Logs:A Cute, Tearful Joke
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| RL Date: 5 July, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, X'vin, Besmernyth, Taeliyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two outsiders meet. Neither is really what the other expects and neither is what happens. |
| Where: Feeding Grounds, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 3, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Misty most of the day, but not cold, a bit overcast. |
| Mentions: Ebeny/Mentions, I'dro/Mentions, J'zen/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions |
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>---< Feeding Grounds, Fort Weyr >-------------------------------------------< The feeding grounds are fenced off from the rest of the Weyr with a high, wooden fence and gate, providing plenty of space for the resident herdbeasts -- bovines, in particular -- to ramble about. The vast majority of the animals are for draconic consumption, but some of the more valuable varieties are penned away from those designated to be dragon food. Ovines and porcines are a bit more useful to humans than to the dragons that would happily dine on them and are kept further away from the bovines and closer to the stables as a result. There's plenty of grass to feed them, while herders and stablehands regularly add feed to the troughs along the eastern fence. The soil turns to mud as one gets closer to where the area butts up against the lake, which doubles as a watering hole for the animals. It's certainly not time for weyrling dragons to begin killing for themselves and yet outside the fence that retains the dragon food (and other beasts) is where Taeliyth and her lifemate can be found on this overcast afternoon. Already longer than her lifemate is tall, the young queen watches with keen eyes as a blue hunts from above, swooping down to expertly make a kill. Dee's eyes follow the motions of the dragon within without any trace of squeamishness. Her expression is far away though, so perhaps she doesn't really register the way the viscera squishes between the blue's talons. Taeliyth licks her lips. Besmernyth's appearance above is a sharp drop from the sky, quick -- and hobbled by a rider on his back. His annoyance is as clear as his hunger, as the bronze swoops to a landing outside of the pens to deposit X'vin, who takes his sweet time in dismounting. It gives Besmernyth plenty of time to peruse the area -- the blue, who his eyes slip off easily, like he's another rock in a weyr made of them, the food-beasts, Dee...Taeliyth. « Good afternoon, little queen, » he greets, his impatience echoed in a low rumbling in his hollow chest. X'vin clears his dragon and Besmernyth at once leaps skyward, circling like a buzzard. As pleasant as ever, X'vin takes to leaning against the fence a short distance from the gold pair, appraising them sidelong before, "Good afternoon, weyrling." And above, Besmernyth wonders, « Are you hungry? » Taeliyth's watching misses little and certainly not something so obvious as Besmernyth's descent. She watches openly while the rider dismounts, putting mindtouch to body - a body she studies with a clinical interest as he leaps and circles. « Good afternoon, Besmernyth, » is polite. It's as noncommittal as her « I could eat. » What she can't do is kill for herself though she aims to study the bronze's technique when he's ready to do so. Dee has taken to actively attempting to mind her own business when she's out and about, now that so many interested eyes turn when she's in populated areas. Still, it's a fine line to tread between looking self-possessed and consumed by her own thoughts to the point of deterring greetings and being rude. When X'vin assesses her side-long, the only betrayal that she's noticed is a self-conscious push through her short hair. Once he greets her, then she turns to regard him with her wide hazel eyes, her hand rising in crisp salute even as her eyes drop to his knot and bounce back up to his face. "Good afternoon, Wingleader," is an echo of Taeliyth's experiment in propriety. "I hope the day finds you and Besmernyth well," is equally civil. "Already so stiff," observes X'vin dryly, but he returns her salute -- before summarily draping himself in not stiff fashion over the top railing of the fence, as if he is already terribly bored of waiting."It's been fine. A good enough day for drills, at least; we'll all catch flus, if we're not allowed to dry out." He doesn't sound especially like he's complaining, mostly small talk, and so his follow up of, "How is weyrlinghood treating you?" Above, Besmernyth is taking his time for all his impatience. Loop, swoop, dip, rise, repeat. Maybe he's looking for the perfect beast? Or maybe he's waiting for the perfect moment. His claws are sharp and precise when he does finally fold his wings into a hawk-like dive and dig into the neck and back of a buck that has wandered terribly close to the already feeding blue, desensitized maybe to the death around it. It screams as he takes it up, away and maybe kicks that blue in the process. Besmernyth settles on a ledge and silences it by crunching teeth into it's wildly swinging head. « I will kill for you, if you ask. For now, » he adds to avoid affront from the sassy little gold, « until you've grown into capability. » "I'm not sure what Fortians expect," Dee confesses with a nervous twist of fingers into fingers in front of her. "To be honest, I'm not even sure what anyone who is someone at Southern would expect. Never had reason to talk to anyone of rank except my master and my teachers at the Hall." Her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug before she adds as an after-thought, "And G'vri, but he was still Rik's big brother, so I'm not sure he really counts anyway." The way she small talks is a bit of a nervous babble. "I'd be happy to do as you liked, sir, if you'd tell me what that is." Formal or informal implies her conclusion. It leaves her looking at her hands, considering her fingers before she answers. "We're managing." But are they? There are still those nightmares, though the bleeds have been less frequent. That's hardly the only argument the rumors have come up with for citing the newest gold pair as 'struggling.' Taeliyth, as is typical, doesn't appear to be struggling when she brightly replies to the bronze, « Oh, gee, would you really? » She could practically be blinking wide innocent eyes at him, if dragons did that kind of thing. As is, the snow dusting the canopy of her forest sparkles at him. Meanwhile, he might feel her mind reach for the blue, to check that he was only surprised and not injured by Besmernyth's brutish methods. That the bronze only meant to startle will be clear; just a blue, and the natural order should be upheld. The presentiment of innocence fascinates him; he turns it like a skull in hand to examine. The sensation of warmth, flowing over tongue and between teeth, bleeds (such as it is) in the nooks of his mind, filling it red like wine, salty, coppery. He is not a clean eater, and gore hangs from his jaws, blood in dark splashes on his paws. He crunches gamely through bone and tendons. The front part of a leg falls away, lands with a splat, splits unpleasantly on the ground. « If only you were hungry. » Testing. X'vin looks amused at Dee's rambling, not interrupting, and apparently listening in earnest for all he looks like she might be a cute joke. When she concludes, he takes a moment for it all to sink in before he takes a deep breath, like he's preparing for a long process. "First, I don't know what they expect either. I'm from Benden. We'll pick it up soon enough, it's part of being a rider." He props his chin in one hand. "You can drop the sirs, for now. I'll be calling you ma'am soon enough. Maybe my magnanimity will be remembered." Taeliyth's mental focus narrows in displeasure. « If only. » It may be that she lets him feel the hunger that grows with the sharing of sensations. It may be that she's too young to not share it. She watches, stubbornly silent. Dee might be a cute joke. His acknowledgment of their soon swapped positions in the pecking order produces a fraught look that passes as Dee steps slightly closer to Taeliyth. "How should I call you then?" She ask his name, hazel gaze rising to study his face. "Why did you come from Benden?" might be the words one would ask with suspicion if one were someone other than Dee. From this girl, it seems like simple curiosity. Crunch. Messy and rapid, he's almost finished his first; when all that is left are scraps that cling stubbornly to the fractured ribcage, his chest and shoulders relax, and the remainder of the carcass follows the way of the stray leg. Displeasure meets aloofness, odd fascination at watching his meal fall, and still more blood, more warmth. « Maybe next time, I can have the pleasure. » His broad wings spread open and take him aloft again, for seconds. "X'vin. And Besmernyth." Who, in the pens, drops again on a beast with a force that vibrates the ground and watches Taeliyth as he eviscerates it. "Dee. Taeliyth. There, the silly stuff is out of the way." He smiles at her, studying her -- eyes, mouth, nervous hands, all that can betray that displeasure at what she must be, soon enough. "My family is Fortian; even dragonriders get homesick." « You could have it now if you weren't so keen on making me ask, » Taeliyth observes with a sniff and a sense of blandness that communicates she's not impressed by his gorey display (or lack of consideration). "I'm homesick," is out of Dee's mouth before she realizes it. It earns her a sharp look from Taeliyth that prompts a telling blush. The scold she must have received is obvious in the brief look of shame. "I'm sorry," is offered aloud though perhaps as much to the gold as the man. "I didn't-- Fort is my home." Now. "I didn't mean--" but explaining is a lost cause and she simply lifts her hands to briefly rub across her face. "Are your family here at the Weyr or at one of the Holds?" The question is managed after some moments of recovery, her embarrassment not wholly gone, simply repressed in favor of continued curiosity. « And you could be sharing with me already, if you weren't too proud to ask for help, » drawls Besmernyth in equally bland response. He draws away from his kill to lick at his mouth, then worry at something that's gotten stuck in his front paw. « It is not so hard. » If Dee expects some negative reaction from X'vin, she doesn't get it. X'vin's sigh is soft, and the look he gives her is sympathetic, understanding. "Don't apologize. It will take time for it to feel like home. You'll build your connections and a life and that will make it easier, eventually. With luck," and that's added with a certain knowing tone and glance at the young queen, "home will just be wherever you are with Taeliyth." His eyes drift back to Besmernyth and his posture relaxes against the fence again. "My family runs a holding south of here, but they're not likely to come to the weyr. You're from Southern, aren't you?" « Did you not, » Taeliyth begins coyly, « express a wish for my comfort and safety? For me to be well? » She cocks her wheaten head to watch the worrying process. « Will you prove that true in the face of my own stubbornness? If in fact I'm being stubborn, » something that is clearly still in question. Clearly. Dee's cheeks are pinkened perhaps more because X'vin is so understanding. "Yes, I will. Everyone says so." So it must be, mustn't it? She clears her throat. "I'm from Southern. The only home I've ever had really. Even when I was at the Hall for classes, it never felt like home so I never stayed on there as they wanted me to." She shrugs her shoulders in a way that suggests what once was resolve to keep her home then has been defeated. She looks to Taeliyth a long moment before looking back to X'vin, turning more toward him and stepping to lean against the fence. "What was it like to grow up in the holding? Assuming you did," she amends swiftly since obviously she has. « I did, » admits the bronze mildly, his worrying resulting in the withdrawal of a splintered bone that he spits onto the ground. « And would argue that were you starving, truly, yours would take you away for those long-dead and cooling beasts they give you all while you grow. Are you wasting away, my queen? » Another meaningful tear of flesh and tendon, to get at the really juicy bits in the middle before they go off, probably elicit a reaction. And maybe not a reaction from Taeliyth, but from X'vin, whose nose twitches a little in disgust. "And you left your home to come here," he says, phrasing it evenly despite the enquiry behind it. It sounds as uncertain as she does. "And now you don't get to leave," is not uncertain. Neither is, "It was -- well. I imagine better than most peoples were. My father is the Holder there. I spent most my childhood doing exactly what I wanted and nothing I didn't." Taeliyth's displeasure is shown in the sudden lash of her long slender tail to the ground. It's not the kind of thing a mature dragon would do when she's being out maneuvered and knows it, but it lasts only that long. In the next moment, « As I understand it, » her tone is thoughtful, full of her youth and inexperience (intentionally so), « comfort has very little to do with what one needs. I can as easily be well-fed and tended and still lack for comfort. It would be selfish to ask for comfort though, » she points out and perhaps her eyes (or the internal sense of them) are just a little too big, too innocent. She's not the sort of queen who demands comforts, obviously. Dee's expression is briefly confused as she takes in the nose twitch and tries to interpret, perhaps truly that oblivious to the ongoing negotiation between the dragons. "No," is too quiet, and briefly real fear flits across Dee's expression before she turns to the fence to better hide her face. She focuses on the rest. "I'dro's father is a holder too. He didn't like it much where he came from." She's quiet a moment, before she glances sidelong at the bronzerider. "Why did you Stand?" A mountaintop gust of freezing air makes Besmernyth's words brittle. « Would it? How would you know when you haven't done it? » He's paused over his kill, head canted interestedly at her. When he shifts, it is not to give her his beast, or to even rip off a share for her; it is to hunker protectively over the buck while his mind settles to cold calm and ices over stoicly. And tea brews strong and black in a kettle; and a distant window lights with a warm yellow fire to welcome visitors. « Ask, my dear. I promise it won't hurt. » X'vin raises an eyebrow at her clumsy avoidance, and is probably trying to comfort her when he says, "Fort seems to have a good agreement with Southern; if you truly wanted to go back, you may be able to transfer after -- unless for some reason Taeliyth is an early riser." But the rest he considers quietly, her question getting most of his attention. "Because a dragon asked me to, of course. My father has five sons and a daughter who could easily beat all of us if it came down to who should be his heir. He had a steward I was to replace, but who I didn't match, and most importantly he hated that I might leave. Especially for Benden." A chuffed laugh. "I was young, and vengeful for being young. Why did you?" « Would it? How would you know when you haven't done it? » Taeliyth mimics with a lick of wind rustling through creaking branches. She doesn't, not yet, though the welcome is considered with interest and a shrewd curiosity. "Taeliyth won't go and Eliyaveith has promised not to make her." That such a promise has been solicited and remembered by Taeliyth's rider at least is telling; so, too, is the way Dee is worrying her lower lip. "Her mother was an early riser," is an observation that comes with a swallow. Not that the rising did Eliyaveith much good. "My brother decided to come. I decided to come to keep him out of trouble." Then there's a choked sob and her hands on her cheeks. One might chalk up this apparent emotional rawness to the nightmares that still steal sleep regularly if not frequently. "Sorry," is almost immediate on her next breath even as she struggles to keep a second sob from coming and more tears with it. Dee's sudden emotions, understandably, draw Taeliyth's attention away from Besmernyth, who's not sharing anyway. Anger and just the tiniest hint of concern show in the swift whirl of her eyes. Besmernyth's response is cryptic, and sounds sad for her ignorance even as the fire flickers and the wind howls. « Oh, little one. If you only knew. » The dragon equivalent of a shrug, in his case, is a snort and hunching of his big wings as he grabs up his kill from where it's just getting dirty, all the better to vault up and glide to his original outcropping to finish his meal uninterrupted. Pride goeth before the starve. "Everything isn't hereditary," he begins, apparently prepared to comfort her, but she's crying then, and X'vin's instinctive reaction falters. Even Besmernyth stops his eating to lean over the ledge and look with fascination down on them. « You made her cry, » is not something he pretends is a secret, and not even something that is true, but he says it anyways. X'vin, though, has already moved closer, murmuring, "It's okay," to her apology. "It's not exactly -- you have a lot going on. Wait a sec." He pats his pockets with his other hand, and eventually produces a kerchief, which he'll nudge toward her, even as he reaches out to squeeze her shoulder in a brief comfort. "You're allowed to cry. The adjustment isn't easy. Less so for a goldrider, I'd imagine." « She shouldn't be crying, » is Taeliyth's vexed commentary. Then her focus shifts to her rider, stepping just a touch closer to the girl, her head leaning as if she might be controlling a natural urge to offer comfort herself. "I'm trying," is obviously not to X'vin, and half a snap and half a nearly-whine. The handkerchief seems to help because it gives Dee's hands a physical focus and she dabs quickly at her eyes. She opens her mouth as if it answer and then simply shuts it again, and nods, closing her eyes against the world. « And yet. » He's too busy watching to offer anymore commentary, and his mouth gaping open in that odd, fanged amusement, his meal forgotten for now except to keep enough pressure on it to keep it from falling. X'vin's lack of surety in this is all to clear; how do you handle a fledgling goldrider whose dragon doesn't come near her when she cries? He cuts a look up at Besmernyth, slides his hands in his pockets and watches Taeliyth with extreme curiosity for a moment. « Does she not want your comfort? » comes the obvious question, and skeletal fingers nudge, gently, in encouragement for the little gold. "I'm sorry if I said something wrong," X'vin says, and sounds absolutely unsure that he did. "Do you need..." who? What? She can fill it in. « It's not like that between us, » is a distracted snap of temper by the young dragon. Does Dee want her comfort? Perhaps she doesn't even know. The temper is worsened by Dee's distress, to be sure, and her own uncertainty in the face of it. « Why isn't he hugging her? » she demands of the bronze instead; that's what boys do in these situations, isn't it? "No, I'm fine," is said though she's clearly not. She is trying to take some deep breaths, trying to get herself under control after unwittingly being nudged too close to the knife's edge. Somewhere in the bleak landscape of Besmernyth's mind. a brittle tree cracks under the young gold's tone, and then silence falls. It's an uncanny sort, so quiet he is loud. Eventually, he ventures, « We are not either. » Like that. « But -- » he clips abruptly in favor of a low growl at X'vin, whose shoulders and weight have shifted with the intent of doing exactly what the queen is asking of Besmernyth. « It is not his place, » comes the assessment. "You're not," X'vin says in the place of the would-be hug he had prepped, relegated to his somewhat cruel observation of the weyrlings. "Dahlia. Dee. Has it --" scratch that. "You can talk to me. I should send you to the weyrlingmaster about now, but I get the feeling you'll just do more of this," a wave of the hand up and down across her, but not the crying, rather, "trying to be strong when now is the chance you have to not, before everyone expects you to. I'm told I'm a good listener." That tail lashes in annoyance. The tiny gold huffs even as she moves to awkwardly place her head against Dee's side, a touch that shocks the girl into stillness. The tears, at least, are abruptly curtailed. With that accomplished, Taeliyth lifts her head away and huffs, looking pointedly away from the girl. Dee might continue to stare at the gold if not for an obvious silent prompt. "I-- No, I shouldn't. There's too many people--" She starts then stops when her own words process. "I-- Thank you." She finally settles on, looking at X'vin a little helplessly. "Maybe... another time. If we-- I mean, we just met." That explains everything, doesn't it? Awkwardly. Humph, from above. « Strange, indeed. » The older dragon returns to his meal on that, wolfing it down quickly. "Sometimes strangers are easier," says X'vin, not affronted. Indeed, he looks openly relieved that she's stopped crying, even if his face echoes Besmernyth's curt commentary. "But I understand," he adds. "You just seem...a little lost. It's not odd. And you're not alone." His eyes fall on Taeliyth again, though not like he expects her to fill the niche of which he speaks. She just seems to fascinate him. "You should talk to someone you know. Or Ebeny." He pushes from the railing as his dragon moves again, gorged and gory, winging not down but away, towards the lake. « Yes, you are, » Taeliyth directs to the older dragon tartly, ignoring his departure. "Sometimes they are." Dee agrees, looking back to the older man with more attention. "Thank you. I'll... keep the offer in mind. If it's still good. Later. If I need it." There's awkward and brief pauses to punctuate. She shifts a step toward her dragon and stops, stilled by something that has her glancing nervously toward the gold and back to the wingleader. "If you learn any tricks for fitting in--" Dee trails off, managing a small smile. Outsiders have to stick together, don't they? "I'll keep it good, don't worry." X'vin is smiling again, wanly as he looks Dee over one more time. "I'll share them, if I find any secrets to surviving Fort Weyr. Besmernyth." His dragon's name is to suffice as explanation as he starts on the ground path after the bronze. "Taeliyth can call him if you need either of us. It was nice meeting you, Dee. Try to keep your chin up." It's probably an unconscious measure that might be meant to try to please that Dee's chin lifts as she offers a half-hearted, "Thank you. I'll try." Try. The moment he's out of sight though, that chin dips back toward her chest and she looks with concern at the gold who simply stares back before leading the way away from the pens and to where Dee can get her a snack, albeit not nearly so nice a one as Besmernyth offered for the low, low price of her pride. |
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