Logs:Catching Moonfish
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| RL Date: 22 August, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, R'oan |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dee is a girl who fishes for wishes and R'oan is a cynic, then and now. |
| Where: Southern Weyr and Starstones, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 8, month 8, turn 37 and day 8, month 8, turn 38 |
| Weather: Piling up during the night, the clouds darken and thicken oppressively in the early part of the day. At first distant, thunder roams closer so that, before lunch, the rain and lightning arrive, coupled with a quick, directionless-seeming wind. Throughout the afternoon and evening, the storm continues, eventually petering into a light rain that lasts through the night. |
| Mentions: Hattie/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Played around with history and mirrored present. Dee and R'oan meet in Southern Weyr one turn ago and find themselves in similar circumstances a world away one turn later. |
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| Day 8, Month 8, Turn 37 - Southern Weyr It's not unusual for Southern Weyr to have bonfires on one of the beaches in late summer. It's a casual sort of affair that anyone and everyone is welcome to partake in, with the kitchen trotting out porcines to be roasted on smaller cooking fires dotting the beach along with what spiderclaws can be claimed from the shallows. The sun has set now and the kegs brought for the occasion have been opened. Dee came late to the party, only once the light was gone, but that's no reason to miss out on the fun. With trousers rolled up to mid-calf and shirt sleeves up past her elbows, she's got a small bucket hooked to a leather clasp on her belt and is lingering in the shallows of the water. Perhaps spiderclaws are what she's after, though she only ducks down to let fingers into the waves that rush up across her wide-set feet and ankles every now and again. Despite the lingering tension of Fortian blood invading Southern Weyr with both of its queens descending from the line and the inevitable chase of its bronzes and browns in Southern's leadership flight, there still happens to be the handful of Fortian riders that dot each of these parties, drawn by invitation or dissemination. R'oan happens to be one at this, already well towards tipsy by the time the sun sets and already stuffed full of spiderclaws he has conned or charmed out of others. That is what takes him to the edge of the shore now to wash off the oil lingering on fingers that tore through shell, his feet bare and his trousers rolled up to expose finely trimmed calves, plain shirt left unbottoned. He isn't all that careful about where he steps as he splashes into the shallows nearby. It's the splashing that first draws Dee's attention from whatever her present task is, and she straightens to stretch her solid lean frame out of the cramp-encouraging bend she was in to look into the dark waters. It's his proximity that makes her say, "This is my spot for catching moonfish," as if that were really a thing. "You're going to scare them away," is added with an even look, the wide plains of her face catching the moonlight and making her look more pale than the day would prove her to be while the light casts shadows that throw the strong angles of her face into sharp relief. Water is flicked from the tips of R'oan's long fingers as he straightens, though he takes his time with the whole matter rather than being rushed by the young woman. "Moonfish?" is questioned with a hint of disbelief, but certainly not total disbelief; it is clear that for all that he may bear the tan of a fisherman and the lean lines of one, this dragonrider is not experience with fish. Not that he wears his knot, but in this crowd, with men just like him all around, it isn't hard to place him as he is, if not his dragon's color. "You're better off sticking with spiderclaws. There are plenty of people," up there, by the tilt of his chin back to the beach, "who caught more than they can eat." Dee's snort lacks the resolve to be truly derisive and falls into the category of dismissive. "You don't catch moonfish for eating," she informs the rider, her lips pulling into a smile infused with optimism. "Catching a moonfish is good luck. Better if you catch it and let it go. Then whatever you wish in that moment will come true." It's a simple enough explanation, and she seems to believe it. "And what would you wish for? Some dashing, young dragonrider to come sweep you off your feet?" drawls R'oan, his tone suggesting not him, as he is clearly not that young dragonrider to do so. But, at least he has stilled, no longer disturbing the waves that lap around his calves or the shallows she stands in, as his gaze falls to the water as if to spot out these moonfish. Now that he's still, her smile broadens, as if pleased that he's at least playing along. Dee leans forward once more, to place her elbows on her knees and let her runner's tail tickle the water. Perhaps it's bait! "Nothing so romantic," she assures him, though she's not offended that he should think of it. "Just now, there's a cotholder's crop that's struggling. If it fails, they'll go hungry with what stores they have from last season and what can be bargained from other holds and the Weyr," her voice is hushed, just above the swell of the waves. "So just now, I'd like to wish he'll do everything he's supposed to do to see that the crop doesn't fail as it has before. Maybe if he drank less..." But that thought is dismissed as if it were as easy to let go of as the departing wave's pull on her toes. Only the hint of a crooked smile pulls at R'oan's lips, his defense for that dismissed thought as he answers in easy tones, "Sometimes, when you're staring down the neck of a runner barreling full speeds ahead that you cannot stop, it's better to drink more." He doesn't have a drink of his own to follow that up with a toast, but one might get the impression that he would, if he did. Instead, he continues with an added, "So, if you had a wish, you would wish the world to be fed rather than for anything yourself. Or a hundred more wishes, which would be the smart thing." "If you could wish for more wishes, what would a single wish matter?" Dee counters with a laugh. She shakes her head. "Like sunsets, or fresh mangos, or lovers. If you had a hundred, you wouldn't appreciate any beyond the first or before the second or third to last," she reasons as she lets one hand drift down into the surf when the moonlight catches the incoming wave just right. "I might wish for something for myself if I had something important to wish for," she'll admit. "I've had a hundred lovers," is likely a generous approximation on the part of the brownrider but rather than disagreeing, R'oan continues with warm laughter in his words as he suggests, "You are right about that one, at least. Though, I wouldn't mind getting tired of wishes coming true." His lips curve into a crooked, almost boyish smile as he shrugs up a shoulder, his gaze sliding from the ocean back up to Dee with an easy assurance of, "Some day you will. We all do. Even if it's only on your deathbed, and you are too afraid to die." "What would you wish for then?" Dee asks, turning her head to flash her smile up at him again. "Or what would you wish for first?" She amends, her tone no less curious. "A hundred more wishes," replies R'oan as if explaining it patiently, though not without amusement in the curve of his lips and in the edges of his words. Dee laughs brightly, and moves a hand to splash water up at the rider with a single hand, "No, after that. You know what I meant. You're not stupid," she points out matter-of-factly. "I suppose it depends, doesn't it?" R'oan posits in return, even waiting a beat and then two to see if she will comply with the natural inclination to question his question, before continuing. "If I had the wish in the morning, it'd probably be to go back to sleep. In the evening, well--. I've always wanted to get really, indecently wasted on Benden's most expensive wine." "On?" Dee is accommodating as she straightens again, stretching her arms up above her head and letting her forearms fall onto one another while she listens. "If only wishes could make extra hours of sleep," she sighs her obvious agreement with that desire. "I've never been sure if the cost of something actually makes it better or not. Perhaps I've yet to try enough wine to know the difference." There is a curve to R'oan's lips before he agrees easily with his own, "No idea; I just think it'd be enough for all of those wine snobs to get their noses in the air about getting drunk on it." Finally he is moving again, but this time it is out of the water altogether and back to the beach, as he adds, "Good luck fishing." "Better things to do than to spend your time fishing for wishes?" Dee asks with a cant of her head at the rider. "Shame. Maybe I'll wish something for you if I catch a second." For all the nonsense about moonfish, she sounds playfully sincere in the last. "One hundred more wishes," is R'oan's parting reminder to the young woman, a touch of his own mock-impatience for her forgetting so soon. His fingers sketch into a light imitation of a salute to Dee, a crooked smile flashing briefly before he turns to make his way back up the beach to the bonfire and alcohol, there. Day 8, month 8, turn 38 - Starstones, Fort Weyr The Star Stones are located on a kind of stone platform on the rim of the Bowl, with the time-honoured Finger Rock, Star Stone, and Eye Rock in their respective places. It's also a perfect vantage point to observe the goings on far below. A watchdragon is generally posted here in addition to a few other choice locations along the rim of the Weyr. The light rain that drizzles over the Weyr does not make for a comfortable night for the dragonrider assigned to the starstones this evening. And as it slides well past dinner hour, that watchdragon is Etrevth. It is hard to tell whether the dragon takes the duty seriously or not, with his wings tucked in and his whirling gaze settled over the Weyr as his tail flicks occasionally as an outlet to anxious energy. His rider certainly doesn't. He's taken some measure of shelter with his back against the finger rock, his flask in his lap but currently capped as he seems to be napping. At least, his eyes are closed and his head is resting against stone, blonde hair plastered wetly with rain. Taeliyth's wheaten shading makes her flight a ribbon in moonlight against the darkness of the dimness of the the bowl below. She takes care not to land too close to Etrevth, especially given that her landing is still a work in progress, stumbling a few steps on the outcropping of stone before the momentum ceases to carry her forward - nothing dangerous, just not as clean as it could be with more practice. Whirling eyes settle briefly on the brown, « My number one fan, » her sweet voice intones as greeting with a dappling of sunlight through leafy boughs. Meanwhile, Dee is already shifting carefully out of what must be their very first set of ridden-in straps to get to the ground and collect from one of the extraneous buckles meant for very small and very reasonably weighted cargo a stick as long as she is tall, her dress simple and by now clinging in more than a few places from the drizzle of rain. Etrevth answers with a low, amused snort to Taeliyth's greeting. And despite the gold already catching herself, he counters with a dry, « Watch your step. Wouldn't want you to fall off again. » His smoke is a hazy thing, nothing solid in the acrid scent of it this evening as he enjoys the drizzle of rain. His rider's gaze has opened, landing on the pair from the space between them, but without any other motion to draw attention to himself. « Yes, wouldn't want to have to strain my pretty wings catching myself, » Taeliyth's twist of humor returns with feigned frailty that might only be believable if one saw but didn't feel or hear her and her wealth of sass. Dee doesn't seem to be minding much, though she offers the dragon a friendly smile and a soft, "Hello Etrevth," evidently missing the man as she steps carefully with her pole toward the edge. She sits before she reaches it, letting herself scooch the last distance, and even then only until her ankles are over the lip, legs crossed out ahead of her while she carefully unwinds the length of slender rope that has been knotted to the tip of her pole, a soft hum starting up to keep herself company. « I changed my mind, » is Etrevth's smooth counter, the words holding his own depth of humor for the little queen's expense as he eyes the space between them and then her rider, briefly. Eventually, he looks away, in time with the brownrider that speaks up for them now. "There aren't any fish up here." It seems he couldn't have kept quiet for much longer, anyways, since he is stretching slightly and uncapping his flask with a slosh of the liquid inside to lift to his lips. « If only one could take back one's wishes so easily, » Taeliyth's words are half taunting and half wistful as she shifts to turn around and settle, her eyes going to her rider, her interest obvious in the cant of her head. What unfolds is as much curiosity for her as anyone else. It's probably good that Dee is as far back as she is given the way she jerks with surprise at the sound of the brownrider's voice. Startled eyes find him and then relax. She takes a breath before she trusts her voice to speak, a slight clearing of her throat preceding her words, "There aren't any in the lake either, but Fort's moonfish can't elude me forever." She considers him a long moment, "Any idea where they might be hiding?" Then, without waiting she turns to cast the rope into the abyss of the night-shrouded bowl. "Do you think there are any? Here? At Fort?" replies R'oan in a low, disbelieving drawl. He doesn't sit up further or make any movement to close the distance between them, instead taking time to study the goldrider from behind. "You'd have better luck back at Southern." « I can. I do. I did, » is so simple where Etrevth offers it in a counter to Taeliyth, watching the young gold for a moment before he shifts to spread his wings and look over the Weyr for a moment, ready to do something as the cast line draws his attention. "If I catch one, I'll wish it so," Dee answers with a small smile. "I feel like I've been devoid of wishes a long time. It's time to have some in spite of all the odds." She rests the pole between her thighs, fingers curled around the base, as relaxed as if she bobbed on a raft and wasn't settled on hard, slick stone with a drizzle matting her short hair to her head and drawing drainage lines down her cheeks. "Are you going to share? I might have better luck if you did," she notes, humor still lightly touching her tone for all that there seems to be something not yet right beneath the hopeful act. Taeliyth shifts her head so she can turn her obvious curiosity on Etrevth, « It's interesting that you think so, » she subtly emphasizes with too much innocence. R'oan tosses that flask to Dee, the slosh of it towards her a warning given before he does. "You need all the luck you can get," is his dry answer, leaning back against the finger stone with that task accomplished as grey-green eyes flick towards Taeliyth and Etrevth. The latter exhales what might be a draconic laugh, dry, as he settles back with a quick beat of wings before he folds them against his sides. « I am a very interesting dragon, » is all he dismisses of her subtle innocence. Dee tucks the pole more securely so she can twist her upper body to reach for the flask, but she fumbles, the thing tipping off a finger and skittering to the ground some inches away. She scoots forward so she can bend and reach for it before straightening. She squints an inspection to see if there are obvious dents before settling in again to unscrew the top. "I suspect I will. For that and so many other things." She takes a sip before she asks, "Have you been well? I haven't seen you since... well, a long time." She glances toward the brownrider and then back to the flask. « Oh? » It's a puzzled sound. Taeliyth lets the silence hang a moment, the wind not even daring move the branches of her wood, then, dismissively, « No, I can't see it. » « You're too young to know better, » is Etrevth's amused response, the laughter that twines with smoke coming at her expense before the older dragon shifts to withdraw his mind from hers. R'oan's response isn't any better, not where he dismisses, "And why should you? You're a weyrling. I am a wingrider. I go to drills," sometimes, "and do my duties," mostly, "and the rest of my time is my own. I'd rather not spend it around here." He doesn't seem concerned about the flask. Maybe, even, it's his gift to her, since he only looks away from it and her to the bowl instead. « Oh, yes, I'm sure that's it, » is too grave to be in any way serious, but beyond making the remark, Taeliyth makes no attempt to curb the brown's mental retreat. Dee, on the other hand, frowns slightly at the response given her. "I suppose that makes sense. You didn't much have a desire to see me before I Impressed and I suppose with how you and your dragon seem to feel about me and mine, I oughtn't be disappointed," and yet it would seem she is. She shifts the flask to lean against her thigh so she can take up the pole with renewed purpose, drawing the pendulous rope back to cast it again, farther afield before it settles to dangle and to drift in the current made of lazy wind that is companion to the rain. "It has nothing to do with you, personally. Just as much as any of those bronzeriders that are going to start hanging around like vultures has anything to do with you, either," dismisses R'oan, only a buried hint of tenderness to what could be an assurance in another light as his hooded gaze draws back to Dee when she casts her line again. "There's nothing wrong with you." He does glance, briefly, towards the light, golden hide nearby before he shrugs up a shoulder. "Yeah, but you, like the rest of them, seem to have an awful lot of trouble seeing the difference." Dee answers with a little sigh, looking at her rope. "I might spend one of my wishes on bronzerider repellent or pesticide, just now. What would you wish for tonight, R'oan?" As ever when she asks this question, it seem to carry genuine interest in the answer. "After more wishes," she amends it quickly, the smile she flashes him a small and soft thing. "You're going to be our next Weyrwoman, Dee," is R'oan's quiet answer to that, the softness hiding the edge to his words in answer for her sigh. "There's a difference, but it doesn't matter. No one can separate it out anymore." But he falls silent at the question, dragging fingers through wet hair as his gaze returns once again to the Weyr below them. "To be far away from here, tonight." "Elaruth might rise again first. Eliyaveith might come back." Dee says both in a way that is somehow less a real hope than the moonfish she's seeking nibbles from. She stares at the dark and then looks toward the brownrider, "It's not as good, but you could come closer, though I didn't bring a second pole." She does have the flask though, which she proves as she tucks the pole in between her thighs again and picks up the flask to open it and take another sip. "Hattie gave up the knot. Lilah's gone. You're our next Weyrwoman, and you're out here fishing." For all that his words could be mean, and certainly he's said mean things before, there's something gentle in the way R'oan points this out to Dee. Maybe it's just that he's finally shifting closer to her, not reaching to reclaim that flask but settling next to her. Dee's eyes focus on the pole and follow it up and the down the string to where it vanishes in the darkness. Her eyes linger there before she asks, without a glance toward the brownrider and in a quiet voice, "If I'm Fort's next Weyrwoman," if, "isn't it my place to make wishes for Fort?" Only then does she look toward the older man, her expression seeking genuine answer. "Who if not we?" She gives a glance to Taeliyth who is still holding herself enough apart to indicate her observer status, but she's still here, so that says something surely. R'oan shakes his head in a silent answer of his own, but he does lift fingers to brush a wet piece of Dee's dark hair behind her ear. "I'd start making plans, not wishes, if I were you," he murmurs in dry advice, knuckles lingering a moment against her cheek before they fall away. "But then, I'm just a drunken wingrider. Not a leader." Dee's lips curl in a small smile without restraint at the gesture. She shakes her head very slightly. "That must be why you give such good advice." She murmurs, shifting a little so that she can lean a little against him, the contact light. "I don't suppose you have any brilliant ideas about plans you would make if you ever found yourself suddenly the leader of the Weyr filed away just in case. Ones you'd be willing to share?" She doesn't sound like she's really holding out hope for that either, but may as well ask. "I wouldn't be," is R'oan's amused response, exhaled out, even as he slides an arm around her even when she leans. It's a protective gesture, half for the rain and half for something unspoken, and some affirmation that he doesn't mind her affection. For all that Etrevth is still a stubborn counterpart where he keeps himself well away from Taeliyth, mentally and physically. "If you'd asked me a little more than a month ago, I'd've said the same thing." Dee's murmur is soft and sad, but that warrants a drink. "I'm still not allowed to drink until I see moonfish, and you're on duty, I think," thinks, but isn't pressing the question, "so you probably can't either, but that doesn't mean we can't keep each other company a while." She'll even tilt her head to comfortably lean it against his shoulders as she repositions the pole. "I got a new weyr today. Somehow, I just needed to find a way to bring part of myself here, to this place, my h-home," there's a stumble over the word, and she closes her eyes briefly. "Fishing for wishes might be silly, but it's better than not wishing at all." She thinks, she hopes, "Do you want a turn?" is asked with renewed humor, something about articulating that aloud making her at once seem easier in herself, her smile more vibrant as she directs it up at him, touched with a playfulness that's been too absent for months. There's a laugh for the question, for her statements, but it doesn't seem to be at her. R'oan will reach to take that pole, murmuring something about it being his wingleader's fault for putting him up here at night in the first place. And he will drink, sharing that flask as he holds the pole. Maybe he will even be the one to catch the moonfish, but if not, at least he's willing to keep her company and try. |
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