Logs:Anything But That!
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 7 May, 2013 |
| Who: C'wlin, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Telavi is late. Solith tries to warn them it's a bad idea to disturb her. And C'wlin ends up fleeing the scene of the crime. |
| Where: Solith's Ledge, View To A Kill Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 9, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A lovely, cloudless sky offers warm sunshine during the day, though the weather turns distinctly chilly after dark. |
| Mentions: N'hax/Mentions |
  |
| Solith's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr A saber's curl of sleek rock, its edge jagged and walls sharply dropping, forms a narrow and nifty ledge. Tucked in tight against the walls in the shadow of larger ledges above, the shady surface is not an easy one for a dragon to land on. Once that feat is accomplished, however, a neat conglomeration of smaller sub-ledges set at varying heights create an area perfect for lounging dragons to catch a bit of sun and eavesdrop on the world below. There's even a smaller ledge built to human's scale to one side, though it bears an accumulation of dirt and leaves as well as assorted other flotsam under a couple of benches and in the small firepit. It's beginning to be a lovely sunny day, so unlike the creeping fog of mornings not long ago, making it easy to count down the various weyrlings as they show up for calisthenics... and making it easy to see a gap in Flurry's developing array that's not just because of weyrlings clustered here and there to yawn, talk, and yawn some more. Cirrus's looks so much more tidy. So it is that a few minutes before it's finally time to get things started, there's a sudden gust of wind that has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with Solith bespeaking Athimeroth. Athimeroth, not Jhorinth. She's breathless, like she'd just woken up, « Don't wait for us. » « Of course we will wait. » Athimeroth's delightful winds gusts through the words brought to Solith, statement simple, easy. « You're late. The entire wing will suffer. » Even the bronze sounds bored with the parroting of his lifemate's orders. He does not like rules. C'wlin, meanwhile, has paused amidst the gathered weyrlings to shade his eyes and glance upwards to the rising light of Rukbat. Possibly in the direction of one particular weyr. With N'hax and Jhorinth busy, that leaves C'wlin to enforce. Woe. « We are not late yet. » But they will be! « You will waste time. Wouldn't you rather be doing other things, Athimeroth? I would. » Like flying! Up high! Sitting around while humans pose and grunt, so tedious. Exploring. Rolling rocks off ledges... or maybe that's just her. Solith's finally visible, too, her narrow head and then the rest of her emerging from her weyr out to her narrow ledge, yawning hugely. For such a fine-boned dragon, she really does have a panoply of teeth. Of course, now there really isn't room for anyone else to land. Finding all of this as tedious as watching a grub crawl across the bowl, Athimeroth is, at first, not bothered to reply beyond, « Get here, now. » But as Solith raises the stakes by taking up the available space on her ledge, the rising fury of one pale-haired, snotty former-harper can be felt rippling through the lead lines of mental touch. « Now look what you've done. » Almost bored, the bronze rises higher to the bone-chilling heights of aether whilst below, C'wlin mounts, sending his dragon aloft. Towards Telavi's ledge. « Best move over, » why Athimeroth can be almost solicitous at times! « Or get pushed off. » Or not. That would be a no, to the getting there now. « Oh, you will not, » Solith replies comfortably, as though he puts this grand flashing entertaining show that most days she likes... and she knows better. Not that she's so certain that she doesn't move at all, even if it's not over but inward, a little. Now there might be barely enough room to land. Of course, Athimeroth's so much bigger, he might have to scrabble quite a bit for his footing... might even fall off... not that Solith would anticipate that or anything, In fact, she really does look quite solicitous, with those big green eyes and all. « I will too. » Athimeroth may find C'wlin's brand of leadership tiresome and annoying, but the winds buffet on power and there's power behind that simple statement that could so easily turn to command. Command born of the very fact of his color. So it's good that she moves just enough to allow talons to score the ledge and allow C'wlin to scramble off. It is not good that Solith's big green, dewy, innocent eyes get a look full of watered-cat-angry C'wlin. Pale hair sticking every which way, cheeks flushed with the redness of anger, and a scowl to wither what greenery clings to the rocks. "TEL-AV-VEE." Her name, enunciated so distinctly into three different syllables are projected the way only a harper knows. It's a trade secret. Does he linger on the ledge? Faranth no! He's busting right into her weyr: hope she's not naked (okay that's a lie), not with a man (but a woman might be okay), and not puking drunk (there's no good alternative to this one). Diving in!
View To A Kill Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Inside the elegant, dark-flecked weyr, the decor incorporates ironwork and heavy wood into a large hearth and an equally impressive bed. A short spiral staircase ends abruptly in a child-sized sleeping alcove that extends over the dragon couch. The main decoration is a large collections of sporks displayed on the mantle: some are just rough wooden spoon-forks with a place name carved along the handle, while others are really quite pretty, inlaid with bits of metal or intricate woodcarving. In summer, the weyr grows stuffy, though in winter it remains cozy and warm no matter how cold it gets outside. Still, like the ledge-cluster outside, each room is slightly smaller than average, their height staggered. It's a quirky, charming little weyr, overall. In here, the sporks are down, and there are pretty, colorful scarves dangling from the little balcony like streamers. Power that could potentially, someday, buffet a little airy something like Solith clean off. It could happen. But now, « He will regret it, » Solith informs the bronze and his borrowed rules, curling up right in the mouth of her weyr like the stopper to a bottle... at least, now that C'wlin has started in. She's quite house-proud of her narrow ledge and its ledge-lets, and more than one of the latter might be more comfortable for Athimeroth to perch upon, if only they were going to be staying here long enough for it to matter. Inside, indeed, this really should be the part where Tela would be skimpily clad, just waiting for her wingleader to haul her out and show her what's what, because she's secretly been hoping all this time to visit his pole. Instead, in the dragon couch and the colorful scarf-streamers that dangle from the balcony above it, there is no Telavi. Further inside, the weyr is dark except for a subdued glow in the hearth, and still there is no Telavi. No visible Telavi, anyway. There's no real smell of booze or of puke, so that's a good sign, right? And then there's movement from, yes, the bed, only the Telavi pushing herself up on her pillows has her braids all snaking about her shoulders the way C'wlin's hardly ever seen them, and she looks awfully pale, and she's also muffled up to her chin in blankets and, believe it or not, flannel. "Not going," she tells him. "I'm... sick." « He always does. » Athimeroth's world view is very simplistic in most ways; though power is sought, and command is given, it is always black or white to the bronze. C'wlin, however, stands in a world made up of shades of grey, and of all the things he expected to find, this was not it. Telavi in bed? So much promise. Dark shadows in a secluded weyr? Even more promise. Disease and plague? NOT SO AWESOME. C'wlin reacts as any entitled, flaw-ridden, smarmy boy might: with immediate freak-out. "OH MY FARANTH YOU'RE DYING!" Wait, that slipped out. Complete with the horror-filled jump back and twisted face of disgust. "Sick? I mean, you can't be sick. You've got duties." Way to recover, C'wlin. He inches closer, lifting his tunic up and over his mouth and nose like she carries the black death. "Sick?" Incredulous. « Do you ever... » Solith is hesitant about this entire concept, but she risks it anyway, peering at Athimeroth, « ...warn him? » Just as diffidently, « He is very loud. » Not a new thing, but something she must comment on nevertheless, right as Tela recoils against the pillows with burning eyes. "Don't yell! It hurts!" She scowls at the other weyrling, and another day she might string him along but, "I'm not contagious. You're not going to get this. Just leave me alone and I'll get better." « When it is necessary. » Athimeroth supplies this like it should be known, layers of implications rippling through the banners of the far-distant army way down below in the hazy colors of a field of green and earth brown. « He must learn. It is a harmless lesson to cut one's teeth on. » Or so says the dragon with the (usually) faulty plan. C'wlin is aghast at first. Then suspicious. Slowly, the tunic falls away from thin lips as icy cold blue eyes regard Telavi like he might see her disease upon her body. "What do you mean?" Stalks closer. "How can you be sick and not contagious." Even closer. "Unless you are lying!" This comes with a hand that will try to for her covers if he's quick enough and she doesn't keep a death grip on them. His intent clear: yank away, and drag her out of bed. Bed side manners? Yeah, not so much. Odd point: He did stop yelling. « Oh. » Solith might have said something else eventually, but now she's distracted, now he's done it and the wind picks up about them, oddly animate breezes that lash like her tail yet are somehow... light. Because, "Don't even. You don't want-- C'wlin!" Because he's quick but Tela's hanging on, death grip, yes but, "It's because I'm BLEEDING and this is a GIRL THING and GO AWAY!!!" And then she eats his face off. Well, not really, but she is hissing. Now she's done it. The blanket is tugged on until Telavi mentions that thing that men do NOT talk about. "Bleeding? GREAT FARANTH TELAVI WHO HURT-- " Wait for it. Fingers slacken as C'wlin's brain processes -- "Oh. OH. That. Ew." Good job, school boy. Yeah, that's him backing away. PERIODS. Are catching. "So." He swings his arms and looks anywhere BUT at Telavi. "You can have the afternoon off." One eye gives her a squinty-eyed side glance while he ostentatiously keeps his eyes everywhere else in her weyr. "Is it gonna take longer than that?" Y'know. To drain. Another step. AwkWARD. Athimeroth's winds bluster and blow, whipping and stirring; amusement, plain and simple. Who hurt-- Telavi's furious stare has transfixed the crazy man, school boy, whatever, ire in her eyes and far too much embarrassment flaming her cheeks. "Yes. Maybe. If I'm not cramping and in pain I'll show up." She yanks her covers even higher, flattening them against her knees. "So go already." Solith hastily makes room as she waves her fist at him. Begone! First. "Can't the healers fix it?" Beat. "The pain?" Then silence. Wait. C'wlin's not gone yet? Awkwardly, he stands there, trying so very hard to be cool and nonchalant. "Thanks for the desk." He picks NOW to say this. "It's very nice. Fits perfectly." Look is slanted to the greenrider, as if IMPERVIOUS to female rage. Except not. He's already going. FLEEING. But don't tell anyone! "Just come whenever... oh Faranth, I am SO GLAD I am not a girl!" Yeah, that totally gets said. And for the rest of the day? Telavi gets a PASS. BEGONE woman stuff. He's still here? Tela's turn to be incredulous. "Do you see a healer?" Here? Maybe she never has. Maybe she's out of whatever they gave her. Maybe it's worse than usual. Maybe she took Sabella's share this month. Maybe it's always this bad. She's not saying. "GOOD," she tells C'wlin instead, like he'd better like that desk, or else. This, with a mutter about how it doesn't go with this weyr anyway. "GO AWAY." And then she pulls up the covers over her head, only to burst into sobs just as soon as he's out of sight. He'd better be fleeing FAST. C'wlin is out like the FLASH. (But that stumble might mean he heard that sobbing.) Exit; stage FRIGHT. (Until next time). |
Comments
K'del (K'del (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 08 May 2013 07:43:39 GMT.
< *diesdiesdiesdiesdies*
That was SPECTACULARLY BRILLIANT.
K'zin (Wakizian (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 08 May 2013 07:53:28 GMT.
<
OMG. HILARIOUS. <3 <3 <3 "Oh. OH. That. Ew." And then so many more moments!! You guys made my night.
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 08 May 2013 08:55:15 GMT.
<
o.o WELL! Not what I was expecting, and then again the best things are usually a surprise! (I bet C'wlin would argue that sentiment~)
Hilarious, you guys!
Ceawlin (Ceawlin (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 08 May 2013 16:24:36 GMT.
< Maaaaad props to Telavi for this little jewel of a scene!! It was hilariously fun to RP!!
C'wlin, however, would definitely argue the merits of a "surprise" (attack) like this!!
Aishani (Brieli (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 08 May 2013 16:48:04 GMT.
<
Nice work, Tela. Next time you're 'sick', I doubt C'wlin will be bothering you...
Jolie (Jolie (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 08 May 2013 22:32:38 GMT.
<
This had me on the floor. <3!! XD
Leave A Comment