Help from Averil's --Friendly-- --Weyrborhood-- AWLM Rau

Xanadu Weyr - Weyrlingmaster's Office
There's nothing fancy about this office, in fact it's quite utilitarian. There's nothing but a desk, a bookcase, a large filing cabinet and a long bench table - all made of wood stained in a warm golden hue. The desk, which consists of little more than a wooden slab, sits in the corner opposite the door. Allowing an eye to be kept on the young dragons and weyrlings, the wall that divides the office from the barracks has three large windows with wooden shutters in the same honey as the furniture that can be closed for privacy. Spacious dimensions, leaving more than enough room for the Weyrlingmaster to meet with his AWLMs - or several weyrlings at the table, which is placed underneath the windows, is softened by creamy walls and soft lighting. Otherwise the room seems almost bare.

Physical fitness is not something Averil has ever really had to do. Not that he is not in fine shape, mind you, he is. But he's small and slender and not particularly strong. Still, he has been trying, something that may, or may not have been noticable over the past few sevendays. In the beginning? He'd maybe managed a quarter lap around the training grounds without throwing up. Now? Now he's up to a lap and a half before getting winded, two if he really pushes himself. Running has it's merits, he's found, and given the fact that he's getting decent at it? Not the reason for his visit. Still, he's been running as he finally steps over to knock on the door— granted, he runs in culattes and a tanktop with sandals, but he's been running. No, it's something else entirely that has him bouncing on his heels outside the office, the sweat dabbed off his face as he waits for an answer.

With sandals. Honestly, if Averil did not look like a person who'd been engaged in physical exercise, M'tras' dark eyes might not have lingered on the footwear when he opened the door to what is really probably C'con's office, but which plainly the AWLMs end up in from time to time when the Weyrlingmaster is not immediately present (and sometimes when he is). Rau lacks for riding attire today, dressed instead in a pair of khaki-colored cargo shorts ending at the knee, and a loose grey shirt that leaves the braided rope necklace with wooden beads visible at his throat. The assistant weyrlingmaster has very little room to comment though, since his own feet are bare, but he hasn't been running. The door is pulled open wide enough to address the candidate but M'tras' athletic frame leans against its edge with the thing about two-thirds open, not inviting entry immediately. "Candidate," he addresses the younger man after a beat, expression placid if vaguely expectant. He does not offer, 'How can I help you?' or 'What do you need?' instead letting the silence invite the candidate to make his own start.

With sandals. Alas, what Avi knows about fitness he's picked up from romance novels and guesswork. Still, he lets the towel fall as the door is opened, his hands retwisting his hair into a loose knot on the nape of his neck. "You… Well," he corrects. "Your lifemate said if we had questions, we should ask them," he points out as his arms drop. And, for an awkward moment, he stands there, not entirely certain what to do with those arms before finally settling on folding them loosely over his middle. "I have questions. I.." Frowning faintly, he lightly clears his throat, his nostrils flairing as he draws in a slow breath. "It occured to me that going into this thinking that I'd be walking out of it soon enough was not the best approach." He still thinks he'll be walking out of it soon enough, but that is not the point. "I've been trying really had to build up my physical strength on my own, but I've gotten to the point where I have to admit I have no idea what I am doing. I can run well enough.." For someone who never has before. "But I tried to do pushups and.. it just…" Trailing off, he shakes his head and clears his throat looking more then a little embarassed. "I need help."

To be fair, there are probably several types of sandals that would not draw that moment of attention from Rau, but possibly these are not those sandals designed to provide just enough protection without changing a runner's stride or chafing after long exertion. Also possibly Averil is not to the level of duration where it much matters. He doesn't comment on them at any rate. Judging by the very slight uptick of a single brow as Averil corrects from 'you' to that idiot, Xath 'your lifemate,' it's possible M'tras is not planning on commenting on anything, but he does listen as the blond-haired candidate works it through from mind to mouth. His head tilts just a little as the Harper explains his original approach and the one he's looking to adopt. At the end of all of the words, there's a beat, then two, and just about three where it seems like the man is waiting for more, or at least to make sure there isn't any, and then he's shifting his weight to drag the door the rest of the way open and gesture Averil within. If anyone was thinking this was the point where M'tras was going to jump in with some kind of comforting or helpful pep talk, they would be wrong. All the brownrider does is push off the door and turns to go to the filing cabinet to pull open first one drawer, and then a second, seeking something, obviously, but not vocalizing whatever it is. Evidently, Averil is expected to invited to wait.

Nope, Avi's sandals are made to look pretty and, while they are sturdy, they provide absolutely nothing by way of support or practicality. Fortunately, his choice of footwear, while relevant, is not on Avi's mind. It is also fortunate that the utter lack of /words/ from the weyrlingmaster is something he simply takes in stride. That? Probably a byproduct of spending inordinate amounts of time with Shiloh. Words? Pfft. Who needs words? That and it's a pretty sure bet that Avi will opt for using up all the words if given the chance to do so. "Thank you," is uttered as the door swings open and he steps into the office, drifting over toward the table to trail his fingers over the wood. "I had no idea it was as /involved/ as it is," he notes in tones that are truly distressed. "I mean, who would have thought that getting stronger and building stamina required a plan?" Isn't it the sort of thing that shouldn't require much in the way of actual thought? "I'm not even sure pushups are practical," he points out as M'tras digs through the drawers. "I mean, dragons are big, right? You'd think you'd be going up and not down. I don't know what I am doing, clearly."

Who needs words? Not, apparently, Rau. He doesn't interrupt Averil as he goes on, although he doesn't appear to be ignoring him, simply giving priority to the task at hand. It takes him a moment to find the file he's seeking and withdraw a sheet. There's a brief grunt from the brownrider on the heels of the candidate's admission that he had no idea what would be involved and then goes on. His dark eyes flick briefly to Averil before going back to the page in his hands. After a moment, the drawer is shut and the assistant is moving over to stand before the blond, offering the sheet to him. "It doesn't require a plan." His deep voice is matter of fact. "You just won't get to where you want to be as quickly without one. It's like learning to do anything else except the frustration of incompetence on the way to competence is felt in your body as well as your head." There, words. See? Xath knew he could do it. He taps the page whether it's been taken from him or not, "These are the month one physical training goals. Not every weyrling can meet them." Do dark eyes linger on Averil's slender frame in a way that might imply he wouldn't imagine Averil would? "But every weyrling needs to get as close as they can because it's cumulative. You have to catch up eventually because you can't ride without it." An excess is not necessary, of course, he leaves implied. "So this is your goal." He taps the page again. But then, "Are any of the other candidates training regularly?"

"Not to my knowledge," Avi admits as he takes the sheet and looks down at it. He's silent though, for a long moment, his head dipping in a faint, absent nod. "I'm not worried about what other people are doing," he finally admits. "I'm not like other people and I know it." And he doesn't mean just his choice of wardrobe. "I.." Trailing off, he clears his throat, his chin tilting up in a stubborn little lilt as he meets M'tras' eyes. "I can't do most of this." And he's pretty sure that M'tras figured that, already. Still, he takes a moment to get himself together before drawing in a slow breath. "I'm not saying I think I will impress," he admits. "I don't. What I /am/ saying is that if I am wrong, I do not want to be responsible for a dragon being held back. I know I'm weak. I need a plan to fix it." Pausing a beat, he sucks in a breath and adds. "Please."

It's when Averil says he's not worried about what other people are doing that M'tras' eyes shift minutely narrower, studying the candidate, his brows very slowly, very subtly lifting, waiting out the rest of the words. When the younger man finishes, with that 'Please,' Rau's posture shifts very slightly, and he recites, "Averil, Journeyman Harper, age twenty." Someone's been in the files. Dark eyes drop from the indeterminate point somewhere above and to the left back to the smaller man's face. "Candidate," fingers move only enough to intimate a flick in the direction of the journeyman's shoulder, whether the knot is physically present or not, "is a new role for you, but that doesn't drop you down to the status of those who wear the same knot and lack your credentials or turns." The words are not, it might be noted, unkind even if the man's deep voice has a way of occasionally making things seem slightly more dramatic or solemn than needs be. He shifts ever so slightly on his feet, arms coming to fold across his chest, expression tinged with contemplation of what he sees - or maybe what's within what he sees. "Your fellow candidates who may become your fellow weyrlings are your first resource for not only how you might achieve these goals, but for support. Teachers," he briefly shifts his palm so it can lay on his chest to indicate himself, "are good resources and willing to assist with things outside of a student's scope, but I doubt, as a journeyman, that making a plan to achieve a goal is outside of your scope." His arms fall as he rocks forward a step and touches the paper again, tap tap, attention, here, it's silent but strong. "Here is where you want to be. You know where you are now. So what are the steps between?" It isn't, it might be seen in the patient expression M'tras directs to Averil that he is unwilling to assist, but either that Averil has not asked the kind of question Rau feels can't be answered more usefully by other sources, or that his way of helping is to empower the candidate who currently seems to feel at a loss for his own capability.

Averil tilts his head as he listens, his gaze sweeping from M'tras' face to the page as it is tapped. Whatever he feels about the thought that he should relie on others? It's unpleasant enough to inspire a momentary frown. The expression, though, is there and gone in a heartbeat, banished to some place deep and dark and out of sight in his petite frame. "I have not," he points out in quiet tones. "Had the best experiences with counting on other people." The abrupt lack of expression and inflection in his tones might suggest how deep that goes. "But, I do have this," he admits with a nod toward the page. Knowing where he needs to be, physically, goes a long way toward helping him prepare. It is not, though, that he doesn't want to ask for help from his peers. Or is it? Even he has to admit that he is not entirely sure on that matter. "I'll talk to them," he affords as he glances at M'tras' face. "Thank you," he adds as he raises the page. "For this. I appreciate your time." In the wake of the words, he takes a step back, his lips twitching in an unconcious frown.

Whatever M'tras recognizes in the look there and gone is not written on his face, nor is it in his voice as he observes, "The past is not always a portent of the future." Very briefly those lips that seem determined generally to not rise much out of their frequent neutral line, twitch, tugging into a small smirk that vanishes just as quickly as Averil's look. "If these are not the same people, you owe it to yourself to take a chance. Fear is never a good reason to not try." Despite the fact that his tone only varies a little, the last phrase holds the voice of determination and experience. Everyone has skeletons in their figurative closets and Rau is not here trying to open any doors. Probably, his statement does not extend to where fear serves as caution to keep a person from foolishness, but obviously, he doesn't seem to think that applies here, or at least doesn't say so. He watches Averil a moment, in that step removed that he now occupies before adding, "If, after you have exhausted your other resources, you're still struggling to formulate your plan or are having particular trouble with certain tasks on there," he gestures in lieu of tapping since the page is now out of reach, "talk to me again." Because, truly, Assistant Weyrlingmaster M'tras is not unwilling, he just looks at Averil and sees a capable adult… so far. Would Averil really want it a different way?

There is a flash in Averil's eyes at the mention of fear, his lips pressing momentarily before he draws in a deep breath and inclines his head. "Ignoring the past isn't always wise, either," he points out. "But I don't think that that applies to this situation." He doesn't. Not really. It is a gut reaction and nothing more. Still, try as he might, there is wariness there in his gaze as he looks at the page. It's the last that has him looking back up, a flicker of gratitude entering his gaze. And, despite his hesitation, he is thinking about the other candidates and who might be best to approach on this matter. "I can do this," he decides. "If I get stuck, again, I'll come see you. Thank you," he adds in serious tones.

"No one asked you to ignore it." M'tras' drawl is bland, so bland, his head tilting ever so slightly as he asks. "What difference have you drawn in your mind between asking me for help and asking any of them?" Everything else will wait, because either Rau is willing to dismiss Averil's gratitude or his resolve as immaterial to the moment. "My knot makes me not a bad choice as one who knows what's required of weyrlings, but you didn't come here to ask my expertise in weyrling matters. You asked me for a plan." And Averil has one of those now, doesn't he? Or the beginnings of one. Curious, that. "So what makes asking me, a man you've not exchanged more than a few words with in your life different than asking those you share that white knot with." It's not really a question this time, but rather, food for thought. If the answer is Xath, Rau probably doesn't want to know.

Averil does not answer right away, taking the time to really think about the question. When he speaks, his gaze sweeps up to M'tras' face, his head tilting mildly to one side. "When I was wanting to learn to ride a runner, I went to the stables and asked Shiloh. Because that is what he does and where his expertise lies. You're a weyrlingmaster, you've been through this, you've probably trained more then your fair share of candidates and weyrlings." So he came here to the person who actually knows what is required. "And you've given me the information I need. I'm grateful for that," he adds. "I'll work it out." Pausing a beat, he glances back at the door before returning his attention to M'tras. "I'll get out of your hair, if that is alright? If I need more help, I'll make a point to return, though."

Dark eyes track Averil as he thinks, as he speaks, as he explains, and as he asks permission to go. M'tras' face continues to be as helpfully informative as it ever is about what goes on behind that gaze, which is to say not at all. A single hand lifts in invitation or permission, toward the door Averil came through and once he's stepped through, Rau will prowl that way to close it behind him. After all, if the door is closed, maybe he can pretend no one is home at the next knock.

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