Logs:A Handful
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| RL Date: 13 June, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A'rist and Lythronath visit during a blizzard. There's talk, tea, and a turnday. |
| Where: Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 13, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Barnabas/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
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| Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia. Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy. Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries. Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. The hearth is brand new, too, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced.
« Warm. » Hraedhyth counters with her heart's hearth, although she won't be found on her ledge or in her wallow. There's the shared sensation of huddled fur, of body heat and comfort and safety. Azaylia is curled up on her couch when A'rist barges in, surprise quickly melting into a soft smile. "It's not a good day for flying." She warns from her cozy spot, roaring fire paired with tea and a half-draped blanket over her lap. Despite the comfort, the goldrider has a writing board propped up, stacks of paperwork set on the short table next ot her. Hraedhyth may not be in her wallow; soon, Lythronath is, shelter already letting some of the snow melt off of him, revealing clean and shining hide, the dried gore long since lost to the blizzard. A'rist's cheeks are red beneath that scarf, when he unwinds it, just inside the weyr, where he stays. "No," the young bronzerider answers. A little shiver knocks some clumped snow from the shoulders of his jacket. "Where's Hreadhyth?" is simultaneous with « Empty. » And Lythronath scrapes his hind claws across Hraedhyth's stone. There are a few more marks to make on the page before Azaylia places her work aside and shimmies out from under her blankets. Her modest dress is thick, made for winter and dark blue, swishing some as she walks past with a pot. Lythronath will get a fond greeting on her way to the ledge, the bronze keeping her manners at bay as she simply leaves A'rist to defrost himself. Eventually, the Weyrwoman will return with her pot full of snow and an answer for the young bronzerider. "With Cadejoth." Of course. There's a glance as she mentions the name, curiosity overtaken by concentration as she intends to boil the now-water. "Lythronath is welcome to her wallow, while she's away." As if he hasn't already. Lythronath will stop making his mark in Hraedhyth's wallow long enough to graze Azaylia's arm with his teeth. Surprisingly lightly. Surprisingly controlled. « Azaylia, » is given to Hraedhyth, happy, shit-disturbing contrast to what was 'empty' just a moment before. A'rist does just that while Azaylia moves about: defrosts. And undresses. Just the outerwear, which he collects as best he can toward the entrance, trying to tent up riding jacket so that it won't pool snow, carefully laying out gloves, hats, scarves... "That's nice of you," A'rist says once the weyrwoman is back. "Thanks." There's enough of a quiver to those flames to let Lythronath know that he's annoying. Hraedhyth might be too pleased in sharing how comfortable she is with her mate, a buffer to certain disturbances. But then, that's too subtle for the queen who then grunts, « Empty. » "Hraedhyth likes him. Even if he tries to upset her." Azaylia smiles, turning to shoo the lad onto the couch. She stops short of tucking him in, although her fingers do reach for the blanket before just pushing it closer. "Then again, I'd guess he tries to upset everyone?" "I was going to see how she was doing. The bite." A'rist even gets so far as to take off his boots before heading over to the couch. Lythronath leaves a few more claw marks before he's willing to put his belly to the stone. And even then, he inch-crawls closer, getting more and more into the weyr proper, nearer and nearer to Azaylia. Just in case Hraedhyth can see, probably. "I guess. Not all the time, but," and the young man frowns, reaching out to touch the blanket, "more recently." The blanket isn't pulled up. His thighs are sort of wet from melting snow. "You like him too, though. You and her." "It's healing well." Azaylia's voice loses some of that warmth, making up for it by sliding the half-empty tray of pastries toward A'rist. Resigned, "It'll scar." But, "It isn't as if Hraedhyth is a stranger to those." The goldrider's flump onto the couch might jostle him, tucking one leg under and letting the other dangle. There's a glance in Lythronath's direction, "Of course I do. We do." His hesitation has her finally plucking up the blanket to toss over A'rist, hands firm and confident in their mothering, "We like both of you. Even if..." Too much already said, she lets the rest out with a quirk to her lips, "You can be a handful, sometimes." Spoken as fact, rather than accusation. A'rist looks at those pastries, interested, certainly, though he doesn't reach for one. Something in Azaylia's voice, maybe. "He's left lots on her," he observes, quietly. Lythronath scrapes and crawls a little more, and then puts his head down, although the tip of his tail continues to flick. The blanket, A'rist does take, though he tries to bring it more up to his shoulders, leaving his legs to their own devices. "More, recently?" he dares to ask, brown eyes flicking over to the woman once that blanket is snugged about his shoulders. Once A'rist accepts the blanket, Azaylia does her best to relax into the couch, shoulder propped up as she perches. "That's true." She agrees, smile growing as she reminds him, "She wanted nothing more than to play when he was at her ankles. She's just careful, when they're babies." Even with baby Lythronaths. His question startles her into a blink, "I don't..?" It's one worth mulling over, and her eyes search the air for an answer, "If you're worried about the fight, before we left? That was as much Hraedhyth's fault. And Cadejoth's wing..." Slow, somber, "Things happen, during flights." During Hraedhyth's. While she mulls, A'rist adjusts the blanket a little more, and tugs at his pants a little bit, wriggling on the couch. Then, edges of the blanket are allowed to lay against his hips. A little warmer, as melting snow starts to chill. "I guess, the flight. Sure." He presses his lips together at the mention of Cadejoth, fiddling at the edge of the blanket between his fingertips. "We're running them. Hunting for them. K'del and Cadejoth. Took him for when his goldrider had that kid..." Azaylia's expression softens, "I heard." Some sympathy there, though not as much as one might like. "I can see how it's fair." She's careful with her words, gentle gaze watching A'rist as she goes on, "Inconvenient, but... so is an injury like Cadejoth's." The forgotten pot rattles where it is, boiling water summoning the goldrider over to the hearth. It's not meant to be a well-timed escape, Azaylia returning promptly after setting the water down on the table. With genuine curiosity, "You don't think it's fair?" "Yeah-" A'rist starts, and then, waits a strange little smile works its way over his face, appreciating, somehow, the absurdity of the break. He takes the opportunity to try and drape a bit more of that blanket over his legs, even toying with bringing one leg up to his chest, though that's uncomfortable, and aborted. He snaps into a more serious look for her question, when Azaylia returns. "No- I mean, yes? I was sort of surprised he wanted to be anywhere near Lynner, though." Tail-thwip. "I mean, it's good to have more to do and everything, right?" "Right." A firm agreement as she reaches for cups and fresh tea leaves, nudging but not fixing A'rist a cup. Yet. It'll happen, if he waits long enough. "So... K'del is able to get around, and you two have more to do." Azaylia's voice is gentle, open expression a contrast to his serious one. "I'm not happy that Lythronath could have..." If that steady voice finally wavers, she's quick to press on, "Well, he was very close to her throat." And yet, "I still enjoy your company. Both of you." A'rist seems fine with waiting, now the goldrider has returned. "More of the same though, isn't it?" It's mostly rhetorical, made more so when he frowns at that. "He wasn't going to go for the underside of her throat or anything. Cadejoth was in the way, he couldn't get his talons to her." Now, with cheeks heating, "It wasn't her throat he wanted. He wouldn't've hurt her that bad." He looks at his knees. "I know it, even if it's hard to believe." Waiting results in tea, although Azaylia will stop to ask which he might prefer. Her own cup is filled with the dark, spiced brew that has become her known favorite. His first question prompts a distracted hum, urging A'rist on if he'd like to continue that thought. When her casual glance reveals his blush, Azaylia's hands leave his tea to steep, scooting closer to wrap her arms around him. "A'rist." A soft scold and a squeeze, "I just had my arm in his mouth. He can be gentle." But more importantly, "I believe it." A'rist always drinks the spiced stuff at Azaylia's, now. He carries on with that one, a quick indication of his preference. He blinks a few times, certainly not expecting those arms, that squeeze. He turns, very carefully, to eyeball the weyrwoman as best he can. "He can be gentle with you. Gentle... wasn't going to win him Hraedhyth." More softly, "Or the Weyr. And gentle's definitely not how he flies." It's belated, that he catches up, that he can wrinkle up his nose and look at her. "You're the only one who does, I think. Believe." Another squeeze, playfully tight as if to prove her point, "That's where you're wrong." She'll finally let go, honest amusement and hindsight peppering her airy voice, "If Lythronath had kept to himself, he might have actually won. She wanted him. And Cadejoth." Though only one came out victorious. Azaylia returns some of his personal space, although she keeps close just in case the bronzerider needs another hug. "It's something to work on. Something you've been working on, I know." The last is said with a lifted palm, meaning to sooth away any assumptions. A'rist closes his eyes for that one, in part because his face gets squished up against a goldrider's shoulder. "Maybe... but in flights, he wins, if there's pull. If there's not-" that palm stops him, more than anything else. It makes him go quiet, longer, makes him squirm a little to reach for his tea. Azaylia watches him reach for his tea, leaving her own to cool as she folds her hands in her lap. With a curious tilt to her lips, "I didn't realize you were so determined to break K'del's record." It's now that she retrieves her own cup, hands bringing it to her lap to continue cooling. A'rist retrieves his own, and brings it back to his lap, mimicking Azaylia, unconsciously. "I don't... I know it would've been bad, but I figured if we did win, I'd just... see if K'del would still help. He just needs something to fight for, it's been driving us crazy." His grip tightens on the mug, and he raises it up, sipping, then reverse-hissing to try cool it. "Besides, I'm seventeen today. Wasn't that how old he was?" "K'del would've." A neutral drag of words, thoughtful if anything. Azaylia gives a gusty sigh at bare bones of it, "Lythronath's a fighting dragon." Known all along, even if it's taken her this long to admit it. "You might want to try talking to older riders, the one who fought Thread? See how they deal with it being gone." For all that Lythronath never had it. A'rist's news has her eyes brightening some, "It was. And, Happy Turnday. I'd have something for you, if I knew." Other than tea, pastries and hugs. "I've been trying," A'rist says, looking at his tea as it settles from the movement in his mug. "That's a good idea." Shortly followed by, "Do you think what works for them will work for him? With him being... like he is?" Whatever he is. Sleepy, right now, all but one lid closed, and his tail having forgotten to twitch. Hraedhyth's wallow is comfy. And smells like Hraedhyth. Also, Azaylia's over there. Sleepy. "It's okay," sounds like it's not, entirely. "Tea's good," at least sounds like it is. "I have no idea." Azaylia, honest as always. "He's like Hraedhyth when it comes to some things. But he'll always be... Lythronath." An unknown. Her lips thin from behind her cup, tilted as it is for her first sip. "I'm terrible with Turndays." Including her own, rarely celebrated as it is. "I'll make it up to you." Even if he says it's okay. For now, "Hraedhyth could give you a ride up to your ledge, if he won't wake up." The alternative has her smiling, "Or you could steal Bones' couch for the night. Though, I'm probably going to go back to my hides..." And be a terrible hostess because of it. "Lythronath," A'rist repeats, quiet. A moment later, he's smirking a little. "He'll get up. We can make it back. If anyone else is even flying, they'll get out of his way." There's something bittersweet in that, but A'rist hides it in his tea cup soon enough. He takes a few sips before the heat becomes too much; then, he looks over to his hostess. "We'll leave, though. Sorry," as he hands her back that half-empty cup of tea. "Thanks. Let me know... how Hraedhyth's doing, okay?" With lingering concern, "I don't like you two flying in this." Though if anyone can muscle through it, it's the sleepy bronze in Hraedhyth's wallow. Azaylia offers A'rist a small smile of encouragement, "Nothing to be sorry about. You know you can stop by anytime." As hazardous as that can be, depending on the company. The Weyrwoman accepts the cup, placing both down with a nod, "I will. I'm sure they'll get a good tussle in before she clutches." "He'll tell Hraedhyth when he's home," A'rist decides, though something in that oath makes him grit his teeth, afterwards. "Good," comes next. He stands, makes a bit of an attempt at folding the blanket, and tosses it back to the couch. "It's good there's someone strong in this Weyr," serves as farewell. As it turns out, A'rist can get dressed surprisingly fast. He's been at High Reaches for a while. "Thank you." It help eases some of the worry, though Azaylia continues to watch A'rist closely. A'rist's goodbye is touching, in its own way, the goldrider standing in order to walk him most of the way-- once he's dressed, that is. Lythronath, when he's finally roused, will get a warm embrace from the Weyrwoman. The sentiment is carried over to A'rist in a kiss to his temple, even if he probably doesn't feel it through the layers and tuque. With that send off, Hraedhyth will linger (nag) with a pressing heat until they've safely landed on their ledge. |
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