Log: Following in Footsteps
Who: Dekelvai, Torell, T'rien, Jerien (NPC), P'draig
When: Afternoon, 10/21/16
Where: Living Cavern, Fort Weyr
What: P'draig has a chat with Torell and Dekelvai, mostly about career paths, T'rien and Jerien join in.
Fort Weyr Living Cavern(#199RJa$)
Approaching half the size of the Hatching Grounds, this cavern echoes with voices during the day, and the soft patter of feet during the night. Dozens of tables are spaced throughout, each with open space around to provide small amounts of privacy for the discussions carried on at each. The night hearth, with a cluster of pots of stew and klah, is situated near the large entrance to the tunnel. Several other hearths are spaced around the huge chamber, lending light and some heat to the room. The far wall is lined with tables that always hold something edible to feed the throngs of people who come into this immense room in search of a meal, a snack, or something to drink. As with most Weyrs, the Living Cavern is the busiest place with the most activity. It is here that Fortians and visitors alike migrate in an effort to find information, share gossip, and just plain socialize.
Broad marble steps to the southwest lead up to the impressive Fort Weyr kitchen. An almost constant stream of activity centers around this staircase: people coming and going with loads of goods for the stores, fresh food, dirty or clean dishes and utensils, and plenty of folks just going in to do their duty for the day or night. The aromas wafting down the stairs are indicators of which meal is being prepared or served at the moment. The view into the kitchens is clear from the Living Cavern, everything gleaming and clean, and the muffled but bustling noises coming from within just add to the air of comfort, family, and hard work done at Fort Weyr.
To the east, a short flight of stairs leads to the hallway to the inner caverns. A stout door to the north has a healer's emblem on it, marking the Infirmary. To the south is a wide tunnel, leading out of the Weyr, and a wide opening to the west leads to the Weyr bowl.
The weather around the Weyr would normally call almost everyone outside. The cool breezes off the lake filling the bowl and the comfortable temperatures of an autumn afternoon practically beg to be enjoyed. Some, however, have found themselves wandering through the tunnels. With a small blue speck of a flit firmly anchored to his left shoulder, Torell steps into the living cavern with a wax tablet under one arm. The sight of the Weyr Leader, P'draig, earns a friendly wave and a smile of greeting. "Afternoon to you..."
Nice weather notwithstanding, P'draig seems to be enjoying a late .... well can it really be called lunch anymore? Something. Some kind of meal, in between things. He's just taken a bite of mashed tubers when Torell arrives and looks up a little wide eyed, swallows hastily. "Hey there Torell, good afternoon. How's things? Settling in?"
Torell takes a seat at a nearby table, the bit of blue on his shoulder uncurling its tail a little to reveal a fairly young firelizard. "Going great, actually. I got to do an errand for the Chronicler down to Ista Weyr the other day and came back with Digo here."
"Ahh, you've been hit with the disease known as firelizard," P'draig says laughingly and squints up towards a pair on the perches around the edges of the cavern. "Those're mine there. Lady and Pip. Green and blue. Pretty decent for messengers. And they used to keep an eye on Palia and let me know she was waking up from her naps. "How'd you like Ista?"
Torell hrms, "I've never had one trained as a messenger, then again I've never been anywhere that needs one." He glances up to spy where the two might be perched. "Ista was very interesting, but so humid. It's like the middle of summer down there. Definately something that would take some getting used to." He reaches into his satchel to produce a pair of newly cut, bambu pens. "I picked up these though.."
"Oh you know, you just do it yourself," P'draig points out. "Helps to have someone around who's done it before. I still use mine, my blue especially to deliver letters for me. You know, person to person." He chuckles about Ista, nodding and has another bite of his food, swallows. "I spend a lot of time down there. My weyrmate's Istan and ... yeah. Humid. It's the one thing I don't like about the place."
Torell nods, "I was out of my jerkin and boots within moments after arriving, but I was very greatful for them /and/ my cloak for when the Dragon and his Rider..jumped or blinked or whatever it's called." Even the memory draws a shiver to his bones. "Black and cold. I'll never forget whatever that was."
"Oh, yeah, it's a shock, coming out of Between into that for sure. Seems like nothing really keeps that cold out." P'draig makes a little face. "You get used to it though, being a dragonrider. In and out all the time. And those pens look pretty sturdy."
Torell mmhmmms, "I didn't have much time to look around the Weyr, but I managed to get down to the beach for a little bit. I saw a stand growing nearby and hacked at it with my pathetic excuse for a knife." He pulls the broken-blade from his belt to show that the knife has snapped off about four fingers above the grip. "Great for shaving pens, lousy for just about anything else." The wax tablet he carried in, two wooden boards with shallow depressions filled with wax, has a few diagrams on an exposed pannel. Maps?
"Nice beaches at Ista," P'draig adds with a grin. "Oof, dang, hopefully you can pick up a new one for not too much," the Weyrlingmaster states. "Those maps there?" a nod towards the slates.
Torell nods and, without too much pride, turns the tablet panels so that P'draig to see. As though envisioned from the air, the maps traced into the wax are of Ista Weyr, the beach and several natural landmarks that one might have seen upon the landing or take-off. "This one," he points to the map of the Weyr itself, "...was what little I could glean from one night's visit. So there are some missing elements." He points to the other with the bambu stylus and glances to the rider to see how well it's appreciated. "This other one... this is from memory." The map he drew is probably just as good as any that could be drawn by one who sat dragon-back for a while sketching out the details.
"Those are really good, Torell," P'draig compliments, peering at the handiwork. "That kind of thing is really helpful when teaching visuals to Weyrlings. Ever thought about applying to the Smiths or the Harpers?" He looks up at the young man curiously, smile warm.
Torell glances up as he shows the pannels of the wax tablet to P'draig. For anyone who's seen an aerial map or who may have visited Ista Weyr, it's fairly clear that they were made from various vantage points. "Have a look," he displays the tablet pannels proudly. The small bit of blue hide upon his shoulder adjusts its perch a bit as he learns to control the human-pet. The brand new firelizard still has the awkwardness of youth.
Torell smiles a little at P'draig and nods, "Yes, well. My Da is a Harper and if there was ever anyone who could -not- hold a tune in a bucket. It'd be me. I don't think that a Masterharper would have the patience to help me learn to play an instrument." Leaning back, he offers "As for the rest of things, yes. I think that my talents would lend me in that direction."
"My brother's an archivist you see. His singing is ... passable and he can play but overally, his specialty is everything to do with hides," P'draig explains with a grin. "He likes maps too." His eyes lift as Dekelvai comes along and he nods politely. "Good afternoon."
Torell tries to sing. Really, he does. "Oh, Tongue, give sound to joy and sing, " he breathes just a bit to give some sense of pattern to the words. "Of hope and promise on dragonwing." It's not bad, but the fact that his voice broke on 'hope' still suggests that he has no confidence in his voice. "Where does your brother live?"
"Currently he's at the Hall actually, studying for his Master's knot. He's been a Journeyman for about ... six turns now." P'draig smiles over at Torell and sings the same verse back, mostly in tune. Mostly. "He got all the talent for harpering I'm afraid. I'm only good for fighting Thread, training Weyrlings and cooking."
Torell nods, "My Da would be /so/ happy if I were to go to the Hall. He swears that I was born with ink for blood, but I don't know." The blue bit of firelizard hops off of his shoulder and lands upon the table with a quick flap of its wings. Scurrying around in search of his next hourly meal, he trumpets a hungry call back to his human-pet. *feed me* Absently, Torell offers some remnants of his meal.
"Family tradition and so on. I managed to hit two in one go. My Da cooked before he Impressed and well ... then he Impressed," P'draig chuckles softly and cleans off the last bite of food from his plate. It goes in his mouth where it belongs. "Looks like someone needs some kitchen scraps." A little nod to the firelizard.
Torell's fingers are sometimes mistaken for food bits as he offers scraps of some cooked fowl. The blue nips at first, grabbing the hunk of meat with his mouth and shredding it from the whole. There's nothing delicate or neat about it. Most of the meat gets into his mouth, but some smaller gobs fall to the table. As he eats, the tail flits back and forth. "Yeah, Digo here is quite a handful. A bit more than I remember with my first, but that was years ago. He's young so he needs more from me." He snerks at some mental picture that crosses his mind and can't help but share. "Much like I would imagine happens with the Weyrlings."
"Mmm. Dragonets need a lot at first. Time. Attention. Constant feeding. Not too different from human babies really. Only ... at least they can tell you that they're hungry, thirsty or itchy." P'draig smirks a little. "Would've been a lot easier to figure my daughter out if she'd been able to just say in my head: "Daddy, I need a drink." At least Jekzith could ... kind of read her a little. That helped a lot. Impressions of her emotions. That kind of thing."
Torell blinks, unaware that dragons could do such a thing. "Wait, wait. I knew - well, heard, that you have some kind of...'bond' with your Dragons. But she can also read your daughter? Is that common?"
"When a person Impresses, your mind and the dragon's, well they're open to each other. Connected. For life. Some people're more connected than others. Me and Jekzith:" P'draig holds up his two fingers and laces them over each other, "like this. I think that's why he was able to read Palia like that. But no it's not usual and he's not ... bonded with her at all. Other than you know, he loves her too."
Torell files that bit of information away for future reference. "It almost sounds like he's become a...brother of sorts; part of the family." He takes a stab at defining the relationship as countless others have tried over the years. Probably not the most inaccurate definition, but limited - as one who has never felt such a connection. "Last night I was pulled out of a sound sleep by Digo's belly. At first I couldn't figure out if it was me or him who was more," he looks down at the blue now having finished off the remainder of his plate and is attempting to climb his arm back to the boy's shoulder. With a bit of a nudge, which is challenged, *I can do this myself*, the dragonet completes the quest and sinks its claws into the leather of his jerkin. Without finishing the sentence, Torell simply grins at the blue's independent will.
"Yeah, we're partners, Jek and I," P'draig confirms with a fond grin. "He's always right here with me," he tapped the side of his head lightly. "S'like a buzz back there. Or an echo. It's not like that for every rider either. Everyone's a little different." He nodded though about the firelizard. "Yeah, multiply that times ... I dunno, a hundred with a dragon," Paddy said with a wry grin.
In wanders Dekelvai from across the room, looking about with a bemused absentmindedness. He brightens visibly as he notes the familiar face of Torell, and approaches with a bit a hesitant respect for his companion. "Afternoon - evening? - Torell! And sir," the Bollian grabs a nearby chair, and pulls it nearer. "May I?" But he doesn't wait for a response before spinning it around and taking a seat, crossing his arms over the chair back and propping his chin on his folded hands. "What're we talking?"
"My new stomach," Torell jokes. As the two speak at the table, a wax tablet lays open with maps of Ista weyr and its surrounding geography. "I thought about trying to see if I could pick up some lessons from the Harper if they have time. If I go to the Hall, I don't want to embarras my Da - ya know?"
"From Llany? Sure I'll bet she'd love to. She's a sweet person. Just uh ... don't hesitate to be firm about not crossing certain lines if, y'know, you're not interested." P'draig ducks his head a little, grinning down at the table top, reaches for his long neglected mug of ale. Just as he does so, Dekelvai approaches and he fixes a quizzical glance on the young man. "Good afternoon."
Dekelvai says "Ooh, I didn't get a proper chance to admire the little fellow last time I saw him. Handsome boy," the tall boy cooes to the affixed blue 'lizard, though not expecting a response. "Does he eat that much?" He lifts his gaze to the scribe. "Lessons how? Mapping? Teaching? Can't disappoint the father, how I know that," he chuckles in agreement. "I'm Dekelvai," the fisher lifts his head to extend a hand to the dragonrider. "Up from Southern Boll, though I'm leaving tomorrow," and he frowns sorrowfully."
Torell peers curiously to P'draig and repeats something just to make sure that he understood the warning. "You mean...crossing.../lines/?" Yes, he is just that naive. "Hey there. Dekelvai, this is P'draig, the Weyrlingmaster of the Weyr and rider of the Brown, Jekzith." Quickly, he looks back to the rider to make sure his introduction was complete and accurate.
"Ohh, from Boll. Nice down there," is P'draig's remark and he offers the fisher his hand as Torell performs introductions. He nods his thanks to the map-maker. "Well met Dekelvai."
A nod in Torell's direction for the introduction, and Dekelvai firmly grasps and then releases the brown rider's hand. "My duties to your queens," he says courteously, and then agrees with a wide grin, "it is, isn't it? Do you come by often?"
Torell breathes a semi-silent breath of relief that he didn't mistake P'draig's introduction. With the blink of an eye, he remembers that the question about Llany wasn't answered. Folding the tablet together and setting it to the side, he sits silently for a moment to ponder something that's been mentioned. Not the question of the 'lines to be crossed' - at least not by his expression. Something else.
"Often enough," P'draig says ageeably. "And just - y'know. She can be a little forward. That's all. Nothing to worry about," the Weyrlingmaster says with an easy grin.
"I'll keep an eye out for you, then," Dekelvai chuckles, then grins a bit at P'draig's words. "Who's this lady you're going out with Torell, huh?" He turns to nudge at the scribe with his elbow, but falls silent, wrinkling his brow at the sight of the pensive boy. "Something bothering you, Tor?"
T'rien comes in with an awkward gait, mostly because he's stooped over slightly, holding a pair of very small hands in front of him. Toddling on his unsteady legs, little Jerien wobbles his way into the living cavern, leading his father on an exploration that only his young mind can fathom. Everything is a distraction - from the rider's leather jacket hanging from a chair back to his right, to the sounds of the kitchen off to his left. Fortunately for Jerien, T'rien isn't quite so distractable and manages to keep his son from getting into too much trouble.
Torell shakes his head to remove the fog of contimplation from his face. "No no. Just thinking a little bit. The trip down to Ista has given me a lot of ideas." He picks up one of the reed pens set with the tablet and begins twirling it through his fingers; a nervous tick for a scribe. "I'd like to see Southern Boll sometime too." He wistfully admits to those gathered.
"Ideas?" P'draig prompts a little, fixing a look on Torell. "Llany's the Weyr's posted Harper," he elaborates a little for Dekelvai's benefit then his gaze slips beyond the other two to T'rien and he waves energetically. "Heyyy! Tri! Jerien! Lookit you little man, walking up a storm!"
T'rien straightens, as Jerien keeps his one hand firmly locked onto two fingers of his father's left hand. The brownrider is presented with a basket of cookies by one of the kitchen staff at that precise moment, causing his eyes to light up. "Cookies!" he declares, reaching for one.
Jerien, hearing P'draig's declaration of his accomplishments, emits a joyous laugh and slips his hand away from T'ri's, babbling as he stumbles toward the man, "Pad-dee! Pad-dee!" Cookies can only serve as a momentary distraction for T'ri, however, and he quickly bustles after his son, just before he collides into P'draig. "Walking, talking, sticking everything in his mouth...just like his old man," the brownrider quips, taking a bite from his cookie.
Torell follows P'draig's eyes to the arrival of T'rien and the small boy with him. As the two riders talk, he turns to Deke and asks, slightly under his breath so as not to disrupt the other conversation. "So when are you heading back or are stuck with you for a while?"
P'draig doesn't seem fazed by imminent toddler-collision and leans down to scoop Jerien up gently if need be. "Good exercise, having a toddler around," P'draig jokes with a wink. "Palia's almost three. More like a kid now than a baby."
"Ah," Dekelvai indicates understands with another nod at the explation, then grins - curiosity piqued - towards the scribe. "Ideas...?" He echoes, ecouragingly, waggling his eyebrows, but says, a bit more soberly, "I'm sure it could be arranged - and I'm there, so you won't be a complete stranger!" As the Weyrlingmaster's eyes wander past the pair, Dekelvai turns to look over his shoulder, and chortles at the sight. He turns back to Torell, though, when he boy asks him a question, and regretfully the boy shakes his head, with a dramatic moue. "I'm leaving tomorrow - or the day after, if I can beg and bum my way into Daryen's heart into letting me crash his cot for one more night."
T'rien snorts, brushing cookie crumbs from his sweater and reaching down to turn Jerien's attention away from the Weyrlingmaster. Success - now the toddler reaches up for Dad's cookie, which is serious business to the brownrider. "Hey, that's mine. Your mother would have me spitted and roasted if I let you eat a cookie this time of night." Jerien, of course, doesn't particularly care about his father's fate in that regard - he just wants the cookie and let's everyone within several dragonlengths know it. Wincing, T'rien stuffs the rest of the cookie into his mouth and picks up his son in one scoop. "Shards, boy, they can hear you at the Harper Hall when you screech like that. How 'bout sharing some dinner with your Da, eh?" Jerien responds in the only way in can - by sticking out his tongue and making raspberries.
Grinning, P'draig watches T'rien with his son. "Overwhelmed T'rien? Need a break?" he offers over. "How's Jaenie doing?"
T'rien shakes his head, giving Jerien a bounce designed to distract him from the new-found joy of making funny noises with his tongue. "No, I'm fine. Jaenie's on sweeps, so I'm in charge. No one's bothered to tell Jerien that, though." He offers the other brownrider his son, complete with tongue-wagging goodness. "But, if you don't mind, could you wrestle with him while I get something to eat?"
"Heh, yeah. Testing out every boundary he is," P'draig drawled casually and leaned back in his chair. Upon offer, he holds his arms up to take the boy. "You betcha. Tickle fight, Jer?" he suggests to the lad with a broad grin. "Or wanna play Palia's favorite game? Hatching?"
Jerien's vocabularly is somewhat limited, not to mention couched in toddler-esque babble half the time. He bounces in P'draig's arms, grinning and clapping his hands. "Pad-dee! Pad-dee!" T'rien laughs and musses the boys hair before heading to the serving table to scoop up some dinner. He returns momentarily with a full plate and full mug, then sits next to the other brownrider. "Thanks." He reaches out to tickle Jerien's belly. "He's ticklish right...there!" he points out. Jerien squeals and tries to fend off his father's fingers.
The young fisher can't help but to watch with bright blue eyes as the Weyrlingmaster accepts Jerien, and chuckles, murmuring mostly to himself, as his gaze trails after the new, unintroduced dragonrider, "I wouldn't mind playing Hatching myself." And watches still as T'rien returns, and pokes a seeking finger into the laughing child. Dekelvai grins, despite himself, at the sight.
"I think maybe I should just steal your nose," P'draig kids around, hooking thumb and two fingers together and pretending to take Jerien's nose on and off his face. "Gotcher nose!" He looks up as T'rien returns and does the whole tickling thing. "Oho ... raspberries!" Paddy joins in briefly, keeping an eye on Jerien's laughter-to-upset-ratio to make sure they're not going overboard. "This is T'rien by the by, Dekelvai. Brown Cavoth's and my Wingleader when I don't have Weyrlings to teach. Ahh, well, Hatching means pretending to be an egg, hatching and going to find your 'rider'. Palia usually picks Jekzith."
T'rien gives Dekelvai a nod and a wave of his fork. "Well met." He keeps an eye on Jerien to make sure he isn't overstaying his welcome on Paddy's lap. Jerien, having been tickled and his nose stolen, is rolling with laughter - but definitely wants his nose back. He reaches out with chubby hands to retrieve it. "No-no node!"
"A-ha!" Dekelvai exclaims, "That seems to be going about it the right way. Palia... your daughter?" He hazards a guess, a hopeful half-smile flickering across his lips, and offers an answering greeting to T'rien, repeating his salutation. "Suits you, no nose," he adds with a wiggle of his fingers in Jerien's direction.
P'draig 'pops' Jerien's nose back on with a distinct cluck of his tongue. "Nose all back!" he declares gaily and props Jerien up on his knee, bouncing him in place. "This is how the runners trot, this is how the draybeast plods," changing the pace to match, "and this is how ... we ... race!" Fast fast. And then stopping to let the boy catch his breath. "Pali's with her mama or you guys could play right now," Paddy explains. "Maybe next time." He looks up across at Dekelvai and nods. "Yeah. My daughter. Palia. Almost three. Her mother lives down South though, transferred out when she was only a turn old."
T'rien eats and ponders offering his son a forkful of mashed tubers before thinking better of it. "You'll ruin Paddy's pants. Or my sweater. Or both." He takes the tubers for himself. "He's full of energy. About the only ones who can keep up with him is Cavoth and Israeth. They're endlessly entertained by his antics."
There's a shuffling out in the kitchens, and Dekelvai lifts his head and glances over to the doorway. There's a familiar figure, there, and the fisher boy stands, conscientiously replacing his chair before half-nodding, half-bowing to the pair of brown rider. "My friend," he motions towards the shape, inexplicably, and then waves a little wave to Jerien. "Enjoy your evening, gentlemen." And he slips away to speak with the Weyr boy.
P'draig is still jouncing, with Jerien seemingly fairly entertained and he looks across at T'rien. "Tri. Seriously, I don't care about my pants. They wash. But yeah, hear you on energy. It's the age." Complacence from the Weyrlingmaster about that.
T'rien chuckles and offers Jerien the mashed tubers. Jerien leans forward to accept the bite between bounces. "So. We've finally got ourselves a new Senior Weyrwoman." He was never subtle and it doesn't seem that he was trying very hard at all this time. "Did you let Jekzith fly?"
"For a senior flight? Are you kidding me?" P'draig blinked across the table at T'rien and shook his head. "Jekzith's the wrong color, Tri. I'm not aiming to be the first brownriding Weyrleader in history. It's good to have things settled. Sorted out. No more worrying about it."
T'rien shrugs. "Yeah, I know but you sometimes they get ideas of their own. Cavoth was certainly game to try but I made it perfectly clear he wasn't chasing Ciath again. Ever." He offers Jerien another bite and then reaches out to take a sip from his mug. "A brownriding Weyrleader may be a far-fetched notion but it could happen."
"No, as soon as she started to look likely, I took Palia and Jek and we went to Ista." There's a sympathetic look from P'draig for that. "Yeah. I hear you. That's not why for me. Just ... not wanting to rock the boat."
T'rien puts his mug down with a mild thunk and a sour look crosses his face. "Jerien and I went to visit his grandparents at Igen. V'lien entertained the idea of hopping over here to join the fun but Terrilia gave him 'the look' and he decided against it. He's getting smarter as he gets older."
"Probably wisest," P'draig says neutrally. "Given ... you know, his connection with Jenna?" Brows lift a little and he gives Jerien a little bounce. "Anyway, speaking of Ista, I'm heading over there tonight to help T'mic finish moving things into his new weyr. I should give you back the little guy."
T'rien holds out his arms and nods. "Yeah, well, that's probably why he wanted to do it - to express his opinion. Anyway...I need to get back to my reports soon. Have a safe flight and all that."
P'draig passes Jerien over with a fond tousle for the lad's hair. "Mm. Good luck with the reports T'ri. I'll see you tomorow for drills." He gives the other brownrider's shoulder a squeeze on his way out, dropping off dishes in the bin and swings on his jacket as he heads out into the gathering evening.
When: Afternoon, 10/21/16
Where: Living Cavern, Fort Weyr
What: P'draig has a chat with Torell and Dekelvai, mostly about career paths, T'rien and Jerien join in.
Fort Weyr Living Cavern(#199RJa$)
Approaching half the size of the Hatching Grounds, this cavern echoes with voices during the day, and the soft patter of feet during the night. Dozens of tables are spaced throughout, each with open space around to provide small amounts of privacy for the discussions carried on at each. The night hearth, with a cluster of pots of stew and klah, is situated near the large entrance to the tunnel. Several other hearths are spaced around the huge chamber, lending light and some heat to the room. The far wall is lined with tables that always hold something edible to feed the throngs of people who come into this immense room in search of a meal, a snack, or something to drink. As with most Weyrs, the Living Cavern is the busiest place with the most activity. It is here that Fortians and visitors alike migrate in an effort to find information, share gossip, and just plain socialize.
Broad marble steps to the southwest lead up to the impressive Fort Weyr kitchen. An almost constant stream of activity centers around this staircase: people coming and going with loads of goods for the stores, fresh food, dirty or clean dishes and utensils, and plenty of folks just going in to do their duty for the day or night. The aromas wafting down the stairs are indicators of which meal is being prepared or served at the moment. The view into the kitchens is clear from the Living Cavern, everything gleaming and clean, and the muffled but bustling noises coming from within just add to the air of comfort, family, and hard work done at Fort Weyr.
To the east, a short flight of stairs leads to the hallway to the inner caverns. A stout door to the north has a healer's emblem on it, marking the Infirmary. To the south is a wide tunnel, leading out of the Weyr, and a wide opening to the west leads to the Weyr bowl.
The weather around the Weyr would normally call almost everyone outside. The cool breezes off the lake filling the bowl and the comfortable temperatures of an autumn afternoon practically beg to be enjoyed. Some, however, have found themselves wandering through the tunnels. With a small blue speck of a flit firmly anchored to his left shoulder, Torell steps into the living cavern with a wax tablet under one arm. The sight of the Weyr Leader, P'draig, earns a friendly wave and a smile of greeting. "Afternoon to you..."
Nice weather notwithstanding, P'draig seems to be enjoying a late .... well can it really be called lunch anymore? Something. Some kind of meal, in between things. He's just taken a bite of mashed tubers when Torell arrives and looks up a little wide eyed, swallows hastily. "Hey there Torell, good afternoon. How's things? Settling in?"
Torell takes a seat at a nearby table, the bit of blue on his shoulder uncurling its tail a little to reveal a fairly young firelizard. "Going great, actually. I got to do an errand for the Chronicler down to Ista Weyr the other day and came back with Digo here."
"Ahh, you've been hit with the disease known as firelizard," P'draig says laughingly and squints up towards a pair on the perches around the edges of the cavern. "Those're mine there. Lady and Pip. Green and blue. Pretty decent for messengers. And they used to keep an eye on Palia and let me know she was waking up from her naps. "How'd you like Ista?"
Torell hrms, "I've never had one trained as a messenger, then again I've never been anywhere that needs one." He glances up to spy where the two might be perched. "Ista was very interesting, but so humid. It's like the middle of summer down there. Definately something that would take some getting used to." He reaches into his satchel to produce a pair of newly cut, bambu pens. "I picked up these though.."
"Oh you know, you just do it yourself," P'draig points out. "Helps to have someone around who's done it before. I still use mine, my blue especially to deliver letters for me. You know, person to person." He chuckles about Ista, nodding and has another bite of his food, swallows. "I spend a lot of time down there. My weyrmate's Istan and ... yeah. Humid. It's the one thing I don't like about the place."
Torell nods, "I was out of my jerkin and boots within moments after arriving, but I was very greatful for them /and/ my cloak for when the Dragon and his Rider..jumped or blinked or whatever it's called." Even the memory draws a shiver to his bones. "Black and cold. I'll never forget whatever that was."
"Oh, yeah, it's a shock, coming out of Between into that for sure. Seems like nothing really keeps that cold out." P'draig makes a little face. "You get used to it though, being a dragonrider. In and out all the time. And those pens look pretty sturdy."
Torell mmhmmms, "I didn't have much time to look around the Weyr, but I managed to get down to the beach for a little bit. I saw a stand growing nearby and hacked at it with my pathetic excuse for a knife." He pulls the broken-blade from his belt to show that the knife has snapped off about four fingers above the grip. "Great for shaving pens, lousy for just about anything else." The wax tablet he carried in, two wooden boards with shallow depressions filled with wax, has a few diagrams on an exposed pannel. Maps?
"Nice beaches at Ista," P'draig adds with a grin. "Oof, dang, hopefully you can pick up a new one for not too much," the Weyrlingmaster states. "Those maps there?" a nod towards the slates.
Torell nods and, without too much pride, turns the tablet panels so that P'draig to see. As though envisioned from the air, the maps traced into the wax are of Ista Weyr, the beach and several natural landmarks that one might have seen upon the landing or take-off. "This one," he points to the map of the Weyr itself, "...was what little I could glean from one night's visit. So there are some missing elements." He points to the other with the bambu stylus and glances to the rider to see how well it's appreciated. "This other one... this is from memory." The map he drew is probably just as good as any that could be drawn by one who sat dragon-back for a while sketching out the details.
"Those are really good, Torell," P'draig compliments, peering at the handiwork. "That kind of thing is really helpful when teaching visuals to Weyrlings. Ever thought about applying to the Smiths or the Harpers?" He looks up at the young man curiously, smile warm.
Torell glances up as he shows the pannels of the wax tablet to P'draig. For anyone who's seen an aerial map or who may have visited Ista Weyr, it's fairly clear that they were made from various vantage points. "Have a look," he displays the tablet pannels proudly. The small bit of blue hide upon his shoulder adjusts its perch a bit as he learns to control the human-pet. The brand new firelizard still has the awkwardness of youth.
Torell smiles a little at P'draig and nods, "Yes, well. My Da is a Harper and if there was ever anyone who could -not- hold a tune in a bucket. It'd be me. I don't think that a Masterharper would have the patience to help me learn to play an instrument." Leaning back, he offers "As for the rest of things, yes. I think that my talents would lend me in that direction."
"My brother's an archivist you see. His singing is ... passable and he can play but overally, his specialty is everything to do with hides," P'draig explains with a grin. "He likes maps too." His eyes lift as Dekelvai comes along and he nods politely. "Good afternoon."
Torell tries to sing. Really, he does. "Oh, Tongue, give sound to joy and sing, " he breathes just a bit to give some sense of pattern to the words. "Of hope and promise on dragonwing." It's not bad, but the fact that his voice broke on 'hope' still suggests that he has no confidence in his voice. "Where does your brother live?"
"Currently he's at the Hall actually, studying for his Master's knot. He's been a Journeyman for about ... six turns now." P'draig smiles over at Torell and sings the same verse back, mostly in tune. Mostly. "He got all the talent for harpering I'm afraid. I'm only good for fighting Thread, training Weyrlings and cooking."
Torell nods, "My Da would be /so/ happy if I were to go to the Hall. He swears that I was born with ink for blood, but I don't know." The blue bit of firelizard hops off of his shoulder and lands upon the table with a quick flap of its wings. Scurrying around in search of his next hourly meal, he trumpets a hungry call back to his human-pet. *feed me* Absently, Torell offers some remnants of his meal.
"Family tradition and so on. I managed to hit two in one go. My Da cooked before he Impressed and well ... then he Impressed," P'draig chuckles softly and cleans off the last bite of food from his plate. It goes in his mouth where it belongs. "Looks like someone needs some kitchen scraps." A little nod to the firelizard.
Torell's fingers are sometimes mistaken for food bits as he offers scraps of some cooked fowl. The blue nips at first, grabbing the hunk of meat with his mouth and shredding it from the whole. There's nothing delicate or neat about it. Most of the meat gets into his mouth, but some smaller gobs fall to the table. As he eats, the tail flits back and forth. "Yeah, Digo here is quite a handful. A bit more than I remember with my first, but that was years ago. He's young so he needs more from me." He snerks at some mental picture that crosses his mind and can't help but share. "Much like I would imagine happens with the Weyrlings."
"Mmm. Dragonets need a lot at first. Time. Attention. Constant feeding. Not too different from human babies really. Only ... at least they can tell you that they're hungry, thirsty or itchy." P'draig smirks a little. "Would've been a lot easier to figure my daughter out if she'd been able to just say in my head: "Daddy, I need a drink." At least Jekzith could ... kind of read her a little. That helped a lot. Impressions of her emotions. That kind of thing."
Torell blinks, unaware that dragons could do such a thing. "Wait, wait. I knew - well, heard, that you have some kind of...'bond' with your Dragons. But she can also read your daughter? Is that common?"
"When a person Impresses, your mind and the dragon's, well they're open to each other. Connected. For life. Some people're more connected than others. Me and Jekzith:" P'draig holds up his two fingers and laces them over each other, "like this. I think that's why he was able to read Palia like that. But no it's not usual and he's not ... bonded with her at all. Other than you know, he loves her too."
Torell files that bit of information away for future reference. "It almost sounds like he's become a...brother of sorts; part of the family." He takes a stab at defining the relationship as countless others have tried over the years. Probably not the most inaccurate definition, but limited - as one who has never felt such a connection. "Last night I was pulled out of a sound sleep by Digo's belly. At first I couldn't figure out if it was me or him who was more," he looks down at the blue now having finished off the remainder of his plate and is attempting to climb his arm back to the boy's shoulder. With a bit of a nudge, which is challenged, *I can do this myself*, the dragonet completes the quest and sinks its claws into the leather of his jerkin. Without finishing the sentence, Torell simply grins at the blue's independent will.
"Yeah, we're partners, Jek and I," P'draig confirms with a fond grin. "He's always right here with me," he tapped the side of his head lightly. "S'like a buzz back there. Or an echo. It's not like that for every rider either. Everyone's a little different." He nodded though about the firelizard. "Yeah, multiply that times ... I dunno, a hundred with a dragon," Paddy said with a wry grin.
In wanders Dekelvai from across the room, looking about with a bemused absentmindedness. He brightens visibly as he notes the familiar face of Torell, and approaches with a bit a hesitant respect for his companion. "Afternoon - evening? - Torell! And sir," the Bollian grabs a nearby chair, and pulls it nearer. "May I?" But he doesn't wait for a response before spinning it around and taking a seat, crossing his arms over the chair back and propping his chin on his folded hands. "What're we talking?"
"My new stomach," Torell jokes. As the two speak at the table, a wax tablet lays open with maps of Ista weyr and its surrounding geography. "I thought about trying to see if I could pick up some lessons from the Harper if they have time. If I go to the Hall, I don't want to embarras my Da - ya know?"
"From Llany? Sure I'll bet she'd love to. She's a sweet person. Just uh ... don't hesitate to be firm about not crossing certain lines if, y'know, you're not interested." P'draig ducks his head a little, grinning down at the table top, reaches for his long neglected mug of ale. Just as he does so, Dekelvai approaches and he fixes a quizzical glance on the young man. "Good afternoon."
Dekelvai says "Ooh, I didn't get a proper chance to admire the little fellow last time I saw him. Handsome boy," the tall boy cooes to the affixed blue 'lizard, though not expecting a response. "Does he eat that much?" He lifts his gaze to the scribe. "Lessons how? Mapping? Teaching? Can't disappoint the father, how I know that," he chuckles in agreement. "I'm Dekelvai," the fisher lifts his head to extend a hand to the dragonrider. "Up from Southern Boll, though I'm leaving tomorrow," and he frowns sorrowfully."
Torell peers curiously to P'draig and repeats something just to make sure that he understood the warning. "You mean...crossing.../lines/?" Yes, he is just that naive. "Hey there. Dekelvai, this is P'draig, the Weyrlingmaster of the Weyr and rider of the Brown, Jekzith." Quickly, he looks back to the rider to make sure his introduction was complete and accurate.
"Ohh, from Boll. Nice down there," is P'draig's remark and he offers the fisher his hand as Torell performs introductions. He nods his thanks to the map-maker. "Well met Dekelvai."
A nod in Torell's direction for the introduction, and Dekelvai firmly grasps and then releases the brown rider's hand. "My duties to your queens," he says courteously, and then agrees with a wide grin, "it is, isn't it? Do you come by often?"
Torell breathes a semi-silent breath of relief that he didn't mistake P'draig's introduction. With the blink of an eye, he remembers that the question about Llany wasn't answered. Folding the tablet together and setting it to the side, he sits silently for a moment to ponder something that's been mentioned. Not the question of the 'lines to be crossed' - at least not by his expression. Something else.
"Often enough," P'draig says ageeably. "And just - y'know. She can be a little forward. That's all. Nothing to worry about," the Weyrlingmaster says with an easy grin.
"I'll keep an eye out for you, then," Dekelvai chuckles, then grins a bit at P'draig's words. "Who's this lady you're going out with Torell, huh?" He turns to nudge at the scribe with his elbow, but falls silent, wrinkling his brow at the sight of the pensive boy. "Something bothering you, Tor?"
T'rien comes in with an awkward gait, mostly because he's stooped over slightly, holding a pair of very small hands in front of him. Toddling on his unsteady legs, little Jerien wobbles his way into the living cavern, leading his father on an exploration that only his young mind can fathom. Everything is a distraction - from the rider's leather jacket hanging from a chair back to his right, to the sounds of the kitchen off to his left. Fortunately for Jerien, T'rien isn't quite so distractable and manages to keep his son from getting into too much trouble.
Torell shakes his head to remove the fog of contimplation from his face. "No no. Just thinking a little bit. The trip down to Ista has given me a lot of ideas." He picks up one of the reed pens set with the tablet and begins twirling it through his fingers; a nervous tick for a scribe. "I'd like to see Southern Boll sometime too." He wistfully admits to those gathered.
"Ideas?" P'draig prompts a little, fixing a look on Torell. "Llany's the Weyr's posted Harper," he elaborates a little for Dekelvai's benefit then his gaze slips beyond the other two to T'rien and he waves energetically. "Heyyy! Tri! Jerien! Lookit you little man, walking up a storm!"
T'rien straightens, as Jerien keeps his one hand firmly locked onto two fingers of his father's left hand. The brownrider is presented with a basket of cookies by one of the kitchen staff at that precise moment, causing his eyes to light up. "Cookies!" he declares, reaching for one.
Jerien, hearing P'draig's declaration of his accomplishments, emits a joyous laugh and slips his hand away from T'ri's, babbling as he stumbles toward the man, "Pad-dee! Pad-dee!" Cookies can only serve as a momentary distraction for T'ri, however, and he quickly bustles after his son, just before he collides into P'draig. "Walking, talking, sticking everything in his mouth...just like his old man," the brownrider quips, taking a bite from his cookie.
Torell follows P'draig's eyes to the arrival of T'rien and the small boy with him. As the two riders talk, he turns to Deke and asks, slightly under his breath so as not to disrupt the other conversation. "So when are you heading back or are stuck with you for a while?"
P'draig doesn't seem fazed by imminent toddler-collision and leans down to scoop Jerien up gently if need be. "Good exercise, having a toddler around," P'draig jokes with a wink. "Palia's almost three. More like a kid now than a baby."
"Ah," Dekelvai indicates understands with another nod at the explation, then grins - curiosity piqued - towards the scribe. "Ideas...?" He echoes, ecouragingly, waggling his eyebrows, but says, a bit more soberly, "I'm sure it could be arranged - and I'm there, so you won't be a complete stranger!" As the Weyrlingmaster's eyes wander past the pair, Dekelvai turns to look over his shoulder, and chortles at the sight. He turns back to Torell, though, when he boy asks him a question, and regretfully the boy shakes his head, with a dramatic moue. "I'm leaving tomorrow - or the day after, if I can beg and bum my way into Daryen's heart into letting me crash his cot for one more night."
T'rien snorts, brushing cookie crumbs from his sweater and reaching down to turn Jerien's attention away from the Weyrlingmaster. Success - now the toddler reaches up for Dad's cookie, which is serious business to the brownrider. "Hey, that's mine. Your mother would have me spitted and roasted if I let you eat a cookie this time of night." Jerien, of course, doesn't particularly care about his father's fate in that regard - he just wants the cookie and let's everyone within several dragonlengths know it. Wincing, T'rien stuffs the rest of the cookie into his mouth and picks up his son in one scoop. "Shards, boy, they can hear you at the Harper Hall when you screech like that. How 'bout sharing some dinner with your Da, eh?" Jerien responds in the only way in can - by sticking out his tongue and making raspberries.
Grinning, P'draig watches T'rien with his son. "Overwhelmed T'rien? Need a break?" he offers over. "How's Jaenie doing?"
T'rien shakes his head, giving Jerien a bounce designed to distract him from the new-found joy of making funny noises with his tongue. "No, I'm fine. Jaenie's on sweeps, so I'm in charge. No one's bothered to tell Jerien that, though." He offers the other brownrider his son, complete with tongue-wagging goodness. "But, if you don't mind, could you wrestle with him while I get something to eat?"
"Heh, yeah. Testing out every boundary he is," P'draig drawled casually and leaned back in his chair. Upon offer, he holds his arms up to take the boy. "You betcha. Tickle fight, Jer?" he suggests to the lad with a broad grin. "Or wanna play Palia's favorite game? Hatching?"
Jerien's vocabularly is somewhat limited, not to mention couched in toddler-esque babble half the time. He bounces in P'draig's arms, grinning and clapping his hands. "Pad-dee! Pad-dee!" T'rien laughs and musses the boys hair before heading to the serving table to scoop up some dinner. He returns momentarily with a full plate and full mug, then sits next to the other brownrider. "Thanks." He reaches out to tickle Jerien's belly. "He's ticklish right...there!" he points out. Jerien squeals and tries to fend off his father's fingers.
The young fisher can't help but to watch with bright blue eyes as the Weyrlingmaster accepts Jerien, and chuckles, murmuring mostly to himself, as his gaze trails after the new, unintroduced dragonrider, "I wouldn't mind playing Hatching myself." And watches still as T'rien returns, and pokes a seeking finger into the laughing child. Dekelvai grins, despite himself, at the sight.
"I think maybe I should just steal your nose," P'draig kids around, hooking thumb and two fingers together and pretending to take Jerien's nose on and off his face. "Gotcher nose!" He looks up as T'rien returns and does the whole tickling thing. "Oho ... raspberries!" Paddy joins in briefly, keeping an eye on Jerien's laughter-to-upset-ratio to make sure they're not going overboard. "This is T'rien by the by, Dekelvai. Brown Cavoth's and my Wingleader when I don't have Weyrlings to teach. Ahh, well, Hatching means pretending to be an egg, hatching and going to find your 'rider'. Palia usually picks Jekzith."
T'rien gives Dekelvai a nod and a wave of his fork. "Well met." He keeps an eye on Jerien to make sure he isn't overstaying his welcome on Paddy's lap. Jerien, having been tickled and his nose stolen, is rolling with laughter - but definitely wants his nose back. He reaches out with chubby hands to retrieve it. "No-no node!"
"A-ha!" Dekelvai exclaims, "That seems to be going about it the right way. Palia... your daughter?" He hazards a guess, a hopeful half-smile flickering across his lips, and offers an answering greeting to T'rien, repeating his salutation. "Suits you, no nose," he adds with a wiggle of his fingers in Jerien's direction.
P'draig 'pops' Jerien's nose back on with a distinct cluck of his tongue. "Nose all back!" he declares gaily and props Jerien up on his knee, bouncing him in place. "This is how the runners trot, this is how the draybeast plods," changing the pace to match, "and this is how ... we ... race!" Fast fast. And then stopping to let the boy catch his breath. "Pali's with her mama or you guys could play right now," Paddy explains. "Maybe next time." He looks up across at Dekelvai and nods. "Yeah. My daughter. Palia. Almost three. Her mother lives down South though, transferred out when she was only a turn old."
T'rien eats and ponders offering his son a forkful of mashed tubers before thinking better of it. "You'll ruin Paddy's pants. Or my sweater. Or both." He takes the tubers for himself. "He's full of energy. About the only ones who can keep up with him is Cavoth and Israeth. They're endlessly entertained by his antics."
There's a shuffling out in the kitchens, and Dekelvai lifts his head and glances over to the doorway. There's a familiar figure, there, and the fisher boy stands, conscientiously replacing his chair before half-nodding, half-bowing to the pair of brown rider. "My friend," he motions towards the shape, inexplicably, and then waves a little wave to Jerien. "Enjoy your evening, gentlemen." And he slips away to speak with the Weyr boy.
P'draig is still jouncing, with Jerien seemingly fairly entertained and he looks across at T'rien. "Tri. Seriously, I don't care about my pants. They wash. But yeah, hear you on energy. It's the age." Complacence from the Weyrlingmaster about that.
T'rien chuckles and offers Jerien the mashed tubers. Jerien leans forward to accept the bite between bounces. "So. We've finally got ourselves a new Senior Weyrwoman." He was never subtle and it doesn't seem that he was trying very hard at all this time. "Did you let Jekzith fly?"
"For a senior flight? Are you kidding me?" P'draig blinked across the table at T'rien and shook his head. "Jekzith's the wrong color, Tri. I'm not aiming to be the first brownriding Weyrleader in history. It's good to have things settled. Sorted out. No more worrying about it."
T'rien shrugs. "Yeah, I know but you sometimes they get ideas of their own. Cavoth was certainly game to try but I made it perfectly clear he wasn't chasing Ciath again. Ever." He offers Jerien another bite and then reaches out to take a sip from his mug. "A brownriding Weyrleader may be a far-fetched notion but it could happen."
"No, as soon as she started to look likely, I took Palia and Jek and we went to Ista." There's a sympathetic look from P'draig for that. "Yeah. I hear you. That's not why for me. Just ... not wanting to rock the boat."
T'rien puts his mug down with a mild thunk and a sour look crosses his face. "Jerien and I went to visit his grandparents at Igen. V'lien entertained the idea of hopping over here to join the fun but Terrilia gave him 'the look' and he decided against it. He's getting smarter as he gets older."
"Probably wisest," P'draig says neutrally. "Given ... you know, his connection with Jenna?" Brows lift a little and he gives Jerien a little bounce. "Anyway, speaking of Ista, I'm heading over there tonight to help T'mic finish moving things into his new weyr. I should give you back the little guy."
T'rien holds out his arms and nods. "Yeah, well, that's probably why he wanted to do it - to express his opinion. Anyway...I need to get back to my reports soon. Have a safe flight and all that."
P'draig passes Jerien over with a fond tousle for the lad's hair. "Mm. Good luck with the reports T'ri. I'll see you tomorow for drills." He gives the other brownrider's shoulder a squeeze on his way out, dropping off dishes in the bin and swings on his jacket as he heads out into the gathering evening.