Log: News, Fatigue and Fur
Who: Acadia, P'draig, T'rien, V'delin
When: : 17:48 on day 31, month 9, Turn 13, of the 10th Interval.
Where: Living Cavern, Fort Weyr
What: Acadia pumps P'draig for all the latest news. T'rien, V'delin and Paddy have a somewhat more serious conversation about the current state of things and the relative drawbacks and benefits of the weather at the different places they're from/have lived in.
Dinnertime brings most of the Weyr into the living cavern for a meal and tonight is no exception, the Weyrlingmaster amongst the diners, seated near some others from T'rien's wing and digging into a very full plate of food. "So then O'thal went up just as I was coming down and hoo boy, close call, but we managed not to collide."
Acadia walks in from the bowl, stripping off her jacket, helmet and gloves as she goes. They're deposited on a table so she can get some food and a very large mug of mulled wine. Once her hands are full she looks around and sees her former boss telling a story. She waits for a pause and says, "Hi, P'draig! Mind if I join you?"
"Moral of the story, always ask first!" P'draig concludes his tale and digs into the pile of mashed tubers on his plate such that his mouth is full when Acadia arrives. He looks up, eyes a little wide. "Mmmf, peeef, hff a stt." Which translates to: "Yes, please, have a seat."
Acadia sits down and takes a large gulp of wine. She sighs happily and then switches to food. Between bites she asks, "So what have you been up to lately, P'draig? And do you have any good gossip? I've been gone so much I'm completely out of touch these days."
"Flying drills with T'rien's wing, taking care of Illya, hanging out with T'rien. Y'know. The usual." P'draig's mouth is now clear enough to speak without impediment and he smiles warmly at Acadia. "Uh ... gossip? No? Not really my thing. Unless you count my news as gossip."
Acadia drinks some more wine before asking, "What news? You didn't get to be Weyrleader while I was out doing all those research visits for M'yr did you?"
"Ah no." P'draig quirks a look over at Acadia. "Illya's expecting. From Azath's last flight. Jekzith caught." The grin that crosses Paddy's face is of the goofy-happy type. "About five months along now. Didn't notice she was flying in the Queen's Wing?"
Acadia smiles and says, "Congratulations! I'm afraid that I didn't notice because I haven't been here. M'yr's had me visiting every Weyr and Hold he can think of to see what plans they have to fight Threadfall in the dark. No sooner do I get home than he sends me out again. It's at the point that I have to remind Inneth where we actually live." She chuckles briefly and drinks more wine with gusto. "So, are you hoping for a boy or a girl?"
"That busy huh?" P'draig's face creases with sympathy, then he smiles again. "Thanks. Don't have a preference actually. Just hoping for an easy birth and a healthy baby."
Acadia finishes off her food and pushes the plate aside so she can lean on the edge with one elbow. "So how's Illya handling being pregnant? Is she as happy as you are about it?"
Still working through his meal, P'draig takes a few bites before answering Acadia's questions. "So far okay. She was pretty sick at first though. S'why I've been trying to take care of her as much as I can. Seems to be getting better though." He hesitates for a moment then lifts his shoulders. "I think that's something you're better off asking her yourself. I don't want to answer for her."
Acadia asks, "Are the two of you going to Weyrmate now?" She's a regular nosy nellie tonight, isn't she?
P'draig nearly chokes on his last bite of food and starts coughing, thunking his chest with his fist. He reaches for his glass of water and knocks it back. "That's ... a little uh ... well that's a leap. So, no."
Acadia looks curiously at the other rider. "Not so much a leap now that you'll be parents together. It's something to think about." Seed planted, she's willing to step back and let is sit for a while. "So...any other news or gossip to pass on? Or warnings?"
P'draig snorts softly. "Acadia, half the riders in this Weyr have flight babies and most of 'em don't hook up permanently over it. Besides, I'm not in a hurry to go there again. It's not the kind of thing you just jump into over a kid. Even when you love someone with everything that you are, sometimes it still doesn't work out and then you're left holding onto absolutely nothing at all." His eyes drop to his plate with a frown. "Of course I've /thought/ about it, but you gotta actually have the feelings y'know. Otherwise it's an empty thing." He shrugs and shakes his head. "I don't gossip, Acadia. You're best off asking one of the assistant headwomen for that kind of stuff. Mostly, everyone's tired and stressed out from having to jump every five seconds to go fight Thread and even more uneasy since the whole Fall over Crom madness happened."
Acadia sits still and then nods slowly. "I'm sorry to have brought up bad memories. I didn't mean to do that. I think I'll go to the infirmary and see if they can remove my foot from my mouth before it gets any deeper."
P'draig grins over at the greenrider. "Don't need to do that 'Cadia. But seriously, weyrmating over a flight baby? Doesn't make much sense, does it?" He sweeps a bit of bread across his plate to pull up the gravy left there. "At any rate, mood around here's pretty tense if that's what you're fishing for. Just ask T'rien any day. And ... well ... Ciath's about due."
T'rien comes in from the bowl.
Acadia freezes in place and says, "Ciath's due? Oh boy, that means Candidates and eggs. I need to go check the stores and make sure we have plenty of extra clothes and linens for the out-weyr people. See you later, and congratulations again!" She puts her dirty dishes in the bin and heads for the inner caverns.
T'rien wanders in from the bowl, whistling tunelessly under his breath on his way through the living cavern.
"Not imminently, but well ... do the math." P'draig waves Acadia out. "Clear skies, 'Cadia." Just in time for T'rien to come whistling in and he lifts his hand again to attract the wingleader's attention. Most of the others in Skysentry have drifted off, though a pair playing cards on the end of the table, linger. Paddy's got an empty plate in front of him, the remains of dinner likely, and a mug of something to drink ready at hand.
T'rien alters his path toward P'draig's table and slips into a chair next to his friend. He twitches a smile. "Evening," he greets, slouching back in his chair. "Sorry...didn't mean to scare Acadia off."
"You didn't. I did. She brought up weyrmating with Illya," P'draig offers by way of explanation and tilts his mug up to his lips. "How're you holding together this evening?"
T'rien makes a face. "Oh, I'm fine. Just got finished getting my weyr ready for the season change. You know - braziers, more furs...that sort of thing."
"Good. Yeah, need to do that myself. Not the braziers so much, but ask about getting the bedding swapped. Pull Mum's quilts out of storage." P'draig leans back in his chair, sitting at one end of the table often occupied by Skysentry, T'rien sitting beside him.
V'delin gives a greeting as he arrives from the inner caverns, a length of leather over one arm with tell-tale notches indicating shoes or straps coming soon. He's rather pleased with it and chats at some of the lingering wingriders, removing his heavier coat and sliding into a seat, only afterward realizing who else is there and managing a nod for P'draig and T'rien.
T'rien pulls his jacket around him, as if talk of winter is giving him a chill. "My mom sent me a knitted blanket last season. Shardin' thing is warmer than a fur, I swear. It's hard to crawl out of bed somedays, with that around my ears." He hunches his shoulders until they pop audibly. "How's Illya doing, anyway?"
P'draig nods over V'delin's way with a polite smile and looks back up at T'rien. "Did she? That must be nice. I lie my mum's quilts. Still smell a little like home, even after being stored with wood chips and everything. I'm always glad I was raised at the Reaches though. Makes the winter here seem tame by comparison." He draws his mug to him and knocks back a swallow of the contents. "Better. Not as sick as she was. I guess I was starting to get a little worried."
T'rien's shoulder-pop makes V'delin wince, then stretch his own much less tense shoulders anyway. Ven finishes a few words with another Skysentry rider about the quality and method of obtaining the leather, then commences eavesdropping. "Not a bad idea to winterize already - could use another fur myself," he agrees. The state of pregnant women, however, causes his silence.
T'rien hmmms, scratching his cheek. He looks up, nodding in response to V'delin's comment. "The winters here are tame? Shards, remind me to stay out of the Reaches until Spring."
All that stretching and popping is making P'draig's shoulders twitch, but he only stretches his arms above his head briefly and drops them back down onto the the table. "Whatcha working on there, V'delin?" he nods towards the leathers. "And yeah, fur's nice. Cozy." He laughs a little for T'rien's remark. "Yeah. The Reaches and Telgar both. Brutal in the winter."
V'delin laughs at T'rien's comment, concurring. He folds up the leather, placing it on the table. "New boots. Just about worn these through, and with winter setting in, bad time to have my toes peeking out." He leans his chin against his palm, thoughtful. "Either of you know a good place to get fur lining? I'd like to make this pair more weatherproof."
T'rien purses his lips. "Tannercraft, maybe?" he suggests. "That's not a half crazy idea - fur-lining, that is. I should put fur in my riding leathers. Shards, I should line my underwear with fur. I swear I don't start thawing out until spring once the snows start."
"Oooh yeah. Bad time to be in need of boots. Too easy by far to get frostbite, even down here." P'draig considers for a moment. "Couple of trading trains specialize in that, don't they? Could ask Rolan. Or pop down to the Weavercraft too. Though you'll pay Weavercraft prices there of course." Sympathetic, P'draig gives T'rien's shoulder a pat. "Still got Igen-thin blood, Tri?"
"Yeah, been to both," V'delin replies with a trace of bitterness. "I was hoping I could get some without having to go back. Tried to apprentice for years. Obviously, I failed." His expression changes to 'thanks for reminding me,' then he laughs - the idea of fur underwear is too much not to bring a chuckle. "Traders, right. Wouldn't mind the extra expense that-a-way. T'rien, you just haven't adjusted to the cold, have you? Try putting hearth rocks in your covers before bed; they do wonders for warmth."
T'rien snorts. "Always, though I'm much better than I used to be. I've learned to dress for here, for one thing." He nods to V'delin again. "And I discovered the joy of warming pans during my first winter here. Things got much better after that."
"Traders'll bargain at least and then you don't have to go back. Sebring are usually honest enough." P'draig chuckles again. "Mm. Warming up the covers ahead of time is always a good idea. It's funny, I had the opposite problem at Ista. Too sharding hot."
"That'll help, the pans and the fur. Didn't really think about it, but I guess you wouldn't know about them if you hadn't grown up with them." V'delin's hand rests on the leather as though its presence were comforting. "I'll take a wander by their camp or listen for word of a trader train passing through; it'd be perfect timing." He smirks, "Not like you can put ice in your bed to cool it, either. I'd rather the cold than being too hot."
"Ista is too wet for my tastes. Igen is a dry heat. And the nights can get pretty shardin' cold. Just not frigid like they do here. And there was never a wind chill." T'rien shudders. "I really hate that."
"I'm with V'delin on that one. Rather be cold and piling on the blankets, than sweating out every pore even buck naked in the shade." P'draig shudders a little, likely at a memory of that very muggy time at Ista. "Yeah, the wetness it's oppressive. If you're down by the water, it's beautiful. Ista that is. But I think I could handle the dry type of hot weather better too, Tri. It doesn't sit on your chest like the humidity does."
"I only mind the chill on the wind when we're up in the air. Ought to work on better fur lining for my gloves, too, and see if that helps me fumble less firestone midair." Ven smiles apologetically at his admission. "Great for swimming, over at Ista, but the salt makes my skin crack if I come right back to our cold after. I prefer our lake for that, and no stifling humidity."
T'rien raises an eyebrow and smiles slightly at P'draig. "You've obviously never been out in Igen's bowl at high noon in the middle of summer. Its kinda like walking into an open oven. The sun is so strong you can't go unprotected or you'll blister your skin. We did most of our activities in the early morning or late evening, after the sun had gone down."
"I admit, I love our lake more than just about every body of water out there, though I still enjoy heading up to Tillek to sail, or have a dip that way." P'draig squints a little and shakes his head. "If I have, I was too little to remember. I haven't gone over there to visit my grandfather as much as I visited my grandmother at Ista when she was there, or at Telgar since the last little while." He makes big eyes at T'rien. "That's sharding hot. Like being on duty for a full shift in the kitchens."
V'delin's lips purse as he considers T'rien's explanation. "That sounds miserable. I can't imagine drilling in that, where you're up with no shelter from the sun but helmet and leathers." He leans back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. "Remind me not to complain about drilling in our sun. And that's rhetorical, not literal." His features soften, thinking about pleasant pasttimes. "Sailing. Or a nice campout at Shipfish. We allowed to leave like that, for overnights?" he questions his Wingleader.
T'rien grins. "Fortunately, I never had to drill in it. My parent's complained about it on a regular basis. You get used to it, though." He nods in response to V'delin's question. "So long as you cover your duties you can do whatever you want."
"Oh yes. Shipfish. Best place to take a break on Pern in my opinion." P'draig flashes a quick grin and nods, interested in T'rien's account of drilling at Igen. "And that there is why this man is the best Wingleader at Fort," he drawls, eyes a-twinkle with the teasing for Tri.
"Your parents are riders there?" Ven considers, "I must've known that." He stretches his legs out as well, resting them against another chair down the way, one brow raising for P'draig's comment. "He's a little young yet to call the best, but he's less bad than he used to be." He winks and asks, "I mean, we don't need to stay close, on call, just in case? I'd hate to be out on some warm sandy beach if an emergency came in."
T'rien snorts once again, but smiles all the same. "I don't hear anyone calling me that when I had out the duty rosters," he complains good-naturedly. His expression moderates somewhat as he responds to V'delin again. "You should be ready to jump into action, if something unexpected happens, yes. We all should. It's an unfortunate consequence of being a rider during an unexpected Pass."
"Hey, as his best friend, it is my solemn duty, to talk the man up." P'draig winks over at V'delin and leans back in his chair, long legs extending beneath it, crossed at the ankles, the brownriders arms folding backwards so his head is cradled in his interlaced fingers. "As long as you've got your firestone, straps and gear with you, I don't suppose it's any different to jump back Between from anywhere around Pern. A little more rattling maybe but ..." Paddy shrugs. "I'd be more worried about jumping out of Between into a random clump of Thread. I think about it every time I go somewhere these days."
"Few people are dumb enough to want your job, that might be why. Or to irk you while you're generating those rosters." Ven leans to the side, inspecting his raised feet and frowning at the worn shoes. "So, take my leathers with me if I go? Carry a bag of firestone? Not much relaxing done with Imirath complaining, but better than none." He snorts, looking like he'd spit if they were outdoors, the expression fading into a gulping swallow at P'draig's concerns. "Hadn't thought about that. Now I'll think about it, too."
T'rien makes a face at P'draig. "Yeah, now I'll be thinking about it, as well." He reaches up to rub his face. "I need more sleep. These night drills are going to be the death of me."
"Everybody's supposed to be traveling with a bag anyway. Weyrleader's orders, right Tri?" Paddy frowns a little, likely trying to remember what all the different orders are. "Mmph. You and me both Tri." He nods soberly at Ven. "Yeah. Almost rather fly long. At least that way you see it coming."
"We have been, but Imirath dislikes it." Imirath's displeasure is quickly dismissed with a shrug. "Any chance of a respite?" V'delin fruitlessly asks, ahhing as one of the kitchen assistants stokes a nearby hearth, warming the Skysentry table. "Wouldn't want to meet the leading edge alone, but least-a-ways there'd be a warning. Tougher being a sweep or watchrider now than before.
T'rien gets to his feet, patting the outside of his riding jacket. "I can't remember all of M'yr's orders. I've got them written down someplace, in case there's a quiz." He rolls his eyes as he stretches. "If you'll both excuse me, I think I'll go get a little sleep before our next romp under the moons. See you both later."
"Me neither," P'draig confesses with a slight hint of embarrassment in his face. "But yeah. I keep Jekzith stocked every time I go out Ven. Only makes sense." He flips a casual salute up at T'rien. "Sleep while you can, my friend. See you under the moons." His gaze drifts back to his de facto wingmate. "It's all tougher. All of it. Surprised no one's dropped from sheer exhaustion and being on edge all the time."
"Guess that's a no on the respite. G'nap," V'delin counters, an alternative for good night when they've soon got to be up for drills in the dark. "And with him, you never know. There actually could be one." Ven rubs his eyes, tries to stifle a yawn. "No one has? That is a surprise. It's only a matter of time. Could be the only way to get a decent night's sleep," he half-jests.
"Actually, it's possible someone could've and I missed it while I was at Ista, or just didn't hear. Every Fall there's some sort of injury. Always something to think about too. Distracting." P'draig looks into the dregs of his klah and sighs softly then chuckles half-heartedly for the 'jest'. "There you go. Get in good while the getting's good?"
"I know, about the injuries. Naturally, we all wish there were fewer." Ven adjusts around in the seat, plainly somewhat nervous. "I'm not the most experienced when it comes to fighting Thread, and hadn't even impressed when it was falling before. I feel like I'm still getting my feet wet. Don't know how he manages when he's a newer rider yet. Don't envy it, that's for sure." He pokes at his boot, testing just how worn the leather is. "You going to keep flying with us once there are weyrlings, you think?"
"Mm. And the deaths." That's said even more quietly, P'draig's shoulders rolling forward, elbows resting on the table once more. He sets the mug down with a thunk and shoves it and his plate away, fingers tapping moodily on the table. "Do you? After all this? Shells Ven. Don't tell me you want to be busted back down to Weyrling for more training?" Half-hearted teasing there and then he waggles his hand back and forth. "Probably. Not as much though. I can't be up in those dark-time drills if I'm making the Weyrlings hop-to in drills at the crack of whatever."
"I'd rather not think about those," V'delin answers, equally quietly. "Hard not to, but that kind of thing gets me down." He sits up, laughing. "Noo, I can pass on that. Not even Tir's threatened me with retraining, and he went it with me so he knows my shortcomings - like fumbling sacks of stone when my fingers are cold." He rolls his eyes, sombering. "Though things were...seemed safer, then." Disliking the vulnerability, he seizes the other subject. "Very true. They'll probably not be exempt from the edict, though, so you might be up anyway."
"I try not to dwell at least. Brinley was the hardest. The first. Here at Fort anyway. She was so young. Felt responsible somehow." P'draig's fingers drum a bit faster on the table then he chuckles along with V'delin. "Yeah, not many'd want that. Because I'm /such/ a hard taskmaster." He nods a few times for the other's assessment. "Mm. Not at first though. Those first months it's too much to ask of them. It's about all anyone can handle to just get used to all the crap all over the Barracks and figuring out how to tell your thoughts apart from your dragon's."
V'delin seems to belatedly realize that his vehemence might be an insult to the Weyrlingmaster, and he chuckles, shaking his head. "Not because of you, but the closeness of quarters, the constant struggle you had to go with Sal'ros, or getting Imirath to lay off of his clutchmates - I don't miss those things." He smirks again, fingers the leather as though it were comforting. "Quite literally in that respect. And to get some obedience, or even cooperation, at least when it counts."
"Can't say as I miss any of those things either. Shells, I still go at it with Sal'ros every couple of weeks as it is. Never thought I was getting into a lifetime of that when his dragon shelled." P'draig grins wryly over at the bronzerider. "Mm. Can't really send them up without being able to jump Between either. Moreso now than ever. I'll be teaching them sweeprider tactics sooner though. As soon as they start flying long. It's a different game up there with Thread the way it is."
"I'm relieved it isn't Imirath who gave you all the trouble," Ven chuckles, resting his elbows on the table. "True enough. Particularly with the erratic nature of these falls. It could at least play by the rules," V'delin grumbles. "Not that I mind a challenge, but we could be allowed to acclimatize to the stuff falling again before it switches things up on us and deals from the bottom."
"It'd be nice if the rules applied. Guess it's because it's not a proper Pass though. So ... all bets off." P'draig rests both palms on the table and stands, collecting his dirty dishes. "A break ... would be good." He nods once V'delin's way. "At any rate, I'm off to check on Illya before I turn in. Have a good rest if you can V'delin and good luck with the fur."
When: : 17:48 on day 31, month 9, Turn 13, of the 10th Interval.
Where: Living Cavern, Fort Weyr
What: Acadia pumps P'draig for all the latest news. T'rien, V'delin and Paddy have a somewhat more serious conversation about the current state of things and the relative drawbacks and benefits of the weather at the different places they're from/have lived in.
Dinnertime brings most of the Weyr into the living cavern for a meal and tonight is no exception, the Weyrlingmaster amongst the diners, seated near some others from T'rien's wing and digging into a very full plate of food. "So then O'thal went up just as I was coming down and hoo boy, close call, but we managed not to collide."
Acadia walks in from the bowl, stripping off her jacket, helmet and gloves as she goes. They're deposited on a table so she can get some food and a very large mug of mulled wine. Once her hands are full she looks around and sees her former boss telling a story. She waits for a pause and says, "Hi, P'draig! Mind if I join you?"
"Moral of the story, always ask first!" P'draig concludes his tale and digs into the pile of mashed tubers on his plate such that his mouth is full when Acadia arrives. He looks up, eyes a little wide. "Mmmf, peeef, hff a stt." Which translates to: "Yes, please, have a seat."
Acadia sits down and takes a large gulp of wine. She sighs happily and then switches to food. Between bites she asks, "So what have you been up to lately, P'draig? And do you have any good gossip? I've been gone so much I'm completely out of touch these days."
"Flying drills with T'rien's wing, taking care of Illya, hanging out with T'rien. Y'know. The usual." P'draig's mouth is now clear enough to speak without impediment and he smiles warmly at Acadia. "Uh ... gossip? No? Not really my thing. Unless you count my news as gossip."
Acadia drinks some more wine before asking, "What news? You didn't get to be Weyrleader while I was out doing all those research visits for M'yr did you?"
"Ah no." P'draig quirks a look over at Acadia. "Illya's expecting. From Azath's last flight. Jekzith caught." The grin that crosses Paddy's face is of the goofy-happy type. "About five months along now. Didn't notice she was flying in the Queen's Wing?"
Acadia smiles and says, "Congratulations! I'm afraid that I didn't notice because I haven't been here. M'yr's had me visiting every Weyr and Hold he can think of to see what plans they have to fight Threadfall in the dark. No sooner do I get home than he sends me out again. It's at the point that I have to remind Inneth where we actually live." She chuckles briefly and drinks more wine with gusto. "So, are you hoping for a boy or a girl?"
"That busy huh?" P'draig's face creases with sympathy, then he smiles again. "Thanks. Don't have a preference actually. Just hoping for an easy birth and a healthy baby."
Acadia finishes off her food and pushes the plate aside so she can lean on the edge with one elbow. "So how's Illya handling being pregnant? Is she as happy as you are about it?"
Still working through his meal, P'draig takes a few bites before answering Acadia's questions. "So far okay. She was pretty sick at first though. S'why I've been trying to take care of her as much as I can. Seems to be getting better though." He hesitates for a moment then lifts his shoulders. "I think that's something you're better off asking her yourself. I don't want to answer for her."
Acadia asks, "Are the two of you going to Weyrmate now?" She's a regular nosy nellie tonight, isn't she?
P'draig nearly chokes on his last bite of food and starts coughing, thunking his chest with his fist. He reaches for his glass of water and knocks it back. "That's ... a little uh ... well that's a leap. So, no."
Acadia looks curiously at the other rider. "Not so much a leap now that you'll be parents together. It's something to think about." Seed planted, she's willing to step back and let is sit for a while. "So...any other news or gossip to pass on? Or warnings?"
P'draig snorts softly. "Acadia, half the riders in this Weyr have flight babies and most of 'em don't hook up permanently over it. Besides, I'm not in a hurry to go there again. It's not the kind of thing you just jump into over a kid. Even when you love someone with everything that you are, sometimes it still doesn't work out and then you're left holding onto absolutely nothing at all." His eyes drop to his plate with a frown. "Of course I've /thought/ about it, but you gotta actually have the feelings y'know. Otherwise it's an empty thing." He shrugs and shakes his head. "I don't gossip, Acadia. You're best off asking one of the assistant headwomen for that kind of stuff. Mostly, everyone's tired and stressed out from having to jump every five seconds to go fight Thread and even more uneasy since the whole Fall over Crom madness happened."
Acadia sits still and then nods slowly. "I'm sorry to have brought up bad memories. I didn't mean to do that. I think I'll go to the infirmary and see if they can remove my foot from my mouth before it gets any deeper."
P'draig grins over at the greenrider. "Don't need to do that 'Cadia. But seriously, weyrmating over a flight baby? Doesn't make much sense, does it?" He sweeps a bit of bread across his plate to pull up the gravy left there. "At any rate, mood around here's pretty tense if that's what you're fishing for. Just ask T'rien any day. And ... well ... Ciath's about due."
T'rien comes in from the bowl.
Acadia freezes in place and says, "Ciath's due? Oh boy, that means Candidates and eggs. I need to go check the stores and make sure we have plenty of extra clothes and linens for the out-weyr people. See you later, and congratulations again!" She puts her dirty dishes in the bin and heads for the inner caverns.
T'rien wanders in from the bowl, whistling tunelessly under his breath on his way through the living cavern.
"Not imminently, but well ... do the math." P'draig waves Acadia out. "Clear skies, 'Cadia." Just in time for T'rien to come whistling in and he lifts his hand again to attract the wingleader's attention. Most of the others in Skysentry have drifted off, though a pair playing cards on the end of the table, linger. Paddy's got an empty plate in front of him, the remains of dinner likely, and a mug of something to drink ready at hand.
T'rien alters his path toward P'draig's table and slips into a chair next to his friend. He twitches a smile. "Evening," he greets, slouching back in his chair. "Sorry...didn't mean to scare Acadia off."
"You didn't. I did. She brought up weyrmating with Illya," P'draig offers by way of explanation and tilts his mug up to his lips. "How're you holding together this evening?"
T'rien makes a face. "Oh, I'm fine. Just got finished getting my weyr ready for the season change. You know - braziers, more furs...that sort of thing."
"Good. Yeah, need to do that myself. Not the braziers so much, but ask about getting the bedding swapped. Pull Mum's quilts out of storage." P'draig leans back in his chair, sitting at one end of the table often occupied by Skysentry, T'rien sitting beside him.
V'delin gives a greeting as he arrives from the inner caverns, a length of leather over one arm with tell-tale notches indicating shoes or straps coming soon. He's rather pleased with it and chats at some of the lingering wingriders, removing his heavier coat and sliding into a seat, only afterward realizing who else is there and managing a nod for P'draig and T'rien.
T'rien pulls his jacket around him, as if talk of winter is giving him a chill. "My mom sent me a knitted blanket last season. Shardin' thing is warmer than a fur, I swear. It's hard to crawl out of bed somedays, with that around my ears." He hunches his shoulders until they pop audibly. "How's Illya doing, anyway?"
P'draig nods over V'delin's way with a polite smile and looks back up at T'rien. "Did she? That must be nice. I lie my mum's quilts. Still smell a little like home, even after being stored with wood chips and everything. I'm always glad I was raised at the Reaches though. Makes the winter here seem tame by comparison." He draws his mug to him and knocks back a swallow of the contents. "Better. Not as sick as she was. I guess I was starting to get a little worried."
T'rien's shoulder-pop makes V'delin wince, then stretch his own much less tense shoulders anyway. Ven finishes a few words with another Skysentry rider about the quality and method of obtaining the leather, then commences eavesdropping. "Not a bad idea to winterize already - could use another fur myself," he agrees. The state of pregnant women, however, causes his silence.
T'rien hmmms, scratching his cheek. He looks up, nodding in response to V'delin's comment. "The winters here are tame? Shards, remind me to stay out of the Reaches until Spring."
All that stretching and popping is making P'draig's shoulders twitch, but he only stretches his arms above his head briefly and drops them back down onto the the table. "Whatcha working on there, V'delin?" he nods towards the leathers. "And yeah, fur's nice. Cozy." He laughs a little for T'rien's remark. "Yeah. The Reaches and Telgar both. Brutal in the winter."
V'delin laughs at T'rien's comment, concurring. He folds up the leather, placing it on the table. "New boots. Just about worn these through, and with winter setting in, bad time to have my toes peeking out." He leans his chin against his palm, thoughtful. "Either of you know a good place to get fur lining? I'd like to make this pair more weatherproof."
T'rien purses his lips. "Tannercraft, maybe?" he suggests. "That's not a half crazy idea - fur-lining, that is. I should put fur in my riding leathers. Shards, I should line my underwear with fur. I swear I don't start thawing out until spring once the snows start."
"Oooh yeah. Bad time to be in need of boots. Too easy by far to get frostbite, even down here." P'draig considers for a moment. "Couple of trading trains specialize in that, don't they? Could ask Rolan. Or pop down to the Weavercraft too. Though you'll pay Weavercraft prices there of course." Sympathetic, P'draig gives T'rien's shoulder a pat. "Still got Igen-thin blood, Tri?"
"Yeah, been to both," V'delin replies with a trace of bitterness. "I was hoping I could get some without having to go back. Tried to apprentice for years. Obviously, I failed." His expression changes to 'thanks for reminding me,' then he laughs - the idea of fur underwear is too much not to bring a chuckle. "Traders, right. Wouldn't mind the extra expense that-a-way. T'rien, you just haven't adjusted to the cold, have you? Try putting hearth rocks in your covers before bed; they do wonders for warmth."
T'rien snorts. "Always, though I'm much better than I used to be. I've learned to dress for here, for one thing." He nods to V'delin again. "And I discovered the joy of warming pans during my first winter here. Things got much better after that."
"Traders'll bargain at least and then you don't have to go back. Sebring are usually honest enough." P'draig chuckles again. "Mm. Warming up the covers ahead of time is always a good idea. It's funny, I had the opposite problem at Ista. Too sharding hot."
"That'll help, the pans and the fur. Didn't really think about it, but I guess you wouldn't know about them if you hadn't grown up with them." V'delin's hand rests on the leather as though its presence were comforting. "I'll take a wander by their camp or listen for word of a trader train passing through; it'd be perfect timing." He smirks, "Not like you can put ice in your bed to cool it, either. I'd rather the cold than being too hot."
"Ista is too wet for my tastes. Igen is a dry heat. And the nights can get pretty shardin' cold. Just not frigid like they do here. And there was never a wind chill." T'rien shudders. "I really hate that."
"I'm with V'delin on that one. Rather be cold and piling on the blankets, than sweating out every pore even buck naked in the shade." P'draig shudders a little, likely at a memory of that very muggy time at Ista. "Yeah, the wetness it's oppressive. If you're down by the water, it's beautiful. Ista that is. But I think I could handle the dry type of hot weather better too, Tri. It doesn't sit on your chest like the humidity does."
"I only mind the chill on the wind when we're up in the air. Ought to work on better fur lining for my gloves, too, and see if that helps me fumble less firestone midair." Ven smiles apologetically at his admission. "Great for swimming, over at Ista, but the salt makes my skin crack if I come right back to our cold after. I prefer our lake for that, and no stifling humidity."
T'rien raises an eyebrow and smiles slightly at P'draig. "You've obviously never been out in Igen's bowl at high noon in the middle of summer. Its kinda like walking into an open oven. The sun is so strong you can't go unprotected or you'll blister your skin. We did most of our activities in the early morning or late evening, after the sun had gone down."
"I admit, I love our lake more than just about every body of water out there, though I still enjoy heading up to Tillek to sail, or have a dip that way." P'draig squints a little and shakes his head. "If I have, I was too little to remember. I haven't gone over there to visit my grandfather as much as I visited my grandmother at Ista when she was there, or at Telgar since the last little while." He makes big eyes at T'rien. "That's sharding hot. Like being on duty for a full shift in the kitchens."
V'delin's lips purse as he considers T'rien's explanation. "That sounds miserable. I can't imagine drilling in that, where you're up with no shelter from the sun but helmet and leathers." He leans back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. "Remind me not to complain about drilling in our sun. And that's rhetorical, not literal." His features soften, thinking about pleasant pasttimes. "Sailing. Or a nice campout at Shipfish. We allowed to leave like that, for overnights?" he questions his Wingleader.
T'rien grins. "Fortunately, I never had to drill in it. My parent's complained about it on a regular basis. You get used to it, though." He nods in response to V'delin's question. "So long as you cover your duties you can do whatever you want."
"Oh yes. Shipfish. Best place to take a break on Pern in my opinion." P'draig flashes a quick grin and nods, interested in T'rien's account of drilling at Igen. "And that there is why this man is the best Wingleader at Fort," he drawls, eyes a-twinkle with the teasing for Tri.
"Your parents are riders there?" Ven considers, "I must've known that." He stretches his legs out as well, resting them against another chair down the way, one brow raising for P'draig's comment. "He's a little young yet to call the best, but he's less bad than he used to be." He winks and asks, "I mean, we don't need to stay close, on call, just in case? I'd hate to be out on some warm sandy beach if an emergency came in."
T'rien snorts once again, but smiles all the same. "I don't hear anyone calling me that when I had out the duty rosters," he complains good-naturedly. His expression moderates somewhat as he responds to V'delin again. "You should be ready to jump into action, if something unexpected happens, yes. We all should. It's an unfortunate consequence of being a rider during an unexpected Pass."
"Hey, as his best friend, it is my solemn duty, to talk the man up." P'draig winks over at V'delin and leans back in his chair, long legs extending beneath it, crossed at the ankles, the brownriders arms folding backwards so his head is cradled in his interlaced fingers. "As long as you've got your firestone, straps and gear with you, I don't suppose it's any different to jump back Between from anywhere around Pern. A little more rattling maybe but ..." Paddy shrugs. "I'd be more worried about jumping out of Between into a random clump of Thread. I think about it every time I go somewhere these days."
"Few people are dumb enough to want your job, that might be why. Or to irk you while you're generating those rosters." Ven leans to the side, inspecting his raised feet and frowning at the worn shoes. "So, take my leathers with me if I go? Carry a bag of firestone? Not much relaxing done with Imirath complaining, but better than none." He snorts, looking like he'd spit if they were outdoors, the expression fading into a gulping swallow at P'draig's concerns. "Hadn't thought about that. Now I'll think about it, too."
T'rien makes a face at P'draig. "Yeah, now I'll be thinking about it, as well." He reaches up to rub his face. "I need more sleep. These night drills are going to be the death of me."
"Everybody's supposed to be traveling with a bag anyway. Weyrleader's orders, right Tri?" Paddy frowns a little, likely trying to remember what all the different orders are. "Mmph. You and me both Tri." He nods soberly at Ven. "Yeah. Almost rather fly long. At least that way you see it coming."
"We have been, but Imirath dislikes it." Imirath's displeasure is quickly dismissed with a shrug. "Any chance of a respite?" V'delin fruitlessly asks, ahhing as one of the kitchen assistants stokes a nearby hearth, warming the Skysentry table. "Wouldn't want to meet the leading edge alone, but least-a-ways there'd be a warning. Tougher being a sweep or watchrider now than before.
T'rien gets to his feet, patting the outside of his riding jacket. "I can't remember all of M'yr's orders. I've got them written down someplace, in case there's a quiz." He rolls his eyes as he stretches. "If you'll both excuse me, I think I'll go get a little sleep before our next romp under the moons. See you both later."
"Me neither," P'draig confesses with a slight hint of embarrassment in his face. "But yeah. I keep Jekzith stocked every time I go out Ven. Only makes sense." He flips a casual salute up at T'rien. "Sleep while you can, my friend. See you under the moons." His gaze drifts back to his de facto wingmate. "It's all tougher. All of it. Surprised no one's dropped from sheer exhaustion and being on edge all the time."
"Guess that's a no on the respite. G'nap," V'delin counters, an alternative for good night when they've soon got to be up for drills in the dark. "And with him, you never know. There actually could be one." Ven rubs his eyes, tries to stifle a yawn. "No one has? That is a surprise. It's only a matter of time. Could be the only way to get a decent night's sleep," he half-jests.
"Actually, it's possible someone could've and I missed it while I was at Ista, or just didn't hear. Every Fall there's some sort of injury. Always something to think about too. Distracting." P'draig looks into the dregs of his klah and sighs softly then chuckles half-heartedly for the 'jest'. "There you go. Get in good while the getting's good?"
"I know, about the injuries. Naturally, we all wish there were fewer." Ven adjusts around in the seat, plainly somewhat nervous. "I'm not the most experienced when it comes to fighting Thread, and hadn't even impressed when it was falling before. I feel like I'm still getting my feet wet. Don't know how he manages when he's a newer rider yet. Don't envy it, that's for sure." He pokes at his boot, testing just how worn the leather is. "You going to keep flying with us once there are weyrlings, you think?"
"Mm. And the deaths." That's said even more quietly, P'draig's shoulders rolling forward, elbows resting on the table once more. He sets the mug down with a thunk and shoves it and his plate away, fingers tapping moodily on the table. "Do you? After all this? Shells Ven. Don't tell me you want to be busted back down to Weyrling for more training?" Half-hearted teasing there and then he waggles his hand back and forth. "Probably. Not as much though. I can't be up in those dark-time drills if I'm making the Weyrlings hop-to in drills at the crack of whatever."
"I'd rather not think about those," V'delin answers, equally quietly. "Hard not to, but that kind of thing gets me down." He sits up, laughing. "Noo, I can pass on that. Not even Tir's threatened me with retraining, and he went it with me so he knows my shortcomings - like fumbling sacks of stone when my fingers are cold." He rolls his eyes, sombering. "Though things were...seemed safer, then." Disliking the vulnerability, he seizes the other subject. "Very true. They'll probably not be exempt from the edict, though, so you might be up anyway."
"I try not to dwell at least. Brinley was the hardest. The first. Here at Fort anyway. She was so young. Felt responsible somehow." P'draig's fingers drum a bit faster on the table then he chuckles along with V'delin. "Yeah, not many'd want that. Because I'm /such/ a hard taskmaster." He nods a few times for the other's assessment. "Mm. Not at first though. Those first months it's too much to ask of them. It's about all anyone can handle to just get used to all the crap all over the Barracks and figuring out how to tell your thoughts apart from your dragon's."
V'delin seems to belatedly realize that his vehemence might be an insult to the Weyrlingmaster, and he chuckles, shaking his head. "Not because of you, but the closeness of quarters, the constant struggle you had to go with Sal'ros, or getting Imirath to lay off of his clutchmates - I don't miss those things." He smirks again, fingers the leather as though it were comforting. "Quite literally in that respect. And to get some obedience, or even cooperation, at least when it counts."
"Can't say as I miss any of those things either. Shells, I still go at it with Sal'ros every couple of weeks as it is. Never thought I was getting into a lifetime of that when his dragon shelled." P'draig grins wryly over at the bronzerider. "Mm. Can't really send them up without being able to jump Between either. Moreso now than ever. I'll be teaching them sweeprider tactics sooner though. As soon as they start flying long. It's a different game up there with Thread the way it is."
"I'm relieved it isn't Imirath who gave you all the trouble," Ven chuckles, resting his elbows on the table. "True enough. Particularly with the erratic nature of these falls. It could at least play by the rules," V'delin grumbles. "Not that I mind a challenge, but we could be allowed to acclimatize to the stuff falling again before it switches things up on us and deals from the bottom."
"It'd be nice if the rules applied. Guess it's because it's not a proper Pass though. So ... all bets off." P'draig rests both palms on the table and stands, collecting his dirty dishes. "A break ... would be good." He nods once V'delin's way. "At any rate, I'm off to check on Illya before I turn in. Have a good rest if you can V'delin and good luck with the fur."