[Log] It Happens
Who: Emilly, I'daur
When: Day 21, Monh 5, Turn 11
Where: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr
What: Emilly drops by to see I'daur.
Emilly
Thoughtful grey eyes sit slightly tilted in a pale face, strong of jaw and cheekbone, beneath a mass of dark red curls. Of willowy figure, she is rather on the slender side, yet not so thin as to be boyish. From the fine laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and the echo of same about her mouth, her age might be placed in the early forties. Gathered up in three sections bound around each other, her hair falls to the middle of her back in a thick single braid.
Today she sports a sleeveless wrap-top of silvery gray, a blend of cotton and sisal shot through with metallic threads, knotted above her right hip over well-fitting twilight blue trousers of a slightly sturdier and matte weave of cotton. Suitable for warmer weather, the outfit is completed by a pair of blue fisherman's sandals and a light-weight sweater of dusky blue, that she ties about her waist when it's not being worn.
The knot of a rider at High Reaches, threaded through with green for the color of her dragon is looped around her right shoulder.
In the weyrling barracks, I'daur is seated at his desk. Talien's left for the day, so he's there by himself. The bandages on his right arm have been removed; it's the still-tender new scar that holds his attention now as he inspects his forearm idly. Surprisingly, there's no sign of alcohol lying around.
Emilly peeks into the Barracks, sweater drawn around her to ward off the chill that early evening brings. "Hello in there?" she calls out, voice light though it sets off an echo in the cavernous empty Barracks and spotting I'daur, pads on sandaled feet over to his desk. "Good evening I'daur," she says pleasantly as she reaches the Weyrlingmaster, a warm smile on her face. "That's looking better," she nods towards his arm. "Had dinner yet? I saw Talien going by and thought I'd come see how you're doing."
"Evening," replies I'daur, glancing up and dropping his arm quickly as Emilly enters. His brows knit, and he studies her a moment before shaking his head. "Nah, I'll go eat later, once it's cleared out some. I'm all right, though. Fine. You?"
"You miss the best stuff sometimes if you go too late, but on the flip side, sometimes cook makes extra dessert and there's warm pie straight out of the oven," remarks Emilly with a grin. "Good, good. I'm well, a little put out about all the extra sweeps, but that's just duty. It's so strange being up there again, you know?" her brows lift a little along with that statement.
"You miss the worst part, too--the people," drawls I'daur dryly, shaking his head. He leans back in his chair to regard Emilly then, arching a brow slightly at her latter words. "S'pose so," he agrees. "Didn't expect to ever see it again." Pause. "Tell the truth, I'm glad. Didn't go out on a good note, last time. Got another shot."
"Is it really that bad?" asks Emilly, head tilted slightly to the side, solemn gray eyes on the Weyrlingmaster's face. A downward tilt follows on his words. "Me either. I mean, expect to see it again. I can't really share the gladness though. There were other things I wanted to focus on. Still, at least there's enough of us who've actually fought Thread before still around to help with all the young new riders. That won't be the case when the next Pass comes around ... unless this /is/ it? Who knows." The rider's arms come up around her elbows in a half-hug.
"Can't be," I'daur answers the latter question with a firm shake of his head. "Too irregular. This... it's something else. Hell if I know what, though." A shrug; he doesn't seem very concerned after all with the reasons for these errant 'Falls. He does note, though, "Yeah, least it's not in another fifty years when we're all dead. Faranth only knows what they'd do then until they got their feet under 'em again."
Emilly nods, listening to I'daur's theory. "It's completely out of pattern," she agrees, a light frown creasing her brow. "The unpredictability is unsettling. They seem to manage after every Interval, even when it's a Long one. But I imagine those first falls must always be hard. How many must be lost." Her head shakes again. "It's a small blessing that it's different right now."
"They manage because they know it's coming, and they can prepare," I'daur points out with a shake of his head. "Didn't see the first ones myself, but I saw the end, and we were still losing them regular enough then. Especially the weyrlings--Faranth only knows what'll happen with all these." He gestures vaguely at the barracks, though it's as yet unpopulated again with Teonath's weyrlings.
"Preparation does count for a lot," the greenrider nods, looking over her shoulder, teeth catching lightly at her lip. "It's always so hard to send them up when there's nothing left to teach and only luck, their own skill and intuition to preserve them."
"Haven't done it before," admits I'daur with a shrug. "Didn't get started on this until I was down at Monaco, after. /Between/'s bad enough." He shakes his head once, frowning.
Emilly's brows lift a little. "No? Ah. One clutch for me," murmurs the greenrider, looking down at her folded arms. "Not so many but still ..." she shrugs. "Yes. Between is tough. All you can do is pray that you drilled visualizing with them enough times and that they really paid attention and understood the seriousness of it. And if they don't ... you might lose one, or two and it's horrifying and you never forget it.'
"Yeah," agrees I'daur. He's silent several seconds, and then finally offers, "Monaco, I was an assistant. Worked on their visualizing, that stuff. Weyrlingmaster always was the one that actually took 'em the first time." Pause. "This last time, first ones I did myself. Lost one then, too."
Emilly's face creases with understanding. "I assisted at Telgar first, under an old friend. That's where I'm from: Telgar," she explains. "There were a couple of near misses in that class," she says softly. "I'sai took them all up the first time then too, while Yselle and I flew point. Lost one here, not the first time out." The memory sits in her eyes still and she shivers, trying to shake it off. "I remember the keening," she says quietly. "It happens."
"It happens," I'daur agrees flatly, nodding once to the greenrider. He's silent several seconds after that, though, and shifts his weight slightly, before adding, a twinge regretfully, "I'd offer you a drink, but don't got anything on hand right now." That must be a first.
Emilly's brows lift a little. "I'm not much of a drinker anyway. You should see what happens to me when my friends and I go down Ista or Boll way for a little time away. I can't even keep a Fireball down without getting silly. What happened to your collection anyway?" The question is asked in a straightfoward manner, passing curiousity.
"Oh." I'daur stares at Emilly a long moment blankly, as though he doesn't really know the answer to that himself. Finally: "I drank it." Pause. "All of it. I like the Rusted Hulk myself, out Tillek way."
"I've only been there a few times. Generally when I have a rest day, I like to go somewhere warm. Tillek's too cold. My son though, he likes going back to Tillek. He trained as a Baker there." Emilly considers the Weyrlingmaster for a moment. "That's an awful lot of drink. Sometimes I wish I could drink like a fish and keep up with everyone."
"Don't care for the heat myself," admits I'daur, shrugging. "Even before Monaco. Tillek's more... my kind of bar." A shrug. "S'not for everybody, though," he concedes that much. "Tillek or drinkin'."
"I've never actually lived anywhere that's warm all the time," says Emilly. "I guess I like exploring the contrast, though in the end, it gets oppressive." Her arms drop to her sides, one hand coming to lean on the desk's edge. "It's rough and tumble over there, that does seem more your style. Where else do you like to visit?" The greenrider's head cocks slightly to the side again.
"That's... about it," admits I'daur with a shrug. "Don't get out much--Zunaeth can't, don't care to. Besides, always too much to do around here." A gesture to the barracks. What he really means is probably something more along the lines of 'drink his /own/ booze.'
"Mm," says Emilly with a hint of a smile curling her lips upward. "Well, when you get around to it, enjoy your meal. Hope you're feeling better I'daur." The greenrider lifts a hand and waves, turning to go out, sweater held tightly in once more.
"Good night," I'daur notes in parting, lingering after Emilly's gone. It's not long, though, before he gets up and heads off to his own dinner.