Log: Interjecting
Apr. 13th, 2012 03:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
citlaliNote: I came in mid-scene, so there are definitely poses missing here! And the time. I also failed to note the time.
Imogen doesn't smile at Naamiah's pride, but only just. "Definitely old enough then," she agrees, solemnly, then clarifies, "you could be a candidate, if you like." She's not particularly intent on the offer - it's thrown out as easily as a suggestion to have the stew for dinner rather than the chicken. "It's not that different - Penyn'll give you a new knot, and you'd have to switch barracks." The two are sitting on a bench near the middle of the galleries.
Qylia takes the steps two at a time, pouncing upwards upon the balls of her booted feet. Dark hair flops about over her shoulders, a mix and mess of sloe-black curls just a little bit damp from whatever. As soon as she reaches the galleries, her ears almost seem to perk at the word 'candidate' slipping from Imogen's lips. Sherry-hued eyes find the people, her voice drawing out in echoing query, "Candidate? Oh... do be one. It is famously fun."
Not too far behind Qylia, but just as obviously not following her, is Citlali -- tall and fair-featured, she walks quite the opposite of the other candidate, as well, delicate footfalls starting with toes down and rocking back to her heels on every stair. "You'll have to show me how it's fun, too," she chimes into the conversation as it's her turn to reach the top of the stairs, "because I haven't quite been finding it so yet, but I do try to be openminded."
"I could be..." Naamiah's words break off into silence. "Oh, yes." An adventure of the newest sort has been offered, and while Imogen might not be intent on the giving, this girl is intent on the receiving. "I gladly accept." Even despite the dangers inherent to dragonriding, a dreamy sort of acceptance has settled in place. Of this opportunity. Cloud 9 can be sustained for only so long before, a more sedate -- though no less excited -- response is given, "Thank you, ma'am." Just on the heels of this acceptance, she turns, startled, at finding others arriving. So intent was she upon Imogen. That brief moment of startle is passing, and when it's gone leaves a friendly smile. "Oh, I so am." And a cheery wink.
Imogen can't help but smile as the pair arrives. "You can join these two, they'll show you the ropes - won't you, girls?" Nevermind that Citlali is clearly not a girl, she's still younger than Imogen. She begins to gather her hides and jacket both in preparation for finding a new, less occupied spot to work in - or to avoid work in, whatever the case may be.
Qylia continues upon her path, her progress taking her to a point where she isn't far behind the pair of Naamiah and Imogen. As soon as the other girl accepts, Qylia's dark features brighten with a smile. "Perfection. You can even pull up a cot by me. I don't snore. I swear." She presses two fingers to her lips and kisses them in some sort of solemn swearing motion or something. She pauses though, looking to Imogen with wide eyes, "Now nobody said anything about any ropes as far as I know." A beat later and the girl is sketching a dramatic bow for Imogen's benefit, "As you say, ma'am."
"Thankfully, so far as I've noticed nobody does," is Citlali's soft comment re: snoring. Anyone who actually starts snoring is probably going to get pillows thrown at them by Citlali, so it's really a good thing that nobody does. Imogen gets a salute and a, "Rightio, weyrwoman," with a friendly-and-respectful sideways tip of the head to go with it. "And there definitely are ropes involved in certain chores! Trust me. I use them every day."
"Thanks, guys. I'm Naamiah, by the way," Naamiah offers, but with a quick look to Imogen, she gathers up her belongings. "But hold that thought, I want to go tell my aunt real quick. She'll be so... " a minute pause gives a stumble to her words, "... pr-happy for me." With her warm-weather gear clutched in her arms, to Qylia and Citlali, she states, "I'll be back and you can show me where your cot is!" To Imogen, again, "Thank you, ma'am!" And with that, she's taking her steps two at a time -- in a rush to tell her aunt! Exit, stage left.
Qylia turns her head about, a solitary beaded braid of hair flopping over a shoulder, to look back at Citlali. "You're the one that talks in their sleep?" she queries, a twitch to dark lips. Her head turns back about, eyes focusing upon the new candidate. "Naamiah... I like that. Rather soothing name, slides from the lips really well. I'm Qylia." The girl doesn't remain in the middle of the galleries too long though, she starts down the stairs, moving towards the front railing, closest to the sands.
Citlali groans at the mention of a sleeptalking candidate; evidently, she's not all that bothered by the accusation but she is bothered by the reminder. "Ugh. She's right next to me," comes with an accompanied eyeroll. "Citlali -- nice to meet you both." It seems like she really thinks it, too, as she's smiling welcomingly and giving Naamiah's departure a wave before she, too, is leaning against the railing and looking out across the sand.
Qylia's fingers curl around the top railing, her body leaning forward so the girl tilts towards the eggs upon the sands, "It is bigger than I thought it would be." Her eyes scan over the eggs, the sands, the dragons that are more than likely there. "A lot bigger." Her head turns, looking back to Citlali with a grin as slow as honey, "Do you have this desire to leap this rail and go out there and be with those eggs?... or is it just me?"
Citlali -- well, Citlali is clearly not sure what to say there for a minute. She twirls a lock of hair around her finger, looking distantly across at the sands, trying to find the answer to that question somewhere in her head. It takes a few seconds for her to come out and say, "Well. I can't say I'd thought about it. I've never seen them before -- dragon eggs in general, I mean. And I don't think the dam'd be too pleased and I value my head attached to my body."
Qylia drops back to her booted feet, finding the ground once more instead of her precarious lean towards those eggs. "No, she'd probably chew on my carcass some... doesn't stop me from thinking about it though," she drawls slowly, dark lashes framing golden-hazel eyes. "This is your first time at a Weyr then? Or being around a Weyr in search?"
"Yes," Citlali answers, as if that was an explanation enough. But with a laugh, or more accurately after a laugh, she elaborates: "I've been here -- about a month? Never been around a Weyr before period, so I've got no experience with dragon clutches either."
Qylia's smile goes huge, near ear to ear to deepen her dimples and bring amusement to the corners of her eyes as well. Pure joy and anticipation near to glimmers through her voice, "Ohhhhh, girl, you are going to enjoy this." She flashes her a wink afterwards, then allows her gaze to focus back upon the eggs beyond, "I think it'd be famous to have a chance to experience this without a bit of knowledge beforehand. Total virgin territory. That'd be so much fun and exciting."
"Well. Now I'm terrified," Citlali admits, ducking her head to momentarily hide her face; wisps of hair fight free of the loose braid she's got it back in to continue to hide her face even when she picks her head back up again. "Because when you say I'm going to enjoy it, I think that might very well mean I'm going to hate it! I don't even really know how I ended up -- right, I laughed at a dragonrider. I did not know that was illegal. I also didn't know being given a candidate's knot was a proper punishment, but I suppose it must be."
Qylia's eyes grow wide, dominating her voice. "Oi, I didn't mean it like that. Oh no, not at all. I'm sure you'll like it... unless you are one of those silly girls that aren't much more use than being an armpiece for a bronze rider." She may look at Citlali a little skeptically now, analyzing her from toes to fair-headed scalp. "What was illegal?" she queries belatedly.
"Laughing at a dragonrider!" Citlali clearly thinks this is ridiculous, or totally bogus, or something. "And I'm a stablehand, have been my whole life, so trust me, I do know how working -- well, how working works." That statement is backed up by dirty hands and dirty boots, but the rest of her is downright utter girly-girl, head to toe.
Qylia's dark lips quirk to the side at this information. "Well, did the dragonrider deserve a good laughing at?" The girl turns about where she is, moving to put her back to the sands and her arse on the railing. Eyes take in the wide expanse of the galleries next, lips twitching.
Unable to help herself, Citlali grins. Just for a second. It's fleeting. "Yes. I mean, I couldn't really help myself -- he got hit with a snowball thrown by someone who turned out to be a journeyman crafter, I laughed. Because people getting hit by snowballs and then just standing there and staring is -- funny -- or at least it's funny to me if no one's hurt --" Suddenly, she seems concerned she might be coming off as cruel. "But he was fine. Just not happy. Gave both of us candidate's knots. For throwing and for laughing. Careful, don't fall --"
"Oh, well shells... you were justified. I'd have laughed too," Qylia admits, looking askance to Citlali with a grin. "I was on my way here to be a candidate when I came across D'yce. Told him he should make me a candidate. And he did." Simple as that. "That is kind of a shoddy excuse to give you a knot though. What? Did they make off like you're going to be worked to the nub as a candidate? Piles upon piles of awful chores?"
Snapping her fingers, Citlali says, "That was the one! D'yce. The dragonrider I laughed at. I guess he searches everyone, huh?" Again, she laughs; this time it's more of a quick giggle than anything. "The phrase 'boot camp' got tossed around. I can't figure anything's harder than full-time barnwork, though."
Qylia levels another look at Citlali, "Really?" The girl glances away, her hand coming up to cover over her lips to try, and fail, to hide a grin. She takes a moment to school her features, turns to look back at the girl, pauses, and is grinning again, "I think all the riders say that to try to... indoctrine all the new candidates into thinking that they are now nothing more than a bunch of slaves and minions -which, I suppose, could be true." Her shoulders rise and fall with a shrug.
Citlali shrugs, rolling her shoulders back a little bit as she does so. "Well, if it was my personal doom for laughing at him for getting hit by a snowball that's what I get, right? I guess I'll do my best to have fun with it, but it can't go on that long, right? How many are there out there, again?" The sands get a cursory glance; she's not got the excitement down right yet, maybe. "And you actually just -- asked? Told?"
Qylia twists around to look back at the eggs, dark eyes scanning them. "Hmmmm, I don't rightly know how many. I wonder..." She glances back to Citlali, smilling just a tad wider, "I told him I'd be a great candidate. He finally listened to me and agreed. It was perfect. Meant I didn't have to walk here from Harper. Haifa and I were right pleased."
"Riding here would probably have been a better move than /walking/," Citlali points out, matter-of-fact, as if this had not been entirely obvious from the start. "But clearly you /are/ a great candidate, since you've got huge amounts of dedication. I'm just going with the flow until it's over. No dragonrider in me."
Qylia shrugs her shoulders with all the nonchalance of the young. "I don't know. It might have been fun. Not very far though, even if it was going to be through that shoddy snow." Her hand comes up, pulling her dark coils away from the back of her neck. "Well, supposedly the dragons know. But I know I'm just right for a dragon to pick. I'd even put money on me." She shifts another glance to Citlali, then breaks out into a broad grin that may be teasing at her own expense "What do you mean no dragonrider in you?"
"It's at least partially genetic, I've heard. Dragonriding runs in families. Doesn't run in mine -- not anywhere. Holders through and through." Citlali almost seems proud of that, but also seems rather to reconsider it at the end of the sentence and droop slightly. "And I don't know that I'd really /like/ being a dragonrider anyway. I was never the sort of kid who idolized the idea of being Searched and running away from what I know." Though -- isn't that what she /did/ do, in coming to the Weyr? It wasn't for the same reason.
Qylia's smile goes almost secretive. Her eyes slant back to Citlali, chin dropping just the slightest, "Aye... well, the dragons will know. That much /I/ know." The girl slips her rear off of the railing, booted feet finding the floor again. "Well, maybe you aren't running away, but running to a play where you will find everything you ever wanted to know." Her smile grows soft, head turning away and back to the rest of the galleries. Beat. Then she chuckles. "I think I spent too much time with the Harpers."
Tensing for a second, Citlali can't hide the fact she thought for a second Qylia was going to fall. In fact, she flat out confesses it: "I completely thought you were going to fall backward there for a second. Thanks for /not/ doing that -- and, well. Not too much time if you enjoyed it, anyway."
Qylia breaks out into a huge grin at Citlali's words. "Oh, I wouldn't. At least, I didn't intend to. I'd hope not." She flashes Citlali a wink and then takes a few steps away. "They're a good group. A very good group. I'll remember them." She starts to move away a few paces, then turns back about to look to Citlali, "Come along. Let's head back to the barracks to see if that new girl got settled in by now."
Galleries (#881J)
Level upon tiered level of hard stone seats, best cushioned for comfort if one is to stay long, arc in spacious, showy display -- all the better for viewing other spectators, as well as the heated sands so far below. Though centuries-old pillars suspend these galleries high in the air, the mammoth cavern's peak extends dragonlengths higher yet, the grey rock lending an illusion of clouded, nighttime skies that's only enhanced by the constellations of living, growing glows and the intense, perspective-warping heat.
Broad staircases spiral downward to the floor of the cavern, the middle of each step indented by generations of treading feet; a narrow walkway circles northeast towards the dragons' ledges.
Imogen doesn't smile at Naamiah's pride, but only just. "Definitely old enough then," she agrees, solemnly, then clarifies, "you could be a candidate, if you like." She's not particularly intent on the offer - it's thrown out as easily as a suggestion to have the stew for dinner rather than the chicken. "It's not that different - Penyn'll give you a new knot, and you'd have to switch barracks." The two are sitting on a bench near the middle of the galleries.
Qylia takes the steps two at a time, pouncing upwards upon the balls of her booted feet. Dark hair flops about over her shoulders, a mix and mess of sloe-black curls just a little bit damp from whatever. As soon as she reaches the galleries, her ears almost seem to perk at the word 'candidate' slipping from Imogen's lips. Sherry-hued eyes find the people, her voice drawing out in echoing query, "Candidate? Oh... do be one. It is famously fun."
Not too far behind Qylia, but just as obviously not following her, is Citlali -- tall and fair-featured, she walks quite the opposite of the other candidate, as well, delicate footfalls starting with toes down and rocking back to her heels on every stair. "You'll have to show me how it's fun, too," she chimes into the conversation as it's her turn to reach the top of the stairs, "because I haven't quite been finding it so yet, but I do try to be openminded."
"I could be..." Naamiah's words break off into silence. "Oh, yes." An adventure of the newest sort has been offered, and while Imogen might not be intent on the giving, this girl is intent on the receiving. "I gladly accept." Even despite the dangers inherent to dragonriding, a dreamy sort of acceptance has settled in place. Of this opportunity. Cloud 9 can be sustained for only so long before, a more sedate -- though no less excited -- response is given, "Thank you, ma'am." Just on the heels of this acceptance, she turns, startled, at finding others arriving. So intent was she upon Imogen. That brief moment of startle is passing, and when it's gone leaves a friendly smile. "Oh, I so am." And a cheery wink.
Imogen can't help but smile as the pair arrives. "You can join these two, they'll show you the ropes - won't you, girls?" Nevermind that Citlali is clearly not a girl, she's still younger than Imogen. She begins to gather her hides and jacket both in preparation for finding a new, less occupied spot to work in - or to avoid work in, whatever the case may be.
Qylia continues upon her path, her progress taking her to a point where she isn't far behind the pair of Naamiah and Imogen. As soon as the other girl accepts, Qylia's dark features brighten with a smile. "Perfection. You can even pull up a cot by me. I don't snore. I swear." She presses two fingers to her lips and kisses them in some sort of solemn swearing motion or something. She pauses though, looking to Imogen with wide eyes, "Now nobody said anything about any ropes as far as I know." A beat later and the girl is sketching a dramatic bow for Imogen's benefit, "As you say, ma'am."
"Thankfully, so far as I've noticed nobody does," is Citlali's soft comment re: snoring. Anyone who actually starts snoring is probably going to get pillows thrown at them by Citlali, so it's really a good thing that nobody does. Imogen gets a salute and a, "Rightio, weyrwoman," with a friendly-and-respectful sideways tip of the head to go with it. "And there definitely are ropes involved in certain chores! Trust me. I use them every day."
"Thanks, guys. I'm Naamiah, by the way," Naamiah offers, but with a quick look to Imogen, she gathers up her belongings. "But hold that thought, I want to go tell my aunt real quick. She'll be so... " a minute pause gives a stumble to her words, "... pr-happy for me." With her warm-weather gear clutched in her arms, to Qylia and Citlali, she states, "I'll be back and you can show me where your cot is!" To Imogen, again, "Thank you, ma'am!" And with that, she's taking her steps two at a time -- in a rush to tell her aunt! Exit, stage left.
Qylia turns her head about, a solitary beaded braid of hair flopping over a shoulder, to look back at Citlali. "You're the one that talks in their sleep?" she queries, a twitch to dark lips. Her head turns back about, eyes focusing upon the new candidate. "Naamiah... I like that. Rather soothing name, slides from the lips really well. I'm Qylia." The girl doesn't remain in the middle of the galleries too long though, she starts down the stairs, moving towards the front railing, closest to the sands.
Citlali groans at the mention of a sleeptalking candidate; evidently, she's not all that bothered by the accusation but she is bothered by the reminder. "Ugh. She's right next to me," comes with an accompanied eyeroll. "Citlali -- nice to meet you both." It seems like she really thinks it, too, as she's smiling welcomingly and giving Naamiah's departure a wave before she, too, is leaning against the railing and looking out across the sand.
Qylia's fingers curl around the top railing, her body leaning forward so the girl tilts towards the eggs upon the sands, "It is bigger than I thought it would be." Her eyes scan over the eggs, the sands, the dragons that are more than likely there. "A lot bigger." Her head turns, looking back to Citlali with a grin as slow as honey, "Do you have this desire to leap this rail and go out there and be with those eggs?... or is it just me?"
Citlali -- well, Citlali is clearly not sure what to say there for a minute. She twirls a lock of hair around her finger, looking distantly across at the sands, trying to find the answer to that question somewhere in her head. It takes a few seconds for her to come out and say, "Well. I can't say I'd thought about it. I've never seen them before -- dragon eggs in general, I mean. And I don't think the dam'd be too pleased and I value my head attached to my body."
Qylia drops back to her booted feet, finding the ground once more instead of her precarious lean towards those eggs. "No, she'd probably chew on my carcass some... doesn't stop me from thinking about it though," she drawls slowly, dark lashes framing golden-hazel eyes. "This is your first time at a Weyr then? Or being around a Weyr in search?"
"Yes," Citlali answers, as if that was an explanation enough. But with a laugh, or more accurately after a laugh, she elaborates: "I've been here -- about a month? Never been around a Weyr before period, so I've got no experience with dragon clutches either."
Qylia's smile goes huge, near ear to ear to deepen her dimples and bring amusement to the corners of her eyes as well. Pure joy and anticipation near to glimmers through her voice, "Ohhhhh, girl, you are going to enjoy this." She flashes her a wink afterwards, then allows her gaze to focus back upon the eggs beyond, "I think it'd be famous to have a chance to experience this without a bit of knowledge beforehand. Total virgin territory. That'd be so much fun and exciting."
"Well. Now I'm terrified," Citlali admits, ducking her head to momentarily hide her face; wisps of hair fight free of the loose braid she's got it back in to continue to hide her face even when she picks her head back up again. "Because when you say I'm going to enjoy it, I think that might very well mean I'm going to hate it! I don't even really know how I ended up -- right, I laughed at a dragonrider. I did not know that was illegal. I also didn't know being given a candidate's knot was a proper punishment, but I suppose it must be."
Qylia's eyes grow wide, dominating her voice. "Oi, I didn't mean it like that. Oh no, not at all. I'm sure you'll like it... unless you are one of those silly girls that aren't much more use than being an armpiece for a bronze rider." She may look at Citlali a little skeptically now, analyzing her from toes to fair-headed scalp. "What was illegal?" she queries belatedly.
"Laughing at a dragonrider!" Citlali clearly thinks this is ridiculous, or totally bogus, or something. "And I'm a stablehand, have been my whole life, so trust me, I do know how working -- well, how working works." That statement is backed up by dirty hands and dirty boots, but the rest of her is downright utter girly-girl, head to toe.
Qylia's dark lips quirk to the side at this information. "Well, did the dragonrider deserve a good laughing at?" The girl turns about where she is, moving to put her back to the sands and her arse on the railing. Eyes take in the wide expanse of the galleries next, lips twitching.
Unable to help herself, Citlali grins. Just for a second. It's fleeting. "Yes. I mean, I couldn't really help myself -- he got hit with a snowball thrown by someone who turned out to be a journeyman crafter, I laughed. Because people getting hit by snowballs and then just standing there and staring is -- funny -- or at least it's funny to me if no one's hurt --" Suddenly, she seems concerned she might be coming off as cruel. "But he was fine. Just not happy. Gave both of us candidate's knots. For throwing and for laughing. Careful, don't fall --"
"Oh, well shells... you were justified. I'd have laughed too," Qylia admits, looking askance to Citlali with a grin. "I was on my way here to be a candidate when I came across D'yce. Told him he should make me a candidate. And he did." Simple as that. "That is kind of a shoddy excuse to give you a knot though. What? Did they make off like you're going to be worked to the nub as a candidate? Piles upon piles of awful chores?"
Snapping her fingers, Citlali says, "That was the one! D'yce. The dragonrider I laughed at. I guess he searches everyone, huh?" Again, she laughs; this time it's more of a quick giggle than anything. "The phrase 'boot camp' got tossed around. I can't figure anything's harder than full-time barnwork, though."
Qylia levels another look at Citlali, "Really?" The girl glances away, her hand coming up to cover over her lips to try, and fail, to hide a grin. She takes a moment to school her features, turns to look back at the girl, pauses, and is grinning again, "I think all the riders say that to try to... indoctrine all the new candidates into thinking that they are now nothing more than a bunch of slaves and minions -which, I suppose, could be true." Her shoulders rise and fall with a shrug.
Citlali shrugs, rolling her shoulders back a little bit as she does so. "Well, if it was my personal doom for laughing at him for getting hit by a snowball that's what I get, right? I guess I'll do my best to have fun with it, but it can't go on that long, right? How many are there out there, again?" The sands get a cursory glance; she's not got the excitement down right yet, maybe. "And you actually just -- asked? Told?"
Qylia twists around to look back at the eggs, dark eyes scanning them. "Hmmmm, I don't rightly know how many. I wonder..." She glances back to Citlali, smilling just a tad wider, "I told him I'd be a great candidate. He finally listened to me and agreed. It was perfect. Meant I didn't have to walk here from Harper. Haifa and I were right pleased."
"Riding here would probably have been a better move than /walking/," Citlali points out, matter-of-fact, as if this had not been entirely obvious from the start. "But clearly you /are/ a great candidate, since you've got huge amounts of dedication. I'm just going with the flow until it's over. No dragonrider in me."
Qylia shrugs her shoulders with all the nonchalance of the young. "I don't know. It might have been fun. Not very far though, even if it was going to be through that shoddy snow." Her hand comes up, pulling her dark coils away from the back of her neck. "Well, supposedly the dragons know. But I know I'm just right for a dragon to pick. I'd even put money on me." She shifts another glance to Citlali, then breaks out into a broad grin that may be teasing at her own expense "What do you mean no dragonrider in you?"
"It's at least partially genetic, I've heard. Dragonriding runs in families. Doesn't run in mine -- not anywhere. Holders through and through." Citlali almost seems proud of that, but also seems rather to reconsider it at the end of the sentence and droop slightly. "And I don't know that I'd really /like/ being a dragonrider anyway. I was never the sort of kid who idolized the idea of being Searched and running away from what I know." Though -- isn't that what she /did/ do, in coming to the Weyr? It wasn't for the same reason.
Qylia's smile goes almost secretive. Her eyes slant back to Citlali, chin dropping just the slightest, "Aye... well, the dragons will know. That much /I/ know." The girl slips her rear off of the railing, booted feet finding the floor again. "Well, maybe you aren't running away, but running to a play where you will find everything you ever wanted to know." Her smile grows soft, head turning away and back to the rest of the galleries. Beat. Then she chuckles. "I think I spent too much time with the Harpers."
Tensing for a second, Citlali can't hide the fact she thought for a second Qylia was going to fall. In fact, she flat out confesses it: "I completely thought you were going to fall backward there for a second. Thanks for /not/ doing that -- and, well. Not too much time if you enjoyed it, anyway."
Qylia breaks out into a huge grin at Citlali's words. "Oh, I wouldn't. At least, I didn't intend to. I'd hope not." She flashes Citlali a wink and then takes a few steps away. "They're a good group. A very good group. I'll remember them." She starts to move away a few paces, then turns back about to look to Citlali, "Come along. Let's head back to the barracks to see if that new girl got settled in by now."
