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 Posted: Fri Mar 13, 2009 8:24 am
For all that Ennrik had spent much of his time early on at the Weyr avoiding responsibility in favor of familiarizing himself with the layout of the Weyr, he wasn't actually averse to work. He joked that he tried to escape it to spare his Harper hands, and there was some truth to that, but he had to admit that there was something relaxing about performing the mind-numbingly dull activities which seemed to go hand-in-hand with being a Candidate, and bore a suspicious resemblance to drudge-work. Apprentices at Harper Hall had to perform similar duties, but Ennrik had been a senior apprentice by the time he left, and able to delegate most of his less pleasant duties to others.
The chore he'd been assigned in this instance was not one he particularly enjoyed, but only because it put his nerves badly on edge. He had been assigned the task of cleaning draconian leavings from the bowl. He felt he could almost understand this assignment, as it would force him to deal with the comings and goings of the great creatures that had so unsettled him during the Touching, and this was some thoughtful person's way of acclimating him to the dragons' regard, but his nerves had been raw for what felt like years, and this duty was much more difficult than he'd anticipated. He also guessed that this was usually the sort of duty reserved for a particularly unfavored Candidate, and hoped he didn't fall into that category.
Never in his life had he been called upon to care for runners or herdbeasts, so he had no idea what sort of backbreaking labor scraping up dragon fewmits and raking sand over liquid leavings would be. Still, if he forced himself to ignore the pungent aroma of heated carnivore droppings, and the ache in his lower back and the surety that he was tearing the skin of his hands with his inexpert shovelling technique, the work wasn't utterly miserable. Yes it was. It was horrid. He sighed as he heaved another load into the wheeled barrow he was lugging around to serve as a receptacle.
He was just raking sand over the darker sand that meant dragon piss when he noticed that there was a puddle of liquid stool about eight metres away. Not urine, but like some unfortunate dragon had diarrhea. He guessed it wasn't such an unusual occurance, considering that their diet was nothing like balanced, but he knew enough lore, even if it was general, to know that the beginning of a Pass was a particularly bad time for dragons to get sick, though there was never really a good time.
Recognizing that he knew nothing of dragons, really, and that he could be worrying needlessy, and that it was kind of pitiful that he had been at this job for long enough to take notice of different qualities of defecation, Ennrik decided that he'd rather be perceived as needlessly worrying than fail to catch the early signs of some sort of dragon influenza or something. So he moved his barrow and the rest of the equipment as far out of the way of incoming and outgoing dragons as he could manage and went off to the dragon infirmary to seek advice. In the worst case, he'd be scolded for shirking his duties, which he could live with.
His early days spent exploring rather than working had been put to good use, and he could navigate the corridors of the Weyr with some degree of comfort, and having been there for some sevendays he was able to do so with far more confidence than he had initially. A number of the Candidates still needed to be guided anywhere which wasn't a part of their usual routine, which was nothing to be ashamed of, but didn't stop Ennrik from taking some small pleasure in being more familiar with the place than some. In any event, he was able to find the dragons' infirmary without getting lost.
Once there, he addressed himself to a young woman he recognized as a fellow Candidate - Lanakirene, if he remembered correctly - and asked who he should speak to regarding the runny stool he'd come across in the course of his duties.
"I don't know what to make of it, and maybe it's nothing," he explained. "But I know little enough about dragons that I can't tell the difference."
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Posted: Fri Mar 13, 2009 12:04 pm
Lanakirene was rolling bandages. She didn't particularly like doing it, but at least it meant she wasn't out in the sun gardening, like she had been assigned the last time. Shaking her head, she touched the back of her neck and winced; somehow, even after four turns doing the chores of a Candidate, she managed to get sunburn in the gardens every single time she was assigned there. She had considered, as she always did, swiping some Numbweed when people weren't looking but the thought was only an idle one, and went away as soon as one of the healers passed and glanced her way. So she had resorted to gingerly rubbing the sunburn after every few rolls of bandages.
The task might have been tedious, but at least it didn't make her fingers go numb like some of the salves she worked with, and it wasn't as horribly boring as counting. There was always somehow so much counting to be done in the infirmary. Bandages, prepared salves, supplies...everything that could be counted, was. But at least at the moment there was nothing much else to do. Lanakirene couldn't help but shudder at the thought of the time when suddenly her pseudo-apprenticeship would become that much more important, when suddenly she'd be running hither and thither, fetching Fellis for wounded dragons. Even if the Holders didn't believe in Threadfall, La was a Candidate who might someday be a Dragonrider. Thread was a reality, even if it hadn't been seen in turns upon turns.
The appearance of a newcomer, a fellow Candidate named Ennrik, she thought, made her look up and smile. At least there was some sort of break from the tediousness of bandage-wrapping after all. "Hullo, can I help you?" She wasn't entirely sure why someone without a dragon would be coming to the infirmary, unless it was to work, which it wasn't. It wasn't time for a shift in chores yet. Moving a pile of the wrapped bandages out of her lap, she listened to him as she began to wrap a new one. "Well," she began slowly when Ennrik had finished, and then shook her head, finished rolling the bandage she was currently working on, and nodded slowly. "It could just be a single incident, and if nobody's come to tell us that his dragon is sick, that's probably what it was," she said. "Otherwise, I'm really not sure there's much we can do about it. We don't know the responsible party, after all."
Pausing and furrowing her brow in thought, she considered all the possible courses of action for a moment and then smiled again. "It's probably best if you do mention it to someone, though. You can go talk to one of the Healers in there." She pointed over her shoulder, into another room, where the clicking of pestles on mortars indicated that someone (thankfully not her) was making Numbweed. "Just go and tell them what you saw and that you don't know which dragon it is. That way, if someone comes in with a sick dragon, they'll be ready for him. I'm almost through here," she said, picking up the second-to-last of her bandages.
"And then I can come with you down to the Bowl and help if you've left unfinished work down there. Two sets of hands will finish things up more quickly, and then we can go and get something to eat. I know I'm starving, and I haven't been doing anything half so hard as you." She grinned at Ennrik and picked up the last bandage, pulling the cloth into a tight roll with the ease of long practice.
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Posted: Fri Mar 13, 2009 12:39 pm
Initially it was a little startling to realize that the young woman who had been engaged in what looked like counting was as tall as he when she straightened up, but it wasn't anything terrifically important. If anything, it was more striking that her skin was so fair. He had met very few people in his life whose flesh wasn't sun-browned, or at least capable of browning with exposure. Judging from the burn on her neck, she was one of those unfortunates to whom the sun's rays were unkind. He had lighter hair, and so burning was a possibility if he spent too much time outdoors, but it wasn't really something he had to concern himself over.
"I can help, if you'd like," Ennrik offered. He was decent at maths, providing no one asked him to do anything too complicated. Counting was simple enough. And then he thought about it for a moment. "Actually. I've been outside shoveling dragon dung. I probably shouldn't handle anything in here if I can avoid it."
"I did leave some of it unfinished," he admitted. "But there's little left to do, unless there have been more...deposits since I left. I'd appreciate any assistance you would like to offer, particularly if it means food could happen more quickly." He was unashamed about being an appetite with skin stretched over it. "Thanks."
He walked in the direction Lanakirene had indicated and peered around the corner, into the room where someone was grinding numbweed with a mortar and pestle. He wasn't familiar with the healer doing the work, but that didn't matter. He was just relaying an observation, after all. In doing so he did nothing wrong. He announced his presence by rapping sharply on the table beside where the healer was working, having already decided that the stone walls would absorb the sound too wall and only damage his knuckles.
"Excuse me," he said, "But I was assigned duty cleaning up the Bowl and I came across some runny dragon stool. I don't know if it's anything to be concerned about, and I don't know which dragon left it, but I thought I ought to tell somebody."
He didn't really hang around to hear the healer's response. It was out of his hands at this point anyway. Instead he returned to Lanakirene and watched as she put the bandages in place. Seeing all of the bandages reminded him that there was more to being a dragonrider than the glory to be found in searing Thread. There were dangers, too, which were the reason for the glory. Not that all dangerous jobs were properly recognized. He'd heard boys from fishing holds complain about the many dangers to be found on a fishing rig that no one ever considers, and he'd heard those who worked with runnerbeasts mention that there were dangers in dealing with the flightier or heavier beasts, and that a vintner's wares could explode if improperly stored, or a leatherworker's awl slip, or a glassblower inhale molten glass. Most crafts had some danger, but only one left its practitioners exposed when Thread fell.
"Ready?" he asked. He wanted to ask if she planned to pull on a hat or something, but if she planned to do that, likely, she would have done so whenever she burned herself.
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Posted: Sun Mar 15, 2009 9:34 am
While she appreciated Ennrik's offer, Lanakirene also heartily agreed that someone who had been outside handling some of the dirtier aspects of life with dragons should likely not be handling any medical supplies. But nonetheless, she thanked the other Candidate for the offer and watched him as he went to deliver his news.
As Ennrik spoke, she gathered up the bandages and put them away, though she did keep an ear on him. When he returned, she gave him a brief smile. "Excuse me for a moment," she said quickly when he asked if she was ready, then slipped past him quickly to inform her superiors that she was leaving for afternoon chores. That done, she returned to Ennrik and nodded. "All right, then, down to the Bowl?"
She didn't mind the idea of going out and helping shovel dragon dung; the physical activity would be a nice break from the mindlessness of the morning's chores. And at this point, no matter the headgear she bothered to put on, the sunburn she already had would still be there when she was done. So there was no point in trying. She almost laughed at herself; here she was, a healer suffering something as silly as sunburn. Ah well.
The walk down to the Bowl was uneventful, but La enjoyed stretching her legs, occasionally hopping a step in her mirth. In general, she was in high spirits these days. There were two clutches on the Sands and she was a Candidate. She worked with the healers in her spare time. Life was good. "How long have you been at the Weyr?" she asked suddenly, turning to Ennrik and tilting her head. She had certainly seen him before, but she didn't know him well, and she honestly wasn't sure if that was because he was new or just because they never saw one another.
She waited patiently for his reply before springing a new question on him, as well. "Are you excited for the Hatching? All the eggs are so beautiful this clutch. I know I can't wait to see what hatches from them."
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Posted: Sun Mar 15, 2009 10:03 am
The obvious enthusiasm in Lanakirene's gait and in her queries brought a grin to Ennrik's face. Every so often during the course of his tenancy at the Weyr he had been struck by the realization that he was there as a Candidate and that he could, maybe, end up as a dragonrider. The thought was heady enough to make him giddy betimes, and although he made a conscious effort to remind himself of the dangers of being a dragonrider, trying to prepare himself should he not Impress, there were times when it seemed impossible that he wouldn't Impress. Not because the other Candidates were lacking in some way, but simply because he'd felt a surge of self-confidence for one reason or another.
"I've been here..." He had to think about that. "I want to say several sevendays, but I haven't actually been keeping track. I arrived a few days before the most recent Gather." He hoped that would give her some sort of time frame. Things at the Weyr seemed to have a timeless quality for him, like he had stepped sideways out of the usual flow of time in the real world of Crafthalls and Holds and into this alternate reality with dragons. The mindnumbing chores probably played a part in that.
Her next question actually required more thought. Not because the answer itself was difficult. Naturally he was excited about the Hatching. He could hardly help himself. It was just that his performance at the Touching gave him a great deal to worry about when it came to what would happen at the Hatching, when there was not only the attention of two queens to deal with, but the usual crowd of people that always seemed to be necessary at any major function, such as a Hatching. That would be...horrible. Yes. That was the word.
"I'm curious about what will happen at the Hatching. Other than the obvious, of course. The eggs we saw at the Touching were so unlike what I imagined dragon eggs to look like, I have no idea how to predict what any of them will spawn. Except the gold egg, of course."
Reaching the Bowl his eyes went to where he'd left the barrow and its malodorous contents, as well as the shovel and rake he'd been given to use. He'd been unwieldy at first, managing the three implements he'd been given, but eventually he'd figured it out. Seeing that they hadn't been moved, he wondered if he ought to just pick up where he'd left off, or if he should at least show Lanakirene the leaving he'd been talking about. The indecision made him pause.
"Should we just finish up, then?" He was glad there'd been no new deposits since his departure, so there were only a few more piles to deal with.
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Posted: Sun Mar 15, 2009 12:33 pm
So he was a newcomer, like so many of the Candidates this Stand. She supposed that, with the size of the clutches this time around, she shouldn't be surprised, but nonetheless, it was a bit disappointing to know that she had missed out on so much opportunity to make friends her own age. Ah well, at least she could start now. Smiling and nodding her understanding of the relative timeframe in which Ennrik had arrived, she listened to his other response and then grinned.
"That's really how all the clutches are," she said. "Only the golds are obvious, and everything else is a guess." Of course, she was certain he knew this already, but nonetheless, it was good to share just on the off chance that nobody had bothered to explain. "That doesn't mean the guesses can't be good ones, though," she added. "On occasion, I'm a fair hand at guessing. I can usually get browns and bronzes, anyway."
She shrugged and followed him to the barrow, reaching out and taking the shovel before Ennrik could. He'd been working all day, whereas her own chores had been simple, completely mindless, and not at all physically taxing. "Only a bit left, so yeah," she answered his final question with a grin. "I'll grab the last of the piles, and if you didn't rake over the..." she paused, tilted her head, and considered all the totally awkward phrases by which liquid dragon dung could be called, "...the leaving you came to the infirmary about," she said eventually, "then I guess you ought to just rake it over. Nothing much else we can do."
Grinning at him, she walked over to one of the last few piles and dug in her shovel, ignoring the scent and getting to work easily. Like it or not, shoveling out the Bowl was a Candidate task, one she had done for years and was good at, in spite of her best efforts. Lanakirene, whatever else she was, was never one to skive off chores unless she could find a truly legitimate reason.
She was glad there wasn't much left to finish; even this little bit of physical labour was making her hungrier than ever. She dug into the next pile with renewed vigour; the sooner they finished, the sooner they could wash up and get something to eat.
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Posted: Sun Mar 15, 2009 1:13 pm
"Oh, I know it's difficult to tell what's going to hatch into what...but is it normal for the eggs to be so brilliantly colored? I'd always imagined that they were basically ecru with maybe a brownish tinge." He shrugged, too.
"Thanks. I am completely unused to this sort of work, and heaving loads of...dung around is more strenuous than I'd originally thought it would be." Not that it was fun to rake sand over the dark stains, but it was a different sort of motion. His nose wrinkled as he was reintroduced to the smell, but his olfactory nerves quickly remembered that they'd smelled this delightful scent before and that they knew how to ignore it.
He scraped the loose, hot sand over the wet patches with brisk efficiency, his muscles warning him that he would be very sorry for this labor by evening. He wished he'd thought to ask for a pair of gloves. His hands were even less happy with him than his back and shoulders. He felt sorrier for his hands. He also wondered if he could cut out of dinner early enough to have a long soak in the baths to ease his muscles. But those weren't the most important things to worry about for the moment. His attention was better placed elsewhere. On his work, for instance.
There was no sign of anyone supervising him, which he found just a little amusing, since he'd developed a habit of disappearing as soon as he'd finished his chores, especially if he finished early, and then reporting back to the Candidatemaster when it was time to rotate tasks, if that's what was on the day's schedule. Because this was the second part of the morning's tasks, he was allowed to go to lunch after checking in with a superviser, but no one was supervising him. Fine.
It was interesting to watch Lanakirene work so vigorously at his assignment. Perhaps she had been bored in the infirmary, and was glad not to be rolling bandages, though he would have welcomed that work over this. He doubted he'd ever be lucky enough to have a rotation in the infirmary, though. It seemed to be a place they preferred to assign female Candidates. He didn't begrudge them the more comfortable, less physically demanding work, but he couldn't help thinking that if any of them Impressed a fighting dragon, they'd have to develop the physical strength the boys' chores were supposed to be helping with, and it'd be that much harder for them. But who was he to question the Weyr?
"Wash up and then lunch?" he suggested, dragging the back of his wrist across his forehead to wipe away the sweat beading up there and darkening his hair somewhat.
Once they'd both finished, he steered the full barrow to where he'd been instructed to dump the poop and returned the implements to the storage closet they'd been taken from to begin with. There were gloves on a peg in the wall, he noted with a rueful sigh. At least they were done. And they were still done early, which meant there'd be time to clean up before eating. He wasn't fastidious by any means, but he preferred not to eat just after dealing with dragon waste, or waste of any kind.
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Posted: Sun Mar 15, 2009 1:53 pm
"It depends on the clutch," she admitted in response to Ennrik's comment on the eggs. "Some of them are really vibrant, but I've never seen anything like a few of this clutch's eggs. Did you see the pink one?" she asked with a grin. "Couldn't look away from it, myself. I've never seen anything that shade before." Shaking her head, she couldn't help from laughing softly. "No matter what colour comes out of that egg, I'm sure it'll be a complete surprise."
His thanks made La pause to grin, and she hefted her tool with a toss of her head. "It's nothing; I've done very little all morning, and the exercise is good for me." I don't really get She tossed another shovelful of dung into the wheelbarrow and then paused to lean on the shovel.
Quick, vigorous activity after sitting in one place for over an hour was taking a toll on her muscles already, but she'd be able to work the knots out during lessons, no doubt. Reaching up to scrub her forehead with the back of her hand, she sighed at the thought of lessons. She didn't mind learning about the Weyr and dragons, obviously, but in recent times, some things had begun to feel repetetive to her. She briefly considered skipping lessons and going for a swim instead, but she had a knack for getting caught doing silly things like that. Sighing, she dug back into what looked like the last pile.
She glanced around on occasion, keeping an eye on the dragons with interest. She was, frankly, unnerved by the metallic colours, and somewhat by the browns, but blues and greens always caught her interest. She kept an eye on those who came and went, but as soon as she finished cleaning up the remainder of the leavings, she slung the shovel over her shoulders, wincing as she suddenly remembered her sunburn, and returned to Ennrik.
"Washing up sounds good," she said, and then laughed ruefully. Here she was, having worked maybe a quarter of an hour at the task Ennrik had been performing all morning, and she already wanted a chance to scrub at herself. It wasn't necessarily that she disliked getting dirty or being dirty, simply that the sweat was attracting some of the finer sand particles, and if she kept it up, she'd end up caked in the stuff. That was what she hated.
Leaning the shovel on the wall in the closet with the rest of them, she noticed Ennrik's glance at the gloves and laughed softly. "If you're planning on staying even if you don't Impress this time around, you might want to ask the Candidatemaster about getting a pair of gloves for yourself," she said conversationally. "Especially if you do a lot of this. Or garden work." Of course, that second task was rarer for male Candidates than for female, but La wasn't sure exactly what they'd been putting Ennrik to.
Rubbing her hands on her breeches, she scrubbed at her forehead again, trying to get the stray sand off her forehead and wondering idly if she'd be able to dunk her head in one of the water barrels without getting scolded. Damp hair made the heat less uncomfortable.
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Posted: Sun Mar 15, 2009 3:19 pm
Ennrik shook his head as he closed the door to the shed.
"If I don't Impress this time around, I'm going to the Harpers and begging as humbly as I can for them to take me back. I'm not cut out for Hold life, and I couldn't be happy staying here, doing chores for eternity." As further explanation he added, "I'm twenty. By the time any of the queens rise again, I'll be too old to Stand at a Hatching. But I may ask about gloves anyway. I don't want my hands getting too badly torn up if I'm going to go back to Harper Hall."
Garden work. Was that what they had female Candidates doing? He didn't know too many of them very well, which was unusual for him. He usually had at least two or three girls he could take out if he chose to. Maybe it was because of the precarious nature of their occupancy of the Weyr that he hadn't gone to the effort of finding someone to keep him occupied. What if she Impressed the gold and he a blue? Or if one of them didn't Impress at all? Admittedly, he didn't tend to feel much remorse when his relationships ended for whatever reason they ended, but that didn't mean he found weepy females easy or pleasant to deal with.
"Do you suppose we're allowed to use these barrels?" he asked, jerking his head toward the water barrels that sat relatively nearby. If that turned out to be drinking water, he'd feel bad using it to rid himself of grime and dirt, but it seemed unlikely. Most people didn't leave containers of drinking water sitting around, open. Mainly because it invited others to do as he was contemplating.
He thought of returning to the subject of the clutch on the sands, just to give them something to talk about, but decided against it. Really, he was tired of hearing everyone speculate about the eggs, even though he could occasionally get caught up in it himself. The eggs would hatch as they hatched, and no amount of speculation would make the unborn dragons change their colors. Otherwise there would be nothing but golds and bronzes on the sands. Instead he asked about something he found more interesting:
"What does a Weyr do in between Passes?"
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Posted: Mon Mar 16, 2009 8:01 am
Well, that was a pity. La didn't plan on returning to her home Hold even if she didn't Impress at all, but she supposed she understood why others did. Most other people had homes they loved more than the Weyr, and those who had been Searched older generally had more pressing obligations. "Planning on walking the tables?" she asked curiously. She had never actually managed a formal apprenticeship of her own craft, and she rather regretted that, at this point.
"From what I've seen," La answered his last question, giving the area a cursory once-over before rolling her sleeves up as far as she could and dunking her arms to the elbow in the barrel while she spoke, "we wait. We have lessons and do chores, and we make sure everything is in condition, but we wait." And she honestly couldn't complain. She was by no means ready to fight Thread in any guise, and she wasn't ready to heal fighting dragons, either.
Pulling her hands from the barrel and shaking them thoughtfully, she took another furtive glance around before dunking her head up to her ears in the barrel. Pulling back with a jerk of her head that splashed any excess water against the wall behind her, she shook her head vigorously a few times before looking at Ennrik. "We learn as much as we can about Threadfall and prepare. Always preparing." She shrugged and then smiled.
"Forgive me for my ignorance, but what of Crafthalls? Does life change during a Pass, or is it all the same?"
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Posted: Mon Mar 16, 2009 9:51 am
Ennrik nodded, and then added, "I hope to. Technically, I probably could have walked the tables a few years ago. I put it off to work on a person project I felt I had to deal with before progressing to Journeyman status."
He didn't know if she would understand why he wanted to wait, to delay his own progress, but he felt it would be a disservice to the Harpers if he became a Journeyman before he conquered his stage-fright. She would probably understand. Everyone had instances where they held themself back because they didn't feel they were ready to move on, whether through a misplaced lack of self-confidence or because they were currently engaged in an on-going project, or whatever reason, really.
"Well. Waiting sounds like a thrilling occupation. Drilling and preparation are really the only options available, I guess." He shrugged.
As Lanakirene dunked her head and then jerked it back, Ennrik danced out of the way of the spray, but didn't quite manage to avoid the droplets that flew from her head as she shook it. He was a bit more reserved in his washing, dipping his hands in the barrel nearest him and rubbing at the dust and flecks of unidentifiable things that he strongly suspected were bits of dragon waste. Once he was satisfied his hands were reasonably cleansed he cupped them and brought them to his face, running his fingers through and palms over his hair. His hair dampened and his head cooled, he shook his hands once, sharply, over the barrel to dispell the clinging water.
"There's nothing to forgive. For Crafthalls things are much the same, I imagine. In the time between Passes we tend to create things that are more decorative than functional, but advances are still made - lots of them since the discoveries at Landing." He shrugged. No one he knew remembered a time when Thread fell. He made it sound boring, though, to be in a Crafthall, and it was hardly that. He just wasn't sure how to express it.
"In Harper Hall, we try to make sure to produce pieces that continue to glorify the Weyrs and remind people of their purpose and their duties to the dragonriders, but...not all the Halls are the same. A lot of times there are large-scale projects enacted, like installing irrigation systems or refining production techniques. It's more interesting than it sounds."
He glanced in the direction of the dining cavern. His mealtimes were erratic enough that his stomach rarely expressed itself, but he knew how to recognize the roiling there as a warning that he should eat soon. He'd skipped breakfast that morning and dinner the night before, he thought. Maybe. He wasn't good about feeding himself, even with set mealtimes. He wasn't much better about sleeping, but he'd been getting enough of that lately.
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Posted: Tue Mar 17, 2009 11:55 am
"I suppose that makes sense, if you have something you want to do before you take on even more responsibilities," La agreed amiably, running her hands through her hair so it stuck straight up as she listened to Ennrik. "Well, there really isn't much else at a Weyr. We do what we need to to keep ourselves in business." She paused, realized she was feeling a sudden protective urge to defend her home against someone who hadn't even technically insulted it, and frowned slightly.
Ennrik's explanation of Crafthall behaviour gave her something to focus on, and she smiled slightly. It was good to know that even if the Holds grew consistently more restless and resentful, at least some of the Crafthalls still supported them. "Honestly, it sounds fascinating, if not really in my direct interests," she said, flashing him a smile and following his gaze in the direction of the dining cavern.
"I agree," she said easily, setting off at a rapid clip in the direction of food. She was starving at this point, and was completely unashamed by the fact. "Food," she said brightly, "is the highlight of my day."
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Posted: Tue Mar 17, 2009 4:57 pm
Ennrik was amused by the spiky way Lanakirene's hair stuck up, but he kept his amusement to himself. After all, his own hair was hardly worthy of being immortalized in song when wet. It was short enough to plaster to his skull and neck, and long enough to form odd shapes as it did so, giving his head the appearance of being malformed. On the other hand, he could arrange it in interesting designs when it was wet, deliberately making it stick out like the ridges on a dragon or up like a dolphin's dorsal fin, but any such attempts inevitably vanished once his hair dried and returned to its usual state, which couldn't even be properly termed a style.
"It's very important what the Weyrs do," he agreed, picking up on the hint of underlying defensiveness in her tone. Absently he wondered if it was the Harper training that allowed him to hear the variation in her tone, or if he might actually possess some of the empathic skills generally associated with dragonriders. The latter was probably just wishful thinking.
He continued, meaning to soothe her affronted sensibilities, "If it wasn't for the efforts of the Weyrs, the people of Pern would not have survived for so long. Without them, we wouldn't make it through a Pass. I can't understand why they have to deal with the same suspicion and resentment at the end of each Interval, to be honest. It's been recorded that Thread doesn't fall for long spans."
It was something of a relief when she didn't press him further on what, exactly went on in a Crafthall during an Interval. He only knew about Harper Hall, and only under the present Masterharper at that. There were other Masters of other Crafts who felt the same way the resentful Holders did, but Harper Hall tried to ameliorate the feelings of the population that felt taken advantage of by the dragons and their riders.
Ennrik took a few jogging steps to catch up to Lanakirene's rapid departure before falling into stride with her. They were of a height, and so it was easy to match her paces. He was grinning in open amusement at this point. "I don't think I've ever met a girl who would admit to that."
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Posted: Wed Mar 18, 2009 9:10 am
Ennrik's obvious change in attitude made La smile slightly, and she realized that she must have come off a bit more snappish than she had originally thought. Oops. A brief, rueful smile crossed her face, and Ennrik's words made her grin. No matter what some of the nastier Holders said, Pern remembered their need for the Dragonriders, and she was sure that need would return. Why else would the Queens be laying so prolifically?
It was perhaps both lucky and unlucky she had been somehow sheltered from anti-dragon sentiment during her life in Ista Hold. She might never have become a Rider had she been introduced to the lines of thought of the Holdbred who did not spend any time in the Weyr. But at the same time, she had only discovered the sentiment after she was committed to her life at the Weyr...and it made hearing about it all the more painful now that she was intimately connected with the lifestyle.
"Well," she said in response to Ennrik's last comment, grinning as he matched her stride and laughing softly at their height similarity, "I'm not exactly Queenrider material." She tossed her head, and then shrugged. "I gave up on that a long time ago, so I figure at this point, I might as well say what I'm feeling and do what I want." She grinned and inhaled deeply through her nose as they approached the dining cavern. She hoped there was stew; she liked stew.
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Posted: Thu Mar 19, 2009 10:25 am
Ennrik didn't feel he knew Lanakirene well enough to pass judgment on whether she was queen material or not, but from his limited experiences with her he thought she'd do well with a queen. She was down-to-earth and good at what she did, as well as easy to get along with. Which was more than could be said for a number of queenriders in history. Lessa, for instance, had done some remarkable things, but she was rumored to have been an incredible b***h. And she wasn't the worst one in the records. Not by a very long shot.
"I don't see why not," Ennrik replied, giving some voice to his thoughts. "I mean, not to demean any of the other girls here, but some of them, particularly Faranie, don't seem like they should be allowed near a Weyr, let alone a dragon."
He'd had a run-in or two with the pretty blonde. It hadn't taken him long to realize that she was an insufferable pain in the rear. It seemed a testament to the adage that life was unfair that she had been born and raised in the Weyr and still grown up with such an infuriating feeling of entitlement. She lived the life hundreds if not thousands of children dreamed of, and all she could think of was being queen of the roost. He would almost rather Impress the queen himself, and deal with whatever consequences arose from that unprecedented Impression, than allow her to have the potential of being in charge of a Weyr. One blessing of the overcrowding, at least, the chances were slim that she'd ever be able to lead a Weyr.
"You've known her longer than I have, so you probably know what I mean on that score. But, seriously, I think you'd make a fairly decent goldrider. Probably more than decent." He shrugged.
He was capable of giving compliments, but it wasn't his usual way. So many people brushed them off and made little of them that he found it unrewarding. It was more satisfying to turn his wit to finding others flaws and amusing himself there. They tended to remember the barbs he delivered far longer than they did his compliments. Which might not be the best way to be remembered, but at least it was amusing. Of course it was gratifying in the odd instances when someone lit up at a compliment he'd given them, but so often now his compliments, too, were barbed, their pleasure only served to amuse him. For a second he wondered when he'd become so cynical, and then turned his thoughts elsewhere.
"It seems you ought to be able to say and do as you will regardless of your chances at Impression," he added. Not that he was an example of this. He'd been positively saintly since being Searched. It was almost like an experiment, to see what his charisma could accomplish if he turned it to the task of making friends for him, rather than making people hang on his every word, waiting for the next wickedly sharp thing to fall forth. That got annoying, too.
As for food, Ennrik harbored no hopes. As long as it was edible, he'd eat it.
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