Logs:Clear Air
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| RL Date: 27 July, 2014 |
| Who: Alida, G'laer, Ilicaeth, Teisyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After the botched distress call, Alida and G'laer clear the air. |
| Where: Southern Rim, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 5, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'rist/Mentions, Gheara/Mentions, Oliwer/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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| Southern Rim of the Bowl, High Reaches Weyr Directly opposite the sharp spikes of the Reaches' characteristic spires lies the bowl's south rim, from above seeming pinched like a baker's pie crust to form this distinctive lip: a soft curve, several dragonlengths long but only four lengths wide before narrowing into impassable crags. It would have to be an apprentice effort, however, given how even the flatter area is riddled with cracks and hollows, dusted with glittery silicate quartz that is far more gritty than sweet. Though the view down into the bowl is commanding, the views beyond it can be absolutely breathtaking on clear days: eternally snow-capped mountains descending to high-altitude meadows and the dark brush of evergreens, and greener valleys beyond even those, with only glimpses here and there of human habitation. But the views come with a risk: the wind can blow hard and strong, and whether looking inward or outward, there is no protection from the precipitous chasms that fall away from these heights. Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air.
Not much is habitual for Alida, unless it has to be or she wants it to be, and so the presence of the blonde and her lifemate blinking in from Between - the rocky blue warbling a low greeting to the vaning Teisyth - then gliding down to a backwinging settle upon the Rim likely comes as a slight surprise. Not many who don't need to be are usually up at this time, after all. Slowly folding his eye-marked wings in against his back and sides, 'caeth then cautiously sidesteps until he's within easy walking distance of the human over there, where his rider then clambers off his neck, and down to the rock. A firm clap of her gloved hand to Ilicaeth's nearest leg produces a soft chuff from the dragon, who settles down to suck up some of the sun's warmth while looking upward, perhaps conversing with the green as 'lida strolls casually over toward G'laer. Once closer, able to easily observe him, "You look like shit, buddy," flows from her mouth as easily as anyone else's typical greeting. Teisyth answers in her usual fashion, a cheery bugle-honk before she's too far off in the bowl to really contribute to the interaction as the blue goes down for a landing. Six days is enough time for the dragon to forget at least. Still, G'laer doesn't seem to be holding any grudges as he grunts, his eyes having followed Alida from approach to approach. "Shockingly," he starts, tone lacking emotion, "It feels like it looks." He's not one to pretend it doesn't. He sips from the thermos then offers it toward her. "Breakfast tea." He labels it. Or not. Ilicaeth's fine with silence right now, the blue rumbling with quiet pleasure as he falls into a faint doze under the rays of the rising sun's influence, his wings slowly, incrementally loosening from his sides during the process, his eyes inner lidding. His rider looks none too fresh, either; and though Alida's not dusty or smelly, she is a bit rumpled-looking, hints of circles beneath her eyes perhaps hinting at a lack of decent sleep. She too seems to be holding no grudge after their aborted 'mission,' the bluie nodding once at the man's words of his present pain, then accepting the offered thermos from him with a gracious, "Thank you..." before she takes a sniff, then a careful sip. Ahhh. "Yer own blend?" "Gran's, but I make it well enough." Citing the artist versus the man who knows how to follow a recipe. G'laer shifts slightly on the rock, angling a little more toward the blonde. "Long night?" He asks simply. "Both count..." Alida comments casually, sipping the brew again, then passing the thermos back over to G'laer, her greens cast out, down on the quiet Bowl far beneath them. "Mhm..." the blonde in flying gear murmurs, slowly lifting a hand to apply thumb and index fingers to the inner corners of her eyes, rubbing away the grit. "Any more peeps from yer sources?" "None as yet, but I've not had time since the hatching to range out far," G'laer answers before taking his own sip. "Since I'm no longer working with the weyrlings," as he was just two days prior, and before the seven of his sickness, "I suspect I'll make the rounds within a seven or two. Anything in particular you want me to put out feelers for?" She'd heard off the grape vine about G'laer's withdrawl from the ranks of the Weyrlingmaster camp, and when he reveals such, Alida offers a faint nod, then a low, "Ever think uv' becomin' an herbalist?" It's soon back to 'business' with his next words, the woman allowing a look of want mixed with irritation to slip over her features. "Yer likely lookin' for a cothold 'r small hold uv some sort...upriver an' inland from Monaco Weyr. Likely a male holder." Pause. "Maybe somethin' ta do with animals." Puff. "I know that's a lot'a prospects, but they're all I got." She sounds rather frustrated, looks it as well, like a wild cat pacing the inside of its cage. "I'm a rider," comes G'laer's sardonic response to the first. "I assist the dragonhealers already." Yes, his fingers are in many pies. "I doubt my sources will have news that's so far afield as Monaco, but I can ask." It's candid but not detailed. That's all she can ask of him - doing his best in the continual search for information - and so frustrated Alida has to put her 'pot' on the back burner once more, the one that's been simmering for Turns on end. At least there's something else at this moment to take up her attention, and G'laer's dark humor inspires a clipped, "Well... what else 'r ya' interested in?" "Riders don't get to have interests," G'laer says with a snort. Obviously, this is tongue-in-cheek though his tone doesn't show it. "Riders get to have sweeps, and duties, and yes-ma'am-can-I-have-anothers." His teeth clench which, in turn, tightens skin on his face and has him wincing almost immediately. Even G'laers feel pain, it would seem. "Runner shit..." Alida replies with flippant wryness, one of her gloved hands emoting a casual gesture of negation upon the air. "Fuck 'em right up the aisle..." she then follows with restrained hints of honest fire, a flash of green eyes burrowing into G'laer's blues. As for his pain, there's a lightly waggled point finger between them, and a slightly smirky, "Gotta be a good boy, 'r Oli'll chain ya to the bed." Snerk. There's a bit of companionable silence for some moments, the bluerider once more casting her gaze out and down upon the Bowl, then up and beyond, towards the northern sky. Her features sober up rather quickly as her mind turns suddenly, and it's with eyes still upon the air that the bluie quietly inquires, "Were we too late?" Beat. "Earlier?" When she was girded for battle on the back of her blue 'charger,' readied upon Teisyth's ledge. G'laer lets a half smirk slip, but that only has him wincing again. "I'd like to see him try with me well and Teisyth not a willing accomplice." Although, is she ever not Oliwer's willing accomplice? Which man is she Impressed to again? "An evening's entertainment," the greenrider decides the attempt would be. But the rest is more serious. "Ilicaeth was insulting." It's simple. "He phrased things to Teisyth like she was incompetent, or perhaps even a subordinate. Neither of which she is." They're not claiming to rank on the blue pair, either. "She and I have both had more than enough of people in this shithole," that's right, he said it, "questioning her and her abilities. She's not perfect, but she's a damned fine dragon and it would do well for those who wish to be friendly with us to remember that and grant her the respect she deserves." It's a little bit of a tirade, even if G'laer's voice never rises and the tone never shifts away from candid calm. "She is not a child; she is a dragon. And my lifemate," he adds with finality. That last alone should warrant greater care, the words seem to imply. There's only a knowing little smirk from the bluerider at G'laer's words, the woman shaking her braided head a few times in silent humor...before she slowly swivels her head to the side to look at her contemporary in honest surprise. Blink. After a few moments to consult with her lifemate, the blonde's concentration returns to the man beside her, and Alida murmurs seriously, "He doesn't even remember." Typical draconic memory. "We don' often make excuses fer one another..." it's just how they are "...but I'll honestly say that 'caeth's got a really wicked sense uv the ironic on 'im." A long breath puffs out of the bluerider's chest, and she nods to herself, then notes in a perhaps oddly formal tone - as one guard of equal rank addressing another - "He said ta tell ya 'Sorry fer that...'" Pause. "He's already spoken ta Teisyth, though - again - he doesn't remember, uv course." As for the green being G'laer's lifemate, there's a definite nod from the woman, who then tries to move past this little knot with a quiet, but firm, "You got it handled, then." Not a question. In soldierly, yet unmistakably comraderly fashion, « I know ya don't remember more than what I do, but... » The day of their precipitous arrival on Teisyth's ledge, along with the sudden abort of the mission by G'laer blossoms into the blue's mind in images and emotions. It's quickly followed by, « Apparently, somethin' you said ta Teisyth really upset her 'n G'laer. That's why he called off the mission. » Though the woman doesn't stint words, she's still fully supportive of her lifemate. (Alida to Ilicaeth) He's focused fully on Alida, Ilicaeth soon turning over the generalities and details of what his rider remembers in his own mind, rumbling a rather thoughtful notes of sand scouring metal. Not casually, but bluntly, his raspy baritone states, « Don' remember... » Of course. He accepts his short memory with a shrug. « I'll handle it, 'lida. » Promise and simple acceptance color his bob of blowing sands, the 'guard-dragon' efficient at times like these. « Give 'im my pardons for it. » He'll speak directly to Teisyth. Nothing like a mix of professional and personal to make things all mixed up. Eyeroll. (Ilicaeth to Alida) His sands are more a drifting of minute granules across the ground, some of them skating lightly across the metal that is the green as he reaches out to her. « Pardon me fer upsetting you. » is rumbled out as informally as possible. For those days ago. He just doesn't remember the whys. (To Teisyth from Ilicaeth) « What? » Teisyth is confused because ... well, her memory is worse than the average dragon's, and things that upset her aren't likely the sorts of things that G'laer's going to offer up for her to brood over when he has to hear every moment of that brooding, and feel it. The only sense that comes from the green's mind is the sheer joy of flight as she rumbles around the bowl of the sky, racing from spire to spire and around and over and back again. « I don't feel upset! I feel haaaappppyyyyyyy! » Of course she does, she's Teisyth. "It's not ironic to treat her like a hatchling when she's full grown and my lifemate." This is an important point as G'laer stresses it a second time. "It's done now. Just see that he treats her as a competent equal from now on and we'll have no need to dwell on it. The matter was handled." And these bruises all over his face are too fresh to likely be related. It's a moment later that he says, "She seems simple, I know. But there's more there than meets the eye. You treat me as an equal though there's differences enough between us; he just needs to do the same for her. And to be a little less pushy sometimes. With the touching. It makes her uncomfortable. The only dragon she's really very physical with is Lythronath and--" He thinks how to put it, "She's had a special understanding with him since they broke shell." It's a siblings thing. He sips from the thermos again. Yeah, he figured she'd be as much in the dark as he was. « Don' worry, toots. All taken care uv. » Ilicaeth rasps dryly to the green, his golden grains of arid sand swirling in eddies in the wake of her flying form. He'll just sample her joy, and allow it to ease him back into a certain somnolescence. (To Teisyth from Ilicaeth) Alida gets the feeling of 'all taken care of, relax,' from her lifemate, the woman trusting him enough to let the matter between dragons lie, instead applying her focus to the more testy of the green pair, instead. With G'laer's words of Teisyth and himself comes a hint of defensiveness, though she wrestles it down with some effort, given this is a buddy she's speaking with, the woman nodding fractionally to her companion. "He'll do 'is best...as much as any dragon can." Draconic memory, again, being what it is. Blink. "Ilicaeth aint super touchy feely. When did 'e touch 'er?" Pause. "You mean all the time, 'r during 'er..." Hand wave. "Proddy times." Head-cock. "Lythronath?" is inquired in a tone of 'Really?' More subdued, "Still don't know what that bronze's got against blues..." Eyeroll. "Not all the times. The times when he tries to get her snugged along his side and such." But G'laer is rising. If Alida and Ilicaeth don't remember, he's not apparently going to rattle off the dates and event reports like the guard he once was. He leaves the Lythronath matter to hang but has a brief nod for the blue's efforts. Then simply, "Sweeps," a single word to explain his abrupt move to meet Teisyth as she alights briefly on the rim to collect him, and then they're gone; off to do their dragonriderly duties. |
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