Logs:A Little Nostalgia
|RL Date: 4 August, 2016|
|Who: Jocelyn, Tamsin, Aidavanth, Tyth|
|Involves: High Reaches Weyr|
|What: Former co-candidates Jocelyn and Tamsin wax a little nostalgic near the eggs.|
|Where: Galleries, High Reaches Weyr|
|When: Day 18, Month 6, Turn 41 (Interval 10)|
|Mentions: Quinlys/Mentions, Yarsa/Mentions|
|OOC Notes: Backdated.|
It might be the sudden squeal from the young teenager who had, previously, been tittering over the eggs in a mannerly fashion, that gives away Tamsin's purpose standing at the edge of the small group. It's not two heartbeats between the squeal and the burst of movement from the girl as she leaps off the bench and throws her arms around the brownrider, the older woman's expression one of tolerant amusement. "Off with you then, to see the Headwoman or one of her assistants," is Tamsin's patiently drawled remark, given along with a shooing motion of her hands. The girl stays only a moment longer to let out a quieter, girlier squeal and hurry off, her friends quick to jump up and follow to bear witness (or sulk). The new candidate pauses just long enough as she's hurrying to offer a, "Sorry, ma'am," to Jocelyn what with her work space and the disturbance to the usual quiet of the Stands.
Tamsin's dark eyes settle on the familiar redhead a long moment but it's not until the girls are out of sight that she begins to glide toward the goldrider, slipping into a seat near, but not intimately near, as if she belonged there. "My apologies if they disturbed you, weyrwoman," there's an edge to the formality that tentatively treads the line of mockery - it's not that Tamsin is making mock of their ranks, the structure of the Weyr or anything so sacred as all that, but more in the way that friends might make light of such differences, an invitation to something less formal that doesn't pressure the junior to engage the brownrider on easier terms, if the goldrider isn't so inclined.
Aidavanth has been a diligent caretaker of her clutch, leaving the sands only to feed, bathe and spend brief moments between for the end stages of digestion. It's clear as the sevens march onward that she must prefer to keep Jocelyn close during this time; certainly, the redhead only leaves the galleries to eat, sleep and fulfill in-person job duties. Today is little different. The passage of the new candidate elicits a glance up from her writing, lips pursing briefly before the weyrwoman gives a silent, little nod to the back of the girl's head. Attention fully returning to her work, Jocelyn gives no sign that she's aware of Tamsin having settled nearby, not until pale eyes cut the quickest of glances sideways toward the brownrider before returning to where her pen scratches steadily. "Taking responsibility for the Weyr's children now, are we?" Her delivery is similar, if almost but not quite bored. "Let me guess. You're already out of knots."
"I never bother to carry them. They need to see the Headwoman's staff anyway for anything they need in the barracks and chores and the like, so..." Why carry more than she needs to? Tamsin's reply comes with an easy shrug. "I'm not sure I'd call them children. Not when one of them could be a dragonrider when these hatch, or in a few turns, an assistant headwoman who grows and eventually becomes our weyrwoman." Dark eyes settle on Jocelyn thoughtfully, "Shall I go, ma'am?" she offers the out, evidently prepared to make herself scarce.
"No? And here I thought you'd want, " Jocelyn's lips quirk briefly, "to bestow the rank of candidacy and all the difficulties that come with it upon a hopeful, impressionable young person." The request for direction finally pulls eyes more gray than blue from her work to consider the other woman - a contemporary, and someone who was, perhaps, once almost a promising friend before time and changing circumstances caused them to drift apart. It's a long moment before she looks back down to where her pen has, for the time being, paused in its back-and-forth movements. Drily, "Go if you'd like. Stay if you'd like. You haven't lost the capability to make your own decisions, I trust. Tamsin."
"Oh, we do," Tamsin replies, something sharp about her smile and dimples, wicked, but playfully so, "I'd just rather leave all the details of rules and so on to the people who know what they're talking about." Also, less work for her - though this brownrider has never been one to shy away from work, just one to know when there's a better person for the job than she. "No, I haven't," lost the ability, "but I'm still stalwartly clinging to the manners my mother taught me," she sighs, feigning the tone that implies it's a bad habit she ought long to have broken herself of. "No need to stay where I'm not wanted even if I'd like to be there." She flashes Jocelyn a small smile and then looks out to the eggs. "My and Tyth's congratulations on the eggs. Aidavanth has done her Weyr proud. And you?" That last is a question, not an assumption.
There's something feral watching from the ledges. It might be threatening if it didn't seem so perfectly natural to be there. The primal presence has an edge of joy that brings sunshine and all the delicious smells of the fresh air (including prey just out of sight) as it observes the eggs, the young, the future. « I like them, » the voice of wind but holds the gentility of soft rain as well as fierce thunder and wild lightning within its depths offers to the queen along with the expected civility of, « Congratulations. » (To Aidavanth from Tyth)
Jocelyn's expression certainly makes it look as if she's about to craft another wry little response, but something turns that intake of breath into, "She has, " instead. There's a stare for the creamy, off-white shells so painstakingly grouped together down below, then: "Of course I'm pleased. I suppose neither of us can truly take credit for the creation of life taking its course, but eleven with the promise of good health will be a good contribution to our world." World, not Weyr, for some of those may yet end up at Monaco afterward. Still, it's a careful statement, and the goldrider picks up her pen again, makes another mark on a sheet.
To Tyth, Aidavanth isn't at all unaware of those entering, leaving, lingering in the hatching grounds while she cares for her still-gestating offspring. That wind, that sense of being watched doesn't exactly leave the smooth surface of her presence rippled, but the stimulus is enough for her to lift her eyes briefly toward Tyth's chosen ledge. Her gracious, « Thank you, » is effused with her usual warmth and surety of purpose. « I expect they'll be more likable once they're experiencing the world as we do. » More interactive, at any rate, than a cluster of quiet, warm eggs.
"Sure you can," Tamsin replies to the matter of taking credit, "particularly her. Without her nurturing what was within, even if it was unconsciously done, they wouldn't be here. Without you to take care of her, she wouldn't be here." It sounds so simple, right? "Deny that you have the right to truly take credit and you make an argument mothers the world over won't thank you for." There's some amusement there but a touch of something bittersweet in her expression briefly. She looks at the eggs, "Now, I can understand if you want to wait to see if they're sweet good dragons or little rapscallion ones before taking credit, but credit or blame will be lobbed at your collective feet regardless. It's the way of things." She smirks just a little, perhaps amused by the way of the world.
To Aidavanth, Tyth probably would like to think he could sneak in and out, if he wanted, but it's safer for the brown's ego if he willingly makes his presence known. Her notice is therefore expected, even if he might have half expected her to be too busy with her own matters to speak with him. There's a ripple within him that isn't smooth either, but his is pleasant surprise. « I think they're likable now, but they'll be more exciting then. » Tyth hooks bits of images - a hunt, a flight, a swim and feelings of wind under wings, dirt beneath claws and flesh in the mouth - into the word 'exciting' to expound upon his definition of the word.
The up-and-down motions of Jocelyn's pen still again. Her reply comes at some length, expression inscrutable save for her narrowed eyes. In much the same, almost-bored tone as before, "You know, I've missed your little lectures on 'the way of things.' I see I've managed to disappoint you again, although I doubt you've taken the time to have a chat simply to tell me that. What do you want?" Her words emerge defensive by the end, if weary without the bite of indignation or anger.
A little bubble of amusement appears briefly, buoyed along their connection before it dissipates. « They'll be - more, » Aidavanth agrees; her definition carries the feeling of having bulk and girth of musculature, of learning and growing (and growing) with another. « You'll help hunt for them, in the beginning, won't you. » It isn't much of a question, accompanied by a sense of knowing rather than being any form of command. (To Tyth from Aidavanth)
Tamsin makes a face at Jocelyn's words. "You've never disappointed me. Besides, you wouldn't care if you did. You're Jocelyn. You're fearless." She doesn't even sound like she's teasing or joking. It sounds like she believes that as just another fact of life - a way the world simply is. "I was just trying to tell you that you should give yourself more credit. My daughter doesn't know I'm her mother and she's still one of the best things I could have put into the world." That last is quiet, and there's something a little vulnerable in her face. She's quiet a moment and then shakes her head, "I don't know. I guess seeing Yarsa Searched, as young as we were when we Stood together... It just stirred some memories. Memories of you. Us. Things in the past, I guess."
It's good dragon memories are short or Olveraeth would have to thank Aidavanth for Tyth leaving whole (or partial or gnawed) carcasses in the training cavern for the little ones. Hopefully Tamsin won't remember the request for him. His response is immediate, « Of course. » As if he needs an excuse to hunt. « I will show them how, too, when they're old enough. » The brown shuffles toward the edge of the ledge and leans to get a better look. « Do you want me to hunt for you? » This is a more immediate opportunity to hunt with purpose. (To Aidavanth from Tyth)
Fearless. Jocelyn's mouth opens and shuts again in the aftermath of being given such an epithet; the goldrider doesn't have a reply, not immediately, not while she finally puts down her pen and listens to Tamsin, watches that vulnerable turn to her expression. Stiffly, at some length, "Don't be ridiculous. It isn't accurate to call me fearless. I certainly wasn't then, " she simultaneously remembers and reminds the other, pale gaze turning toward the sands. "Even having grown up here and knowing what hatchings were and how they progressed, I was scared stiff out there, as I'm sure you recall. Even the fourth time wasn't exactly what I'd call pleasant." The fifth, though? There's a softer look for the orange-gold who's stretching to her feet so that she can better walk among her brood and turn them carefully.
Hopefully neither of their riders will spend much time recalling that Lythronath found such offerings fitting for his children while the mother of this clutch was still in her shell. Aidavanth spends time checking first one egg, then a second before answering, focus mostly diverted to her task. « I did only just feed yesterday, » she considers. « If you happen to be hunting anyway, I'd enjoy a little snack. Not a head. » She's really not into snacks that smile (or grimace) back.
"Brave, then," Tamsin doesn't miss a beat in making reply, altering her original assessment. "Brave is probably a better word than fearless in any case. It takes into account your intelligence to recognize fear and your tenacity to act in spite of it." The words are genuine even if the delivery is casual almost to the point of dismissiveness. The brownrider's eyes linger on Aidavanth rather than invade Jocelyn's private moment of tenderness with scrutiny. "I was glad for you. When she found you. I'd have been glad if it was any of them, but I was more glad that it was her. I remember thinking, 'Of course, Jocelyn should wear that knot,' even if it comes with challenges."
« Why? Brains are delicious. » Tyth is genuinely confused. That doesn't mean he won't acquiesce to the gold's personal preferences, but evidently the question bears asking. « Tamsin has promised we will go south to hunt soon. » Soon meaning today, so he can hold her to that soonness without risking forgetting the promise. « I will bring you something tasty. » It's something easily done, he seems sure. He is an accomplished hunter, after all, and wild prey does taste better than what's in the feeding grounds here. (To Aidavanth from Tyth)
Perhaps Jocelyn is, for once, rather at a loss for words. There's a level look given in reply to bravery, to knots and the challenges that go with them before she gruffly clears her throat with an embarrassed flush, jerking her chin briefly in the direction where one of the Weyr's newest candidates must be getting settled in. "Her first time, is it?" Yarsa. "I hope she'll grow from the experience, even if it isn't all pleasant." Her eyes betray her, however; she's not completely untouched by Tamsin's expressed reaction to her Impression, and the lines of her features soften a smidgen.
To Tyth, Aidavanth is still very much focused on tending to her shelled charges, but her presence brightens in intensity, just a hair, just enough to give her an inward gleam of anticipation. Wild prey isn't a frequent acquisition for one so noticeable, particularly now that she's bound here by her offspring. « I don't care what it is so long as it has an excellent flavor and isn't a head. I'll take your best non-brain recommendation from what you find when you go. »
"Yes," is Tamsin's simple answer to Yarsa's first time, though the word comes with a rueful chuckle. "I think she might have waited a turn or two before asking to Stand, but Tyth had other ideas and she's pleased, so..." The brownrider shrugs; maybe that's all that matters? "I'm sure she'll grow, one way or another. Experiences like candidacy have a way of changing a person. Maybe more so when there's a dragon at the end." She arches a brow slightly in silent inquiry: of the two of them, Jocelyn has the better perspective on this.
« In other words, you'll take what I give you, » Tyth returns to the queen, not hiding his easy amusement. Nevertheless, « We hunt often. I will bring you things from my hunts until the eggs become more interesting. » If he could, he'd probably give Aidavanth a big wolfy smile before he leans forward enough to fall off the ledge and catch himself on his wings, rising out of the cavern. This might be his haphazard goodbye. (To Aidavanth from Tyth)
"As will time, " replies Jocelyn to that raised brow, but certainly doesn't look as if she disagrees with Tamsin's assessment. "One way or another, she will grow. None of us are exactly the same afterward, regardless of whether we're found by our dragons or not." There's a considering look for where Aidavanth works on gently turning one of the eggs closest to the galleries, whirling eyes sparing a glance upward before her focus fully redirects itself to her children as Tyth takes off. Drily, "Next, I suppose you'll say that you'll be tickled pink if she Impresses brown." There's at least some lightness, there, however, and a faint twitch at the corners of her mouth.
The inclination of Tamsin's head is just enough to gracefully agree with the goldrider's first words. Her dry suggestion is met with a little laugh as Tamsin tosses her head back a little, the sort of gesture that holds charm more commonplace to a feast table in a Hold than the galleries of a Weyr. "I'll be pleased as long as the eggs hatch healthy and the candidates don't prove too much of a handful." It could be a token answer, but the brownrider's demeanor and expression are genuine. "If you'll excuse me, I believe Tyth has made Aidavanth the promise of something from his hunt and he's eager to be on our way." She presses herself to her feet, waiting only for Jocelyn's dismissal before heading for the bowl.