Problem Child

Half Moon Bay Weyr - Weyrling Training Field
Near the tall black eastern wall of the crater is a cleared field. The earth there has been churned many times over by the landings and take offs of young dragons and only a few patches of grass cling to life in this active area. Wooden props and markers used to assist the weyrlings as they learn the precise maneuvers required for the rescue and protection work that the weyr is famous for, litter the training field. Close to the rimwall, in the east where the sun is usually shaded is a large wooden slat barracks for the weyrlings to live in. Tropical trees and shrubs have been allowed to grow here, perfuming the air with a floral scent.

Midmorning means Candidate chores are in full swing, but one Assistant Weyrling Master gave a certain candidate special instructions for today. In preparation, D'nyl is sitting at the haphazard desk of paperwork and future pain for those who impress. He is working on some piece of paperwork, likely related to the blue senior weyrling who is currently scrubbing out all of the unused dragon cots on his own. Oh, yes. This batch of weyrlings has been particularly problematic on all counts.

That certain special candidate is on his way, giving the blueriding weyrling merely a passing glance on his way through the barracks on his way to the office. There is a gentle rapping at the door, and considering it was already open, Jaelyn steps over the threshold and into the unkempt space. As if expecting the unholy fires of hell to descend upon him like they had Ila'den the evening before, he has the presence of mind to pull the door closed behind him before clearing his throat, "Ya wanted to see meh?" he asks, remaining there as close to the exit as possible, perhaps in case of said fire and needing to make a hasty exit.

D'nyl looks up at Jae and actually smiles (RUN, JAE, RUN!), gesturing at a chair, "Have a quick seat, Jae. This won't take long." He shifts a few stacks around so that it's slightly neater, "You're not in trouble, I want you to know that. I jus' didn't want to embarrass you in front of the others." The way he shifts shows some discomfort of his own, a far cry from the stern, assured assistant weyrlingmaster of the night before, "Not to put too fine a point on it, can you read? Sunny and I noticed the… unorthodox contents of your notebook last night."

Yes, that smile has the effect of Jaelyn lifting his chin upwards just a bit, despite the fact that it seemed rather friendly. He hesitates there where he'd come to a stop after shutting the door, before he glances to the chairs nestled so invitingly there in front of the Weyrlingmaster desk. "Uh…" comes the immediate intelligent response, and there doesn't seem to be any eagerness to comply. Eventually though (lets hope that the bronzerider's patience was infinite) he very cautiously takes one step, then another, and another. If it was going to be quick, maybe D'nyl should of just spoken with him where he'd stood, because it was clear that Jae was in no hurry. At some point his butt does make it into one of the two chairs, sitting up straight, alert and looking about as comfortable as one would putting their head inside the mouth of a hungry wild feline. When the reason for his being there is revealed, the computer crafter's brows slowly ascend towards the hem of the beanie pulled over his head. "Ya…kinda." he says, his expression returning to stoic nothingness, tension visibly tightening his shoulders. "I ain't so good at writtin' is all."

D'nyl's patience is infinite, it seems, and he shows no frustration while Jaelyn hems and haws about his seating arrangement. Once the cat is out of the bag, though, he nods his head twice, "Then you're ahead of where I was in your place. If you impress, you will need to be able to do whatever paperwork your wing of choice requires by graduation. We can find some time to work in some extra lessons without making a big deal out of it. And it's better to do it now than after you impress when you're trying to care for a hatchling as well."

It's a good thing then, because it was looking like Jaelyn was going to be challenging that patience. "Prolly ain't gunna happen. Dunno if ya people talk to each other or whatever, but this ain't mah first time standin'. More like the seventh…" he says, scrunching down a bit in the chair and draping his hands on the rests on either side of him. "Dun ask me why I said yes this time. That chick that picked me up was hot, and it was cold at Fort. Ain't gunna be an eighth time." While his voice was as unrevealing as his facial expression in that they betrayed nothing about what he might be feeling or thinking, one being monotone and the other blank, there was still something about his body language that said he still might be clinging to some last frayed tendril of hope that there wasn't going to be an chance for an eight time. He was just being, difficult and evasive. He wasn't as hard to read all the time as he'd probably like to think.

D'nyl makes a soft hmming sound in his throat and shifts to pull over a small stack of papers, "You're at Half Moon now." He says it so blandly, but there's a subtle weight behind the words that is only emphasized when he continues, "Different lines, different dragons. Better, in my opinion, though I may be biased." He flips through those papers, checking their contents with a cursory eye, then offers them to the younger man. They contain some basic exercises in reading and writing. "I've never been in a craft, but I'm sure your craft would also prefer we do our part to maintain your education." The weyrlingmaster frowns, studying the boy in the chair, "And no matter how impossible it seems, impression may find you. I didn't expect to impress, either. And the last thing I want is to have to hold you back because you can't perform all of your duties as a rider, aye?"

Words that were likely meant to be reassuring, bounce off the mask of indifference that Jaelyn constantly wears. He remains unmoved and unmoving in the chair that he'd dropped himself into as D'nyl continues to speak. The paper flipping is completely missed, because whatever interest (however fleeting as it was) has been lost and the computer crafter has found something somewhere in the tiny office that has captured his attention. Little bastard. Golden eyes do flick the assist Weyrlingmaster's way when the sound and motion of papers being offered drawn them back his way, and without taking them he turns his head slightly in his direction and peeks at them instead. "Yer kiddin' right?" he asks, even and toneless despite the meaning behind his question. He leans over then, squinting some, and even tilts his head a bit to the side before he gives up and flops back with a sigh, "There ain't nothin' there readable dude. Ya tryin' to be funny?" Any further discussion on impressing and dragons, is definitely pushed off to the side and ignored.

"Let me assure you, Canddiate," There's a subtle shift in the way D'nyl is carrying himself, the WLM-face is falling back into place, "I am not kiddin'. Those are the same exercises they started me on and they are quite readable with some practice. I recommend getting help from Sunny as she's the better teacher and she's not doing exercises with the 'lings right now because of her arm, but I will not let you leave this candidacy without making some advances whether or not you impress." He sits back and up, somehow making himself seem even taller in his unusual leathers.

Despite the change in D'nyl's attitude, there seems to be zero reflection of it in the way that Jaelyn was sitting or currently carying himself. He just continues to give the poor man his no reaction face as if it were carved out of the most deadpan stone on Pern. "I ain't bein' stubborn, man. I'm serious. That…" he says, pointing at the papers that he still had yet to take, "…ain't legible. The letters are all jumbled up. How do ya expect meh to make sense of stuff I can't make sense of?" At least now he was sounding a tiny bit growly as his level of frustration begins to rise. "Ya can put on yer game face and try to make yerself look bigger all ya want, but it ain't gunna change the fact that ya ain't listenin' to what I'm sayin'. How do ya suggest I pronounce…" And he gets up again, to look at the papers still sitting on the edge of the desk and spells out the first line as he sees it on the top, "A-N-M-E…T-D-A-E…" Brows lift, and he plops back down, the very corners of his lips turning the smallest bit downwards.

D'nyl frowns. This, well, this he has no experience with. "I think we do indeed need to arrange additional lessons for you." He pulls out a drawer and starts quickly filling out something in the untidy script of a man who learned reading and writing in his late teens, "We'll make sure it aligns with the time you spend on your crafts, so we'll only cut a little bit of that out, but you'll be meeting with Harper Tirna every other day to work on this." The former-renegade simply has no idea what might cause a boy's brain to scramble letters… at least he's not sending him to the healers?

At least as far as physical goes, he looks perfectly healthy? That was something, considering how much trouble Jaelyn was turning out to be. If there was a crack to fall through, it was probably becoming crystal clear that the Istan Bred boy had found them all. "Gettin' bored with the apprentice stuff anyway." he says paying absolutely no attention to the writing that D'nyl was doing over there, for reasons that the assistant weyrlingmaster had just discovered. He can't make a lick of sense out of them. "Might want to have a word with yer senior though, she's already got me seein' a mindhealer." It's said bunt and flat that, as he regards the older man past the thickness of his lowered lashes. Yep, the kid was nothing but problems.

D'nyl's lips press together firmly, "If you required a mindhealer, you wouldnt' have been selected to stand." From outside, there's a rumble of agreement from the ever-opinionated bronze he's partnered with, "I'll talk to her Weyrwomanness about that, have no fear, but you-" he points the end of his pen firmly at the young computercraftocandidate, "just make sure you show up for these lessons. Better to handle it now before you're having to deal with reports and paperwork." He pauses, peering at the lad a moment, "How can you be a computer crafter if you can't read the screen?"

"I got anger…issues." Jaelyn helpfully clarifies, when D'nyl inquires after the whole mindhealer deal, casting a bland look over his tattooed shoulder to the direction he'd come from for that rumbled agreement, but of course that's it from the computer crafter, because his utterly disinterested look is cast back upon the assistant Weyrlingmaster like an unbaited hook. "Ain't scared of much." he tacts on, certainly looking as if that were true. Though presently he didn't have much to be scared about, if he felt anything at all, ever. "Fine, whatever." Stoic or no, he was still a teenager, and that almost required those particular two words to be said at some point during every single conversation. The last question posed to him though, has him lifing that beautifully inked shoulder and then dropping it again in sort of a shrug; another typical teen characteristic to check off the proverbial list. "Got no problem with numbers. Codin' is all zeros and ones." A pause and he quietly adds, "I can read some stuff if I concentrate, but I get migraines if I try too hard. Ain't worth it most of the time."

"You and me both, kid." There's a hint of sympathy in D'nyl's eyes, then he nods, "Tha's fair." For the first time since Jaelyn enters, he stands, making a faint gesture towards the door, "I've taken up enough of your time an' I doubt ya want me to assign you hours with the armsmaster to work off the aggression. There'll be plenty o' time fer that later." A thoughtful frown creases his expression, turning slowly to a dangerous sort of grin, "An' next time ya get in trouble fer yer anger, yer to report direct to me." DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUN

Jaelyn doesn't react to the sympathy either, not giving so much as a twitch despite the change in D'nyl's demeanor. Instead, he waits for the older man to stand, and then does so himself, notably stepping away from the gesturing hand even if it wasn't being offered to shake. Seems touching was out of the question as well. "Dun matter." he says to being assigned time with the armsmaster, "Been choppin' a lot of wood lately." Because, REASONS! He starts heading for the door, hand poised over the knob as if he could feel the dangerous smile being directed at his back. "Right." Brat. With that, he turns the knob, opens the door, and is soon making his way back the way he came without even so much as a farewell or word of thanks.

D'nyl shakes his head, looking after the lad who is both so like and so unlike his younger self. Maybe… just maybe… but probably not.

Add a New Comment
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License