[Log] How to Make the Weyrleader Rumble
Who: Harley, L'sen, M'rek, Rathin
When: Day 26, Month 3, Turn 7, 11th Interval
Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
What: L'sen briefly joins a group for dessert in the living cavern.
Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
The impressive living cavern is seemingly as large as the bowl that cradles the hatching sands. Rivers of polished wood tables and benches arrow towards a raised platform crowned with a compact version of their sturdy design. Neatly crafted pegs, some fancifully carved, are tapped into holes in the wall and support clothing dangling like lazy sleepers. Woven baskets, both useful and decorative, hang along another wall. Tiny bouquets of the first hardy flowers are crammed into jars and mugs, dotting the tables with their pastel colors and light fragrance. The faint, musty aroma of wet wool mingles with that of spice. Banners worked with the designs of Holds and Halls beholden to the weyr cascade down the walls high above, interspersed with several brilliantly colored tapestries. The clink of cutlery harmonizes with the flowing river of talk and gossip as the weyrfolk gather for a hearty evening meal.
Contents:
Harley
M'rek
Jemah
Large Ale Cask
Tray of Bubblies
Firelizard Perch
Obvious exits:
Kitchen Bowl Lower Caverns
L'sen
In his late teens now, L'sen is a tall, bulky lad, solidly built. Having reached the height of 6'3", he's saved from any gawkiness or ranginess by a generous amount of muscle. His hair is shaggy sun-streaked blonde, eyes a faded blue; he has the tanned skin of an outdoorsman. L'sen's face is open and honest, with strong, masculine features and a line of straight, white teeth, often displayed in a broad grin.
Like most 19-turn-old males, L'sen doesn't consider fashion a high priority. His clothes are plain and functional, work-worn from the toils of his life. He wears the knot of a High Reaches bluerider with the patch of Avalanche wing.
Harley
Eyes of a vivid blue gaze back at you curiously before a warm spark lights them. Her oval face holds those large, deep set eyes beneath a delicately arched brow. A long slender nose ends above a pair of full lips. Her chin is smooth and straight, coming to a dainty point. Long, straight blond hair cascades down the sides of her face, over her shoulders and down to her waist. Her skin appears flawless, almost glowing with health, as smooth and soft as the petals of a flower. She is about 5'5" tall and her movements are smooth and graceful though once in a while the awkward gawkiness of her youth reappears.
A grey woolen tunic is worn over a pale yellow long sleeved shirt. A long gray woolen skirt fits snugly about her waist, yet widens towards the hem and swirls about her ankles. Over these she wears an apron that shows the marks of little hand prints in what looks like bubbly juice. Her feet are encased in a pair of sturdy wherhide boots. Harley appears to be in her late teens.
On her shoulder is the knot of a candidate. Right next to it is the knot of the Assistant Steward at High Reaches Weyr.
M'rek
Tall and broad shouldered, M'rek is impressive of form. The pale skin of his face is marked with a long healed scar that snakes down his left cheek for at least two inches. Other than the mark, his features are attractive enough if on the rugged side of handsome. His eyes are a dark and moody black that seems to spark all the more for their shadows. This twenty-six turns old male has had all of his hair shaved off, leaving his pate smoothly clean. His eyebrows are jet black, so possibly that was the color of his hair.
M'rek wears a dark blue shirt, dark wherhide breeches and boots of black. The belt around his waist holds a large knife and pouch for marks. There is a High Reaches Weyr Wingleader's knot on his shoulder.
Rathin
Clear, firm lines denote his facial features within an oval shaped face, light blue eyes set under bushy eyebrows. His hair is generally scruffy and falls long enough to touch the back of his collar, the sandy color leaning more often towards brown than blonde without the aid of sun. His skin holds a fast-fading tan, though still has enough color to it that hints at natural heritage. He stands perhaps a smidge above average height, but not so tall that he stands out overly much, somewhere around 5'11". It's clear that he takes good care of his body, for it would be difficult to find an ounce of fat on him - he has some bulk, but much of it is muscle. His age, at a guess, could be placed somewhere at early twenties.
His clothing is an odd composition of weathered-hand-me-downs and brand-new-smell-the-leather pieces. A loose blue linen shirt was clearly made for someone much larger than him; it hangs loosely on his frame, and is laced up at the front in a v shape. His boots are patchy and look as if they may well be on their last legs, though they're mostly covered by the long cuffs of his grey trousers which are held up in turn by a new leather belt; a serviceable knife with a worn handle hangs from it. The leather jacket he wears, lined with fur, appears to be a new addition to his wardrobe, still holding the stiff lines that suggest it hasn't been worn in yet.
Harley's smile widens into a grin. "I haven't found a handsome bronze yet. The only bronze I've met directly, tripped me into a mud puddle about a turn ago." and she rolls her eyes. She takes a bite of the cake and "yums" as she chews. Swallowing, she takes a sip of klah and sighs happily. "Fresh strawberries in fresh strawberry cake. Perfect."
Rathin's pace slows as he enters the living caverns, though his cheery whistle continues. The whistling's fairly loud, though probably not that loud compared with the background noise of the caverns. Unerringly, knowing exactly where he's headed, the scruffy-haired candidate heads towards the serving tables.
M'rek sits at a table, somewhere near where Harley is. He's sitting before a plate that's obnoxiously piled up with a mixmash of foods from the serving table, and he picks at it a little bit without really paying attention to what he's eating between talking. "Brown. Sorry, meant brown. Someone's muddling around in my head and I'm trying to have two conversations at once. He's a nice brown. Who tripped you into a mud puddle?" As others enter the room he turns this way and that, nodding and smiling in greeting.
L'sen, up from the living cavern, makes a trip by the serving table, though only for dessert tonight, before he turns and heads for a seat. On the plate are several pastries, quite an assortment even if it isn't quite his usual pile of food. The young bluerider heads across the cavern easily, veering as he sees a semi-familiar face in M'rek. "Hiya," he greets the bronzerider. "Anybody mind if I sit here? Hi." The latter greeting is for Harley, as he flops into the chair without waiting for an answer.
Harley smiles up at L'sen. "Hello." she answers. Seeing Rathin and realizing that's where the whistling is coming from, she waves to him. Turning her attention back to M'rek she continues "Actually it was a bronze who tripped me. Literally just a couple minutes before I met the Weyrleader for the first time. I accused him of tripping me and he just rumbled." and she shrugs.
Rathin is apparently of a mind to buck convention, starting from the dessert side of the table and working his way backwards. He gives an easy sort of grin to the few looks he receives, shrugging helplessly and indicating his candidate knot as if it's a proud badge of ignorance. He collects some strawberry cake first, then some of the fish, and the merest forkful of salad. Once he's grabbed a mug of juice, he casts about for a spare chair, when Harley's wave catches his attention. With a grin, he heads in that direction, the whistling finally ceasing as he approaches the group.
M'rek waves his fork airly for L'sen in welcome and says in a friendly way, "Don't mind at all, good to see you again, how you been?" Words all kind of packed in together, perhaps he's wound up a notch or three tonight. The tapping of one of his boots against the leg of the chair next to his adds to the impression of escaping energy. The bald bronzerider asks Harley, "The dragon rumbled or S'rist rumbled? Could be either. Sometimes S'rist isn't in such a good mood, especially when you've been doing things." Things is spoken as if they are vague and potentially causing of frowns for weyrleaders. Rathin gets another nod, "Evening, how you doing? Nice to meet you." Again, words all lumped up.
"I don't really know S'rist myself," L'sen answers. "Does he really rumble like that? All the time? What do you have to do to make him rumble, 'cause that sounds kind of fun? I'm good, though, real good. How 'bout you? I'm L'sen, by the way." Like M'rek, his words run together a bit, as he directs the question to all three of his companions and the introduction to the pair of candidates. L'sen starts eating, stuffing his mouth with a good half a pastry at once. So much for manners.
Harley is taking another drink of klah when M'rek asks her about who rumbled and she snorts into the klah mug. Setting it down with a soft thump. Coughing to clear her pipes, she finally looks at M'rek. A giggle escapes and she shakes her head. "The bronze rumbled. I met the Weyrleader after I tracked the wonderful mud towards the water caverns. A few days later, when I was delivering a message, I saw the dragon in the bowl again and asked him if he tripped me. He just rumbled. I found out after that." and she shakes her head. "That the dragon was Dzurath. He got me in trouble on purpose." and she wrinkles her nose.
Setting food down first, Rathin grins to Harley as he slides into the spare seat on her far side, commenting wryly, "Mind that klah. I once knew a kid who choked to death on that stuff." Attention belatedly shifts to the others at the table, first L'sen, then M'rek are given careful looks by the candidate, as if he's sizing them up in some fashion; once that's done he offers the obligatory, "Sir, and sir. Sirs, in fact." There's a subtle drawl to the 'sir' offered to L'sen, as if he finds the idea of the title offered to someone younger than him rather bemusing. M'rek's question receives a response that's probably a shade more detailed than required, "Did you know there's a specific -method- to rolling bandages? It has to be -extra- tight, or it doesn't quite do the job. At least, that's what the Journeyman kept telling me. Apparently I'm very poor at it." Belatedly: "Rathin." He taps his knot as if it weren't keenly obvious he was a candidate.
"Aye, it's fun all right. If you ever want to hear him rumble just.." M'rek half turns in his chair and points to a cabinet on the far wall, "..jimmy that thing open. You don't have to actually drink any of the wine in there. In fact. I recommend you don't because none of it is as good as nice dark stout. But, jimmy it open and just kind of hang around. You'll hear some rumbling. Like a broody gold." Harley earns a laugh out of M'rek, "Did he now? O. I wouldn't track mud through here." Spoken as if he'd do just about anything else though. Then he leans forward to take a better look at Rathin, "I heard that too. Happens all the time. Klah kills." Then also to the male candidate, "Eh. As if you have time to notice when you're bleeding to death if it were rolled up right or not. I've never noticed. Mostly you just feel lucky to be someplace with a bandage. Nice to meet you, Rathin. I'm M'rek."
"Dragons are weird like that," L'sen observes to Harley, wrinkling his nose. "Neiveth, he never gets me in trouble, but man, there's been close calls before. The worst is when he gets together with Deneth--the pair of them's awful sometimes. But not so much since we graduated, though, because, well. Not so many rules now." He grins, glances at the cabinet curiously. "What all's in there?" he wonders, just before: "I dunno why they even bother wrapping them. I mean, you're just gonna unwrap them again when something happens, so why not just throw it in a box somewhere or something and be done with it? I never did that well, either, by the way." Of course.
Harley chuckles and shakes her head, looking a little confused. "Jimmy that open and I'll hear some rumbling? From who? The dragon or the rider? Or from some of the other people here like the Headwoman?" she grins and shakes her head. "Only if you inhale it" she answers, lifting her klah mug again and taking another drink. Her smile turns to L'sen "Rolling the bandages is kind of soothing. You don't have to think to do that."
Introductions done, Rathin's attention focuses primarily on his food, testing out the dessert first, and finding it suitable, moving onto the fish. He's got a healthy appetite, but he's not exactly bolting down his food. The mention of a forbidden cabinet, however, earns the candidate's attention readily enough, speculative gleam in his eyes as he studies the object in question. "Wine, huh?" is his only comment on the subject. "That's nice to know, otherwise I'd probably feel pretty badly about my poorly rolled bandages." The tone of his voice is a shade facetious, though his expression is otherwise keenly focused back on his plate. L'sen is given a quick, amused look, then, "Maybe -you- can suggest that to the Journeyman?" Pause. "Sir. He certainly didn't listen to me." He gives Harley a bit of an odd look at the mention of it being soothing, "Trade you?"
M'rek clarifies, "Rumbling from S'rist." Then thoughtfully, "Never head the Headwoman rumble." before he chews on a little more much off his plate. Then he tells L'sen, "The Weyrleader's private wine stock. You know. For meetings and things." And then he jumps to another topic, "I will say bandages are easier to get on rolled." Then he quiets, at least for the moment and eats while he listens to hear how well duty swapping will go between the candidates.
L'sen eyes Harley, brows arching. "You'd be surprised what you don't have to think about," he remarks with a grin. Then, abruptly, he frowns, moving to stand as he gathers up his plate. "Neiveth's wanting me to come see what he's doing, so, yeah. I'll see y'all later. Night, everyone," he explains as he exits with a wave.