Who Lhiannon, Nita
What Lhiannon and Nita manage to share a chat and a jog, but some meanings get lost in interpretation.
When Late Autumn / Early Winter, 2725
Where Northeast Bowl, Fort Weyr

 

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Fort Weyr - Northeast Bowl
The northern end of the bowl can be an intimidating area, being that Fort is the largest weyr. The far north wall contains the gigantic opening to the hatching caverns, and to the west of that can be seen the sprawling ledges and carved stair cases that mark the way to the administration complex and the training grounds were candidates and weyrlings can often be found. The west cliff wall towers up, dotted here and there by darker openings that mark individual weyrs before it tapers to a point at Tooth Crag.


It's unusual to see Nita at this time of day, in the bowl. She's simply usually otherwise occupied, but perhaps her journeyman has a meeting, or perhaps she simply requested some time and was granted it. Whatever the case, the young woman is in the Northeast section of the bowl, nearest the training complex but not actually in it, nor observing it. She's settled in an out-of-the-way spot that doesn't intrude on the activities in the bowl - the comings and goings, the more of Weyr life that she probably doesn't fully grasp or appreciate yet. She's pacing. It's back. And forth. And back again. That's how pacing goes. The oversized sweater is plum and there's a belt that glints silver, conjoined ovals of something that is surely not actual silver, threaded with a thong of leather dyed an eye-drawing teal paired with brown over those loose trousers of a similar warm-chestnut shade. Darting in the air somewhere above her head is a green firelizard, still quite young, but apparently entertaining itself with in-air antics, perhaps even trying to gain her mistress' attention, but not succeeding. The pacing is slightly agitated, though contained. It's a curious combination, in truth, especially from one as relatively young as she. At least Nita has picked a fine day for it, the air in the Autumn-nearly-Winter crisp but lacking in precipitation (recent or current), so the dirt is firm under her booted feet, and there's nothing threatening at this afternoon hour.

An enormous brown firelizard, likely not far from maturity, emerges from between nearby, lingering a moment as he catches sight of the little green's antics. Since she's having so little luck engaging her bonded's attention, he's happy to soar over and offer her his larger-than-life company instead, easily able to make multiple rolls in the air for each one of hers with a playful noise. Lhiannon and Fjainoith are among the foot traffic in the bowl after the weyrlings' afternoon class wraps up; the former jogs to keep up with the much longer strides of the latter, whose stately gait easily carries her ahead of her lifemate. It's on their second full circuit that the blonde's pace slows as they draw parallel again to Nita's position; so, too, does the dragon's. Dressed for exercise in a plain, long-sleeved shirt of Harper blue over stretchy black pants that were obviously manufactured for ease of movement, the greenrider aims an amused look toward Orrion's apprentice - or, rather, the firelizards above. "So that's what kept you, " she says aloud, to which the brown gives a pleased warble while weaving around the airspace where the little green darts. Breath rapid from her exertions, Lhiannon's messy ponytail shifts with her small stretches in place, expression thoughtful as her attention turns to Nita, observes the length and manner of her pace. Her greeting of, "Apprentice Nita, " has an even, polite delivery - unlike the way Fjainoith cants another silent, watchful look at the dark-haired girl.

It's possible the little green is slightly taken aback by being joined by the brown because the movement pattern changes, to something that lets her wheel wider, observe more before engaging first tentatively, then less guardedly in play with the more exuberant firelizard many months her senior. "What?" is Nita, momentarily confused by Lhiannon's words of address, until the warble, which draws dark eyes up to the moving pair. "Oh." She must have noticed them at some point between Lhiannon's first circuit and the next, but they weren't immediately relevant to whatever is on-going in her busy brain. The single syllable of understanding is visible though quiet enough that it doesn't seem to be for the weyrling but rather for the apprentice herself. The 'what' brought Nita to still and turning toward Lhiannon, but she doesn't straighten herself as though she's not about to turn back into motion until the greeting of her name. "Journeywoman," she offers, though it's plain even as she must be rapidly packing away the scattered contents of her more troubling thoughts into the tight space they're typically allowed to occupy, she's not fully there yet and there's a small touch of color to her cheeks. "Fjainoith," she adds a moment later. Whether Nita knew the dragon's name - had learned to speak it 'properly' or not, she has now. The green still gets a slight look askance after the apprentice has offered the greeting. Nita's hands fall to her sides and fingers curl loosely toward her palms. Then… well, an awkward pause.

Lhiannon studies Nita a moment longer, gaze surely missing little as she watches the other recall herself, lighter eyes dropping briefly to follow the movements of her hands before returning to her face. There's a small, noticeable lift to her eyebrows as the glasscrafter greets the green standing next to her, followed by an equally little curve of smile that's almost approving. In the month since they've met, Fjainoith has easily doubled in size and is only slightly longer than a double-decker bus. Her name, said correctly, no less, causes that pale nose to lower and draw somewhat nearer, a swirl of blue-green flashing quickly into prominence over otherwise opalescent eyes before fading. "I'm not your journeyman, " the harper points out, not unkindly. "I won't turn you into your superior if you want to take the proverbial hat off for a bit and call me Lhiannon. — Do you jog?" It could certainly seem like a non-sequitur, until: "I've found it to be a satisfying outlet when one's head feels a little full. Fjainoith would like to take another partial turn around the bowl before we head back. You're welcome to join us, if you'd like to look at a different section of the walls for a bit. She says she'll even slow down a little, if you'd rather walk briskly."

Maybe it's because the pacing isn't working. Nita doesn't look the sort to do running for fun, frankly, but nevertheless, after a long latch of dark eyes on fair face, the younger woman simply gives a curt nod. She's not dressed for it, but apparently she thinks she'll manage because she moves to fall into step with the greenrider. It may prove to need to be a split between a brisk walk and a jog, but Nita will lengthen her stride to try. "Some journeymen, even not mine, like it. The title," she observes, as they start. "Is Lhiannon what you like?" is the next question of the moment, a brief glance aside before she adds, "I heard that's what she named you, but you weren't always named that." This, of course, has nothing whatsoever to do with whatever was occupying Nita's mind, but it does have plainly to do with what invitation was leveled to her. If Nita is paying more attention to the rider than the dragon, well. The rider is the one she can converse with - at least to her mind. And the firelizard? Well, if Nita is in motion then the play is going this way, where the action is.

True to her word-by-proxy, Fjainoith shortens her stride enough to make it easier for the two humans to keep up as she resumes her cooldown walk. "Some people, some situations, " the journeyman says mildly after a few steps, "will have need of the title more than others." It's not exactly the delivery of a teacher, but more a matter-of-fact statement; surely, this isn't news to Nita. Blue eyes slant thoughtfully to the apprentice at her question, lips pursing a little in consideration. "I wasn't, " Lhiannon acknowledges, tipping a look toward the proud dragon not quite ahead of them, "but it's who I am, now." Between breaths, "Most people I met prior to Impression with whom I was friendly, " and some with whom she wasn't, "called me Hana, short for Hanalee. I don't mind if they still do, but it isn't how I'd introduce myself today." Perhaps that's a very roundabout 'yes, ' if one that has gray areas of definition - and draws a distinction between this acquaintance and her friendship with Orrion, to whom she's undoubtedly still Hana. Above, the brown follows the much smaller green; convenient, really, for the play and his person to be headed in the same direction.

The small huff that comes from Nita when Lhiannon makes that pronouncement about rank might just be coincidental, given the new pacing, but the apprentice's countenance is habitually shuttered, so there's no change here to give a clue that the out-blow of air was opinion as much as necessary and natural function of the lungs being asked to meet a new demand. Though there's a brief sidelong glance, catching the look between Lhiannon and the one that re-named her. Something about that look has the glasscrafter's brows drawing down enough to form a little line of folded flesh between them. Something to think about, evidently. At least this time Nita doesn't point out that the Harper could have just said 'yes,' but perhaps there's a difference in Nita's book when roundabout provides additional information that expounds upon a subject matter. This is where someone else might introduce a new question, but Nita simply lapses into thoughtful silence, eyes falling to take in the next slap of booted foot to ground and the next after that. Given enough silence, enough footsteps uninterrupted, Nita will eventually speak again, this time to ask, "Did you always run? Or only since?" in the era known as A.F. (After Fjainoith).

There are advantages to running with a dragon, not the least of which being that one has the potential to encounter substantially less foot traffic as a path ahead can be easily cleared. Still, Lhiannon slows her jog to a brisk walk out of habit (and perhaps to allow both humans to catch their breaths) as others veer around the exercising trio. "Not always, " the harper admits at some length, "although we're encouraged regularly in and out of classes to engage in physical training." It's an almost hesitant addition, her next: "I started near the end of my time as a candidate. Some of us took a self-defense class, and the instructor recommended increasing one's level of fitness to feel more confident with the maneuvers." Her gaze flicks briefly sideways to the apprentice, mouth curving wryly upward. "I think what he meant to say was that I should grow more comfortable with movement - or hope my intrinsic clumsiness will break an assailant's nose to give me a chance for escape. The trouble, of course, is getting them to stay in just the right place to get a good swing in." Ahead, Fjainoith's progress slows as they near the center of the caldera; the green turns, gleaming not entirely unlike glass as she resumes a march in the way they came, wings furling and unfurling in controlled stretches.

It's possible that Nita is unaware of the particular advantages being afforded them by being in Fjainoith's wake, more focused on the running, then the recovery of breath as the jog becomes walk. Her dark gaze moves to the harper more than once, but not for any length until after she's noted the application of the term 'clumsy' in conjunction with herself. There's a subtle tension to Nita's lips that don't quite purse, brows hitching ever so slightly down, perhaps assessing the fit. "You don't seem clumsy," she observes in a tone that might be a cross between honest reflection and slight suspicion. The reason for the suspicion might become clear as she clears her throat and inquires, "Do journeywomen typically suffer assaults in your experience?" Nita is sorrynotsorry a very direct person, and there doesn't appear to be any thought given as to whether or not she might be inquiring about a sensitive topic. It's something relevant to her, of course, because she PleaseFaranthNo will be walking tables in too short a time (though hopefully still turns yet). Perhaps she adds a lifeline in case the previous question is somehow unacceptable by commenting with a glance toward that dragon that brings to mind Nita's Favorite Thing, "It seems like you'd have to be fairly fit to manage a dragon's care." They're big. It's just common sense.

Lhiannon's eyebrows rise a hair at Nita's observation, expression waxing undeniably pleased before the flash of genuine emotion constrains itself back into a little smile. "Then his advice was sound, " she says serenely. There might be a little hitch in her breath for the girl's next question, or maybe that's an extra intake of air as she prepares to ease back into a jog as she follows her lifemate's trajectory. "Self-defense techniques are a smart idea for any woman traveling and working alone, especially in less-populated areas, " she rejoins evasively at some length with the lightest of emphasis at the outset, tone mild. She doesn't quite aim a look askance at her walk-jog companion, but it's clearly meant to communicate a subtle reproach if the way her eyes narrow a little before dismissively returning to the horizon is any indication. "But you asked me about women who journey. It would depend, I suppose, on the types of situations their work would put them in." Her features soften for the practical remark on dragon care, lips twitching. "Fairly fit, " she echoes in agreement, "although it's less of a requirement when they're smaller. But they grow remarkably quickly."

Between one and another, trouble, or at least a miscommunication is brewing. Clarity might yet have a chance as Nita's brows pull a little more together, eyes narrowing slightly more in a very typical perplexed-with-an-edge-of-annoyance. Bluntly, she replies, "I've never journeyed with women. I journeyed with Arno, and now Orrion." Men. "The women I know aren't journeyers." Not the kind that would need self-defense for traveling through unpopulated areas. This is all to say, those were real questions because Nita has never had cause to consider that her experience might be different than, say, Orrion's, just because she happens to be female. "I've never had self-defense as a course," because, of course, why would they think it necessary? It might even be a concept so removed from the typical of their world that they'd be surprised by the notion were it put to them. "Should I?" There might be the sense that while she's apparently looking to the more experienced crafter for advice, quite genuinely, that Nita is used to making arrangements for those things she finds she needs herself. Perhaps the words are helpful in tempering the unavoidably prickly impression Nita manages to give (because, well, Nita); none of this was intention of disrespect, simply an unusual way of engaging with the world at work. She flicks her gaze to Fjainoith, but manages not to comment something bald about just how enormous the green has become since their last encounter. Small blessing?

"My journeyman was a woman, " the greenrider-in-training shares casually; conversely, she has no experience journeying with men. Teeth catch and release briefly at her lower lip as she gives consideration to that next question with a thoughtful pucker to her brow. "From a practical standpoint, I doubt you'd have anything to lose by pursuing it in your spare time, " with a wry pull to her expression and voice likely for what spare time she recalls being afforded as a busy apprentice. "I find practicing the motions almost meditative, sometimes." Maybe that's another method she uses when her head feels too full. "But even if it ended up not to your liking in a similar manner, it would give you an advantage should you find yourself in a situation that goes sour in the future." Ahead, the bus-sized growing dragon slows her stretches as they near where the bowl begins to turn into the training grounds, wings going still as they fold to her back.

For all that Nita asked, she doesn't immediately show any sign of an eager hop-to attitude toward accepting the answer that might be over-simplistically boiled down for her to, 'Why not?' Her thoughtful sound that has more 'n' than 'm' in it is quickly lost to a clearing of her throat that might have more to do with the settling of breath than anything more substantive to the conversation. In fact, when she speaks at least two beats later, it's to observe with a clinical tone, "Physical pursuits can cause injury. Injury can cause lost time or capability." Her register of this line of thinking appears to be more an examination from a different angle — a glasscrafter's angle — than an outright rejection. Still, it's not dismissed. "Did you spend much time at your Crafthall or just with your journeyman?" Nita can multitask; while her mind turns over the idea of self-defense, she addresses her curiosity, a quality whose expression in Nita is subdued by comparison to how it manifests in others, though no less sharp.

"Anything can be risky, " says the harper matter-of-factly. "Some risks are outweighed by their benefits. Surely you risk injury in your line of work from time to time with the end goal of creating something aesthetically pleasing." Pace cooling back down into a brisk walk, even that eases into something more like a steady stroll after some minutes more pass between them. "I did a little of both, " Lhiannon answers at length, gaze taking on a briefly faraway cast. "Most of us spend our first turn in the classrooms at Harper Hall or its Landing satellite to have some rudimentary grasp in the fundamentals before the journeyman-apprentice pairings begin. I didn't start journeying with Yuon until around the beginning of my second turn as an apprentice. She didn't want anyone to accompany her almost full-time outside of the hall until they were at least sixteen." There's a sideways look, then, thoughtfully: "You're eighteen, as I understand it. I'm not terribly familiar with the bylaws of the glasscrafters, but we, " being harpers, "were being not-so-subtly encouraged into declaring at least more than a passing interest in one or two specialties by then." Somewhere in there might be a question if Nita's being similarly encouraged at this stage of the game, but it goes unvoiced.

"Of course," is a response without hesitation, but that doesn't mean she's conceding to the harper's point because, "Self-defense isn't the same as making glass." Priorities, Lhiannon. Priorities. Perhaps in this moment more than any other thus far, the harper might see why Nita makes an excellent apprentice for Orrion. It's all about the glass. It does, of course, highlight the slightly myopic approach the apprentice takes to life. It's probably easier to do that with no history of moments where she would have needed to defend herself with more than her sharp tongue. That much is easy to glean, too, from the way glass can so readily be prioritized over personal safety; those needs must already feel sufficient for her to not actively be pursuing. "And that's not an accurate description of the goal. It lacks scope." Nita might, in fact, bristle a little about it, but not much more than her usual prickliness, so maybe it's hard to tell one from the other. "Glasscraft, you apprentice to a journeyman from the start. Orrion got Arno to take me on when they were in the region working on a project." Because Nita made him, but she leaves that part out. Credit to Orrion for Nita being here today~ (That means he's the complaint department; submit all claims in triplicate or he may lose them.* *He may still lose them.) "I was twelve. Arno has been working out of the main Hall," here in Fort region, "since Orrion walked tables. So I've done more with other glasscrafters recently," and the wrinkle of her nose says Nita Does Not Like It, "but it's not like Harper." Not as Lhiannon describes it anyway. The look only increases to a full on stink-face (wrinkled nose, duck billed lips turned down at the edges and just full of disgruntlement) as she grudgingly acknowledges, "They want apprentices to walk tables after twenty," So, yes, being near that age, she's been encouraged. "It happens earlier for some." That's a grumble that suggests that's been suggested within her hearing, too, which at least probably means she's talented within her craft.

Lhiannon almost grins at the critique so freely offered to her description of the end-goal of glassmaking; perhaps, in that moment, it is easy to see why this apprentice and her friend are so aptly paired for training. Although it's entirely possible (maybe even rather probable) that she's heard a little about the circumstances surrounding the beginning of Nita's apprenticeship before, she listens to the younger crafter's version as attentively as if she had no prior knowledge of them, allowing her eyebrows to arch silently for twelve with a little nod. Summer-blue eyes linger on the formation of that stink-face for a minute, and the greenrider's lips briefly press together in consideration. "Learning isn't a one-size-fits-all process; figuring out what one would like to do with that knowledge is often even less of one." It's an almost idly offered, clearly meant-to-be-generalized observation - but there are probably few harpers who say words without a purpose behind them. "I'm not your journeyman, " Hana reiterates, "but if you ever wish to bend an ear that isn't Orrion's - who won't have a hand in your evaluations or supervision - it shouldn't be too hard to find me, at least for the next six months, " with a hint of dryness for that last, casual enough bit and a gesture toward the training complex, into which Fjainoith has already proceeded apace.

The almost idly offered words get a side-eye. It's very much the look, this time of someone understanding something different than what was intended, and perhaps trying to piece the unexpected bit in with the whole. She might not have grasped what Lhiannon had behind the words, but she might have drawn her own new nugget of information about the greenrider-in-training for better or worse. There's another of the same after the next words are all said. And yet, whatever blunt thing Nita might have wanted to say in response to either of those things is left without means of leaving her lips, her settling into a line with a slight downtilt at the edges. She moves in silence, not really looking at the path ahead, dark gaze unfocused. Her lips move minutely, as if there are several phrases attempting here and there to cross her tongue but all are caught before they can get past the cage of her teeth. It appears to be an effort for her. It makes the words that do come more clipped than they might otherwise have been, "Thank you, Lhiannon. This has been insightful." That doesn't sound especially positive, given that the, "Excuse me," is only the barest politeness given and then she's stalking off at a swift pace, stormier, perhaps than when she started.

No, it doesn't sound especially positive; it's enough to send Lhiannon's eyebrows to the top of her forehead. Insightful? And there goes Nita at her newly furious pace. There's a moment where she apparently thinks enough about pursuing that she's taking a step forward, lifting a hand — and then silently lets it fall back to her side, watching the other's departure with a flicker of genuine disappointment briefly twisting at her features now that she's mostly unobserved. It's a long minute more before she turns with tightly held shoulders to rejoin Fjainoith, who rather uncharacteristically stays abreast rather than ahead and brushes against her partner as they make to re-enter the barracks.


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