Fort Weyr

Monaco Bay Weyr - Cove Beach
Sparkling black sands are gently washed over with crystal blue waters, creating a playful blend of colors that twist and meld under the alternating rays of sun and moon. The cove stretches out from the mouth of the river towards the ocean, mixing saltwater with fresh for an invigorating rush that teems with life.

The coast curves eastward, the waters growing more quiet along the broad expanse of beach before finally meeting a large cove. Here there are few waves, the ocean’s movement reduced to little more than slight swells. What might have been an idyllic and peaceful area however, is interrupted by a brilliantly gleaming structure that stands on the edge of the sands.

Large steel poles soar upwards, supporting a staircase that leads to a pair of water slides. The height of the structure is remarkable, standing at a height comparable to that of a small gold dragon. Pipes pump water upward, creating small pools at the entrance of both plastic blue slides. The rush of water moves with the slides, following their twisting course downwards while easing their passenger’s journey. Parts of the slides are open and others covered, creating a thrill for each voyager before unceremoniously dumping them into the still waters below. For the safety of all patrons, a large net has been drawn across the mouth of the cove to prevent any accidental drifting away.

Late evening at Monaco brings little respite from the heat of the summer, or from the chaos that is currently unfolding with the overlap of so many clutches on the sands. It seems no sand has escaped the overcrowding, though it appears that many are slowly drifting away for food or other activities and thus the beahc has pockets of emptiness beginning to appear. One such pocket is perhaps a little different from the rest. While, yes, it's normal to have buckets lying around. And indeed it's nothing unusual to have great quantities of sand having been dug up either. This particular gathering - too large to be a pile, too small to be a hill, perhaps mound is the best description - is unsusual in that it is still damp even though it's remarkably far from the water. It is by this mound that Ansia sits, carefully brushing at the surface, lost in a world of her own thoughts.

Under different circumstances being in Monaco would see F'inn seeking out larger swells with EVERY intention of doing something impossibly reckless. Unfortunately, it is late and that is just a little to risky for teh bronzerider. NOT because he is worried about his own safety (F'inn has very little care for that sort of thing) but because he KNOWS his weyrmate would slaughter him if he got hurt being reckless. It does not, however, stop him or Nymionth from seeking the beach, the pair moving along the spot where water meets black sand at a slow pace. It is the mound perching figure, however, that attracts Nymionth's attention, the massive bronze streeeeeeeeeeeetching out his neck to whuffle in that direction. With his attention brought that way (How could it not be) F'inn pats his lifemate, one brow twitching as he follows the line of his gaze and sighs. "I'm sure they are fine, Nymionth," he laughs. "But we can go and double check if you insist." Nymionth *does* insist. It would be completely out of his character not to at least MAKE SURE. So it is that the pair are veering in their steps, trudging up the beach toward Rapunzel…er… Ansia in her tower of sand.

Ansia is indeed fine, though any concern is lost to the air for the time being, intent as she is on shaping this heap, nay hillock, into something much more… well… smooth and useable. Brush. Brush. Careful strokes, each one measured and precise until… THWAP. One thumb is dug deep into the sand, gouging out a divot that is apparently going to stay there - unlike the sand that just was unceremoniously evicted into the air. At least it didn't come back down in Ansia's direction, nor does the next flurry as she draws that same thumb along the… let's call it back… of the mountain.

Okay, now. See? It would be the worst sort of lie to suggest that F'inn has not done some really WEIRD things in his day— There was a whole incident involving licking frosting off a floor, after all. But STILL. Both Nym /and/ F'inn pause in their advance. And, while it is TECHNICALLY IMPOSSIBLE for a dragon to arch a brow? They both shoot a look at one another that implies a good deal of brow lifting. Fortunately, for his part, Nym settles down in the sand far enough away not to risk her massive sand erection, while F'inn flashes a lopesided smile and calls out, "If you pull out a plum, Jack, I'm going to be very impressed." Of course, he's a 'dad' of three itty bitty ones, so nursery rhymes are just on his mind, all the time.

No plum, not yet at least, though there might be an egg on the way if the noise Ansia makes is anything to go by. At least she manages to not fall, which would frankly have been slightly less awkward than the uncoordinated and remarkably slow slide she does down to the ground. At least from there she can look up (and up and up) at F'inn and Nymionth as she ofers a quick, "Oh! Sorry, I didn't see you there. Did I hit you with…." Whatever she might have hit them with (hint: it's sand) is quickly forgotten and she instead turns to the sculpture, for indeed that was what it was supposed to be, "Oh fardles, that is not supposed to look like that. Can you pass me the trowel? It's down there." There being somewhere near the end of the mound of sand.

F'inn can't help laughing, his head giving a mild shake as he continues to watch the rather odd construction going on. "Nothing noticable," he assures as he stoops to grab the trowel and pass it up to her. Course, Nymionth is inching ever closer while doing his level best not to foul up whatever she is working on. "Nym would very much like to know what you are doing, though. He is not convinced that you are not in danger." Course, she's high, but not really THAT high, but still. "Ahm… what is it supposed to look like?" Since, clearly, as stated, it does not look like what it is supposed to look like.

"It's a fish." Because of course it is. Yet Ansia's reply is so full of confidence of that being fact that perhaps she knows something nobody else does. "Thanks." A brief smile flashes a crooked tooth into view for a moment, but then the trowel is grabbed and it's time to smooth things out as best she can - shaving a little off here, rounding a tad there, just nobody mention that her tongue sticks out of the side of her mouth when she concentrates. "Does that look straight to you?" She hadn't forgotten they were there after all. "Or straighter? I need to curve it off anyway, but I might need to shave some more off the front if it's too… you know." A hand is waggled from side to side, presumably in demonstration.

F'inn spends a few long moments staring at the pile of sand before murmuring. "Of course it is." A fish. Clearly it is a fish. What else could it possibly be? At the thanks, he makes a no trouble gesture, his hands moving to brace on his hips as he steps back in an ATTEMPT to see the fish in the tower of sand. It's the question, though, that has him chuckling, his head giving a wry shake. "I couldn't really say," he admits. "I'm still trying to find the fish bits of it all. But then," he admits. "Have you ever seen a straight fish?" Slanting a glance at Nymionth, he smirks mildly at the dragon, one pale brow arching slowly. "It might be easier to determine," he suggests. "If you came down and looked from a different angle… Ah. And my bad, F'inn rider of Bronze Nymionth. And well, Nymionth." Clearly.

"Have you never seen them jump?" Ansia enquires, though she mostly addresses it to the fish-mound-sand-heap, face twisting as she considers and eventually takes his advice and moves over to stand next to him. Even then her eyes are on that sand pile. "See the head's up there." Point." And then it'll sort of curve down so the back's there." Pointpoint. "And then the tail on the end, obviously, because where else would you put a tail? Nymionth?" There's a moment of confusion and she finally looks at F'inn and then… horror. "Oh shards, I'm being rude again amn't I. Sorry. Hi, nice to meet you…" She quickly plays back the conversation in her head and there's only the briefest of pauses before she adds, "F'inn." Her hand is quickly cleaned and offered over, "Ansia."

It is a little known fact that, long before F'inn had Nymionth, he was a potter. A potter who had a habit of indulging in sculpting on more then one occassion. It is that that has him giving the sand pile a more serious stare, his lips pursing as the bits become more clear (With Ansia's help). "Why not stone? Sand doesn't seem like it will last very long. Eventually, with the wind and weather, you'll just have a melting fish." Course, Nymionth is very interested now, that massive bronzehead twisting and turning in the sand to try to see what they are seeing. "Nymionth thinks you've created a very lovely tower of sand." Which is not particularly helpful on the dragon's part, but it is terribly honest. "Well met, Ansia," is added as F'inn folds his arms over his chest and continues to stare at the leaping fish in the making. "Have you ever worked in snow," he asks curiously.

Ansia nods along very seriously with the suggestions, or at least tries to. There's a brief giggle breaks out, followed quickly by, "Oh it's not supposed to last. None of them ever do, but that's not really the point of it. The point is to DO it. This one was a dare really. You see I made one a sevenday back that looked like a boat. Not exactly, obviously, there's only so much you can do with sand, it was more sort of like a carved plaque." Apparently this is something she feels very strongly about, or perhaps she's just gushing for the sake of it, hard to tell, "But anyways, one of the candidates said that there was no way I could do a fish that was taller than he was and so… fish!" Her hands wave towards the mound with just a hint of unspoken 'ta dah'. Nymionth, for his part, gets a look that can only be described as 'awwwww' and a mouthed 'thank you' before her attention is grabbed. "Snow? No, never. I've never even seen it to be honest. Not proper snow. Now that /would/ be a challenge."

"It would definately be a challenge," F'inn agrees with a slow nod of his head. "Certainly not a task to be undertaken by anyone faint of heart. But," he adds as he lets his gaze sweep over the mound of sand. "You could get /considerably/ larger with snow. If," he adds as slips one hand in his pocket and produces a knotted white cord. "You happen to be up for the challenge?" In the wake of the last, he extends the cord to her to take, or not, as she pleases. "Fort is in Search for Kouzevelth's latest clutch. We could certainly use a few talented candidates willing to go big."

"Bigger." Ansia's eyes do just that at the thought, after all what girl doesn't like bigger. She reaches for the knot almost absently, her mind clearly going through a million and one scenarios in her head about eactly what she could do and just How Big she could do it. "I'm /always/ up for a challenge. I…." Then it dawns on her, then she looks down at the white cord in her hand. The pause stretches, thoughts tumbling over each other and her expression going from excited, to thoughtful, to pensive, to excited all over again. "I could hardly say no to my biggest fan now could I?" Here she nods towards Nymionth, "Maybe he can pose for my first snow sculpture. If we're allowed play time, that is?"

F'inn exhales a quiet chuckle, his gaze sweeping toward Nymionth. "There is always time for play," he assures. And then, in more conspiratorial tones. "More if you are crafty regarding how you go about it." Winking, he straightens and gives a far more somber nod. "I'm pleased you accepted, Ansia. I think you will really enjoy Fort. Take some time, let your leadership know that you will coming with us, get your things in order and when you are ready? Report to the weyrlingmaster's at Fort. Mind you," he adds to avoid confusion. "Don't take more then a day or so, you'll want the time to settle in and get familiar with your surroundings. In the meantime, I should head back, I've still got a mountain of paperwork ahead of me. Unless," he adds. "You have questions for me?"

Ansia returns the wink, though it's more of a squint but just go with it. "I have… so many questions, but I think I can probably wait till I get there. I don't have much to pack, not really, but I do need to let people know. Or maybe I'll write them a letter once I'm there. That might work." Her brain has apparently wandered off somewhere again, but then she comes back to normality with a surprisingly loud, "Oh! I do have one rather urgent question. Would Nymionth like the honout of demolishing the fish?"

Would Nymionth like the honor of…. The question is answered when the massive bronze bugles excitedly, whipping around to send his tail crashing through what was once a fish (According to rumor, at least). It is accompanied with F'inn's mellow laugh and low sigh as he brushes a hand over the back of his neck. "Always. Clearly." Winking, he strides forward and pulls himself up onto the bronze. "Bring what you think you'll need… With in reason," he adds. "And be sure to send me word that you've arrived. Until then, be quick and we'll see you in Fort, Ansia!" With that, Nymionth takes a few bounding steps down the beach before launching himself into the air with a flurry of sand. A few moments later and the pair are gone, no doubt off to slaughter more sand fish. >.>