Treivyshe, Eryzz


While doing some egg watching, Treivyshe is joined by Eryzz, who comes along to sketch the eggs for the official record.


It is sunset of the nineteenth day of the third month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Galleries, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 13 Jun 2018 04:00



"Like giant firelizard eggs."



Stone benches rise up.. and up.. and up: grooves upon grooves show marks of their hand-hewn origins, small chips and uneven textures to tell the tale of humble beginnings in a place which looks upon the black-and-white Sands of Southern, a place of greater beginnings indeed. The Galleries take up roughly a third of the perimeter of the Sands: to the west are flat, staggered entranceways, ledges for dragons interested in watching the proceedings. Below and just easterly, a stitched-hide curtain covers the entrance to the bowl, keeping the wind away from the precious cargo often housed upon the Sands. It cannot help the shrieking of the wind above: though it is muted in this hollow, the intermittent sighs and moans of the thermals shrieking through the viewing-ledges above can be unsettling.

Most people in Southern are where they are supposed to be: the living caverns or some derivative, enjoying sustenance and companionship. Rebuffing the notion of food-specific fellowship, Treiyvshe has instead folded himself into a seated position on the first row of the galleries, his blue eyes wholly engaged in roaming over the sands below.

Looking as though he could use a little sustenance, Eryzz strides into the galleries, a sketchpad and a small wooden box tucked under one arm as he surveys the near empty space. Dressed in a light brocade jacket of dark plum over tight black trous and slightly pointed shoes, buffed to a high shine, his coal black hair is artfully coiffed to look slightly dishevelled. Moving to the front for the best view, the Harper Journeyman spies Treivyshe and offers him a curt nod of his head in greeting. "Good day," he calls out to the Candidate, "Don't mind me, just some Harper business," he remarks as he settles a few seats down, and starts to set up his supplies and sketchpad.

The wildling inclines his chin to the younger man, taking the Harper's measure in a single, aerodynamic glance. "Sounds…" Treivyshe starts, pausing; "Interesting." It's not the word he'd otherwise use, evidently, unless his current usage is ironic. There's not a great amount of interaction otherwise pursued: Treivyshe is quite evidently enamoured with the view. The man's blue eyes show the pathing of his attention, now wholly given over to examining a few eggs lying half-hidden on the Sands below.

"Oh it is," Eryzz assures the wildling in all seriouness as he flips to an empty sheet in his sketch pad, "Have to draw the eggs for the Records." Okay, so maybe that's only interesting to archivist nerds like Eryzz but that doesn't stop him from thoroughly enjoying his work. Sliding the cover off his little box, he pulls out a hard piece of charcoal as well as a small box of pastels. With featherlight strokes, he begins laying out the base sketch in faint, barely there lines. But as any good Harper, Eryzz is good at multi-tasking and so pipes up, "Got a favorite one picked out yet?" he asks.

"Oh." Treivyshe reconsiders — it's obvious, the flicker of emotive reaction that dominates his mobile features. "That doesn't sound so bad." Less numbers and mystical words on hide and more actual art, which is something that the wildling can evidently get behind. A gaggle of girls comes prancing in, giggling and gossiping in their way to the seats just behind the wildling and the harper; Trei looks back just once before shifting over a seat, shameless in his observance of whatever happens to be display on the Harper's sketchpad.

"No it's not bad at all," Eryzz drawls with a skeptical look at Treivyshe. Why would anything to do with harpering be bad? he wonders to himself. "It also makes the records a lot less stuffy if there there are pictures interspersed through them," he intones as his sharp grey eyes focus on the eggs, meticulously arranged in concentric circles. He doesn't look down at the sketch pad a whole lot, only moderate glances down, while his hand floats over the page, leaving behind the scratchy lines that will eventually be something. "You from around here, or did you get Searched elsewhere?" he inquired, the tittering girls behind them being paid no notice, especially since next to Treivyshe, Eryzz isn't nearly as impressive a specimen, with his lanky form and still smooth baby facce even well into his twentieth turn. Genetics, what a bitch.

Poor Eryzz. Not as poor as Treivyshe if one of the candidate masters determines his long hair needs to GO, though… that would be truly pitiful. The blue-eyed wildling smirks slightly at the question, shaking his head. "You could say I'm from around here. About three candlemarks that way." A chin-nod, north-northeast. "But not the weyr." All of these things add up to… wildling. Local flavour wildling. "I like the shape of that one," he adds, one work-roughened finger flicking toward a particular egg shaped on the paper beneath the other man's hands.

Being not originally from here, it takes Eryzz a moment to put two and two together, "Oh, are you from one of those wildling clans then? That's interesting. I never knew such groups exsited until I was stationed here," he remarks conversationally while his focus remains on his sketching. Looking down at the egg the other man pointed out, he nods and points his stick of charcoal at See No Evil Egg, "That one there. It keeps drawing my eye to it with that big black spot."

"I suppose you could call me a local," Treivyshe agrees, nodding silent confirmation. The tittering group of girls talks loudly about another egg, gold and lapiz-banded, and Trei tilts his attention between the egg the Harper calls out and the one he can't help but eavesdropping. "They are all so… distinct." It's not necessarily surprised, more a statement of gentle wonder. "Like giant firelizard eggs." Well… apt.

Giant firelizard eggs indeed, Eryzz actually shoots a sardonic look in Treivyshe's direction as he makes that observation, before turning back to his sketching. "I guess you could say that. But yeah, I never knew, before getting stationed here, how different they all are from one another," he points out the nearly glowing beacon of the Ghost Light Egg right in the center of the array of eggs. "People were saying if the sire had been a bronze, they were sure that was a gold egg, but as it is, the book makers are putting odds on it being a bronze," he add conversationally, as he picks up a softer piece of charcoal and begins going over his rough sketch with some darker, bolder lines.

Blue meets grey in a brief clash of sardony and subtle humour, Treivyshe's expression evolving past that in a moment. "That's shiny, all right." Ghost Light, that is, his attention focused upon it for a momentary scrutiny. "If it were likely to be a gold, wouldn't it almost certainly be a green?" Trei's logic runs down different routes, his brow furrowing in brief thought.
"Huh…" Eryzz intones, his charcoal freezing on the paper as he considers Treivyshe's theory about the brightest egg of the clutch, "That actually makes sense in some twisted kind of way." With great consideration, the Harper ponders the central egg again, "The odds they are giving on it being a green are pretty long odds, like 15 to 1…" Sounds like someone is going to find one of the various bookmakers after his shift is done.

Matrilineal society will do that to a man. Without further contemplation of the topic, Treivyshe rises to his feet, knees creaking to get him there. "Sounds like a fair bet to me," is all the man says, smiling briefly at the Harper before picking his way back toward the exit, and presumably the barracks before curfew strikes.

"Yeah it does…" Eryzz drawls as he nods farewell to the departing man before returning his focus to his task at hand, immortalizing Zymuraith's first clutch in charcoal and pastels with exacting detail for each eggs's uniqueness, which takes the rest of the evening.

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