really a question from the lilt of her voice. "And dive down that side before you had to pull up or find another path?" The weyrling sighs happily and grins. "See? Playground."
"Thirty-two point two feet per second per second, maximum approximately two hundred and fifty feet per second." Alex rattles off the answer with his eyes on the precipice in question. "Though turning? Pulling up?" He shakes his head soberly, eyebrows still pulled together in an attitude of deepest, truest, literalest concentration on the issue at hand. "Good question, though. Terminal velocity of a..." Squinting his eyes closed briefly, he goes with, "Green dragon?"
"Hey, woah, let's stay away from anything terminal, huh?" Ebeny pleads with just a little bit of concern edging through laughter. Not the brightest spark in the sky, this one. Or maybe she's joking. "Of a green dragon, yes," she goes on regardless. "But if you're taking the idea this way, then what defines 'a' green dragon? The average when all of them are included? Or 'a' being that which belongs to she who asked the question, being only one and therefore 'a'?"
Hunching his shoulders, which has the effect of at least hiding his grin if not dimming it, Alex is forced to point out, "Short of a series of practical experiments, which obviously... won't go over all that way." Hey-woah, case in point. "Take the average green dragon with average proportions, average wind-resistance, do." He flicks a pebble off the edge of the cliff then, leans forward to watch it fall at thirty-two feet per second per second toward the water. "The math." Quick breath "--Or assume a spherical dragon." Giggling is not all that masculine, it's true, but he does it with such delight.
"I don't know, I think I'd quite like to assume a spherical dragon," Ebeny says all very innocently, sticking her right leg out straight in front of her to conduct an unnecessary study of the toe of her boot. "But beyond that being an impossibility, /my/ green won't adhere to reason, let alone comply with mathematics." She blinks and looks across again. "Which I'm awful at, by the way," she informs, low-voiced like it's a great secret. "But all in all, I was going for mountain as dragon playground rather than mountain as mountain."
Very probably, Alex is really stuck on the spherical dragon aspect, accounting for the way his lips twitch silently for a time and he finally commits, "Wings. --Are the problem. Really." Hmn, and he comes gradually back to the fact that he's not alone here with complicated questions of physics. "Most people are," he offers charitably, shrugs helplessly, and tries to look at the mountain again like it's a playground. "I'm awful at metaphors, by the way. What's wrong with your dragon?" He's also awful at tact, by the way.
Ebeny grins brightly and goes back to swinging her legs some more. "It's alright. If anyone ever tried to explain some math with metaphors and they needed deciphering, we'd make a good team," she decides. Lack of tact doesn't make her grin dim down at all and she just shrugs; very easily states, "There's nothing wrong with her, she just wouldn't fall at... however much per second per second and would probably do everything in her power not to." One good question deserves another. Or two. "Why don't you get metaphors? You think people are stating incorrect fact with them?"
Wouldn't fall at... "Thirty-two feet per second per second." In case she missed it the first time. Alex repeats it rotely, only afterward issuing a nod along with Ebeny's assertions about her dragon. "That's really-- what I meant about the wings. Wind resistance. She's difficult on purpose?" There's a foreign tone in the way he addresses dragonkind, like he's still not quite sure about assigning human characteristics to something utterly not-human, fairly common for those not-weyrfolk weirdos. "Not. Exactly. Why don't you get math? Probably the same. Close to it."
"She is who she is. I can honestly say that half the time I don't know whether she's being difficult on purpose. Or if she means to be," the weyrling breathes out. "I don't know if they've the same capacity for spite that we do, see. Or that people seem to have, anyway." Ebeny leans back some more and looks a little helpless when she tries to explain the math issue. "I just... don't get it. I don't understand how it works. And even if I can understand /how/ some of it works, I don't get why, or why someone thinks so."
"I've listened." Alex pulls his earlobe a little for that remark, like that maybe gives him just a little call for embarrassment. "To some weyrlings-- mostly a while back. They don't exactly? Talk about their dragons the same way that you do." Her confession about math seems to leave him pretty well unruffled, if anything only casting a merry skyward glance. "I'd try to explain it for you, but there's a reason I don't have any apprentices here learning from me. Just know that one plus one really does equal two, and trust it from there?"
Muddy green eyes shade a tiny bit dull and all Ebeny can do is shrug again, more helplessly this time. "Maybe I'm a bad rider. Maybe I don't understand some things I'm meant to. Maybe I don't do things right," she quietly reasons. She starts to scramble to her feet and step away, though pauses and leans down to set a hand on Aleczir's shoulder, perhaps trying to convey she's not hurt or that she hasn't taken his words the wrong way. Then again, best to be safe. "Nothing you said," she stresses. "One plus one equals two, got it. And, well, I can explain metaphor enough to bore anyone to tears, so if you ever want to know... I'm pretty easy to find." And then she's running.
IC Date: 4/27/20 --I thought Ebeny's log title was cute. :)
Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr
Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn, graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake.
Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the careful to get the job done.
The weather today is very pleasant. A few clouds chase each other across the mostly clear skies, and a soft breeze picks up in the afternoon to make for a fine day.
Aleczir's not one of those many seeking a swift fall into the water, thanks. In fact, though the weather's certainly finer that it has been, there's still not much call for traffic up at these breeze heights. So he's alone up here, which probably suits him given that he's standing at the edge of the cliff, peering toward the receding snowline on the surrounding mountains, scratching the side of his head with the butt of a pencil and frowning a peak that doesn't seem so very snowy, lower altitude, not so far from the Weyr, really. In other words, he's so totally in his own world.
It's not uncommon to find Ebeny up and away from the rest of the population, physically in the cliff sense, mentally in the often absent state of her mind. Today, there's probably a bit of both going on, what with the way in which she wanders right to the edge of the cliff and sits with her legs dangling over the outcropping, parking herself almost right on Aleczir's feet. Settled, she swings her legs a bit and it's a few moments before she tips her head way back to look up at him. Oh, look. But no words.
Corner-of-the-eye, Alex attends this approach. But, seeing as Ebeny offers no remarks on her presence, he just kinda lets her get settled without imposing on her silence, also without doing more than tracking her in that sidelong way. Only once she's settled does he start to hunker down, the pencil shoved behind his ear like it belongs there while he slowly lowers to a crouch-- after a shuffled step to keep his feet out from beneath Ebeny, that is. After a long spell like that, leaning over a little to try and get more on her level, more toward her eyeline, he finally breaks with; "What are we looking at?"
No greeting. But words now, a response, a faint smile first. "We," Ebeny begins, "are looking at a very interesting playground." She turns a little and her gaze focuses on him when she continues, "Right this second, I'm looking at you." Her eyes track back to the mountains and she slouches, relaxing, and plants her hands down on the ledge to keep her balanced. "But otherwise - playground."
Aleczir finds the ground behind him with his palm, lifts it when there's a pebble in the way, and redoes the gesture till he lowers from crouching to sitting. "I'm missing something," he confesses without chagrin; likely, this happens to him a lot. There's his expectant expression, his eyebrows raising while he scoots to the edge of the ledge and dangles his feet similar to Ebeny's. "What playground... exactly?" Because, although he flickers a glance at the weyrling, /he/ is definitely looking at some mountains and some snow and stuff.
Ebeny's smile is more sly than silly, yet it might be difficult to discern exactly which her expression qualifies as. She peers across at Aleczir out of the corner of her eye, then raises one hand and reaches it out towards the nearest mountain, one finger tracing along its edges. "Say, how fast do you think you could make that corner, in the air?" she replies, not really a question from the lilt of her voice. "And dive down that side before you had to pull up or find another path?" The weyrling sighs happily and grins. "See? Playground."
"Thirty-two point two feet per second per second, maximum approximately two hundred and fifty feet per second." Alex rattles off the answer with his eyes on the precipice in question. "Though turning? Pulling up?" He shakes his head soberly, eyebrows still pulled together in an attitude of deepest, truest, literalest concentration on the issue at hand. "Good question, though. Terminal velocity of a..." Squinting his eyes closed briefly, he goes with, "Green dragon?"
"Hey, woah, let's stay away from anything terminal, huh?" Ebeny pleads with just a little bit of concern edging through laughter. Not the brightest spark in the sky, this one. Or maybe she's joking. "Of a green dragon, yes," she goes on regardless. "But if you're taking the idea this way, then what defines 'a' green dragon? The average when all of them are included? Or 'a' being that which belongs to she who asked the question, being only one and therefore 'a'?"
Hunching his shoulders, which has the effect of at least hiding his grin if not dimming it, Alex is forced to point out, "Short of a series of practical experiments, which obviously... won't go over all that way." Hey-woah, case in point. "Take the average green dragon with average proportions, average wind-resistance, do." He flicks a pebble off the edge of the cliff then, leans forward to watch it fall at thirty-two feet per second per second toward the water. "The math." Quick breath "--Or assume a spherical dragon." Giggling is not all that masculine, it's true, but he does it with such delight.
"I don't know, I think I'd quite like to assume a spherical dragon," Ebeny says all very innocently, sticking her right leg out straight in front of her to conduct an unnecessary study of the toe of her boot. "But beyond that being an impossibility, /my/ green won't adhere to reason, let alone comply with mathematics." She blinks and looks across again. "Which I'm awful at, by the way," she informs, low-voiced like it's a great secret. "But all in all, I was going for mountain as dragon playground rather than mountain as mountain."
Very probably, Alex is really stuck on the spherical dragon aspect, accounting for the way his lips twitch silently for a time and he finally commits, "Wings. --Are the problem. Really." Hmn, and he comes gradually back to the fact that he's not alone here with complicated questions of physics. "Most people are," he offers charitably, shrugs helplessly, and tries to look at the mountain again like it's a playground. "I'm awful at metaphors, by the way. What's wrong with your dragon?" He's also awful at tact, by the way.
Ebeny grins brightly and goes back to swinging her legs some more. "It's alright. If anyone ever tried to explain some math with metaphors and they needed deciphering, we'd make a good team," she decides. Lack of tact doesn't make her grin dim down at all and she just shrugs; very easily states, "There's nothing wrong with her, she just wouldn't fall at... however much per second per second and would probably do everything in her power not to." One good question deserves another. Or two. "Why don't you get metaphors? You think people are stating incorrect fact with them?"
Wouldn't fall at... "Thirty-two feet per second per second." In case she missed it the first time. Alex repeats it rotely, only afterward issuing a nod along with Ebeny's assertions about her dragon. "That's really-- what I meant about the wings. Wind resistance. She's difficult on purpose?" There's a foreign tone in the way he addresses dragonkind, like he's still not quite sure about assigning human characteristics to something utterly not-human, fairly common for those not-weyrfolk weirdos. "Not. Exactly. Why don't you get math? Probably the same. Close to it."
"She is who she is. I can honestly say that half the time I don't know whether she's being difficult on purpose. Or if she means to be," the weyrling breathes out. "I don't know if they've the same capacity for spite that we do, see. Or that people seem to have, anyway." Ebeny leans back some more and looks a little helpless when she tries to explain the math issue. "I just... don't get it. I don't understand how it works. And even if I can understand /how/ some of it works, I don't get why, or why someone thinks so."
"I've listened." Alex pulls his earlobe a little for that remark, like that maybe gives him just a little call for embarrassment. "To some weyrlings-- mostly a while back. They don't exactly? Talk about their dragons the same way that you do." Her confession about math seems to leave him pretty well unruffled, if anything only casting a merry skyward glance. "I'd try to explain it for you, but there's a reason I don't have any apprentices here learning from me. Just know that one plus one really does equal two, and trust it from there?"
Muddy green eyes shade a tiny bit dull and all Ebeny can do is shrug again, more helplessly this time. "Maybe I'm a bad rider. Maybe I don't understand some things I'm meant to. Maybe I don't do things right," she quietly reasons. She starts to scramble to her feet and step away, though pauses and leans down to set a hand on Aleczir's shoulder, perhaps trying to convey she's not hurt or that she hasn't taken his words the wrong way. Then again, best to be safe. "Nothing you said," she stresses. "One plus one equals two, got it. And, well, I can explain metaphor enough to bore anyone to tears, so if you ever want to know... I'm pretty easy to find." And then she's running.