Tuesday, July 09, 2002

Weyr Stables

A nice series of stalls carved into the stone wall of the Weyr to protect the runners from weather and thread.

Peering down from the top of the stables is a green firelizard.

You see Speck and Bloodfrost here.

Easing the large wooden door behind her, Jalir throws several glances to her fellow Candie before slipping into the dusky gloom of the stables. With a discreetly muffled cough, a glowbasket is unsheilded, allowing light to stream across the rows of stone stalls. "Hn. They're..nicer than I expected...for a /Weyr/." Never know just what those risqué Weyrfolk'll do to things. Breathing in the deep, comforting scent of straw and beast, she moves on to inspect a runner or two. "Never did like these beasts much, though..."

Lyrianna peeks over Jalir's shoulder at the stables. "I /love/ runners," she states cheerfully, easing over to a runner, holding out her hand for approval, which she gets with a whuffle, and promptly strokes the beast's nose. "I used to have my own runner, you know. His name was WindSpeaker. My ma and da bred runners. They were both Herders. But I didn't really like animals enough to be a herder. Just runners. And ferrets." Ooh talkative, much. "I think it looks pretty good."

Jalir snorts subtly, "Runners's useful thin's, I'll give you that." She halts before one of the stone enclosures, gnawing placidly at her lower lip. "Too skittish for my tastes, mebbe. Ju'know they have /show/ runners down at the Istan Hall? Show runners," she repeats with mild sarcasm, just in case the younger didn't hear it the first time. "They train the thin's to prance about and to tricks. Practical? Faranth's great behind..." Doctor! It seems we've made a breakthrough! "I gotta runner, though, m'self. Halfbreed, 'ctually. Draybeast-runner cross. Beauty..." her voice strains to a higher note of concern, "I won'er who's taking care of 'im..."

Lyrianna strokes the large chestnut head nudging her shoulder. "Yes, they certainly are practical. Ma and Da bred ours for endurance." Preen. Seen. Practicality. "Of course it's practical. The show runners are used for entertainment, and everyone needs entertainment in someway or another." That or Lyr just likes to be right by finding every single little technical detail.

Jalir, not wanting to stir up an argument, silences her thoughts on showriding for a more amiable topic. "Y'said y'like ferrets?" she turns and leans against a stony pillar separating two stalls. "'S'how I got into this whole..." we search for a term, "This." Curt nod. "One'o'those might be useful'na few days... I saw tunnelsnake catchin' on the schedule." Nosewrinkle.

Lyrianna turns around towards Jalir, still petting the runner, of course. "...This? I got Searched 'cause Suith was jealous of a ferret getting attention." A roll of her eyes as she recalls the prissy green that Searched her. "I've been meaning to get a ferret. I want to name him Radnazak. That's backwards for Kazandar." She'd promised the journeyman she would name a ferret after him. She will keep that promise.

Jalir breaks into a fit of low chuckling, "D'baji stopped by 'Erder Hall t'buy thin's for 'is sister's ferret... pampered critter, no doubt." She tilts her head in a thoughtful frown, "Nverath liked me, or somethin', I guess. He started snifflin' me all over, then he wrapped me in his tail and started singin'." Her eyes widen in a spaced-off stare, mentally recounting her harrowing experience. "I din't know dragons sang. 'Baji told me that they eat three or four Herdbeasts a /week/." Owlish eyes turn to Lyri, as if expecting her to be equally appalled. Slipping back into a more relaxed gaze, the smile returns, "Radn'zak. 'S'not bad..." even if it OOCly sounds like an allergy medication. Cough.

Lyrianna shrugs slightly, although an eyebrow raises at the fact that dragons sing. "Well...That's not really /that/ much, you know. And they are dragons. And they do need to eat." Just a fact of life. Besides...herdbeasts are just... /herdbeasts/. There's plenty. Some dragons gnawing on a few wouldn't be that bad. "You should get your herder friends to send us a litter of ferrets or something." Litter, right? A litter of ferrets? It sounds right. "Yeah, I promised Kaz. And I owe him because I think if he was still 'round when M'er asked me to come to the weyr he may have dragged me inside the hall and locked me up." Shrug. Kaz has had weird experiences with his appies becoming riders.

Nodding in reluctant agreement with Lyri's view on dragons eating her beloved specialty-beast, 'Lir absently scuffs the packed earth of the floor with a boot toe. Another nod - she seems to to that a lot, huh? - lends to her appearance of seriously considering the ferretish request. "I could senda flitter down'n ask if any had kits," arms fold over her blunt torso, "Inna couple days, mebbe. My gold's going proddy on me an' she's the only one I'd trust with the job." Said queen peers from behind Jal's neck, eyes having become miniscule glows in the low-lit stables.

Lyrianna isn't terribly fond of herdbeasts.They're big and they smell. And they're sorta boring. Runners are just so much more exciting. And ferrets are just spiffy. Lyri leans over to eye the little gold,"Igh. I just have a brownie and a bluey, myself. No proddy femme flits for me, thanks." Although she does need an Inga. Or an Elizabeth.

Perhaps this is where Jalir's fondness of the bovine kind derives. She's....not /very/ big, but not exactly small. And we're not talking spring fresh. We'll call it... a nice pastoral, bestial scent. Yes. Her expression falls into a slight grimace at mentioning of 'proddy femme'. "'S'her first..ah....time," a flush slowly creeps up 'Lir's squared jaw, "I 'ope she doesn't d'cide to /stay/ like this..." Lavinia snorts primly, tail coiling about her 'pet's neck. With that, there is no more proddy-talk from Jalir. Just chastely downcast eyes. And a change of subject. "What'sa Starcraft like?"

Lyrianna smirks ever so slightly at the girl's flush but the smirk is banished as she eyes a large brown eye next to her head. The runner's eye, that is. Lyri is not exactly large herself. In fact she's tiny. And she hates it. But her feet say otherwise - obviously still too big for her, she has another few good inches to sprout to grow into her feet. "She /can't/ stay like that. It's...impossible." Eyes light up and she grins at the mention of her beloved craft. "Starcraft is /wonderful/. We study the stars and the planets and coments and meteors is my specialty and do fun stuff like that. In fact, me and Kaltia found our own star. It's called Orashoe."

"Orashoe," Jalir drawls the foreign word contemplativly, boots beginning a nervous scuffle on the earthen floor. "Sounds...'nterestin'," she nods wistfully, hand creeping to toy with an escaped lock of hair. "But I s'pose I'd better get back t'the Barracks'n'whatnot..." She turns and ambles exit-ways. "Thanks for checkin' out the stables with me." A crooked grin of camaraderie flashing before she slips out the door.

Jalir ambles steadily to the Bowl.