Who Ghaliya, Lhiannon
What Lhiannon's morning run ends prematurely when candidate Ghaliya finds her a sympathetic ear.
When Summer, 2728
Where Central Bowl, Fort Weyr

 

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Fort Weyr - Center Bowl
The wide center of the bowl is often bustling with activity as riders come and go. Off westward can be seen the entrances for the candidate barracks and the guest weyr, while to the east is a large opening that leads into the dragon infirmary. The bowl stretches off both to the north and to the south, where the sheer stone walls rise steeply to the sky.


The semi-warm, summer day is early yet and riders, along with their dragons, can be seen performing their daily drills in the bowl, all while the sun still rises above the Weyr’s mountainous ridge. It is a normal morning, like so many others, and the sounds of weyrlife fill the air, despite the time of day. Here, to the side of the action and without getting in the way of the nimble riders doing physical-training, Ghaliya, wrapped in a light cardigan, is watching the action with wide-open eyes and a small napkin filled with cut fruit. She’s seemingly content to be an observer, though she certainly looks out of place and perhaps a bit strange just watching all of the action from the sidelines. As others pass her by, she engages in a polite nod or smile, but her attention never strays far from the wing drills being practiced not far from her position.

While a cluster of dragonpairs is engaged in aerial drills, there are also a couple of small groups working on the ground this morning, whether working through formation changes before their turn in the air later in the day or simulating terrestrial movements in their individual units. In near-perfect time, they rehearse fluidly, eventually dispersing at length — some to work in pairs, others perhaps heading off on individual assignment. Rather obscured from view until a small contingent takes off and stays in formation before they between together, Lhiannon and one of the other (newer) weyrlingmasters appear to be mid-morning-run along what can be reached of the caldera's periphery. In a departure from her usual put-together appearances during her brief rotations in-and-out of candidate classes with more experienced instructors, the blonde is casually dressed for exercise, ponytail swinging behind her as the two gradually approach Ghaliya's vantage point. " … haven't finished my report, " puffs the brownrider to the green- as they get near enough for their words to carry, to which Fjainoith's laughs and waves as the other rider peels off on a different trajectory. She, meanwhile, slows her pace to take a breather, during which pale eyes land on first the wide-eyed observer, then sparing a glance toward her target(s) of interest. There's a wordless nod of greeting as she pauses to pull one end of the towel about her neck up to dry her forehead, weight shifting to keep her feet moving in place.

"Good morning," chirrups Ghaliya brightly, after hurriedly munching up her mouthful of fruit when she notes the greenrider’s arrival - a frenzied action that might look odd, of large cheeks and rapidly scrunching. She delicately folds up the remnants of her breakfast into the patterned fabric napkin and tucks it away into her pants pocket, before turning her too-wide-awake eyes on Lhiannon again. "It’s a beautiful morning, but," she wrinkles up her nose and rock back on her heels, "a little early for me. I don’t ever get up this early outside of chores. I’d rather sleep in. I wanted to see the wings though. I suppose I had better get used to it just in case, right?" It’s a lot of chatter in a short amount of time, and if one didn’t know the weaver-candidate well, it could be confused for nervousness. She slants a sunny smile at the assistant weyrlingmaster, then says, "Will it be worth it? I’m always wondering that." And with that little anecdote, she turns eyes once more upon riders and dragons, observing their movements around the bowl.

The greenrider's towel-dab doesn't quite coincide well enough with the frenzied fruit-munching that takes place before her, eyebrows lifting in polite askance as she makes no attempt to hide the (curious) manner in which she studies the dark-haired girl through her prattling chatter. "I suppose you should, " Lhiannon agrees after letting a long moment elapse once the other pauses, easing the up-down of her feet in place into slower motions. Surely, this isn't the first time that she's been asked a similar question; her mouth almost quirks into an answering, if enigmatic smile with a flick of upward curve. "And what do you think it might be like, if it were to be worth it for you?" It's posed lightly enough, even if the sidelong look that follows while she shifts into a stretch is one of at least some interest in her reply.

"Early mornings," Ghaliya points out the obvious, "and some strenuous exercise. Most riders look like they stay in shape, and you’d have to." She, coming from the more sedentary craft, wouldn’t have any experience with that particular subsect of life skills, though perhaps on a less strenuous level. "I have to guess that’s why klah is never in shortage here. I even saw a pot on the night hearth one night when I couldn’t sleep. For me?" It takes some consideration, answering the whole question, and it definitely helps when one fidgets a bit, rocking back on her heels again and winding a stray tendril of black hair around her forefinger. "It would be hard adjusting to the lifestyle at first. It’s one I’m not used to, even though I’ve been at the Weyr some months now. It’s just very different," she says, thoughtfully.

"You're not incorrect from a practical standpoint, " allows Lhiannon as she pulls out of a prolonged calf stretch, reaching up to shove a piece of perspiration-darkened hair back behind her ear. There's an amused glance for the mention of omnipresent klah or perhaps all that thoughtful fidgeting, although her features sharpen soon after as the candidate continues with a second up-and-down scan between movements. "It's a harder adjustment for some than others, " comes both matter-of-factly and knowingly in the way of someone who may have made or is still going through that adjustment, gaze briefly distancing before her attention refocuses. Conversationally, "Where did you live before you moved here? Hold? Hall?"

Eagerness takes over for thoughtful fidgeting, those dark eyes of her drinking up anything they can, ears listening for every morsel of advice from someone who is going through those things. "I think it should be. Aranthi grew up here and she knows how it’s supposed to be, and her parents are riders," Ghaliya says, sighing on the tailend, though thoughtfully. "I grew up in a cothold and I’ve been at the Hall three turns now. It is a different world here. Not that I don’t appreciate it, because I do. I enjoy the freshness of it all - not the same, same, same every day in and out, the routine, you know, that the Hall experiences." She continues prattling on, until the end, when she finally has the grace to look a little abashed for talking without pause. "I could live here, though I would miss the Hall." A purposeful pause this time. "Where did you come from?" and suddenly she’s all eyes, all ears again, awaiting the response.

The blonde's lips press briefly into a line, but whatever may have prompted the considering gesture instead underlays a softly nuanced, "Does she." It isn't a question, a statement that ends with a small, almost pleased smile as Ghaliya talks and talks; her eyebrows lift in interest during that pause, blue eyes studying the (eager!) girl with a little crinkle as her smile grows to meet them. "It can be exciting — refreshing, as you say, to exchange one routine for another, " at least until the new routine becomes less so. Lhiannon straightens in the space of that expectant silence, releasing her hold about one of her ankles in favor of reaching for the other. "I'm holdbred, myself, " she reveals with a little shrug. "I spent a few turns near Fort Hold and its halls, but only moved to the weyr about four turns ago, " which perhaps accounts for the slight reserve still present in her carriage and the way in which she confides: "I still try to find odd hours to sneak into the bathing cavern."

A small sigh leaves Ghaliya, likely due to all of that talking, as she pulls at the sleeves of her cardigan. "It can be. It’s refreshing and.. It’s a little worrying. What if I’m just blinded by the excitement? What if this isn’t really what I want?" It’s a sobering statement - perhaps she’s going through the stages of grief, because her moods do change often, more recently here, though one could chalk it up to the nerves. "No. No, sorry.. I’m just.. I’m nervous I guess. Were you nervous when you.. When you stood?" She slants another look at the blonde, from beneath dark lashes, still fiddling with her sweater cuffs. "Really? Then you know what it feels like. You adjusted? You look like you adjusted well." And she tries to hide a laugh behind her hand. "You do that too? I thought I was the only silly one."

"Don't apologize for asking questions, " Lhiannon advises, a thoughtful frown beginning to pucker at her brow. "Whether or not all of this, " a hand waves to indicate the drills beyond them, the weyr at large, "is what you want now, it will be your future if you Impress and choose to remain in a weyr." With both feet back on the ground, her arms are free to fold over her chest as the set of her shoulders tenses momentarily before resettling. "I'd be more concerned if you were not a little nervous, " comes at some length, gaze shifting slightly to where one of the aerial groups executes a formation change together before returning to linger at those tugs-to-cuffs. "It's a big risk to take." She (perhaps notably) does not add a reassuring, 'it was worth it, ' but the set of her features softens a fraction. "Some adjustments have been larger to make than others, but there is little I would not learn to face if it meant her happiness and well-being." Several beats more elapse, then: "You're hardly the only one here seeking relative privacy, " which is far from being a silly idea, says her desert-dry tone.

The over-eagerness in Ghaliya’s expression is toned down by thoughtfulness, her dark eyes watching Lhiannon only as she listens to the older woman’s words. She takes some wordless time to process the advice, or reconciliation really, and merely continues tugging at her cuffs. It’s a quiet version of herself that re-emerges with a: "It feels heavier, leaving behind everything I worked on, even if I can still craft as a rider. It isn’t the same. But, it’s irrelevant, as you said. If it happens, I can’t take it back, and if it doesn’t, all of this was just talk." She jerks her shoulders in the smallest of shrugs, and offers the greenrider a poignant smile. "It feels that way sometimes, I guess. Girls dorms to communal crafter space and then to mixed sex barracks feels like being thrown into the water without really knowing how to swim. Boys smell. And they scratch themselves all the time." BOYS SMELL LHIANNON, OKAY!?

The greenrider makes a little noise of not-quite agreement, arms falling to her sides. "It isn't wholly likely that you'd have to leave everything you've worked on, " Lhiannon replies with similar emphasis. "Impression does limit how far you could advance in your craft afterward, but assuming you haven't made journeyman yet, your hall may still let you work toward that rank should your circumstances change after the hatching." More mildly, "Some of the older candidates may have spent well over a decade at their craft before deciding to stand." The towel slung about her neck is pulled forward again to press at her forehead; she's clearly amused by the time the material falls back to her shoulder. "They do, don't they?" Hana's eyes almost twinkle as she adds, "Try sharing barracks space with them for the better part of one and a half turns. I was the only woman in my weyrling class at the time." (Fear not, Ghaliya; the choir hears you.)

"Not everything," says the sometimes-dramatic teenager, "but just.. It’s not the same." That much they can likely agree on, given that dragons throw a stopper in the free-for-all fun of one’s unfettered life. "I try to keep that in mind, but my mind wanders down the other paths occasionally when I’m lying awake at night." Ghaliya lifts slim shoulders again, and drops her hands, to clasp them tightly and twist fingers. She tries to look a little wiser, a little bit more sage, than her seventeen turns, except the laughter bubbling up from within keeps twitching at the corners of her lips. "The only ones? For that long? I don’t know how you managed. If I step on one more dirty sock or see them snap each other with towels one more time.." Well, she’ll just, and she gives Lhiannon an unbridled smile. "I’m feeling a little better about it all now."

Indeed, Lhiannon has a tiny smile in agreement, for all that this one doesn't quite reach her eyes. "No, it isn't exactly the same." It's a sober, serious pronouncement, shaken off in the next breath with an (audible) little laugh of her own. "It came with its own challenges, I assure you. I was ready to move out of the barracks as soon as Fjainoith and I could fly together. We chose a couch as far away from the others as possible, in the meantime." There's a glance over her shoulder to the north, then up toward the position of the sun. "Speaking of cleanliness, " and there's a self-deprecating gesture toward her sweaty athleisure work-out clothing with a wider smile to answer Ghaliya's. "I'll see you in class later, I hope?"

The older woman’s look upwards, to the sun, brings the reality of the time of day to the candidate, whose expression takes on an element of purposefulness. "I think having your own weyr after sharing the candidate barracks and then the weyrling barracks for so long would be such a treasure," Ghaliya agrees with her usual bright smile. "You will! I should.. I need to go finish eating, and then ask Aranthi some questions, but then.." Her sigh is beleaguered. "..chores and classes. It was nice bumping into you this morning, though. I won’t keep you away from your morning any longer." As her smile edges wider, she gives Lhiannon a happy head bob, and rather than go towards the living caverns, she starts edging towards the lake, her steps not quite as fast as they could be, given she’s re-focusing on the riders left in the bowl.


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