Who

Elle, D'cen

What

Two nerds in the Observatory at Southern Barrier Hold

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-fifth day of the seventh month of the fifth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

The Obsrvatory - Southern Barrier Hold

OOC Date 10 Aug 2015 05:00

 

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"…. I've been trying to map the falls that exceed the predictive margins …"


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Observatory

A strange thing, this half-sheltered dome of natural rock. Someone has marked it off — are those the sigils of the starcraft?


The quiet domain of Southern's starcrafters is a peaceful place, especially so during the daytime hours when there are few stargazers to interrupt the flow of work proceeding from the observatory. There are wide, low desks set up through the body of the room, star-charts spread over the tops of those and tables along the edges. The table at the very entrance of the room is claimed by a chestnut-haired girl, who has claimed the comfy chair there possessively, her legs tucked up underneath her: there are no star-charts before her, however, but a daunting-looking table of mathematical equations, written in a fine light hand. She seems to be counting. "Three.. four.. seventeen.. twenty-one.. thirty three.." Elle is OBLIVIOUS to everything around her, if that's not, uh, immediately obvious.

He may despise playing errand boy sometimes, but since he pretty much never has a chance to come to Southern Barrier D'cen snapped up the opportunity. They have an Observatory. And he gets to drop off charts. It makes his nerdy little heart sing, all the way up to the roftop and under the sheltered dome of rock. His delivery is sealed up properly in tubes that have been wax sealed on the end, and they're placed next to several others that look to have been dropped off recently. Elle is so quiet that he doesn't even see her at first. (Equally oblivious).

"Oh." That's Elle, momentarily startled out of her reverie by the thump of tubes on the inbox that is in her general proximity. She peers up at D'cen for a moment, her eyes a'fog in hello-I-was-doing-stuff-before-you-interrupted-me. "Can I help you, rider?" is what her brain parses out from pure muscle memory after a reflexive glance to his knot. She looks around her belatedly, as if to check for someone who, y'know, actually works here, but they apparently have run off to get lunch, leaving Elle with the run of the place. (If only they realized how intrinsically dangerous that is…)

"Sorry, I was just dropping off some of Southern Weyr's charts. And I don't get to spend much time on the 'Craft anymore." D'cen, being in comfortable surroundings, isn't quite as bloody awful a communicator as normal. Yet. It's when he glances down at the sheet full of equations she's working on and then back up at her face that he might, you know, stutter a little. Another nerd? And she's pretty? "You're… you're working on predictive analysis? Possible threadfall timing?" His interest is rapt now.

Elle seems to realize she's sat leaned-over for long enough, and stretches appropriately, hands moving to slide down to brace her lower back. "Been sitting here too damned long, I'm afraid," her quiet Fortian accent offers in semi-apology. She furrows her brows at him for a moment, though, apparently disconcerted by the idea of a Starcrafter becoming a dragonrider. It's so mentally incestuous! "Oh, yes," belatedly about her work. "For Igen. I've been trying to map the falls that exceed the predictive margins in the greater context of the Northern continent, but I still can't make heads nor tails of them. They seem to operate independent of any logical control applied to the rest of the dataset." She frowns severely down at the hide, as if that could magically make it blossom into rationality.

She just used the words 'predictive margins' in a sentence correctly. Whatever his reaction to that is, Raxsonath's curiousity is SO piqued. Piqued enough that the big bronze is trying his best to crane is neck to look *into* the Observatory from where he's been perched and waiting for D'cen. « Pretty! Tell her you want her. » This doesn't really help the bronzerider's sudden speechless moment of inner swoon. Eventually though, he clears his throat. "Have you tried comparing it to the erratic threadfall patterns we've had on the Southern Continent? Nobody has been able to discern yet why certain areas are always getting unpredicted clump falls. Maybe there's a similar pattern that can be used to extrapolate."

Elle would probably get along with Raxsonath about as well as she gets along with Sargaeroth. Which isn't saying much. "I came down here to try to sweet-talk the Master here in releasing the dataset for that, but he's being rather stubborn. Says he'll only release it to a senior journeyman or up." Elle's demeanor is pleasant, but the hard line of her jaw indicates exactly what she thinks of THAT. Why do old men always feel alarmed by young, capable women? WHY D'CEN. WHY. "I can piece it together from the Harper records, I'm sure, but you know how Harpers are." They aren't suicidally oriented to precision like a Starcrafter is, she means to say. "There is definitely repetition in our model up north, though. If it didn't make me sound like a lunatic, I'd almost say that someone is targeting certain areas over and over again." Her lips make a wry little line.

"S'probably because you're a girl." Pause. "Woman, because you're a woman. You probably gi… make him nervous." Her boobs make the Master nervous, that is. D'cen can understand that. They make D'cen nervous too. "I, uhm. Not that I agree with him. I'm just… you know, saying." Ahem. And he nods along stupidly with her assessment of the lack of precision. "I have notes, from when I was working as the Starcrafter at the Weyr. If you want them." Raxsonath is still staring, by the way. Which meakes his rider turn around and stare back. "You can go away now. " « Not until you ask her out on a DATE! You think she's hot. This is amazing. C'mon. » D'cen glares, and turns back around. "Heh. Kind of like our Boardwalk. Swear that damn thing has been decimated every time it's been built back up."

There's a sharp glance askance from the girl in question to the bronzerider, a slight narrowing of her eyes that seeks to find out if he's mocking her gender. The expression smooths out after a moment. "I doubt I make him nervous, but I think you are likely right." In the whole it's because she's a GIRL situation. But when he offers his notes, she can't help but be surprised into a flickering smile: "Oh, do you? That would help immensely." Rax is out there, but she hasn't quite realized he's OUT THERE, until D'cen turns around and she belatedly peers past the entrance. "Oh. Yes. Our Deadman's Trench seems to be targeted atypically frequently."

D'cen has that expression like 'oh shit she's gonna hit me or something'. But then she relaxes, so he relaxes. Marginally. Stuffing his hands in his pockets (don't worry, they aren't deep pockets) seems to help some. "Sure, it's not a problem. Maybe I can.. ah, pass on my notes over lunch. In the next few days or something. There was a place. On the way up here…" « Smooth as sandpaper, slick. Maybe I should stick with pushing you at the ladies that need to be paid. » Sigh. He clears his throat and plows on through as if he isn't as awkward as … well, as awkward as he is. There's no real comparison. It's a good thing he's pretty, not that it does much for him. "Found any places in Igen that have the same atypical hit rate? Maybe mapping out all of those spots and seeing where the red star is in conjunction with them when it happens…"

Elle is so generally not-aware of things like, ah, deep pockets that there could be serious mischief happening right in front of her and she'd be like lalalalala what? Poor clueless girl. Elle also seems to be pretty clueless about D'cen's suggestion of lunch. "What?" she asks. "I'm sorry, I don't follow." She has a quizzical smile for him, a little head-tilt. WHAT WAS THAT D'CEN? The Igenite makes a noise, a thinking noise, about D'cen's suggestion for a grouping strategy. "Maybe. I can't imagine that the main hall hasn't done that already, but then again…" She flicks a hand over her shoulder towards the main Starcrafter office, where presumably that hidebound no-u-can't-have-my-notes Master offices. "I suppose it's back to the drawing board." She stares down at her math notes, faintly frowning.

« Wait till I tell the guys about this. She's as clueless as you are! » Rax, highly amused. His laughter is a chuffing sound right around the corner. "I… well… that is to say… lunch. We'd have lunch, and I'd give you the notes." Beat. "Or I could just drop them off here." Yes, he'll just do that. And for a moment his gaze is directed the wat of the office where the Master works. "Well then. I don't want to be a distraction." As if he was to begin with. "I'll drop off my notes in a few days. Good luck with the…" he gestures at the paperwork. You know, that. Math. Math is hard. Not as hard as pretending he isn't going to beat his head against a wall when he gets home though.

"Oh!" Elle and dawning realization have more than a passing relationship. She really should know to be suspicious of D'cen just by the color of his lifemate, let's be real here, but that whole ex-Starcraft card threw her for a LOOP. "Oh, well. Yes. If you wanted to get lunch. I'm sure we both have interesting regression stories." Her lips quirk into a smile at D'cen, and then suddenly, abruptly falters. Like she's realized something. Or he's got something on his nose. Either or. "But not if you're friends with that one bastard bluerider." It seems all the more profane to call someone a bastard, doesn't it? "T'ral." Yeah him. "You're not friends with that asshole, are you?" Her eyes narrow suspiciously upon D'cen, and suddenly she doesn't look quite so unassuming and friendly anymore, NOW DOES SHE.

D'cen was not expecting that. From nerd to furious virago in less then ten seconds. Watch both eyebrows raise. "I.. w.. T'ral? We were weyrlings at the same time. And his girlfriend at the time got a jacket so he could gift it to me when we graduated. Raxsonath has a thing for jackets, which is really odd because .. Southern Weyr. Heat. Humidity…" his voice trails off. "I was in Siberian Wing for so long I kind of lost touch with everyone." Dude has no friends. He's a NERD! Of the Nth degree. But she sounds like unless there is a full confession of the minutest detail of his 'relationship' with T'ral she'll smite him on the spot. "We're awfully curious what he did to make you that angry though." Rax. Raxsonath is curious and he is along for the ride.

Elle narrows her eyes on him. "Okay," she decides, after a moment. It suffices, apparently, because she nods her chin. It takes deliberation, though, likely because she's trying to figure out what exactly jackets have to do with it. Her eyes flick past D'cen to his lifemate beyond the doors, return to the rider. "We?" she questions, probably just to ensure that like, he does mean his lifemate and he's not some psychopath that she needs to RUN FAR AWAY FROM. She's not quite overlooked the fact that Thornton stabbed a couple people nearly to death in this very spot.

D'cen has passed, and there was no violence committed upon his person! How sad that it feels like he just won the lottery. "Raxsonath and me." He jerks a thumb out towards the doors, his shoulders slumping just a little. "He'd like to say Hi, too. He'll try and charm you, but don't fall for it. He's really a gigantic pain in the ass." Whom he couldn't live without and loves more than life itself. But that's besides the point. "But no really - I've never seen anyone quite so angry at the mere mention of his name. Did he spill klah on your charts?" From anyone else, that might be a dig. From him, the way his voice lowered with a wince, he can well imagine how a fellow Starcracter would react to THAT. And it's not pretty.

"Oh. Hello, Raxsonath," she directs at the dragon, her face admittedly wary. Elle dropped out of Search for a reason. And his name is Sargaeroth. "From what I can tell — I mean no offense," she quickly says, as if realizing even before saying this next thing that it could be taken, er, poorly: "But they all seem like giant pain in the asses. All of them." Every last ONE of them. Or maybe she's just met too many dragonriding dicks. "No, not quite. He's just evil." Sorry T. "He wanted firelizard babies to die. He's not…" She shakes her head firmly. "I won't be associated with his type." Rationality thy name is NOT Elle. Oh. Speaking of: "I'm sorry, I think I skipped introducing myself." She doesn't bother standing, but she does stick her hand out for a handshake: "I'm Elle. Junior Journeyman."

"And you'd probably be right. They kind of are." Especially Rax. He doesn't take offense. Not even Raxsonath takes offense. He just does this weird thing with his eyeridges like he's trying to wiggle non-existent eyebrows. "Firelizard babies… oh. That, right. No that doesn't sound like a real nice thing. I've just got one. A little green. Tiny thing. Kinda cute through." As a green, she's useless for anything but affection, alas. And then: O RIGHT NAMS. They should exchange those, shouldn't they. "D'cen. Congratulations on having walked the tables." Despite having boobs. "I'll be interested to hear what you make of the notes I can give you, and… what you have now."

D'cen also holds out his hand to shake. HI D'CEN dumbass.

HOLD ON D'CEN, "Is he okay?" Elle questions, her voice full of concern. "He looks like he's in pain." That weird eyeridge thing. She's. Well. She's Elle. Can you expect her to be any different. The slight-built starcrafter leans far over to peer past D'cen at the bronze, that concern structuring a frown on her fair face. "I've got too many to know hat to do with," she speaks as to her own firelizards, affectionately. "They're all fat and happy." She smiles up at him, T'ral-ness momentarily forgotten. "Thank you, D'cen. It's nice to meet you. And I look forwards to your notes." Not lunch. His notes. Sorry Dayce. :(

"He's fine. He just thinks he's funny." D'cen reassures, as much as he's capable of doing so that is. "Did you name them after constellations?" Tell him you did, and he'll be yours forever. Oh wait, right. SHE ONLY WANTS HIM FOR HIS NOTES. Sigh. Story of a nerd's life! "Nice to meet you too. I'll… see you in a few days." She still agreed to lunch, even if it's only to look at his notes. "C'mon Rax, stop trying to flirt. She's human, not a dragon." Note how he didn't even specify female dragon there. Yeah. You might not ever want to ask. At least he waits until he *thinks* he's too far away for her to hear that.

"Celestial bodies, actually," Elle returns to D'cen, her smile impish. "Moons and the such." Her slim fingers start to catch up all of her work into a bundle, busying over lining up the edges into one concise bundle. "Sounds good," she says. "I'm, ah, I'm posted at Igen. If that's easier for you to find me. The Cantina has great pub chips?" She seems to realize belatedly that she has SOME social responsibility in this conversation. Then she watches D'cen leave, her expression bemused, as if she's genuinely attempting to figure out exactly what the hell just happened there. 'Flirt', she mouths to herself - she heard that much! - with a furrowed brow. Eventually she just shakes her head. Bronzeriders, man.

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