Who

Majel, Tasna

What

Two weyrlings take a break while trying to stay cool, calm, and collected.

When

It is sunset of the nineteenth day of the seventh month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Weyrling Barracks, Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

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Weyrling Barracks

A cluster of small buildings punch out from the facade here, each just spacious enough to admit growing weyrlings and little else beside. Each has its own sturdy little hide covering their openings to provide a modicum of privacy to their occupants and a stone basin meant for both meat and water squats ready before each door. To one side, the Weyrlingmaster's office sits, the one large building in the space. Here, the pale salted walls are covered with various charts, maps, and informational diagrams. In the small yard before these buildings, a table and chairs is set, a small hearth against the opposite wall holds a cavernous kettle kept a-boil with various meals, while a smaller hangs from an iron tripod for klah.

It is the seventy-ninth day of Summer and 90 degrees. Rukbat's heatwave has not yet let up, gripping Igen in its tight fist. Escape the heat!


Rukbat may be on her way below the horizon outside, but it's a relatively full, restless house in the weyrling barracks this hot evening. Uniforms cling uncomfortably in the worst places; the heat does nothing for the lingering scents of chopped herdbeast and baby dragon excretions, even if most of the weyrlings worked extra hard to keep their areas mucked and clean today. Some of the young dragons are eating; some are being oiled; still others nap or sit just outside of the entrance in the heat while their lifemates stay well ensconced within the cooler walls. And some weyrlings, like Majel, are industriously squeezing in the tail end of another hour of adding stitches to the beginnings of their first set of straps. Eventually, even she gives up and carefully folds it off to the side, perspiration beading mightily over her brow. There's an annoyed wipe of her sleeve against it before she promptly gets to her feet and skirts past several others to touch the walls along the back of the cavern, Dyxath trailing carefully behind with only a few bumps into others' oil supplies. A fair distance from the entrance, it's at least slightly cooler, so she settles for sinking down to sit against the spot farthest from the doorway, drawing her knees up to her chest with a low exhale.

A mostly tidy coil of leather can be found at the back of the barracks, most likely belonging to Tasna, who is sprawled on the ground nearby. She was likely sitting with her back to the wall earlier, going by the state of her uniform, but has since slouched all the way down to rest her head on the corner between wall and floor. She has an arm slung over her eyes, but she lifts it when she notices the approach of another weyrling pair. "Hey," she greets quietly, though she does not get up. Tseylath is not sprawling at all. He is sitting on his haunches, surveying the rest of the barracks. The brown turns and silently greets Dyxath when his clutch brother draws near, but that is all for now. For some reason, the exit to the training grounds has the brunt of his attention. Tas pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment, then starts to push herself back up to a sitting position, back thudding against the wall again. "Doesn't matter how much water I drink," she says quietly, tugging her shirt back into place, "the last few days, gets to be about this time and my head just pounds. It's driving Tsey crazy." She glances toward Majel and Dyxath, then back. "Any tips?"

"Tasna," Majel returns at the same volume, casting a tired glance over that tidy coil of leather, the other's sprawl and subsequent move to sitting against the wall, Tseylath the sentinel. "It makes me sleepy more than anything, " she confesses, stretching her legs out after a moment. It's a languid, almost careless extension of booted feet, as slow as the little hand-wiggle she uses to gesture faintly toward the exit. "You can soak your clothes in water and sleep pretty well that way, I've found, so long as the temperature stays somewhere around here throughout the night. Not sure about headaches aside from making sure that you find a cooler place to be for a while. Nana always used to just massage my temples for me when I was a kid. Maybe I simply imagined that it was helpful." Dyxath takes up a similar stance next to the brown after their silent exchange, tipping his head forward slightly to better observe Tasna's handiwork with a soft whuffle.

Tasna nods once, slowly, trying out the temple thing before gently resting her head against the wall and looking down the length of the barracks with eyes half-lidded. "Someone mentioned adding salt to water or something," she shares, still in that quite, almost dull tone. "Seems almost counter-intuitive, but I guess sweat does taste pretty salty." She takes a deep breath and kicks her legs out straight so she can cross one ankle over the other. "Grew up with seacrafters, though, and they were all, 'Don't drink the seawater,' so…" The headache ramble might continue if not for Tseylath's interjection. It's nothing verbal, just a feeling, an idea shared with the other three. Simmering water going still, accompanied by the scents of vanilla and lavender. "Sorry." She compares Dyxath and Tseylath for a moment, then turns back to Majel. "It's hard to believe they're this big already. Not that I miss the little versions, exactly, just… different."

"Salt makes you thirstier, though, " Majel remarks, low. "The healers give something to people who are too dehydrated, though I can't exactly remember what, at the moment." Her thought processes are likely more sluggish than normal, too. "Seawater has got to be different, somehow. It smells funny, and a glass of water with salt added to it doesn't." Maybe not too sluggish. Light eyes flick a slow look at first Tseylath, then back over at Tasna on the heels of that inserted idea. "No need to apologize, really." It's almost a sigh as she leans back farther against the wall. "It's even stranger to imagine that they'll be as large as the others, soon enough, probably because I've only ever known him to be as small as he has been and is." There's a cooling sense of drizzling rain that drifts from Dyxath to the others, followed after with a gentle silence meant to cushion, as if one escaped indoors from the weather outside.

Tasna goes back to pinching the bridge of her nose and closes her eyes while Tseylath looks over his shoulder toward the weyrlings. The projection from earlier has ceased, but where Tas is distracted and hazy, Tsey is alert and watchful. Flick of a tail over there? He watches. Comings and goings between couches? He watches. Voyeur dragon. Gradually, though, that alertness fades. He lowers himself down to more of a lounge, though he keeps his head up for now. His attention has been shifting from the barracks at large to their little corner of it. Tas lowers her hand to watch the subtle transformation, slowly smiling before she glances at Majel. "I can't wait, in a way. I want to get out there and just… you know. Get on with it. But this has been so nice, too. Like the one safe place left on Pern where all we need to worry about is our dragons, ourselves, and each other."

Don't let Dyxath's casual affectation of studying leather and the texture of the walls fool you: for all his nonchalance and easy posture, he's every bit as alert as his brother, distantly keeping a detailed record of who moves when, where and why with scratches of pencil-stubs. "It will be harder, in a way, " Majel opines of what awaits them post-training. "And yet, we'll never have to ask anyone for a ride to go anywhere, ever again. Freedom. For a price, but freedom nonetheless." The perils of their new lot in life will undoubtedly always have to be considered, but she manages to refrain from killing the conversation with Thread. This time. Of their early weyrlinghood, "It's certainly been an interesting challenge filled with new perspectives. The relatively peaceful time together for our first few months has been - " and she pauses before finishing, "really appreciated."

"We knew the price going into it," Tasna replies, though there's an odd undertone to her voice. Maybe it's the headache. She rubs her palms against her trousers, though, and frowns into the distance. "Truth be told, though… I didn't expect this." The admission is followed by a faint grimace, and a shifting of tense shoulders mirrored almost exactly by Tseylath. He looks back at the two weyrlings for a long moment before getting to all fours, prompting a deep breath from Tas just before she pushes herself to her feet along the wall. "I think I'm going to risk the heat and go find a Healer. See if maybe this is just dehydration," she informs Majel before smiling and nodding toward her. "Enjoy the peace. And the cool." A tired quirk sends her tiny grin off-center before she and Tseylath both make their way out to the training grounds.

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