Ninth Pass
Winter, Turn 2511
Months 1-3
A drought has lasted for more than a Turn in the Fortian region. Although cold, the weather remains dry, with very little snowfall. The water-level in the lake is low, and the lower caverns are now rationing non-essential water (for bathing, laundry, et cetera).
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Messages - Isobel
1
« on: March 27, 2013, 01:53:53 PM »
Which did she think was more meaningful? "I dunno, but I'm not in this to be meaningful. I mean, fighting against an enemy you're never gonna defeat and will probably wind up killing you, to keep the crops safe for a bunch of people who pretty much don't like you anyways? Not so much with meaningful, if you ask me." But Isobel shrugged, as if she was totally willing to agree to disagree.
Which she wasn't. Obviously. 'Cause she was the one that got all up in their business about it in the first place.
But Ambrose had eaten her fruit (which is why she gave him a 'really?' look), and she'd been enough of a downer already. Leave the starry-eyed candidates to their starry eyes, really, and just go on home, Isobel, that was the new plan. Pushing away from the wall, turning toward the caverns where it was cooler and - if not necessarily less populated - at least she could probably avoid any meaningful conversations if she tried, she added a pleasant-sounding, "Anyway, good luck on the Sands."
There were always other parades to rain on, if she got bored~.
2
« on: March 26, 2013, 04:12:22 PM »
Although Isobel eyed the scar, although she listened to the whole story behind what Ambrose was doing here, she honed in on a single aspect of the conversation at that point. It was a pretty wicked scar, sure, but it wasn't exactly a threadscore, and that's probably why she didn't look totally knocked on her ass to see it. Chicks dig scars, they say, but a man'd have to do better than that for dragonrider chicks.
After looking between the two of them, her eyes moving back-and-forth like she was watching a tennis match while the Candidates put forth their 'good day to die' reasons, she settled on Onua at the end, tilting her head contemplatively.
"Meaningful," she repeated, like she wasn't totally sure what the word meant. Or maybe what it meant in the context of this particular conversation. "What makes dragonriding any more meaningful than, I dunno, being a herder - " Nod to Ambrose. " - or assisting the headwoman?"
3
« on: March 26, 2013, 07:17:23 AM »
See, he wasn't the only one! "Weyr or Hold?" Isobel asked of Onua, doing a lot better at speaking intelligibly without the mouthful of tart (which sounds just awful, for the record). As for L'sant, there was a simple, "Of him," more than him directly.
She gave the fruit that Ambrose seemed to have adopted one quick look, just to make it plain that she was totally keeping track of it, and he'd better not go eating it, bub, but was still busy being half-floored by the confessions of these imports. "Look, I'm not saying I don't get it. I do get it." To clarify the 'it,' she added, "The whole dragonrider thing, why it seems like a good idea, but if you can do something else - something that's not gonna get you killed..."
She trailed off, shrugging and shaking her head. "Your mom's a little twisted."
4
« on: March 25, 2013, 11:46:08 AM »
She could only gesture to try to indicate how long ago she had Impressed, her mouth full enough that even the uncouth wouldn't try to spit out words. With her finger, Isobel indicated the shape of two circles in the air in front of her, trying to draw the mind back not to the last Hatching... but the one before that... If anyone was counting, that would put her at about a Turn and a half ago for Impression, out of Ianth's and Kavath's Clutch.
And, with that accomplished, she went on to give Ambrose another gesture - a thumbs-up this time, though her expression didn't necessarily make it seem like fun was the adjective she'd use for greenriding. Still, Isobel had a mouthful, and was thus in no position to argue semantics. So, sure, she'd go with fun.
Then she swallowed, cough, and wiped her mouth again with her hand. Manners be damned. "And you gave that up to come here?" she managed to get out, hearkening back to earlier looks the manboyguy had received: WTF?!
5
« on: March 24, 2013, 05:44:04 PM »
Isobel's incredulity lingered. Not that she had any real reason to doubt Onua, but she still gave the woman a doubtful twice-over, squinting while she ran through her mental image-list, comparing the brunette to all the women that ran-and-fetched things for the Headwoman. "Are you sure?" she continued to essentially insist, as though a person could really just totally forget what they'd been doing for the past two years.
That she herself - Isobel - had been really damn busy in the past two years was only a vague conception in the back of her mind. In just over two years, she'd gone through time, lost her father, and gained a dragon. So, yeah, "Maybe I've been a little preoccupied," she decided on second thought, which brought her around to Ambrose.
She took a pastry, realized the difficulty it was going to pose where the fruit was concerned, and answered back, "Hold this," to the (man that was still, in her mind, relegated to the category of) boy. The 'this' in that sentence was the fruit, which she put in the same place whence she'd just taken a pastry. Already with a bite in her mouth, she covered the crumb-dusted confines of her mouth with the heel of her hand and said, muffled on account of the dessert she was noming, "Not a candidate, m'a greenrider in V'turo's Wing."
Alas, thus far, there were no claws out between the two women. Though - hey! If Ambrose wanted to try some of the touching, he was almost certain to find out how hard Isobel could punch~!
6
« on: March 23, 2013, 06:00:39 PM »
The, "Yeah, I know," was aimed at Onua. It wasn't rude, specifically, but there was a version of impatience in Isobel's tone that came out equally whether addressing Mr. Syrupy Sweet or Ms. Helpful Interjection. She had expected to come out here, sit down, eat her weird southern continent fruit, and stare at the hard, hot blue sky for a while with relative solitude. And having her plans derailed put her (perhaps understandably) on edge.
Then the boy - man - guy - whatever latched onto the bench issue, too, and it was all but visible, the effort she made not to roll her eyes at them. Ignoring the fact that they were both older than she was, by a fair few Turns, Isobel still had the sense that Candidates, regardless of age, were just one step above weyrbrats: unblooded, uninitiated, clueless. "It's not about the bench," she answered blandly, and (to prove it) skipped sitting down and just leaned against the stone wall instead, shoulders against the cool rock, toes poking out of the shade but the rest of her safe from sunshine.
"I'm Isobel. Hi." That with a nod to the guy she now knew as Ambrose and the woman she could peg as Onua. "Were you one of Jilenna's assistants, or something?" she asked of the latter, a little skeptical on account of... well, Isobel was no stranger to Fort Weyr, and knew a good portion of its long-term residents, but neither of these faces were especially familiar.
7
« on: March 23, 2013, 12:55:01 PM »
Life was pretty good in a Weyr.
Depending on who you asked.
Isobel was one of those people that could readily list all the reasons that life wasn't necessarily good in a Weyr. Despite the whole "dead mom and dad and injured dragon" thing, she was trying to, like, look on the bright side or something. While Faelyth dozed in the sun in the bowl, resting her wrenched wing, the greenrider had drifted inside to try and find someplace cool and shady. Which is not what had lead her to the kitchen, for that was hardly the coolest and shadiest of places.
She was in the kitchens 'cause food was necessary, even for the most jaded of individuals, and she was making toward the garden door because the breeze was better there than it was over by, say, the stoves. Which were neither cool nor shady.
With a handful of some sort of Southern fruit, Isobel nudged open the door with her foot and was confronted by... some guy. Her forehead creased with thought and, before the door closed behind her, there was the simplest of questions: "What're you doing here?" As though he had no business resting in places where she clearly intended to rest herself.
8
« on: February 26, 2013, 01:07:33 PM »
Even as the blue in T'van's Wing strove upward, Faelyth had been diving downward, and she only managed to avoid colliding with either the blue or his gout of flame by checking her momentum with a wrench of her wings that must have been fantastically painful. No, she wasn't so big as many dragons, but braking that abruptly was still sure to cause a fair amount of strain, and the young green hissed to express the sudden, burning discomfort of a wrenched wing.
The heat of the ill-aimed burst of fire had Isobel flinching in turn, recoiling at the closeness of flame. Thankfully, Faelyth's injury also kept them from complicating the matter of Anath nearly getting roasted, as the two broke away from the impending collision, veering dizzily off to the right while the dragon tried to ease the strain on her left wing. The heat that Isobel had been feeling - the sticky warmth of Boll - was dissipated by the rapid whoosh of the wind when the spiraled crazily downward.
"Home home HOME," was all she could think at Faelyth, who lost altitude rapidly but managed to blink into between before she was critically low. Their spiral continued, less crazily, over Fort Weyr, where the dragon hit the ground hard but not dangerously so, where Isobel hurriedly slid off to the ground to tend to her wounded 'mate.
Bad day for them. But, Isobel thought grimly, she'd had worse ones.
9
« on: February 21, 2013, 10:40:44 AM »
Hot. That thought kept occurring to Isobel over and over.
Hot. It was hot. It was really hot.
Coming out of between, she felt the glare of Rukbat against her goggles, felt it shine and reflect and bounce inside the glass-encased frame of them, felt buckles begin to heat and leather start to constrict. It was almost immediate, this realization of the heat, and she knew that Faelyth would feel her reacting to it if she didn't try to put the thought out of mind.
But it was so hot.
Isobel could feel sweat trickling out of her hair and down the side of her temple, could feel herself heating up inside flying leathers. And then Faelyth banked, turning toward her first tangle of thread, and the gout of flame from the dragon's maw intensified the feeling that the world was just baking around them. The sizzle of flame died, the crisped thread fell harmlessly as ash, and the green trumpeted her success.
10
« on: February 19, 2013, 08:35:03 AM »
Jumpin' the line a bit here...
Hands stilled and Isobel leaned away from the bronze, buckle dangling unfinished and a strap peeling away from Kavath's side in the process, still affixed but no longer clasped. It was comical, the way a person could almost watch the ripple: from Kavath to Faelyth to Isobel, the last of whom wore a crooked brow while she sized up the Weyrleader.
Her Wingleader.
Part of her insisted that she say something, acknowledge the 'honor,' express gratitude. Her mind fumbled with these notions... then surrendered them with only a quick, brisk nod that sent her back to the work of unstrapping Kavath without further delay. To join a fighting Wing was the end of the whole process, wasn't it? Now it was official: she was threadbait.
How great! the young green expressed to anyone willing to listen, getting a few glances from other bathing dragons scattered along the beach. I'm excited! We'll be happy to stay with you in a Wing, Zabadath, and it's Kavath's Wing. That's really great! So, hey, at least someone was tickled.
11
« on: February 03, 2013, 08:55:43 AM »
Regardless of how she really felt about being called to help undo the straps of someone else's dragon, Isobel was too "weyrbred" to openly question V'turo's right to set them the task. She might wear a blank expression when she greeted the Weyrleader, but it was at least an expression that in no way suggested defiance. She wiped her palms on her thighs, transferring at least some of the water there, and put her fingers to the task of locating brass buckles for the undoing.
Thankfully, J'sin was there to say something appropriately politic, since she was busy biting her tongue.
Do you think so? I think he's looking especially handsome today, and will probably look better without those silly straps! But it could also be smug. was Faelyth's cheery response to Zabadath alone - though she happily included Kavath in the follow-up comment. Kavath, do you have a reason to be smug? Zabadath thinks you're looking smug today.
With her head down and her eyes on the job, it was hard to see Isobel's faint smirk. I don't think you were meant to pass that along, love.
12
« on: January 11, 2013, 09:32:19 AM »
~He requires assistance~ got passed from dragon to rider, and Isobel's brow climbed to a slant of dubious derision. Her tone echoed the sentiment with a simple, "Really," that wasn't quite a question but wasn't exactly a firm statement, either. She sent that look toward J'sin, now leaning more toward derision than doubtfulness as the image of the Weyrleader asking a couple of weyrlings to help him take off riding straps really sank in.
I like Kavath. Isobel thinks his rider is a - Whatever thought might have come after that was quickly stamped down by Faelyth's rider's insistence, a moment's silence (mental and audible) promptly filled by a clearing of throat and the slosh of water around her knees while she waded toward the shore. "Well, let's not keep the Weyrleader waiting, huh?"
Never mind the fact that she looked like hell, soaked from the middle down to her feet and none-too-kempt in the hair department, Isobel touched her forehead in a salute from a few yards away, dropped her hands to a loose parade rest at the small of her back, and eyed Kavath with a perfectly readable expression: Really? Really.
13
« on: January 03, 2013, 05:48:39 PM »
Total lie: "She says she's a natural beauty and would still be pretty even if she was all scungy. And how dare you imply otherwise, you bad bad bronzerider you." The fact that it was a lie was betrayed by the snort from the green, spraying a mist of water that exacerbated Isobel's unpretty dampness - just desserts? Anyway, the greenrider took the brush and, wiping her hair back off her face, set to the task before her - scrubbing the bejeezus out of Faelyth in a big hurry, so's maybe she could get out of this chilly water before it got the better of her.
Beneath the sounds of water splashing and bristles scrubbing, Isobel added, "You probably better quit worrying about being tapped. They can't leave us weyrlings forever." There was nothing plaintive or hopeful or worried about it. Of this fact, Isobel was 150% convinced: dragons and riders got killed too often for the Weyr to let two languish as weyrlings forever. "Or is that not what's on your mind so bad that your better half here feels the need to give you busy-work?" With a 'fess up now, dearie' look sent J'sin's way from over Faelyth's haunches.
A snack! Yes, we should do that. A big snack. I like the crunchy bits. What parts do you like the most? There was no inkling in the green's mind that it was uncool to pass along every part of the conversation to her rider. Share and share alike~!
14
« on: January 03, 2013, 04:07:20 PM »
We know we've trained as hard as everyone else, if not harder.
Isobel squinted, though maybe that had to do more with the light reflecting off the water than doubtfulness at J'sin's assertion? Regardless, there was a squint there, and it made her look dubious. Compounded by her comment: "I dunno. I mostly put just enough into it to avoid getting in trouble." She shrugged, leaning away from the new Zabadath-splash, but still getting a new high-water mark up around her waist. "But, hey, I'm sure you really put your heart into it. They're bound to notice." Convincing? Not so much.
It's okay to be a weyrling, too. Not forever, but it's okay for now. We couldn't have a bath in the middle of the day if we had drills, after all! So saying, Faelyth disappeared completely under the water for a few seconds, leaving Isobel to gesture to the green's so-sage comment with an open palm aimed at... uh... the spot where the dragon was, anyway.
That open hand intentionally went on to scoop some of the cold, silty lake water up onto her face, successfully wilting her hair into a lank plaster against her cheeks. There was nothing 'perfect' about her at this exact moment, and she answered J'sin's charm with a dramatic flutter of eyelashes that totally mismatched her damp and bedraggled state. "Golly, you sure do know how to make a girl weak in the knees. Lemme borrow that brush, will you?" Seeing as she hadn't wanted to bathe Faelyth, it was no surprise she was without the proper tools.
"And - y'know - just to make it a little easier on yourself? You don't really gotta work so hard to flatter weyrbred girls. They pretty much just put-out without all the sweet-talk."
15
« on: January 03, 2013, 01:52:04 PM »
Given the gustiness of Isobel's sigh, she had probably been hoping - fragile as the hope was - to avoid having to actually get into the water. Faelyth wasn't growing so much any more, fleshing out a little but that was it, and bathing wasn't a daily necessity any more. But there was Zabadath, being so cordial as to invite them, and the green bubbling happily as she trotted down into the shallows, approaching and retreating twice before she was confident that the water wasn't sooooo icy.
Us? Nope! I'd like to go into Taerath's Wing, that's where Astrath went, but I'd be happy anywhere. It was cheerful, harmless blather that the green offered back while she sloshed out through waves and gravel to arrive in the shallows, shivering once while she lowered to muzzle-depth.
It took Isobel some time longer, stopping to remove her shoes, to roll up her pants (for all the good it did, they'd be waist-high soaked anyway), and to have a little mental argument with Faelyth about whether or not she really had to get in this time, wouldn't the dragon be happy just to soak? So it was on the tail-end of Faelyth's chatter that, coming into earshot, Isobel skipped the greeting and instead asked, "Feeling like the scrapings at the bottom of the bucket, huh?" She was awesome at morale-boosts, yes indeedy.
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