|
|
The following is a roleplay-log from SouCon MUSH (soucon.godlike.com 4201). The world of Pern is copyright to Anne McCaffrey.
N'all strides over from the Lakeside Meadow.
Ana is patiently oiling Fenth's side as the blue whuffs happily on his couch. Ana looks up with a smile "Hello, Weyrlingmaster"
Joslyn is being lazy. Er. She's sitting up quickly and looking industrious as the Weyrlingmaster comes in, quickly dragging a tunic into her lap and trying very hard to look like she's been sewing it this long while, her lifemate half-dozing nearby. "Hullo, N'all," she greets as if she's only /just/ noticed him. Smile.
N'all nods to Ana, and decides it's not worth his energy to say anything back. Joslyn doesn't even warrant a look as he inspects the dragonets and living areas.
Ana giggles, surpressing the sound quickly as she bends her head down to concentrate on the blue hide in front of her.
Joslyn is probably much happier that she's thus overlooked, the threaded needle - she /was/ sewing, earlier - spearing into the fabric clumsily. Humming all the while, she makes rather slow work of the tunic. But she does look busy.
N'all walks over towards Joslyn, and looks down his nose at her, his voice remains calm, the kind of deadly calm that always preceeds a hurricane, "Weyrling, you will address me as Weyrlingmaster. If you were a rider, you could call me N'all. But since you are the dirt I walk upon, you should consider yourself lucky I even acknowledge your presence. But, since I have to elevate you, by some miracle, from herdbeast dung to a rider, and Faranth help Telinda when you receive your additional training, I suppose it is a necessary burden to bear. Don't make it worse on yourself by presuming I am your friend."
N'all hears Ana's giggle, and let's it pass for now.
Fenth shifts his form a bit, so that Ana can reach a particularly dry spot that has been irritating him. Ana obliges with a dab of oil, murmering to the blue "You're going to get me in trouble"
"Oh," says Joslyn, poetic as ever as she looks up, steady despite an audible gulp. Jeuneth doesn't like this at all, however, and swings her head around to regard the man with a very cool and soft sniff of distaste. "Of course, Weyrlingmaster," the girl hastily ammends, shooting one of those Behave! looks at the ruffled gold.
N'all nods to Joslyn, "And when you get the weyrlingmaster title down, I'll allow you to call me sir." He looks at the gold, and raises an eyebrow and then looks at Joslyn, "learn to control her, or I'll do it through Ceruth." He turns on his heel and strides over to Ana.
Ana's eye's roll up to meet N'all's from her spot on her knees, and her hand slows its' movements on Fenth's hide.
Joslyn /was/ controlling her, but isn't about to argue the point. Instead, she mutters something akin to, "Accourse, Weyrlingmaster," and bends her head back to the sewing at hand. Grumbling all the while, of course.
N'all's only sign of compassion is as he looks at Fenth, he looks at the spot Ana's been oiling, and nods in what might pass as satisfaction, "It's important to keep him oiled, and don't worry you can't over-oil."
Ana's expression is slightly relieved "Yes Weyrlingmaster" she says. "He seems to love it" she adds, smiling down at Fenth.
Vira wanders in and stands quietly in one corner, watching N'all with their new Weyrlings.
N'all nods to Ana, and stands up, and goes .back. to Joslyn, "Weyrling, I'm signing you up for additional duty with the Weyrharper to work on your enunciation and accent. How in the name of the First Egg do you expect to LEAD anyone if they can't understand what you're saying?"
Lily is sitting next to Tybeth, scratching her eyeridges. She regards N'all cautiousely.
N'all doesn't expect an answer and walks over to Lily.
This is weyrling training? "I talk fine, weyrlingmaster. Ever'body understands me," insists Joslyn, looking up with quite the little frown. "I don't wanna have lessons with th'Harper." With each successive gripe, her needle slows down significantly, little progress made with her tunic.
N'all says, obviously to Joslyn, but still looking at Lily, "I don't recall giving you a choice, correct me please, if I'm wrong." And to Lily, "Weyrling, how is Tybeth?"
Lily looks down at the green, her expression going distant for a second. Then she grins, "She's fine, she just wants me to keep itching her eyeridges." Then as an after thought she adds, somewhat slowly, "Weyrlingmaster." She's gonna have to get used to that...
It's probably a good thing Joslyn is half-unintelligible with the way she's chattering on under her breath, every few syllables punctuated by an almost discernible curse. In a more conversational if somewhat absent tone, "No, I gotta wear it... I think so, too." And makes a very sour face.
N'all nods to Lily, he looks at Vira, "Perhaps this clod has a chance." Tying in with the dirt theme he used earlier with Joslyn. He looks around, "All right, tomorrow you start chores. The chore roster will be posted every morning at sunup." He looks at Vira, and nods, "Heyla."
Vira regards Joslyn with a look of amusement. "I dunno, Josy," she almost drawls. "You might be able to teach the -Harper- a few words. I hadn't heard some of those before."
N'all looks at Vira, then at Joslyn, and then back at Vira, and lets Vira handle it.
Lily quirks an eyebrow at N'all...after she's quite sure he's turned around. A soft mutter can be heard, "No...you can't do that Tybeth.....I know he called me a clod, but that's not nice...."
Joslyn likes compliments, and Vira's remark sounds enough like one that the girl exchanges her bitter expression for a quick beam. "I practice," she assures, summoning dimples, even. "You wanna learn some." A pointed look settles on N'all as she adds, "When I got /time/, accourse."
N'all looks at Joslyn, "Time? I'll tell you what you're going to do with your time. When you aren't at the harpers, or here for lectures, you will be mucking the stables, with this." He walks over and grabs a pitch-fork that's about 1/3 the size of normal, and a shovel similarly small, and places them at Joslyn's feet.
Blinkblink. This is a joke, right? "Huh?" asks Joslyn, as close to dumbstruck as she's ever likely to get, kicking the aforementioned mucking items with her toes.
Ana leans over Fenth to reach his belly with the oil, trying very hard not to look over at N'all and Josy.
N'all's smile is, well, cold, "Of course, you can't start until Jeuneth is old enough to realize you didn't abandon her. Which is about the time you'll be wanting to enjoy some break time between lectures."
N'all adds, "Socializing, swimming while it's really hot. No, you will be in the stables, mucking with these tools, until you can prove to me that you are capable of at least a whit of protocol."
Vira mutters to Joslyn, "It's o.k.,... N'all keeps... pitchforks... shovels."
Vira whispers "It's o.k., sweetie, I know where N'all keeps the regular pitchforks and shovels."
Lily stops scratching and just stares at N'all. Surely, this *monster* is not the nice person she used to know? Is he? A whuffle of air from a smoky green muzzle brings her hand back into motion.
N'all raises an eyebrow at Vira, but he lets her play her role.
Vira smiles sweetly at N'all. "Just letting her know she won't be the only one mucking out stables by the end of the night."
Joslyn literally bites her tongue, visibly fuming as she drops her gaze back to the tunic she's nowhere /near/ finished with. Speaking of Jeuneth, the Queenling pads a bit closer to N'all, peers at him a moment, and then flips her head in a very dismissive gesture as she turns back. She doesn't like this fellow one bit. "Howcome I'm bein' picked on?"
Dragon> Ceruth bespoke Jeuneth with << My rider is hard on your rider because a lot will be expected of her, and he wants to make sure she can handle it. I'm afraid it will only be worse if you try to help, just let it happen. >>
N'all walks over to Joslyn, "Because, you half-wit dimglow, one day you WILL lead this weyr. And I am NOT going to have someone who can't handle a little pressure even THINK about that position. Yes, I am going to be hard on you, and I'm going to be hard on that lump of dung called C'al, why, because I need to know that I didn't waste my time on teaching other people just to have them killed by leadership that can't tell its arse from a hole in the ground. So, I suggest you.get.used.to.it!."
Jeuneth> Ceruth senses that Jeuneth tones are rather imperious, not quite haughty but certainly not happy. << My lifemate can handle anything. She does not need to muck stalls. That is an utter waste of time. >>
Dragon> Ceruth bespoke Jeuneth with << Discipline must be instilled. >>
N'all continues, "And if I feel that you cannot lead this weyr, I will have you exiled so fast it will make your head spin."
Joslyn has too much sense to note that she's never once mistaken her rear for 'a hole in the ground'. But she hasn't quite got enough not to ask, "Exiled to where?" Don't forget, silly girl: "Weyrlingmaster." Exile might not be so bad...
Jeuneth> I bespoke Ceruth with << Cleaning the dung of runners and herdbeasts is by no means discipline. >>
N'all says "The coldest, most remote place I can possibly think of where the only thing you'll have for company is a wherry or two. At least you will be it's intellectual equivalent.""
Dragon> Jeuneth senses that Ceruth's voice rings with command << That is .enough. >>
"Jeuneth'd come with m - ," remarks Joslyn, barely loud enough to be heard. The last syllable is abruptly clipped as she turns blinking eyes upon her dragonet, Jeuneth's eyes flecked with a rather dangerous scarlet. "Whatever you say, Weyrlingmaster," the girl hastily ammends, far more interested in the gold's present mood than N'all's omni-present Mood.
N'all nods to Joslyn, and lets out a sigh, "Why I ever volunteered to this, I'll never know. Sorry lot if I've seen one."
Jeuneth> Ceruth senses that Jeuneth is by no means pleased with this, but she's more than willing to bide her time if that's what it takes.
Dragon> Ceruth bespoke Jeuneth with << All things will make sense later, for now, you must trust us. >>
Ana glances around the room at the other Weyrlings as she leans back, placing the lid on her oil pot securely. But she doesn't say /anything/ in response to N'all's words.
N'all looks at Vira, "Will you make sure the children get tucked into bed? I need to let the stablehand know he'll have a new assistant in a few days."
Joslyn sets her jaw firmly, the tunic and its attached needle left on the floor by her cot as she sets about consoling Jeuneth properly. The girl doesn't /need/ to say anything; she's furious, it shows, the end.
"Sure, N'all." Vira is all smiling sweetness and light. At least, relatively speaking. In reality she's looking a little grumpy.
N'all's only smile of the day is aimed towards his assistant, "Many thanks."
N’all has left.
*** END LOG ***