[Log] Re: Explodey Things
Who: Isziyo, Tiriana
When: Day 14, Month 9, Turn 12
Where: Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana waylays Isziyo when all he wants is a bath.
Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north.
Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.
A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today.
Contents:
Isziyo
Obvious exits:
Living Cavern Inner Caverns Garden Patio Ledge Galleries Weyrleader Complex East Bowl Weyr Entrance
Isziyo
Overlarge for his age, Isziyo rises to the lofty height of 6'4, with a frame like a pole barn: all awkward angles and room to grow into. This is not to say that he doesn't have an already impressive amount of muscle about him: it's simply that the muscle there cannot keep up with the breadth of shoulders and length of leg. Isz has taken to keeping his head shorn of hair, with - at most - a day or so's bristle of darkness showing. He is middling complected, the color of klah with a generous dose of cream, with dark eyes and arching, rough eyebrows of black. Full lips and a broad nose fill out his face, and no true facial hair is to be seen, though the occaisional stubble is inevitable.
He wears simple garb, appropriate for dreary High Reaches weather and the stableyard-- sturdy linen pants of dusky charcoal, a shirt that was once blue and now faded to a particularly smooth shade of gunmetal-grey, and thick black boots.
On his shoulder is a knot, one of a High Reaches Stablehand.
Isziyo appears to be in his early to mid twenties.
It's hot. Autumn might technically be here, but the days still get more than warm enough--especially when you're stuck on the sands. For her gold's first clutch, Tiriana has been stuck spending an inordinate amount of time out there, keeping her dragon calm; but now, it's break time. She's retreated to the cooler--breezier, if nothing else--outdoors, to sprawl out on the grass near the caverns entrance.
On your average occaision, Isziyo is an imposing sight. He's tall, with striking features and a walk that demands respect, if not outright attention - perhaps the only demanding aspect of the man. However, on this occaision, he may be more like laughter-inspiring than imposing: Isz is covered in firestone dust, from head to toe, coating his already dark skin with a fine reddish layer of murk. "A bath. Just a bath. That's all I want. A bath." This bass-rumbled litany slowly trickles out as if on repeat, and Isz carefully pulls his evidently tired self up just in time to avoid stepping on Tiriana. There's a pause, and a bit belatedly, he offers a, "Ma'am. Sorry, excuse me," and moves to shift past the weyrwoman with a respectful nod - and then an even more belated salute. Oops.
Tiriana is not going to move herself, not for nobody, and definitely not for--on second thought, she scrambles a foot out of Isziyo's way. "Hey, watch it. If you get that crap on me--." Nevermind she's sitting in the dirt on her own. And dirty candidates certainly aren't an unusual sight, but ones completely covered in dust? "Faranth, what happened to you?"
"Firestone stacking, ma'am," Isziyo politely replies, the local tones of High Reaches drawling his vowels out. "I'll try to avoid contaminating you." Wry humor lurks behind his words, and in his eyes; the young man, meanwhile, sidesteps a step or two. "There was an Incident." You can hear that capital 'I', really.
That certainly intrigues Tiriana, who sits up straight and pulls her legs in, arms slung over them. She tilts her head way, way back to look up at the man. "An Incident," she repeats skeptically. "What, they stuff you in a bag or something? Pelt you with firestone?"
Isziyo inwardly sighs. There goes his bath! "Well, we were stacking, ma'am. And I guess a miner had bad eyes -- didn't realize that one of the rocks quarried wasn't firestone at all, but we had it stacked, and ol' Cirron saw it and made us take it out." Isz pauses at this point. "It was at the very bottom, and... it didn't work out well." He tries to tactfully avoid the hysteria that actually occured.
"Throwing firestone at them sounds more fun," Tiriana notes, nose wrinkling. "We did that to one guy when I stood. Whiny little bitch." Just thinking about that kid makes her scowl, but after a moment, she's aiming a questioning look at Isziyo again. "How hard is it to dump a bag and start over?"
"It wasn't in a bag." A pause. "Ma'am." Isziyo doesn't shift his weight, but it takes a conscious effort not to. "They had decided-- the rest of the group, that is," pause, "Ma'am," pause, "To see how tall they could stack firestone on the ground." Aheh aheh. There goes efficiency! His slow words continue out, a steady stream that becomes irrascibly amused. "An' I suppose that that rock, whatever it was-- it was porous, you know, like firestone, but a different color... and it just couldn't take the weight after they put the.." (I would say insert pause here, but I'm afraid of getting shot.) "...twentieth or so raw firestone boulder on top of it. So it.. sort of.. exploded." Beat. "Ma'am."
"It... exploded." Not words you often hear, even in a Weyr run by Tiriana and K'del. The former just blinks at Isziyo, brows slowly climbing up the longer she takes to imagine this scene. But there's no remonstrance in what she eventually says, which is: "Stacking things is boring. Though, can't say as we've ever made one explode before. Are there more of those around?" And she smirks.
"Was the only one of that color in the whole damn-- ah, I mean, darn-- yard, ma'am." Isziyo does rock back on his heels, then, and returns Tiri's smile with a lazy one of his own. "Trust me. We checked." He may be quiet, and polite, but he's just as much of an adrenaline-junky as your next joe blow.
"Damn," Tiriana repeats, with a look; not one to shy away from the fun words anymore than the fun activities--where fun means explodey things and general mayhem, apparently. "Did they say what kind it was? You think we could import more of them? Except--does it only crumble if you put it under all that pressure? Because that's not very useful." Unlike doing it at the drop of a pin.
"Pieces of it went shooting off everywhere," Isziyo replies, with a philosophical shrug. "I suppose that you could call in the miners and ask what the shard it was- I'm sure parts of it are still littering around out there," he gestures in the general direction off towards the weyrling yards, "That we didn't pick up, that would be available for examination." He raises a hand to scratch an itch right under his left eye, leaving a blurry smudge of somewhat-clean skin. "I... wouldn't know as far as the capabilities of it." Insert pause here! "Ma'am."
"Sounds like work," and we can't have that! But Tiriana still aims a thoughtful look toward the pits before she shrugs it off, with a sigh. "They probably wouldn't give it to me, anyway. Stupid miners. Who are you, exactly?"
"Isz." The man gives a thoughtful pause; "Well, Isziyo, really. But everyone calls me Isz." There's a general shrug-like motion of shoulders at this point. "Stablehand. Candidate. Thing." Isz now gives a longing look towards the caverns.
"Izzawhat?" says Tiriana. "No wonder you go by--what?" She can't even get that much right, and waves it off with a flippant gesture. "Stables. Really? Who searched you, anyway? Are you from here? When?" But while he's looking so much at the caverns, she seems heedless; but her own duties get her up, too. She dusts her pants off quickly, and pauses the fifth degree for the time being.
"Isz." He sounds patient. "I've lived here my whole life." Whereas Tiriana has not, is the unsaid followup to THAT comment... "Emilly did," he replies, automatically; "And Sionath." The ever-respectful stablehand-turned-candidate cannot help a discreet scoping-out of Tiriana's figure, though, when she stands; hey, he's a redblooded male. They all do it. Really.
They all do it, but that doesn't mean Tiriana's immune. And she draws herself up a little more, which definitely doesn't hurt her figure; and then she tells him, shortly, "You can go now." Mixed signals, yes! And she's folding her arms, too, and taking a couple of steps back toward the hatching sands.
Isziyo has the grace to look, if not ashamed, at least aw-shucks resigned. "My apologies, ma'am," he tells the goldrider in a muted tone of voice, delivers a military-precise salute, then turns to wearily trod towards the caverns. It's been a long day. "Baths... baths. Just a bath... that's all I need." And there he goes, talking to himself again.
Tiriana glares at his back, just for a moment. But the salute does much to mollify whatever anger she feels, and when she returns to the sands, she's nearly smirking. He was totally checking her out.
When: Day 14, Month 9, Turn 12
Where: Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana waylays Isziyo when all he wants is a bath.
Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north.
Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries.
A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today.
Contents:
Isziyo
Obvious exits:
Living Cavern Inner Caverns Garden Patio Ledge Galleries Weyrleader Complex East Bowl Weyr Entrance
Isziyo
Overlarge for his age, Isziyo rises to the lofty height of 6'4, with a frame like a pole barn: all awkward angles and room to grow into. This is not to say that he doesn't have an already impressive amount of muscle about him: it's simply that the muscle there cannot keep up with the breadth of shoulders and length of leg. Isz has taken to keeping his head shorn of hair, with - at most - a day or so's bristle of darkness showing. He is middling complected, the color of klah with a generous dose of cream, with dark eyes and arching, rough eyebrows of black. Full lips and a broad nose fill out his face, and no true facial hair is to be seen, though the occaisional stubble is inevitable.
He wears simple garb, appropriate for dreary High Reaches weather and the stableyard-- sturdy linen pants of dusky charcoal, a shirt that was once blue and now faded to a particularly smooth shade of gunmetal-grey, and thick black boots.
On his shoulder is a knot, one of a High Reaches Stablehand.
Isziyo appears to be in his early to mid twenties.
It's hot. Autumn might technically be here, but the days still get more than warm enough--especially when you're stuck on the sands. For her gold's first clutch, Tiriana has been stuck spending an inordinate amount of time out there, keeping her dragon calm; but now, it's break time. She's retreated to the cooler--breezier, if nothing else--outdoors, to sprawl out on the grass near the caverns entrance.
On your average occaision, Isziyo is an imposing sight. He's tall, with striking features and a walk that demands respect, if not outright attention - perhaps the only demanding aspect of the man. However, on this occaision, he may be more like laughter-inspiring than imposing: Isz is covered in firestone dust, from head to toe, coating his already dark skin with a fine reddish layer of murk. "A bath. Just a bath. That's all I want. A bath." This bass-rumbled litany slowly trickles out as if on repeat, and Isz carefully pulls his evidently tired self up just in time to avoid stepping on Tiriana. There's a pause, and a bit belatedly, he offers a, "Ma'am. Sorry, excuse me," and moves to shift past the weyrwoman with a respectful nod - and then an even more belated salute. Oops.
Tiriana is not going to move herself, not for nobody, and definitely not for--on second thought, she scrambles a foot out of Isziyo's way. "Hey, watch it. If you get that crap on me--." Nevermind she's sitting in the dirt on her own. And dirty candidates certainly aren't an unusual sight, but ones completely covered in dust? "Faranth, what happened to you?"
"Firestone stacking, ma'am," Isziyo politely replies, the local tones of High Reaches drawling his vowels out. "I'll try to avoid contaminating you." Wry humor lurks behind his words, and in his eyes; the young man, meanwhile, sidesteps a step or two. "There was an Incident." You can hear that capital 'I', really.
That certainly intrigues Tiriana, who sits up straight and pulls her legs in, arms slung over them. She tilts her head way, way back to look up at the man. "An Incident," she repeats skeptically. "What, they stuff you in a bag or something? Pelt you with firestone?"
Isziyo inwardly sighs. There goes his bath! "Well, we were stacking, ma'am. And I guess a miner had bad eyes -- didn't realize that one of the rocks quarried wasn't firestone at all, but we had it stacked, and ol' Cirron saw it and made us take it out." Isz pauses at this point. "It was at the very bottom, and... it didn't work out well." He tries to tactfully avoid the hysteria that actually occured.
"Throwing firestone at them sounds more fun," Tiriana notes, nose wrinkling. "We did that to one guy when I stood. Whiny little bitch." Just thinking about that kid makes her scowl, but after a moment, she's aiming a questioning look at Isziyo again. "How hard is it to dump a bag and start over?"
"It wasn't in a bag." A pause. "Ma'am." Isziyo doesn't shift his weight, but it takes a conscious effort not to. "They had decided-- the rest of the group, that is," pause, "Ma'am," pause, "To see how tall they could stack firestone on the ground." Aheh aheh. There goes efficiency! His slow words continue out, a steady stream that becomes irrascibly amused. "An' I suppose that that rock, whatever it was-- it was porous, you know, like firestone, but a different color... and it just couldn't take the weight after they put the.." (I would say insert pause here, but I'm afraid of getting shot.) "...twentieth or so raw firestone boulder on top of it. So it.. sort of.. exploded." Beat. "Ma'am."
"It... exploded." Not words you often hear, even in a Weyr run by Tiriana and K'del. The former just blinks at Isziyo, brows slowly climbing up the longer she takes to imagine this scene. But there's no remonstrance in what she eventually says, which is: "Stacking things is boring. Though, can't say as we've ever made one explode before. Are there more of those around?" And she smirks.
"Was the only one of that color in the whole damn-- ah, I mean, darn-- yard, ma'am." Isziyo does rock back on his heels, then, and returns Tiri's smile with a lazy one of his own. "Trust me. We checked." He may be quiet, and polite, but he's just as much of an adrenaline-junky as your next joe blow.
"Damn," Tiriana repeats, with a look; not one to shy away from the fun words anymore than the fun activities--where fun means explodey things and general mayhem, apparently. "Did they say what kind it was? You think we could import more of them? Except--does it only crumble if you put it under all that pressure? Because that's not very useful." Unlike doing it at the drop of a pin.
"Pieces of it went shooting off everywhere," Isziyo replies, with a philosophical shrug. "I suppose that you could call in the miners and ask what the shard it was- I'm sure parts of it are still littering around out there," he gestures in the general direction off towards the weyrling yards, "That we didn't pick up, that would be available for examination." He raises a hand to scratch an itch right under his left eye, leaving a blurry smudge of somewhat-clean skin. "I... wouldn't know as far as the capabilities of it." Insert pause here! "Ma'am."
"Sounds like work," and we can't have that! But Tiriana still aims a thoughtful look toward the pits before she shrugs it off, with a sigh. "They probably wouldn't give it to me, anyway. Stupid miners. Who are you, exactly?"
"Isz." The man gives a thoughtful pause; "Well, Isziyo, really. But everyone calls me Isz." There's a general shrug-like motion of shoulders at this point. "Stablehand. Candidate. Thing." Isz now gives a longing look towards the caverns.
"Izzawhat?" says Tiriana. "No wonder you go by--what?" She can't even get that much right, and waves it off with a flippant gesture. "Stables. Really? Who searched you, anyway? Are you from here? When?" But while he's looking so much at the caverns, she seems heedless; but her own duties get her up, too. She dusts her pants off quickly, and pauses the fifth degree for the time being.
"Isz." He sounds patient. "I've lived here my whole life." Whereas Tiriana has not, is the unsaid followup to THAT comment... "Emilly did," he replies, automatically; "And Sionath." The ever-respectful stablehand-turned-candidate cannot help a discreet scoping-out of Tiriana's figure, though, when she stands; hey, he's a redblooded male. They all do it. Really.
They all do it, but that doesn't mean Tiriana's immune. And she draws herself up a little more, which definitely doesn't hurt her figure; and then she tells him, shortly, "You can go now." Mixed signals, yes! And she's folding her arms, too, and taking a couple of steps back toward the hatching sands.
Isziyo has the grace to look, if not ashamed, at least aw-shucks resigned. "My apologies, ma'am," he tells the goldrider in a muted tone of voice, delivers a military-precise salute, then turns to wearily trod towards the caverns. It's been a long day. "Baths... baths. Just a bath... that's all I need." And there he goes, talking to himself again.
Tiriana glares at his back, just for a moment. But the salute does much to mollify whatever anger she feels, and when she returns to the sands, she's nearly smirking. He was totally checking her out.