Logs:Bros Figuring Shit Out
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| RL Date: 21 December, 2014 |
| Who: V'ros, A'rist, Zmeyth, Lythronath |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: V'ros has a problem and A'rist has the answer. |
| Where: Brickwork and Boulders Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 8, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Warm. |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: This creative title brought to you by: my brain has melted, leave me alone! |
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| To Lythronath, No sugar coating, no cut corners - Zmeyth lays the full intensity of his dark, sooty, smoky mind on the bronze in the late evening hours. « Tell me. Would yours accept mine at home? Now? » His words are particularly devoid of emotion this night, carrying the palest undercurrent of anxiety; an anxiety that, without a doubt, comes from his rider. To Zmeyth, Lythronath doesn't sound even a little choked. There's the smell of blood underlying his thoughts, more because it's there - and, seemingly, more real to him than the brown's mindvoice (or most other dragons', for that matter) - than because he means for it to be. « Mine, » is both affirmative, and caveat. Out of the twilight air, cutting close to the ledge and then landing near the end, despite the bloody slaughter thereabouts, Zmeyth settles in. He has a rumble of displeasure for the bronze, evidenced in the agitated way he twitches his wings. None of this stops his rider from unstrapping himself and sliding down to the red-smattered ledge. V'ros tips his head, a bit nervously, to Lythronath. "Uh, I'm," he takes a hesitant step to the side, "here." Expected? Surely, Zmeyth said as much. Lythronath is reposing in the territory freshly claimed as his own, front talons grasping at the stone, leaving little trails, his tail twitching, and most of his maw and belly, gore-spattered. Zmeyth's rumble gets a low throat-click out of the bronze, the bronze who is so clearly allowing the brown a place by his own pleasure, who could take that place away in a heartbeat. Whose back legs shift up under him, just in case that heartbeat is going to be this next one... or the next... V'ros, V'ros just gets a snort of dragon breath at him. Maybe it's the throat-click or the repositioning, but the brown gives one more irritated grumble, to note his unhappiness, and then falls off the ledge, only to catch himself in the air and wing off for places unknown - for now. That leaves his rider at Lythronath's will. V'ros keeps edging to the side, towards the weyr entrance, never letting his eyes leave the large dragon's hide. "A'rist?" he calls out, more a loud whisper than an actual yell, since, he's up against such a dragon as Lythronath. To A'rist, Lythronath projects, « A'rist. » Parroted. Little. « Hahahaha! » Lythronath snorts more hot air at V'ros, and then pulls his lips back, so the little brownrider can see his teeth, and the bits of flesh stuck in between some of them. Hahahaha- and that's when he gets a kick from the other side. "Hey," gets called. Even while Lythronath is still not sure about actually moving. The brownrider does turn a shade or two lighter than his normal pale color, and a hesitant step backwards when the bronze grins at him. "Zmeyth.. said.." He looks unsure, buffeting his helmet between his hands, but his head jerks upright when A'rist calls from the other side of his lifemate. "Hey?" he calls back, hopeful. A'rist kicks Lythronath. Again. When the bronze's tail, at least, does get out of the way some, there are angry eyebrows worn on the young bronzerider's face. "Just ignore him. He's not actually going to eat your face. Especially if you stop acting like he might." There's still a set of claws between them, but that doesn't stop A'rist's gesturing for V'ros to come on in. Come on over? Anxiety is evident on the brownrider's face, but following his friend's advice, he walks towards the inner weyr and A'rist, carefully stepping over those claws. "I didn't.. he just.." V'ros sighs and moves towards A'rist, his frown staying firmly in place. "I wanted to talk to you before I.. forgot, again.. I didn't mean to interrupt you if.." His lack of worst probably convey his real meaning - boobs.. and butts.. and girls.. all over A'rist's weyr, no? Lythronath maybe tries to trip V'ros once, and there's a tooth-snap when the brownrider actually enters the weyr, but. No actual skin is broken by direct application of talon or tooth. "Before you forgot?" A'rist's already started making his way alone one brickwork avenue, glancing over his shoulder. "Nah, I don't do that stuff here, usually, you're good." There's an ease to him that suggests A'rist has, recently, taken in just that magical amount of alcohol to make everything good. "Yeah." V'ros has his serious face on. "I'm.. worried? ..about.. something." He could be being purposefully cryptic, but the more likely answer is that he's agitated and thinking, in process. "From the storm, when I was shadowing the wings, and I went out.." Rubbing one eye with a single knuckle, he sighs, "I rescued someone and he.. he said something me after.. but I just.. I didn't remember.. now.." He's back to frowning as he plods on behind A'rist, letting the bronzerider lead the way into the weyr. Lead A'rist does, past Lythronath's couch, and into the space near the hearth. Where there could be a couch, there's instead a little stool, and then what seems to be a giant bag stuffed with cloth or something. "So you like... wanna sit?" Sure enough, there's a bottle of something honey-coloured on the table, to which A'rist gestures. Just before he flops into that bag chair, which already holds a pretty decent A'rist-shaped divot. After a quick look-see around the weyr with his eyes, V'ros will take the stool, grabbing it by the side and dragging it between his legs in time to his sitting down. He stares at the bottle and the lone cup, then shifts his focus to A'rist, awaiting his lead - again. "It's been bothering me. I can't stop thinking about it." His elbows come to rest on his knees, his fingers plying together under his chin. "I don't know if I.. should tell K'del or.." "You can have some. If you want." A'rist is pointing to that bottle again, but he doesn't get up. He does nod a little, when V'ros speaks. And purse his lips slightly. And finally give in, and ask, "This is all about... what?" V'ros looks at the bottle, looks down at his hands, and then grabs the bottle and takes a length pull. He grimaces and grunts, setting it down. "Aishani and how she.." He opens his hands in a helpless gesture. "What if.. what if it wasn't lightning, A'rist, what if it was.. what if something.." His hand falls into his hands and he grimaces again. "I sound crazy.. but it's.. that guy said.. something about.. it hit her and.." He gulps and stands up, suddenly, moving to pace before the hearth. "He said.. it came up and.." His hand thrusts up, like.. something? What? "Died," finishes A'rist, not thinking, not here in his own weyr, to try lower his voice out of respect, nor to buff it up as a show of machismo. It's just a word, said like any other, right there. There's more commitment in what the brownrider gives him next. A'rist sits forward on his bag chair, and making two fists before him, and bringing his knuckles to meet while his forearms balance on his knees. It takes longer for him to decide on his number one question. Which turns out to be, "Did you see it?" Shoulders slumping, V'ros sighs and scrubs his face with his hands. "I don't know. It was dark. It was raining. Everything was.." He swallows, hard. "Chaotic. I thought it was.. lightning.. the lightning stuck right before and it.. ships were on fire.. I don't.." His feet drag, bringing him back to the stool, where he sits heavily. "I don't know what I saw, A'rist. But that guy.. he said he saw.. something.. coming up and it.. hit her." Now that the first question has been asked, other ones have a path to follow, and come much more easily. And quickly. "What were you over, when she got hit by whatever? Who was this guy you had?" A'rist's knuckles are pushing at each other hard now. And he's leaning forward and staring at his friend. V'ros' posture doesn't get straighter, but curves inward still in a sure sign of defeat. "I don't know. I was.. we were.. over the water.. over one of the burning ships.. and then lightning hit nearby and they were gone, but we had to save.. that guy from the ship." He is staring at the floor, hands folded together. "I didn't get his name. The healers.. took him to the infirmary, after, and I was out of it.." His eyes flick up to A'rist, but his expression remains severe. The next crucial and very sensitive question would then be, "Did he live? Do you know?" A'rist remembers himself about here, and un-pushes his fists, and sits back onto the bag chair, and looks terribly pensive. "Yeah, I think.. he did. He didn't look in too bad shape. Not burnt to a crisp or anything.. when we dropped him off, anyway." V'ros stares at the bottle, but doesn't reach for it a second time - memories, and time, are precious with this situation. "Do you.. think I should tell K'del? Anyone?" "Think he's still at the Weyr? Think you're recognise him if we came across him?" And then, with a glint of something Lythronian in his eye, "Think we could find him?" A'rist's response causes V'ros to lift his head, to straighten a bit from his slump. "Yeah, I think.. I could pick him out of a line, if I had to." His fingers thread closer together, his head bobbing in three consecutive motions. "Could ask the healers if they.. have a tally of who showed up in the infirmary.. after?" "Yeah, yeah!" A'rist is excited again, sitting forward again, with both feet re-asserting their position on the floor. "You got a healer who likes you? Don't get one of the ones in that Teris thing. But someone who could check." He's nodding, vigorously. "May as well figure out what we can first, right? And then go to K'del. With like... with something done." "I don't.." V'ros sits up and rotates his arm, thinking. "I don't know any healers. We don't go.. often, so I don't.. but isn't the Weyrhealer in charge? Shouldn't she know?" He keeps nodding, showing less trepidation at his discovery, and settling into a semblance of control over his own tumultuous feelings. "We can, if we can get the healers to help. What if they.. didn't get his name? Or.. he died?" "Then we gotta find that out, first. Weyrhealer, then." It's enough that A'rist has jumped to his feet, only to remember that they aren't really going anywhere. Not at this hour. So he sits back down. "We'll figure it out, though," is consolation. A solemn head nod serves as the brownrider's answer. "Thanks. For listening and not laughing." That's true bro-love. V'ros gets up, again, but this time he collects his helmet and gear, which he soundly deposited next to the stool. "Zmeyth wants me come down. Snowdrift's got a bet against Savannah tonight at the Snowasis. You want to come with, or..?" His brown eyes are much clearer, less troubled, with the offer, but he doesn't sound like he'll be put out with a decline. He's already got one foot towards the ledge. "Uh..." Shrug. "Sure." And off they go. |
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