Catching Cold
Location: Five Mines Hold, Open Pit
Time: Day 3, Month 10, Turn 3, 7th Pass
Players: Vanya, J’lor Vellath
Scene: Bathing a dragon in the rain seems like a good idea, right? Well, at least a healer is nearby to show J’lor the error of his ways.
Open Pit Mine of Five Mines Hold
From the flat floor between the stripped mountainsides, the mine is a breathtaking sight. Bared rock and soil step up ledges of the pit, glorious in pale hues of copper orange, rust red, and patina green. Turns of rain and snow have cut narrow valleys through the steps and here and there dark mouths dot the slopes, signs of shaft mines dug along rich copper veins early in the ore's extraction. Though the mine is currently producing little if any ore, there's a more haphazardly carved pit in one slope where simple rock quarrying seems to have been recently pursued.
The south-facing slope has not been mined; it boasts ledges of tilled earth laden, in season, with crops to support the holdfolk. A grass field backs up to the Hold proper, providing sparse pasture for beasts. Only the tops of the surrounding low mountains have escaped the scrabble of human tools for soil and stone: tall conifer trees grow there, providing valuable timber. The band of deep green forest provides, from this view, a welcome respite from the stretch of stark stone colors below and the glare of snow of the taller mountains in the distance, the runoff of which feeds the nearby Cromite River. From here the road that leads down to the flatlands seems only a natural extension of the barren rock floor of the mine pit. It's a bleak fall day, soggy with rain and stricken with the occasional attack of snow flurries. The mud is thick underfoot and the cold is invasive, creeping through layered clothing to bite the skin beneath.
Unable to sleep well, Vanya takes a glowbasket and slips out of the room she shares with Tavaly. Dressed warmly in the coat Tav made for her, she doesn't feel the chill nearly as much as she might in a simple cloak. Since it's raining a little harder now, she keeps to the overhanging rocks around the rim of the site, not venturing forward until she reaches the road. Even then, she moves only a few steps away from the hold, just to stare off into the darkness and wonder. It's obvious she's thoughtful, but what her thoughts contain is anyone's guess. Her eyes lift to the walls of the mine pit around her, as if trying to determine what is hidden behind them. After a few minutes, she walks back toward the hold entrance, wetter than when she started.
"Well if you would hold still, it wouldn't -get- in your eyes," comes the warm, if mildly annoyed, tenor voice from the thick shadows somewhere to the right of the wandering healer. The words aren't addressed to Vanya, however, but to the dark blue dragon that sits, hunched and soapy, and he and his rider use the rainfall as an impromptu shower of sorts. J'lor is dripping and in a thin shirt, rolled pants, and bare feet, perhaps a bit cold as well. Vellath snorts, lowering his head, one eye still squeezed shut.
Drawn by the voice, Vanya pauses in her exploration, turning toward a part of the darkened mine-pit she hadn't noticed. Curious, perhaps, she ventures a little closer, standing then to watch the goings on. She doesn't say anything, at least not at first, waiting until she recognizes the tall, slender man washing his dragon. Once she's certain it's someone she's met, she comes a few steps closer, offering a soft, pleasant, "Good evening," aimed at letting him know someone is there, more than anything else. "Rather wet night, isn't it." No question that, but simple statement.
J'lor looks over his shoulder with lazy ease, one hand still rubbing a soapy sponge against Vellath's shoulder. "Somewhere in between sunset and sunrise," he agrees with a quick flash of a smile. "Vanya, isn't it? Thank you again for the supplies. Our healer says you and she exchanged a few useful recipes with one another?" The blue dragon offers a sneeze and a yawn and then suddenly remembers his eye is meant to be grievously wounded and squeezes it shut again.
Taking a few steps closer, Vanya finds a bit of overhanging rock under which to stand. It doesn't afford her much respite from the rain, but enough that she's satisfied. "Yes, sir," is the reply. "I'm Vanya, and yes, I've been working with her to make up cough syrup and tea blends to combat winter colds and congestion. Hopefully, it'll be enough." She speaks respectfully to the man, who is older than herself; probably the underlying reason for the sir, after all. Respect. "I'm very pleased to say most of your people are in good health. Just a few are ... well, underweight." A pause. "But I suppose that's to be expected."
"Some people are just inclined towards slimness," J'lor offers with a soft chuckle. "It's just J'lor, if you please. I'm not much for 'sir's. Turn, Vellath." The blue makes a low noise that mostly sounds like a grumble, but he moves so his other side is presented to his rider. "We're a resourceful bunch. Whatever you can contribute is greatly appreciated, but we manage with what we have. If I might ask...how long do Tavaly and yourself intend to stay with us here?"
Vanya nods, then, realizing he might not be able to see that nod, replies, "J'lor, then," her voice conveying respect even without the use of a title. "I'm sorry, I was raised to address older people as sir or ma'am." She pauses, eyes going to the blue dragon. "My duty to Vellath, then. He seems a fine, fit dragon, but is there something wrong with his eye?" She indicates the squeezed shut orb. "As for how long we'll be here ...? I'm not sure. Tavaly would know more than I would. She's more ... well, in charge, than I am. I came along to help your healers. I was told it would only be a day or so, myself."
"He claims," there is a long-suffering emphasis on the second word as J'lor speaks it, "that I got soap in it. I think he just misses bathing somewhere warm. At any rate, I imagine by the time he's meant to fly with the younger dragons tomorrow, he'll have miraculously recovered." The sponge works its way along blue hide. "Everyone was raised with 'sir' and 'ma'am'. I just think it's nonsense. There are better ways of offering respect."
A smile touches Vanya's lips at the story of Vellath's "suffering," and she chuckles softly. "He reminds me of a dragon I know back at the weyr," she comments, nodding respectfully to the blue. "My greetings to you, Vellath," she offers along with the nod. Then, it's back to J'lor to study the man. "If I might ask, how does one convey respect other than sir or ma'am? -- other than respectful attitude toward them." A moment's pause, then, "I do suppose there's listening to what they have to say, showing genuine interest in their ideas, and the like. That would make me feel respected, especially the listening part." She leans against the rock, setting the glowbasket down on the ground before tucking her hands into her pockets.
The bluerider peeks his head around Vellath's haunch to offer Vanya a bright grin. "Precisely. Genuine interest. A willingness to listen or to speak. Not presuming one knows about somebody simply because they know a person's title or their station. I would rather be called by my name and have those things, than be a 'sir' that has none. If you know a dragon like Vellath," and the creature in question trundles off to stand beneath a dripping overhang whose falling water helps rinse his hide clean, "I can only apologize for the mischief he must have made."
This last garners a genuine laugh from Vanya. "Oh, he's a smart one, is Arekoth. Too smart for his rider's good, sometimes, even," she says, a twinkle in her eyes. "Quite a flirt, too -- the dragon, not the man." She watches J'lor working for a few moments. "It is nice to be respected for what a person can do, rather than just a title. Most of us work hard to get recognition from the crafts. It's not always easy, especially for women." And then she looks a little sheepish. "Then again, I suppose you, of all people, know that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off sounding patronizing or anything." And then she's quiet, glancing up at the sky. "You should get something warm to drink and wear when you finish. It's turning colder, and those are snowflakes mixed in with the rain."
"Arekoth," J'lor repeats the name thoughtfully. "Well, if he's smart, he has a leg up on Vellath, though kindly don't mention I said such a thing. He thinks he's very clever, but..." the bluerider only wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. "I admit, I've had some experience with being judged on Vellath's hide rather than my own skills, but it's been no worse than, as you say, women in crafts of those who lack rank." He pauses to swipe dripping hair from his face. "Thank you, I will as soon as he's rinsed." Get something hot to drink and dry to wear, presumably.
Vanya's quiet a moment, not certain if she should have mentioned Arekoth, since they're not supposed to talk about the weyr. "Good," though is said in typical healer manner, though a smile is added. "You don't want to get sick." All right, that's kind of lame, but it's a healer-type of thing to say. "I've always felt that respect needs to be earned, it's not something that automatically comes with a certain title or rank. Mind you, most of the Master Healers I've met are very deserving of the respect they're accorded." She pauses a moment, realizing just who she's talking to. "I don't mean to run off at the mouth, J'lor. Chalk it up to being tired and ... in unusual circumstances." Another pause. "L'vok speaks very highly of you."
"I like to listen to people talk," J'lor says with an easy smile as his arms cross loosely over his chest, "and I agree. Certainly many master crafters have earned the respect they are given. And yet, I expect if that is so, they could have the very same respect even if addressed by their name. And those who have not earned the genuine appreciation of the people still will not have it for all the 'sir's and 'Master's they receive. It's a bit of a comfort, actually, to know there are still those on the mainland who entertain such ideals. They were all meant to be sent away with us, you see." The smile, this time, is faint and rueful and concludes in a sudden sneeze. "Bother. Vellath, if I die of influenza, it's on your head." The blue, now rinsed clean, only replies by padding past his rider and tossing up a wet spray with a flick of his tail, leaving J'lor more wet and soggy than before.
Vanya manages to smother a laugh at the dragon's antics, although there's a serious side of this. "Would you like to step inside now that you've finished?" she asks. "I've can brew you some tea that will warm you up, and maybe help prevent your catching cold, s-- J'lor." She barely manages to remember to address the man by name, not sir. "It's unfortunate so many depend upon that title to define themselves. I know I'm very proud of being a Journeyman, but I don't /have/ to be called that every moment. I was Vanya before I was a Journeyman, after all, and most of those who know me just use my name." She moistens her lips. "I was very young when ... things happened. Barely an Apprentice. I don't know much about what you and your people wanted."
"Tea," J'lor notes with a long glare towards the blue that's making his way back to his 'weyr', "would be greatly appreciated. Thank you, Vanya. That is, I believe, the beauty of names. They encapsulate who you are beyond any other word in the world, and is that not amazing?" He sniffs again and begins trudging towards the hold. "If you have the time, I'd be honored to try and share with you what we wanted. We went about it very badly, mind. They weren't wrong about that. But...well. If you wish to know, I'm pleased to share."
Vanya contemplates this for a long moment, then nods. "I'd be very interested, J'lor," she replies. "There's a pot of hot water on the hearth in the hall, and it won't take me but a moment to fetch the tea. What say I meet you there in about five minutes? I can bring a towel, too, if you'd like. The Hold's been generous to its guests." Well, as generous as they can afford to be; they did provide some clean towels, at least. "But I don't want to keep you from other duties," she assures the man.
"It is, as you say, rather late. The day is done, Vanya, and I have the time. I'll change into some dry clothes and meet you inside in a few minutes. Keep yourself dry as well. I have it on good authority one can get quite ill when damp." J'lor smiles again and begins heading towards his weyr to dry off and change. He whistles as he walks, seeming in no particular rush.
Time: Day 3, Month 10, Turn 3, 7th Pass
Players: Vanya, J’lor Vellath
Scene: Bathing a dragon in the rain seems like a good idea, right? Well, at least a healer is nearby to show J’lor the error of his ways.
Open Pit Mine of Five Mines Hold
From the flat floor between the stripped mountainsides, the mine is a breathtaking sight. Bared rock and soil step up ledges of the pit, glorious in pale hues of copper orange, rust red, and patina green. Turns of rain and snow have cut narrow valleys through the steps and here and there dark mouths dot the slopes, signs of shaft mines dug along rich copper veins early in the ore's extraction. Though the mine is currently producing little if any ore, there's a more haphazardly carved pit in one slope where simple rock quarrying seems to have been recently pursued.
The south-facing slope has not been mined; it boasts ledges of tilled earth laden, in season, with crops to support the holdfolk. A grass field backs up to the Hold proper, providing sparse pasture for beasts. Only the tops of the surrounding low mountains have escaped the scrabble of human tools for soil and stone: tall conifer trees grow there, providing valuable timber. The band of deep green forest provides, from this view, a welcome respite from the stretch of stark stone colors below and the glare of snow of the taller mountains in the distance, the runoff of which feeds the nearby Cromite River. From here the road that leads down to the flatlands seems only a natural extension of the barren rock floor of the mine pit. It's a bleak fall day, soggy with rain and stricken with the occasional attack of snow flurries. The mud is thick underfoot and the cold is invasive, creeping through layered clothing to bite the skin beneath.
Unable to sleep well, Vanya takes a glowbasket and slips out of the room she shares with Tavaly. Dressed warmly in the coat Tav made for her, she doesn't feel the chill nearly as much as she might in a simple cloak. Since it's raining a little harder now, she keeps to the overhanging rocks around the rim of the site, not venturing forward until she reaches the road. Even then, she moves only a few steps away from the hold, just to stare off into the darkness and wonder. It's obvious she's thoughtful, but what her thoughts contain is anyone's guess. Her eyes lift to the walls of the mine pit around her, as if trying to determine what is hidden behind them. After a few minutes, she walks back toward the hold entrance, wetter than when she started.
"Well if you would hold still, it wouldn't -get- in your eyes," comes the warm, if mildly annoyed, tenor voice from the thick shadows somewhere to the right of the wandering healer. The words aren't addressed to Vanya, however, but to the dark blue dragon that sits, hunched and soapy, and he and his rider use the rainfall as an impromptu shower of sorts. J'lor is dripping and in a thin shirt, rolled pants, and bare feet, perhaps a bit cold as well. Vellath snorts, lowering his head, one eye still squeezed shut.
Drawn by the voice, Vanya pauses in her exploration, turning toward a part of the darkened mine-pit she hadn't noticed. Curious, perhaps, she ventures a little closer, standing then to watch the goings on. She doesn't say anything, at least not at first, waiting until she recognizes the tall, slender man washing his dragon. Once she's certain it's someone she's met, she comes a few steps closer, offering a soft, pleasant, "Good evening," aimed at letting him know someone is there, more than anything else. "Rather wet night, isn't it." No question that, but simple statement.
J'lor looks over his shoulder with lazy ease, one hand still rubbing a soapy sponge against Vellath's shoulder. "Somewhere in between sunset and sunrise," he agrees with a quick flash of a smile. "Vanya, isn't it? Thank you again for the supplies. Our healer says you and she exchanged a few useful recipes with one another?" The blue dragon offers a sneeze and a yawn and then suddenly remembers his eye is meant to be grievously wounded and squeezes it shut again.
Taking a few steps closer, Vanya finds a bit of overhanging rock under which to stand. It doesn't afford her much respite from the rain, but enough that she's satisfied. "Yes, sir," is the reply. "I'm Vanya, and yes, I've been working with her to make up cough syrup and tea blends to combat winter colds and congestion. Hopefully, it'll be enough." She speaks respectfully to the man, who is older than herself; probably the underlying reason for the sir, after all. Respect. "I'm very pleased to say most of your people are in good health. Just a few are ... well, underweight." A pause. "But I suppose that's to be expected."
"Some people are just inclined towards slimness," J'lor offers with a soft chuckle. "It's just J'lor, if you please. I'm not much for 'sir's. Turn, Vellath." The blue makes a low noise that mostly sounds like a grumble, but he moves so his other side is presented to his rider. "We're a resourceful bunch. Whatever you can contribute is greatly appreciated, but we manage with what we have. If I might ask...how long do Tavaly and yourself intend to stay with us here?"
Vanya nods, then, realizing he might not be able to see that nod, replies, "J'lor, then," her voice conveying respect even without the use of a title. "I'm sorry, I was raised to address older people as sir or ma'am." She pauses, eyes going to the blue dragon. "My duty to Vellath, then. He seems a fine, fit dragon, but is there something wrong with his eye?" She indicates the squeezed shut orb. "As for how long we'll be here ...? I'm not sure. Tavaly would know more than I would. She's more ... well, in charge, than I am. I came along to help your healers. I was told it would only be a day or so, myself."
"He claims," there is a long-suffering emphasis on the second word as J'lor speaks it, "that I got soap in it. I think he just misses bathing somewhere warm. At any rate, I imagine by the time he's meant to fly with the younger dragons tomorrow, he'll have miraculously recovered." The sponge works its way along blue hide. "Everyone was raised with 'sir' and 'ma'am'. I just think it's nonsense. There are better ways of offering respect."
A smile touches Vanya's lips at the story of Vellath's "suffering," and she chuckles softly. "He reminds me of a dragon I know back at the weyr," she comments, nodding respectfully to the blue. "My greetings to you, Vellath," she offers along with the nod. Then, it's back to J'lor to study the man. "If I might ask, how does one convey respect other than sir or ma'am? -- other than respectful attitude toward them." A moment's pause, then, "I do suppose there's listening to what they have to say, showing genuine interest in their ideas, and the like. That would make me feel respected, especially the listening part." She leans against the rock, setting the glowbasket down on the ground before tucking her hands into her pockets.
The bluerider peeks his head around Vellath's haunch to offer Vanya a bright grin. "Precisely. Genuine interest. A willingness to listen or to speak. Not presuming one knows about somebody simply because they know a person's title or their station. I would rather be called by my name and have those things, than be a 'sir' that has none. If you know a dragon like Vellath," and the creature in question trundles off to stand beneath a dripping overhang whose falling water helps rinse his hide clean, "I can only apologize for the mischief he must have made."
This last garners a genuine laugh from Vanya. "Oh, he's a smart one, is Arekoth. Too smart for his rider's good, sometimes, even," she says, a twinkle in her eyes. "Quite a flirt, too -- the dragon, not the man." She watches J'lor working for a few moments. "It is nice to be respected for what a person can do, rather than just a title. Most of us work hard to get recognition from the crafts. It's not always easy, especially for women." And then she looks a little sheepish. "Then again, I suppose you, of all people, know that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off sounding patronizing or anything." And then she's quiet, glancing up at the sky. "You should get something warm to drink and wear when you finish. It's turning colder, and those are snowflakes mixed in with the rain."
"Arekoth," J'lor repeats the name thoughtfully. "Well, if he's smart, he has a leg up on Vellath, though kindly don't mention I said such a thing. He thinks he's very clever, but..." the bluerider only wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. "I admit, I've had some experience with being judged on Vellath's hide rather than my own skills, but it's been no worse than, as you say, women in crafts of those who lack rank." He pauses to swipe dripping hair from his face. "Thank you, I will as soon as he's rinsed." Get something hot to drink and dry to wear, presumably.
Vanya's quiet a moment, not certain if she should have mentioned Arekoth, since they're not supposed to talk about the weyr. "Good," though is said in typical healer manner, though a smile is added. "You don't want to get sick." All right, that's kind of lame, but it's a healer-type of thing to say. "I've always felt that respect needs to be earned, it's not something that automatically comes with a certain title or rank. Mind you, most of the Master Healers I've met are very deserving of the respect they're accorded." She pauses a moment, realizing just who she's talking to. "I don't mean to run off at the mouth, J'lor. Chalk it up to being tired and ... in unusual circumstances." Another pause. "L'vok speaks very highly of you."
"I like to listen to people talk," J'lor says with an easy smile as his arms cross loosely over his chest, "and I agree. Certainly many master crafters have earned the respect they are given. And yet, I expect if that is so, they could have the very same respect even if addressed by their name. And those who have not earned the genuine appreciation of the people still will not have it for all the 'sir's and 'Master's they receive. It's a bit of a comfort, actually, to know there are still those on the mainland who entertain such ideals. They were all meant to be sent away with us, you see." The smile, this time, is faint and rueful and concludes in a sudden sneeze. "Bother. Vellath, if I die of influenza, it's on your head." The blue, now rinsed clean, only replies by padding past his rider and tossing up a wet spray with a flick of his tail, leaving J'lor more wet and soggy than before.
Vanya manages to smother a laugh at the dragon's antics, although there's a serious side of this. "Would you like to step inside now that you've finished?" she asks. "I've can brew you some tea that will warm you up, and maybe help prevent your catching cold, s-- J'lor." She barely manages to remember to address the man by name, not sir. "It's unfortunate so many depend upon that title to define themselves. I know I'm very proud of being a Journeyman, but I don't /have/ to be called that every moment. I was Vanya before I was a Journeyman, after all, and most of those who know me just use my name." She moistens her lips. "I was very young when ... things happened. Barely an Apprentice. I don't know much about what you and your people wanted."
"Tea," J'lor notes with a long glare towards the blue that's making his way back to his 'weyr', "would be greatly appreciated. Thank you, Vanya. That is, I believe, the beauty of names. They encapsulate who you are beyond any other word in the world, and is that not amazing?" He sniffs again and begins trudging towards the hold. "If you have the time, I'd be honored to try and share with you what we wanted. We went about it very badly, mind. They weren't wrong about that. But...well. If you wish to know, I'm pleased to share."
Vanya contemplates this for a long moment, then nods. "I'd be very interested, J'lor," she replies. "There's a pot of hot water on the hearth in the hall, and it won't take me but a moment to fetch the tea. What say I meet you there in about five minutes? I can bring a towel, too, if you'd like. The Hold's been generous to its guests." Well, as generous as they can afford to be; they did provide some clean towels, at least. "But I don't want to keep you from other duties," she assures the man.
"It is, as you say, rather late. The day is done, Vanya, and I have the time. I'll change into some dry clothes and meet you inside in a few minutes. Keep yourself dry as well. I have it on good authority one can get quite ill when damp." J'lor smiles again and begins heading towards his weyr to dry off and change. He whistles as he walks, seeming in no particular rush.