[Log] Variations on Curiosity
Who: Jenivrys, Tiriana
When: Day 1, Month 9, Turn 16
Where: Bowl, Telgar Weyr
What: Tiriana and Iovniath investigate some old issues with Jenivrys, and later a fork.
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. The training grounds and the meadow are both covered with a blanket of pure white snow, though it is trodden down in dragon-wide paths where the dragons move.
Contents:
Iovniath
Jenivrys
Xoneth
Obvious exits:
Weyrling Barracks Southern Bowl Lake Shore Hatching Cavern Feeding Grounds Runner Pasture Weyr Entrance
Iovniath
Like a highborn lady ornamented from head to toe, this dragon is graced with a hide of delicately wrought gold. Vines of rich ochre shimmer over her, lending a softened look of pampered opulence to an otherwise slim figure. The angles of her face are just a touch too long and sharp about the cheek and muzzle, but it accentuates the roundness of her eyes and highly arched eyeridges that both contrive an aura of innocence and betray flashes of innate pride. Pearl adorns the tips of pointed headknobs, and neckridges trailing down her spine like an even string of sharply angled beads. Silvery shades mark each precisely placed talon and scatter up her wingspars like so many rough-cut diamonds. Between those spars, her expansive wings take on the appearance of tight gilded lace, and a hint of filigree across slender shoulders and haunches dances with rose and pale green in certain lights, a garden illusion glittering amid the gold.
Iovniath is now 0 Turns, 2 months, and 27 days old and roughly 9.08 meters long, with a wingspan of 15.07 meters.
Jenivrys
Jenivrys' delicate features and long face are elongated by the silky-fine walnut hair that just brushes her chin. A thin, aquiline nose, high cheekbones, and a pointed chin are softened - when she remembers to use it - by a wide, warm smile. Pale grey-green eyes stand out against a richly olive complexion that remains sun-kissed even in winter. She is a shade taller than average, perhaps an inch under five and a half feet, with a build that speaks of rosepetals laid on stone.
Her clothes are sensible and well-cared for: hard boots, sturdy trousers, a long-sleeved tunic that hangs to mid-thigh and makes her look shorter, and a waist-length vest with a multitude of small pockets. She's dressed in shades of faded grey from dove to ash; the only other color is an icy green piping on the vest that marks the tab of each pocket. There's usually a Telgar rider's knot, twined with brown, on her shoulder. Vrys' accent is that of Crom, her age perhaps twenty.
Xoneth
Dark umber puckers over Xoneth's reddish rusty hide, furrowing his long but bluntly triangular snout with perpetual crow's feet. Overlarge eyes squint out from under sloped ridges, while his headknobs and neckridges are eroded to softness. His short rusty legs, feet and slightly stubby wings contrast with neck and tail, which are both long and thin. Darker shades of mahogany have permeated into his joints and folds, giving his compact frame a weather-beaten look. From wingtips to talons, this rugged character could easily pass for an old seacrafter, his hide weathered by long exposure to rough winds and high tides.
Xoneth is now 3 Turns, 10 months, and 4 days old and roughly 29.6 meters long, with a wingspan of 49.14 meters.
A rare free afternoon for the weyrlings means many of them are lounging about, all across the bowl. Iovniath, however, does not lounge; she perches more than anything else, looking regale with her paws folded in front of her and her tail flicking idly. It's as much of a lash as she's going to do, while Tiriana oils her with more force than is probably necessary--she does not look like a very happy weyrling.
Jenivrys leaves her lifemate at the lake to head back across the bowl by herself. Drawn, as so many of the weyrfolk have been, to the barracks, her steps slow as she considers the young dragons. The brownrider weaves among them, staying far enough away so that conversation is avoided, but she drops friendly nods and smiles as she goes anyway. It's the sight of the queen and Tiriana that pulls her reluctantly closer, her expression pensively neutral as she first slows, then stops. "Good afternooon, Tiriana, Iovniath."
While Tiriana isn't watching at all, too busy with her oiling, Iovniath does, and a low rumble offers her greetings to Jenivrys as the woman pauses by them. Tiriana glances around then, rubbing a hand over her forehead as she glances over, all smeared with oil and now with dust from the bowl sticking to that. "Hey," she offers, brows knitting as she studies Jenivrys herself for a moment. Then, "You want something?"
Jenivrys shakes her head to deny any such wanting, though neither does she then move off. "No. I... just thought I'd see how the. The weyrlings were doing." An arm folds over her belly, hand catching the other's elbow, and pale eyes drop from the dark-haired girl to the growing dragoon. "You're looking quite well, Iovniath," she adds politely.
"And you picked me." Tiriana still sounds skeptical about it, lifting a brow slightly. She nudges the oil bucket away from Iovniath's side, where it won't get knocked over, before she wipes her hands off on her pants. Stepping forward, she frowns slightly, then notes, "She says thanks. Asks how you are."
One of the brownrider's shoulders lifts by way of explanation - and she picked Tiriana, yes - but her expression doesn't change safe for a flicker of wryness. "I did." A little way off a green, overexcited by an afternoon in the sun, drops off to sleep, and her lifemate sinks down beside her, blinking muzzily. "I'm... I'm well, Iovniath, thank you. As is Xoneth - he wanted to sun for a bit after his bath." Vrys hesitates again - so careful! - before continuing, "Is everything... all right? In the barracks?"
<< That is why we are out here now, >> Iovniath reaches out for Xoneth then, her mind sparkling whitely in that sun. << The barracks are so stuffy now. No breeze. >> But while the young gold is polite, Tiriana maintains her own wary expression, much like Jenivrys. Her eyes narrow at the latter question. "Why wouldn't it be all right? It's fine. --Why, you heard something?" At once, she's the one on the defensive.
The brown's mind is an enthusiastic place, his voice deep and warm. << It is much nicer outside, yes, >> he agrees with a flash of 'I see you!'. << In a little while, Jeni will oil me - but not now. >> Now he is enjoying the feel of sand on his hide. His rider tightens fractionally farther at Tiriana's questioning, shakes her head in silent denial. "No, I. No. I'm sure you'll be, be fine." She glances toward the other end of the bowl and rallies, sensing escape. "I should let you two finish up. It was very nice to meet you, Iovniath."
"We /are/ fine," Tiriana says firmly, folding her arms over her chest. But she does have to shoot a look up at Iovniath for the back-up that's not quite forthcoming. << Yours is welcome to stay, if she would like. We are not too busy for good company, after all. >> Iovniath is still polite, though less sparkly this time--seeking some medium between apologizing for her impolite rider and standing with her still.
<< I will ask her to stay, >> Xoneth assures the younger gold. << But she does not like... >> He flashes images instead of explaining in words: a fuzzy, dark barracks, X'ndar's face, Edlyn, something about Valketh flying. << It makes her nervous. >> Meanwhile Vrys sidles two steps away toward the dubious safety of the bowl before stopping. "Yes," she offers, "I, I can see you, uh, are. It's um." This time she looks lake-ward instead of south. "A nice day, isn't it?" It's lame and she knows it, grimacing.
Tiriana outright glowers at Iovniath, though the gold continues to play the nice host. "Yeah. Nice day," she agrees, just a little sulky as she returns to oiling more of the dragon's side. "Real nice." Iovniath, however, continues to play the nice host, even seeming less coolly polite and more genuinely interested at the mystery those images convey. She reflects them back to Xoneth, like refractions in crystal. << I don't understand. Will you teach me? >> she asks, with all her childlike innocence and an somewhat incongruously wheedling tone.
Vrys looks nervously about again, licks her lips and steps forward, bravely. "Would you... two like some help? Xoneth gets -so- itchy; I think I've oiled him twice as much as any dragon at Telgar." Xoneth, meanwhile, buffs the edges of her sending until they gleam. << I do not know that I can, >> he offers back. << It is very complicated, and I do not understand it all. But I remember that Valketh's... >> He remembers for her, watching from the ground as Vrys is taken up on the other brown, a thick blindfold over her eyes. She sits rigid while X'ndar climbs up behind her, and the three of them climb up, up, up far past the rim.
"No," Tiriana answers at once, sharply; Iovniath is equally prompt in telling Xoneth, << No, >> as well. She, at least, adds a beat later, with a certain dry bemusement, << No, thank you. We wouldn't want to trouble yours, after all. If she must spend that much time oiling you, then surely we shouldn't make her finish our duties. >> Tiriana eyes Jenivrys a second more before resuming her oiling again, harder. << A--she cannot see? >> Iovniath is still trying to make sense of those images, apparently with Tiriana's help now, because the girl asks abruptly, "What'd X'ndar do to you?" She frowns, furrows her brows. Iovniath smoothes over that question with, << We do not mean to pry, if yours does not wish to say. >> Though it's hard to deny the sharpened glass edges of her own curiosity.
Jenivrys expected that denial, surely, though it doesn't stop the flash of grimace on her face. She looks away instead, as though she'd always meant to be considering the far wall over the gold's back. "Well, I should..." Her second chance at escape is cut off by that question; she looks sharply at the younger woman, and for a second it seems she might not answer at all. "He. He did what he thought was, was right." There are walls there - old ones, brittle ones.
"No shit," says Tiriana, with a snort to that reply. "Doesn't everybody?" She shrugs, though, glancing from Jenivrys to Iovniath again. And where Tiriana is brusque, Iovniath is counterpoint to that, all soft white snow that doesn't push against walls so much as just gradually pile up around them, weight them by gentle degrees. << Yours does not agree, >> she remarks. << We are sorry. >>
Xoneth studies that snow, nudges it here and there to watch it fall. << Thank you - it is old. It is why she does not like being here. >> Simply said, nothing to be done about it. << What about you? You are growing large, Jeni says. >> Jenivrys tightens at Tiriana's snap, folds both her arms tightly over her belly and frowns. "I'm interrupting," she says, third time's the charm. "Iovniath, it was good to meet you. Tiriana, congratulations." Though stiff, there's nothing else underlying her words. She bobs her head in lieu of any other farewell and turns to go.
This time Tiriana looks to let her, with a nod of her own toward Jenivrys. "Fine. See you," she tells the other woman briefly, while Iovniath offers her more elaborate farewells. << I am growing, yes, thank you. My Tiriana cares for me quite well, >> she notes, pride plain in her gleaming white voice. << But yes, do not let us keep you, either. We have enjoyed it. >>
Jenivrys hurries off, not quite at a jog, doesn't look back. Xoneth, however, lingers. << She is very skilled. You are not keeping me - I am only waiting for Jeni. If you wished to come to the lake, I could show you some of the things I have found. >> Rocks, forgotten scraps of leather, a water-logged shoe, a bent fork. << I understand, though, if you wish to be oiled instead. >>
Both Tiriana and Iovniath watch Jenivrys flee, the former with confusion, the latter more calculatingly. << You have found many things, >> observes the gold, curiosity swirling through her thoughts, picking up snow and turning it about. A few moments to confer follow, including Tiriana hissing quietly at Iovniath aloud--more in the vein of finding out just what the other pair is going on about than should they really stay there and finish oiling. << I expect it is very nice at the lake now, >> Iovniath finally decides. << And we are nearly done with my oiling. We will come. >>
Xoneth certainly thinks it is, and sends a happily expectant surge to the gold. << I will keep looking while you finish. Perhaps I will find something else. Do not let her skimp your oiling, though! >>
Lake Shore, Telgar Weyr
The vegetation thickens near the lake, becoming a meadow that runs along the edge of a narrow, sandy beach. The sands spill down into a crystal lake to the north, lapping against the crater walls to the north and east. A fence runs northwest-southeast, blocking off the lake from the feeding grounds. The grass is thick with autumn, and the long strands are beginning to seed. The few trees that stand on the banks of the lake are in their full splendor with leaves of red, gold, and brown. In one corner of the meadow, Telgar's herb garden makes the air thick with the smell of mint, thyme and chive. The light of the morning sun spills over the eastern rim of the bowl, and sets the lake sparkling and shining like a giant mirror.
The afternoon is quite cloudy, with only a few open patches through which the sun pokes. There seems to be a light breeze and the fall air is warm enough, with only a slight chill.
Contents:
Xoneth
Uesarth
Obvious exits:
Bowl Weyrgardens
Xoneth is, as promised, waiting for the gold when she arrives. He's gathered his collection of... stuff into a clumsy little pile rather than twiddle his metaphorical thumbs.
In just a few more minutes, Tiriana has finished Iovniath's oiling double-time, and the gold and her rider are off toward the lake. Iovniath is quite careful not to dirty herself back up, and she settles carefully back into the sand near Xoneth, fixing herself back into position. Tiriana plants her hands on her hips and just eyes them both. "Well?" she says, and Iovniath seems to pay her little mind. Instead, << It /is/ nice here, Xoneth, >> she reaches back to the brown. << Thank you for inviting us. These are your things? >>
<< Not my things, >> the brown corrects cheerfully. << Things I have found. Yes, they are - please look at them if you like. I like how the sun and shadows change around them. >> He considers the other pair for a moment or two before ducking his head and nudging the largest of the rocks - bright with flecks of mica - their way. << This one shines like you do. Like yours does too? >>
Iovniath repeats that correction: << The things that you have found. >> And she stretches her neck out slowly, that long-featured face tilting to inspect the gathered objects for herself, though as Xoneth pushes one toward her, she leans her head back, neck arching just so. << Do we? Thank you, Xoneth, >> she tells him, her mind glittering, almost coy; the gift is accepted as her due tribute. Tiriana eyes her, narrows her own eyes, and finally flops out in the sand and settles against Iovniath's side. << You are so generous, and we have been so unthinking of you, your rider--her... difficulties, with Valketh's. >>
Xoneth's items are nothing to write home about - no sunken treasures, no piles of gems. Any toddler would be fascinated by them, though. << She may come and look as well, >> he adds, generous, tail flicking to indicate Tiriana's boredom. << -You- are not unthinking, Iovniath. Yours... how does Jeni put it? Speaks before she thinks, I think. >> A mental shrug, as unbothered by Tiriana's as he is by Jenivrys'. << Jeni is well, and it is nothing she has not heard before. --Do you see how this used to be silver, and now it is green? >> He's on to discussing his next treasure, the battered fork.
Well, in dragon terms, Iovniath is a toddler, so perhaps that explains the lingering interest she takes in Xoneth's finds. Of course, she's also quite willing to play the part when it suits her, too, but. << I will tell her; you are kind, and yours is... rather correct, >> she tells Xoneth. wryly, and in another second Tiriana is giving her a flat, disbelieving look, in contrast to the disingenuous one Iovniath adopts. The gold wins in the end, however, as shortly Tiriana shoves up to her feet, dusts herself off, and trundles around her side to give the brown's things a look over. She snorts, crossing her arms. "It's a fork," she announces, and Iovniath quickly corrects, << It is a green fork. Does only silver turn green, or-->> And while she tries for that same cool, polite interest, she doesn't quite prevent some unsettled image creeping up through the cracks in her ice: gold--gold hide, no less--turning that same unsightly green.
Xoneth watches with interest as Tiriana grudgingly comes to play scientist as well, draws back to give her plenty of room. He rumbles amused agreement and flops onto a hip, stretches out a foreleg to indicate the hollow of treasures. << I have not seen... well, no. Of metal things, I remember that silver and copper turn green. I have never seen gold do that. >> Chivalrously he brushes that metallic-tinged corrosion away from her, restoring Iovniath to her well-oiled luster. << Jeni says, >> he adds after a consultation, << That gold does not. It is one of the reasons it is so precious. >>
Slyly, Iovniath adds just a touch more tarnish to that gold, just to give Xoneth that much more to brush away from her. << So it does not, >> she agrees, her mind glowing with white again, snow reflecting sunlight even more brightly. "It's still just a fork," Tiriana says impatiently. Iovniath overrides that with, << Why do you collect such things, Xoneth? >>
Amused, Xoneth polishes further, well aware of Iovniath's trick and equally willing to play along. << What made it bend like that, does she think? Who lost it, and why? How long was it in the lake before I found it? How long did they look for it? Did anyone else find it before I did? >> His own rattle of questions answers hers, while he tilts his head to study the treasures. << I like looking at them, thinking about them. The sun always rises and sets, but the shadows are never the same twice. Everything changes. It is interesting, don't you think? >>
Those questions are enough to surprise Iovniath, her thoughts icing over, a slick surface for them to slide off with. She's less concerned about such things than Xoneth is, though she'll entertain the notions just for him. << How long does one take to turn green? >> she counters after a moment, thoughtful. << It is quite interesting, >> concedes the girl. << You seem to observe many things. >> Tiriana whines, one last time and no more effectually, "It's still just a fork."
Xoneth backs off slightly, granting the gold her space and allowing her to thaw. << That is another good question! I do not know that, either. I will have to ask. Perhaps the next time we visit the Smiths. >> He tucks the idea of the tarnished fork somewhere else, where he can remember it later and where Tiriana won't have to be subjected to his curiosity. << I do, yes. Mecaith does as well, though we think about things differently. He sees... patterns. >>
<< Perhaps you could conduct your own experiment, >> suggests Iovniath, a swirl of fog sublimating from that ice that covers her mind. << Though that might take a very long time. I cannot say I know Mecaith, or how he thinks, though perhaps I should meet him. But another day--it grows late and my Tiriana and I should return to the barracks. You must tell me, what you find about our fork. >> Their fork; she imbues the words with a faint hint of possession and as much command, as she fluidly rises up from the sand. "Finally," grumbles Tiriana.
<< Perhaps I will, >> he agrees genially. << You should meet him - he is a good friend of mine. --You may take our fork with you, if you like, >> he adds, nudging it toward Tiriana with a careful talon. << Then you can think about it later. It was good to speak with you, Iovniath. I should let Jeni oil me as well - I am beginning to itch. >>
<< I will, >> promises Iovniath solemnly, while Tiriana looks between her and Xoneth and just stares. "What do we need with a--fine, fine." Beat. "Do we get the rock, too?" she asks with a sniff as she leans down to pick up the fork and the glittery rock both. She turns them over in her hands. << Thank you, Xoneth, >> says Iovniath. << Give our regards to yours, and enjoy your oiling. And should you need anything with Valketh's... >> She hearkens briefly back to that earlier subject, a tantalizing little offer in a tendril of mist, but nothing more overt, pushing, than that.
The small brown seems perfectly willing to let Tiriana claim possession of the glittery rock, too: he flicks his tail and looks amused. << Thank -you-, Iovniath. I will remember. Be well. >> Up he rolls off his haunches, crouches, and springs upward in one smooth movement that nevertheless kicks up a flurry behind him.
Bright and snowy, Iovniath agrees one more time, << And you. >> Tiriana is already turning to go, stuffing the fork in her pocket--some of the green rubs off on her pants--and tossing the rock a couple of times in the air to catch it. Iovniath turns to follow then, slinking away from the sand Xoneth kicks up before it can settle over her hide.