Diem, H'rik | Zsaviranth, Wendryth


Zsaviranth gives Wendryth a task, H'rik visits Diem on the sands.



It is midmorning of the thirteenth day of the ninth month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.


Hatching Sands, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 04 Jan 2018 05:00


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Hatching Sands

The out-of-doors of Igen Weyr seems a blissful respite from the oppressive heat of this sandy colosseum. Heated from beneath by volcanic vents, the air above the hatching sands shimmers, lending a sort of unreal, dream-like quality to the area beyond even the magic that happens here at Impressions. Despite its blistering temperatures, the sands are incongruously soft, almost powdery, and flat save for the worn stone queen's bower that rises up to break the monotony and provide a place of respite for the doting mother-to-be.

Midmorning finds Igen as one would expect it to be in autumn: HOT. The sun beats down mercilessly on the Weyr, baking everything. Not good for people, but good for eggs! Wendryth swoops in to the hatching grounds to perch on the ledge he usually takes, as he greets Zsaviranth heartily. « GOOD MORNING, FAIR ZSAVIRANTH! I HOPE I AM NOT INTRUDING UPON YOU THIS FINE DAY? » The bronze doesn’t mind the heat, either. Where there’s Wendy, H’rik isn’t far behind, though he’s opted for thick-soled boots so he doesn’t burn his feet too much as he steps onto the sands, and hot-foots it across to see if Diem’s around.

The peaceful sanctity bubble of the hatching cavern is promptly popped by Wendryth's boisterous greeting to Igen's senior queen. Zsaviranth (who was attempting a nap prior to this moment) lay curled with her tail wrapped around her feet like a feline on the far side of the sands when the bronze announces his arrival. She first cracks open an eye and then lifts her head to cant a look up at the ledges high above the cavern with a huff of air through her nostrils. « No, you are not intruding. » Her mindvoice is muuuch softer than his. « The eggs need to be turned. » And since she is not getting up from her spot near the dais, one can assume that Wendryth is being assigned the task. Diem, however, is sitting cross-legged upon said dais dressed in knee-length shorts and a sleeveless top to help alleviate the heat. Her long dark hair is pulled up into a Fortian chignon so she doesn't have to keep fiddling with the tresses while attempting to finish reading reports from various administrative meetings that she's missed. “Do you think Wendryth will actually come down?” she asks as H’rik draws near.

Whoops. Wakey wakey! Wendryth is totally oblivious to poor Zsaviranth trying to get some sleep - his eyes are on their eggs, giving them a good look over. He’s probably counting them, not because he distrusts their mother, but because he just has to keep reminding himself how many there are. The gold’s voice interrupts his counting, and he has to keep repeating the number to remember where he is. « twenty, twenty…. AH! I CAN PERFORM THAT DUTY! T’WOULD BE MY HONOUR, MY LADY! Twenty…twenty…! » Down he glides to land at the edge of the clutch, where he’ll dip a respectful nod to Zsaviranth. H’rik’s mouth twitches in amusement at the bronze, as he himself reaches Diem. “Give him something to do and he will do it,” he says, a hint of a laugh in his voice and a glint in his tired, dark-rimmed eyes even if he’s not actually laughing. “Ah - I brought something -” he fumbles at his belt to detach a wineskin to offer over to Diem. Should she take it, she’ll find it cold, as if it’s been on ice somewhere cool. Now he’ll have a look at the eggs himself. “Always surprises me they don’t cook in this heat.”

Since there isn’t an ounce of gall or guile in Wendryth’s being, Zsaviranth lowers her head and tucks her hooked snout beneath a wing to attempt her nap without worry. The bronze has been a very committed clutch-father thus far and she trusts him to look after their unborn offspring. “Ohh…” Diem sets down the hides in hand when she observes the wineskin. Never one to refuse an offered drink, she accepts the ‘skin with gratitude. “Thanks. This is exactly what I need right now, especially after reading a few of these reports.” A hearty swig from the wineskin is taken while her gaze drifts out over the hardening eggs on the sand. “Well,” she says with a chuckle afterward. “That’s kind of what they’re doing. ‘Cooking.’” Replacing the cap, the goldrider peers up at H’rik. “Are my juniors behaving while the feline is away?” She’s referring to herself, of course.

First time father though he may be, Wendryth is keen to do everything right. A father’s oath, after all! With the most careful of careful forepaws and nose, the bronze settles next to the clutch and begins gently turning those precious eggs. H’rik leans against the dias, “hmmm”ing long and low at Diem’s mention of reports. “I can imagine.” He looks out over the eggs with dark eyes - he’s read his fair share of those sorts of reports. “Heh,” he does finally chuckle, at Diem’s cooking comment. Then he’ll turn to look back at her, grinning a little at the way the Weyrwoman refers to herself. “Well, there’s not been any trouble I’ve heard of.” There’s some more staring at the eggs. “Thirty-eight more dragons to feed when they hatch. I’ve had a few reports that mention that fact.” The last comes out almost as a sigh of annoyance, presumably more at the people who keep reminding him of this, rather than the impending hatching of Wendy’s offspring.

“Good. They have their duties to keep them busy.” Not that Diem runs an incredibly tight ship, it's just that she likes to have her fingers on the pulse of the Weyr while she is glued to the sands. It's good to stay informed of the happenings around them and it’s good to not fall behind reading reports. “I’m sure Vosji has been prepping the weyrling barracks and gathering up her assistants the last few sevendays. She usually drops in with a status report a day or two before the hatching.” The Weyrlingmaster has a knack for predicting when eggs will start to crack. Diem half smirks at Wendryth's attempt at turning the first egg, “He's such a gem. I don't think you know how much Zsaviranth fancies him.” That last bit is said with another chuckle as she looks at the bronze amidst the eggs.

H’rik’s little amused smile at Diem’s management style is aimed at the eggs rather than the Weyrwoman. When she starts to talk Weyrlings, he looks back at her though, nodding, grateful for the update on Vosji and her team. It doesn’t feel like all so long ago that he was under her tutelage. A strange thought. “Excellent. She’s a good Weyrlingmaster; hopefully we can hold onto her for a while longer.” Wendy is moving slowly among the eggs, turning this one, checking that one, touching his nose to another’s shell in a fatherly sort of way. A grin slowly appears on H’rik’s face as he watches the bronze for a moment as Diem talks about him. “He’s taking it seriously. Have other bronzes been like that?”

Diem shakes her head in a simple response. “Not at all. Have you met Lukoith?” She shifts her gaze back up toward the Weyrleader with a single brow slightly quirked. The lupine brown is one of the few browns that have caught the then junior queen. “He was incredibly hands off with his clutch. He only showed up when she needed to leave for the pens and when they actually hatched.” The goldrider takes the wineskin again for another swig, busying herself with its cap. “Not all clutch-fathers are as interested in their offspring as Wendryth.”

“I know Lukoith’s sired a few clutches,” not least half of the double clutch H’rik Impressed from, as well as the other one he read about during his studying up on Igen’s history. Recent history, at least - he hasn’t dared to delve too deep, yet. That’ll come. “I think…he was there when I touched eggs.” H’rik squints in thought, but remembering the blurry rush of candidacy is beyond him, right now. Instead, he’ll watch Wendryth as the bronze continues his duties, then looks over at Diem, expression content. “I’m glad he’s taking it seriously, anyway., Though…I am a little glad there’s not a gold egg.” His voice is lowered, a glance at Wendy as if he’s worried about the dragon overhearing. “I suspect he’d be unbearable if he was.” Humour sparkles in his light eyes - if there’s anything the already loud bronze needs, it’s something like that to trumpet to all and sundry about.

“I suspect the entire planet would know if there was a gold egg in this clutch.” Diem says with a grin. There’s matched humor in her eyes as she hands the wineskin back to H’rik should he require something to drink. “Oh, while you’re here…” The Weyrwoman has a sudden thought pop into her mind and she pivots toward her stack of reports in search of a few hides in particular. “I’ve signed a few of these documents. Can you deliver this one to Cremla?” One hide is lifted. “And this one to Nasrin?” Then the second is handed over. “After you’re finished supervising Wendryth turn the eggs, of course.” Another grin follows. Apparently Zsaviranth has finally started to nap and is otherwise unable to monitor the bronze’s progress.

Can’t argue with that! H’rik grins right back, then takes the wineskin for a drink. Not too much though, mind you - seems like Diem has a job for him. Better not have too much wine. In fact, all these reports are finding their way into his hands now, and H’rik fumbles the wineskin down onto the nearest available surface, to make room for the hides. Best not to spill anything on them! “Of course, yeah.” That’s for the reports, which he’ll make sure are stowed safely somewhere about his body. Now he watches Wendryth again, as the bronze works his way through the remaining eggs. Jobs for dragon and rider both - seems fitting. H’rik will stay until Wendy’s finished, making small talk with Diem if she stays, too. Then he’ll do as promised and go deliver those reports - each to the right person, with any luck.

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