Aislinn joins the Mudsliders

July 19th 2004
Logged by Wyn

Esryth's Fold
While it may not seem such a wonderfully clever thing in the winter, when cold winds and snow are plentiful, this weyr is far more open to the sunlight via a short, wide access tunnel that permits a bountiful supply of natural illumination. As such, glows are somewhat sparing, but in use enough to keep a well-lit weyr that still emits plenty of fresh air and clean smells from outside. A couch easily large enough to accomodate a medium to larger blue dragon is sequestered off to the side, along with the hammock that Aislinn seems to have favored from the barracks, with all of its simple decorations from nature still intact. Not convenient for more intimate company, perhaps, but it leaves plenty of floorspace, even when accomodating for the few other random articles of furniture such as a clothes press, a few chairs, and whatever satchels, blankets and whatnot might be laying about. A bounty of ovine skins seem to remove most of the chill from the floor, couch, and other bare stone, arranged seemingly at random and in steadily growing collection, contributing to the air with their sweetly earthy smell.
It is a spring evening.
On the ledge, you see a blue dragon.
Gliding above are five firelizards.
Blue Esryth is here.
Aislinn is here.

It's an unseasonably hot day for spring, especially at the 'reaches, and while neither inhabitant of this weyr particularly mind toiling for hours out in the scorching meadows, it seems like just as pleasant an idea that they revel in the uncommitted hangtime between graduation and the assignment of wings. Shirking chores? Maybe a little, or perhaps Aislinn has just gotten them all out of the way in cooler hours of the morning so that she can lounge about and peruse a few bits of hide she's been meaning to read up on, while she can. Which is where one can find her, draped lazily in the hammock with one leg hanging over the side, while Esryth lies like an obedient canine on his couch, trying very hard not to be bored and failing miserably. His interest piques all at once, however, as he lifts that massive head and looks off in the direction of the short, wide entry tunnel with a soft rumble. Aislinn, reluctantly, lifts her head and peers over. "There's nothing there, Es."

"Actually." comes a voice from said entry tunnel, Vorkoroth having dropped in with one of his stealthy silent landings, "Your Esryth is quite right." The voice can be identified as Wyn's, but it's coming from what looks like a large burlap sack on legs. A large burlap sack stuffed full of some interesting Somethings. "I hope this isn't a bad time to visit, but I thought that you might like a weyr-warming present."

Now watch in amusement as Aislinn *just barely* avoids a comical spin-out in the hammock in utter surprise, as Wyn appears in her door way. Yes, well, hah! She's on her foot, and throws a hasty salute, although as the Weyrsecond announces the nature of her visit, it transmutes into a sheepish grin. "Oh, no! Of course not. I mean, well," she gazes uncertainly around her at the scattered hides and ovineskin throws everywhere (some looking as though they've already been chewed on by a rather large set of choppers), and adds that, "I could have cleaned *up* a little first, but…" Beam. Esryth looms in jovially, snuffling at Wyn affectionately before lumbering off his couch and fairly *prancing* out towards the ledge, presumably to chat with Vorkoroth.

"Perfect cleanliness at all times," notes Wyn, with another pause for effect, (She's rather fond of those.) "Is the sign of a diseased mind. You look like you're already nicely set up in here." she comments, swinging down the burlap sack and presenting it with a bit of a bow and a flourish. "I made them myself. I am not entirely sure if I got the pattern right, and I'm anything but a weaver, but we all need our hobbies." As for what's in the sack, why, it's a collection of scatter pillows. Fuzzy ovineskin ones. With little black feet and heads sewn onto them. And there's a veritable flock. Watch Wyn shuffle slightly from foot to foot, hoping her gift will be approved of.

Just look at those eyes light up. "Hahah!" The little ex-Weyrling exclaims in delight, clasping her hands for the splitsecond they're held at bay before being flung around Wyn with a quick, elated squeeze. Then she's all about plucking one out and admiring it grinningly, "Oh, they're *adorable*, ma'am, thank you! Look at their little feeeet," she can't help but giggling, turning to survey the rest of the weyr's decor before holding one of the pillows out for comparison. "Yes, I think these will go quite well." Glee, glee. "And let's hope Esryth doesn't try to eat these. He's already destroying my throws," she points out, kicking one of them indicatively before going back to giggling over the pillows.

Wyn looks somewhat deer-in-the-headlights as she's hugged, and manages only a few incoherent sputters of "Quite all right… nothing special… quite all right." before she's released. Somewhat pop-eyed, she smooths her hair, and then looks on with pleasure as Aislinn surveys her flock. "I recalled that you were Keroon Hold's shepherd before N'sync brought you to us," she reveals, pun intended, sheepishly. "And since I usually make far too many of these for my own weyr…" Out on the ledge, Vorkoroth rumbles something dire to Esryth about a weyr being taken over by cushions. "I thought you might like them. Did you get the last one out of the sack yet?" And the little weyrsecond is back to nearly wriggling again as she waits for an answer.

Aislinn just beams, completely heedless of Wyn's discomfiture at being suddenly squeezed. Sheepies, sheepies, shee - what? "Oh, no, not yet." And she goes about tossing the first layer towards the hammock, some landing in it, but others falling to the floor. She'll arrange them about the weyr anyway. "I should probably learn to sew better, come to think of it. I'm sure I'll need it, to make this place warmer in the winter." She reaches down to the bottom of the sack, fishing the last one out.

The last ovine pillow in the sack is a decidedly interesting creature. While it resembles its fellows so far as pattern goes, there's something odd pinned to its' side. It's a badge, bearing a mudslide picked out in brown thread touched with silver making its' way down a seven-spired and stylized mountainside. And Wyn is -actually- wriggling now, shifting from foot to foot and clasping and unclasping her hands as she waits for Aislinn to find it and puzzle out the meaning. "Well, if you want to pick up some sewing, I should be happy to teach you what I know, once the quiet corners have been de-flea'd."

"Ick," Aislinn decides with a wrinkle of her nose as Wyn reminds her of the fleas. "I mean, it's not like I haven't dealt with fleas before, but watching all those other weyrfolk all scratching and welty." She shudders, for effect, as the pillow is turned over it and she peruses it with a curious, if baffled eye. Study study. "Oh! This is the Mudslide Badge," she decides, apparently recognizing it from Wyn's and a few of the other riders' flying leathers about the weyr. A pause, and she startles her eyes wide open again, "Does that mean…?"

"Tell me about it," Wyn concurs with a wry, if slight, grimace. "I've been negotiating extra supplies from the Healers, but… decidedly unpleasant." But now Aislinn's found the prize in this box of crackerjacks, and the elder bluerider abandons her pretense and sidles over to favour Aislinn with something exceedingly rare: A grin. "Well," she notes dryly. "It certainly didn't get there on its own. Would you do Mudslide Wing the honour of flying with us?" she extends the offer formally.

"Oh!" She clutches the pillow to her chest in surprise once more, the gratification evident in her silly little grin. She seems to be doing a lot of that lately, but she does have a lot to be excited about. "I'd love to! I mean…*thank you*, that is." She stifles a giddy giggle and squeezes the poor little badged ovine closer. "Oh, I'm so happy! I hoped I'd get tapped by Mudslide, nothing against the other wings of course, but you know…they're huge, and Mudslide seems to nice and down to earth and," she rambles on.

"Well then," Wyn replies, all business to mask her own inclinations to hop about and shriek happily. "Welcome to Mudslide Wing, say I. You have a sevenday's worth of vacation, but after that, turn up to see Lorsalia or one of the wingseconds, and they'll give you our training and patrol schedules.

Aislinn is happy. Can you blame her. "Alright, alright," she agrees, still beaming but settling down a bit as she goes. "What about the other Weyrlings? Have they been tapped yet?" She's curious as to whose company she'll be able to enjoy (or in some cases, have to endure) a bit longer. A pause, grimacing, and she inquires as delicately as she can, "Ah…you're not…going to be tapping Desba for Mudslide…are you?"

"I can't speak for other wings and other weyrlings…" Wyn raises a thoughtful hand. "But I -can- tell you that you shan't be sharing a wing with Desba. There's a certain amount of personality matching with your permanent wings, inasmuch as we can, so no, you and Desba will not be sharing a wing. As for the others…" Here Wyn favours her newest wingmate with an exceedingly crooked little smile. "Well, that's a surprise. Clear skies, wingmate, and enjoy the scatter cushions… I'm off to prevent Vorkoroth from taking over the world."

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