Logs:An Unusual Request
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| RL Date: 16 May, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Laghnei |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: G'laer has an unusual request to make of his favorite sister. |
| Where: Southern Rim of the Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 10, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Loreia/Mentions, Oliwer/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. Many thanks to Telavi for indulging me as Laghnei! |
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| Southern Rim of the Bowl, High Reaches Weyr Directly opposite the sharp spikes of the Reaches' characteristic spires lies the bowl's south rim, from above seeming pinched like a baker's pie crust to form this distinctive lip: a soft curve, several dragonlengths long but only four lengths wide before narrowing into impassable crags. It would have to be an apprentice effort, however, given how even the flatter area is riddled with cracks and hollows, dusted with glittery silicate quartz that is far more gritty than sweet. Though the view down into the bowl is commanding, the views beyond it can be absolutely breathtaking on clear days: eternally snow-capped mountains descending to high-altitude meadows and the dark brush of evergreens, and greener valleys beyond even those, with only glimpses here and there of human habitation. But the views come with a risk: the wind can blow hard and strong, and whether looking inward or outward, there is no protection from the precipitous chasms that fall away from these heights. A lovely, cloudless sky offers warm sunshine during the day, though the weather turns distinctly chilly after dark.
The habit had renewed itself into a number of incarnations over the turns. Sometimes, Laghnei would show up at Crom or wherever Gallagher was living to share a sunrise summit. And now, since they both live and work once again in the Weyr they call home, once a seven, they meet on the Rim when the weather is forgiving enough, or on one of their ledges when it's not. This morning, the weather is clear and Rukbat is red as it rises over the spindles of the Weyr. The air is chilled with pre-dawn, but not so cold that a ledge is more appropriate. Still, G'laer's brought a thermos that almost certainly has tea (of a usual sort) in it to help. It's getting to be that time of the turn where these meets must go indoors, but G'laer likes the sunrise, so today, here he and Teisyth wait for the arrival of Cerzoth and Laghnei. (That means Teisyth is wiggling and wiggling and wiggling because Cerzoth is one of her favorite dragons ever.) It isn't long before the blue's inky bulk becomes visible in the dim hollow of the caldera, once he's stretched and then bounded off his ledge and into the air. « Teisyth! » Cerzoth booms when they get nearer, though the watchdragon gets his own greeting and a circle way too close overhead before he makes it to an actual landing by her. Laghnei may be up early, may have made a habit of being up early, but that doesn't mean she doesn't yawn and yawn again even as she's sliding down his side. Once she's to her feet, though, leaving the dragons to butt noses and generally socialize, there's an easygoing quality to her stride that's anything but lethargic as she crosses to G'laer; she bumps fist against fist before drawing him into a one-armed hug, reaching for the thermos only when she steps back. "How's it going?" she asks her little brother, her eyes-- a greyer blue than his-- holding a smile to go with the morning-husky calm of her voice. Which is to say, how did he sleep this time? « Cerzoth! » Wiggle, « Cerzoth! » Wiggle, « Cerzoth! » Bounce! These calls punctuate the stages of his approach as her excitement mounts. It makes her a moving target (but no more than usual) for the nose bump which she follows by ducking her head for the usual noogieing. G'laer's meeting of his sister's fist and stepping in for the one armed embrace is decidedly more sedate, but no less affectionate. "Could be better, could be worse." This is always his first answer, but after the routine exchanged look that houses the whole conversation convincing him to give a real answer, he adds, "Rough night." It's not that after all these turns he doesn't want to tell his sister/best-friend the real answer, but it's how the game is habitually played. "But," this is different, "At least I wasn't alone." Which is probably the first time G'laer has mentioned non-flight night company in turns. « Teisyth! » There's only that single repetition from Cerzoth, but it's loud, booming out over the stone; by rights it should cause an avalanche, but only a couple pebbles fall. Laghnei's clapped her hands over her ears a moment too late, but she waits for the pair to go off and socialize-- hopefully more silently-- before dropping them and giving G'laer a bemused grin. "So I'll grant that I'm going deaf," here she slews a mock-grumpy look at Cerzoth's retreating tail, "but did you really say what I thought you said? I'd congratulate you, but--" There's that 'rough' part. G'laer doesn't wince, exactly, but his eyes close for an extended moment. « Oops. G'laer says I'm not supposed ter encourage you. » The green relates secretively as she galumphs away from the riders. "Yes," as usual, G'laer's answer to a direct question is as direct. "And-" There's an and! "I'd like you to meet him." He shouldn't have to say that means it's serious. Him-- well, that might raise a brow, just because this would be the first time in many, many turns since the non-flight company has been of his own gender, though not unheard of. What might raise more is that this is the second time in his life that G'laer has asked Laghnei to meet one of his romantic partners. « Too late, » returns Cerzoth jovially. « Loosen up their thicktail, that's what I say! » They may be reaching the end of rock, but that doesn't stop him; instead of bounding right over the edge, he uses that last bit of stone as a springboard to jump. There's so much more room in the sky. As for Laghnei, that does raise a brow-- 'meet'-- soon joined by the other-- 'him.' "Is he a weaver?" the woman seems compelled to ask. "No." G'laer answers, the question behind the question not lost on him. "He's nothing like Loreia." He pushes a hand through his hair then, letting his eyes track Teisyth as she comes into view, zooming along at Cerzoth's tail. "You've probably met him in the infirmary. He's a healer. But I want you to meet him." Which is different than meeting. The greenrider spins the top off of the thermos and pours it into the communal cup, offering it first to his sister. "'Nothing' like." Laghnei is perfectly capable of keeping it to herself; instead, she chooses to muse out loud. She lifts the cup briefly to the sky, to absent others, and takes a comfortably long drink before returning it. Slightly more dry, "So it's not just that he knows how to treat you after he slaps you around. We'll do that, then." It's still early enough that faint fanned lines are made visible at the outer corners of her eyes, from where in brighter light she squints against the sun. "What are you thinking for when and where? I'm guessing we won't be laying an ambush," and if she says it with a reminiscent air... young Laghnei and Gallagher had to make their siblings' lives interesting somehow. "I promise." Gal offers as candid reassurance. Promises are never made easily by this man. "He's not the slapping around type. Have you met Journeyman Oliwer?" The way the greenrider says it, it's like he expects even a passing encounter should spell out the man's general gentility. "Maybe next month. I have to ask him yet." To meet her. So no ambush. Alas. "We could go down south. Let Cerzoth and Teisyth and I hunt and have a little bonfire. Or just go simpler and do a dinner at my place." A couple things are clear here: that he wants something private and that he's asking for her opinion in not so many words. And so his sister accepts his evaluation with a simple nod, and then interest, thinking back; "'Oliwer.'" She doesn't need to repeat the name out loud, though there's certainly a considering pause. "Yes, I do think so. Another journeyman! I know you'll forgive me for being glad he's not one of the bratty apprentices," hints at subtle teasing because really, was that so likely? "Quiet, as I recall; I don't believe I thought much of him one way or another." No slur on Oliwer; more, she must imagine that her brother has spotted something she missed. But after all that, she's quick to say, "A dinner at your place. You know how Cerzoth enjoys his hunting," and then there's Teisyth. "Let's pretend to be civilized." "That's one of the things I like best. It's selfish," G'laer readily recognizes, "But I like noticing him when so many others overlook. I like knowing what everyone else is missing." This qualifies as mushy for G'laer. Maybe Teisyth really is melting that cold 'Reaches heart of his. Then, "I wasn't going to let him see any of us," he and the dragons, "hunt." Which means he was what? Going to abandon his something to the mercy of his (arguably kind and not the most annoying) sister for hours while the three hunters scared up dinner? "You do, do you." Laghnei's smile is slow, but increasingly wide. She doesn't question that he's telling her, no need; neither are there protestations of how, just for him, she won't now tell the world, but instead a deep acceptance. But as for hunting, "I'm sure he wouldn't be troubled by any sounds in the distance or blood anywhere at all," is what she says now. It's just as grave as, "Not to mention, if you really want us to get to know each other by talking about you in your absence, that sounds pretty near perfect." With that, she claps her brother on the shoulder and retrieves the thermos to refill the cup. "Wouldn't he?" G'laer genuinely wonders aloud. "He's a trauma healer and all but he's just so-" The greenrider frowns, and his face reads 'can't find the right word' to someone who knows how to read it. He gives up, "I don't know." Then, "He's done remarkably well accepting me for me though. Not that the whole killing people thing sits well with him, but then I wouldn't expect it to." The look he offers Laghnei is apologetic. "Maybe he's like you, not thrilled but understanding. Though then again maybe not as I haven't really explained anything about it yet." There's some nerves barely noticeable in his voice, but the rambling delivery gives it away. The nerves don't, however, apply to: "I don't have any concerns about you two speaking privately," which speaks volumes for innately secretive G'laer, "but I suppose he might feel more comfortable if I were there." His lack of concern for Laghnei's comfort is not out of lack of care but rather that she's Laghnei. Laghnei, who's not only settled into that 'not thrilled but understanding' camp but put down roots, tilts him a steady nod for the entire shebang. "Wouldn't be surprised." Comfortable. Then again, when does Laghnei make anyone particularly uncomfortable these days, at least by accident? "I will be surprised if he wants details. What, he wasn't impressed by the part where he saves lives and you took them, balancing out the world?" 'Took.' Past tense. "I hear some healers are into that." G'laer snorts his amusement at her words of balance and wisely does not comment on her tense. He never pre-confessed to Laghnei before; he won't start now. "He doesn't ever have to have them, if he doesn't want. But I couldn't-- no, I didn't want to keep that kind of secret from him." The greenrider is thoughtful a moment, but the look passes and he doesn't give whatever it was a voice. "I think he'd rather I didn't kill anyone." And a shrug; that means that as is typical, he didn't quite get the humor she'd intended just right. Ever too serious this one. Or maybe it's just that even though she's his favorite sister, she's still a girl and he's still G'laer. He doesn't start now, and Laghnei doesn't start asking for such. What she does is nod-- yes, experience says he could keep it, even if Oliwer's his sparkliest crush that ever sparkled-- and if his not wanting to says something unusual about himself and Oliwer, and his saying so even more... it's nothing she needs to put into any more words. "Crazy man," the bluerider says affectionately, and shakes her head; with that, if he doesn't beat her to it, she'll just have to finish off the tea. |
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