Log: Bowl Meetings
Who: Nerine, P'draig, Torell, T'rien
When: 9/11/16
Where: Center of the Bowl, Fort Weyr
What: Paddy touches base with Nerine and T'rien and meets Torell who's looking for work in the Records.
Center of the Fort Weyr Bowl(#200RJ$)
The Bowl of Fort Weyr, a large, featureless plain surrounded by steep mountain cliffs, stretches out around you. It is approximately oval in shape, about 2700 meters along the long axis running southwest to northeast, and about half that distance across the short axis. You stand in its approximate center. The soil of the bowl is somewhat sandy.
To the northwest is the large cavern used for the Weyrling barracks. To the west is the fenced off area where the Weyr's herds are kept, and the lake shore is to the southwest. To the northeast can be seen the ledges for the junior queens and the weyrleaders. The large entrance to the Hatching Grounds can also be seen to the northeast and to the east are the Lower Caverns.
Nerine catches sight of Torell. The kind of mischievous thought occurs that she would never dream of going through with in her more advanced *maturity* slinking up behind him she glances at the map he is working on and speaks rather loudly. "you've made the weyr entrances rather small don't you think?' she said loudly enough to startle.
Late afternoon on a crisp autumn evening at Fort means there's a slight smoky smell to the air and long shadows stretching across the Bowl. The weather is starting to shift already, scattered leaves drifting on the breeze and Jekzith cruises in for a landing chasing one of these. Sunlight slants through the brown dragon's wings as he glides lower and lower, over the heads of some standing below and then finally setting down not that far away. On his back, P'draig streeetches his arms up, then unbuckles straps and slings a leg over, sliding down to the ground. "Home again, home again," he remarks audibly and sets to pulling the rest of the straps off the brown.
With his tongue hanging out of the left side of his mouth - because important tasks require you to make stupid expressions - Torell is about to connect one side of the bowl with the line of the other when Nerine's words cause a stirr in his fingers. The subsequent earthquake upon the map has removed the entire northern section in one quick squiggle. His eyes bloom in shock and aggrivation as he turns to confront whoever disturbed him. "I'm gonna str..." he pauses. It's her. His eyes deflate and his brows relax with the quickness of a Firelizard dashing for food. His lips purse together and then flatten into a thin-line. "You're lucky you're Cu...a scribe," Torell mutters as the arrival of the Brown and his rider distracts him for but a moment. Without thought, he offers a wave of hello though he wouldn't know the rider or his dragon from anyone; just being polite.
Nerine gives a smile of dismay and amusement at the canine like expression on his face, and a genuine grin as he turns and begins to chide her. "You are going to what?" she asked a devilish grin slipping over her small mouth. she notes the almost slip of the tongue but before she responds P'draig and his brown land in the bowl. She waves smiling cheerfully, "Good evening P'draig" she calls. "How fares Jekzith?" she asks recalling rider and dragon only from brief acquaintance.
Coiling up Jekzith's straps, P'draig slings the coil over his shoulder and ambles over towards the two young people, eyes curious. Recognition sharpens in his gray-blue eyes as he draws abreast of the pair. "Ah, Nerine, how's things?" he asks back, grinning and nods towards Torell. "And who's your friend? Should I be extending a welcome from Fort Weyr?" inquires the Weyrlingmaster politely.
Torell hrms to himself for a moment, his head turning between Nerine and the rider that she addressed. "Patience is the first lesson..." he quotes some long-forgotten parental dictum. "Torell, uh...Rider." He stammers a bit and shifts his weight from one sandaled foot to the other as he side-glances over to the Brown that carried P'draig. "I came to see if I might be of use to the Weyr. My parents live down in the Hold."
Nerine grins, as Torell speaks before she can. "As they always do I imagine, loud messy and plenty of scolding." She laughed a little before continuing. "I don't know if you should or not, he hasn't seemed to appreciate mine." Her smile indicated that she was only teasing.
Nerine has partially disconnected.
"Aha, the dream of every other young holder lad, eh?" P'draig remarks in a friendly, teasing tone, then pulls off a glove and offers his hand to Torell. "P'draig, brown Jekzith's, Weyrlingmaster, a pleasure Torell. I'm sure that if you ask the Headwoman she can at the least set you to cleaning up, though by the look of it, Records might be your aim?" Brows lift questioningly and he turns back towards Nerine. "He hasn't appreciated your introductions, Nerine?"
Torell offers his hand to P'draig, though the tips of the index and middle fingers are partially stained with pigment. "Ma said that my da had ink for blood. I'm just not sure if I want to become a Scribe or something else. I'm supposed to talk to the Steward sometime and see if I can offer some help, but it's almost impossible to catch 'im in one place." He glances a moment to Nerine and then back to the rider. "Nice to have met you, Weyrlingmaster." Yes, he's definately using the manners his ma taught him. While the two talk, he walks over to put his cut reed to mark the page he was working on so the ink from one side doesn't bleed to the other while it dries.
"No he hasn't but then again I have been trying to scare him off. Wouldn't do badly in records though, he has quite the eye for cartography." She glances to the brown. "Still waiting on one of the queens to rise?" she asked, watching as Torell tucked away his map, her repentive expression saying more than she could.
"It's the Headwoman you want," P'draig says with a laugh, shaking Torell's hand firmly. "No Steward here," he explains further and then reaches up to loosen the fastenings of his jacket. "Scare him off?" Brows lift again and the brownrider tracks Torell's path towards his work, then looks back over at Nerine. "Yes - you know, settle the question and all."
Torell smiles, "See...if I would have talked to you in the first place I could have saved myself a day of wandering around the Weyr - though I did appreciate the time to explore." He sets the small shell full of black pigment that's been wetted to make ink against the small, wooden scribe's box to allow it to dry. "And /why/, "he smiles a sly, cunning grin, "...would you want to scare me away? Hah...I knew it." He turns towards P'draig and does his best not to make eye-contact with Nerine. "She has feelings for me." Yes, he's blushing, but the joke was worth it.
Nerine skin flashes bright red, all the more noticeable for her fair completion. It takes her a moment to snap up a response "Absolutely not! I simply want no competition for the job of scribe!"
"Ah huh," P'draig looks between the two with a savvy smile. "Should I be on the look out for a wedding announcement?" he teases easily then shrugs. "Plenty of work all around, though I highly recommend against fighting," he continues on in a laid-back manner.
Torell turns his gaze away from P'draig for, but a moment - perhaps to emphasize the sarcasm of his tone. "Oh, I would never bait her into a fight..."he turns back, "Is it alright to address you as P'draig?"
T'rien slides down Cavoth with practiced ease - and nearly falls over himself as he manages to put his first footfall right on top of a small rock. Swearing under his breath, Tiri manages to juggle the armfull of maps under his arm without dropping them. Behind him, Cavoth turns and gives his rider an affectionate snort, which grants him a look from his rider. "He does not! Quit trying to be a comedian, Cav."
"Uh ... sure," P'draig answers Torell with a rather mystified look then looks up as Cavoth wings down. Jekzith lifts his head and warbles a greeting to his fellow brown. The trio of others stands not far away Torell busily working on something that looks like a drawing, Nerine and P'draig conversing nearby.
Nerine eyes widen in shock and muted horror at P'draig's suggestion, but is unable to snap a reply back still in shock from the earlier jest. She is given no time to recover even from Torell's jibe before a coppery brown lands in the bowl. Recovering she waves to The Sky Sentry Wingleader and rushes to help him with the maps. "Greetings, need assistance with those?"
At the arrival of another Brown, Torell reaches for the small, hand-sized journal on a nearby bench. With a slightly skewed map of the bowl upon one of the pages now mostly dry, he blows on the ink a few times just to make sure before closing the cover and wrapping the wherry-leather thong around it a few times. The cut-reed pen is wipped on an old bit of cloth before set into the rectangular scribe's box before depositing the lot into his satchel. Clearly he cares for his tools like any Harper or apprentice Scribe. Turning back to P'draig he smiles a clever grin for his help in throwing a verbal jibe at the fellow 'inkling', Nerine. "Headwoman you say? I'll have to see if I can find her soon."
T'rien clutches his maps close, taken by surprise by an unfamiliar face coming at him. Behind him, Cavoth huffs and nudges him slightly, nearly spilling T'rien onto the ground . "Uh...no...Cav, stop that!...I'm fine. Thanks." He moves maps around in his arms, trying to reorganize them into more suitable, and less precarious, positions in his arms. Cavoth snorts again and returns Jekzith's greeting brightly.
Not having meant it seems to actually taunt anyone, P'draig murmurs quietly: "Sorry Nerine, just joshing around." He smiles again then steps back a little as she darts towards T'rien. "Huh ... hmm? Oh yes. The Headwoman," repeated for Torell. "Nananthia - her office is two doors down in the inner caverns."
A suppressed laugh managed to escape at the antics of the second brown rider's dragon she got out of the man's way so he could do whatever it was he had intended. She tossed a glance back to P'draig informing him that he would not be so easily forgiven, and listens to the rest of the discourse but turns her attention to the brown rider who has not yet managed to irk her. "Maps for the record room?" she asked curiously.
"Thanks for that," Torell mutters to P'draig before turning to see what Nerine is getting herself into now with the other Rider. "Maps?" he seems to have clued in to the important matters at hand. As though his eyes were attempting to probe every inch of the rider and whatever he might have in his hands, the young man tries to keep the conversation going with P'draig. "What is your Brown's name," he waves to the dragon as though it were a friend of a new friend... and immediately regrets the social awkwardness of the gesture.
T'rien blinks stupidly at the younger woman, then glances behind her briefly at P'draig as if seeking clarification. "Uh, no...they're my maps. Fall maps. I was going to go over them after dinner in the living cavern. Uh...who are you?" He looks toward Torell as the question regarding his lifemate is tossed his way. "This is Cavoth. I'm T'rien." He looks over at P'draig once more and manages a sheepish grin. "That's what he keeps telling me, anyway."
That look of Nerine's doesn't seem to faze Paddy much but he eyes Torell sidelong, a humorous smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Ahh -- yeah, T'rien, Skysentry Wingleader, brown Cavoth's, meet Torell, he's looking for work in Records and is apparently very good with maps," P'draig introduces again, one hand scrabbling through his hair. "Has there been any live Thread at any of the expected sites lately, Tri?"
Nerine finaly remembers her manners. "Nerine from the lower caverns," the mistake on her part did nothing to ease the crimson in her cheeks. She decided to move back toward Torell lest she continue to embarrass herself.
Torell smiles to Nerine as she walks back towards him after having bowed a little towards T'rien and Cavoth. "Maps are just a hobby. My Da's a Scribe down at the Hold." With little more than a side-glance towards P'draig, he turns the topic of conversation towards more pressing matters. "Yes, any news of Thread?" Not that he could do much with the information but it's something that everyone is eager to hear - and Torell is painfully curious.
T'rien shakes his head, managing to free one hand to push a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "None. Which is good...well met, Nerine. I thought you looked familiar." He glances toward the living cavern, his nose twitching slightly as if the smells of dinner are starting to become overpowering.
"Excellent," P'draig says with a chipper smile. "Maybe the Starsmith's really are right this time and all that rogue Fall is well and truly over," the Weyrlingmaster says hopefully. A bob of his head about the maps. "Still, hobbies can become a career," he notes with a grin. "Mind did before I Impressed."
Torell asks, unable to resist the obvious question, "What hobby did you have?" The fall of his satchel's strap has become more than a bit of an annoyance as he turns this way and that to follow the conversation so it requires attention. Twisting the dark, leather strap back to a comfortable position, he reveals the hint of a leather thong about his neck.
Nerine heaves a sigh, "I suppose we can all enjoy a mostly quiet pass from this point on then." Of course the rogue fall had everyone concerned. She grinned at the overloaded rider's words.
T'rien inclines his head toward Torell. "Sorry. Well met, Torell." His stomach growls loudly, causing a flush to color his cheeks. "Uh...I'm not sure about quiet Passes...this is my first one and it hasn't been all that quiet. For one thing, Cavoth snores." The brown behind him snorts and nudges him again - quite firmly - from behind. Tiri seemed prepared for it and manages to hold his ground for a change. "I really didn't have any productive hobbies before I Impressed."
"Who knows what to call this anyway, supposed to be the Interval, but then there was Thread. Heard someone saying "InterPass" the other day." The Weyrlingmaster shakes his head with a dry chuckle. "Here's hoping we're back to a proper Interval now." P'draig rubs at his chin, considering T'rien's words on hobbies. "None? Huh. Well you've made a decent rider at any rate annnd ... if you'll all excuse me, that's Palia getting out of the nursery," and he nods towards a little toddler girl being led along by a nanny. The brownrider moves off to meet them and the little girl rushes his way. Aww. Happy family.
When: 9/11/16
Where: Center of the Bowl, Fort Weyr
What: Paddy touches base with Nerine and T'rien and meets Torell who's looking for work in the Records.
Center of the Fort Weyr Bowl(#200RJ$)
The Bowl of Fort Weyr, a large, featureless plain surrounded by steep mountain cliffs, stretches out around you. It is approximately oval in shape, about 2700 meters along the long axis running southwest to northeast, and about half that distance across the short axis. You stand in its approximate center. The soil of the bowl is somewhat sandy.
To the northwest is the large cavern used for the Weyrling barracks. To the west is the fenced off area where the Weyr's herds are kept, and the lake shore is to the southwest. To the northeast can be seen the ledges for the junior queens and the weyrleaders. The large entrance to the Hatching Grounds can also be seen to the northeast and to the east are the Lower Caverns.
Nerine catches sight of Torell. The kind of mischievous thought occurs that she would never dream of going through with in her more advanced *maturity* slinking up behind him she glances at the map he is working on and speaks rather loudly. "you've made the weyr entrances rather small don't you think?' she said loudly enough to startle.
Late afternoon on a crisp autumn evening at Fort means there's a slight smoky smell to the air and long shadows stretching across the Bowl. The weather is starting to shift already, scattered leaves drifting on the breeze and Jekzith cruises in for a landing chasing one of these. Sunlight slants through the brown dragon's wings as he glides lower and lower, over the heads of some standing below and then finally setting down not that far away. On his back, P'draig streeetches his arms up, then unbuckles straps and slings a leg over, sliding down to the ground. "Home again, home again," he remarks audibly and sets to pulling the rest of the straps off the brown.
With his tongue hanging out of the left side of his mouth - because important tasks require you to make stupid expressions - Torell is about to connect one side of the bowl with the line of the other when Nerine's words cause a stirr in his fingers. The subsequent earthquake upon the map has removed the entire northern section in one quick squiggle. His eyes bloom in shock and aggrivation as he turns to confront whoever disturbed him. "I'm gonna str..." he pauses. It's her. His eyes deflate and his brows relax with the quickness of a Firelizard dashing for food. His lips purse together and then flatten into a thin-line. "You're lucky you're Cu...a scribe," Torell mutters as the arrival of the Brown and his rider distracts him for but a moment. Without thought, he offers a wave of hello though he wouldn't know the rider or his dragon from anyone; just being polite.
Nerine gives a smile of dismay and amusement at the canine like expression on his face, and a genuine grin as he turns and begins to chide her. "You are going to what?" she asked a devilish grin slipping over her small mouth. she notes the almost slip of the tongue but before she responds P'draig and his brown land in the bowl. She waves smiling cheerfully, "Good evening P'draig" she calls. "How fares Jekzith?" she asks recalling rider and dragon only from brief acquaintance.
Coiling up Jekzith's straps, P'draig slings the coil over his shoulder and ambles over towards the two young people, eyes curious. Recognition sharpens in his gray-blue eyes as he draws abreast of the pair. "Ah, Nerine, how's things?" he asks back, grinning and nods towards Torell. "And who's your friend? Should I be extending a welcome from Fort Weyr?" inquires the Weyrlingmaster politely.
Torell hrms to himself for a moment, his head turning between Nerine and the rider that she addressed. "Patience is the first lesson..." he quotes some long-forgotten parental dictum. "Torell, uh...Rider." He stammers a bit and shifts his weight from one sandaled foot to the other as he side-glances over to the Brown that carried P'draig. "I came to see if I might be of use to the Weyr. My parents live down in the Hold."
Nerine grins, as Torell speaks before she can. "As they always do I imagine, loud messy and plenty of scolding." She laughed a little before continuing. "I don't know if you should or not, he hasn't seemed to appreciate mine." Her smile indicated that she was only teasing.
Nerine has partially disconnected.
"Aha, the dream of every other young holder lad, eh?" P'draig remarks in a friendly, teasing tone, then pulls off a glove and offers his hand to Torell. "P'draig, brown Jekzith's, Weyrlingmaster, a pleasure Torell. I'm sure that if you ask the Headwoman she can at the least set you to cleaning up, though by the look of it, Records might be your aim?" Brows lift questioningly and he turns back towards Nerine. "He hasn't appreciated your introductions, Nerine?"
Torell offers his hand to P'draig, though the tips of the index and middle fingers are partially stained with pigment. "Ma said that my da had ink for blood. I'm just not sure if I want to become a Scribe or something else. I'm supposed to talk to the Steward sometime and see if I can offer some help, but it's almost impossible to catch 'im in one place." He glances a moment to Nerine and then back to the rider. "Nice to have met you, Weyrlingmaster." Yes, he's definately using the manners his ma taught him. While the two talk, he walks over to put his cut reed to mark the page he was working on so the ink from one side doesn't bleed to the other while it dries.
"No he hasn't but then again I have been trying to scare him off. Wouldn't do badly in records though, he has quite the eye for cartography." She glances to the brown. "Still waiting on one of the queens to rise?" she asked, watching as Torell tucked away his map, her repentive expression saying more than she could.
"It's the Headwoman you want," P'draig says with a laugh, shaking Torell's hand firmly. "No Steward here," he explains further and then reaches up to loosen the fastenings of his jacket. "Scare him off?" Brows lift again and the brownrider tracks Torell's path towards his work, then looks back over at Nerine. "Yes - you know, settle the question and all."
Torell smiles, "See...if I would have talked to you in the first place I could have saved myself a day of wandering around the Weyr - though I did appreciate the time to explore." He sets the small shell full of black pigment that's been wetted to make ink against the small, wooden scribe's box to allow it to dry. "And /why/, "he smiles a sly, cunning grin, "...would you want to scare me away? Hah...I knew it." He turns towards P'draig and does his best not to make eye-contact with Nerine. "She has feelings for me." Yes, he's blushing, but the joke was worth it.
Nerine skin flashes bright red, all the more noticeable for her fair completion. It takes her a moment to snap up a response "Absolutely not! I simply want no competition for the job of scribe!"
"Ah huh," P'draig looks between the two with a savvy smile. "Should I be on the look out for a wedding announcement?" he teases easily then shrugs. "Plenty of work all around, though I highly recommend against fighting," he continues on in a laid-back manner.
Torell turns his gaze away from P'draig for, but a moment - perhaps to emphasize the sarcasm of his tone. "Oh, I would never bait her into a fight..."he turns back, "Is it alright to address you as P'draig?"
T'rien slides down Cavoth with practiced ease - and nearly falls over himself as he manages to put his first footfall right on top of a small rock. Swearing under his breath, Tiri manages to juggle the armfull of maps under his arm without dropping them. Behind him, Cavoth turns and gives his rider an affectionate snort, which grants him a look from his rider. "He does not! Quit trying to be a comedian, Cav."
"Uh ... sure," P'draig answers Torell with a rather mystified look then looks up as Cavoth wings down. Jekzith lifts his head and warbles a greeting to his fellow brown. The trio of others stands not far away Torell busily working on something that looks like a drawing, Nerine and P'draig conversing nearby.
Nerine eyes widen in shock and muted horror at P'draig's suggestion, but is unable to snap a reply back still in shock from the earlier jest. She is given no time to recover even from Torell's jibe before a coppery brown lands in the bowl. Recovering she waves to The Sky Sentry Wingleader and rushes to help him with the maps. "Greetings, need assistance with those?"
At the arrival of another Brown, Torell reaches for the small, hand-sized journal on a nearby bench. With a slightly skewed map of the bowl upon one of the pages now mostly dry, he blows on the ink a few times just to make sure before closing the cover and wrapping the wherry-leather thong around it a few times. The cut-reed pen is wipped on an old bit of cloth before set into the rectangular scribe's box before depositing the lot into his satchel. Clearly he cares for his tools like any Harper or apprentice Scribe. Turning back to P'draig he smiles a clever grin for his help in throwing a verbal jibe at the fellow 'inkling', Nerine. "Headwoman you say? I'll have to see if I can find her soon."
T'rien clutches his maps close, taken by surprise by an unfamiliar face coming at him. Behind him, Cavoth huffs and nudges him slightly, nearly spilling T'rien onto the ground . "Uh...no...Cav, stop that!...I'm fine. Thanks." He moves maps around in his arms, trying to reorganize them into more suitable, and less precarious, positions in his arms. Cavoth snorts again and returns Jekzith's greeting brightly.
Not having meant it seems to actually taunt anyone, P'draig murmurs quietly: "Sorry Nerine, just joshing around." He smiles again then steps back a little as she darts towards T'rien. "Huh ... hmm? Oh yes. The Headwoman," repeated for Torell. "Nananthia - her office is two doors down in the inner caverns."
A suppressed laugh managed to escape at the antics of the second brown rider's dragon she got out of the man's way so he could do whatever it was he had intended. She tossed a glance back to P'draig informing him that he would not be so easily forgiven, and listens to the rest of the discourse but turns her attention to the brown rider who has not yet managed to irk her. "Maps for the record room?" she asked curiously.
"Thanks for that," Torell mutters to P'draig before turning to see what Nerine is getting herself into now with the other Rider. "Maps?" he seems to have clued in to the important matters at hand. As though his eyes were attempting to probe every inch of the rider and whatever he might have in his hands, the young man tries to keep the conversation going with P'draig. "What is your Brown's name," he waves to the dragon as though it were a friend of a new friend... and immediately regrets the social awkwardness of the gesture.
T'rien blinks stupidly at the younger woman, then glances behind her briefly at P'draig as if seeking clarification. "Uh, no...they're my maps. Fall maps. I was going to go over them after dinner in the living cavern. Uh...who are you?" He looks toward Torell as the question regarding his lifemate is tossed his way. "This is Cavoth. I'm T'rien." He looks over at P'draig once more and manages a sheepish grin. "That's what he keeps telling me, anyway."
That look of Nerine's doesn't seem to faze Paddy much but he eyes Torell sidelong, a humorous smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Ahh -- yeah, T'rien, Skysentry Wingleader, brown Cavoth's, meet Torell, he's looking for work in Records and is apparently very good with maps," P'draig introduces again, one hand scrabbling through his hair. "Has there been any live Thread at any of the expected sites lately, Tri?"
Nerine finaly remembers her manners. "Nerine from the lower caverns," the mistake on her part did nothing to ease the crimson in her cheeks. She decided to move back toward Torell lest she continue to embarrass herself.
Torell smiles to Nerine as she walks back towards him after having bowed a little towards T'rien and Cavoth. "Maps are just a hobby. My Da's a Scribe down at the Hold." With little more than a side-glance towards P'draig, he turns the topic of conversation towards more pressing matters. "Yes, any news of Thread?" Not that he could do much with the information but it's something that everyone is eager to hear - and Torell is painfully curious.
T'rien shakes his head, managing to free one hand to push a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "None. Which is good...well met, Nerine. I thought you looked familiar." He glances toward the living cavern, his nose twitching slightly as if the smells of dinner are starting to become overpowering.
"Excellent," P'draig says with a chipper smile. "Maybe the Starsmith's really are right this time and all that rogue Fall is well and truly over," the Weyrlingmaster says hopefully. A bob of his head about the maps. "Still, hobbies can become a career," he notes with a grin. "Mind did before I Impressed."
Torell asks, unable to resist the obvious question, "What hobby did you have?" The fall of his satchel's strap has become more than a bit of an annoyance as he turns this way and that to follow the conversation so it requires attention. Twisting the dark, leather strap back to a comfortable position, he reveals the hint of a leather thong about his neck.
Nerine heaves a sigh, "I suppose we can all enjoy a mostly quiet pass from this point on then." Of course the rogue fall had everyone concerned. She grinned at the overloaded rider's words.
T'rien inclines his head toward Torell. "Sorry. Well met, Torell." His stomach growls loudly, causing a flush to color his cheeks. "Uh...I'm not sure about quiet Passes...this is my first one and it hasn't been all that quiet. For one thing, Cavoth snores." The brown behind him snorts and nudges him again - quite firmly - from behind. Tiri seemed prepared for it and manages to hold his ground for a change. "I really didn't have any productive hobbies before I Impressed."
"Who knows what to call this anyway, supposed to be the Interval, but then there was Thread. Heard someone saying "InterPass" the other day." The Weyrlingmaster shakes his head with a dry chuckle. "Here's hoping we're back to a proper Interval now." P'draig rubs at his chin, considering T'rien's words on hobbies. "None? Huh. Well you've made a decent rider at any rate annnd ... if you'll all excuse me, that's Palia getting out of the nursery," and he nods towards a little toddler girl being led along by a nanny. The brownrider moves off to meet them and the little girl rushes his way. Aww. Happy family.