[Log] Helping Out
Who: Arezan, Bialy, R'dur, Trevan
When: Day 11, Month 8, Turn 13
Where: Bowl, Telgar Weyr
What: R'dur searches Arezan.
Central Bowl, Telgar Weyr
A stony field is the center of this great caldera, the size of which is unmatched at any other Weyr--for the whole complement of all the wings at Telgar could rest comfortably within its towering cliffs. Shaped in a perfect oval, the rock walls seem ideal for keeping the usual chill winds stirring about. The ground is mostly made of pebbles and rocks, some hued the milky shades of old quartz, though there are patches where softer dirt and even trees sprout up from the ground. To the south, the bowl opens onto the living caverns and the Weyrleaders' quarters; the immense entrance to the Hatching Grounds lies to the northwest. Heading southwest will lead one back out into the rocky mountain ranges around Telgar's protective walls. Dragons may be seen, relaxing or fresh from feeding, to the north, as well as the soft lapping sounds of Telgar's lake touching the sandy shore. The Weyrling Barracks, always aflutter with activity, are to the direct west. If you're looking for the 'dutypair' to take you to an outweyr destination, they can be found here. Fall leaves cling around the edges of the bowl, and the trees near the lake are bedecked with bronze and red splendor.
Contents:
Bialy
Ancaith
Arezan
Obvious exits:
Weyrling Barracks Southern Bowl Lake Shore Hatching Cavern Feeding Grounds Runner Pasture Weyr Entrance
Bialy
The tousled mop of nondescript brown hair that tops Bialy off doesn't get the chance to hang as it does, limply, about his face because it's so often tied back. But it isn't uncommon for a strand or two to escape and get into those dirt dark eyes, slightly angled above a nose that's a little big. His sharp jawline and strong chin square off its size, thankfully, and in complete contrast his mouth is full and expressive. His hands have long fingers and sport a few scars here and there, a few calluses, and they're sort of oversized, much like a puppy's paws before they're grown into. Charming, endearing, these words suit him far better than handsome ever would.
He's tall at 6'4". Simple clothing dresses his lanky frame, long arms and legs and broad shoulders. Sweaters are worn over collared shirts with sleeves rolled up when he's working, tunics with laces barely done up are worn in a similar fashion. His pants are nondescript, as are boots and belt and whatever else.
Arezan
Tall and lithe, this young man tends to move with an easy almost feline grace. Long limbs bear lean muscle with more strength than their appearance might suggest, and broad shoulders are definitely the widest part of him, tapering into a narrow waist and slim hips. A thatch of unruly black curls falls in a carefully tousled mess to his chin, framing pale skin and and brushing his high brow. Beneath that raven fringe are light grey eyes with a faint speckling of pale blue beneath expressive, dark brows. Those eyes are wide set above a thin nose, his jawline square but not broad and his cheekbones well defined. A soft, mobile mouth finishes off features that are sharply angled and verging on androgynous though a persistent shadow of stubble across his jaw helps to keep him from seeming too effeminate. Smooth skin and a lack of bulk war with a cynical glint to his eyes, making his age a bit hard to peg, but in reality he is 21 Turns, 4 months, and 13 days old.
He wears garments that are simple but finely made, and tailored to flatter his frame to a T. A tunic of royal blue lays close against his torso, a faint shimmer of silvery thread woven through the heavy fabric to create interest and texture. Ivory bone buttons add detail, one closing the opening at his throat and a pair at each cuff. The tunic disappears into fitted slate-colored trousers which in turn are tucked into calf-high black wherhide boots matching the thick belt around his waist. A neat square satchel, also of black leather, never seems to be far from him and when outside he dons long grey woolen coat. He wears the simple yellow and blue knot of a Crom Hold resident at one shoulder.
Early afternoon, and the area just outside the entrance to the inner weyr is bathed in sunshine. It being Telgar, even in summer the sun's warmth is pleasant and the opposite, shady side of the Bowl holds fewer folks lounging about. On this side there are a few, and among them is one visitor from Crom, still here and trying his best to help out in the aftermath of the odd fall over his home Hold. Though Arezan is sprawled on top of a blanket with his back against boulder, his ever-moving hands are busy with an actual task - rolling long strips of bandage in this case. There's a basket nearly overflowing with the newly laundered lengths at one side, and a neat pyramid of finished rolls on the other.
Alidaeth still has a small bandage plastered to the tip of his right wing, a souvenir from the 'Fall. This is not why he's been staring at Arezan almost since the young man sat down. No, the reason for that in evinced in his slow creep toward the Cromite from behind him, eyes fixed as much on the basket as on the man. R'dur stands nearby, in conference with a couple of his wingriders, and entirely ignorant of what his mischievous dragon is up to now. Alidaeth can be, for a dragon, relatively quiet when he needs to be, especially with the bowl noise to mask his slide toward Arezan until he hovers just behind him, and huffs a breath out before stretching his neck out to bump the pyramid of freshly-made rolls with his curved muzzle.
Out of the way of sneaky dragons and the disruption of mighty bandage towers, Bialy is being instructed on the makings of a good sack. A sack for what? It's hard to say, but it looks big, and both lads seem engrossed in the material it's made from, particularly. There's a lot of tugging going on.
Hold-born and Hold-bred, Arezan is not only totally unused to watching out for nefariously mischievous dragon types, but if you told him he needed to be he'd not likely believe you. As such, he is for once blissfully unaware. Even if Alidaeth had approched from the angle that would have blocked the sun, Arezan might have been a bit intimated by his hulking form but certainly he never would have thought to protect the carefully constructed pile. As it is, the sun is in his face and the brown's shadow stretches out behind him, and there is no warning, just the sudden appearance of that muzzle and bandages spilling, unrolling, and bouncing across the blanket and in some cases into the dirt. "What the-?" Normally articulate, the Cromite also manages a little yelp before composing himself and dragging a more appropriately smooth expression to his face as he struggles to his feet and takes a step or two back. Unfortunately, in the face (literally) of the biggest dragon he's been anywhere near, the sack making goes unnoticed.
Alidaeth's eyes light up when the bandages roll and unravel, and he whuffs as he reaches one paw out to bat at them again, like some kind of overgrown kitty. It's Arezan's yelps, though, not anything on his dragon's part, that make R'dur turn, and with an answering yelp of his own, he abandons his now-snickering wingmates for jogging over to Alidaeth and Arezan. "Oh, no. Oh no. I'm so sorry, here, let me, I'm sorry about Alidaeth--Alidaeth!" he fixes the brown with a look as he pushes past the dragon's neck and paw to rescue the rolls and pile them back up into some semblance of order. "I'll help fix them back, I'm sorry," he continues, meanwhile, apologizing to Arezan. Alidaeth just chitters in amusement at what he's caused.
It'd take a lot to keep Bialy's interest and curiosity from the area of Alidaeth's commotion. The lad he'd been standing with looks a little defensive about his sack when the harper kid wanders away from him towards the dragon, rider, and Arezan. There's a roll a little further away from the trio; he stoops to pick it up and, a little perplexed, continues on. "Er." Right, he'll stand unhelpfully and awkwardly off to the side, the hand and the bandage hovering.
As R'dur comes scrambling over, Arezan settles himself for the most part. When the brown's rider arrives he no longer looks as shocked as he did, but he keeps his distance from the dragon and the spilled bandages. The hasty apologies bring one brow up ever so slightly, faint surprise flickering in his pale eyes even as one hand subconsciously smooths his tunic. "Ah, yes, well, the bandages are for your Weyr after all and I was just lending a hand so I don't suppose apologies are necessary." A flick of a glance from man to dragon, and the other eyebrow joins the first - lifted. "I don't mind rerolling them myself unless he's going to do that again." Bialy gets a quick little nod, and Arezan sidesteps over to him to take the bandage with a faint smile. "Thanks," is offered, though his eyes only dart to lad before skittering back to Alidaeth as though he'd rather not let him out of his sight for long.
"He might," says R'dur with a dark look to Alidaeth. The brown only looks innocent, mouth hanging open in draconic amusement. He does, at least, whuffle companionably and lie down, sliding his chin along the ground toward Arezan as though to apologize. "He /says/ he's sorry, too," R'dur interprets the gesture, with a shake of his head, as though he doesn't really believe it. He does, though, finish collecting the bandages and straighten, to tell the Cromite, "No, no. He--he did it, I'll help fix it. Really." He is, by that point, blushing rather a lot, especially when he notices Bialy spectatoring.
Spectatoring, yes, because, well, when you're standing around a scene you're a spectator by default. "Oh, uh. Sure." The roll is surrendered easily enough, though Bialy's hand remains, lingering, curled around the phantom of the roll. But, after realizing the case, he stuffs both quickly into his pockets and clears his throat. And stays. Why? It's a mystery, really.
Arezan notices the discomfited way his hand is smoothing his tunic and the motion abruptly stops, both hands forced to his side instead. He lightly clears his throat and finally succeeds in pulling a neutral expression to his face, polite smile stretched across his mouth. "Not necessary at all, really sir. I've nothing better to do, and the bandages were used in defense of my home after all so it really is no problem." By now the state of the bandages that ended up in the dirt is spotted and a vague flicker of annoyance appears before it can be squashed. With a little shake of his head he turns that forced smile on the dragon, and he inclines his head a bit. "Apology accepted Al... Alidaeth did you say? I admit no dragon has ever said anything to me, so I suppose it could be considered a fortuitous circumstance at that." He deftly begins to re-roll the bandage surrendered by Bialy before he notices the end is dusty. "Eh. Um, you there, if you're going to hang about you could help by pulling out the dirty ones and piling them on the side. Name's Arezan by the way." The introduction helps him realize his manners are lacking and he hastily adds, "Oh, and Crom's duties and thanks to Telgar and her queens," for R'dur's benfit.
R'dur still looks sheepish, embarrassed on behalf of his dragon--Alidaeth himself, of course, is shameless. "Ah, yes," R'dur tries delicately. "Alidaeth, and I'm R'dur. You're--you're from /Crom/." He blinks, expression a little wary and one hand sliding up to rub the back of his neck. "It's nice to meet you," he manages after another moment. "How are you liking... Are you a new arrival? Are you... staying with us a while?"
Bialy is one of those bystanders who just wants to wait and see what happens. However, when he's called on to help, he hops to with a nod and a quick grin. There's really no reason for a grin in this situation, but there it is all the same. Bending to the task he's been assigned, he picks through the bandages he can find, giving a little glance upwards for R'dur's questioning. Yes, how /is/ Arezan liking?
From Crom. Yes. Arezan shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a slight motion but it speaks to his unease if one is observant enough to note it. "That I am. I was... delivering some records initially. Then I was staying to see the sights, and now..." The first pause is a quick one, but the second stretches as his eyes flit in the direction of the infirmary. "Well, I figured I'd stay and see if I could help. And I suppose I felt bad requesting a ride home with so few able to get in the air right now." There's another clearing of the throat, this one more sheepish, and he finally bends to toss the clean bandages back into the basket, giving him something to do. Closer to Bialy's level he mumbles a quick thank you to the lad as his hands busy themselves. "And as I said, thank you for..." he trails off yet again, uncomfortable as if the situation was his own fault, uncertain quite what to say. He falls back on his usual sharp-edged tongue and arrogant mein, straightening a bit and adding, "Dragons must fly when Thread is in the sky though, yeah?"
"Oh," says R'dur, hesitantly. "Well. You're... welcome to stay, really, as long as you like. I mean, we're not going to--going to--we're glad to have you. Arezan?" he tests the name then, as he finally manages to stop blushing. At least, until Arezan's last words, at which point a flush slides right back up his neck. "Ah. Yes. Well... dragons flew," he mutters, glancing downward and then clearing his throat before trying another topic again. "You said records? Then you must have met our Weyrharper, Giremi."
The initial, mild surprise that registered on Bialy's face for Arezan's thanks is fleeting. He just smiles again, drops his eyes to his hands and continues on. 'To the side' has accumulated a little pile of dirtied bandages by now. He stays quiet.
At least Arezan has the grace to look regretful of his words when R'dur flushes again. He opens his mouth as if to make ammends, smooth things over, or more likely stick his foot right back in that opening. Instead he takes a slow breath, scrubs a hand through his hair and then simply nods. "I have, just the other day. He was kind enough to show me through your records room - very nice of him. I've tried to assist in more tangible ways since... since then, though. Unfortunately my practical skills are a bit lacking." And he's not the sort to get his hands too dirty either, though he wouldn't actually admit it in this sort of situation.
"He's a good man," R'dur agrees; Giremi's a safe enough subject. At least until R'dur blunders on in his efforts to make small talk: "Except for that thing with Tiria--I mean." He winces, breaking off and shifting his weight in fidgety fashion. "So you're enjoying the Weyr then," he picks up an earlier dropped thread of conversation. "If you're interested in staying on? I mean, you don't have to stay just to... help--" he sneaks a look sideways at the bandages and Bialy "--not that we mind, but we don't generally make our guests do our work or anything like that. Really."
Here, Bialy will helpfully interject on the end of R'dur's sentence. "They really don't." He's been around a while, he should know.
The mention of Tiriana, or at least enough of her name spoken by her uncle to make it a safe assumption, Arezan's brows dart back up again. It's a quick flash of interest, before he nonchalantly offers, "I met Tiriana too. Giremi mentioned the relation between the two of you." He doesn't mention any further thoughts on the girl, though the smile that touches the corner of his mouth is the first genuine one to land there. "As for the Weyr, yes I suppose I am enjoying it. It's the first time I've ever been to a Weyr and it's certainly a good sight more interesting than the Hold to say the least. The records room is really quite magnificent." There's a pause, a grin at Bialy, and a shrug. "If I wasn't going to help there wouldn't really be much of a reason for me to stay and take advantage of the Weyr's hospitality though. Besides, there is work awaiting me back home eventually."
"I'm sorry," R'dur says at once, when Arezan mentions Tiriana. "She's--she's my niece, yes. I'm sorry if she... for whatever she did." He seems to assume she did /something/ to the young man, and manages a small smile for the Cromite then, in exchange for Arezan's. Then, picking up on the last of his words, R'dur says slowly, in agreement, "Eventually. Ah, when are you planning on returning home to Crom, then? Or have you not made any plans yet. Is anyone else here with you?"
Straightening to stretch cramped back muscles with a little grunt, Bialy pauses his endeavors. Somewhere in doing so he assumes again the role of the spectator. He watches Arezan for his response/s to R'dur's questioning, again, with his head tilted.
Arezan chuckles at the quick apology, giving another quick shake of his head. "You are far too eager to apologize in general, dragonrider. And in this specific case most especially. Though I gathered she can be a bit mercurial, in my case she was actually quite pleasant." Ever moving hands flip a pair of soiled bandages off to the side, then stack another clean one in the basket as he takes a moment to answer that last. The brownrider gets a slightly suspicious glance, but since Arezan can't seem to figure out the harm in a straight answer he gives one. "Well yes, I don't know why I wouldn't go home. As I said, I was just making a delivery and have been helping out until it seems more appropriate to request a ride home. So I don't have any solid plan at this point, no, and I'm by myself. Why do you ask?"
"Mercurial. That's... putting it mildly," remarks R'dur wryly, blushing faintly once more at Arezan's correction. He manages another tentative smile, though, and then pauses again at the answer to his question. "I was... just wondering. I mean, if you would really like to help us, and everything you could--I realize that we--Alidaeth and I, I mean--didn't make the best first impression on you, but really he's not so bad, and he means well and he doesn't joke about this sort of stuff, so if you'd like to, we'd be thrilled. Gratified, really." And somewhere in there, in between all the explanations and earnestness, he doesn't so much get around to saying just how Arezan could help them out.
Oh, this is an interesting turn. Bialy-the-Spectator's eyebrows lift and, after glancing at R'dur, he focuses again on Arezan. Back and forth.
Interest, with brows lifted and mouth neutral, is how Arezan starts out. As R'dur rambles along he dips little nods as though he's following, but by the end he's left with a vague frown. Bialy-the-Spectator gets a questioning look then and Arezan asks him, "Did you follow any of that? I didn't actually hear a request... unless I missed it?" Brows up in question for R'dur again now, and he flicks his fingers toward that bandaged wingtip. "Does he need his bandage changed or some such? I'd be happy to track someone dwn to help with that, but I really don't have any experience in it myself. You might be better off asking one of those candidates overrunning the place - they might be better suited to such a task."
Well, if he's going to offer, Alidaeth's going to unfurl that wing and drape it out toward Arezan--R'dur ducks, scooting sideways out of the way just in time and shooting Alidaeth a look. Another whuff for his effort, and the brownrider takes a breath of his own. "Candidates, right," he repeats Arezan. "That's what I meant, I just... I'm sorry. I meant, would you like to be a candidate. For the clutch. And stay until then, at least? I mean, if you don't mind, you can say no if you want, but if you want to, Alidaeth would like you to. He thinks you should."
Oh, Bialy follows. He wouldn't be a proper spectator if he didn't, right? Instead of helping Arezan out, though, he only lifts his eyebrows again and concentrates harder on R'dur. Ah, there it is. "That," he supplies, with a smug little smile in place.
Arezan blinks, eyes darting to Bialy first, as he seems the safer person for the moment. "That?" The tone is incredulous at best, and his hand goes through his tousled locks once more. "You mean to say that he thinks /I/ should stand as a candidate? Now, for this clutch?" Yes Arezan, that is what he said. Pure consternation falls, heavy as a boulder, with a frown on both brow and lip. "I don't know. I mean... now that Thread is falling again it's certainly quite a worthwhile thing to aspire to, but I just don't. Or at least, haven't." All of this is sort of half under his breath and more to himself than anything, and in the end his sigh is more resigned than excited or determined. "I... I suppose it's my duty and... no offense to you Alidaeth but I think my chances are rather poor, so." That crinkle mars his brow again and his hands find his hips. "Does that mean I'll have to be doing all the hard labor, mucking out stalls and privies and such?"
"You don't /have/ to, you know," R'dur offers himself, quiet. "It's not... It's not a life for everyone but it's... Well, I think standing, being a candidate, is a good experience either way, and, well. Alidaeth and I would be very happy to have you--I'm the candidate coordinator this time, anyway. But, oh, yes, chores. We have a rotating list, so it's some stuff like mucking or weeding--privies are usually just punishment but... I don't punish people a lot," confesses the man, with a wry smile.
R'dur doesn't punish people a lot. Will wonders never cease. Bialy is wearing a smile of his own still, though it's morphed into something a little less mug, a little more congratulatory.
Arezan flips a dismissive hand, as though his 'needing' to really has nothing to do with it. "Of course, of course. Shells, I suppose this should be something I just jump to do but really you've caught me quite off guard." Uncertainty fades into determination and he shoves his hands into his pockets, then gives a firm nod. "If I can't weed or muck a bit I suppose I'm pretty worthless after all. And I'm sure if I said no I'd be kicking myself in a few sevendays. I still think your brown's taste in candidates is a bit off, but I will do it. And you've my thanks for the opportunity. Both of you." Black or white it seems, now that the choice is made it's made firmly and Arezan even takes on a faint smile.
R'dur's own expression lights up when Arezan agrees, and he nods quickly. "Oh, you will? You will. That's--that's great. Congratulations," he tells the man quickly, nodding. "Would you like--I can take you to the barracks, and get you settled in there now, if you like. And then you can move your things in. You'll probably want to go home to Crom to pick up more things, yes? I can arrange a rider to take you, if you need it."
"Right. Yes. Well, I suppose I really will need to go home and get some things because really what I have isn't suited to candidate chores. Not to mention I only have a few things." Arezan lets out the breath he was apparently holding and then glances toward the weyr proper. "To the barracks first and then I'll move what I have, and the ride can come whenever it's convenient really."
"This way, then," says R'dur, marginally more relaxed with that matter settled, and with being on more comfortable ground as he offers Bialy a fleeting, distracted smile and gestures to Arezan to follow him as he sets off toward the caverns of the Weyr.
Candidate Barracks, Telgar Weyr
This cavern has a rather low ceiling, with many openings for air, since this becomes an abode for a large number of people before every hatching. Every inch of the floor is kept clean, although little of it can be seen due to the many rows of cots that fill most of the space. The central part of the cavern is rather dim, as most of the glows are on the walls. Little decoration is evidenced except for a few personal effects. You wouldn't call it uncomfortable unless the unusually low ceiling for a weyr makes you claustrophobic. On the wall, scrupulously maintained, is a list of Candidates and their assigned chores for the day. Tampering with it is rumored to be an offense punishable by death or latrine duty for the rest of one's life.
Contents:
Arezan
Trevan
Stone Ledges
Obvious exits:
R'dur leads the way into the barracks, pausing when he gets past the entrance to glance back to Arezan. "Well. These are the barracks; you can just take whichever cot you like. And we post the chores on this wall--" he gestures "--but you won't have to do anything today at least. And, I think I said, or maybe I just thought it, I don't know, but--I'm the candidate coordinator this time, so if you need anything, you can come talk to me."
Arezan follows closely through unfamiliar corridors, then into the spacious room. He simply nods to the directions, pale eyes already darting around the room in an assessing fashion. "You did mention that, yes, though I believe it was in conjunction with your general lack of punishments. I'll be sure to keep that firmly in mind." His lips quirk into a lopsided smirk, vaguely teasing before he dips a final nod. "That's all clear enough I think."
R'dur half-grins himself, ducking his own head in answer to Arezan. "Yes, that's... pretty true," he concedes. "Oh, but let me give you the rules, too. Basically, don't get in any fights--though, you don't seem that type?--and no pranks--but you don't seem that one, either. And, well. Please don't drink, or... have sex." Blush. Very quickly: "And that's pretty much it, really. I'll just have someone come down and meet you to take you by Crom in a little bit, so you can be back before dinner if that's all right with you?"
Each rule gets a nod of its own as Arezan files them away. "That all seems eaysy enough but... well, if I can ask, why? Fights and pranks are obvious enough, but no drinking or sex? Not that I can't follow them, but I guess I'm simply the sort that does better with an explanation. As for the rest, a before dinner ride would be just fine, yes."
R'dur's blush is not going away, not when Arezan asks him to explain those rules. "Well, we need your heads clear, for when the eggs start hatching, and so you can do your chores. And you can't drink as a weyrling, anyway, because of the dragons. You can't--you can't have sex, either, as one, and... pregnant girls can't stand, and just--those sorts of relationships aren't good while you're a candidate, so it's just a lot easier and better and all if we just ask you nod to do it at all?" Pause. "Does that help?" he asks.
Trevan is lying on his cot staring at the ceiling when the new guy comes in with R'dur. He rolls over, curious as Arezan asks that question and eyes the pair, chin propped on fist. "What if it ain't a relationship?" he contributes to the conversation, idle curiosity apparently fueling the question.
That lingering blush seems to bring a glint of amusement to Arezan's eyes, but he keeps a carefully neutal expression. "It does indeed make sense. Though it may sound a bit silly I wasn't so much thinking about the actual hatching and being a weyrling after. Though... to be honest, I might not have made those connections even if I was. I don't know much about any of this." Trevan's question draws attention to the young man and Arezan offers him a flip of a wave. "That'd be a decent enough question for an intellectual debate, but in this case it sounds like it's the act that's disallowed as much as the feelings behind it."
R'dur clears his throat, and gives Trevan a look. "It's a relationship. I mean, even if it's not a relationship, it's... relations," he says slowly, still looking quite embarrassed, for all he's mostly firm on that subject. "Right." A nod toward Arezan. "So... I'll just send that rider down--I think you have it all, and it's not hard, and there's plenty of people, and me of course, to help if you need anything, so... Congratulations," he repeats, to the latest candidate, with a quick smile as he backs up a couple of steps toward the door.
Arezan's already wandering around the room, eyeing cots. He heads for the back corner, checks to see if the last cot is occupied, and then sets the sack with his few items down to claim it. "Oh yes, thank you," he offers over his shoulder to the departing brownrider. "And do enjoy your evening."
"Got it." Trevan gives R'dur a mock-salute and returns Arezan's wave. "Trevan. From Nerat. Guess you're from Crom then?"
R'dur nods once more to Arezan, and then Trevan, before he turns and slips out.