Looking toward the sky from the center of Ista Weyr's bowl, you view the five towering pinnacles of the Weyr rim that appear to reach into the clouds. The bowl floor slopes gently upward to the southeast, where various tunnels lead to the hatching grounds, ground weyrs, and living caverns. Across the bowl to the northeast are the weyrling barracks and training grounds. The Weyr's artificial waterfall sheets down along the northern wall of the Bowl, its pool concealed at the base of the bowl by a cloud of mist. West, the entire wall of the bowl has been blown out by some long-distant eruption, offering a breathtaking view of the ocean.
It is an autumn afternoon.
Bronze Tyroth, brown Derwyth, green Qyth, and gold Dedanseth are here.
You see Luxuria here.
H'ris, Ashkir, and Lanti are here.
Northeastern Bowl Plateau Southeastern Bowl TP Room (OOC exit)
Ashkir watches the greenrider scurry up the green's side, taking a couple of steps back to allow the dragon a little bit of room. "Well, I'll tell you about it sometime, when I'm not in trouble for it." And there's not certain goldriders around to overhear all the juicy details. Speaking of goldriders, Ashkir's attention gets distracted by the incoming goldrider. Though, he seems quick enough to seize the pack thrown at him, even if it causes him to lose his balance temporarily. "Yeah, well, I'll feel bad if I don't pay you back, you needn't go out of your way for me, y'know? I'm not a dragonrider or anything, I'm just a candidate. And you've offered enough help as it is." Then the goldrider is getting a much more polite greetin, ducking his head in almost what seems to be shame. "Um, hello, ma'am."
"Ah, runnershit," is H'ris' cheery reply for the self-deprecation, his back still turned on the candidate. Which might explain his loose language at this particular moment. "Dragons choose who they choose on account o' they have it in them to be good dragonriders, yeah?" He waves a hand over his shoulder as he latches onto something in his saddlebag. "Which means, e'en if'n you -aren't- a dragonrider, you got what's important about bein' one, which is the same thing, when you're talkin' brass tacks." He pulls out the rope, then and crows a bit happily as he stands and turns. "Yeah! I did have enow rope, after a -- " he breaks off as he spots Lanti, and offers a salute as he slides to the ground. "Weyrwoman," he says, and smiles. "I hope you're doin' well."
"Trouble?" Lanti asks as Dedanseth rounds out her circuit to approach the 'Reaches green. Sound travels along the smooth rock of the bowl's floor, after all. A rumble deep in the gold's throat accompanies a draconic greeting of her own. As Lanti comes to a stop, so does the dragon, and while the rider bounces on her toes somewhat, thumbs hooking behind her riding belt, Dedanseth stretches her wings out wide, momentarily shading the immediate area. The wings are folded tightly against her back, and the lanky, long gold settles down, legs tucked neatly beneath her like a waiting canine. "I am, weyrling, thank you!" Lanti responds to H'ris with a sunny little smile. "And how are you and Qyth faring today?"
"Gettin' in trouble already?" comes from the direction of the plateau, but much, much nearer: Siraji employs the same accoustical quirk of the bowl to seamlessly insert herself into the conversation from the get-go. The swagger in her step is nearly entirely genetics; the fact that, despite the Trader's knot absent from her shoulder, she still lives and breathes Istan Weyrbred accounts for the rest. In place of said knot, there is a loose-limbed line of pale gold droop, as Mooncalf rides in state. "Yo, H'ris," she greets with a grunt, before hooking a grin Lanti-ward and offering her a salute, just loose enough to be genuine without mocking. (That it is still, clearly, guard to weyrlingmaster despite the fact that she is no longer the former, well.) "Weyrlin'master." The hook of her thumbs into her belt is habitual, though, "I hear things ended up stinkin' like m'Dad's old socks, up in th' barracks. Y'made any progress on airin' that shit out?" is clearly current-events.
"Well, the eggs haven't hatched yet, and I'm not counting the eggs before they hatch!" Is all Ashkir says on that whole prospect. "But thanks, H'ris, it really means a lot. I just rather wait till they hatch before I get too hopeful about the whole thing." He shifts H'ris's stuff under his arm and offers a quick shake of his head to Lanti. "Of course not ma'am, there isn't any trouble." He's behaving, really! Siraji gets a brief nod in greeting, "Heya, Siraji, how goes it?" Then H'ris gets his attention again, "So how are we gonna approach the whole hammock thing, I mean, you show me the knots and then I could probably figure out the rest."
"She's fine, ma'am, thank you for askin'," H'ris says amiably, patting his green on her shoulder. "We was just talkin' about buildin' hammocks an' the like," he explains, shifting the rope to hsi shoulder. "Ashkir weren't sure if'n he knew how to make one, an' I allowed as I could show him the knots he needed." He grins, and nods at the older woman. "Just the knots, though. I reckon as you want 'em to do it theirselves." Siraji gets a fond grin, and a lifted hand. "Saji," is offered warmly, and her question earns a grin. "I reckon burnt fellis bark takes more'n a day or two o' airin' out, after," he says. "But you ain't like to have bugs until the summer comes again."
"I believe the headman and his staff are still working on it," Lanti answers Siraji, though she sounds rather unconcerned. "Probably a couple more days, then these guys can move back into the candidate barracks." She studies Ashkir for a moment before moving on to H'ris. "Hammocks are a slice of paradise when the wind is right." Behind her, Dedanseth turns her narrow head in Siraji's direction and whuffles softly, but that is all. "You guys must be pretty close to wing tappings by now, eh?" Lanti asks of H'ris.
"Yo," Saji returns Ashkir's greeting, her, "with a great deal of gravity," an oblique, tongue-in-cheek reference to her incubatory nature without drawing any kind of attention to it. "Those th' supplies you were sayin' th' Weyr was gonna provide you with?" is added with a chin-jerk toward the ropes, because it's easier to hear with the aid of the bowl's accoustics than see, natch. She rocks back on her heels, but H'ris's commentary and Lanti's both get the same response, a slow-nod of agreement. Right, right. "Hammocks are also a real bitch until y'get th' hang of 'em," she adds, but the hook of her grin is highly entertained. "Be prepared f' some undignified dumpin' on y'ass."
"It ain't so bad," H'ris says of riding a hammock. "I reckon onct you're in, you're good, if'n the wind ain't against you." Lanti's question gets a duck of his head. "Oh, I dunno, ma'am," he says honestly. "I reckon we're gettin' close, as wingriders seem to be havin' a lot o' parties where there's weyrlings invited. So, I reckon as they're feelin' us out, so I reckon it's probably any day now." He shifts the rope, and wrinkles his nose. "You know what I didn't think of?" he asks Ashkir. "We need some o' that bendy tin the Smiths use, so the fabric won't tear from the weight." He drops the rope, and casts about the Bowl. "I'll just pop o'er an' get some from the Weyr smith," he says. "I won't be a tick." Then he's off, before anyone can stop him.
Ashkir's head switches between the riders and then to Siraji, he falls silent ti listen to all the conversation about him. "I'm not so good at knots, I don't know much about them. I mean, I've learned the basics in lessons, but I'm not sure what is needed to build the hammocks they want for the barracks when we return." H'ris gets a little whine, "Oh come on, I don't even want to think about the bugs coming back, they'll be /everywhere/ again." Lanti gets a grin from the candidate, "Well, I suspect it'll be better than sleeping in bug-infested cots, anyway, and certainly a whole lot better than sleeping on the sand." Raji gets a little frown, "I /told/ him that I could get the stuff from the stores, but he decided to let me have his." He gathers up H'ris's things, "Besides, I figure, I'll just borrow them and he can have the hammock we make together and then I'll make my own, y'know?" A small smile pulls at his lips, "Oh, I'm sure I'll be falling on my ass a couple of times, I'm sure you'd enjoy seeing that."
Lanti waves H'ris off without comment aside from a small and crooked grin. "I wouldn't worry too much about the bugs coming back. We didn't call in experts, on our marks, mind you, to have it only go halfway. Besides, it's likely the barracks will be empty for some time before we have eggs on the sands again, so lots of time to make sure it's right again." She glances sideways at Siraji, then, and rocks up on her toes for a second before settling back down. "So. When's my new foster child due?"
"...right," Saji says as the greenrider goes off, watching his exit. "I'm pre'y sure that th' Weyr wasn't plannin' on leavin' you high an' dry when it comes t' makin' th' things, if you're supposed to be sleepin' in them permanently. That /probably/," she glances, sidelong, up at Lanti, "includes makin' th' knots as well as supplies, I'd wager." While the Weyrlingmaster rocks onto her toes, Saji settles her weight back down on her heels, plants herself a little more solid against the ground. "Don' ask me, though. I'm shit at knots an' braidin' an that," comes as her eyebrows liiift toward her hairline, and the hook of her grin turns a bit more considering. "You plannin' on gettin' elbow-deep in diaper duty, while y'waitin' for those Weyrlings t' grow?" she asks, then jerks a thumb toward the plateau, and the Trader camp there. "Got daily lessons goin' on, thanks t' th' drummer's kid already makin' his appearance. Think y'got a few more months t'get the trainin' in."
Ashkir looks over towards H'ris as he leaves, frowning a little. "Maybe I should go help him get the stuff, I don't want him going out of his way..." He drifts off thoughtfully then Lanti's getting his attention, "I hope they don't come back, they were so annoying getting into our clothes, and our beds...and our /hair/!" He shudders, "I rather be covered in sand than bugs." A finger points in the air, "Or they end up in the /weyrling/ barracks instead." Ash lifts his shoulders, "H'ris offered, so I figure why not let him help me? I told him he didn't have to, I'm sure he has better things to do than help me. I think I'll go help H'ris, I'd feel bad making him do all the work."
Lanti merely shrugs at Siraji's comments about supplies and the like. "That's Hador's department. Though yes, it would make sense that his staff should have made everything available. Then again..." She trails off as her smile turns wry. "Well, that's Sadaiya's plate now, not mine. Lessons, though," she adds as the smile returns to its sunnier shade, "/are/ my territory. So I guess we'll see. Haven't ruled out making a little foster of my own, but time's running short." She finally removes her thumbs from behind her belt as Ashkir implies his pending departure to join H'ris. "Well, don't go too far. I still need to have a chat with Rocco and you, all right? Good luck with the hammock. I'd best be moving on, too, or I'll never get anything to eat until this evening."
"Figured it was Hador's department," Saji muses, "so y'might want t' run you an' H'ris both up against him, make sure y'ain't steppin' on any toes. Would hate f' things t'get awkward, yeah?" This bit of friendly advice delivered, she turns her attention back to Lanti. "Y'should come by camp, when y'still got time. Can't imagine Russel an' Eva'd /mind/ another inexperienced set of hands, an' y'never know." Her grin turns just a little bit, but it's hard to tell if it's sly or just Saji; she scuffs a hand through her hair, and re-adjusts Mooncalf's drape over her shoulder. "Might come in handy some day. Heard th' herdbeast's t'/die/ for t'day, by th' way." While delivered in the same breath, it's not hard to guess that they're not actually part of the same thought.
Ashkir goes home.
"Inexperienced?" Lanti drawls as she turns to start heading southward again, toward the smell of roasting meat. She could be heard to say as they pass farther from the center of the bowl, "Your /grandmother/ has less experience than me." Empty brag, clearly. Innuendo? Who sharding knows with this old tart. Dedanseth takes her precious time getting back to her feet, then heads for the plateau. Herdbeast just sounded really good.A brief interlude in the Bowl.