Logs:Certainly Suspicious
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 9 November, 2012 |
| Who: H'kon, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Doing his duty, H'kon reports to weyrwoman Azaylia. She doesn't like what he has to say. |
| Where: Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 3, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions, Brieli/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions, Barnabas/Mentions |
| Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs which circle the hearth and the blue rug in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia. Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr despite the newest resident's attempts at tidying what she can when it comes to the piles of hidework on her desk. Behind the workspace, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows, comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries. Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. One of the walls has a full sized quilt pulled taut and secure to reveal the work that went into it. It has a decorative border and a pieced-together design in the middle: the spires of High Reaches, with a tawny gold dragon high above, flying through the blue sky. Embroidered into the lower corner is an 'M' to signify the maker. The hearth is also brand new, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced. These are not the only oddities to be found within their home... Animal remains litter the otherwise comforting space, the majority made up of the heads of various Pernese creatures. Clean and bleached, the largest of the leg bones and skulls are typically featured around Hraedhyth's wallow, some splintered and broken where the urge to gnaw became too great. The smaller, more intricate trophies can be found throughout the weyr. Several are on the mantel, along with a set of carved and painted animal figurines: a runner, bovine, llama, porcine, ovine, horned caprine, pointed-eared canine and lastly, a tiny wherry chick. A ram's head has been painted black and blue and acts as a lovely centerpiece atop the low table, fresh flowers sticking out of it's eye sockets. Why, there are even one or two being used as weights for some of Azaylia's hidework. « We are coming. » There's no request for permission in Arekoth's oddly serious tones, rising on determined and urgent arcs of brilliant yellow from his nightsky mind. The rare imagery doesn't last, perhaps a fault of Arekoth's talking to one of the Glacier dragons, while H'kon speaks with the guarding rider. They gain admittance one way or another, and the speckled brown backwings to land on Hraedhyth's ledge, crouching, not without a low hiss leftover from his more recent encounter. H'kon comes up from the bowl, on foot, and so is a bit later in gaining the weyr's entrance. Hraedhyth is there in an instant, warmth bleeding through the connection she shares with all of the dragons of High Reaches Weyr. « You are welcome. » Far from her former glory, the queen has at least been bathed and oiled recently. She lays half on her ledge, her back end further in the weyr with a green near her chest and a bronze curled against her side. It's crowded, but they will somehow manage to make room for Arekoth. Her head lifts at his hiss, canting faintly to the side. « What. » Azaylia is in a similar situation within her weyr which is populated with several riders and weyrfolk alike. H'kon's entrance doesn't earn her attention just yet, the junior's hand resting on an old auntie's shoulder. They're speaking softly so as not to wake the young boy half-curled in her lap. Arekoth does not so much mind the group of dragons as H'kon does the group of people. No sooner than he's taken in his environs, he's frowning. He waits until there seems a natural enough lull in the conversation, though "Weyrwoman," comes with no small amount of tension behind it. The sharp lift of his head from that child to Azaylia to go with the address is not urgent, so much as pressing - as a heavy burden might. "I would speak with you in private when you can." « We need to talk, » is forcibly held back, H'kon's halting influence not quite managing to keep back flecks of rage that try to set off auroral reactions. Azaylia is visibly startled, shoulders jumping at the sound of H'kon's voice, though she manages to keep her touch on the old woman steady. "Excuse me." Gently, the junior gives a faint incline of her head before turning to face the brownrider. With dark circles under her eyes and too-sharp cheekbones, she still manages a smile for H'kon. It looks only slightly forced, face muscles tired from use, "We can talk now. I don't have anyone in my bedroom." Long, drab, gray dress gets in the way of her bare feet as she takes a step or two before pausing for his answer. « What. » Hraedhyth demands once more, slack muscles tensing beneath her ashen hide, disturbing the bodies around her. « Did something happen? » Not again. The drums intensify, « Who is hurt? WHAT. » « No, » would be petulant if not for the fire underlying Arekoth's voice. The brown shifts his wings, takes a few tiny steps, but soon has to settle on account of the limited space. « I will tell you. » Soon, maybe. In the weyr, the brownrider's face is taut, eyes slightly unfocused. It takes him a moment to nod to Azaylia, but when he does, those short legs move quickly, and he even reaches a hand, half an escort, half a push, for her elbow. Hraedhyth reaches over, stocky neck craning as much as it can to thunk her brow against his. It's meant to be comforting. Or, a little force to loosen the tongue in his head. « What. » Azaylia continues when H'kon begins to move, a fearful squeak drawing several eyes as he escorts her to the bedchamber. Only when they're out of sight does she take an unsteady step away, staring at the brownrider with a hint of fear in her eyes. It seems as though she's caught on to her own dragon's upset. "W... what is it?" She swallows, straightening up, losing her stutter in order to address him, "H'kon?" Arekoth's wings threaten to spread wide, but he holds himself back. Best not to smack that green in the face. At least, not until the moment is right, which it certainly isn't now. In the bedchamber, H'kon may as well have been follow-leading the weyrwoman to his brother's funeral, for as cheery as he looks. The little sigh that preempts his words is not so much a yielding as it is a representation of the necessity he imagines. "I have reason to suspect I'kris for the weyrwoman's murder." Arekoth would be relieved if he weren't so vengeful in finally getting out, « Svissath's. » Hraedhyth's own sails fan slightly, shifting forward to cast the dragons nearby in her protective shadow. Oversized jaws are bared for only a moment, a rumbled reprimand for coming to her just to be upsetting. And not telling her anything. Azaylia takes a step or two closer to the wall and incidentally, the way out of the chamber. She doesn't flee, keeping her ground and giving H'kon all of her attention. Even as he says the words, tired eyes are glazed over for several moments after until, "You... what?" No laughter, no attempts to brush the accusation off as nothing. "That... you can't say that, H'kon." Her lips are tugged into a frown. Outside, Hraedhyth's eyes are flecked with yellow and red, fighting to remain blue as she pulls her wings tight against herself. « Svissath's. » "I must say this," is a snap, and he shifts on his feet, not exactly forward, but certainly changing his angle in relation to the weyrwoman. "We were speaking about the situation, he became completely defensive and brought up the murder, he would not be calmed." His lip curls, but the usually taciturn brownrider doesn't stop, keeping up the barrage of quickly-spaced words. "I do not believe there is danger to you, Lujayn or Brieli from him, even if our suspicions are correct. There is no evidence, at least none I have. But I also do not believe it prudent to allow him to return until this has been pursued." Arekoth is much more succinct, talons flexing against the stone of the ledge, « He did it, » low and menacing. Azaylia flinches, biting back a whimper at the stony brownrider's short fuse. "W... we have a girl. THE girl. She won't talk, but..." Realizing that he doesn't need to know that, she gives a little shake of her head. "Everyone is defensive. And... and scared. You can't... just..." Arms are brought up, fists clenching near her head before the limbs drop, "Just because someone is different doesn't mean they're guilty." Hugging herself, she turns a shoulder on him, "...he's just a b- a boy." A baby. Hraedhyth is far less hesitant, writhing in her spot as blue succumbs to red with not a hint of purple. « Show me. » Tethered just barely by her rider, she won't attack. Yet. « P... Proof. » The word is unfamiliar, snatched from her rider's thoughts. « SHOW ME. » H'kon's face contorts, a momentary lack of understanding. "A girl," is repeated, before his mouth twists into one of those pained smiles, this one a bit bitter. "I would not come to you if I was not- no. I am not certain, as Arekoth is." This time, the sigh is frustrated, bordering on overwhelmed. H'kon shifts his position again. "He has the makings of a good man. And Iolene was a poor weyrwoman. He will need an advocate, and I am not likely to be there. And I will also have to tell what I have seen to B'sil and the other weyrwomen." Arekoth does one better than H'kon's quipped explanations. He stares full-on at the gold, and shoves at her mind with flashes of I'kris's near-maniacal voice, the smell of his fear, the look in his eyes, the protest upon protest... And Svissath's one, « No, » rising from silence. Azaylia chokes, whirling to face him with intent as well as Hraedhyth's fire in her wide eyes. Her arm spasms. She wants to slap him. The urge lasts all of one second. "She did her best. It's hard." Is quiet, firm, not something she's willing to argue. "You can tell them whatever you want..." She's back to hugging herself, facing the brownrider and searching his face. "Do... you know how you come off, sometimes? You're scary." Hraedhyth is no longer a source of comfort, both dragons taking flight as her muscles continue to spasm. She's barely restrained, greedily snapping up the images of I'kris that Arekoth is feeding her. The gold's wings fly open, muscles ready to launch her into the sky, ready to take action, to take reve... "NO!" Azaylia cries from her room, staring through the walls with wide eyes, an arm outstretched in the direction of their ledge. It's enough to bring Glacier riders running, along with some overly nosy weyrfolk. Hraedhyth remains where she is, quivering with fury. Thirsty for vengeance. For justice. H'kon accepts the goldrider's defense of Iolene with closed mouth, bowing his head a little, though green eyes stay focused up at her. "As you say," contains more frustration than his usually, and a fatigue edging in. Being called scary is not something he rolls over for, nor something he fights; it puzzles him, and it shows in the way his eyebrows draw together, softening his face for all it gives it more lines. Arekoth rides Hraedhyth's impulse, skies flashing again, fierce greens, too-bright, as he spreads his own wings. The sound of bootfalls, his dragon's spike of energy, are enough to have H'kon reach for her arm again. "You must not confront him alone. Fear is dangerous. You must not let him be harmed until-" and that would be when he turns to face a shouting Glacier rider, teeth setting together, words cut off. Hraedhyth strains against her rider's will, head thrown up to give a furious roar that is born of her helplessness. When there's no breath left in massive lungs, she slumps to give Arekoth a low snarl. « I, » Drums thunder on, close to drowning out her low voice, « We... will not act until we are sure. » And that goes double for Arekoth and his. "I'm fine." Azaylia struggles to be heard over the shouting, her hand moving to rest a hand atop H'kon's arm. See? She's being held by choice. "It's fine. P-Please. Hraedhyth is just upset. He's fine." It will take some time to convince them to leave, a particularly stubborn rider taking longer than most. When she's successfully shooed, "I'm not going to confront anyone. And I'm definitely not going to harm him." Azaylia faces H'kon, hands lifting to cup her nose and mouth, eyes closing in thought. "I want to... Wait and see what the others say. Brieli. B'sil. I... don't want to believe he could ever..." Words fail her. At other times, « You're just like him, » would have had humour in it. Not so this time, as the brown folds back his wings, and digs into Hraedhyth's ledge a little. Those colours disappear from his thoughts almost instantly once wings are settled. When that last rider leaves, H'kon raises his chin just a bit as parting challenge. He lets Azaylia speak, and finally nods when her words dwindle. "Arekoth had his suspicions, but he can be... fiery. If I'kris had not implicated himself," and the shrug doesn't quite pull itself off. H'kon forcibly rolls his shoulders back. "There's a great deal any of us likely could do, if the reasons were right." Hraedhyth may not be able to go after the real culprit, (Not yet. Soon.) but she sure as hell can take it out on Arekoth. Inactive muscles are that no longer, lunging at the brown with a bellow and spread wings, looking to chase him right off her ledge. Just like him, is she!? Azaylia opens her eyes, peering over the pyramid of fingers still pressed to her face. Her hands lower, and she swallows, trying to process all he's said. "We can't just... He's from Monaco." Politics. She's never had a mind for them before, but even she can't ignore how bad it would look. "Hraedhyth won't let him leave, but... Oh H'kon, how could you think that he..?" Cutting herself off, there's a look of pain on her face before she forces herself to whisper, "Thank you for... for reporting to me." Rather than just acting on his suspicions. H'kon gives, "And that is a part of why he must not be harmed," in agreement. "And I did not just 'think' it," is almost spat at her. On the ledge, Arekoth squawks something at Hraedhyth, and shoots that hooked nose of his back at her, his own wings flaring and flapping, not for lift-off, but to push wind back at the gold, a scolding for her before he turns and does take to the air. Though only to hover nearby. In the weyr, H'kon ducks his head to Azaylia, this time as acknowledgement of thanks. "I offered him what protection I might. If he comes to me... well, you will know it. My duty is first to this Weyr." He starts to shift, half-turned when he pauses. "Azaylia," sounds fully tired, almost pleading. "You must look to your own safety more now." The look back to her is a fatigued sort of smile that seems fully alien and uninvited on his face. "No drinking of random things at parties, anything like that." Azaylia must realize Hraedhyth would never really hurt one of her own, to let the gold carry on in such a fashion. Not that Arekoth needs to know that, oversized jaws slathered with drool and snap-snapping at the wind created by his wings. Inside, it's much calmer. The junior doesn't respond to much of what H'kon says, looking even more exhausted than before he had told her anything. Azaylia gives a weak hum at the sound of her name, staring at H'kon's deformed expression. Oh wait, no. He's smiling. It unnerves her so badly that she's unable to return it, "I don't think there will be any parties for a long, long time." Her words are carried on a sigh, quiet and sad, "I'm careful. But... the Weyr comes first." "You are the Weyr -- to a greater extent at least than any wingrider or caverns woman. I don't mean to be telling you to hide away. Only," and he inclines his head a bit, "to tread more carefully than I've seen you do in the past." There's a wince that ends that smile, and the fatigue might be blamed for this would-be calling-out of a goldrider. "Carefully placed steps are stronger, and that sort of walk can become habit easily enough, if practiced." Arekoth might have flexed his injured limb, if he weren't airborne and taunting Hraedhyth, more out of too much compacted energy than any animosity toward the queen. Another sigh, this one slightly more fearful, "No more hiding away. Brieli would kill- uhmhm." Azaylia's unable to finish that sentance, as harmless as it is. "There are three more weyrwomen." Three more queens to keep the weyr safe. Not that Hraedhyth's the best example at the moment, launching into the air after Arekoth with another roar. She has energy to burn off as well, and chasing the agile brown through the sky sounds really good right about now. Now it's Azaylia's turn to approach the brownrider, hand finding his elbow, the other resting on his arm. "I know." Not quite brushing him off, but surely she's heard plenty of warnings since it happened. "Come sit with us. I'm only letting klah into the weyr for now, and only after Bones tastes it." The stray is good for something, apparently. "All of them different," H'kon notes cryptically on the subject of weyrwomen. With Arekoth making one talon-reaching dive at Hraedhyth, not too close, though he might catch her on accident, and then spiralling off skyward at full tilt... H'kon can only nod to the invitation. "For a while." His hand - not on the arm she's touched - comes up to rub at his temples. "There are things I must see to after," comes with eyes closed, with his face twisting for a moment to look almost as if he's on the verge of tears. But when he drops his hand and looks to Azaylia, those eyes are simply weary, and entirely dry. Azaylia glances down at H'kon's twisted expression, her own brows furrowing with worry. She squeezes his arm, trying to offer strength when she's run out a long time ago. "Just for a little bit." She echoes in her own way, head resting against his only until they've reached the main room. Then he'll be allowed to stand, or sit, on his own as she tends to the others. Hraedhyth's darkly dappled hide is marked with plenty of scars already, many from weyrlinghood, most from the queen simply being who she is. How she is. What's a few more gained? When the chase finally ends, be it peacefully or confrontational, the brown might be invited to recover on her ledge. Maybe. Only for as long as his rider stays. |
Leave A Comment