[Log] Getting to Know T'vas
Who: T'vas, Diya
When: Lunch, day 3, month 5, turn 1 of the 7th Pass
Where: Living Caverns
What: Just what the title says, Diya gets to know T'vas.
Living Cavern
Large enough to hold the majority of the Weyr's human population, this cavern can become loud enough to deafen thanks to the acoustics caused by its size. The ceiling is so far overhead that it's cast into shadow, a darkness that is broken only by the spark and glitter of a lucky beam of light striking the minerals found in the rock walls. Below, most of the floor is covered with an assortment of long tables and benches. There are some smaller tables, surrounded by chairs, but privacy appears to be a rare thing in this bustling cavern. Large hearths line the west wall, with fires burning day and night to warm the food and drink that keep the Weyr's inhabitants fueled. The serving tables are near the hearth, opposite the dais that holds the single table reserved for the Weyr leadership and honored guests.
This room may be +watched (+help watch).
Contents:
T'vas
Upper Caverns (UC) Lower Caverns (LC) Kitchen (K)
Infirmary (INF) Bowl (B)
It is 12:38 on day 3, month 5, turn 1 of the 7th Pass.
T'vas does not venture here particularly often unless he has to. This could be caused by disliking company, or not really HAVING to go to the living caverns for anything at all most of the time, but today ... he has no choice. Unless, that is, he wants to share his dragon's meal of raw meat. And while he might be esoteric in some tastes, raw meat does not fit in his idea of food, so as lunchtime rolls around there is one additional person skulking about, aquiring a seat as near the hearths as he can concievably get without being in the fire or at the serving tables themselves. It's cold out. Banishing the memory of cold with blistering heat seems like a good idea to him.
One or two additional people seem to make little difference to the jostle of the crowd that seems to sway in unison when one person accidentally bumps into another at one end. Nearly escaping one of those fluid waves of people, Diya maneuvers her lanky figure through the crowd with ease and out towards areas less populated with a plate in one hand, a mug curled in the other, a sheaf of hides tucked securely beneath her arm, and bits of her hair looking quite out of place. Flashing her easy smile towards various people on her way towards a seat, the weyrwoman seems to collect herself, again drawing around her the presence she's known for, and seats herself with grace across from T'vas. "Some day," she begins, the idleness of small talk coloring her intonation and her eyes fixated on the scattering of greens and bread on her plate, "I'll remember why I turn anti-social during the lunch hour and eat fruit in my weyr."
His more or less quiet has been intruded upon! .. well, that's alright, he needs to practice being nice anyway. What he does *not* expect, however, is *who* decides to, seemingly at random, join him for lunch. T'vas studies Diya for a moment when she settles down and speaks, then makes a valiant attempt at a pleasant smile. It comes out crooked, but it's the thought that counts! .. Right? "Hard to work out here with all th' noise, yeah?" Hiding in one's weyr would be a better option, and not one he personally has yet. The weyrling barracks were just as noisy - noisier, if one counts the sounds of energetic young dragons as well. "Enjoy food first, an' do the work later. It'll still be there." Whether it's wanted or not. See? He's trying to be nice!
The hides tucked under Diya's arm are loosened, pried free as if her arm tuck loathes to give them up, and set on the table next to her. Giving the top hide a passing glance, dismissive in that little head toss that shakes loose and resettles her hair, the woman then spares T'vas an equally crooked smile, heartfelt encouragement in the glimmer of dark blue eyes, and in that look, silent acknowledgement for his efforts at being nice. "Work and food should be separated, I agree. I'm assuming you haven't been through one of G'thon's tea... ceremonies. There's little other way to describe the process as anything but a moment of leisure in an otherwise hectic day. But food is too important to clutter it up with work, I agree." A slender stalk of some vegetable is picked up, twirled before being popped into the woman's mouth. "T'vas, right? Arhoth's."
"I think I've met him a total of once, in passing." T'vas picks up a slice of bread from his plate and focuses on -that- for the moment. He doesn't have to smile at bread, and keeping his tone amiable is easier than keeping his expression the same. "Not sure if I should be thankful or dissapointed. These ceremonies, they troublesome or a good thing? For th' average person, anyway." At least he knows who G'thon is, and could recognize him on sight, and knew to mostly steer clear just in case. Now he's got another reason to do it. Ceremonies. Ugh. There was nothing liesurely and relaxing about any ceremony. His gaze shifts briefly to the stack of hides, curious, but doesn't linger. "..Ayuh. We've seen you a couple times in the barracks." Arhoth's silent remarks on that aren't repeated, though they bring a ghost of a smile back to otherwise narrow features. "Haven't much paid my respects t' you. Hope that's alright." Weyrwoman and all, there was probably a proper way of addressing those that he's not figured out yet. T'vas isn't particularly good at etiquette.
"Diya. I've a name before I Impressed, and with the exception of maybe five turns post Impression, it's what I've decided to continue calling myself." After the asparagus is swallowed, a bread stick is lifted and broke in half, one end used to gesticulate idly with, the other to chew on. "They're not really ceremonies," she reflects, "But there's a certain grace to making the tea, pouring it, drinking it leisurely, and chatting. It's how I've grown up at least, learning to set aside a small portion of the day for such an activity. I take it," dark eyes rest on T'vas' face, taking in the shifting expressions with ill-concealed bemusement on her own, "You're not a fan of such things. Tell me about yourself. I confess to knowing little beyond the bare facts of most of those who Impressed at Citalth's clutch." The self-deprecation in the last segues into an inquisitive light to her features, the slight hunch forward bestowing her entire attention to the boy. While Diya and T'vas are located at a table near the hearths by the serving tables, the lunch hour is busy with lots of jostling and jockeying for the best seats.
"I didn't know golds changed their other half's names too." That's something interesting to know! .. Unless Diya changed it on her own, which is also an implication, isn't it? "Diya. Seems t' suit you well enough." Which might just be because he didn't know her before she changed it. First impressions made under one name make getting used to it and believing it a good fit much easier. He considers the grace of tea making and sitting around drinking it, then shakes his head slightly. "Ceremonies seem a waste, usually. Most of th' ones I've seen, anyroads. This one might be better, but." A shrug. "Never seen it." And he likes it that way! T'vas gives a soft snort of amusement at Diya's confession and promptly tries to hide it in a cough. Thankfully where he'd chosen to sit isn't /usually/ one of the first-picked tables, but they might get company sooner or later! "Not much to tell, ma'am. Was raised mostly outside Telgar, 'n came here just before hatching-" Not *quite* to watch, but neither had he been chosen as a candidate beforehand. Coincidences! "-and wound up with Arhoth. Not a terribly interestin' story." Arhoth had been a surprise. A terrible, life-altering, delightful surprise.
Around the mouthful of breadstick, her hand moving quick to cover any unappealing sights of half-chewed food, Diya laughs. The sound's hearty, and her cheeks flush with both amusement and that niggling sliver of embarrassment for a time long gone. After she's swallowed, the older woman manages to explain, "It took me a while to graduate. I suppose I was the dunce of my weyrling class, and I enjoyed people calling me by a title, or other such silliness for a while thereafter. But we all grow up out of the idiosyncrancies of youth." Her study of the weyrling draws her into the seat's backing, her shoulders rolling backwards reflexively as she seems to physically ease herself further into the conversation. "I didn't think I'd seen you among the chore groups, and the new faces. -Just- prior? How lucky. Your parents, did they manage to see you Impress?"
Aha! "No harm in titles," is T'vas' immediate opinion, though for a moment, however brief, he looks genuinely amused. "An' I'm not exactly the top of th' class either, so I can ... kinda understand." No, it's hard to be the star pupil when you spend half your time snarling at your weyrlingmaster just to get a reaction out of him. One of these days, T'vas is going to learn to *not* do that. Maybe. It might be one of the things he'll grow out of eventually. He pauses at Diya's next question, expression gone unreadable, his voice nearly as neutral. But not quite - whether it's anger or sadness that creeps in a little bit, it's difficult to tell. "My parents haven't been able to see anythin' for a long time, ma'am. My guardians.." He shrugs, a twitch of shoulders and little more. "Probably wouldn't care much. 'm glad for no audience. Less expectations that way. Less people ... grabbin' at you now that y'might get somewhere they think is worth gettin', in life."
Relaxed, Diya's unbetrayed in any shift of thoughts by her lack of any real movement except the tap of the breadstick half to her plate. "Less parental expectations or in general?" As one of her thin brows lift, askance sketches itself across her face. "I'm afraid Arhoth's probably changed people's expectations of your behavior whether you're inclined towards the stereotypical traits of bronzeriders, or whatever." Her casual study must have caught the pause of T'vas' looks, his shortlived amusement that's turned unreadable. In turn, she's become quieter in voice, less conversational and more focused in inflection, intent on the bronze weyrling alone and not troubling herself with those surrounding their table spot. "Beyond lectures and the duties of your new life, do you enjoy being here?"
Another shrug. "In general. Nobody expects much of an unBlooded, groundless childling, yeah? Even if you've got a bronze eating your boots once a sevenday. Not havin' anyone expectin' to ride my coattails to success makes it easier." So far. That might change in the future; bronze expectations were hefty enough, and T'vas is likely extremely unprepared, or even unaware, of most of them. "Th' weyrlingmaster suggested as much," about behavior expected, "but I don't see why. Th' stereotype of bronzeriders isn't one I'm much keen on imitating." Of course, being holdbred and out of contact with weyrs most of his life, -his- idea of a stereotypical bronzerider isn't very flattering for the most part. He doesn't respond immediately to whether or not he likes it here, masking thinking with simply eating for a few minutes. "... No," the young bronzerider concludes at great length. "It's too sharding cold. Everything else is alright." But not much can change the weather! "Does it ever get *warm* outside?"
"And you're from just outside Telgar?" Bemused, Diya, so thoughtfully, passes over the rest of T'vas' words, discarding them as the heavier topics to either be discussed at some other time, or else not willing to place more burdens on the newly Impressed. "I didn't imagine we had such different climates, but the closer ocean does seem to bring in more precipitation in the winter and spring. Rain, snow," in light of their last meeting, the examples of precipitation, may have been inserted for his benefit, rather than hers. The breadstick is finished quick and efficiently, and the goldrider starts in on her salad. "I like that. You seem grounded enough, and," there's either stories floating around about the weyrlings, or Diya's just speculating, for the slight pause that separates her comment is filled with a wry smirk, "I can't help but wonder if you're giving R'vain a few headaches for his troubles as Weyrlingmaster."
T'vas was familiar with Telgar's weather patterns and temperatures; High Reaches is something completely new. Even if the climates were *identical*, memory tends to wax fond about familiar places, and somehow everything winds up pleasanter and nicer about home, and the miseries of winter attributed only to the new. "I don't know. Seems colder. And wetter." Rain, he's noticed. It's been raining in one form or another since he got here, near as he can tell. Or at least every time he'd ventured outside. "It doesn't bother Arhoth any though." Which means there's been more than one frolick in the rain, much to T'vas' disgust. It's tolerated, after a fashion. Another ghost of a smile returns at mention of R'vain; rumors or not, the two did not seem to get along well at all, did they? "The esteemed Weyrlingmaster is an exceptional teacher." T'vas keeps his tone completely, utterly respectful. "...If one wishes to learn how to drink or flirt with the women of the weyr." He might be joking. It's very difficult to tell. "I don't know if I cause him headaches or not. He seems to pick on V'to more often than I, for just about anything he teaches." Sandbags, how to stand. Firestone. Lectures.
"Ah," Diya exhales, resigned and amused at the turn T'vas' conversation takes, "Yes." It's a simple agreement, the twinkle of her eyes already having emerged on the heels of the weyrling's assessment of his main instructor. "I wondered when he was promoted turns before, but if anything, I've learned to trust G'thon's judgments. Even if I don't see any immediate benefits." Her lips quirk, again lopsided, as she contemplates a forkful of greens. "So your spirit hasn't been completely bogged down by our gloomy spring and our rather, ah, unique weyrlingmaster. You'll have to tell me about Telgar sometime, if not now, later. I'm a patient sort, and enjoy learning of areas I know little about."
"I'm sure there's a reason for it," T'vas agrees readily enough. Sure, he thinks that it was mroe or less to get R'vain out of other, possibly more dangerous positions, but it can't be THAT bad if the bronzerider was handed the instruction of the weyr's youngest and one day possibly finest... right? Too much thinking; he dismisses the thought after a few moments. "... If you're ever going to visit Telgar, go in late spring or early summer. It's most hospitable then." People and land both. "I've never been to th' weyr proper, but I'm sure they'll welcome you. 'S probably really pretty, from the air." Most mountainy places were, but he'd had a total of one flight on any dragon in his life, and most of what he'd seen from the sky had been on approach to High Reaches.
"That, I've been to, Telgar's Weyr. But there's little reason for me to visit any of the outlaying holds or cot areas. Weyr and area autonomy and all that." Glossing over the details of that with another random gesture of her utensil to air, Diya begins to scrap together the last few bits of her meal, spearing through the leafy greens and round tomatoes deftly. "I wondered if life's so different there than it was for me growing up at High Reaches Hold. Contrast my own growing up experience with yours, and even if it _was_ in a completely different time, I'm not -that- old. I hope." Her grin wraps around the forkful that disappears into her mouth, and while chewing, she gestures with her fork in the air, "People have similar motivations, I think, despite where they are and under what circumstances. To live, right?"
T'vas manages to finish his own meal neatly and quickly, and still mildly hungry for it. Unfortunately he doesn't really have time to go back for more. "Tch. No harm in looking, autoni.." Pause. "Autonimous or not." There we go, got the word out with little trouble. Stupid pronunciations. At least he knows what it means. "Life's different for everyone, ma'am. But it might be familiar, some things are th' same everywhere." Especially when it came to women, and what they could and couldn't do in life. "I imagine one Hold's a lot alike anotherm just with different faces doin' the same jobs." It's the details that get fuzzy. He stands with something less than perfect grace, and makes another attempt at a smile that, like the first, doesn't quite make it. But he's trying! "Living's somethin' everyone can agree on though, I think. If you'll excuse me, Arhoth's making hungry noises at me, 'n I need to do something about it." Not that he minds much; the dragon was good enough company.
Timely that, Diya's own meal concludes with T'vas and throughout his statements, the weyrwoman just listens silently, her acknowledgements only offered in those random head nods to indicate a listening ear. "I'd not want to deprive your dragon of your company," she remarks, that being her parting greeting, and though she stays at the table, the dish pushed out of the way to make way for her hides, her peripheral vision is surely making notes of T'vas' progress out.
When: Lunch, day 3, month 5, turn 1 of the 7th Pass
Where: Living Caverns
What: Just what the title says, Diya gets to know T'vas.
Living Cavern
Large enough to hold the majority of the Weyr's human population, this cavern can become loud enough to deafen thanks to the acoustics caused by its size. The ceiling is so far overhead that it's cast into shadow, a darkness that is broken only by the spark and glitter of a lucky beam of light striking the minerals found in the rock walls. Below, most of the floor is covered with an assortment of long tables and benches. There are some smaller tables, surrounded by chairs, but privacy appears to be a rare thing in this bustling cavern. Large hearths line the west wall, with fires burning day and night to warm the food and drink that keep the Weyr's inhabitants fueled. The serving tables are near the hearth, opposite the dais that holds the single table reserved for the Weyr leadership and honored guests.
This room may be +watched (+help watch).
Contents:
T'vas
Upper Caverns (UC) Lower Caverns (LC) Kitchen (K)
Infirmary (INF) Bowl (B)
It is 12:38 on day 3, month 5, turn 1 of the 7th Pass.
T'vas does not venture here particularly often unless he has to. This could be caused by disliking company, or not really HAVING to go to the living caverns for anything at all most of the time, but today ... he has no choice. Unless, that is, he wants to share his dragon's meal of raw meat. And while he might be esoteric in some tastes, raw meat does not fit in his idea of food, so as lunchtime rolls around there is one additional person skulking about, aquiring a seat as near the hearths as he can concievably get without being in the fire or at the serving tables themselves. It's cold out. Banishing the memory of cold with blistering heat seems like a good idea to him.
One or two additional people seem to make little difference to the jostle of the crowd that seems to sway in unison when one person accidentally bumps into another at one end. Nearly escaping one of those fluid waves of people, Diya maneuvers her lanky figure through the crowd with ease and out towards areas less populated with a plate in one hand, a mug curled in the other, a sheaf of hides tucked securely beneath her arm, and bits of her hair looking quite out of place. Flashing her easy smile towards various people on her way towards a seat, the weyrwoman seems to collect herself, again drawing around her the presence she's known for, and seats herself with grace across from T'vas. "Some day," she begins, the idleness of small talk coloring her intonation and her eyes fixated on the scattering of greens and bread on her plate, "I'll remember why I turn anti-social during the lunch hour and eat fruit in my weyr."
His more or less quiet has been intruded upon! .. well, that's alright, he needs to practice being nice anyway. What he does *not* expect, however, is *who* decides to, seemingly at random, join him for lunch. T'vas studies Diya for a moment when she settles down and speaks, then makes a valiant attempt at a pleasant smile. It comes out crooked, but it's the thought that counts! .. Right? "Hard to work out here with all th' noise, yeah?" Hiding in one's weyr would be a better option, and not one he personally has yet. The weyrling barracks were just as noisy - noisier, if one counts the sounds of energetic young dragons as well. "Enjoy food first, an' do the work later. It'll still be there." Whether it's wanted or not. See? He's trying to be nice!
The hides tucked under Diya's arm are loosened, pried free as if her arm tuck loathes to give them up, and set on the table next to her. Giving the top hide a passing glance, dismissive in that little head toss that shakes loose and resettles her hair, the woman then spares T'vas an equally crooked smile, heartfelt encouragement in the glimmer of dark blue eyes, and in that look, silent acknowledgement for his efforts at being nice. "Work and food should be separated, I agree. I'm assuming you haven't been through one of G'thon's tea... ceremonies. There's little other way to describe the process as anything but a moment of leisure in an otherwise hectic day. But food is too important to clutter it up with work, I agree." A slender stalk of some vegetable is picked up, twirled before being popped into the woman's mouth. "T'vas, right? Arhoth's."
"I think I've met him a total of once, in passing." T'vas picks up a slice of bread from his plate and focuses on -that- for the moment. He doesn't have to smile at bread, and keeping his tone amiable is easier than keeping his expression the same. "Not sure if I should be thankful or dissapointed. These ceremonies, they troublesome or a good thing? For th' average person, anyway." At least he knows who G'thon is, and could recognize him on sight, and knew to mostly steer clear just in case. Now he's got another reason to do it. Ceremonies. Ugh. There was nothing liesurely and relaxing about any ceremony. His gaze shifts briefly to the stack of hides, curious, but doesn't linger. "..Ayuh. We've seen you a couple times in the barracks." Arhoth's silent remarks on that aren't repeated, though they bring a ghost of a smile back to otherwise narrow features. "Haven't much paid my respects t' you. Hope that's alright." Weyrwoman and all, there was probably a proper way of addressing those that he's not figured out yet. T'vas isn't particularly good at etiquette.
"Diya. I've a name before I Impressed, and with the exception of maybe five turns post Impression, it's what I've decided to continue calling myself." After the asparagus is swallowed, a bread stick is lifted and broke in half, one end used to gesticulate idly with, the other to chew on. "They're not really ceremonies," she reflects, "But there's a certain grace to making the tea, pouring it, drinking it leisurely, and chatting. It's how I've grown up at least, learning to set aside a small portion of the day for such an activity. I take it," dark eyes rest on T'vas' face, taking in the shifting expressions with ill-concealed bemusement on her own, "You're not a fan of such things. Tell me about yourself. I confess to knowing little beyond the bare facts of most of those who Impressed at Citalth's clutch." The self-deprecation in the last segues into an inquisitive light to her features, the slight hunch forward bestowing her entire attention to the boy. While Diya and T'vas are located at a table near the hearths by the serving tables, the lunch hour is busy with lots of jostling and jockeying for the best seats.
"I didn't know golds changed their other half's names too." That's something interesting to know! .. Unless Diya changed it on her own, which is also an implication, isn't it? "Diya. Seems t' suit you well enough." Which might just be because he didn't know her before she changed it. First impressions made under one name make getting used to it and believing it a good fit much easier. He considers the grace of tea making and sitting around drinking it, then shakes his head slightly. "Ceremonies seem a waste, usually. Most of th' ones I've seen, anyroads. This one might be better, but." A shrug. "Never seen it." And he likes it that way! T'vas gives a soft snort of amusement at Diya's confession and promptly tries to hide it in a cough. Thankfully where he'd chosen to sit isn't /usually/ one of the first-picked tables, but they might get company sooner or later! "Not much to tell, ma'am. Was raised mostly outside Telgar, 'n came here just before hatching-" Not *quite* to watch, but neither had he been chosen as a candidate beforehand. Coincidences! "-and wound up with Arhoth. Not a terribly interestin' story." Arhoth had been a surprise. A terrible, life-altering, delightful surprise.
Around the mouthful of breadstick, her hand moving quick to cover any unappealing sights of half-chewed food, Diya laughs. The sound's hearty, and her cheeks flush with both amusement and that niggling sliver of embarrassment for a time long gone. After she's swallowed, the older woman manages to explain, "It took me a while to graduate. I suppose I was the dunce of my weyrling class, and I enjoyed people calling me by a title, or other such silliness for a while thereafter. But we all grow up out of the idiosyncrancies of youth." Her study of the weyrling draws her into the seat's backing, her shoulders rolling backwards reflexively as she seems to physically ease herself further into the conversation. "I didn't think I'd seen you among the chore groups, and the new faces. -Just- prior? How lucky. Your parents, did they manage to see you Impress?"
Aha! "No harm in titles," is T'vas' immediate opinion, though for a moment, however brief, he looks genuinely amused. "An' I'm not exactly the top of th' class either, so I can ... kinda understand." No, it's hard to be the star pupil when you spend half your time snarling at your weyrlingmaster just to get a reaction out of him. One of these days, T'vas is going to learn to *not* do that. Maybe. It might be one of the things he'll grow out of eventually. He pauses at Diya's next question, expression gone unreadable, his voice nearly as neutral. But not quite - whether it's anger or sadness that creeps in a little bit, it's difficult to tell. "My parents haven't been able to see anythin' for a long time, ma'am. My guardians.." He shrugs, a twitch of shoulders and little more. "Probably wouldn't care much. 'm glad for no audience. Less expectations that way. Less people ... grabbin' at you now that y'might get somewhere they think is worth gettin', in life."
Relaxed, Diya's unbetrayed in any shift of thoughts by her lack of any real movement except the tap of the breadstick half to her plate. "Less parental expectations or in general?" As one of her thin brows lift, askance sketches itself across her face. "I'm afraid Arhoth's probably changed people's expectations of your behavior whether you're inclined towards the stereotypical traits of bronzeriders, or whatever." Her casual study must have caught the pause of T'vas' looks, his shortlived amusement that's turned unreadable. In turn, she's become quieter in voice, less conversational and more focused in inflection, intent on the bronze weyrling alone and not troubling herself with those surrounding their table spot. "Beyond lectures and the duties of your new life, do you enjoy being here?"
Another shrug. "In general. Nobody expects much of an unBlooded, groundless childling, yeah? Even if you've got a bronze eating your boots once a sevenday. Not havin' anyone expectin' to ride my coattails to success makes it easier." So far. That might change in the future; bronze expectations were hefty enough, and T'vas is likely extremely unprepared, or even unaware, of most of them. "Th' weyrlingmaster suggested as much," about behavior expected, "but I don't see why. Th' stereotype of bronzeriders isn't one I'm much keen on imitating." Of course, being holdbred and out of contact with weyrs most of his life, -his- idea of a stereotypical bronzerider isn't very flattering for the most part. He doesn't respond immediately to whether or not he likes it here, masking thinking with simply eating for a few minutes. "... No," the young bronzerider concludes at great length. "It's too sharding cold. Everything else is alright." But not much can change the weather! "Does it ever get *warm* outside?"
"And you're from just outside Telgar?" Bemused, Diya, so thoughtfully, passes over the rest of T'vas' words, discarding them as the heavier topics to either be discussed at some other time, or else not willing to place more burdens on the newly Impressed. "I didn't imagine we had such different climates, but the closer ocean does seem to bring in more precipitation in the winter and spring. Rain, snow," in light of their last meeting, the examples of precipitation, may have been inserted for his benefit, rather than hers. The breadstick is finished quick and efficiently, and the goldrider starts in on her salad. "I like that. You seem grounded enough, and," there's either stories floating around about the weyrlings, or Diya's just speculating, for the slight pause that separates her comment is filled with a wry smirk, "I can't help but wonder if you're giving R'vain a few headaches for his troubles as Weyrlingmaster."
T'vas was familiar with Telgar's weather patterns and temperatures; High Reaches is something completely new. Even if the climates were *identical*, memory tends to wax fond about familiar places, and somehow everything winds up pleasanter and nicer about home, and the miseries of winter attributed only to the new. "I don't know. Seems colder. And wetter." Rain, he's noticed. It's been raining in one form or another since he got here, near as he can tell. Or at least every time he'd ventured outside. "It doesn't bother Arhoth any though." Which means there's been more than one frolick in the rain, much to T'vas' disgust. It's tolerated, after a fashion. Another ghost of a smile returns at mention of R'vain; rumors or not, the two did not seem to get along well at all, did they? "The esteemed Weyrlingmaster is an exceptional teacher." T'vas keeps his tone completely, utterly respectful. "...If one wishes to learn how to drink or flirt with the women of the weyr." He might be joking. It's very difficult to tell. "I don't know if I cause him headaches or not. He seems to pick on V'to more often than I, for just about anything he teaches." Sandbags, how to stand. Firestone. Lectures.
"Ah," Diya exhales, resigned and amused at the turn T'vas' conversation takes, "Yes." It's a simple agreement, the twinkle of her eyes already having emerged on the heels of the weyrling's assessment of his main instructor. "I wondered when he was promoted turns before, but if anything, I've learned to trust G'thon's judgments. Even if I don't see any immediate benefits." Her lips quirk, again lopsided, as she contemplates a forkful of greens. "So your spirit hasn't been completely bogged down by our gloomy spring and our rather, ah, unique weyrlingmaster. You'll have to tell me about Telgar sometime, if not now, later. I'm a patient sort, and enjoy learning of areas I know little about."
"I'm sure there's a reason for it," T'vas agrees readily enough. Sure, he thinks that it was mroe or less to get R'vain out of other, possibly more dangerous positions, but it can't be THAT bad if the bronzerider was handed the instruction of the weyr's youngest and one day possibly finest... right? Too much thinking; he dismisses the thought after a few moments. "... If you're ever going to visit Telgar, go in late spring or early summer. It's most hospitable then." People and land both. "I've never been to th' weyr proper, but I'm sure they'll welcome you. 'S probably really pretty, from the air." Most mountainy places were, but he'd had a total of one flight on any dragon in his life, and most of what he'd seen from the sky had been on approach to High Reaches.
"That, I've been to, Telgar's Weyr. But there's little reason for me to visit any of the outlaying holds or cot areas. Weyr and area autonomy and all that." Glossing over the details of that with another random gesture of her utensil to air, Diya begins to scrap together the last few bits of her meal, spearing through the leafy greens and round tomatoes deftly. "I wondered if life's so different there than it was for me growing up at High Reaches Hold. Contrast my own growing up experience with yours, and even if it _was_ in a completely different time, I'm not -that- old. I hope." Her grin wraps around the forkful that disappears into her mouth, and while chewing, she gestures with her fork in the air, "People have similar motivations, I think, despite where they are and under what circumstances. To live, right?"
T'vas manages to finish his own meal neatly and quickly, and still mildly hungry for it. Unfortunately he doesn't really have time to go back for more. "Tch. No harm in looking, autoni.." Pause. "Autonimous or not." There we go, got the word out with little trouble. Stupid pronunciations. At least he knows what it means. "Life's different for everyone, ma'am. But it might be familiar, some things are th' same everywhere." Especially when it came to women, and what they could and couldn't do in life. "I imagine one Hold's a lot alike anotherm just with different faces doin' the same jobs." It's the details that get fuzzy. He stands with something less than perfect grace, and makes another attempt at a smile that, like the first, doesn't quite make it. But he's trying! "Living's somethin' everyone can agree on though, I think. If you'll excuse me, Arhoth's making hungry noises at me, 'n I need to do something about it." Not that he minds much; the dragon was good enough company.
Timely that, Diya's own meal concludes with T'vas and throughout his statements, the weyrwoman just listens silently, her acknowledgements only offered in those random head nods to indicate a listening ear. "I'd not want to deprive your dragon of your company," she remarks, that being her parting greeting, and though she stays at the table, the dish pushed out of the way to make way for her hides, her peripheral vision is surely making notes of T'vas' progress out.