[Log] Boxes
Who: I'daur, Leova, Niena
When: Day 10, Month 6, Turn 15
Where: Weyrling Training Room, High Reaches Weyr
What: Zunaeth and Vrianth discuss where to put riders.
Weyrling Training Room, High Reaches Weyr
This large room was cut deep into the cliff side and is lit only by glows. There are two large stone tables running east and west. Behind each table is a stone bench for the weyrlings to sit on, not very comfortable admittedly, but wood is too valuable to use for this purpose. At the north end of the room is a smaller stone table and chair, used by the WeyrlingMaster. Behind that lies a map of the northern continent, the areas that each Weyr protects carefully marked.
On the east wall is a detailed depiction of a dragon's wing with the anatomy clearly marked. If you look at the west wall, it's covered with many Wing formations. In the back of the room are a couple old, scratched up couches. Originally they were in the colors of High Reaches Weyr, one black, one dark blue, but now it's a little difficult to tell which is which.
Contents:
Leova
Obvious exits:
Bowl Weyrling Barracks
It's been a long day: not only the running and calisthenics but plenty of firestone tossing and lugging and, if you breathed in the wrong way, accidental eating. Just the dust. Only a little. Although Vrianth wanted a taste on purpose and had to be dissuaded. Then came a long soak, missing lunch but worth it, at least until her stomach started rumbling during class. Leova's. And then Vrianth's, again. More lectures. And trying not to fall asleep, and trying not to let Vrianth fall asleep, because then Leova falls asleep too. But! Kebabs. And fake "on guard, foul renegade!" fencing with the kebab sticks, where Rhonda's mushroom surprised everyone as the champion after it beat F'ren's onion, Leova's pepper, and I'ro's carrot. And bubbly pies! And later, flaky pastries, some of which Leova balances on a plate as she shuffles into the training room. Her short hair is wilted. Her long thick nightshirt, just about trailing on the floor. Her dragon, peeking through the door behind her.
Leova has pastries; I'daur has the whiskey. In the one corner of the training room he keeps sectioned off for his officey space, he has a bottle on the desk and a glass in hand while he leans back in his chair. It's a relaxing time for him, with tired weyrlings trundling towards their couches and beds, and Zunaeth keeping his watch just outside, drowsing in the cool evening. The adventuring of one weyrling into his room earns a lazy look from the older man, however, his head swinging around to watch Leova and the green hiding out in the doorway. "Evening," he offers, with a small lift of his glass in greeting.
Just imagine whiskey poured atop pastries. And then maybe set on fire. Or maybe only Vrianth would like that idea. In any case, Leova shuffles the rest of the way over to the desk and then sets down the plate like a not-yet-burnt offering and just stands there for a moment. "Weyrlingmaster," she says, vowels just a little slurred. Quick as water, Vrianth folds her wings and slithers after her, careful to not knock herself on any of the stone furniture this time, until she's right behind her lifemate and wrapping herself around what she can reach of the desk. Leova treats this as normal. "Was going to ask. Numbers all right, now? Except. Vrianth. What she wants now is a weyr."
"Trying to bribe me already?" says I'daur, eyeing the pastries with bemusement, a raised brow as he glances back up to Leova. Studing the girl and the dragon that curls up around his desk, he scoots the chair back a hair and pulls in his feet out of her way. "Vrianth," he repeats the name, with a nod to the green. And a beat and a sip of whiskey later, less certain about that one even after this long with the weyrlings, "Leova? The numbers? A weyr?" Following the line of thought, he settles on the latter remark as probably the easiest to answer. "Ambitious thing, ain't she? What's she want one of them for already?"
"I'm hungry too," Leova says forlornly, rubbing her eyes with a knuckle before taking a slice and chewing, losing only a crumb or two down her front. Meanwhile, Vrianth is taking up the additional space made for her, the tip of her tail playing along the legs of his chair, her keenly faceted eyes gaining that depth of color so much like how her dam's can be. Less dark. That much more intense. Just now, green with flecks of blue like minute fish. They distract Leova enough that she misses numbers entirely, this time. Heavily, "Just told her I'd tell you." Her gaze slides back to I'daur again. "Cave. Of her own. I guess. Secath has one."
I'daur leans to the side to watch Vrianth's tail in rather wary fashion--he's not too trusting of the weyrling dragons when they get to playing around his chair, apparently. "Get dinner?" he asks Leova, distracted a moment longer before he looks back up to her, eyeing the one-less-pastried plate. "Don't mind if I do," and he takes one for himself, though he doesn't eat it just yet. Instead, with it in one hand, he sets down the glass in the other and proceeds to refill it. "'D share myself, but can't just now. So Secath's got one--that's 'cause I'm not havin' to keep an eye on her and eighteen more just like her, y'know. Although knowing Persie, maybe I should be anyway," he concedes that point with a wry smirk.
She croons, Vrianth does, with his eyes on her. Nor does she attempt any tricks with his chair, although watched or no... surely she /could/. Which is why Leova is eyeing her too. "Did," she says, looking away from Vrianth only after I'daur does, but still with a tightness to her jaw that threatens not to let the chuckle out, at the end. Until she does chuckle after all. "Told her," she says. "But she wants one anyway. And says they aren't all like her. And..." She trails off.
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth preempts her rider and goes to the source, or nearly, reaching out. Is he asleep? Awake? She's awake. << Wake up! >>
After another slow sip of his liquor, I'daur braves a bite of pastry, inspecting it afterward for a moment. "Not bad. Anyway, she can want all she wants, but. If I give her one, gotta give the rest of 'em one, too, and you gotta admit, some of 'em just aren't fit to be out on their own just now. Like, most of them." He stops then to glance at the doorway leading outside, snorting just as Zunaeth does so, too, the bronze lifting his head to put an eye to the doorway. "And...?" I'daur prompts then.
Zunaeth> Vrianth senses that Zunaeth snaps, mind rumbling back to life at that sharp summons, << What? >> A beat, later, however, the dragon crotchety as his rider, softens when the first shock of being woken so abruptly wears off. Warmth fans over his voice, too, to recognize the voice as a weyrling, and he repeats, much more charitably, << What do you want? >>
Vrianth's eyes spark that much greener. Leova repeats, just the corners of her mouth tipping up, "She says I should say that that is a wonderful idea. That you could give them all the same weyr. A big one. Hers doesn't have to be quite as big. Quite." She clears her throat, hands going behind her back, and shifts her weight to the other foot. While Vrianth drowns out whatever she was starting to explain, warbling out to Zunaeth's eye.
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth jolts backward, her first reaction, and it takes two full beats before she returns to the familiar mind, warming herself in Zunaeth and a hint of sunlight from elsewhere. << A weyr. To put my Leova in. And keep her. >> There's a sense that her Leova doesn't have to know that last part, and then she borrows a human word, << Please? >>
Niena meanders in from the barracks.
Niena has arrived.
"Not gonna happen," I'daur tells Leova, with a shake of his head. He leans back further at his chair behind his desk, propping one boot--the good leg--on the side of it. "Generous of her, though. When you're old enough to fly, then /maybe/." And he gives the girl and then the green wrapped around his desk a look, with another bite of one of the pastries Leova's brought in. "So other'n needing a weyr for yourselves, how's weyrlinghood going, anyway?" the weyrlingmaster takes up a new question.
Zunaeth> Vrianth senses that Zunaeth, dryly, << Wouldn't a box work just as well? >> His wry bemusement with the younger dragon, very much like his rider's, increases now that he's fully awake, like the comfortable feel of fireside heat. << You think you're going to lose her somewhere? Leave her lying around the Weyr for somebody else to pick up? >>
Niena begins to head toward the wall with anatomy charts, then notices I'daur and Leova. With a polite "Sir" and a warmer "Hello, Leova." she continues over, and stares at one of the charts with dragon wings, furrowing her brow and at one point tracing up her own arm.
Leova looks sidelong at Vrianth: you hear him? Vrianth does not seem entirely convinced. But then, she's chatting up Zunaeth, the lines of her lithe body relaxed a little more than they had been, despite that her eyes are whirling more swiftly now and with far fewer of those flecks of blue. "Sir," her lifemate says. Not arguing. Or at least, it's not the Weyrlingmaster she's arguing with. "Doing all right. If the numbers are." She fights a yawn. Wins, but barely. Has to admit, "Could use more sleep, is all." Only then does she notice Niena, murmur, "Evening," her posture suddenly straighter now.
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth's interest suddenly surges, her thoughts crackling just beneath actual words at first. A box! A box she could fit in. But not the littler greens. So it would have to be a tricky box... with wheels? << Are there such boxes in the tunnels? >> She has a vague concept of /storerooms/. But that is quickly replaced by a very, very definite, << They had better not. >> Or else Vrianth will get them. It's as simple as that. And even as Vrianth is assuring Zunaeth of the fact, she is also edging closer and closer to the sense of fire, closer and closer to see whether it burns.
"Oughta sit down if you're gonna stay a while," I'daur seems to realize at last he's still got Leova on her feet only when she yawns. "Grab a couple of the extra chairs, pull 'em over here if you want. Niena," he's two-for-two on the names tonight, definitely improving over the shouts of 'you!' that characterize the first couple months of weyrlinghood. "Shouldn't stay up too late, though. First months're always rough, then they settle down. When they can take care of themselves." Another eyeing of Vrianth; then he asks, "How you doing, Niena?"
Niena finishes looking at the chart for now, the dutifully pulls up the chair. "I'm fine; Masoth is asleep or I'd be comparing his wing to the chart."
Zunaeth> Vrianth senses that Zunaeth answers rather quickly, << No. >> The brief cooling of his mental warmth, however, is more indicative of an I-don't-know than a plain old no, however. Moving on, glossing over that fact with a resurgence in heat, << Boxes are bad ideas anyway. Locking things up in general, in fact. Best leave her the whole barracks to run around in--otherwise, might end up shoveling up after her like she does you now. >>
Leova starts to go off for the chairs, but before she can, she has a dragon tail wrapped about her legs and Vrianth staring at I'daur. As though the Weyrlingmaster would run off with her or something. But at least his desk is free again, and evidently she isn't concerned about Masoth's rider. So she says, "Trying not to, sir," right from where she is.
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth hangs on tightly to that idea until it gets just too hot, though even then it's probably running around that mind of hers with all its plans and ideas. << Why are they bad? >> She envisions a box with his rider inside, desk and all. The box has holes in the bottom.
"Think it'll look the same?" I'daur asks Niena, raising a brow as he nods toward the mural on the wall. "All that make sense?" He finishes off the pastry then, licking crumbs from his fingers lazily while Vrianth attaches herself to Leova. "Kinda clingy, huh?" he observes. "Lot of 'em are, this stage. Can't say as I get a lot of questions about boxes, though." And he shakes his head, watching the pair.
Niena says "I'm not sure, but even if it doesn't look exactly the same, the bones should work together the same way." She did take I'daur literally and brought over two chairs, one of which she now offers to Leova, then adds, "Most of us did promise Rilsa to get to senior dragonhealer whether we impressed or not, so I want to learn everything I can now."
"Boxes?" Leova blurts, leaning more heavily on the desk or maybe just Vrianth. Who looks at Niena's mural with sudden and untrustworthy fascination, flaring out her wings as much as the room will allow. Look at her! Look at her! Ignore him! Leova's suspicious look can't help but start fading into an indulgent smile.
Zunaeth> Vrianth senses that Zunaeth's mind-fire crackles with laughter at that image. << Because things don't like being caged up? >> he replies. << Yours seems pretty startled by it. >> And there's nothing but more of that dry amusement there, too.
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth's edging toward his hearth again, hunting that source of warmth and laughter and flame. Meanwhile, all sweet distraction, << Where would you put yours? If you could put him anywhere at all. >>
I'daur gives Niena a blank look, blinking at her very literal interpretation before his mouth curves upward at one corner. With another long swill of his whiskey, he nods. "Let's hope so, anyway," he tells her. "And I'll be impressed if a couple of you make it that far, but s'pose it's a pretty good goal, as they go. If you're the healing type. --And that's a pretty trick." The latter dry note is for Vrianth as she fans out her wings, the weyrlingmaster observing her and Leova with a broadening smirk.
Zunaeth> Vrianth senses that Zunaeth has a prompt answer to that. Where Vrianth has I'daur in a box, the old bronze has only a flash of bright, fair blue that overtakes the rusty orange-reds of his mind: that, and a simple, << The sky. >>
Leova finds herself nudged into that chair, and murmurs some thanks to Niena who's kept her from falling onto the floor. Meanwhile, Vrianth has begun to tilt her wings so that they can have an even better view, seeing as how the worst they have in their hands is that whiskey. No needles. No string. No knives. Except. Something else has gotten her attention and she leans half over her lifemate to look for the bowl.
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth thinks little of it at first, but then, oh, then. << We must! >> Her tone is desirous, delighted, despite its innate gravel roughness. << Oh, Zunaeth. Now? >>
Niena looks at Vrianth's wing, then glances surreptitiously at the chart on the wall, though she doesn't get up or start tracing out the wingspars on Leova's lifemate. "Very pretty" is all she says.
Zunaeth> Vrianth senses that Zunaeth's warmth, so constant until then, recedes slowly until it leaves his voice with the feel of empty caverns, as though whatever fire or magma was once there has long since solidified. << Think either one of us could get 'im up there? >> he asks.
Now it's I'daur's turn to give the dragons a wary look, first Vrianth and then his own Zunaeth, hovering just outside the doorway with a slow whirl of bluish eyes. He's the one in the dark now, asking, "What's she scheming up now?" with a look to Leova for the interpretation Zunaeth's apparently not giving him.
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth hurries after that warmth of his, as fast as her mind will take her, as deep within those caverns as he'll let her. << Of course! >> He is his lifemate, is he not? And yet, under the older dragon's influence, there becomes just a touch of uncertainty. For Zunaeth knows things that she does not.
Vrianth's even more distracted if that's possible, though not so distracted that she doesn't furl her wings again, flat to her sides except for the very tips of her fingersails. Leova mutters, "Adventures." She reaches for her lifemate's side, strokes it with a quieter, "It's late. Come on, girl," that has Vrianth leaning into her touch.
Zunaeth> Vrianth senses that Zunaeth has, in exchange for Vrianth's willingness to track him downward, a tendril of warmth for her again, and an rather gentle answer of, << I can take him up. Can't put him there, though, not really. >> It's not a distinction he explains now, however; instead, he tells her, << It's late. You should put yours in bed--she's already yawning. >> And he flickers back an image of Leova doing just that from a few minutes earlier.
Dragon> Zunaeth senses that Vrianth sends, sparks dimmed to fizzling regret, << I do not understand. >> But it's a sign of tiredness beyond even her substantial will, or perhaps of her trust in him, that she does not press the point. Nor argue. Not now. Instead she twines herself within that tendril of his warmth, rubs up against it as though to leave her mental scent and something of her vitality as well, and complies.
Vrianth not only leans but rubs up against her lifemate's hand, now, and with one last look at the bowl, compresses her already lean and long-limbed self and flows out into the barracks. Leova rises more slowly, repeating, "Late." She glances at Niena, and then at her weyrlingmaster. "Good night."
Niena smiles as she watches Leova and Vrianth, though she's even more confused than the other two riders in the room. "Good night, Leova, Vrianth." At least that part she understands.
"It is late," agrees I'daur a beat later, nodding once to both girls, as though he's only really coming to that fact himself. "Ought to be getting to bed, the both of you and me three. Don't quite wake up like I used to these days." And he pushes himself up to his feet, tucking the whiskey bottle under one arm while he finishes off his glass and drops it down into a drawer. "Come bribe me with those again sometime," he tells Leova with a tilt of his head at the plate of pastries. And to Niena, with a quick half-smile, "And lemme know if Masoth's don't match that, too." And this time he indicates the mural on the wall.
Leova strides into the barracks.
Leova has left.
Niena nods seriously. "Will do, sir." As she heads out she grabs a piece of baklava.