Nevik, Dione


Nevik is out packing supplies in the bowl and runs into Dione and Allash


It is mid-morning of the tenth day of the seventh month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Southern Weyr

OOC Date


Nevik-icon-01.png dione_default.jpg


Upper Bowl

The graceful sweep of spacious bowl lies scoured clean by an easterly breeze. Detritus is whisked neat to the eastern steppe of the bowl that lies several feet lower than the western plateau. White walls contrast the rough granite of the rivercliffs: the giant maw of the Hatching Cavern lies in the thickest part of the western wall, sheltering the training grounds and weyrling barracks lying nor'west. Directly north lies the leadership courtyard, heavily humid and subtly scented by intrigue.

With the way that people in the Weyr cling to fitness - riders have to be well able to handle physical duties - it's not strange to see the odd figure running around for the exercise, but even so ten in the morning is perhaps a little early. Nevertheless, Dione comes trotting smoothly around the curve, flame-bright hair streaming out into a low 'tail, and body clad in simple tunic and pants. From the expression on her face and the sheen of sweat covering it, she's already made her way up from the lower bowl, and seems uninclined to stop. Her movements aren't quite smooth and even, but she's still going strong, with no indication of too much strain.

The recovery from the last Thread Fall has kept most of the Healers, even the apprentices, on a steady pace. Everyone seems to be either heading to or coming from checking up on a rider, a dragon, or some of the staff that helped combat the thread. Today is no different. Nearly ten in the morning and Nevik has already made several rounds to the patients being treated by the more senior Healers - he's been delegated to the 'Supply Runner'. This is probably not the best of ideas as he is still cursed with near-perfect clumsiness; that is…if it can be tripped over, spilled or somehow broken - he'll do it. Taking a moment to rest himself while carrying a back-strap basket of supplies from one end of the bowl to the other he watches the red-haired woman with a look that approximates confusion and a bit of envy.

Dione doesn't slow down immediately, but she does slow down ultimately, until she's almost even with Nevik. When she walks, her legs are rubbery, and she's slow, but the smile on her face is evident. "Apprentice," she greets with a measure of calm, chest rising and falling. "Taking a bit of a break?" She pads around curiously to look at the pack, but doesn't come too close, for the moment comfortable enough with looming.

Nevik is half-bent over with the load on his shoulders, doing anything he can to relax the pressure on his lower back. As she speaks to him he pushes himself up to an upright position so that he can speak to her directly. "Morning…uh…" his eyes dance to the woman's shoulders for some sense of identity or rank. "…I'm sorry I'm still learning faces. I'm Nevik," he offers his hand to the woman.

Oh dear. When Dione steps closer, it's not to give him a better look at her shoulder; there's no knot there in any case. "I'm Dione," she says as she reaches towards the backpack, hauling up on its weight to lift it off the teenager's shoulders. "And this is a little too heavy, don't you think?" She might look slender, but there's strength in her upper torso, enough to get the backpack off safely at least. "I work at the Tipsy Kitten. You wouldn't want to go there in any case; I believe apprentices are forbidden alcohol?" So she remembers. "Owww. What's in here, bricks?"

The large 'pack-like' basket that he wears is filled with various clay and glass jars and pots full of salves, ointments and such to treat burns and other thread-related injuries. Each object is surrounded with a wrap of clean cloth and most of the basket is filled with straw to prevent anything within it from clanking together and potentially breaking. "I've wondered if Master Aemon (NPC) just packs the thing with stones and has me haul it around for his amusement," he begins and then adds, "…and no. No drinks for us." As the pack is removed he lets out a deep sigh of relief and twists and bends to bring feeling back to his lower back. "Sweet shards of the mother that feels better."

Dione might be strong enough to pick up the occasional crate at the Kitten, but the backpack's wiggly enough to make her grunt as she finally sets it down on the bowl's flooring with a soft rattle of pots and jars. "Master Aemon certain expects a lot of carrying power from his apprentices, that I'll give you." With it safely on the ground she steps back, plucking at sweat-sticky linen to get it to unstick to her back. There's a rumble of rain in the distance, surely the precursor to another of the frequent showers Southern is privy to this time of the year. "Perhaps between the two of us we can get this, and you, under cover before that starts dripping?"

Nevik looks up to the slightly older, young woman with…an expression approximating hope in his eyes. He's been packing back and forth all morning long and he's probably just about spent. Having someone help him with the last trip would be a blessing. "That's…very nice of you but I don't want to pull you away from your duties." Yes, he -has- to say that. Manners and all that but only a cave-blind wherry wouldn't be able to see that he would greatly appreciate any help. "You were…um…running for…fun?"

"My duties ended at four this morning," Dione explains idly as she crouches down on her haunches next to the pack to poke at it. "I'm a bartender. Work late, get up late." Six hours sleep, some extra-strong klah and a lot of running, see? "I'm running to stay fit. Back home I was all over the place, and here I mostly stand around. Plus, you can't go run around the jungles here, the felines'll get you. This … seemed closer than the beach." She slants a look at him, head tilted slightly. "So, Apprentice Nevik, you're not taking me away from anything urgent at the moment, see? You take one strap, I take the other? Your legs look longer, so it might take some balancing."

Nevik nods and grabs one of the straps so that the bartender can help him. Now only supporting half the weight and not with his aching shoulders he seems capable of walking from here to Fort Weyr. "Yeah - I had heard that the jungles here were a bit rough," is more northern accent starting to slip here and there with some of the words, "…I only got here a few days ago to help with the Thread Fall. Still getting my bearings."

Dione is clearly Nerat-born, that much her accent says, though there are wilder consonants and fricatives in there as well. "Y'be warned about the jungles then, good." She hauls her side of the backpack up with a grunt of effort, having to strain and shorten the strap to make it hang evenly between them. Then, nodding to the bowl walls around them, her eyebrows arch. "Where to? I'm thinking there's some stuff in here that likely doesn't fair well wet."

Nevik explains while walking with one arm looped through the backpack basket's straps, "Down to the ground weyrs and the Dragon Infirmary…a Green really reached some of her wing muscles so they have been trying to get back up to snuff for the next fall but I doubt she'd be up for it. Probably do more harm than good putting her back in the sky before she's ready." The young man's posture starts to improve a little as his own back muscles start to relax now that he's not partially slouched with the weight of all of those jars on him. "Thank you for this, by the way. None of the other apprentices are allowed to come near me for this. It's sort of a punishment for breaking a jar the other day."

Ah, the infirmary. Somewhere up ahead, if Dione's memory doesn't deceive her. Grimacing, she walks up the path with him, steps a little out of sync with him, but nothing bad enough to make him trip. "Breaking stuff happens. I broke just about everything around sixteen; still, it wasn't Healer medicine, so I'm guessing that that's why he did it." She shakes her head. "Masters, man. This is why I never asked to be apprenticed anywhere, not that I would have been accepted … not male enough, I guess." As they schlep up the curve to the nearest entrance, she wiggles one hand curiously. "What happened?"

Nevik explains, briefly, "A dragon twitched in her sleep and I didn't see where I was stepping. Boom…one large jar of numbweed salve all over the place." He smiles and then adds as a last note, "It wasn't pretty."

There's a brief, roguish grin on the woman's face, as if she can imagine the jar of numbweed shattering without a problem. "That must have been fun to clean up." Just as the first droplets strike they make it to the entrance and, with his help, she swings the pack inside into a protected space, motioning him in after it. "Quickly, before you're late, and before I get soaked!" With that she turns and sprints off to the lower bowl, running full-steam to try and make it home before she's too rain-logged.

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