Logs:Challenging And/Or Difficult
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| RL Date: 28 April, 2015 |
| Who: Quinlys, Z'kiel |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys checks in with Z'kiel. Ahtzudaeth and Olveraeth dicuss challenges. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 8, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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| It's a fine afternoon shading into early evening; the temperature is pleasant and the skies are clear, which makes it an exquisite time for young dragons to be outside and enjoying the fresh air. Ahtzudaeth is no exception, either. The long-limbed bronze is taking his time strolling about, with well-timed flexings of his wings. Step, stretch; step, stretch. Z'kiel, too, is taking advantage of the weather and his lifemate's mood; he's going through a familiar circuit of exercises and has clearly been at it for some time. Periodic grunts from man and dragon alike suggest either oddly timed needs to exhale - or else they're lost in some kind of conversation while they work. Classes may have been finished for the afternoon for some time, but Quinlys has stayed in the barracks: there are always weyrling questions and needs to attend to, not to mention paperwork and other bits of administrative minutiae. Now, with evening incoming, the red-haired weyrlingmaster lopes her way out into the lingering warmth, pausing alongside her waiting blue to press one hand to his forelimb; a gesture of quiet contemplation and communion. He's had at least half an eye on Z'kiel and Ahtzudaeth for a while, now, but she only seems to notice them belatedly, half-turning to watch only after (it seems likely) some silent comment from Olveraeth. Perhaps they're both aware. Perhaps only one is. In either case, it's not long at all before Ahtzudaeth's mental voice rises with familiar warmth: « Greetings, Olveraeth. » He doesn't stop his strut-stretching, though; exercise is important, after all! Nor does Z'kiel cease entirely, though he does briefly stop long enough to snap off a curt salute to Quinlys and her lifemate. But, there's naught to say; not on his end, at any rate, and he continues through his circuit - which has transitioned to the Pernese equivalent of burpees. For his part, though, the bronze shifts his course to come closer - step by step - to where the Weyrlingmaster pair are. « Good afternoon, Ahtzudaeth, » answers Olveraeth, stars stretching off into infinity as he extends that mental touch in response. He's content, in repose; there's approval in his thoughts for the younger dragon's industry, though he evidently sees no personal need to join in. As the bronze approaches, however, he straightens, wings drawn back; it sets Quinlys to straightening, too, though she is also more focused on Z'kiel-- on returning that salute, sharply enough, and on watching his progress, too-- than his dragon. "He's looking well," is offered neutrally; plainly, she doesn't have anything in particular to say, either. « I trust you and yours are well? » Ahtzudaeth's mental presence is comforting and nebulous at the same time; like so much pipe smoke, swirling about in pleasantly-scented whorls. It gathers among the stars and swirls ever onward to explore those infinite depths. His strut-stretches slow and eventually stop by the time he's a scant handful of feet away. His attention shifts back to Z'kiel, mirth coloring his psyche. No words are said; just a general sense of amusement that mingles with the rest. And of the Igenite? He huffs between reps and manages to grunt out, "Strongblood," in response. "Strong-willed," too. At least the neutrality is shared; perhaps it helps that he's mostly out of breath. Quinlys', "Mm," remains neutral. She's certainly not disagreeing with the weyrling's assessment of his dragon, but it doesn't mean she's wholeheartedly in support (it goes without saying, of course, that High Reaches blood would be stronger!). "And how are you?" she wonders, then, rolling her shoulders back, gaze studying Z'kiel with interest. "I understand you would have intended to return to Igen." She is not, notably, smug about this. « Very well, » Olveraeth confirms, letting his stars dance about Ahtzudaeth's swirling smoke. « You and yours too, I hope. » The onset of a conversation seems to frustrate him - but only briefly. Z'kiel's grimace could easily be explained away as he sets into a final drop and press. When he pushes to his feet, neutrality reigns - but he doesn't look directly at her, either. It's a sidelong look coupled with a bland, "I have a few new scars and a few less hours of sleep." A shoulder rises. Falls. "I am as well as can be expected." It's the latter part that has him turning his head away to spit on the ground. "That was my hope," he replies, "as much as my intention." His gaze flicks to the bronze that's now walking in place. "His plans are greater than mine." « We are quite well, thank you. He has his moments, » which is paired with a mental chortle, « but I think he's coming around. » Ahtzudaeth's smoke is short-lived; reduced to an impression of sensation. Mirrors catch and reflect the stars forever in the depths of his mind. Thoughtful. "They have a habit of turning a lot of things upsidedown," muses Quinlys, amused by this, if not-- probably-- by Z'kiel's personal situation. "I don't think anyone ever ends up with what they expect, not wholly. I'm glad to hear that you're doing well, in any case." Her hands get tucked idly in the pockets of her trousers, gaze sliding away from the weyrling, now, and towards his dragon. « They do that, » agrees Olveraeth, with amusement of his own. « They consider us babies, but they need to learn as much as we do. We're their partners and equals; not their accessories. » Fondness for his rider is embedded into the galaxies of his thoughts, but still. "Or setting them to rights, as they see it." Z'kiel sucks his teeth, grunts once, and glances down at his burn-scarred arms. Healed by all practical accounts, the flesh still seems a little raw. Then it's a look to Quinlys, steady and unblinking for the moment. "We're not the ones you'll need to worry about," he observes. "But. Thank you." That last is clearly at some kind of prompting, for Ahtzudaeth physically manages a draconic chuckle afterward. In the realm of minds, the bronze muses, « Oh, I hardly think he'd consider me an accessory. A hindrance, maybe, but, » there is no twinge of pain at the idea, just a deeper blending of mirth and affection for the man, « I prefer to think I'm an obstacle- no. No, a challenge that he'll just have to try to overcome. » There's a mental grin mirrored in a physical gaping of his maw. "No?" Quinlys' smile creeps into place for the first time; not smirky, not mocking, just... somehow, quietly genuine. "I'm glad to hear it. Sadly, I think you'll find I worry about all of you, regardless of how well you seem to be doing. Regardless of anything." Igen, High Reaches; whatever else. « A challenge, » repeats Olveraeth, equally amused by this. « Yes, I think so. They need challenges. They need... pushes, sometimes. And then they challenge us in turn. » He's pleased by this; pleased by the prospect of having his own world-view challenged, as much as he, in turn, challenges hers. « That's the way of it. Partnership. » "Aye, well." Z'kiel rubs down his arms a bit, then hooks his thumbs into his belt loops. "Your worry to spend as you see fit." A lopsided shrug follows. "Just don't know too many folks who have that much to give out." And he's clearly not one of them. Another glance is spared for the bronze - along with a quizzical creasing of his brows - and then he's turning on a heel as if to head back into the barracks. "Need to wash up," is offered as explanation, though it's clear that the dragon-half of the pair isn't moving any time soon. Ahtzudaeth positively basks in Olveraeth's observations. His thoughts brighten all the more as he replies, « Yes. Yes! That is precisely it. I do hope my brothers and sisters are being challenged - and are challenging their chosen. » It's a thought worth exploring at a later time. Not here, not now. "It's my job," says Quinlys, simply. Apparently, she has whole fields of fucks to give. Who knew? She nods her head, short and sharp, in answer to Z'kiel's intent to depart. "Look after yourself," is what she says, gaze sliding to his bronze, instead; dismissed already. « I should imagine they are, » is Olveraeth's nasal-toned answer, amused to the point of twinkling stars. « That is as it should be. Some, I suspect, are proving a little... too challenging, but-- » He exhales. « It only makes us stronger. » A grunt for the first; neither to dispute nor agree, but to acknowledge. It's the next that elicits a dry, "I've done so for this long. I plan on continuing to do so." Z'kiel is gone before the dismissal even comes; a pre-emptive dismissal, perhaps. Regardless, while he tends to what must be done, Ahtzudaeth gives a long, luxurious sort of stretch, right down to a joint-popping flex of wings. « Ah, that feels better, » he merrily notes and then it's right back to the conversation at hand with: « How so? Are they being challenging or difficult? » The distinction, it seems, is critical. « Or are they being disruptive at all? » His thoughts twist over the words, feeling them out and testing their mental mouthfeel. Quinlys' sharp exhale is half-laugh and half-sigh; her head shakes, after the weyrling is gone, and a few moments later she's off herself: off towards the caverns and the promise of dinner. Olveraeth flicks his wings backs again, considering the younger dragon as he adjusts his own position. « Challenging, I think, » he answers, after a moment's pause, as if he has needed to confer with his rider... or perhaps simply extract the relevant information. « Some of your siblings are in a hurry. Most, I think, fall short of being disruptive, I'm pleased to say. It's fascinating, watching you all. » Yes, even you, Ahtzudaeth. A talon taps on the ground while Ahtzudaeth considers the elder dragon's words. « That is quite good to know, » he replies after a fashion. « Not, of course, that they're in a hurry, but that they're not being disruptive. » A few more worlds shift and slide in the ether, but none survive his scrutiny. Instead: « If there are any challenges that you or yours would like to pose to myself or mine, » he offers, « we would be more than happy to take them on. » Earnest, that, much like his next words: « We shall do our best to remain fascinating, Olveraeth. » Olveraeth rustles his wings, now, drawing himself up as if in preparation for movement. « I believe you shall. We will see what you and yours-- what all of you-- are capable of. Have a pleasant evening, Ahtzudaeth. » And he's off: wings outstretched, up into the early-evening air. « It has been a rare pleasure, » Ahtzudaeth offers, along with another gust of pipe-smoke and satisfaction. « Clear skies. » And as the elder dragon departs, the younger does likewise; on the ground, rather that on the wing. This time. |
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