Logs:Burgers and Whers
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 24 April, 2013 |
| Who: E'sren, I'zech |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: E'sren and I'zech get to know each other over a burger. Sort of. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 8, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Nice |
  |
| It's a lovely evening, warm with a light breeze, stars just creeping out overhead as the sun sinks beyond the spires, moons on the rise. Not that it seems I'zech is taking any note of these things. He's currently sitting alone at table with a beer and a burger, the later of which he is chowing into with all the dedication of a man who has nothing else going on. He's in his usual state of dishevelment, the short sleeves of his shirt tucked up over his shoulders and ink on display, though that is likely leftover from when the sun was beating down a little more warmly. There are two girls sitting at a table across the patio, clearly talking about him, just enough so he can overhear words like 'bastard' and 'asshole' and he turns to give them a wide, cold, hamburgery smile and a not-at-all-subtle middle finger, which he swirls around rather suggestively. Despite all of this, it could probably be said that if he didn't care for the nice evening, he could be eating inside. It's certainly something, seeing your weyrlingmaster flip someone the bird. Even more of a something to see him flip two women the bird. It's like... so gentlemanly. E'sren has this as his welcome, paused there at the stairs to watch the women, then I'zech, then the women again. They're understandably unhappy about that finger, and he lifts his eyebrows and blows out a low whistle under his breath as he approaches the table even if by so doing he also aligns himself with the subject of their ire. "Making lots of new friends I see," he comments wryly as he takes a seat, and it isn't that he doesn't care if he's unwelcome, it's that he wouldn't even think to think he could be. I'zech's a nice guy, right!? I'zech puts the finger away, not because he realizes a weyrling is there -- because he's just a weyrling, not a wee little innocent child, after all (not that there are any gaurantees he wouldn't flick someone off in front of a child either) -- but because he's turned his attention back to his food and wants both hands to take his next bite. And the girls? They're annoyed enough (or finished with their own meals) to start to take their leave rather than sit where they have to look at him. The bronzerider is chewing as E'sren approaches, but he answers anyway. "Old friends." A correction. But when the bluerider sits, he wonders, "You don't want to get some food or something?" Old friends. E'sren 'ahs', so corrected, and reclines in his chair, ankle atop opposite knee. "I might in a bit. I might be eating with Sabella and the others. Although I'm not gonna lie that looks amazing." Even half-eaten, the hamburger still got it. The topic of dinner pauses him again, this time to consider I'zech briefly before he offers up an idea. "You could always eat with us, you know. We all hang out at the same table. Plenty of room." He lilts the last, almost singsongy, to make it sound extra appealing. "Should I leave you two alone?" I'zech wonders with a brow lifting up to wrinkle his forehead and a finger (not that one) pointing to his burger. He's not actually offering it, but he does put it down beside a pile of chipped potatoes to lean back in his chair and switch from eating the drinking. "Don't I see enough of you lot all day?" he asks with a quirk of a grin, a turn of his head. "I'll pass on the kids table." But just in case it seems like he just hates them all and wants nothing to do with him, he then throws the curve ball of asking, "Your folks still visiting?" The burger seems safe, E'sren grinning off the joke, but the potatoes are another story. He leans forward to casually snag one of those, not at all subtle. It's like hey bro I'm gonna eat this, cool? His reply at first is just a shrug, til he's chewed enough to speak. "Probably. And I know it isn't really your style." He would say style. "But you might like it. Your call. Just throwin' it out there man." The curve ball does catch him off guard, swing and a miss, but he recovers well. "Yeah, for a few more days. Have you seen 'em?" It must be cool, since I'zech doesn't seem to react at all to the potato theft. They're tasty too, all seasoned and stuff. "I don't know," he says of E'sren's family, turning his head to side-eye the weyrling. "Have I seen them?" Did they turn up to drill or anything? Come swarm the mouth of the barracks like teenaged fangirls? Or, just as unlikely, "Are they wearing signs that say E'sren's Family, because if so, I haven't see that." And if not, he probably doesn't know what they look like. He pops a potato in his mouth, too, reminded of them now. "You like havin' them here?" "Not all the time," he replies easily about the signs, totally fluent in bullshit. "Sometimes they do. But mostly I was asking because they've been staying at the lake. Not really all that easy to miss." But hey, if I'zech wants to be a smartass, E'sren is gonna let him be a smartass. He takes it really well too. Since he wasn't killed on sight for stealing that potato he steals another, munching away around his answer. "Yeah, what's not to like? I just wish I could spend more time with 'em, or that Ahruth was big enough to take my little sister up. But." Another shrug, it doesn't bother him. "Anyway. What's your story?" "Oh, is that them," I'zech says with a little flick of his brows that might make his words sound a little less like bullshit, like he's actually noticed people out by the lake. "I didn't realized they belonged to you." Or he just does the dry straight-man really well. "So you're tight." There's not real derision in it. Just a statement. "My mother was a wild wher and my father was a real stupid dude who got drunk and nailed her. I grew up surrounded by bones and carcasses and one day I ran away, got searched and the rest is history." He plasters on a smile and learns forward to take up his burger again. Meanwhile, it might be hard to tell when that hazy chill started to reach for Ahruth, but it's there now, Rojeth's creepy touch. Nodding, E'sren confirms yeah, that's them. There's a little smile for the idea of them belonging to him, maybe not a concept he ever came up with before, but it fits so well. "Yeah, I guess they do. And yeah we are. There's nobody else out there on the road with you except your family, we didn't have a hold or anything to get lost in. Just us." I'zech's story doesn't sound as pleasant as his story did, does, and E'sren turns his bullshit detector up to max. "I can't say that doesn't explain some things," he comments slowly, taking another potato. Ahruth is away, curled up in a nice patch of warmed stone somewhere, dozing until he feels that chill. His head rears up and he swivels it around on his long neck, searching. Nothing. If a dragon can give a suspicious glance, he's doing that. "Right. Trader." He probably did hear that somewhere and but it's probably unlikely that anyone expects I'zech to keep these kinds of personal details in his head. Right? Though the look he's giving E'sren now is certainly a thoughtful one. Or vaguely annoyed, it's hard to tell. Anyway, he brushes it all off when it's said his story explains things. "I'm a straight forward kind of guy. How far from here does your family get?" It's difficult to tell where Rojeth's contact might be coming from, but it's high, somewhere high, not in the barracks. The eerie breeze of his touch begins to start and stop, like the sound of breath from some unseen body. He waits. E'sren does the whole point with finger, click with mouth thing when I'zech nails it with 'trader'. Bingo. And totally okay with being scrutinized, be it thoughtfully or in annoyance, he leans back in his chair and hitches his ankle back up, giving him the stretch of his shin to drum out a beat with both hands. "How far? Depends. Our normal route is around the Hold and the smaller holds in that area, but without any Thread we'll go as far as we can sometimes. We're only limited by how much food and supplies we have with us at the time. Or don't have." Whichever. Ahruth is roused, standing, and wanders the bowl where he napped, near enough E'sren in case he's needed but far enough to give him the space they've established over the past few months. He's searching. To Rojeth, Ahruth hasn't made the discovery, hasn't been able to latch on, but he's probing the area with his mind, sniffing around for that chill. I'zech bobs his head as he chews, some silent version of 'nice' or another polite pleasantry that he skips in favor of eating. "You deal in something in particular or just... whatever comes your way?" he asks around the remnants of his mouthful. Some rider he knows passes by and he jerks his chin in their direction, but that's all the attention they get. And, as if he's just now remembered that he's a weyrlingmaster, he wonders, "Are we supposed to talk about weyrling shit?" Even with Ahruth hunting in earnest, Rojeth's location is hard to pinpoint. He's definitely high, out here somewhere. But his touch lacks some of the usual markers that make it so easy for dragons to track one another. Not all of them, surely, just... something not quite clear. And then it is. He's on the spires, looking down on the bowl. His voice comes, quiet and rasping. « Can you fly so high? » "Oh we're full of surprises. We've sold... clothing, perfume, weapons, leather goods. We pick things up along the way, it's part of why we're so well-known in our territory. If someone has a craft or a knack for making something, we can sell it for them. For a cut of the profit, but it gets their name out there. And they don't have to have some badge or knot to tell people they should buy their stuff." To E'sren, this is a great freedom, and he's proud. I'zech's question earns a shrug, a grin, who cares?, and one of his own. "Why're you so interested in that stuff?" Meanwhie, Ahruth continues on in his search until he realizes he isn't alone. He stops, sniffs the air, then turns his gaze upward to where he now suddenly and inexplicably knows the bronze to be. Aha. His head tilts. His own voice is a smooth tenor, lilting. « I can, » with confidence. « Is that an invitation? » I'zech pauses his eating to thumb a bit of grease from beside his mouth, listening -- at least partially -- to the explanation of E'sren's abandoned trader life, even if it does look like his attention wanders a bit in the middle. He then, for the record, wipes that hand on his trousers. As for the weyrling's question, the bronzerider shrugs a shoulder. "I buy and sell stuff sometimes. Old habits." Maybe they're like old friends? The last of the burger is shoved into his mouth, blocking any futher immediate answer, though he smirks a bit as he chews. Rojeth's amusement comes like the wind through old, overgrown trees, branches creaking and scraping, the rustle of something in the underbrush. « Do you need one to fly? » He doesn't seem to think so. He'll ask the unasked. "Old habits, huh? Are those anything like old friends? You have a lot of old things. How about some new things? Like eating dinner with all your favorite people." His big grin is cheesy and overplayed, and E'sren picked it especially for the situation. It's a special occassion grin. Still, he's interested on the topic of buying and selling things, naturally, and lifts his chin slightly to express that. "What stuff?" he wants to know. « Not to fly. Maybe to fly there. » Where Rojeth is. To share the space. Down below, the young dragon's neon wings open, spread, tentative. I'zech brushes his fingers over his plate, last burger crumbs falling away just so he can get in on the potatoes again. But the chewing is slow, thoughtful, as he look across the table at the weyrling. "Probably," he admits of old habits and old friends. "Bringing up the same old shit." But as the bluerider goes back to inviting him to dinner, complete with that especially nice grin, I'zech's eyes narrow. "What are you on about?" He shakes his head, ready to have the invitation come to an end. "We'll see. Anyway, whatever stuff sounds good when the moment arises." He gives a sniff. The fog continues to hang thickly, coalescing into billowing form, receding into shadow. « How will you find out? » Rojeth challenges the young dragon, which is probably not exactly what he's been assigned to do. But hey, flying practice is flying practice? E'sren is only too willing to oblige, since I'zech's being so adamantly against the idea. He drops it, hands up in defense but still grinning, and says, "Okay, fine, but don't come crying to me when you realize how cool it would be and you passed it up, and you're left with your old shit." Emphasis on 'shit'. He thinks about that answer for a second, a wrinkle between his eyebrows, then decides, "That's pretty vague, thanks for that." Ahruth stands there, wings poised, breathing and thinking. There are a lot of reasons not to necessarily trust Rojeth, one of those being he barely ever even sees him. But the urge for the sky wins out over his common sense and he crouches, his hindlegs wriggling and bunching beneath him. Wings flare out, expressing a surprising span considering they don't look very big when they're furled, and then just like that he leaps. Practice and instinct walk hand in hand in telling his wings what to do, and in a few short moments he makes it to the spires with only one near miss at the end when he misses his landing by a bit and has to scrabble there on the edge to gain footing. "What, do you want to see my records? Ten bottles of Benden red on the the third of month five? Maybe I deal in blackmarket wher babies. You, know, from my mother." I'zech lets out a scoff for the prying, even if it's coming from such an innocuous source. "Man," he says with shake of his head, abandoning the food for beer again. "Don't you see enough of me during the day? In your face every morning?" Not that he's really been so hands-on in the barracks, but there have been weyrlings here and there who got pretty unfriendly wake-up calls when they were slow to haul themselves from their cots: Quinlys putting I'zech's strengths to good use. But meanwhile, the bronzerider is starting to eye E'sren more thoughtfully again, like he's really, honestly, asking himself a question about him. Rojeth really is there, a dark beastly beast with the last slivers of sunlight catching on his pale eyes, whirling in the easy shade of a muted, murky green. The hiss he lets out is probably congratulatory. And pointedly, he turns his attention toward the bowl, for the younger dragon to join him in looking down, down, down on everyone. "Yeah I want records. I want clearly written, fully detailed records. What did the wher babies look like, did they have a lot of teeth, that kind of thing." If nothing else, E'sren can dish it out as well as he can take it. "And I want 'em on my desk by morning!" he adds on in a rush, pointing. I'zech had just better. "You're not really in my face in the morning. So. No." Since the bronzerider is back to eyeing him, E'sren can really only stare back. After a moment he's over it and asking, "What?" Probably. Ahruth rights himself and affirms his spot there on the spires, curling his tail around and catching his breath. There's a zing of adrenaline from him, the rush of flight never something taken too lightly as far as he's concerned, but he tries to contain his youthful enthusiasm and takes the cue, turning his gaze down on the bowl. « Is this what you do? » he asks of the strange bronze, not quite getting it but wanting to. The dishing has I'zech cracking a smirk. "It's important to check their teeth," he agrees, something darkly twisted about his amusement. The smirk lingers, fading slowly as discussion goes back to the barracks. "Yeah, well, I might be sick of all you guys by the time dinner rolls around." Not that he's been chasing E'sren away from his private time with the burger. As for what he's been thinking, "You the oldest one?" Given his propensity for calling all weyrlings 'this one' or 'that one' or 'the looney one', it's likely he means in the barracks. « Sometimes, » comes Rojeth's answer, his voice a quiet seething, the fog peeling back, retreating, as if contact is made up in full by the fact that he's physically present. « We have to go, » is his manner of a farewell, the 'we' clearly him and I'zech rather than him and Ahruth. His wings snap open, and the wind ruffles them like heavy fabric before his take off goes silent but for the rush of air. He leaves the young blue to watch him soar down toward the human-filled ledge where their riders sit. Yeah, yeah says E'sren's hand as he twirlsh is finger around in the air. His is a different finger, just a nice innocent pointer. I'zech can be as prickly as he wants, it's all about perspective. And E'sren's is pretty much constantly positive. He's just as enduring of all of these questions, cheerful and patient in the answering. This most recent one is attended to with a nod and, "I think so. I didn't really take down ages. Why?" It's then that Rojeth arrives, sort of, at least into the general vicinity, and he leans over to look at him. It might be the first time he's actually seen him. Maybe. He catches on. "Ahruth says you're leaving." Sometimes? Ahruth could ask what the other times are for, but doesn't, and just settles into companionable if tense and scary silence with the bronze until he's suddenly excusing himself. There's no goodbye from the blue, he's too taken by surprise, but he does watch that landing, perhaps noting the position of the wings and everything for when he does so himself. "No reason," I'zech grunts as he pushes himself to stand, sliding the chair back with his legs, the feet scraping against the ledge's stone. He's lifting his glass to pour the last of the beer down his throat, head tipped back and his free hand taking a moment's rest with splayed fingers across his stomach. When it's done and the glass is on the table again, he nods. "Yeah, I am. Things to see, people to do. I'll think about dinner." He lays a hand on E'sren's shoulder as he starts off, too hard to be a pat, too brief to be a grip. If he's supposed to get rid of his plate and things, he doesn't. And he doesn't say goodbye, either. But Rojeth turns to look at E'sren, all too-pale eyes and glinting teeth. It's probably easy to make the assumption that the bronze stays hidden because he's aware of how he looks. And to the weyrling still looking down, the fog lingers around the edges and some smug sense of knowing filters in, unexplained. And then I'zech mounts up Rojeth carries him into the air, blinking out of existence right in front of where Ahruth sits. That strange sensation that an animal just screamed, but it's quiet now and impossible to know whether or not it really happened? It's unsettling, but it's gone now. |
Comments
Zian (Zian (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 24 Apr 2013 05:19:26 GMT.
<
So much laughing. XD
K'zin (Wakizian (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 24 Apr 2013 07:09:18 GMT.
<
Can I just say... I'm falling in love with both of you and your dragons? If it's wrong, I don't want to be right.
Alida (Alida (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 24 Apr 2013 07:27:46 GMT.
< If Alida doesn't punch him in the face first, I'zech might just start to grow on her. ;D
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 26 Apr 2013 03:08:41 GMT.
<
Ahruth's 'suspicious glance' made me giggle out loud. XD And I really dig Rojeth. What? There were people in the log? e.e
It's good for E'sren to talk with someone closer to his own age... I can even see these two being friends! ...If I'zech is capable of such a thing. *laughs*
Leave A Comment