Log: Fear of Flying
Who: Ianna, P'draig, Jekzith, Rouseth, NPCs: Fasha, Cairenth, Onth, others
When: Afternoong, day 26, month 8, turn 20 of the 10th Interval
Where: Beach, Ista Weyr
What: Ianna's got a little problem about flying. Paddy tries to reassure.
It's another hot summer afternoon and P'draig's taken the whole kit and caboodle down to the beach to do all kinds of practice. First there were laps for weyrlings and dragonets and right now it's switching over to dragon races, flying out over the water to the farthest buoy and then back. "All right, next set of racers, line up! After this one, rest break!"
One weyrling pair--the usual one--has been hanging back, relegating themselves to the last set of racers since they're both pretty winded after the laps. Now Ianna has to give Rouseth, who's stopped paying attention entirely and is bouncing his head along to some internal rhythm, eyes fully lidded, a heavy swat on his hind haunch. "By your ugly egg, darling, get your head in the game. It's races; those are at least a little fun, right?" Another swat and her cajoling tone finally have him in line with the others, but still doing his little jive and probably not primed to be first out of the gates, so to speak.
Standing back a little, P'draig folds his arms across his chest and watches the group get ready. "Okay. All ready? Don't forget, next week or so, we'll be starting /with you/ on their backs, fun times!" And then he's calling out and echoed by Jekzith: "Ready, set, go!" There's some last minute scuffling at the line but then there's four other pairs taking off to race with Rouseth, another brown, two blues and a green.
"Oh shells," Ianna breathes, not taking any pains to hide the falling of her ever-ready grin when the Weyrlingmaster mentions next week's lessons. Her muted theatrics are enough to cause her blue to swing his wedged head about in concern, and though she hustles over and tries to shove his jaw back forward again, the rest of the batch has already begun the race. "No, no, no! Is Cairenth /ever/ going to let you live this down? Don't answer, just fly!" He shrugs, jogs forward, stubby legs pumping, and "joins" in the race insofar as that is possible, well behind the pack as he is.
Sometimes P'draig can be thick about some things, but that exclamation of Ianna's and the look on her face do not escape him. One hand lifts to his chin and he strokes it thoughtfully as the dragons take off. Zoooooom. Onth tries to make use of greater wingspan, Cairenth of course is a speed demon in the air and the other two blues are holding their own so far.
Tired as Ianna was before, something about the race energizes her. Maybe it's Fasha, looking at her with that smug smile and one eyebrow raised. At any rate, the former harper is putting her incredible set of lungs to use, cheering her blue forward. Whether aided by her cheers or his own naturally long winspars, He does manage to make up a portion of the distance between him and the last blue. But it should be clear to everyone other than Ianna that this race was lost before it was even begun.
There's advice from Jekzith being sent all through it, things like, << Tuck in your wing a little more! Pull up your legs! >> and the like, for each of the racers. It's a well-known thing that the lanky brown loves to race. << Good job catching up, Rouseth!! >> And as the buoy is reached it's Cairenth who does take it with Onth on her heels. "All right guys! Nice job Cairenth. All of the race winners from today will get an extra hour to sleep in tomorrow morning. Okay, break time!" And he's ambling over towards the weyrlings casually. "Got a sec, Ianna?"
Ianna takes the outcome of the race much harder than Rouseth does. Indeed, the short, stout blue seems to be entirely unfazed by it; he settles in the sand and is soon back to his head bopping, nudging one of his fellows from time to time in what is perhaps an attempt to get them to join in. << Thanks, Jek. 'S always next time, am-I-right? >> His weyrling, meanwhile, groans as she shakes Fasha's hand. And that handshake looks a little funny. Almost as if something small and mark-like might have changed owners in the process. "Oh, sir," she dissembles as P'draig approaches her from behind, "I didn't see you there. Of course I have a sec. Yours to command, right?"
<< You bet! >> Electric blue, happy sending from Jekzith who streeeetches out and looks out over the waves like he's thinking about making the run for fun. That comment tucks Paddy's brows upwards and he laughs. "Yeah, technically, but ... not really how I run things except for drills. Walk with me a little? Rouseth seemed a little distracted there at the start."
With one last meaningful look toward Fasha and an affectionate eyeroll at Rouseth, Ianna detaches herself from the group and strolls right along. "Yeah, distracted would be the word. By yours truly, I know. Sorry. But you do have to give me credit for at least getting him in line, right? I like to think I've gotten a little better at that than in the early days." She scuffs sand up as her strides become shuffles. "Is this, by any chance, the lecture where you point out that if it's not Rouseth failing to pay attention, it's me? Because I have a whole set of responses scripted out for that one. I played the whole thing through my head one night a couple of sevendays ago."
"Nope, it's not a lecture at all actually, I'm more ... wondering why you wound up distracting him just then," P'draig says slowly, hands sliding into pockets and he looks over at her with what's meant as a reassuring grin. "You know already that if you don't keep each other in line you're going to have problems later. Only 'lecture' I'll give on that is, if you guys aren't careful, I won't let you do Between with everyone else."
"Too bad," Ianna answers, her pearly whites making an entrance. "I really did put a lot of work into my answers." She adopts a slightly more serious tone, crossing her arms over her ample chest. "Of course. Yeah, if we get past the flying part, I'll make sure we're straight-laced enough for the Betweening part." The weyrling swallows once, and then continues, "It's just--the distraction happened right then because of the whole flying thing. The, um, me flying with him thing." She takes her lower lip between her teeth, probably sufficient indication that this is the crux of the matter.
P'draig is a good listener. Really. He tilts his head to show he's paying attention and absorbs what Ianna has to say. He does smile a little at first at the quip about the prepared answers. "All the more reason not to go there. Rather have you know, sincere, off-the-cuff answers than rehearsed ones," he notes then takes a breath. "You. Flying with him. It's not filling you with happy fuzzy feelings, huh?"
A wince crosses Ianna's features. "Kind of obvious, right? I don't suppose the recently-resigned Javeri ever mentioned how my first and only dragonflight to date went?" She takes a breath and barrels on, answering her own question with, "'Humiliating' might be one of the best words for it. And I've refused to go up since. And I know this is going to sound insane, but hear me out--now, does a dragonrider have to fly? /Really/? During a Pass?" A half-hearted flash of a smile indicates that the last set of questions was another brief attempt at facetiousness. Sort of.
"Ahhh no she didn't mention," P'draig says with a shake of his head, listens again. "Actually ... yes, you do," Paddy says, though with sympathy. "And if it helps any, I've had weyrlings who were afraid of flying before. We'll take it /really/ slowly, okay? It just means that you might have to lag behind the others on the milestones, though it won't hold you up for learning firestone for instance. It also means a longer time in the barracks if you can't get up to your weyr."
Ianna gives a small, humorless laugh to the milestones bit. "We're no strangers to being slow on hitting our milestones. Rouseth is of course the most wonderful dragon on Pern," and her tone, for once, is bereft of any irony, until--"but between his dazzling smarts and physical prowess and my unparalleled athletic ability--well, you've seen us in action." She chuckles lightly, adding, "You're really just adding incentives for me to take it slow, you know. Not having to worry I'll sleepwalk right off my future ledge? Keep me in the barracks forever."
"Heh, wellll you have a time limit on the barracks. Rouseth's a blue so you have a little more time than some, but eventually, you'll have to move out or he won't fit back out the door," the Weyrlingmaster points out with a chuckle. "Sorry to say, there's no ground weyrs at Ista other than the two guest weyrs and the Weyrleader's weyrs," Paddy adds on. "Though I've thought about building a cothold down in the jungle along the beaches instead, myself. You know, nice big place, airy, since it's cooler near the water usually." He blows out a breath. "Long story short, in order to be a full rider and not be a weyrling forever, it's going to have to happen, but we'll help you get there."
"I've been thinking," Ianna remarks in an offhanded way that is probably supposed to sound persuasive, "that a larger entryway would do the barracks some good. You all are very sneaky, setting a definitive physical limit on moving out." A sigh punctuates her separate trains of thought. "I'd be more than willing to be a pilot case for your jungle cothold concept. Just so you know. But thanks for laying it out like this. You almost make me feel like I can stop freaking out. Until I envision the flying again." She must be doing so, because from where he's sitting, Rouseth suddenly tilts his head and bugles some kind of concerned question.
"Uh huh," is all that P'draig says about bigger entryways on the barracks. He grins though about the rest and lifts his shoulders slightly. "So, tell me what it is about it exactly that freaks you out, if you can?"
Ianna sucks air in through her teeth, then shoots back, "Where do I start? The visions of falling an impossible distance and becoming an Ianna-pancake on the ground below? Or, shells, no need for there to be solid land to hit. What if we're over water? You may have instituted that atrocious 'learn to swim' policy," and she softens her insouciance with a smile, "but I still can't really swim well in those ocean currents, you know. Bathing Rouseth in the sea when it's choppy is just an exercise in wading in and trying to keep my feet firmly planted." Realizing she's wandered off the topic, she brings herself back to it with, "And there's the dizziness. Ugh, the dizziness. Why is it the Layabout's swaying is so pleasant, but Chad-whats-ith's wasn't?"
"So there's partly a fear of heights and partly some kind of motion sickness involved," P'draig parses that out. "For the motion sickness, there's some things you can take that might help with it and a wristband you can wear, that presses on a point in your wrist and helps to keep the symptoms from being overwhelming." The Weyrlingmaster looks vaguely amused at the comment about the atrocious swimming policy. "For the actual fear, we'll work you up to it gradually until you get used to the height. You know, start with ... oh, standing on a chair and then go higher and higher. See how it goes. We can also get Rouseth to work with you, to share if he likes it a lot."
Ianna looks dubious about the wristband, but begins nodding when he talks about a gradual approach. "Thank the Egg you get me. If you'd said 'starting with a high mast on one of the ships,' see, I might have just given up right then and there. And I know Rouseth loves barging in on my mind when I'm having a good time, so maaaybe it'll work the reverse way." The skepticism creeps back into her tone, elongating her "maybe." She glances over her shoulder, then back with an apologetic smile. "Thanks. I mean it. My stomach isn't sure you're ever going to succeed, but the rest of me has a little bit of queasy-feeling hope. And excuse me, sir, but Rouseth is demanding I come look at something /right this second/. I'll catch you in a moment." She turns to check in on her blue, who is dancing with excitement.
When: Afternoong, day 26, month 8, turn 20 of the 10th Interval
Where: Beach, Ista Weyr
What: Ianna's got a little problem about flying. Paddy tries to reassure.
It's another hot summer afternoon and P'draig's taken the whole kit and caboodle down to the beach to do all kinds of practice. First there were laps for weyrlings and dragonets and right now it's switching over to dragon races, flying out over the water to the farthest buoy and then back. "All right, next set of racers, line up! After this one, rest break!"
One weyrling pair--the usual one--has been hanging back, relegating themselves to the last set of racers since they're both pretty winded after the laps. Now Ianna has to give Rouseth, who's stopped paying attention entirely and is bouncing his head along to some internal rhythm, eyes fully lidded, a heavy swat on his hind haunch. "By your ugly egg, darling, get your head in the game. It's races; those are at least a little fun, right?" Another swat and her cajoling tone finally have him in line with the others, but still doing his little jive and probably not primed to be first out of the gates, so to speak.
Standing back a little, P'draig folds his arms across his chest and watches the group get ready. "Okay. All ready? Don't forget, next week or so, we'll be starting /with you/ on their backs, fun times!" And then he's calling out and echoed by Jekzith: "Ready, set, go!" There's some last minute scuffling at the line but then there's four other pairs taking off to race with Rouseth, another brown, two blues and a green.
"Oh shells," Ianna breathes, not taking any pains to hide the falling of her ever-ready grin when the Weyrlingmaster mentions next week's lessons. Her muted theatrics are enough to cause her blue to swing his wedged head about in concern, and though she hustles over and tries to shove his jaw back forward again, the rest of the batch has already begun the race. "No, no, no! Is Cairenth /ever/ going to let you live this down? Don't answer, just fly!" He shrugs, jogs forward, stubby legs pumping, and "joins" in the race insofar as that is possible, well behind the pack as he is.
Sometimes P'draig can be thick about some things, but that exclamation of Ianna's and the look on her face do not escape him. One hand lifts to his chin and he strokes it thoughtfully as the dragons take off. Zoooooom. Onth tries to make use of greater wingspan, Cairenth of course is a speed demon in the air and the other two blues are holding their own so far.
Tired as Ianna was before, something about the race energizes her. Maybe it's Fasha, looking at her with that smug smile and one eyebrow raised. At any rate, the former harper is putting her incredible set of lungs to use, cheering her blue forward. Whether aided by her cheers or his own naturally long winspars, He does manage to make up a portion of the distance between him and the last blue. But it should be clear to everyone other than Ianna that this race was lost before it was even begun.
There's advice from Jekzith being sent all through it, things like, << Tuck in your wing a little more! Pull up your legs! >> and the like, for each of the racers. It's a well-known thing that the lanky brown loves to race. << Good job catching up, Rouseth!! >> And as the buoy is reached it's Cairenth who does take it with Onth on her heels. "All right guys! Nice job Cairenth. All of the race winners from today will get an extra hour to sleep in tomorrow morning. Okay, break time!" And he's ambling over towards the weyrlings casually. "Got a sec, Ianna?"
Ianna takes the outcome of the race much harder than Rouseth does. Indeed, the short, stout blue seems to be entirely unfazed by it; he settles in the sand and is soon back to his head bopping, nudging one of his fellows from time to time in what is perhaps an attempt to get them to join in. << Thanks, Jek. 'S always next time, am-I-right? >> His weyrling, meanwhile, groans as she shakes Fasha's hand. And that handshake looks a little funny. Almost as if something small and mark-like might have changed owners in the process. "Oh, sir," she dissembles as P'draig approaches her from behind, "I didn't see you there. Of course I have a sec. Yours to command, right?"
<< You bet! >> Electric blue, happy sending from Jekzith who streeeetches out and looks out over the waves like he's thinking about making the run for fun. That comment tucks Paddy's brows upwards and he laughs. "Yeah, technically, but ... not really how I run things except for drills. Walk with me a little? Rouseth seemed a little distracted there at the start."
With one last meaningful look toward Fasha and an affectionate eyeroll at Rouseth, Ianna detaches herself from the group and strolls right along. "Yeah, distracted would be the word. By yours truly, I know. Sorry. But you do have to give me credit for at least getting him in line, right? I like to think I've gotten a little better at that than in the early days." She scuffs sand up as her strides become shuffles. "Is this, by any chance, the lecture where you point out that if it's not Rouseth failing to pay attention, it's me? Because I have a whole set of responses scripted out for that one. I played the whole thing through my head one night a couple of sevendays ago."
"Nope, it's not a lecture at all actually, I'm more ... wondering why you wound up distracting him just then," P'draig says slowly, hands sliding into pockets and he looks over at her with what's meant as a reassuring grin. "You know already that if you don't keep each other in line you're going to have problems later. Only 'lecture' I'll give on that is, if you guys aren't careful, I won't let you do Between with everyone else."
"Too bad," Ianna answers, her pearly whites making an entrance. "I really did put a lot of work into my answers." She adopts a slightly more serious tone, crossing her arms over her ample chest. "Of course. Yeah, if we get past the flying part, I'll make sure we're straight-laced enough for the Betweening part." The weyrling swallows once, and then continues, "It's just--the distraction happened right then because of the whole flying thing. The, um, me flying with him thing." She takes her lower lip between her teeth, probably sufficient indication that this is the crux of the matter.
P'draig is a good listener. Really. He tilts his head to show he's paying attention and absorbs what Ianna has to say. He does smile a little at first at the quip about the prepared answers. "All the more reason not to go there. Rather have you know, sincere, off-the-cuff answers than rehearsed ones," he notes then takes a breath. "You. Flying with him. It's not filling you with happy fuzzy feelings, huh?"
A wince crosses Ianna's features. "Kind of obvious, right? I don't suppose the recently-resigned Javeri ever mentioned how my first and only dragonflight to date went?" She takes a breath and barrels on, answering her own question with, "'Humiliating' might be one of the best words for it. And I've refused to go up since. And I know this is going to sound insane, but hear me out--now, does a dragonrider have to fly? /Really/? During a Pass?" A half-hearted flash of a smile indicates that the last set of questions was another brief attempt at facetiousness. Sort of.
"Ahhh no she didn't mention," P'draig says with a shake of his head, listens again. "Actually ... yes, you do," Paddy says, though with sympathy. "And if it helps any, I've had weyrlings who were afraid of flying before. We'll take it /really/ slowly, okay? It just means that you might have to lag behind the others on the milestones, though it won't hold you up for learning firestone for instance. It also means a longer time in the barracks if you can't get up to your weyr."
Ianna gives a small, humorless laugh to the milestones bit. "We're no strangers to being slow on hitting our milestones. Rouseth is of course the most wonderful dragon on Pern," and her tone, for once, is bereft of any irony, until--"but between his dazzling smarts and physical prowess and my unparalleled athletic ability--well, you've seen us in action." She chuckles lightly, adding, "You're really just adding incentives for me to take it slow, you know. Not having to worry I'll sleepwalk right off my future ledge? Keep me in the barracks forever."
"Heh, wellll you have a time limit on the barracks. Rouseth's a blue so you have a little more time than some, but eventually, you'll have to move out or he won't fit back out the door," the Weyrlingmaster points out with a chuckle. "Sorry to say, there's no ground weyrs at Ista other than the two guest weyrs and the Weyrleader's weyrs," Paddy adds on. "Though I've thought about building a cothold down in the jungle along the beaches instead, myself. You know, nice big place, airy, since it's cooler near the water usually." He blows out a breath. "Long story short, in order to be a full rider and not be a weyrling forever, it's going to have to happen, but we'll help you get there."
"I've been thinking," Ianna remarks in an offhanded way that is probably supposed to sound persuasive, "that a larger entryway would do the barracks some good. You all are very sneaky, setting a definitive physical limit on moving out." A sigh punctuates her separate trains of thought. "I'd be more than willing to be a pilot case for your jungle cothold concept. Just so you know. But thanks for laying it out like this. You almost make me feel like I can stop freaking out. Until I envision the flying again." She must be doing so, because from where he's sitting, Rouseth suddenly tilts his head and bugles some kind of concerned question.
"Uh huh," is all that P'draig says about bigger entryways on the barracks. He grins though about the rest and lifts his shoulders slightly. "So, tell me what it is about it exactly that freaks you out, if you can?"
Ianna sucks air in through her teeth, then shoots back, "Where do I start? The visions of falling an impossible distance and becoming an Ianna-pancake on the ground below? Or, shells, no need for there to be solid land to hit. What if we're over water? You may have instituted that atrocious 'learn to swim' policy," and she softens her insouciance with a smile, "but I still can't really swim well in those ocean currents, you know. Bathing Rouseth in the sea when it's choppy is just an exercise in wading in and trying to keep my feet firmly planted." Realizing she's wandered off the topic, she brings herself back to it with, "And there's the dizziness. Ugh, the dizziness. Why is it the Layabout's swaying is so pleasant, but Chad-whats-ith's wasn't?"
"So there's partly a fear of heights and partly some kind of motion sickness involved," P'draig parses that out. "For the motion sickness, there's some things you can take that might help with it and a wristband you can wear, that presses on a point in your wrist and helps to keep the symptoms from being overwhelming." The Weyrlingmaster looks vaguely amused at the comment about the atrocious swimming policy. "For the actual fear, we'll work you up to it gradually until you get used to the height. You know, start with ... oh, standing on a chair and then go higher and higher. See how it goes. We can also get Rouseth to work with you, to share if he likes it a lot."
Ianna looks dubious about the wristband, but begins nodding when he talks about a gradual approach. "Thank the Egg you get me. If you'd said 'starting with a high mast on one of the ships,' see, I might have just given up right then and there. And I know Rouseth loves barging in on my mind when I'm having a good time, so maaaybe it'll work the reverse way." The skepticism creeps back into her tone, elongating her "maybe." She glances over her shoulder, then back with an apologetic smile. "Thanks. I mean it. My stomach isn't sure you're ever going to succeed, but the rest of me has a little bit of queasy-feeling hope. And excuse me, sir, but Rouseth is demanding I come look at something /right this second/. I'll catch you in a moment." She turns to check in on her blue, who is dancing with excitement.