Log: Leova Gets Clothes. Vrianth Gets Crushed.
RL: March 30, 2008.
VR: Day 1, month 11, Turn 15, of the Interval. It is a autumn evening.
Milani outfits Leova while Vrianth takes a turn over the lake. And then Zunaeth hurts poor little Vrianth's poor little feelings.
Central Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr (#17755RIJM)
Though certain of the Weyr's supplies are stored at the places where they are used, most are kept here, in the central storage complex. A series of caverns grouped around a central corridor, the complex is cut on the grand scale necessary to hold all the items a full and active Weyr needs.
The main corridor is wide and tall enough to admit a laden wagon. The walls are lined with heavy wooden doors, their wide spacing evidence of the size of the rooms behind them. Each of the doors features a posted inventory and map of its room's contents, and there are small piles of returned items beside several, waiting until someone has the time to reshelve them properly. There is a set of hardwood shelves available on a space of wall between two of the doors where people can place items when they are not sure which storeroom they belong in. Scanning the door signs, you note cold stores, dry food stores, rooms for textiles and furnishings, the records room, and the supply closet.
To the south, the corridor opens out to the lower caverns.
Milani
Expressive bright blue-green eyes are the remarkable feature of this young woman's face, the color rather intense, like the seas off Ista Island. A small, slightly upturned nose scattered with freckles across the bridge and full lips complete a winsome face that's most often open and frank of expression. It'd be hard to miss her in a crowd too, given her height, just a smidgen under six feet and the long mane of well-kept, wavy, strawberry-blonde hair that falls nearly to her hips, unbound. Slender and moderately curvy, there's a certain lithe gracefulness to her when she moves that belies her sixteen-odd turns.
Wearing what's apparently some sort of working uniform, Milani's black bodice sports the badge of High Reaches Weyr worked onto one shoulder strap. Modest in cut, this is laced over a white blouse and full, royal blue skirts. Practical calf-boots, also black serve for workaday footwear. The knot of a High Reaches Weyr assistant headwoman loops her shoulder.
Leova
At 5'5", it's that much easier for Leova to blend in with a crowd, particularly with boxy clothing to conceal her curves. She doesn't often fuss with the rest either and though her rusty auburn hair is kept trimmed, very short in back and a little longer in front, it's just to keep it low maintenance. Tawny skin is further browned by sun and wind, doing little to soften the feline cast to her features, and her dark-fringed eyes are the yellow amber of a masterminer's prize.
She's dressed much as she had for stable work, with heavy boots that still see daily polish and plain brown pants that let her stride lengthen. Her off-white tunic now strains against her shoulders and upper arms when she reaches too far, however, and fewer tools hang from the belt that's buckled in another notch. A thick fleece-lined jacket with a green and silver-threaded weyrling knot on one shoulder regularly accompanies her, worn when needed, slung over one arm when not. (+detail available)
Evening usually finds Milani off-duty, but tonight she's leaning against one of the storeroom doors with a clipboard, still ticking things off and murmuring under her breath. "... twelve sacks of coal, fourteen barrels of Nabolese cider ..." and so on as she goes through some kind of inventory.
"Three or four shirts?" Leova asks in tempo as she approaches, glowbasket in hand. Though she looks weary as usual, there isn't that utter exhaustion that had worn grayer and grayer circles beneath her eyes and set her steps dragging, sometimes stumbling this time of night. She even grins, though just for a moment.
Milani's clipboard tips towards her chest and bright blue-green eyes appear over its edge, settling on Leova curiously. A wide grin appears next and the clipboard drops. "Shirts, definitely, is the wear and tear of Weyrlinghood literally taking the shirt off your back?" A little flippant the quip as Millie pushes away from the door she's leaning against and uses the momentum to propel her across the hallway and diagonally towards a different door that she unlocks with a key from the chain at her belt. "Any preferences on colors, or still "will hide stains well"?
"Quick as ever," Leova sums Milani up, following her to lean against the doorframe and watch her go at it. "Thought I had plenty of muscle before, stables and all. This, though," and she shrugs, though the motion's fettered by the cloth across her shoulders: see? "Not having to cut up carcasses for her anymore. Firestone dust, though. Some plain, and a nicer one or two?" Though her tone's strong on maybe.
"Oooooh, so it's also the big broad shoulders," Milani says with a light laugh and rolls her own in example. "Got it, well we've got plenty of clothing, so you should be able to find something that you like even, rather than just making do." THe door is pushed open and held for Leova. "Come on in." Beyond the assistant headwoman are rows of neat shelves with bins arranged in some way that's not immediately obvious, but the bins seem to contain neatly folded clothing.
She laughs, Leova grimaces. "Just hire me out for the toss dances, next Gather. I can lead." Even more reluctantly, as she enters the innocuous-looking danger zone, "Maybe something with a waist, too. Keeps bunching up in my belt."
"Sure! Bet there's a bunch of girls out there who'd rather have another girl for a partner rather than a guy," notes Milani complacently as she leads on down the rows of shelves to the right bins and sets her clipboard down on the one above. She shifts the lid aside and peeks inside. "All of these are fairly plain, neutral colors. And these ..." the next bin over, "should be the fun ones. Yep. Oooo ...." and she reaches in to pick up the topmost ones, picks up a russet red from the middle of the pile and holds it up. "Good color for you I think."
That stops Leova for a moment, and she follows Milani even more slowly afterward, heading straight for the neutral bin before the girl pulls out the red one. "Not too bright, as reds go," she supposes. "Doesn't look like I'd be heading off to get married." Even aside from the cloth and cut. This is apparently a good thing.
Milani laughs. "Not like you could, since riders don't, but no, not wedding red," the assistant headwoman says encouragingly and holds the shirt out a little, eyeing the Weyrling then the shirt, and again. "I think this'll fit nicely and give you that waist thing you were talking about. I'd save this for fancy though. Do you want some workaday browns maybe?" Brows lift as she passes the russet shirt over.
"Just don't want to give anybody the wrong idea," Leova says, accepting the shirt and folding it over her arm. "Brown's good. Real good. I can try these on later, make sure." Absently she starts fingering the cloth, so much finer and softer than what she's used to, eyes on what else Milani's coming up with.
"You won't," Milani states firmly. "Not with a Weyrling knot on and then a rider one later. It's just a color really. And for it to be weddingy it'd have to be in graduated shades and all tradtionally cut and everything." Busily pulling out a few more samples, the assistant headwoman hums a little as she hunts, sings a few snatches even of a popular harper tune. Finally she's got six other shirts for Leova to try. "Okay, this one might be too big, but it's cut nicely for a girl and this one's pretty, with the tucks in the front, but it might not fit in the shoulders. You look like you're sleeping a little bit better." Non-sequitur.
Leova lets it go, not leaning on anything now that she's in here, just automatically taking up that balanced, waiting stance weyrlings use for drills. "A little better, right. Almost feel human again. And I'll return the extras," she adds, reaching for the shirts. "Ties on that other one aren't bad either, all braided like that. Hold up better than buttons, you know?"
"Yes, it's good handiwork," Milani observes, running fingers over said braiding, then laying the shirts carefully over Leova's arm. "Good to feel human again, I'll bet. I can't imagine how you all do it. I'd go bonkers I'm pretty sure." Beat. "How's your Vrianth coming along?"
"Her? Best thing around," Leova says, getting that slight secret smile again as she goes through the shirts. "Flying already, believe it or not. Wants to fly to Ista." She hands one back already, explaining, "Too low. Have to strap everything down already, don't want to have to worry about them falling out." Beat. "How is Ista, anyway?"
"Really? Shells, that went fast," Milani says laughingly. "Congratulations though, I'll bet that makes for one happy dragon. "And Ista? Why Ista?" The assistant headwoman's head tilts to the side and then she blinks once as that shirt is handed back and she has to chew on her cheek to keep from laughing. "Got it. No busting out." Briskly she folds that shirt back up and slides it back in mostly where she got it from and fingers through the stack. "Maybe try this one instead. It's got a high neck." Teasing. "Ista's fine. You know, hot, even though it's the wet season." All conversational-like.
Leova's smile broadens. "Flying right now." Which might be why Leova gets to be in here right now. That happy dragon makes it hard to frown properly at Milani for her joke, but she still goes for a, "Not funny." Which is ruined the rest of the way by how she mimes, sproing! as she takes the shirt's replacement. "Ista's got wildlife. Apparently. They got storms, too? And is it working out all right, getting someone covering Basq's shifts?"
Wildly proud of herself, Vrianth reaches out for Zunaeth to show him, << Look, look! I'm flying above stars! >> Which happen to be reflections in the lake, but still! Stars! (Vrianth to Zunaeth)
"Ohhhh," again from Milani and her eyes lift up to the ceiling as if she could see through it to airborne Vrianth. She can't stop the giggles this time at the sproing-miming. "Right, right. Not something I usually have to worry about." With a brief glance downward, then a shrug and a vigorous nod. "Oh yeah, plenty of greenstuff. Looks like they have trouble keeping stuff green-free in fact, there's so much of it. You know. Vines and the like. And sure, storms, tropical ones. Lots of /rain/." She blinks for a moment at mention of the Searched stablehand then shrugs again. "Sure, not really hard to take care of that."
Warmed by wry bemusement, Zunaeth's thoughts flare up in response to Vrianth's proud touch. << I see, >> he answers. << You fly well already. >> Underneath his amusement at the young green is a certain amount of wistfulness for the pride, the youthful joy she takes in that accomplishment. (Zunaeth to Vrianth)
"Not that high, just over the lake," Leova explains, and she gives up even her attempt at frowning as Milani giggles. Made her laugh! Again! "Wouldn't mind more green, but rain. Well. Vrianth likes rain too." And she can have it. "Your friend like rain? Good to know about Basq, anyway. Hard sometimes when schedules get thrown off, but I guess you're all used to it."
Zunaeth senses that Vrianth fans the flames, that much more delighted for his reaction, even if she doesn't see all the way down right at first. << My Secath taught me well. >> A wingstroke casts wind over the water, he may sense through her, the stars disappearing until she glides and slowly they return. Such power she has. << Where do you like to fly, most of all, Zunaeth? >>
"Safe that, I guess, in case she falls," Milani replies with a nod and grins over at Leova as she neatens up the bins further. "Need anything else? Trousers too maybe, while we're in here?" And she looks around at the other bins. "Yeah, I suppose it does get pretty barren up here, though the lake is nice at least three seasons out of four. Vrianth likes the rain? Interesting. What about it does she like?" She's reaching for her clipboard again, flips through some sheets and scribbles a note, murmuring 'six shirts to Leova for try out'. "Hmm? Oh no I meant that it was pretty simple to promote one of the assistant stablehand types up into his spot and rotate another kid from the caverns into the other spot." Her head lifts and she considers for a moment. "Ays? I'll have to ask him. I don't think there's all that much about Ista he's liking right now, but maybe it just takes some time to get used to being somewhere that warm after growing up somewhere as cold as here."
"Suppose so. Again with the not bunching around the waist. Don't know how easy that is." Most of the trousers Leova's had from stable work were cut for men, and look it. "What does she like? That's harder. Not like she tells me like we're talking, you and me, you know? She just is." The baffled feeling's overridden by the sense of Vrianth, yet again. Vrianth just is. So maybe Leova's still smiling a little too much when she nods for the promoting and rotating, and when she says, "Hope he manages all right. Gets back soon."
Zunaeth bespoke Vrianth with << Your Secath, >> and the possession amuses him further, sparks from the fire. But the question slows his mind into a low boil while he thinks, sorts out the answer for himself. << I'm not picky, >> he admits at length. << Pretty happy just to be up there, these days. >>
"Those're just over here," MIlani leads the way to the trouser bins and skips the first two, eyes the third, then Leova's legs, shakes her head again and kneels by the fourth to sort through. She finds three pairs of sturdy pants, none wherhide, all sturdy soft canvassy stuff, two pair in dun khaki, one in a grayish-blue. "These are cut for girls," she notes as she hands them over. "Try everything on, bring back what doesn't work, keep the rest." She smiles beamingly at Leova, then lets the smile fade as she considers Vrianth. "Hmm. Can't know for sure, no, but I can imagine, sort of," she notes softly, expression turning a little wry. "A'son? Oh I don't think he's coming back. Well at least, not for anything more than a visit every now and then. And I've got my fingers crossed for Basq that he Impresses. So." She shrugs loosely and makes another note on her clipboard. "Thanks though and I should really go grab some dinner. Come along if you're hungry? While you have the chance and all." Wink. And then without waiting for an answer, Millie's striding briskly back for the door and waiting with the key to lock up.
Leova accepts the pants and all the talking much the same way, a little diffidently but not with discomfort. She's just listening, giving Milani all the time she wants to talk it all out. Finally, "Sounds good. Dinner, I mean. Hope the rest works out." She gives Milani a smile back, because, and follows her out into the hall and the noisier caverns beyond.
Zunaeth senses that Vrianth agrees, shining sparks for sparks, hers more electric than his flame and reflecting just the same. << My Secath. >> She gives him all the time he wants to think things over, waiting, gliding, and yes, maybe warming herself on that low-level turbulence. And when Zunaeth does reply, Vrianth's response comes naturally, unusually gentle but encouraging and hoping all at once, << Come fly with me? There is room. >> Not like the barracks. So much sky for their wings.
But Zunaeth is, mentally, shaking his head, thoughts a hair cooler for all he gives off a faint sense of gratitude for the offer. << Can't keep up with some little green, >> he replies. << Can watch you, though. >> (Zunaeth to Vrianth)
Zunaeth senses Vrianth's taken aback, missing a wingbeat and then having to recover before she can reply, and it's not as easy as it will be when she's grown. And even then she doesn't reply right away, unable to hide the sense of rejection that dims her mind and makes the sparks go away, but too proud and too vulnerable not to try.
Vrianth senses that Zunaeth, no good with apologies, is silent, too; his mind is for once quite cool, guilt and a rueful distance damping the fires that usually light his voice.
(Living Caverns)
Leova, dinner finished and a couple of Milani's suggested garments returned, strides straight past the drinks table with the remainder over her arm. Heading for the bowl. Not seeing even the trio of fellow weyrlings at a side table, much less visitors. And then she breaks into a run.
In that distance, Vrianth can, barely, be felt to land, no longer a windborne creature. Just earthbound, and suddenly very young, and scuttling for her rider. Who's running to her. (Vrianth to Zunaeth)
(Western Bowl)
Leova hurries. Picks up speed. There's moonlight at least, both of them out and Timor just past full.
(Eastern Bowl)
Vrianth is slower, the barracks closer, moving low to the ground.
They meet somewhere in the middle, the young dragon larger than her lifemate by far, now, but still needing the consolation of arms around her neck, of attention, of all the words and love her rider can provide. The only thing Leova never says is, "He didn't mean it."
There's the minutest twinge down the filament that links them. Absolute unhappiness. But it's just a quiver, Vrianth not focused outward in the least, and so very easy to miss. (Vrianth to Jaireth)
Leova soothes her dragon into the barracks, past the questioning looks of Cesaira and F'ren. She pauses only to mutter something to Sh'dor about switching for tomorrow and even then it's brief. Into their couch they go, and Leova gets out the oil, and eventually Vrianth's wings stop cramping so tightly shut. They stay there for some time.
Vrianth senses that Jaireth is easy to detect that touch, small as it is, and feels the twinge of absolute unhappiness. Not one to pry or prod, what he returns is the undercurrents of the warm desert sand - present, but fleeting. Maybe easy to miss, but maybe not if expected.
She doesn't seem to be consciously aware of those undercurrents, but eventually the sense of cramped muscles, cramped self dissipates. And it's possible the sand's warmth, recognized or not, might have helped at least a very little. (Vrianth to Jaireth)
VR: Day 1, month 11, Turn 15, of the Interval. It is a autumn evening.
Milani outfits Leova while Vrianth takes a turn over the lake. And then Zunaeth hurts poor little Vrianth's poor little feelings.
Central Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr (#17755RIJM)
Though certain of the Weyr's supplies are stored at the places where they are used, most are kept here, in the central storage complex. A series of caverns grouped around a central corridor, the complex is cut on the grand scale necessary to hold all the items a full and active Weyr needs.
The main corridor is wide and tall enough to admit a laden wagon. The walls are lined with heavy wooden doors, their wide spacing evidence of the size of the rooms behind them. Each of the doors features a posted inventory and map of its room's contents, and there are small piles of returned items beside several, waiting until someone has the time to reshelve them properly. There is a set of hardwood shelves available on a space of wall between two of the doors where people can place items when they are not sure which storeroom they belong in. Scanning the door signs, you note cold stores, dry food stores, rooms for textiles and furnishings, the records room, and the supply closet.
To the south, the corridor opens out to the lower caverns.
Milani
Expressive bright blue-green eyes are the remarkable feature of this young woman's face, the color rather intense, like the seas off Ista Island. A small, slightly upturned nose scattered with freckles across the bridge and full lips complete a winsome face that's most often open and frank of expression. It'd be hard to miss her in a crowd too, given her height, just a smidgen under six feet and the long mane of well-kept, wavy, strawberry-blonde hair that falls nearly to her hips, unbound. Slender and moderately curvy, there's a certain lithe gracefulness to her when she moves that belies her sixteen-odd turns.
Wearing what's apparently some sort of working uniform, Milani's black bodice sports the badge of High Reaches Weyr worked onto one shoulder strap. Modest in cut, this is laced over a white blouse and full, royal blue skirts. Practical calf-boots, also black serve for workaday footwear. The knot of a High Reaches Weyr assistant headwoman loops her shoulder.
Leova
At 5'5", it's that much easier for Leova to blend in with a crowd, particularly with boxy clothing to conceal her curves. She doesn't often fuss with the rest either and though her rusty auburn hair is kept trimmed, very short in back and a little longer in front, it's just to keep it low maintenance. Tawny skin is further browned by sun and wind, doing little to soften the feline cast to her features, and her dark-fringed eyes are the yellow amber of a masterminer's prize.
She's dressed much as she had for stable work, with heavy boots that still see daily polish and plain brown pants that let her stride lengthen. Her off-white tunic now strains against her shoulders and upper arms when she reaches too far, however, and fewer tools hang from the belt that's buckled in another notch. A thick fleece-lined jacket with a green and silver-threaded weyrling knot on one shoulder regularly accompanies her, worn when needed, slung over one arm when not. (+detail available)
Evening usually finds Milani off-duty, but tonight she's leaning against one of the storeroom doors with a clipboard, still ticking things off and murmuring under her breath. "... twelve sacks of coal, fourteen barrels of Nabolese cider ..." and so on as she goes through some kind of inventory.
"Three or four shirts?" Leova asks in tempo as she approaches, glowbasket in hand. Though she looks weary as usual, there isn't that utter exhaustion that had worn grayer and grayer circles beneath her eyes and set her steps dragging, sometimes stumbling this time of night. She even grins, though just for a moment.
Milani's clipboard tips towards her chest and bright blue-green eyes appear over its edge, settling on Leova curiously. A wide grin appears next and the clipboard drops. "Shirts, definitely, is the wear and tear of Weyrlinghood literally taking the shirt off your back?" A little flippant the quip as Millie pushes away from the door she's leaning against and uses the momentum to propel her across the hallway and diagonally towards a different door that she unlocks with a key from the chain at her belt. "Any preferences on colors, or still "will hide stains well"?
"Quick as ever," Leova sums Milani up, following her to lean against the doorframe and watch her go at it. "Thought I had plenty of muscle before, stables and all. This, though," and she shrugs, though the motion's fettered by the cloth across her shoulders: see? "Not having to cut up carcasses for her anymore. Firestone dust, though. Some plain, and a nicer one or two?" Though her tone's strong on maybe.
"Oooooh, so it's also the big broad shoulders," Milani says with a light laugh and rolls her own in example. "Got it, well we've got plenty of clothing, so you should be able to find something that you like even, rather than just making do." THe door is pushed open and held for Leova. "Come on in." Beyond the assistant headwoman are rows of neat shelves with bins arranged in some way that's not immediately obvious, but the bins seem to contain neatly folded clothing.
She laughs, Leova grimaces. "Just hire me out for the toss dances, next Gather. I can lead." Even more reluctantly, as she enters the innocuous-looking danger zone, "Maybe something with a waist, too. Keeps bunching up in my belt."
"Sure! Bet there's a bunch of girls out there who'd rather have another girl for a partner rather than a guy," notes Milani complacently as she leads on down the rows of shelves to the right bins and sets her clipboard down on the one above. She shifts the lid aside and peeks inside. "All of these are fairly plain, neutral colors. And these ..." the next bin over, "should be the fun ones. Yep. Oooo ...." and she reaches in to pick up the topmost ones, picks up a russet red from the middle of the pile and holds it up. "Good color for you I think."
That stops Leova for a moment, and she follows Milani even more slowly afterward, heading straight for the neutral bin before the girl pulls out the red one. "Not too bright, as reds go," she supposes. "Doesn't look like I'd be heading off to get married." Even aside from the cloth and cut. This is apparently a good thing.
Milani laughs. "Not like you could, since riders don't, but no, not wedding red," the assistant headwoman says encouragingly and holds the shirt out a little, eyeing the Weyrling then the shirt, and again. "I think this'll fit nicely and give you that waist thing you were talking about. I'd save this for fancy though. Do you want some workaday browns maybe?" Brows lift as she passes the russet shirt over.
"Just don't want to give anybody the wrong idea," Leova says, accepting the shirt and folding it over her arm. "Brown's good. Real good. I can try these on later, make sure." Absently she starts fingering the cloth, so much finer and softer than what she's used to, eyes on what else Milani's coming up with.
"You won't," Milani states firmly. "Not with a Weyrling knot on and then a rider one later. It's just a color really. And for it to be weddingy it'd have to be in graduated shades and all tradtionally cut and everything." Busily pulling out a few more samples, the assistant headwoman hums a little as she hunts, sings a few snatches even of a popular harper tune. Finally she's got six other shirts for Leova to try. "Okay, this one might be too big, but it's cut nicely for a girl and this one's pretty, with the tucks in the front, but it might not fit in the shoulders. You look like you're sleeping a little bit better." Non-sequitur.
Leova lets it go, not leaning on anything now that she's in here, just automatically taking up that balanced, waiting stance weyrlings use for drills. "A little better, right. Almost feel human again. And I'll return the extras," she adds, reaching for the shirts. "Ties on that other one aren't bad either, all braided like that. Hold up better than buttons, you know?"
"Yes, it's good handiwork," Milani observes, running fingers over said braiding, then laying the shirts carefully over Leova's arm. "Good to feel human again, I'll bet. I can't imagine how you all do it. I'd go bonkers I'm pretty sure." Beat. "How's your Vrianth coming along?"
"Her? Best thing around," Leova says, getting that slight secret smile again as she goes through the shirts. "Flying already, believe it or not. Wants to fly to Ista." She hands one back already, explaining, "Too low. Have to strap everything down already, don't want to have to worry about them falling out." Beat. "How is Ista, anyway?"
"Really? Shells, that went fast," Milani says laughingly. "Congratulations though, I'll bet that makes for one happy dragon. "And Ista? Why Ista?" The assistant headwoman's head tilts to the side and then she blinks once as that shirt is handed back and she has to chew on her cheek to keep from laughing. "Got it. No busting out." Briskly she folds that shirt back up and slides it back in mostly where she got it from and fingers through the stack. "Maybe try this one instead. It's got a high neck." Teasing. "Ista's fine. You know, hot, even though it's the wet season." All conversational-like.
Leova's smile broadens. "Flying right now." Which might be why Leova gets to be in here right now. That happy dragon makes it hard to frown properly at Milani for her joke, but she still goes for a, "Not funny." Which is ruined the rest of the way by how she mimes, sproing! as she takes the shirt's replacement. "Ista's got wildlife. Apparently. They got storms, too? And is it working out all right, getting someone covering Basq's shifts?"
Wildly proud of herself, Vrianth reaches out for Zunaeth to show him, << Look, look! I'm flying above stars! >> Which happen to be reflections in the lake, but still! Stars! (Vrianth to Zunaeth)
"Ohhhh," again from Milani and her eyes lift up to the ceiling as if she could see through it to airborne Vrianth. She can't stop the giggles this time at the sproing-miming. "Right, right. Not something I usually have to worry about." With a brief glance downward, then a shrug and a vigorous nod. "Oh yeah, plenty of greenstuff. Looks like they have trouble keeping stuff green-free in fact, there's so much of it. You know. Vines and the like. And sure, storms, tropical ones. Lots of /rain/." She blinks for a moment at mention of the Searched stablehand then shrugs again. "Sure, not really hard to take care of that."
Warmed by wry bemusement, Zunaeth's thoughts flare up in response to Vrianth's proud touch. << I see, >> he answers. << You fly well already. >> Underneath his amusement at the young green is a certain amount of wistfulness for the pride, the youthful joy she takes in that accomplishment. (Zunaeth to Vrianth)
"Not that high, just over the lake," Leova explains, and she gives up even her attempt at frowning as Milani giggles. Made her laugh! Again! "Wouldn't mind more green, but rain. Well. Vrianth likes rain too." And she can have it. "Your friend like rain? Good to know about Basq, anyway. Hard sometimes when schedules get thrown off, but I guess you're all used to it."
Zunaeth senses that Vrianth fans the flames, that much more delighted for his reaction, even if she doesn't see all the way down right at first. << My Secath taught me well. >> A wingstroke casts wind over the water, he may sense through her, the stars disappearing until she glides and slowly they return. Such power she has. << Where do you like to fly, most of all, Zunaeth? >>
"Safe that, I guess, in case she falls," Milani replies with a nod and grins over at Leova as she neatens up the bins further. "Need anything else? Trousers too maybe, while we're in here?" And she looks around at the other bins. "Yeah, I suppose it does get pretty barren up here, though the lake is nice at least three seasons out of four. Vrianth likes the rain? Interesting. What about it does she like?" She's reaching for her clipboard again, flips through some sheets and scribbles a note, murmuring 'six shirts to Leova for try out'. "Hmm? Oh no I meant that it was pretty simple to promote one of the assistant stablehand types up into his spot and rotate another kid from the caverns into the other spot." Her head lifts and she considers for a moment. "Ays? I'll have to ask him. I don't think there's all that much about Ista he's liking right now, but maybe it just takes some time to get used to being somewhere that warm after growing up somewhere as cold as here."
"Suppose so. Again with the not bunching around the waist. Don't know how easy that is." Most of the trousers Leova's had from stable work were cut for men, and look it. "What does she like? That's harder. Not like she tells me like we're talking, you and me, you know? She just is." The baffled feeling's overridden by the sense of Vrianth, yet again. Vrianth just is. So maybe Leova's still smiling a little too much when she nods for the promoting and rotating, and when she says, "Hope he manages all right. Gets back soon."
Zunaeth bespoke Vrianth with << Your Secath, >> and the possession amuses him further, sparks from the fire. But the question slows his mind into a low boil while he thinks, sorts out the answer for himself. << I'm not picky, >> he admits at length. << Pretty happy just to be up there, these days. >>
"Those're just over here," MIlani leads the way to the trouser bins and skips the first two, eyes the third, then Leova's legs, shakes her head again and kneels by the fourth to sort through. She finds three pairs of sturdy pants, none wherhide, all sturdy soft canvassy stuff, two pair in dun khaki, one in a grayish-blue. "These are cut for girls," she notes as she hands them over. "Try everything on, bring back what doesn't work, keep the rest." She smiles beamingly at Leova, then lets the smile fade as she considers Vrianth. "Hmm. Can't know for sure, no, but I can imagine, sort of," she notes softly, expression turning a little wry. "A'son? Oh I don't think he's coming back. Well at least, not for anything more than a visit every now and then. And I've got my fingers crossed for Basq that he Impresses. So." She shrugs loosely and makes another note on her clipboard. "Thanks though and I should really go grab some dinner. Come along if you're hungry? While you have the chance and all." Wink. And then without waiting for an answer, Millie's striding briskly back for the door and waiting with the key to lock up.
Leova accepts the pants and all the talking much the same way, a little diffidently but not with discomfort. She's just listening, giving Milani all the time she wants to talk it all out. Finally, "Sounds good. Dinner, I mean. Hope the rest works out." She gives Milani a smile back, because, and follows her out into the hall and the noisier caverns beyond.
Zunaeth senses that Vrianth agrees, shining sparks for sparks, hers more electric than his flame and reflecting just the same. << My Secath. >> She gives him all the time he wants to think things over, waiting, gliding, and yes, maybe warming herself on that low-level turbulence. And when Zunaeth does reply, Vrianth's response comes naturally, unusually gentle but encouraging and hoping all at once, << Come fly with me? There is room. >> Not like the barracks. So much sky for their wings.
But Zunaeth is, mentally, shaking his head, thoughts a hair cooler for all he gives off a faint sense of gratitude for the offer. << Can't keep up with some little green, >> he replies. << Can watch you, though. >> (Zunaeth to Vrianth)
Zunaeth senses Vrianth's taken aback, missing a wingbeat and then having to recover before she can reply, and it's not as easy as it will be when she's grown. And even then she doesn't reply right away, unable to hide the sense of rejection that dims her mind and makes the sparks go away, but too proud and too vulnerable not to try.
Vrianth senses that Zunaeth, no good with apologies, is silent, too; his mind is for once quite cool, guilt and a rueful distance damping the fires that usually light his voice.
(Living Caverns)
Leova, dinner finished and a couple of Milani's suggested garments returned, strides straight past the drinks table with the remainder over her arm. Heading for the bowl. Not seeing even the trio of fellow weyrlings at a side table, much less visitors. And then she breaks into a run.
In that distance, Vrianth can, barely, be felt to land, no longer a windborne creature. Just earthbound, and suddenly very young, and scuttling for her rider. Who's running to her. (Vrianth to Zunaeth)
(Western Bowl)
Leova hurries. Picks up speed. There's moonlight at least, both of them out and Timor just past full.
(Eastern Bowl)
Vrianth is slower, the barracks closer, moving low to the ground.
They meet somewhere in the middle, the young dragon larger than her lifemate by far, now, but still needing the consolation of arms around her neck, of attention, of all the words and love her rider can provide. The only thing Leova never says is, "He didn't mean it."
There's the minutest twinge down the filament that links them. Absolute unhappiness. But it's just a quiver, Vrianth not focused outward in the least, and so very easy to miss. (Vrianth to Jaireth)
Leova soothes her dragon into the barracks, past the questioning looks of Cesaira and F'ren. She pauses only to mutter something to Sh'dor about switching for tomorrow and even then it's brief. Into their couch they go, and Leova gets out the oil, and eventually Vrianth's wings stop cramping so tightly shut. They stay there for some time.
Vrianth senses that Jaireth is easy to detect that touch, small as it is, and feels the twinge of absolute unhappiness. Not one to pry or prod, what he returns is the undercurrents of the warm desert sand - present, but fleeting. Maybe easy to miss, but maybe not if expected.
She doesn't seem to be consciously aware of those undercurrents, but eventually the sense of cramped muscles, cramped self dissipates. And it's possible the sand's warmth, recognized or not, might have helped at least a very little. (Vrianth to Jaireth)