Who

Z'bor, Ginger, Feodora

What

Idle chit chattery in the LC. Firelizards babies are abound, again.

When

-- On Pern --
It is 2:33 PM where you are.
It is afternoon of the nineteenth day of the fourth month of the sixteenth turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen:
It is the seventy-ninth day of Spring and 82 degrees. It is overcast and cloudy.
In Southern:
It is the seventy-ninth day of Autumn and 64 degrees. Clouds hang heavy in the sky, driven by a hard wind. A storm threatens on the horizon, towering thunderclouds caught over the mountains. Only a light drizzle falls here and there throughout the day.
In Southern Mountains:
It is the seventy-ninth day of Autumn and 21 degrees. It's really damn cold out.


Where

Southern Weyr, Living Caverns

OOC Date 18 Feb 2019 07:00

 

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Living Caverns

Grand and spacious, the cavern curves high aloft in a naturally-vaulted ceiling that soothes any sense of claustrophobia. Rich woods line the cavern floor, varnished and stained a rich mahogany, while round tables scatter about, candlelit and intimate. The largest table lies southerly next to the sideboard, long trestles that seem oriented to providing for the Weyr's youngest. The rich blue of the Azov can be seen from a distance in good weather, when the heavy stone doors covering the entrance are allowed to stand open.



Lunch is long over, and the living cavern has more people busy about assorted jobs than here to eat, but weyr life always has to accommodate those whose schedule's erratic. Some of the cavern staff are engaged in cleaning; other folk have just grabbed an empty table as a convenient spot to work at whatever they're doing. Ginger's still dressed in her flying gear after whatever she's been up to today, and looks somewhat damp from the autumn rain; her hair is still plastered down, though it's beginning to dry. She comes into the living cavern from the nighthearth, where she's snagged a big bowl of fish stew and some bread. The reason for wanting to eat here rather than in one of the nighthearth's comfy armchairs soon becomes clear; before she sits down, she also produces two small bowls of meat, which she sets out at opposite ends of the table. She's promptly joined by two firelizards, an adult brown, who picks a bowl and tucks in, and a very young gold, who immediately tries to dislodge the brown from his lunch, even though the other bowl is untouched.

Feodora glances up as Ginger seats herself nearby. The tiny firelizard on her shoulder creels softly as the bowls of meat appear, pausing only to rub her tiny golden head on Feo's cheek. Feodora smiles at the touch and shakes her head softly. "I can still see the remains of your /last/ meal, dearheart," she says to the 'lizard. "If you eat any more, I'll have to oil you twice in one afternoon or you'll split your skin." The firelizard cares not for the girl's comments; instead, she hops down Feo's conveniently outstretched arm and stealthily makes for the untouched food dish.

Z'bor drags himself into the living cavern and is baby 'lizard free, but he does have a gold draped over his shoulders. He's in full gear, meaning he's just come from drills most likely. He's looking a bit haggard and worn, but drilling in the rain will do that to a person. For now, he's in for a nice hot cup of klah and a warm meal. It's mashed tubers and gravy and an avian drumstick or two and fingerroots and a couple of breadrolls too for him. After klah and sundry are attained, he turns to find a seat and finds one not too far from where Ginger and Feodora sit. "Evening ladies." Greets the Serval Wingleader as he takes his seat and ponders where to start on the massive pile of food that is his plate.

Ginger is sitting down, she's got a fork in one hand and she's reaching for a firelizard with the other, so it's to be hoped that Z'bor isn't the kind of wingleader that insists on being saluted on all occasions. "Afternoon, sir." She makes a grab for Tansy and holds the little gold on her lap while she retrieves the other bowl and puts it closer to her own plate. Tansy protests, loudly. "Sorry if she's making a nuisance of herself."

Feodora calmly plucks her own nuisance of a firelizard and plunks her onto the shoulder with a wry smile. "That's not ladylike," she whispers to the little one before turning towards Ginger and Z'bor. "Well, at least she's able to express herself," she notes with a nod to Ginger's little gold. "And you'd think we'd all be used to firelizards and their noises with so many around these days." She takes a sip of her own klah and eyes Z'bor's plate. "You must've worked up quite the appetite, Wingleader. I think the rain makes us all hungrier, don't you?" Her dark blue eyes twinkle in amusement and she pulls out a bit of embroidery and a needle from her workbasket.

Z'bor 's own gold remains wrapped around Z'bor's shoulders, settling into a light nap the second he's seated. She's got no attention for anyone else currently. Z'bor himself laughs when his pile of food is commented upon. "Aye, well, so does running and drilling. It's been a long day of hard work and I'm ready to eat an entire herdbeast to myself." Ginger is winked at after this, see, Z'bor is more than friendly. He digs into some of his food, washing it down now and then with a good sip of klah.

"And sweeps, and surveying," Ginger says, wincing a little as Tansy produces a particularly loud shriek. "Even in the rain. But it's nice to have something interesting to do that isn't about Thread." She deposits Tansy by the other meat bowl, and lo, there is peace as both lizards eat their own meals. "It's so nice when they stop." That means she's able to reach for her own stew and start eating.

Feodora nods at the mention of hard work - the riders aren't the only ones who work hard around the Weyr, after all - and begins selecting a new shade of red for the trim she's working on. "Yes, it is nice to have a bit of warm food and a mug of klah at the end of whatever you're doing too," she says, not flinching as the tiny gold shrieks before being distracted by her food. Her own gold is fairly quiet on her shoulder, having been fed not long before, letting out a tiny gasp upon being deposited there and then moping. "Sweeps I understand, but surveying?" asks Feo, with interest. "What are you surveying?"

"Today it was some rather boring - and windy - hills," Ginger explains, spoon poised over her stew. "Miles from anywhere and nobody living there. My wing does a bit of map-making, and that sort of thing. But there's not a lot of time for that normally - wish we did more." She picks up a slice of fingerroot with the spoon and eats it. "But we go out and take notes and measure or estimate distances, then come back and turn 'em into a neat map."

Feodora listens even as her fingers deftly continue the pattern on the trim. "Ah, I see, making maps to find likely sites for new holds and such?" she asks, making a knot and taking off the excess thread with her teeth. Her eyes gleam with interest. "Do you ever find unexpected things when you're surveying? Like lost ships or sailors?"

Z'bor perks up at this point, his mouth finally free of food. "We've had pirates and ghost ships and felines. All sorts of trouble stirs up when we're out and abroad." He looks at Ginger and chuckles. "Never a dull moment….until there is. There's times we're board out of our skulls out there. I'm sure others have the same work miasma at times." He goes back to eating, his stomach demanding his attention. Sorry ladies, he's not trying to be rude!

"Haven't really done that much coastal surveying, but we sometimes pick up that sort of thing on sweeps." Ginger ransacks her memory for interesting examples. "Or overturned wagons, or cotholds putting out signals for help - it's kind of nice if you get to help somebody. The maps, though, we're not particularly scouting for new holds, it's more by way of exploring, I think."

Feodora pauses in her needlework for a moment to digest this information with another sip of her klah. "How many cotholds are there in this area, would you say?" she asks, having emigrated to Southern Weyr with her 'rider father a few Turns back. "I'm afraid I haven't really ventured far from the Weyr since I moved here. Do they supply the Weyr or are they mainly traders? And what do you mean by ghost ships and pirates?" She glances from one rider to the other. Inquiring minds want to know. Her hatchling firelizard visibly dozes off, her rhythmic breathing at times bordering on snoring.

"There are some cotholds along the river. But people can't go putting them just anywhere because of the wildlings." Ginger takes another spoonful of stew before reviewing the other questions. "Pirates - well, they do what pirates do: raid other ships, or places ashore, and steal stuff. Ghost ships - hmmm. I'm going to have to leave that one to the wingleader." She looks expectantly towards Z'bor.

Feodora nods in understanding. "I've heard the wildlings are not to be trifled with but I can't say I've ever seen one myself," she remarks with a shrug. "Do the dragons scare them away generally?" She strokes the firelizard's head gently to help her settle a bit, then glances towards Z'bor herself, intrigued by the romance of pirates and ghost ships. The embroidery continues all the while - she wouldn't want to be faulted by the Headwoman for sitting idle all afternoon.

Z'bor gets a stormy look when the topic of pirates is turned on the Wingleader. "Pirates rob and steal and cheat and they hold no honor. As direputable a lot as one can be associated with and hopefully, if there be any of the scoundrels left, I hope they all die of pox." He shivers. "And the ghost ships were just creepy, I wasn't around much for their discovery but the small taste I got was enough." He laughs and tries to shake off the severe case of the heebs that are crawling up his spine.

"Yeah, the pirates made the mistake of trying to tangle with the Weyr." Ginger has made the mistake of taking her eyes off Tansy for too long. The lizard has finished her meat and is now sneaking up on Ginger's stew, what's left of it. Her human only notices when there's a gold muzzle in her dinner. "Oy, you!" she protests, and moves her hands towards the lizard. Startles, Tansy flaps her wings and sends the bowl flying. Fishy gravy goes everywhere, including all over Ginger's trousers. "Oh, shells. I'm going to have to mop that up. Excuse me." She heads off in search of a cloth.

Z'bor chuckles darkly. THe thing with the PIrates had been near an all out war and Z'bor still bears the scars to prove it, though they aren't visible currently. That honor belongs to the feline claw scars at his hairline. Z'bor then spends the next several moments wolfing down his food and drinking down his klah. The man has demands on his time after all! He waves Ginger off when she moves to clean up mess and then turns to Feodora. "My name's Z'bor by the way, beholden to green Ozriath and Wingleader of Serval. It was nice meeting you but I must be going, work is never done around here." And with that, the greenrider picks up his things and moves out.

Feodora listens avidly, noticing Z'bor's shudder at the mention of "ghost ships". "Oh of course," she replies on the issue of pirates. "I think one gets a bit carried away sometimes…" She pauses, noting the time by the light darkening outside, and she sighs. "I've got to get into the kitchen, it's my turn to help with the redroots." Quickly finishing off her mug of klah, she packs the needlework up and, ensuring that the little firelizard is still attached to her shoulder, she nods to Z'bor and Ginger and then scurries off to the kitchens.

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