Log: Messing With -- Er, Advising Candidates On The Beach
Who: Anileas, Eirlys, P'draig
When: Sunset
Where: Beach, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy's got remarks for Eirlys and Anileas who both seem frustrated with candidacy's rules.
The day is nearly over, light not yet dwindling and the sea taking on the colours of the dying sun, a redder sky turning to watery pastels. With descent into the cooler temperatures that accompany dusk, the beach becomes a popular haunt after dinner, and Anileas is one among many down at the shore. With pants hiked up to the knees, he's ankle-deep in the water and on his own tonight, chucking stones out to sea. The first few are skipped, but the latter ones are hurled with as much force as he can muster.
"Shells, what'd the water ever do to you?" It appears that that will have to do as greeting and announcement of Eirlys' presence, as the blonde folds herself down to the sand and sits just out of reach - for the moment - of the waves washing up onto the shore. Sitting cross-legged, she rests her arms on her knees, meaning that she mostly has to peer up to observe her surroundings and Anileas. Unaware of the reasoning behind hurled stones, it's a few moments before she warily asks, "You okay?"
Anileas runs out of rocks to throw and bends at the knees to rummage around for more. Looking over his shoulder at Eirlys a few metres back, he says shortly, "I'm fine." Which is why he's channelling teenage angsty frustration into aiming for the skiff some distance out, far out of his reach. His hands grope for more stones but only come up with sand and pebbles, having exhausted suitable projectiles in his immediate vicinity. A lapping wave with a bit more force reaches up to his knees while he's crouching down, getting the lower parts of his trousers wet. "Shit!" he exclaims, more annoyed than necessary, and getting out of the water's reach is what brings him up the shore to Eirlys. Also, there's more rocks up there.
"Sure. Sound great there, you do," Eirlys remarks with casual detachment, that wave prompting her to shuffle back a little more already and flop back this time, knees drawn up. So, she probably winds up half-covered in wet sand, not that she seems to care. She eyes the younger candidate for a moment or two, one brow twitching when he curses like that for such a reason, yet she doesn't scramble any further away or remark upon apparent anger. "Should find some driftwood to throw. In the right shape, it'd arrow through the air quite nicely. Might even obligingly float back, too."
Walking along the shore from the direction of the restaurant, P'draig's dressed for beach-walking. Shorts. Short-sleeve shirt left unbuttoned. Bare feet. He's probably seen Anileas tossing rocks as he's drawn nearer because he greets both candidates with: "Hit anything yet?" in rather an easy-going tone, might even border on jovial. Paddy grins Eirlys' way as he catches her driftwood comment. "Efficient, that.'
Anileas does not want to smile, but a rebellious dimple shows at the corner of his mouth regardless. Giving up for now, he slumps down next to Eirlys and digs his fingers into the sand to either side. "Just water. But with the driftwood might spear me a fish," he jokes back, half-hearted but making an effort. "Then you can cook it."
"I don't know - knocked-unconscious-by-a-rock fish sounds almost more exciting than speared-fish," Eirlys muses, though she doesn't sound terribly excited about either. She watches Anileas slump there and curls her toes in the sand, possibly an involuntary echo of fingers in sand. "Yep. I'm all about the efficiency," she drawls somewhat sarcastically back to P'draig, blue eyes briefly wandering his way in the second before they close, her arms lifting and dropped back behind her head.
"Mm. Fresh-cooked fish on the beach, good eats," P'draig says, grinning and turns to look out at the water. "And at least the water doesn't mind getting hit." He looks between the two, hands sliding into pockets. "Is it the heat, or too many candidate chores that's made for needing to throw rocks at unsuspecting waves?"
"I can keep trying," Anileas offers, though he doesn't look like he's about to move now that he's sat down. He sifts the sand through his fingers aimlessly, scooping up handfuls and then letting them trickle out. "It's nothing," he says first, directing the mumbled response down at his knees and uncommunicative. When he glances up, however, his expression conveys a different story, and it all starts to come tumbling out a moment later. "Just some of my friends," the last word coming out scornful, "they're going off somewhere - I dunno, the Seven - and told me I can't come cause of the rules."
"Chores are boring as anything. Don't see the point. Just as I start to get something done with a day, I have to go do something useless," Eirlys mutters, eyes still closed. A groan follows shortly and she shakes her head, getting more sand in her hair. "Don't remind me of the stupid rules," she directs at Anileas in an exasperated, vaguely sympathetic murmur. She cracks one eye open long enough to look up at P'draig again, asking, "You ever hear of someone who Impressed and got to keep their old job /and/ be a rider?" in an oh so casual 'I don't really need an answer at all' fashion.
"The rules blow," P'draig says succinctly and after a moment, settles down on the sand near but not quite next to the pair. "But they are there for a reason," the brownrider adds, tone sympathetic. "Some crafters have, from time to time, I think. Otherwise not really, especially not during a Pass. It's too much to manage together. But in the interval ... could well find things a bit different. After all, I'm a rider and a cook," he points out with a smile for Eirlys.
"You too?" Anileas asks of Eirlys, somewhat comforted to hear he's not the only one chafing against restrictions. It's mostly a rhetorical question, though, and he doesn't seem to expect an answer as he lolls back, propping himself up on his elbows and the moment of hurling rocks as far as they'll go past. In protest of the limitations, he challenges P'draig, "What reason?"
Eirlys nods more than once and it's likely best for everyone that she lets Anileas' question remain mostly rhetorical, given her expression. "That mean that you number among the ones willing to look the other way?" She deems that an important enough question to open both eyes for, gaze seeking out P'draig. "And is a Pass going to sneak up on us again?" Could be a question, could just be a snarky remark. She grimaces, nose wrinkling, and rolls her eyes, muttering, "Figures I'd be screwed." Despite that, she does look to be at least half-interested in potentially hearing the reason for those rules.
"I'm not saying I agree with all of them, but one big reason for girls is to avoid getting pregnant. Most of them though, are about self-control and showing that you have what it takes to handle a baby dragon in your head if you impress," P'draig offers up an explanation, knees bending, legs drawing up slightly, feet leaving track in the sand as his arms hook around his knees. "As for another Pass sneaking up on us ... shells I hope not." Wry, that. "Shouldn't anyway."
Although Anileas doesn't openly dispute any of these justifications, his expression suggests that self-control is highly-overrated. "At least a Pass would be more interesting," he interjects, undoubtedly imagining mayhem and action in a more overdramatised fashion with little connection to the reality of a Pass.
"You can fix getting pregnant. And not everything in that area means you wind up with a /chance/ of getting knocked-up," Eirlys replies, following a snort of disbelief. She shakes her head again and draws herself up from the sand, careful not to kick any over Anileas in the process. "I'm going to go drown myself in the pool," she mutters dryly. Hopefully she just means take a really long swim. "Catch you back 'home'," she tells her fellow candidate, dropping a polite enough nod to P'draig as she turns and starts to weave her way across the beach and to her next destination.
"Fixing it ... isn't always easy or pleasant," P'draig says mildly, looking over at Eirlys but he nods as she mentions the pool. "Enjoy he dip," is his farewell to the blonde. "Interesting ... maybe. Exciting ... can be. Exhausting, draining and heart-breaking, definitely," Paddy offers over to Anileas about passes.
Eirlys' mordant humour makes Anileas grin a bit. "See you later," he says as she leaves. As for Threadfall, Anileas shows a reluctance to address it more seriously. "Well I know that," the words drag out. "But I dunno, what do you do if you're not a cook?" he asks, using P'draig's business as a substitute for the larger question of occupation.
"Ride sweeps, provide transportation, keep the flame of rider knowledge alive until there is a Pass. Pass on what you've learned. And explore other things, hobbies and so on, in between taking care of yourself, your dragon and so on," P'draig answers with a little grin.
"Flame of rider knowledge," Anileas picks up and repeats, skeptical. "Sounds boring." He leans back in a stretch before pushing himself up. Restlessness has him in its grasp, and the teen looks farther down the beach with an aim to ramble. "I'm gonna go for a walk," he announces, but lingers long enough to say, "If I spear a fish, you can have it." He heads down the beach a moment later, skirting the edge where the water's lapping.
"Not terribly exciting maybe, no. But still valuable," P'draig answers. "But, it's a reason to find something else to do on top of those duties." The brownrider nods as Anileas' restlessness takes him off. "Have fun. Don't hurt yourself with the spear," he quips in farewell.
When: Sunset
Where: Beach, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy's got remarks for Eirlys and Anileas who both seem frustrated with candidacy's rules.
The day is nearly over, light not yet dwindling and the sea taking on the colours of the dying sun, a redder sky turning to watery pastels. With descent into the cooler temperatures that accompany dusk, the beach becomes a popular haunt after dinner, and Anileas is one among many down at the shore. With pants hiked up to the knees, he's ankle-deep in the water and on his own tonight, chucking stones out to sea. The first few are skipped, but the latter ones are hurled with as much force as he can muster.
"Shells, what'd the water ever do to you?" It appears that that will have to do as greeting and announcement of Eirlys' presence, as the blonde folds herself down to the sand and sits just out of reach - for the moment - of the waves washing up onto the shore. Sitting cross-legged, she rests her arms on her knees, meaning that she mostly has to peer up to observe her surroundings and Anileas. Unaware of the reasoning behind hurled stones, it's a few moments before she warily asks, "You okay?"
Anileas runs out of rocks to throw and bends at the knees to rummage around for more. Looking over his shoulder at Eirlys a few metres back, he says shortly, "I'm fine." Which is why he's channelling teenage angsty frustration into aiming for the skiff some distance out, far out of his reach. His hands grope for more stones but only come up with sand and pebbles, having exhausted suitable projectiles in his immediate vicinity. A lapping wave with a bit more force reaches up to his knees while he's crouching down, getting the lower parts of his trousers wet. "Shit!" he exclaims, more annoyed than necessary, and getting out of the water's reach is what brings him up the shore to Eirlys. Also, there's more rocks up there.
"Sure. Sound great there, you do," Eirlys remarks with casual detachment, that wave prompting her to shuffle back a little more already and flop back this time, knees drawn up. So, she probably winds up half-covered in wet sand, not that she seems to care. She eyes the younger candidate for a moment or two, one brow twitching when he curses like that for such a reason, yet she doesn't scramble any further away or remark upon apparent anger. "Should find some driftwood to throw. In the right shape, it'd arrow through the air quite nicely. Might even obligingly float back, too."
Walking along the shore from the direction of the restaurant, P'draig's dressed for beach-walking. Shorts. Short-sleeve shirt left unbuttoned. Bare feet. He's probably seen Anileas tossing rocks as he's drawn nearer because he greets both candidates with: "Hit anything yet?" in rather an easy-going tone, might even border on jovial. Paddy grins Eirlys' way as he catches her driftwood comment. "Efficient, that.'
Anileas does not want to smile, but a rebellious dimple shows at the corner of his mouth regardless. Giving up for now, he slumps down next to Eirlys and digs his fingers into the sand to either side. "Just water. But with the driftwood might spear me a fish," he jokes back, half-hearted but making an effort. "Then you can cook it."
"I don't know - knocked-unconscious-by-a-rock fish sounds almost more exciting than speared-fish," Eirlys muses, though she doesn't sound terribly excited about either. She watches Anileas slump there and curls her toes in the sand, possibly an involuntary echo of fingers in sand. "Yep. I'm all about the efficiency," she drawls somewhat sarcastically back to P'draig, blue eyes briefly wandering his way in the second before they close, her arms lifting and dropped back behind her head.
"Mm. Fresh-cooked fish on the beach, good eats," P'draig says, grinning and turns to look out at the water. "And at least the water doesn't mind getting hit." He looks between the two, hands sliding into pockets. "Is it the heat, or too many candidate chores that's made for needing to throw rocks at unsuspecting waves?"
"I can keep trying," Anileas offers, though he doesn't look like he's about to move now that he's sat down. He sifts the sand through his fingers aimlessly, scooping up handfuls and then letting them trickle out. "It's nothing," he says first, directing the mumbled response down at his knees and uncommunicative. When he glances up, however, his expression conveys a different story, and it all starts to come tumbling out a moment later. "Just some of my friends," the last word coming out scornful, "they're going off somewhere - I dunno, the Seven - and told me I can't come cause of the rules."
"Chores are boring as anything. Don't see the point. Just as I start to get something done with a day, I have to go do something useless," Eirlys mutters, eyes still closed. A groan follows shortly and she shakes her head, getting more sand in her hair. "Don't remind me of the stupid rules," she directs at Anileas in an exasperated, vaguely sympathetic murmur. She cracks one eye open long enough to look up at P'draig again, asking, "You ever hear of someone who Impressed and got to keep their old job /and/ be a rider?" in an oh so casual 'I don't really need an answer at all' fashion.
"The rules blow," P'draig says succinctly and after a moment, settles down on the sand near but not quite next to the pair. "But they are there for a reason," the brownrider adds, tone sympathetic. "Some crafters have, from time to time, I think. Otherwise not really, especially not during a Pass. It's too much to manage together. But in the interval ... could well find things a bit different. After all, I'm a rider and a cook," he points out with a smile for Eirlys.
"You too?" Anileas asks of Eirlys, somewhat comforted to hear he's not the only one chafing against restrictions. It's mostly a rhetorical question, though, and he doesn't seem to expect an answer as he lolls back, propping himself up on his elbows and the moment of hurling rocks as far as they'll go past. In protest of the limitations, he challenges P'draig, "What reason?"
Eirlys nods more than once and it's likely best for everyone that she lets Anileas' question remain mostly rhetorical, given her expression. "That mean that you number among the ones willing to look the other way?" She deems that an important enough question to open both eyes for, gaze seeking out P'draig. "And is a Pass going to sneak up on us again?" Could be a question, could just be a snarky remark. She grimaces, nose wrinkling, and rolls her eyes, muttering, "Figures I'd be screwed." Despite that, she does look to be at least half-interested in potentially hearing the reason for those rules.
"I'm not saying I agree with all of them, but one big reason for girls is to avoid getting pregnant. Most of them though, are about self-control and showing that you have what it takes to handle a baby dragon in your head if you impress," P'draig offers up an explanation, knees bending, legs drawing up slightly, feet leaving track in the sand as his arms hook around his knees. "As for another Pass sneaking up on us ... shells I hope not." Wry, that. "Shouldn't anyway."
Although Anileas doesn't openly dispute any of these justifications, his expression suggests that self-control is highly-overrated. "At least a Pass would be more interesting," he interjects, undoubtedly imagining mayhem and action in a more overdramatised fashion with little connection to the reality of a Pass.
"You can fix getting pregnant. And not everything in that area means you wind up with a /chance/ of getting knocked-up," Eirlys replies, following a snort of disbelief. She shakes her head again and draws herself up from the sand, careful not to kick any over Anileas in the process. "I'm going to go drown myself in the pool," she mutters dryly. Hopefully she just means take a really long swim. "Catch you back 'home'," she tells her fellow candidate, dropping a polite enough nod to P'draig as she turns and starts to weave her way across the beach and to her next destination.
"Fixing it ... isn't always easy or pleasant," P'draig says mildly, looking over at Eirlys but he nods as she mentions the pool. "Enjoy he dip," is his farewell to the blonde. "Interesting ... maybe. Exciting ... can be. Exhausting, draining and heart-breaking, definitely," Paddy offers over to Anileas about passes.
Eirlys' mordant humour makes Anileas grin a bit. "See you later," he says as she leaves. As for Threadfall, Anileas shows a reluctance to address it more seriously. "Well I know that," the words drag out. "But I dunno, what do you do if you're not a cook?" he asks, using P'draig's business as a substitute for the larger question of occupation.
"Ride sweeps, provide transportation, keep the flame of rider knowledge alive until there is a Pass. Pass on what you've learned. And explore other things, hobbies and so on, in between taking care of yourself, your dragon and so on," P'draig answers with a little grin.
"Flame of rider knowledge," Anileas picks up and repeats, skeptical. "Sounds boring." He leans back in a stretch before pushing himself up. Restlessness has him in its grasp, and the teen looks farther down the beach with an aim to ramble. "I'm gonna go for a walk," he announces, but lingers long enough to say, "If I spear a fish, you can have it." He heads down the beach a moment later, skirting the edge where the water's lapping.
"Not terribly exciting maybe, no. But still valuable," P'draig answers. "But, it's a reason to find something else to do on top of those duties." The brownrider nods as Anileas' restlessness takes him off. "Have fun. Don't hurt yourself with the spear," he quips in farewell.