Daenerys, Diem, Fergus


Diem gets to know a few candidates and their quests (or lack thereof).


It is midmorning of the tenth day of the fifth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Galleries, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 02 Mar 2018 05:00


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"Don't think he'd forget something like that. He seems pretty intent."



Though occasionally cleaned by ambitious (or neurotic) drudges or weyrbrats being disciplined, the lack of Eggs over the last several Turns has led to the Galleries falling into a state of disrepair. Sand can be found…well, everywhere. On the benches, under the benches, on the railings and walkways. There is also the random tidbit leftover from people who've wandered into the gathering place since the last cleaning. A random bit of cloth here, a bit of something that might have been a carving-in-progress once there.

The sun is just starting to rise into the sky outside, making it still a bit early for some but not at the crack of dawn. The Weyr has already been awake for a while, collectively, but there's certainly more hustle and bustle going on as the day starts to progress. There are even some lingering around in the Galleries, some scoping the eggs and others just seeming to be passing time. Fergus is one of the ones that seems to be doing both. He's settled in the front row of the Galleries, his copper red hair and massive bushy beard something that can't be missed. He stands out way too much, even though he's a bit short and stout and brawny. It may not be a huge surprise for anyone to see him here at this time of the day if they've been making a habit of it - Fergus has been here most mornings since being Searched and it's not like he can /hide/ anywhere. He's doing the same thing he's been doing since then, as well - working at whittling a piece of wood into a miniature version of a dragon and finishing up his morning meal of a meatroll before he has to head to chores. He does glance to the sands every so often, eyes taking in whichever dragon happens to be there at the time, before his gaze drops back to his work.

Zsaviranth is awake and carefully mounding sand around some of the eggs she just turned while Wendryth is nowhere to be found. Perhaps the noble bronze is bestowing candidates with more quests this morning, or perhaps the queen sent him off to the pens. Either way, Zsaviranth is alone. Which means Diem must be finding some breakfast for herself somewhere off the sands. Dressed in an ankle bound flowy skirt, sandals, and a cream colored sleeveless top, the Weyrwoman finally makes herself known when she enters the galleries with a piping hot mug of klah. Since the front row of the galleries is where she normally parks herself to keep an eye on things, it makes sense that she takes a seat next to Fergus. "Now that looks like an interesting piece of art." she says, nodding toward the little wooden dragon. Siiiip.

Oh, KLAH, love of his life, his very heart's desire! Daenerys, too, is in the Galleries, curled around his klah like a cat curls around its favorite toy; to attempt to remove it from his hands is to risk the loss of life or limb. Slit-eyed and staring, the trader candidate is eyeing the eggs with blank-eyed bleariness, as though trying to figure ou what those weird shapes are out there. Every now and then, there's a sip, and a sigh, a feeling of relief as the klah continues to do its job of warming and waking him.

Fergus doesn't startle easily, thankfully, because that'd be a bad thing to do while holding a knife, however small it may be. At Diem's sudden occupation of the seat next to him, he straightens up with a solemn blink, turning to regard the Weyrwoman with an incline of his bushy head, "Weyrwoman." And, since his hands are both full, he has to do a salute with the whittling knife. Fancy. "Thanks. Was adding some final details to this one since Wendryth is not here." He holds the whittled carving up for viewing - Diem might be able to tell it's a miniature Zsaviranth in the pose of brooding on the sands. The color of the wood is a fair approximation of a gold-ish hue, probably as close to the color of the gold's hide he could get with whatever wood he had on hand. Daenerys' sipping and sighing is noticed, though the other candidate merely gets an amused grunt and a twitch of a grin behind his bushy beard. Fergus has no klah. Perhaps his beard is enough to kep him awake.

Diem and Daenerys are kindred spirits with their klah mugs in hand. It's the best part of waking up — or something. Right? Crossing one leg over the other, Diem's free hand adjusts her long skirt so that it drapes nicely over her knee. "It's fetching. Are you a woodsmith?" is asked of Fergus. She can see their knots as candidates, but she is unaware of their previous occupations. Zsaviranth moves carefully to the next cluster of eggs and uses her hooked snout to mound sand around them — she's eavesdropping, don't let her fool you. Diem lifts her mug in 'cheers' to Daenerys and pivots slightly to include him in the conversation, "And you? Professional klah sipper, perhaps?" Her grin is wicked and easily matches the teasing sparkle in tawny colored eyes.

Their names even begin with 'D' — it must be kismet! Daenerys will even raise his cup to Diem in the klah-drinker's salute, slowly uncurling and relaxing just a bit into some semblance of humanity. He moves closer to the other two, peering over at Fergus' carving with intense curiosity. "This got something to do with Xanthee having to find some nice smelling stuff?" He asks blearily before turning to diem in surprise. Wait, what? "Trader, Weyrwoman. Leatherworker." You know, all those things that mean probably very little.

Fergus inclines his bushy head again in affirmation, adding a grunt to further emphasize the point, "Yep." Man of many words, this one. He gazes fondly down at the miniature dragon in his hand and pulls it back down, starting to add a bit more definition to one of the wings, "Going to varnish it, make it glossy." He runs thick fingers over the wood, eyes crinkling with happiness at the work. "Figured it'd be a good souvenir, even if I don't impress." He exhales over the carving, sending up a tiny cloud of sawdust, "Best to keep my skills up. No trees here to chop anyhow." He has a bit of a sad at that, his breath gusting out in a sigh. He glances back at Daenerys, one thick eyebrow lifting, "Oh? Wendryth's quest?" He grunts in a negative, shaking his head, "Working on that one at night. This is different. Wendryth wanted a heroic deed carved." And he still hasn't fully decided on something for that, so the barracks have probably been getting used to sawdust all over the floor at Fergus' end of the baracks.

"Mmn. I knew a leatherworker who made the sweetest hand dyed leather roses." Diem takes another sip of klah and considers the tiny display of intricate roses in her weyr. "Beautiful pieces of art." Says she who can't color inside the lines or pick matching colors (hey, that's Nasrin's job and the Weyr should be thankful). A hand covers her mug after Fergus poofs a plume of sawdust in the air around them and she glances between both candidates. "Ohh, I heard about these little quests. A heroic deed carved in wood? Hopefully you haven't gotten any splinters…" Her fingers curl at the thought.

There's a veritable mountain of the stuff at Fergus' end. Fortunately, Daenerys is at the opposite end, and doesn't have to deal with it, except where it's threatening his klah — which he defensively covers, almost hissing at the cloud of sawdust that rises from the carving. "Yeah. I think I escaped that quest of his.. for now." He's certain there will be more opportunities to be charged with such a thing. "Hmm… think I know who you're talking about. He tried to teach me; I haven't gotten the hang of it, quite, just yet."

Fergus seems totally immune to sawdust at this point. It's probably become a part of him .. and his beard. It's probably a surprise that little trails of the stuff don't follow him around everywhere. "Pretty hard to get splinters now adays," he notes with a grunt of amusement, holding one calloused hand out to Diem to show her the thick skin that would probably be difficult for a splinter to penetrate, "I know ways at getting them out, though. You get used to them." He rumbles a laugh, knife moving to smooth over the haunches of the mini gold dragon carving, carefully adding more detail. "Probably will have to make something leather," he notes to Daenerys, his tone unreadable, "Something to do with heroism. Maybe. Be prepared."

Daenerys has suspected the man's beard is actually made of sawdust. Perhaps from the cloud of the stuff that constantly circles the man like a friendly ghost. Heroic deeds, indeed. Daenerys is internally rolling his eyes at the thought of having to do something 'heroic', in a dragon's eyes; it smacks of those ridiculous little romance novellas the young girls are so enamored of in the lower caverns. "Ugh. Well, hopefully he won't remember he didn't give me a task, or something." Draconic memory, please work in Daen's favor.

Fergus rumbles a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins behind his bushy beard, "Don't think he'd forget something like that. He seems pretty intent." A bit more whittling and then some bites of his meatroll that he had abandoned earlier - hopefully there's not too much sawdust on it at this point. But, let's face it, Fergus has probably accidentally ingested a whole lot of sawdust in his life. Mmm. Fiber. "Maybe he'll make you make one of those leather roses?" he suggests, considering. Because Diem seemed to like them, maybe word will filter down to the bronze.

Zsaviranth, being close to the railing where Diem and the candidates currently sit, is soooo NOT listening to their conversation. Nope. She's waaaay too busy turning eggs and mounding sand to really pay attention to what they're saying about Wendryth's quests… Nonchalance, thy name is Zsa. Diem squints at her lifemate looming close to the railing and then takes a sip of klah now that the sawdust plume has settled. "Who knows what inspires Wendryth." she says with a smirk. She adores the big bronze, don't let her fool you either. "Did you know that he came up with a poem for Zsaviranth?" And made H'rik recite it aloud (but that goes unsaid, ahaha).

Suspicious gold is suspicious. Daenerys buys the shenanigans of neither Zsaviranth nor Diem, settling for another healthy gulp of his dust-free klah before eyeing them all over its rim squintily. And then his gaze shifts to Fergus, and that squint deepens into a scowl. "Noooot helping." Really. If it gets out that he's learning how to make them, Wendryth is sure to hear and expect him to make, like, a dozen of the damn things in a day or something. Just for the heroics of it all. "A poem? Did he make H'rik read it out loud?" Because what good's a romantic poem if one isn't forced to read it out for everyone to hear, right?

Fergus is totally innocent over here. He maintains laser focus on his whittling project, totally not noticing the squint from Daenerys boring into the back of his head. Nope. He's super innocent. Whittle whittle whittle. "Roses are nice and romantic, though," he grunts after a moment, voice his usual basso rumble. His lips twitch into a grin from behind his bushy beard at the mention of the poem, "You remember any of it?" Because a dragon love poem ought to be pretty amazing.

"Of course he did." Diem is trying not to grin at the memory. "It was such a sweet poem, too. Let me see if I can remember a line or two…" Tawny eyes glance skyward as she attempts to recollect what Wendryth had made H'rik read — let's just pray that he doesn't find out that she told them anything. SHHH. She clears her throat just a tad and straightens, "Of all golds, your hide shines sweetest. Hear my call! This flame burns for ye!" Hand gesture and all. Now picture the poor Weyrleader reciting those lines to Diem (he's going to kill her if he finds out about this). Zsaviranth lets out an amused rumble… wait. NO SHE IS NOT LISTENING. Oh look, she's moving away from the railing now. Meanwhile Diem is trying very, very hard not to grin as she uncrosses her legs and stands up. "Well, I ought to be getting back to the sands." Because she's said way too much~

Really? Daenerys is certainly staring hard enough — Fergus is very intent on that carving! And also likely used to being stared at. Daen will give up trying to quell the man, then, settling on another mouthful of klah. Which he almost spits out at the sap that Diem spouts ofg. "In that note…" The trader candidate laughs, I am due for chores." Still laughing, he skedattles.

It's remarkable that Fergus manages to comment on that poem with his usual flat, even tone, his voice a basso rumble that sounds as though he's just commenting on the weather, "How touching. Very creative." He tossess down the last of his meatroll, getting a copous amount of crumbs in his capacious beard, as well. So now there's probably crumbs /and/ sawdust in said beard. "Didn't know dragons could do such things," he notes blandly, making one last adjustment to his carving. Daenerys' mention of chores has him grunting in resignation, "Me, too. Nearly time." Heaving a sigh, he stows the carving into his belt pouch and his whittling knife in a tiny sheath at his belt before he stands, brushing any remaining sawdust to the Galleries floor. Whichever drudge is in charge of sweeping this place must hate Fergus. A lot. "Have a good day, Weyrwoman," he grunts in farewell, offering the goldrider another salute before he, too, heads out.

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