Meeting J'ayn and Haiith
Who: J'ayn, Palia | Haiith
When: Day 16, Month 5, Turn 36 of the 10th Interval
Where: Near the Feeding Grounds
What: Palia meets J'ayn and Haiith and may have a new student.
For those accustomed to Fort's winter, the day's weather might be a welcoming sign of the warmer days to come. There are those who have already traded in their thicker coats for lighter fabrics - or no coat at all. J'ayn, however, is not only still sporting a thick winter coat but also mittens, hat, and gloves along with his sturdy (but clearly second-hand) boots. He makes his way across to the Feeding Grounds with his dark brown Haiith ambling so close on his heels that soon enough the lanky brown has stepped /too/ close, concealing his rider between his arms and under the veil of his dark mahogany wings. There's a cry of surprise from J'ayn and Haiith freezes while the blond young man darts out from underneath his legs, stumbling blindly in his heavy boots in his desire to be /out/.
Palia is not, apparently, one of those completely accustomed to Fort's winters, either, though she's not nearly as bundled up as J'ayn. An old rider's jacket, many sizes too large cloaks her frame and a scarf is wound around her neck. Wild curls fly free in the breeze, however, and when one hand slips free of a pocket to sweep some of that hair out of her face, it's ungloved. She walks at a slow pace, not seeming to have any particular direction in mind, perhaps just out for a walk, though the grounds aren't always the most pleasant place for one. The young woman turns at the sound of J'ayn's cry and observes the young pair, clears her throat after a moment and calls out: "You all right over there?"
Something sweeps J'ayn's foot out from underneath him and sends him to the ground. He lands flat on his back and lets out a strained groan. It certainly isn't a comforting answer to Palia's question. Haiith flinches low to the ground, the blue-green of his whirling eyes flecked faintly with yellow of worry and confusion as he watches his rider sprawled out on the half-melted ground.
Cautiously, apparently familiar with young dragon sensitivity, Palia approaches. "Hello there," she directs to Haiith first, adopting a soothing, upbeat tone. "Mind if I give your rider a hand up?" To his rider she offers: "Tricky footing out here," and extends a hand to help him up off the ground.
Whether it is her approach that comforts Haiith or J'ayn's improving condition that sets the young brown at ease, he lowers himself completely down onto the wet ground as his tension fades and those yellow flecks begin to disappear from of the calm colouring of his eyes. J'ayn's indistinguishable sounds of pain become less strained strings of colourful curses. Not that his curses are any of the normal variety. His are more like random words put together as if J'ayn isn't entirely accustomed to swearing at all. "Faranth's rotting wherry's ass," is among the more clearly spoken of the curses. J'ayn looks at the offered hand with a touch of uncertainty. "You don't seem to have any trouble," he remarks, his voice gruff with wounded pride as much as whatever physical injuries he might have endured. They can't be so terrible for he does reach to take her offered help up. "Is there some kind of secret to surviving winter that I don't know about?" Nevermind that it's spring.
Randomly strung cusses earn a low chuckle from Palia. "I'm not sure that rotting wherry ass smells too good," she notes with amusement as J'ayn clasps her hand and she leans back a little to provide counterbalance and leverage to help him. "I've probably had more practice," she notes. "And I'm smaller and lighter. Lower center of gravity." Once he's steady on his feet once more: "Depends on what's most troublesome to you about winter. And I don't know if 'layer your clothes' and 'walk with your weight spread evenly' are secrets?"
J'ayn groans as he gets his feet underneath himself again, this time more cautious of the ground beneath him. He slouches and relinquishes Palia's hand in order to hold his shoulder and his face twists with pain - or perhaps disgust. "Oh, please don't talk about smelling anything," he moans, aiming an apologetic smile up at his rescuer almost as soon as the words are out. "I'm still-" he pauses and his attention briefly swings over to Haiith, "getting used to things." He doesn't look for a knot, just points at Haiith with his mittened hand. "Do you have a-..." Haiith. Or a dragon. Or maybe he's pointing passed Haiith at the herdbeasts mulling just beyond in the pens.
"Riiiight," Palia's expression betrays at least some level of understanding and she casts the weyrling a brief, sympathetic grin. "Shoulder all right?" she queries, still unsure whether or not he's injured. But does she have a dragon ... or a herdbeast? Gray eyes shift from the dark brown dragon to the bovines and back to J'ayn. "Neither. But I'm weyrbred." Perhaps an explanation of her relative level of comfort with both a young dragon and the general surroundings. "From ... well it's a long story. Here and Ista and the Reaches is the short version. Mostly Ista." Breath out. "I'm Palia, senior apprentice harper."
"It'll be fine," J'ayn murmurs with dull tones of embarrassment. All the same, he does angle a flicker of an appreciative smile at her and mumbles, "Thanks." Her jumbled history lends a confused slant to one eyebrow, but at least one part of her explanation makes sense and he smiles more fully. "Palia. Jaymeson." A name for a name, but then, "I mean J'ayn, it's J'ayn. Sorry." He watches at Haiith lifts himself up and abandons them in exchange for hopping the fence of the feeding grounds and anxiously watching the herdbeasts scatter away from him with the sort of awkward inexperience of youth. For now, the dark brown is content to stand and watch, nothing more, and so J'ayn lets his attention shift back to Palia. "How can you be from so many different places? Aren't you just born in one place?" There's a naivety there that speaks of how small J'ayn's world is - or was, until now.
"Well met, J'ayn," Palia replies politely, favoring the dragonrider name over the original, but: "Did you have a nickname for Jaymeson?" the harper asks curiously. Her gaze tracks Haiith up and over the fence and into the grounds. "He's still learning," is more statement than question as she as she shoves her hands into her pockets. "Some people are born and live in one place, some aren't," the harper explains with a little shrug. "My father's a brownrider. He was born and raised at the Reaches, but he was searched for a clutch at Fort and impressed here. He transferred to Ista Weyr when I was little, so even though I was born here, I was raised at Ista. My grandparents and one of my aunts and some of my cousins all still live at the Reaches, so I've spent a lot of time there visiting family. I have family at Telgar Weyr, Harper Hall and Healer Hall too and down south."
His nickname of, "Jay," when he provides it, comes more naturally than his honorific, despite it being just one letter short of his new moniker. Her statement lends the weyrling to swing his gaze down and over to Haiith almost shyly, a sidelong look that he doesn't let linger long before dropping it back down to the ground in front of his feet. "Yeah, well, he's learning faster than I am," he mutters gloomily. "They've got these... lessons or whatever, history, reading stuff, and writing stuff." He frowns and shakes his head. There's a defensiveness as he mumbles more quietly, "I don't see why it's important." Palia's summary of her colourful life lifts his blue eyes up to her, a faintly stunned expression washing away his self-loathing. "So why come here?"
"Jay," Palia echoes and gives a little nod. "My father was Padraig and he went with P'draig when he impressed but almost everyone calls him Paddy," is perhaps explanation for why she asked about nicknames. "/He/ mostly has to learn how to eat, move and fly, and eventually, flame, right?" the harper points out. "Probably a lot easier than history and stuff if you haven't had a lot of that before." She tilts a look up at the sky, then back over at the weyrling, maybe skipping over the lack of importance of book learning for now. "I was assigned here," she explains mildly. "My masters at the craft thought it would be a good place for me to learn some lessons ... though my main duty is helping to teach."
"What does everyone call you?" If J'ayn has a nickname and Palia's father has a nickname, maybe his logic is that she must have one too. There is no verbal admittance on how little or how much education he's received. Instead, there's a dark look that is cast out beyond Haiith to the herdbeasts - a dark look that is swiftly lost to a wry sound of amusement. His blue eyes slide over to give her a sidelong look. "You're joking." It's a question, not a statement. "Are you any good at it?"
"Just Palia," is the perhaps unexpected reply. "My younger brothers and sisters sometimes called me 'Lia' or 'Leelee' when they were little and still trying to learn my name, but not after they got bigger." He may be amused but Palia is quite serious: "Nope. Not joking. I help to teach the kids their harper lessons, do some records work. I play and sing sometimes, of course, mostly play, for dancing and what not. Otherwise, I'm a teacher and a researcher." His last earns a bright laugh, though. "Depends on who you ask and when, doesn't it? I'd like to think that since most of my students stay awake for their lessons, that means something about my skills as a teacher, at least."
Remaining focused on Palia becomes more challenging for J'ayn as Haiith begins to twitch as though he might dart off suddenly inside the pens. J'ayn's attention is sharply tugged towards his lifemate with each flinch the brown makes, a nervous sort of excited energy building up in the way he holds himself. He tries to smother it, forcing his eyes back to Palia each time they dart off to Haiith. Perhaps it's this distracted, nervous state of mind that drives J'ayn to rather bluntly blurt out, "You should teach me then." He frowns and shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly shut. "I'm sorry. I should really go." But without waiting for a reply, he's already walking away, steps purposeful towards the fence.
Palia's gaze remains steady through that nervy build-up. She opens her mouth to offer an answer to that blunt statement, just as the weyrling turns and walks away. "I don't mind if he needs to eat," the harper says instead of whatever she was going to say and starts to tag along after. "Unless you'd rather not have company." Pause.
Haiith becomes more restless, his nervous energy uncertain but determined, even if he can't seem to understand what he needs to do. J'ayn looks back over his shoulder, an apologetic line to his lips. "Not that I don't like you or nothing, Palia," he begins to explain and then seems to be at a loss for the right words. "Maybe next time? You know, assuming we ever figure out how to /catch/ one of these things?"
"Off you go then," Palia answers with a little quirky grin. "I know where to find you to ask you about some extra lessons, hmm?" One hand lifts to wave as the weyrling heads off and she angles her steps in another direction, heading off in the general direction of the bowl falls.
J'ayn gives her one last smile before he turns to the fenceline, hanging himself over the boards to watch as Haiith bolts awkwardly away and into the herd of beasts, their panicked bawling carrying on while J'ayn helplessly yells instructions from the sidelines. If they eventually go retire back to the Barracks exhausted and unsuccessful, there is always tomorrow.
When: Day 16, Month 5, Turn 36 of the 10th Interval
Where: Near the Feeding Grounds
What: Palia meets J'ayn and Haiith and may have a new student.
For those accustomed to Fort's winter, the day's weather might be a welcoming sign of the warmer days to come. There are those who have already traded in their thicker coats for lighter fabrics - or no coat at all. J'ayn, however, is not only still sporting a thick winter coat but also mittens, hat, and gloves along with his sturdy (but clearly second-hand) boots. He makes his way across to the Feeding Grounds with his dark brown Haiith ambling so close on his heels that soon enough the lanky brown has stepped /too/ close, concealing his rider between his arms and under the veil of his dark mahogany wings. There's a cry of surprise from J'ayn and Haiith freezes while the blond young man darts out from underneath his legs, stumbling blindly in his heavy boots in his desire to be /out/.
Palia is not, apparently, one of those completely accustomed to Fort's winters, either, though she's not nearly as bundled up as J'ayn. An old rider's jacket, many sizes too large cloaks her frame and a scarf is wound around her neck. Wild curls fly free in the breeze, however, and when one hand slips free of a pocket to sweep some of that hair out of her face, it's ungloved. She walks at a slow pace, not seeming to have any particular direction in mind, perhaps just out for a walk, though the grounds aren't always the most pleasant place for one. The young woman turns at the sound of J'ayn's cry and observes the young pair, clears her throat after a moment and calls out: "You all right over there?"
Something sweeps J'ayn's foot out from underneath him and sends him to the ground. He lands flat on his back and lets out a strained groan. It certainly isn't a comforting answer to Palia's question. Haiith flinches low to the ground, the blue-green of his whirling eyes flecked faintly with yellow of worry and confusion as he watches his rider sprawled out on the half-melted ground.
Cautiously, apparently familiar with young dragon sensitivity, Palia approaches. "Hello there," she directs to Haiith first, adopting a soothing, upbeat tone. "Mind if I give your rider a hand up?" To his rider she offers: "Tricky footing out here," and extends a hand to help him up off the ground.
Whether it is her approach that comforts Haiith or J'ayn's improving condition that sets the young brown at ease, he lowers himself completely down onto the wet ground as his tension fades and those yellow flecks begin to disappear from of the calm colouring of his eyes. J'ayn's indistinguishable sounds of pain become less strained strings of colourful curses. Not that his curses are any of the normal variety. His are more like random words put together as if J'ayn isn't entirely accustomed to swearing at all. "Faranth's rotting wherry's ass," is among the more clearly spoken of the curses. J'ayn looks at the offered hand with a touch of uncertainty. "You don't seem to have any trouble," he remarks, his voice gruff with wounded pride as much as whatever physical injuries he might have endured. They can't be so terrible for he does reach to take her offered help up. "Is there some kind of secret to surviving winter that I don't know about?" Nevermind that it's spring.
Randomly strung cusses earn a low chuckle from Palia. "I'm not sure that rotting wherry ass smells too good," she notes with amusement as J'ayn clasps her hand and she leans back a little to provide counterbalance and leverage to help him. "I've probably had more practice," she notes. "And I'm smaller and lighter. Lower center of gravity." Once he's steady on his feet once more: "Depends on what's most troublesome to you about winter. And I don't know if 'layer your clothes' and 'walk with your weight spread evenly' are secrets?"
J'ayn groans as he gets his feet underneath himself again, this time more cautious of the ground beneath him. He slouches and relinquishes Palia's hand in order to hold his shoulder and his face twists with pain - or perhaps disgust. "Oh, please don't talk about smelling anything," he moans, aiming an apologetic smile up at his rescuer almost as soon as the words are out. "I'm still-" he pauses and his attention briefly swings over to Haiith, "getting used to things." He doesn't look for a knot, just points at Haiith with his mittened hand. "Do you have a-..." Haiith. Or a dragon. Or maybe he's pointing passed Haiith at the herdbeasts mulling just beyond in the pens.
"Riiiight," Palia's expression betrays at least some level of understanding and she casts the weyrling a brief, sympathetic grin. "Shoulder all right?" she queries, still unsure whether or not he's injured. But does she have a dragon ... or a herdbeast? Gray eyes shift from the dark brown dragon to the bovines and back to J'ayn. "Neither. But I'm weyrbred." Perhaps an explanation of her relative level of comfort with both a young dragon and the general surroundings. "From ... well it's a long story. Here and Ista and the Reaches is the short version. Mostly Ista." Breath out. "I'm Palia, senior apprentice harper."
"It'll be fine," J'ayn murmurs with dull tones of embarrassment. All the same, he does angle a flicker of an appreciative smile at her and mumbles, "Thanks." Her jumbled history lends a confused slant to one eyebrow, but at least one part of her explanation makes sense and he smiles more fully. "Palia. Jaymeson." A name for a name, but then, "I mean J'ayn, it's J'ayn. Sorry." He watches at Haiith lifts himself up and abandons them in exchange for hopping the fence of the feeding grounds and anxiously watching the herdbeasts scatter away from him with the sort of awkward inexperience of youth. For now, the dark brown is content to stand and watch, nothing more, and so J'ayn lets his attention shift back to Palia. "How can you be from so many different places? Aren't you just born in one place?" There's a naivety there that speaks of how small J'ayn's world is - or was, until now.
"Well met, J'ayn," Palia replies politely, favoring the dragonrider name over the original, but: "Did you have a nickname for Jaymeson?" the harper asks curiously. Her gaze tracks Haiith up and over the fence and into the grounds. "He's still learning," is more statement than question as she as she shoves her hands into her pockets. "Some people are born and live in one place, some aren't," the harper explains with a little shrug. "My father's a brownrider. He was born and raised at the Reaches, but he was searched for a clutch at Fort and impressed here. He transferred to Ista Weyr when I was little, so even though I was born here, I was raised at Ista. My grandparents and one of my aunts and some of my cousins all still live at the Reaches, so I've spent a lot of time there visiting family. I have family at Telgar Weyr, Harper Hall and Healer Hall too and down south."
His nickname of, "Jay," when he provides it, comes more naturally than his honorific, despite it being just one letter short of his new moniker. Her statement lends the weyrling to swing his gaze down and over to Haiith almost shyly, a sidelong look that he doesn't let linger long before dropping it back down to the ground in front of his feet. "Yeah, well, he's learning faster than I am," he mutters gloomily. "They've got these... lessons or whatever, history, reading stuff, and writing stuff." He frowns and shakes his head. There's a defensiveness as he mumbles more quietly, "I don't see why it's important." Palia's summary of her colourful life lifts his blue eyes up to her, a faintly stunned expression washing away his self-loathing. "So why come here?"
"Jay," Palia echoes and gives a little nod. "My father was Padraig and he went with P'draig when he impressed but almost everyone calls him Paddy," is perhaps explanation for why she asked about nicknames. "/He/ mostly has to learn how to eat, move and fly, and eventually, flame, right?" the harper points out. "Probably a lot easier than history and stuff if you haven't had a lot of that before." She tilts a look up at the sky, then back over at the weyrling, maybe skipping over the lack of importance of book learning for now. "I was assigned here," she explains mildly. "My masters at the craft thought it would be a good place for me to learn some lessons ... though my main duty is helping to teach."
"What does everyone call you?" If J'ayn has a nickname and Palia's father has a nickname, maybe his logic is that she must have one too. There is no verbal admittance on how little or how much education he's received. Instead, there's a dark look that is cast out beyond Haiith to the herdbeasts - a dark look that is swiftly lost to a wry sound of amusement. His blue eyes slide over to give her a sidelong look. "You're joking." It's a question, not a statement. "Are you any good at it?"
"Just Palia," is the perhaps unexpected reply. "My younger brothers and sisters sometimes called me 'Lia' or 'Leelee' when they were little and still trying to learn my name, but not after they got bigger." He may be amused but Palia is quite serious: "Nope. Not joking. I help to teach the kids their harper lessons, do some records work. I play and sing sometimes, of course, mostly play, for dancing and what not. Otherwise, I'm a teacher and a researcher." His last earns a bright laugh, though. "Depends on who you ask and when, doesn't it? I'd like to think that since most of my students stay awake for their lessons, that means something about my skills as a teacher, at least."
Remaining focused on Palia becomes more challenging for J'ayn as Haiith begins to twitch as though he might dart off suddenly inside the pens. J'ayn's attention is sharply tugged towards his lifemate with each flinch the brown makes, a nervous sort of excited energy building up in the way he holds himself. He tries to smother it, forcing his eyes back to Palia each time they dart off to Haiith. Perhaps it's this distracted, nervous state of mind that drives J'ayn to rather bluntly blurt out, "You should teach me then." He frowns and shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly shut. "I'm sorry. I should really go." But without waiting for a reply, he's already walking away, steps purposeful towards the fence.
Palia's gaze remains steady through that nervy build-up. She opens her mouth to offer an answer to that blunt statement, just as the weyrling turns and walks away. "I don't mind if he needs to eat," the harper says instead of whatever she was going to say and starts to tag along after. "Unless you'd rather not have company." Pause.
Haiith becomes more restless, his nervous energy uncertain but determined, even if he can't seem to understand what he needs to do. J'ayn looks back over his shoulder, an apologetic line to his lips. "Not that I don't like you or nothing, Palia," he begins to explain and then seems to be at a loss for the right words. "Maybe next time? You know, assuming we ever figure out how to /catch/ one of these things?"
"Off you go then," Palia answers with a little quirky grin. "I know where to find you to ask you about some extra lessons, hmm?" One hand lifts to wave as the weyrling heads off and she angles her steps in another direction, heading off in the general direction of the bowl falls.
J'ayn gives her one last smile before he turns to the fenceline, hanging himself over the boards to watch as Haiith bolts awkwardly away and into the herd of beasts, their panicked bawling carrying on while J'ayn helplessly yells instructions from the sidelines. If they eventually go retire back to the Barracks exhausted and unsuccessful, there is always tomorrow.