Log: Searched for Laughing
Apr. 10th, 2012 07:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citlaliIt's currently late winter on the northern continent.
The Starsmiths say it is the 19th Turn, 3rd month, and 17th day of the 10th Pass.
Escaping the bustle of the main caverns, D'yce clears a crowd of people with his mug of klah held as tightly in hand as one would expect a drowning person clings to anything that floats. The cup is warm, and he is not. Therefore, he guards it with his life. Apparently, though, his distaste for crowds trumps his dislike of the weather because all he does is amble over to a dark brown dragin and prop himself against said lifemate's knee to watch the comings and goings. Sip. Sip.
Citlali is leading a stubborn large runnerbeast across the bowl. This is very clearly not what she wanted to do with her day -- while she's clearly dressed for a stablehand's work, and if one were to look closely, she's wearing a stablehand's knot, she seems displeased with her current charge. Largely because the stubborn fellow is not actually /moving/; he's stopped again, as he has been stopping repeatedly along their trek. "Okay. Listen," the young woman is saying, "I am well aware you're afraid of dragons but we just have to do things we're afraid of sometimes!"
One thing that is most awesome about snow is that it's so much /fun/... as a bunch of kids are demonstrating. That group of people that D'yce just skirted around happens to apparently be filled with some of their parents, so said children are lobbing snowballs with glee. Roped into assisting them is one Farmcrafter, laughing and protesting but with absolutely no problem with forming and lobbing missiles at the group. It so happens that the group clears, scattering, and as so, Rylsar's next snowball is on direct trajectory for D'yce's head and shoulders region -- or, should it pass that notable, straight for the runner balking in such equine magnificence, just past the curve of Chironath's tail. Either way, whatever happens, all the kids are scattering from Rylsar's vicinity, pointing and calling him out loudly as the perp. "It was him! It was him! It wasnae us!" comes one childish shriek, high above the other protests of innocence.
Oh no, see, D'yce is never that lucky to have something like a snowball miss him. Noooooo. And since he's also out here at Chironath's behest, it's like twice the impetus for something untoward to happen to him. So is he surprised when a white ball of COLD smacks right into his shoulder? Nope! He does emit a possibly unmanly gawp when it hits though. Which is -awesome- since he had his eye on the cute stable hand. "Alright, alright... it wasn't any of you." he drawls, eyes pinned on the kiddies and Rylsar. "You have my attention. Something you need?" is added Rylsar's way since he is the apparent culprit.
The cute stable hand is now laughing. Citlali doesn't even get a chance to cover her mouth as she lets out a chortle at the display. The runner makes a chuffing sound in response, and takes a single step closer to her, hanging his head over her shoulder. "About time," she mutters at him, but now she's distracted watching this exchange -- which means leading the stallion in the wrong direction, back toward Chironath, D'yce and Rylsar. And the children.
Poor D'yce. Rylsar, flushed from the cold and embarassment alike, raises gloved hands in a universal gesture of no-offense-meant. "No, not at all; so sorry," he calls over to the dragonrider, in fine spirits despite the childish nature of the act he was just committing. His words come out heavily dipped in a Keroon accent, cheerfully mangled. "It was th'... oh, ho, wait, wait!" Some half-buried paternal instinct rises and he moves to catch up a shrieking little girl who was headed directly for the stallion's hooves. He deftly moves a few steps over and drops her in a safety zone, and just stand there for a moment, waiting to see if the world is going to come down about his ears or not.
"The runner is a stuffy coot," Citlali offers by way of explanation for the stallion's behavior. The stallion, of course, is around six and shows no signs of being a coot -- stuffy isn't arguing. "He's not really capable of finding things funny. Now, his sister --" She stops talking and reaches up to grab the stallion's bridle as she spots Rylsar and the child, tensing just as much as the runner does and only relaxing as soon as the girl is removed off to safety. The child's minder might seem concerned, but /she/ isn't going to let some bossy rider get to her, and attempts to stalk over with her head held high -- the runner's unwillingness to move makes it take a little longer than Citlali really wants.
A marginal noise of protest - obviously Rylsar is predicting imminent pain, death, destruction or just overall doom for his immediate future - and turns out he's about as stubborn as yon runner stud. But eventually his path meanders to the appointed spot, and with a resigned expression scrawled across the broad lines of his face he stands ready for punishment.
"You for throwing the snowbal, and you for finding it so funny." D'yce decides, gesturing first at Rylsar, and then at Citlali. Chironath goes still for just a moment, then relaxes into a lazy tail swish that ends with the appendage swinging back around to almost trap them both. "Head into the living caverns, then into the lower cavern halway, and into the candidate barracks. Claim your cots and your white knots." Pause. "Suppose you should foist that runner back off on the stables though. Oh, and Chironath here says congrats."
Citlali's eyes widen, and considering they were already big it's an impressive look for her. "Wh--" she starts, and looks at Chironath, and looks at D'yce, and looks bewilderedly at Rylsar, and looks back at the runner, and then -- "You can Search people for laughing at you? I didn't know candidacy was supposed to be a punishment!" At least the runner isn't completely shying away due to the brown's tail. Thank Faranth for small mercies.
Rylsar opens his mouth, no doubt to protest the fact that he's a bloody journeyman and the Farmcraft wouldn't be so pleased with his abdication of duties - but then maybe realizes that it would make him look that much worse. Oh well. In direct contrast to his protesting partnr, he only has a laconic shrug of broad shoulders. "Uh. Okay." Evidently, there are worse fates than white knots and candidate cots.
"It's got to be better then mucking out stalls." D'yce points out, in favor of candidacy. "Least you aren't going from a nice desk job making charts and looking at stars like I was... into boot camp." He snorts, maybe to himself. Or maybe to Chironath. Who knows. "And really, my partner here." he jerks his thumb back at Chironath.."... apparently likes you both. For saving the girl. He likes that sort of thing." is asided towards Rylsar. "And you... he just does." is all the brownrider will say for Citlali's benefit. "Thinks you're competant or something like that." Yeah, he's smooth isn't he? "Anyway, it ain't so bad once you get used to it."
"Well, thank you, sir," Citlali replies, giving Chironath a mock curtsy and a diplomatic smile. "I've never had such a lovely assessment delivered down my way from a dragon. Much appreciated. And I'm sure it's better than mucking out stalls," she concedes, with a light sigh, "but it'll cut into my training time and -- Never mind." She's not refusing. She doesn't actually know she can. "Boot camp, huh?"
This takes Rylsar off-guard, just a bit - something like that? From a dragon? He squints after Chironath with a thoughtful expression, after a moment or two. He blurts, after a moment, "Just don't tell Imogen," and with that non-sequitur he's turning to shove his hands in his pockets and pace off, the better to leave the brownrider to flounder with his quasi-flirting with the stablehand.
"Uh, sure. Ok. Won't tell Imogen." D'yce agres. Which should be easy enough since whenevr they encounter each other it's just one big awkward moment. For no good reason. "That'll be easy enough. "Here, I'll take the runner. You go ahead and follow whatsisname to the barracks or something." he mutters at Citlali, obviously not realising he's suppsoed to be flirting.
"If you're /sure/," Citlali gives in very, very hesitantly, giving the runner's lead over slowly and cautiously. "He's big and stubborn and difficult," she warns, "and valuable, so be careful with him. If he starts chewing your hair take it as a compliment. And -- okay," she says, starting to trail after Rylsar and calling in the farmcrafter's direction, "Hey, what /is/ your name, anyway?"
OOC: Citlali says "It was nice knowing you for five minutes before dying with you, Ryl."
OOC: Rylsar says "Same to you, Citicard~"
The Starsmiths say it is the 19th Turn, 3rd month, and 17th day of the 10th Pass.
Eastern Curve of the Bowl (#867J)
This area of the bowl, just outside the lower caverns, is constantly awhirl with activity! People come and go with amazing regularity and relative randomness as to any direction they might be going at any particular time; firelizards, mostly in Fort colors, zip past with seeming disregard for personal safety; and, of course, multicolored arrays of dragons can usually be seen swooping through the skies above.
The lower caverns lie directly to the east; the infirmary and ground weyrs are located in the somewhat quieter area to the southeast and south respectively.
It is a winter afternoon. The vault of sky is still, empty, freezing cold.
Escaping the bustle of the main caverns, D'yce clears a crowd of people with his mug of klah held as tightly in hand as one would expect a drowning person clings to anything that floats. The cup is warm, and he is not. Therefore, he guards it with his life. Apparently, though, his distaste for crowds trumps his dislike of the weather because all he does is amble over to a dark brown dragin and prop himself against said lifemate's knee to watch the comings and goings. Sip. Sip.
Citlali is leading a stubborn large runnerbeast across the bowl. This is very clearly not what she wanted to do with her day -- while she's clearly dressed for a stablehand's work, and if one were to look closely, she's wearing a stablehand's knot, she seems displeased with her current charge. Largely because the stubborn fellow is not actually /moving/; he's stopped again, as he has been stopping repeatedly along their trek. "Okay. Listen," the young woman is saying, "I am well aware you're afraid of dragons but we just have to do things we're afraid of sometimes!"
One thing that is most awesome about snow is that it's so much /fun/... as a bunch of kids are demonstrating. That group of people that D'yce just skirted around happens to apparently be filled with some of their parents, so said children are lobbing snowballs with glee. Roped into assisting them is one Farmcrafter, laughing and protesting but with absolutely no problem with forming and lobbing missiles at the group. It so happens that the group clears, scattering, and as so, Rylsar's next snowball is on direct trajectory for D'yce's head and shoulders region -- or, should it pass that notable, straight for the runner balking in such equine magnificence, just past the curve of Chironath's tail. Either way, whatever happens, all the kids are scattering from Rylsar's vicinity, pointing and calling him out loudly as the perp. "It was him! It was him! It wasnae us!" comes one childish shriek, high above the other protests of innocence.
Oh no, see, D'yce is never that lucky to have something like a snowball miss him. Noooooo. And since he's also out here at Chironath's behest, it's like twice the impetus for something untoward to happen to him. So is he surprised when a white ball of COLD smacks right into his shoulder? Nope! He does emit a possibly unmanly gawp when it hits though. Which is -awesome- since he had his eye on the cute stable hand. "Alright, alright... it wasn't any of you." he drawls, eyes pinned on the kiddies and Rylsar. "You have my attention. Something you need?" is added Rylsar's way since he is the apparent culprit.
The cute stable hand is now laughing. Citlali doesn't even get a chance to cover her mouth as she lets out a chortle at the display. The runner makes a chuffing sound in response, and takes a single step closer to her, hanging his head over her shoulder. "About time," she mutters at him, but now she's distracted watching this exchange -- which means leading the stallion in the wrong direction, back toward Chironath, D'yce and Rylsar. And the children.
Poor D'yce. Rylsar, flushed from the cold and embarassment alike, raises gloved hands in a universal gesture of no-offense-meant. "No, not at all; so sorry," he calls over to the dragonrider, in fine spirits despite the childish nature of the act he was just committing. His words come out heavily dipped in a Keroon accent, cheerfully mangled. "It was th'... oh, ho, wait, wait!" Some half-buried paternal instinct rises and he moves to catch up a shrieking little girl who was headed directly for the stallion's hooves. He deftly moves a few steps over and drops her in a safety zone, and just stand there for a moment, waiting to see if the world is going to come down about his ears or not.
"The runner is a stuffy coot," Citlali offers by way of explanation for the stallion's behavior. The stallion, of course, is around six and shows no signs of being a coot -- stuffy isn't arguing. "He's not really capable of finding things funny. Now, his sister --" She stops talking and reaches up to grab the stallion's bridle as she spots Rylsar and the child, tensing just as much as the runner does and only relaxing as soon as the girl is removed off to safety. The child's minder might seem concerned, but /she/ isn't going to let some bossy rider get to her, and attempts to stalk over with her head held high -- the runner's unwillingness to move makes it take a little longer than Citlali really wants.
A marginal noise of protest - obviously Rylsar is predicting imminent pain, death, destruction or just overall doom for his immediate future - and turns out he's about as stubborn as yon runner stud. But eventually his path meanders to the appointed spot, and with a resigned expression scrawled across the broad lines of his face he stands ready for punishment.
"You for throwing the snowbal, and you for finding it so funny." D'yce decides, gesturing first at Rylsar, and then at Citlali. Chironath goes still for just a moment, then relaxes into a lazy tail swish that ends with the appendage swinging back around to almost trap them both. "Head into the living caverns, then into the lower cavern halway, and into the candidate barracks. Claim your cots and your white knots." Pause. "Suppose you should foist that runner back off on the stables though. Oh, and Chironath here says congrats."
Citlali's eyes widen, and considering they were already big it's an impressive look for her. "Wh--" she starts, and looks at Chironath, and looks at D'yce, and looks bewilderedly at Rylsar, and looks back at the runner, and then -- "You can Search people for laughing at you? I didn't know candidacy was supposed to be a punishment!" At least the runner isn't completely shying away due to the brown's tail. Thank Faranth for small mercies.
Rylsar opens his mouth, no doubt to protest the fact that he's a bloody journeyman and the Farmcraft wouldn't be so pleased with his abdication of duties - but then maybe realizes that it would make him look that much worse. Oh well. In direct contrast to his protesting partnr, he only has a laconic shrug of broad shoulders. "Uh. Okay." Evidently, there are worse fates than white knots and candidate cots.
"It's got to be better then mucking out stalls." D'yce points out, in favor of candidacy. "Least you aren't going from a nice desk job making charts and looking at stars like I was... into boot camp." He snorts, maybe to himself. Or maybe to Chironath. Who knows. "And really, my partner here." he jerks his thumb back at Chironath.."... apparently likes you both. For saving the girl. He likes that sort of thing." is asided towards Rylsar. "And you... he just does." is all the brownrider will say for Citlali's benefit. "Thinks you're competant or something like that." Yeah, he's smooth isn't he? "Anyway, it ain't so bad once you get used to it."
"Well, thank you, sir," Citlali replies, giving Chironath a mock curtsy and a diplomatic smile. "I've never had such a lovely assessment delivered down my way from a dragon. Much appreciated. And I'm sure it's better than mucking out stalls," she concedes, with a light sigh, "but it'll cut into my training time and -- Never mind." She's not refusing. She doesn't actually know she can. "Boot camp, huh?"
This takes Rylsar off-guard, just a bit - something like that? From a dragon? He squints after Chironath with a thoughtful expression, after a moment or two. He blurts, after a moment, "Just don't tell Imogen," and with that non-sequitur he's turning to shove his hands in his pockets and pace off, the better to leave the brownrider to flounder with his quasi-flirting with the stablehand.
"Uh, sure. Ok. Won't tell Imogen." D'yce agres. Which should be easy enough since whenevr they encounter each other it's just one big awkward moment. For no good reason. "That'll be easy enough. "Here, I'll take the runner. You go ahead and follow whatsisname to the barracks or something." he mutters at Citlali, obviously not realising he's suppsoed to be flirting.
"If you're /sure/," Citlali gives in very, very hesitantly, giving the runner's lead over slowly and cautiously. "He's big and stubborn and difficult," she warns, "and valuable, so be careful with him. If he starts chewing your hair take it as a compliment. And -- okay," she says, starting to trail after Rylsar and calling in the farmcrafter's direction, "Hey, what /is/ your name, anyway?"
OOC: Citlali says "It was nice knowing you for five minutes before dying with you, Ryl."
OOC: Rylsar says "Same to you, Citicard~"
