Smith? Meet Weyrleader!

Monaco Bay Weyr - Main Clearing
The main clearing of Monaco Bay Weyr is immense, a sprawling space carved out from the verdant jungle that is constantly threatening to encroach from the north and east. There are a few pathways paved with dark stone; otherwise, the ground is full of dust — or worse, mud, during the rainy season — due to the constant churn from dragons taking off and landing. The trees tend to be enormous affairs, sweeping the skies far above the heads of any dragons, with trunks bigger than a dragonlength around. Shaded by the surrounding foliage is the single feature that makes this area suitable for habitation: a series of large bubble caverns provide permanence and shelter for the inhabitants of this tropical Weyr.


Midafternoon in Monanco Bay Weyr and it's a pleasant day, a little warm but not really all that hot. The main clearing is pretty much deserted for the moment except for a lone figure, a tall young man with very pale skin, cornsilk blond hair and icy blue eyes. Clad in a black wher-hide vest over a long-sleeved black sweater, black slacks and calf-length black boots he is prespiring freely, his straight hair stuck to the back of his neck and his long bangs plastered in a wave on his forehead. He is sitting on a large chest under a tree, surrounded by four small suitcases, a large backpack and a good-sized black metal crate with ?Fragile? written on it in block capital letters. Those pale eyes roam widely and one hand moves to either get his hair off his face or tug at his vest collar on occasion, but he is still and silent otherwise.

Champagne and shadow carves its way across the sky above the clearing. The ominous portent of tidings to come circles once, buzzard-like, before winging beachwards. It is a hiccup; nothing of note, really, with so many other dragons rising and falling and filling the airspace. But maybe not, as some time later finds the relatively tall form of I'aija ambling from the direction of the beach. He is not accompanied by the living shadow, however; it's just him, shirtless and fresh from a swim, with his knot hastily pinned to his belt. Both hands lift to push his hair back into a dark slick, attempting something presentable. It doesn't take long for him to pick out the one person that sticks out like a sore thumb: "Hey there! Welcome! You waiting for someone? Or do you need a lift somewhere?"

Kelenaro turns his head at being greeted, notes the knot and gets smoothly to his feet, making a small bow. "Afternoon, sir." come the words in a easy baritone. "Neither." He straightens up. "Kelenaro. Keroon Smithcraft. Just got dropped off." He gets his dripping hair out of his eyes again, accompanying the hand gesture with just the slightest shake of his head.

"Name's I'aija. Well met, Kelenaro! And, ah, welcome to Monaco Bay Weyr!" He offers a hand, after the poor lad's pushed his hair out of his face again. "No one's ever prepared for the humidity, eh? You'll definitely need to get some clothes that breathe a bit down here." He sizes up the assortment of cases, then looks back to the pale-haired youth. "Full transfer? Or just a lengthy visit?" Curious and earnestly so, even as he moves to start collecting what bags he can get away with getting.

Kelenaro does shake hands, grip strong and slimy with sweat. "My pleasure, I'aija." A moment's pause and then more words come. "Transfer. For now. Getting my field apprenticeship." And the young man does not seem to mind the Weyrleader's assistance with his baggage. The only thing he seems very concerned with is that black metal crate and the large chest he had been sitting on.

He's not about to touch the crate or chest; I'aija knows better! "Well, good. At least someone here knows you're coming. You know who you're reporting to and all that? C'mon, I can at least get you to where, ah- I think you'll be staying, anyway. At least until someone can get you the rest of the way. So! What are you looking to do down here for your apprenticeship?" Somewhere in the distance, a shadowy, draconic form emerges. It's a ways off, but there's no mistaking that they're being watched.

Kelenaro shakes his head ever so slightly. "Not who, told to see the Mastersmith here." A faint shrug of the shoulders. The crate and the chest he can manage himself, along with his backpack. "I'd be assigned when I got here." He looks down at his longfingered hands. "Work with seashells. Not many in Keroon. Pearls. Semiprecious stones and crystals."

"All good stuff, it sounds like. I might have to check out some of your work once you get settled, eh?" The Weyrleader offers a crooked, boyish grin and shoulders his burden easily. "Well, I'll get you that far and see if I can wrangle the Mastersmith if they're not already on the way." He's not about to question the Hall's methods or who knows what; all he can hope is that all the paperwork's been done! "Then I'll send you off to get something to drink and hydrate. Maybe go for a swim to cool down."

Kelenaro nods ever so slightly, restrained of speech and motion. "Welcome to do so. Apprentices show off often, after all." He too is ready to go, the chest under one arm, the crate cradled against his chest and backpack securely in place. "Anytime you want." Another long pause and then the hint of a sigh. "Can't swim. Born in Bitra. Water's cold there." Just the slightest hint of emphasis. "Not afraid. Never learned."

There's a grin for that and I'aija starts off, setting an easy pace. "Ah, we'll get you swimming with the dolphins soon enough! Deluge is doing some drills out at the beach," he tilts his head in that direction, where the dark bronze dragon is finally making his approach known. "They'll be able to help. I'll let them know to keep an eye out, sound good?" Are Weyrleaders usually this chatty? It's rhetorical: this Weyrleader definitely is.

Kelenaro matches pace easily. "Sounds good," he affirms in his calm way. "If there's time to learn. Sometimes it's always busy busy busy from the top." Apparently he's run into a few rather demanding teachers in his time at the Crafthall. "Runners here?" he asks. "I ride."

To which the Weyrleader tips his head slightly in a thoughtful gesture. "Things aren't as hectic here as they are in some other places," I'aija muses. "I mean, don't get me wrong: we work hard, but there's no point in working hard if you can't live a little, too. The tech helps. We have the resort, too, so definitely go check that out at some point." His grin hitches wry to a side. "We have some runners, but I'm not sure how good they are for riding."

Kelenaro listens attentively before speaking. "They mentioned a resort. Should be interesting. Never been to one." A slight tilt of the head. "Can't be too bad. Not like the floppy-eared one back at Keroon. Threw me Turns back. Got the scar then. Sharp rock on the ground." Indeed the thin corded ridge is impossible to miss but it doesn't totally ruin his appearance.

"Mmhm. I used to work there as a cook. Sometimes I still sneak off to help from time to time." I'aija chuckles and nears the evental end point of this impromptu adventure; there's only so far to walk! "Nah, probably not. Sounds like a heck of a painful incident, though," he adds, canting a look over. "You're lucky it wasn't anything really serious. Thank Faranth for that, eh?"

Kelenaro inclines his head again, glad to be almost to his destination as well. "Hurt yes. Blood everywhere. Yes, thank Faranth it was just flesh and blood, not worse. I still ride when it's possible. Don't stop doing something just because something bad happens once. Get back up, try again."

"That's the spirit!" And there they are, precisely where they need to be - and where a certain, stalking dragon can't go. I'aija unslings the bags accordingly, taking care to arrange them neatly. "And here we are, eh? I'll send for the Mastersmith, but hopefully they're on the way here already. Let me know if there's anything I can help with in the meantime, yeah?"

Kelenaro lets down his own burdens and then straightens. "Mastersmith should come sometime; I was supposed to be here right at 3 in the afternoon." He gets his sweaty bangs out of his eyes again now that he has a hand free. "And yes. Suitable clothes. Mine won't serve me here. Too humid." One long index finger pulls slightly at his collar, trying to get the material away from his skin.

The Weyrleader sucks his teeth in thought, then nods, once. "Good. Well! You can check out what's in the stores. If it's not what you need or if nothing fits, just find one of the Headwoman's assistants and they'll be able to get you sorted. They're good like that. And-" he adds after a beat "-see about going to the healers to get some of the, ah. It's like a cream, but it prevents sunburn. Otherwise, you'll look like a boiled spiderclaw in no time."

Kelenaro listens again, cocking his head slightly to show he is paying close attention. "Will do so. Don't want sunburn. Got it up north sometimes. Most painful. Nobody mind my rock polisher running? Parents sent it when they heard I was selected for field training. Want to use it."

"I reckon you won't have too many folks complaining if you keep it to daylight hours, eh? But, then, between dragons being dragons and the crash of waves, I doubt most people will even notice hearing a rock polisher at work." I'aija flashes Kelenaro a wink and tosses him a salute for good measure. "Welcome to Monaco! I'd stay, but someone," he's not naming names, but there's a significant look over his shoulder, "needs a bath. Clear skies, Smith!"

Kelenaro nods his head and there is a faint twitch of his mouth that might be a very small smile. "Good. Thank you, Weyrleader I'aija." He raises a hand in farewell. "Clear skies."


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