[Log] Smart or Nice or Pretty

[brazenbronzer]

Who: Amelliane, Eilidh, Riadur
When: Day 11, Month 8, Turn 2
Where: Lakeshore, Telgar Weyr
What: Eilidh's Cayetath searches Amelliane.

Telgar Weyr Lake Shore
     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 and trees around the lake resound with the bright green of summer. The lake, and the meadow around it teem with life and activity. Warmth -- the gift of summertime -- seems to lift the spirits of everything around here. Firelizards zip about the lake, taking full advantage of the season. The red shades of sunset cast the meadow into deep, but peaceful shadows.

Contents:
DRAGONS: Cayetath
PLAYERS: Amelliane Riadur Eilidh
OTHER: Sand-Intensive Basket

Obvious Exits:
Bowl Lake

Amelliane
     A pair of sapphire-blue eyes light up Amelliane's otherwise plain face where a light touch of freckles covers her nose and cheeks. Long and light-brown curls are held back from her features with a finely woven bandeau, tied in a bow at the nape of her neck and allowing the ends to hang down her back. Her skin is tanned a golden colour from working under the hot sun, although months spent away from her home in Igen has faded the hue. She is 20 Turns, 8 months, and 12 days old. A simple, brown dress of uneven texture hangs loosely around her curvy form; standing a little taller than the average female Amelliane has drawn herself to a stance emitting grace, warmth - and no little amount of sly mischief.

Eilidh
     Eilidh's dark blonde hair, honey-flaxen in areas due to the sun, is trimmed short, just below her ears in a flattering rounded cut. The locks that used to fall in her face are pinned back with small silver clips with short streamered blue ribbons. Deep blue eyes are large and expressive, over-arced by average shaped brows. Thin pale pink lips are underneath a gently sloping nose, and her complexion is quite sun-browned, dotted with freckles along her nose, cheeks, and arms. The solid, but lanky structure of the girl is set on a five foot eight frame, her body growing into proportion with her limbs.
     Slenderising leathers dyed a deep brown accentuate the brownrider's long legs. At the waist, it is belted by black belt whose silver buckle is visible when the long-sleeved pale blue tunic shifts with movement. The top is embroidered in a darker blue thread, tiny little flowers that trim the collar and sleeves, as well as the lower hem. Over this is a fur-trimmed beaten leather jacket, on which the badge of an Icewind wingrider is stitched onto the breast pocket. On her feet are a pair of dark brown boots, scuffed and obviously hand me downs. The loops of black and red on her shoulders indicate a wingrider at Telgar, while the brown thread wended through the colour of her lifemate.

Cayetath
     Imperishable walnut seeps into this brown dragon's hide, his build one made up of lean muscles that ripple across his gangly form. Rangy limbs and fruit-mottled angles mesh beneath wingsails of dark and heady rum. His length makes him larger than many bronzes, and as awkward lankiness prevails over pure brawn in him; he'll never be bulky in musculature. Belying such, his strength will be obvious despite the lithe frame. Harsh scarlet streaks across his sides, contrasted by the pale cherry stain on the underside of his belly. Lightened coloring along the extra-long ridges provide depth to the darker browns that predominate his length, running down his back to the very tip of his tail's animated length. Gold filigree coils around slate dark talons and headknobs are sweetened by a soft smattering of ocher across his prominent, pointed muzzle.
     Cayetath is 36.3 meters in length with a wingspan of 60.3 meters and looks to be approximately 3 turns old.

A warm summer afternoon finds Telgar Weyr in its usual state of calm activity. In the air above the large bowl a few Weyrlings do their drills -- and weyrfolk everywhere seems to be out to enjoy the fine day. Amelliane sits by the lake shore, a piece of yellow and soft cloth resting on her knees. Her hands move swiftly over it as she works on it, the sunlight glinting in the needle. She looks up and smiles at passerby's, but seems caught up in her work.

Take that warm summer afternoon, and delete the calmness. From the bowl area just south of here comes Eilidh, and from the sky, dropping into the water like a heavy stone, is a Cayetath. His dive into the water is fluid, the smallest of splashes accompanying his stream-lined form. "Shards!" the epithet is spoken vigourously, good humour abundant the blonde's wavering alto-soprano voice. The lanky girl's shoulders roll back, discomforted in the strictures of her riding leathers, and a quick sweep of fingers pulls the sweat-matted blonde hair out of her face into a hand-held runner tail. "Hate running laps in th'bowl, it's like you never really /go/ anywhere, and might as well just run standing still." This is imparted to any who will hear, though the girl flashes the seated Amelliane a quick grin.

Arriving just in time to see Cayetath dive into the water, Riadur instinctively flings up an arm to protect against the splash, a gesture that proves most unnecessary as the brown slices neatly into the water. Looking relieved, Riadur continues around the edge of the lake toward Amelliane and Eilidh. "Good afternoon, ma'am, Amelliane," he offers the pair as he stops nearby, smiling faintly. The good weather seems to have put him into an equally good mood.

Amelliane looks up at the sound of a dragon hitting the water, her light-brown brows arching in surprise. A splash of water drenches the cloth, and she wipes away a few drops from her face. She swiftly folds up the cloth and places it on a stone next to her, blue eyes staring intently at the sight in the lake. "Are you all right?" A laugh rings in the air, as the girl's next action confirm that nothing seems to be wrong. Then, Amelliane gets up -- sun-burnt fingers brushing out a few creases in her rough, brown dress -- and walks to the shore. "Good afternoon, Riadur," she smiles a greeting at him, and points at the lake. "You know, that was quite an impressive landing," blue eyes glint with humour as she flicks a glance to the brown Cayetath. "I can honestly say I never saw anything like it!" She grins and nods at Eilidh. "I'm Amelliane, by the way. Visiting the Weyr."

The lanky blonde blinks at that, a giggle bursting out. The hand-held 'tail is set loose, the thin strands of hair falling back to mat against her neck. "Ma'am, me. Jays. I can't imagine anyone who's less appropriate as a ma'am than me, but .. jays," the repetition is accompanied with a shake of her head, a wry twist to her jovial expression. "How're you doing, Riadur? Candidate now, who Searched you? Did you get to see the barracks yet? Are you settled in? Have you eaten?" The flood of eager questions ends with the last one, and a grumble of Eilidh's tummy. Sheepish at that noise, she turns to focus on stripping her jacket and gloves, then turning to grin again at brunnette girl. "Just laps. Cay landed 'fore the order to land was given by our wingleader, and well... I made him run with me and now he's sulking out there. Eilidh, Cayetath's rider. Telgar's duties."

"It was," seconds Riadur solemnly, nodding as he glances back to the brown in the water. "But, er--" Inundated with questions, he takes a step backward away from Eilidh while he decides which to answer first. "Wingleader Kassima did, and Lysseth," he answers at length. "It was... a few days ago now, so yes, I've been in the barracks since then. And--eaten? No, not yet. I'm not very hungry now." At the brownrider's growling stomach, he can't help but grin.

A blue gaze turns from Riadur to Eilidh at the brown rider's speech, and an amused smile begins to play on Amelliane's lips - growing wider with every word. Rubbing her cheek with a hand, she suddenly seems to remember herself and inclines her head politely to the other woman. "Pleased to meet you, Eilidh. And Cayetath too, of course," she flicks another curious glance at the dragon. A hand moves up to adjust her headband -- being slightly askew, as she turns to look at Riadur. "I've been sent to both Igen and Ista by my Journeyman these past few days," she nods to him and smiles. "So I haven't seen you much around. Doing ok?" At the sound of the stomach, her eyes glint again. "Supper will be soon, I think. I'm not hungry at all, Weyrs eating at different times and me travelling between every half-hour," she jests.

It's apparent she takes her position as a candidate coordinator seriously. It's either that, or she's normally this over-eager and hyper. Riadur's answers are responded to with that wide approving grin, Eilidh bouncing lightly in place as she tosses both jacket and glove onto the narrow strip of sand that runs closer to the waters. "I know -her-! She's a wingleader here and survived the Pass and..." The babble continues incessantly in regards to the subject of his Searchrider. In the mean time, Cayetath stays submerged for a while after his initial dive, finally coming up tail first, followed by each of the extra-long ridges from back to low along his neck. The head comes up last, eyes bobbing out at water level before he emerges fully. The large bulk of his form is situated one dragonlength from the shore, and a casual flick of his wings sends a small wave to lap against the sand. "You travel?" This catches the blonde's interest. "I've always wanted to travel, and you'd think that with a dragon it's easier. And it is, but time is difficult to find. But how is Ista? Igen? I'm from both of there. Both of them? Both places!" Triumph at finding the right turn of phrase, her smile returns.

Riadur nods to Amelliane. "Yes, I have been. A few more candidates are starting to trickle in, so I'm not by myself. You met Stavren, didn't you, the first time we met? He was searched just recently, too," he remarks. At Eilidh's babbling, however, he edges away a bit more, until, heels finding the edge of the lake, he can retreat no further. "You're from Igen and Ista? It sounds like you have been traveling to me," he tells the brownrider dubiously.

"I've travelled quite a lot. I'm from Igen, really... a very small holding - maybe you know it, being from Ista, it's called Jerba, just on the edge of the desert." Amelliane grins at Eilidh, finding the young woman's humor to be contagious. "I travelled here with Journeyman Owigden at first, it took months and months. And then I came here, to Telgar Weyr." She halts her tale to turn her attention to the carefully retreating Riadur. "Really? That is wonderful! Good for Stavren, and he so wanted to stay, too. Who searched him?" Pausing to give the man a chance to reply, she then turns to Eilidh again. "Somehow, Owigden seems to find favours from a lot of green and blue riders. I don't know how he does it, I seriously don't! But he's sending me around the Weyrs in order to catalogue their tapestries. He loves tapestries," she sighs with an undertone of a weaver having seen one tapestry too many as of lately.

"If you need anything," the girl's fluttering, but warm, attention lands back on Riadur, "You can come find me. Or try to, or something. I wouldn't advise trying to climb the bowl wall to my ledge, but y'know." Eilidh's shoulders push upwards and inwards into a self-deprecatingly cheered shrug. "Hopefully chores aren't too bad for you yet? Are there lots of you? I don't think I know that." Briefly, she's perturbed at her own lack of knowledge, which is remedied by a shake of her head. "But I will, soon! I'm good at 'membering people, even if ma says I'm as flimsy minded as a vtol caught in a storm. And 'was born at Igen, Impressed at Ista. I haven't seen much besides the Weyrs and not much in between." Cayetath observes from the lake, gliding across, with his neck held high to come up behind Riadur. Amusement curls the corners of his dragon mouth, his head lowered and bent to try and get a completely vertical top to bottom view of the boy. "Oh? A weaver? I have a tapestry in my weyr that I bought when I moved here from Ista's weyrweaver, to remind me of home every so often. Are you a weaver too then?"

"Tapestries," repeats Riadur, arching his brows. "I never really thought too much about them. Are they really that interesting?" He tilts his head slightly in curiousity before turning back to Eilidh. "Oh, yes, ma'am," he tells her with a small smile that brightens slowly. "No, they've not been too bad, since some of them are things I've done before. There are... several now, but I only know a--a couple." Stumbling over his words as Cayetath comes up behind him, Riadur shrinks down slightly, giving the brown an uncertain look. "A brownrider--C'tel, I think his name was?--searched him the other night, while we were talking to him and the Weyrleader," adds Riadur, recalling Amelliane's earlier question.

Amelliane narrows her eyes slightly and nods swiftly every now and then, intent upon Eilidh as she speaks and trying to keep up with the enthusiastic flow of words. "The candidates have many chores?" she picks out a sentence and raises a light-brown brow curiously. "Well it's always nice to meet one from Igen," she smiles warmly at the brown rider. "Every now and then, I miss it -- if nothing else, then for its warm winters! I'm not a real weaver yet," she admits. "I'm hoping that Owigden will apprentice me, but he keeps saying that he's too old. C'tel, you say?" She turns to nod at Riadur, but the brown dragon completely fills her vision; and she finds herself talking to him while still looking at Cayetath. "And tapestries -are- interesting, just not in huge amounts," she grins and finally manages to look at him. "You're interested in them?"

"Stop that," Eilidh says, with a distracted swat of the air towards the brown. "You're /supposed/ to be welcoming and happy, and not intimidating. Caay~...," she's near whining, dark blue eyes turning to glare at the scarlet-streaked dragon. "You're impossible sometimes. I give up. Do what you want." The 'hmph' isn't audible, though certainly visible from her sudden toss of hair away from Riadur and the large dragon right behind him. "Don't mind him," she imparts to the two others, "Ornery, brat of a dragon sometimes." But there's also a fondness to her insults, and soft touch to her quick, 'hope no one sees this' type of glance back. "Candidates have to do some chores. Like residents, I.." for a moment, she seems to be at a loss for words, before gamely pushing through her theories, "I think it's because it helps inte.. inte.. settle candidates in better into Weyrlife and doesn't give us, them a chance to be homesick or something. I think." Uncertainly, she shrugs. "It's good to meet someone from Igen though, it's quite cold here. Colder'n there. But wetter to, which is nice. Good luck with becoming a weaver! I wanted to be a healer, or a gardener, maybe a harper, but I became a rider instead." As if she really had a choice. Done with the water, Cayetath attempts to bring his head lower to sniff at Riadur's head, and whether he's allowed or not, moves swiftly out, water dripping in sheets against his dark hide.

Riadur shakes his head in reply to Amelliane. "No, not really. I mean, I've never really noticed any of them, actually," he tells her. Then, as Eilidh struggles with a word, he helpfully ventures, "Integrate?" That's all he's got time for, however, as he ducks and claps a hand to the top of his head as Cayetath sniffs at him. Quickly, Riadur skitters out of the way of the brown, a most undignified movement, and offers distractedly, "I spent a few sevendays in Igen myself, when I first came north; it was a very nice place, but--well, it was very hot." His tone is slightly apologetic.

"He really does seem to like the water," Amelliane grins and her eyes follow the brown as he sets out toward the deep water. "And thank you for that wish of luck," she looks at Eilidh with twinkling eyes. "I'm just going to have to convince my Journeyman that he isn't too old. I'll have to work on that! And cold, yet, I'm lucky I haven't caught a cold yet from all that travelling from Igen to Ista to Telgar and back again. One more tapestry," she lifts a finger -- waving it at nobody in particular, "and I'll scream." She smiles softly at Riadur, maybe even feeling a little sorry for the candidate's attempt to avoid the dragon's affection.

"Which is a good thing," Eilidh is quick to interject at Riadur, "Hot. Heat, warmth. It never gets quite hot enough here." The helpful assistance with the word is rewarded a fraction of a second later with a beaming smile at the older boy. "Thanks, integrate. Integrate. It's annoying when you can think of the word, know what it sounds like, starts like, but not know the word itself." Apparently her people remembering skills doesn't go as far as general vocabulary. She's quiet a moment, which is for her an oddity, followed by a blank, "Huh?" and then a blink of her eyes towards Cayetath and Riadur. "Next time, you need a ride back to Igen or Ista, I can offer. I've a mind to visit ma again I suppose, as long as she doesn't nag me too much, and there's someone I'd like to see again at Ista for sure." The brown dragon stills after his initial exit of the lake's cool waters, allowing the water to slide off him before he hunkers down into the warmth of the sands, allowing his tail to trail into the lake again. Casually, that large head of his lowers to slant sideways in a watchful study of Amelliane this time, rather than Riadur.

"You're welcome," Riadur tells Eilidh with a warmer smile as he grows used to the brownrider's exuberance. Or maybe he's just relieved Cayetath seems inclined to leave him alone for a little bit. "I prefer the coolness, actually, although it /does/ get very cold here in the winters," he adds thoughtfully. "And--" he grins at Amelliane "--I don't think you can really get sick from just traveling, but then again." A shrug.

"That is true, it always seems cold here," Amelliane agrees with Eilidh. A careful observer would note, that the would-be weaver is dressed much warmer than the average Telgar resident; she even has a red, woolen shawl cast over her shoulders on this warm summer's eve. "But I like it here still, and the hot springs are just wonderful. And thank you, I would like that," she nods to the brown rider and brushes a pair of light-brown curls back beneath the fine headband. "That is, I hope that, well... your Cayetath is hopefully not partial to... looping? Or diving?" She smiles and looks back at the brown dragon -- the memories of her first flight with a rather spirited green still haunting her mind. "Then I'll get sick from the tapestries!" She turns and chuckles at Riadur, jestingly determined on catching some illness or other.

Eilidh turns to regard Riadur, a hint of awe flickering in her deep blue eyes. "You're smart, aren't you? I wish I were smart, but I guess it's either being smart or nice or pretty, and anyone who has more than just one is really lucky." It's definitely not flattery, not the way she says it. Matter-of-fact, yes. Flattering, no. But the warm smile snags a bit at the corners, nose wrinkling pertly at the blonde-haired boy. "Hmm? No, he'.. well, he /can/ loop, he'd like me to tell you. And he /can/ dive too, almost caught a green with that slicing dive of his." Regretful that. "But he won't, just to prove that he doesn't have to be like that. And..." Cayetath, throughout the speech, has gotten up, flicked out liquid drizzled sails, and brought them back to his sides, turning his head back and forth in continued study of Amelliane. One note sounds, sly approval, followed by a narrowed, somewhat beady glance at his rider. "Huh."

For all Eilidh's matter-of-factness, Riadur is still embarrassed, hanging his head and dragging a toe through the sand. "Thank you," he murmurs in response to the brownrider, glancing back up at her shyly. He remains silent for a few moments, chancing a glance between dragon, rider, and weaver curiously.

"I'm glad to hear that he won't suddenly do a loop," Amelliane's voice is still light and humorous - but there's a certain amount of relief in it as well. "I've heard that they also do -bettings- on passengers at Igen Weyr, seeing who will last the longest. I'm wondering who lost on my trip, for I threatened to give the rider such a ding on the ear if she'd even think of looping." She winks on general purposes, making it a little uncertain if she jokes or not, and looks back at Cayetath -- raising a brow. "He hasn't changed his mind about the looping, now, has he," she turns to Eilidh and grins.

Eilidh smiles fleetingly at Riadur, uncertainty in her eyes. The blue gaze slides to Amelliane, perturbed. "No, he doesn't change his mind much if he can help it. Unless it doesn't suit him, and then he changes it like that." A snap. "But," she keeps an eye on Cayetath warily, interrupting herself to waggle a finger at the dragon, "If you're /lying/ to me, I will know, and will be very, very upset and I will never talk to you again." Which isn't probable. "Understand? Ok then." Since that's been resolved, with the dragon look smugger than ever, the honey-blonde haired girl leans forward, bending from the waist to squint at Amelliane. "So, he thinks you need to change your mind on being a weaver. And that you need to polish his talons and scrub his.. Hey! You put that in my head and I am /SO/ not saying /that/." The last, once again to Cay. "Dragons!" Cue the conspiratorial eye roll towards the other two.

Riadur quirks his brows at Eilidh; he doesn't find her very convincing on the subject of Cayetath's changing whims. Her threats to the brown seem to amuse him, for he grins again at them, however, as does her relaying of his messages. "As bad as Lysseth, isn't he, Amelliane?" he jokes.

A sun-burnt hand lifts to rub her neck thoughtfully as Amelliane attempts making sense in the one half of the dialogue going on between the Brown rider and her dragon. "What?" Not the most intelligent reply, but the only one the woman can muster just now as she looks back at Eilidh in stunned incomprehension. "Please tell Cayetath I wasn't that serious about those tapestries? They're interesting, really," she admits and grins. "And polish his talons, and scrub his... -what-?" She laughs and a red colour tints her cheeks, then she adjusts her headband again -- not that it really needs adjusting. She turns to Riadur, and a glint of understanding sparks her blue eyes. "Oh." She looks back at Eilidh and Cayetath, the colour seems to drain from her cheeks, and she reaches out an arm toward him for support.

"Tail," Eilidh returns blandly, unaware, and perhaps a little too naive to what else might have filled in to her trailed off words. "But, you don't have to listen to him at all, he doesn't know what he's talking about." Which is always so very reassuring, especially in conjunction with her next question, an equally sun-brownned hand reaching to push back blonde hair from her face again. "Amelliane," she sounds so serious, though mischief dances in her eyes, "I would be honoured, and Cayetath too even if you don't polish his talons for him, if you would stand for Mirrath and Indrath's clutch." The solemnity ends there, however, as she bounces eagerly, "Whattya say? Whattya say?" Excitedly, she peers at Riadur, head bobbling up and down as if to encourage the boy to encourage Amelliane.

Riadur breaks into a bright smile as Eilidh finally gets around to asking the question. He doesn't say anything, giving Amelliane a chance to answer for herself, but he does look happy as he peers earnestly at her, then the dragonrider and her lifemate. "I seem to be good luck for everyone," he jokes. "First Stavren and now you, Amelliane."

Amelliane stands in silence for a little while. She regards the dragon and its rider and the colour slowly returns to her cheeks, brushing her cheekbones with a reddish colour as the gleam returns to her blue eyes. She lifts her head proudly, as if reaching a conclusion. "I will be honoured as well, to stand for Mirrath and Indrath's clutch here in Telgar." Her voice is light and determined as she answers, a glint of adventure in her gaze as she inclines her head to Eilidh and Cayetath. Eilidh's excitement matches her own, when she next laughs: "I say yes. Yes!" She turns to Riadur and cannot stop smiling. "I'm glad I already know some of the candidates," she bursts out.

"Be sure to rub everyone's head before the hatching. Or their belly. Ma used to say that people with good luck have luck coming from their belly buttons." The reply is to Riadur, but Eilidh jumps at Amelliane's reply, her bounce turning quite exuberant. "Hwei! You said yes, wow, I didn't know you could do that," the last to Cayetath, eyes orbing wide. "I mean, I knew, but shells." In awe, the brown is watched, her hand reaching out to try and swat playfully at his muzzle. "It's good you know lots of people. Oh, oh. I'm a candidate coordinator, by the way, so if you ever need anything, like I told Riadur, you can come find me. Or Breena, or Claret. But don't climb the wall to get to our ledges. You might fall and hurt your head." She blinks, "And I need to show you where you'll stay, and.. do you need to tell Odigwen? Or whatshisface your journeyman?"

Riadur blinks at Eilidh, but nods agreeably. "I'll keep that in mind," he tells her. But, hearing his name called from afar, he glances around and waves to a fellow candidate in his chore group. "Excuse me," he says as he turns to meet the other young man. "Oh, and congratulations, Amelliane." He offers the girl one last smile, then walks off.