[Log] Of yarn and weyrlings
Who: P'draig, P'traul
What: Paul's looking for a scarf, but find Paddy instead!
Where: Market, Ista Weyr
When: It is a summer night, 23:31 of day 16, month 9, turn 20 of Interval 10.
Sunny day, chasing the clouds away, because it was rainy earlier, summer storm running through, though autumn is tramping onward in other parts of Pern. Paddy's ambling the aisles of the market idly, not seeming to be on the prowl for anything in particular and sips from a tube of something that's probably sweet, cool and refreshing.
Paul, on the other hand, seems on the hunt: he prowls from stall to stall, aiming more towards those with collections of fabric and swathes of colour, pausing every so often to run his fingers over the threading, maybe toss a word or two to the shopkeep, and move on. When he spies Paddy, however, the younger brownrider veers out of his way with a genial, "P'draig!"
His name, called and P'draig turns a little, beams at P'traul. "Hey there, P'traul. How's things? Nice day, hm? Not quite so heavy, the air," the Weyrlingmaster says with a warm smile. "Looking for something special or just browsing?" a gesture to the market stalls.
"Warm," mourns P'traul, rolling his shoulders, but adds with a faint smile up at P'draig, "but that's nothing new, now, is it? -- a scarf." Motioning with one hand, he indicates his current interest: a thin, gauzy thing, blue or maybe purple. "For my brother," Paul explains, "but it seems everything here is too light to survive an actual winter with snow and such."
"Mmm. Not oppressively hot though," P'draig says with a laugh. "Though if it's winter-weight you're looking for, might have to actually head north," the Weyrlingmaster notes and takes another sip from his drink. "How's Yjimeth doing? Been a while since we've had a good chat. Busy with the new batch of weyrlings and all."
Letting the textile slide through his fingers back to the counter, P'traul shakes his head with a quick smile for the stall's owner. "Mmm," he agrees thoughtfully. "I was hoping for something local just for, you know. The novelty of it. Not a priority right now," he decides as he turns properly to P'draig. "He's -- well, we're both good! Better then good. /Really/ good? I've been busy, too. The two of us have been working hard to sort, um, ourselves out. If that makes sense?" He quirks his smile upward. "How are the weyrlings? I see them out and about now and again."
"Maybe buy the uh -- fiber instead? Give it to one of the aunties to knit up into something more substantial?" P'draig suggests, but nods at the lack of urgency. "Yes, it does," Paddy says with a little tilt of his head. "Sometimes, it takes a while, beyond weyrlinghood even," the brownrider says candidly. "They're ... all right. It's been a bumpy road. They're troublemakers some of them," the Weyrlingmaster's hand lifts to the back of his neck, rubs there and his expression shades sheepish.
Paul brightens, visibly files that information away with a tilt of his head and a sharp nod, but offers up instead, "Absolutely. And as much as weyrlinghood was about learning to integrate and work together and perform as a team, it's not exactly the same as a real wing. Yjimeth struggled -- still struggles --" P'traul admits with a soft chuckle "-- a little. All right?" Another laugh, gentle. "Hardly a ringing endorsement, sir. But if anyone can set them straight, it would be you, wouldn't it?"
"No, it's not, the same and it's almost learning it all all over again in some ways," P'draig says thoughtfully. "Have to figure out how to relate to a whole new group, not just your clutchmates." He looks over at Paul curiously though. "What's Yjimeth having trouble with in the wing?" That hand rubs some more and P'draig shrugs. "I'm certainly trying. This has probably been one of my toughest groups to date."
"Yjimeth would call it an 'exercise in practical application of learned knowledge'," the Spinnaker rider replies, the corner of his mouth twisting upward again. "I felt as though ... I had all the pieces to the puzzle but just couldn't make them fit. And Yjimeth, ah. He's very adamant that he can 'optimize' the wing. He's still working on using his inside voice around authority, though he's very well-intentioned." Paul's turn to be sheepish, though he expresses his surprise about the weyrlings with a soft, "ohh! Really a handful, then. Should I be looking out for anyone in particular?"
"Ah -- what?" P'draig laughs and shakes his head. "Practical application of -- ohhhh, okay." The Weyrlingmaster nods understandingly though. "He got along with Chadamalith didn't he? THey're both ... kind of like that. THey see things and want to fix them whether or not the people and dragons involved want to be fixed or not." Laughing again, Paddy lifts his shoulders. "Almost all of them. But ... our new junior especially. I mean, Nenny's a friend, so don't get me wrong, I knew she was feisty, but she's been keeping me on my toes since the first day."
P'traul rolls his eyes, laughing outright. "It's endearing, isn't it? Trying to understand him sometimes is like slogging through a marsh. Made of big words and /math/." The horror! On Chadamalith: "Yes, they did! They do. Wingmates, too, so every so often I have to reign Yjimeth in from egging him on." The brownrider listens closely, thoughtfully. "New junior -- Nenita, isn't it?" And all the sudden, apropos of nothing, Paul exclaims, eyes lighting on a nearby booth, "Ah! Walk with me," and sets off towards a heap of dyed wools, rich with colour, to inspect.
What: Paul's looking for a scarf, but find Paddy instead!
Where: Market, Ista Weyr
When: It is a summer night, 23:31 of day 16, month 9, turn 20 of Interval 10.
Sunny day, chasing the clouds away, because it was rainy earlier, summer storm running through, though autumn is tramping onward in other parts of Pern. Paddy's ambling the aisles of the market idly, not seeming to be on the prowl for anything in particular and sips from a tube of something that's probably sweet, cool and refreshing.
Paul, on the other hand, seems on the hunt: he prowls from stall to stall, aiming more towards those with collections of fabric and swathes of colour, pausing every so often to run his fingers over the threading, maybe toss a word or two to the shopkeep, and move on. When he spies Paddy, however, the younger brownrider veers out of his way with a genial, "P'draig!"
His name, called and P'draig turns a little, beams at P'traul. "Hey there, P'traul. How's things? Nice day, hm? Not quite so heavy, the air," the Weyrlingmaster says with a warm smile. "Looking for something special or just browsing?" a gesture to the market stalls.
"Warm," mourns P'traul, rolling his shoulders, but adds with a faint smile up at P'draig, "but that's nothing new, now, is it? -- a scarf." Motioning with one hand, he indicates his current interest: a thin, gauzy thing, blue or maybe purple. "For my brother," Paul explains, "but it seems everything here is too light to survive an actual winter with snow and such."
"Mmm. Not oppressively hot though," P'draig says with a laugh. "Though if it's winter-weight you're looking for, might have to actually head north," the Weyrlingmaster notes and takes another sip from his drink. "How's Yjimeth doing? Been a while since we've had a good chat. Busy with the new batch of weyrlings and all."
Letting the textile slide through his fingers back to the counter, P'traul shakes his head with a quick smile for the stall's owner. "Mmm," he agrees thoughtfully. "I was hoping for something local just for, you know. The novelty of it. Not a priority right now," he decides as he turns properly to P'draig. "He's -- well, we're both good! Better then good. /Really/ good? I've been busy, too. The two of us have been working hard to sort, um, ourselves out. If that makes sense?" He quirks his smile upward. "How are the weyrlings? I see them out and about now and again."
"Maybe buy the uh -- fiber instead? Give it to one of the aunties to knit up into something more substantial?" P'draig suggests, but nods at the lack of urgency. "Yes, it does," Paddy says with a little tilt of his head. "Sometimes, it takes a while, beyond weyrlinghood even," the brownrider says candidly. "They're ... all right. It's been a bumpy road. They're troublemakers some of them," the Weyrlingmaster's hand lifts to the back of his neck, rubs there and his expression shades sheepish.
Paul brightens, visibly files that information away with a tilt of his head and a sharp nod, but offers up instead, "Absolutely. And as much as weyrlinghood was about learning to integrate and work together and perform as a team, it's not exactly the same as a real wing. Yjimeth struggled -- still struggles --" P'traul admits with a soft chuckle "-- a little. All right?" Another laugh, gentle. "Hardly a ringing endorsement, sir. But if anyone can set them straight, it would be you, wouldn't it?"
"No, it's not, the same and it's almost learning it all all over again in some ways," P'draig says thoughtfully. "Have to figure out how to relate to a whole new group, not just your clutchmates." He looks over at Paul curiously though. "What's Yjimeth having trouble with in the wing?" That hand rubs some more and P'draig shrugs. "I'm certainly trying. This has probably been one of my toughest groups to date."
"Yjimeth would call it an 'exercise in practical application of learned knowledge'," the Spinnaker rider replies, the corner of his mouth twisting upward again. "I felt as though ... I had all the pieces to the puzzle but just couldn't make them fit. And Yjimeth, ah. He's very adamant that he can 'optimize' the wing. He's still working on using his inside voice around authority, though he's very well-intentioned." Paul's turn to be sheepish, though he expresses his surprise about the weyrlings with a soft, "ohh! Really a handful, then. Should I be looking out for anyone in particular?"
"Ah -- what?" P'draig laughs and shakes his head. "Practical application of -- ohhhh, okay." The Weyrlingmaster nods understandingly though. "He got along with Chadamalith didn't he? THey're both ... kind of like that. THey see things and want to fix them whether or not the people and dragons involved want to be fixed or not." Laughing again, Paddy lifts his shoulders. "Almost all of them. But ... our new junior especially. I mean, Nenny's a friend, so don't get me wrong, I knew she was feisty, but she's been keeping me on my toes since the first day."
P'traul rolls his eyes, laughing outright. "It's endearing, isn't it? Trying to understand him sometimes is like slogging through a marsh. Made of big words and /math/." The horror! On Chadamalith: "Yes, they did! They do. Wingmates, too, so every so often I have to reign Yjimeth in from egging him on." The brownrider listens closely, thoughtfully. "New junior -- Nenita, isn't it?" And all the sudden, apropos of nothing, Paul exclaims, eyes lighting on a nearby booth, "Ah! Walk with me," and sets off towards a heap of dyed wools, rich with colour, to inspect.