Logs:Clever
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| RL Date: 7 July, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, N'rov |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: N'rov and Vhaeryth come to visit Brieli and Iesaryth. Apparently, correspondence is a good way to get to know someone. |
| Where: Greenhouse, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 3, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, G'zal/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions |
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| A rustic and unadorned vestibule leads in from hewn spiral steps to a refitted ledge, enclosed by limestone pillars. Sturdy wooden framework captures elongated glass panes, tilted to absorb the most light during the day. The wash of heat from within, lush and humid, persists even into the dead of winter; the air is heady with the scent of fresh-turned soil and various flora. Long, deep troughs of soil line the inner stone wall, planted with an assortment of broad, leafy tropicals - practical and decorative alike. Fruit and vegetable baskets hang from rafters, optimizing space, tempting in reach with a perpetually ripening harvest. A series of stone shelving is devoted to flourishing, aromatic herbs and new green shoots; even the softest touch releases a burst of savory scent from tender leaves. Amidst the greenery, a handful of wooden benches have been scattered, making this a temptingly warm and secluded spot to sit. Shuttered vents serve to regulate humidity and heat given off from a small hot spring recessed into an alcove at the back; a secondary pool with cooler waters siphons off to provide a constant, fresh supply for irrigation. A small potting station nearby is cluttered with watering cans and gardening tools of various uses, with a wooden bin for composting materials tucked underneath. It's not snowing today at High Reaches - that's the impression that comes across the distance, borne on ocean tide to Vhaeryth from Iesaryth. There's definitely some ugly-looking clouds on the horizon, threatening doom in the near-future and there's still snow, that never really goes away in the dead of winter - but it's not snowing right now, it's just overcast and cold. There might be an edge of jealousy to accompany the next image, for Brieli's found something close to Monaco in the mountain's chill; tucked away in the weyr, down low in the caverns, where things are made and built, there's a humid green little jewel filled with plants and dirt and warmth that smells and feels green. The goldrider is there, alone, working possibly. « She's free the rest of the day. » Whether her rider is aware of this invitation or not, who knows. Is she? « Are you? » Or is Iesaryth slaving away, her tides shackled to lift little boats up and down, or else creeping at her largest sister's feet? With Vhaeryth's near-immediate reply comes the awareness that they aren't themselves free yet, but they will make themselves so, along with a wordless question: how is his rider to find this private green place, or is that part of the game? In the meantime, there's an impression of snow on the ground but more of those bright skies Fort's had so often of late. She should really see for herself. With a spray of foam for the very idea - creeping at Hraedhyth's feet - Iesaryth finds herself with all the time in the world to sit by the lakeshore in the snow, watching and waiting for an opportunity to take a little trip up to the spires and back. They don't come often. « I have much time. » Dimmed a touch for the reality of the situation, she is nonetheless pleased; pleased enough to offer the route without making anyone work for it - near where she lives, an entrance to the caverns, the home of the makers and growers, beyond that, lush plantlife. For that impression of Fort, there's longing, immediate and sharp. She wants to go already. She knows she can. Laughter aims to lighten that foam even further, to let it bubble up in swirls or even waterfalls: he won't melt. « I have a little time too. I can share. » Vhaeryth doesn't evade the sharpness of her desire, even as he flies from the place she wants to go to the place she is, but rather shares a jungle version of that inside jewel that might diffuse it: a large jungle, that he's barely entered but been curious about, with lianas hanging down and tiny bright creatures and odd, sporadic sounds. Emerging out of between, he dips a wing where she might be able to see it from the lake, but he veers towards the entrance to the caverns she's directed to drop off his rider first. Then he can show up, showily, while his rider wanders in more under the radar, N'rov taking off helmet and flight jacket as he gets inside. And no, he hasn't been afraid to ask directions. Rolling out the tide to greet him, her own amusement glittering on the waves in the sunlight, Iesaryth doesn't expect metal to melt - she'll wash over Vhaeryth when he arrives by the lake, to see if her salt will streak. The large jungle and curiosity both evoke longing, and a sense of memory; she knows not this place, but a place very like it. Though High Reaches is home, that place is home too, home to Leiventh and her clutchmates. « I want to go there too. » She is all unfulfilled longing. Such is growing up, sigh. Apparently, the gold saw fit to inform Brieli; the weyrling is standing beside one of the wooden benches in the place, looking up the path expectantly. She does not have her red hat on for once, given the heat and the humidity, her chin-length hair curling up in a way that's likely annoying her already. When she spots N'rov, she tries not to brighten immediately and mostly manages, but it's there in dark eyes and the half-step she takes towards him. "You're here." N'rov walks in with hat in hand, or rather helmet, and makes as though to hand it to her... but it's only a feint, because he's grinning now, setting it with his jacket on the nearest bench so he can try and steal her hand instead. "Aren't you supposed to be saluting full riders, girl?" he says in mock reproof, all gruff like he's getting over a three-day bender. Vhaeryth's no less with the dramatics, displaying salt smudged across visibly-rusting iron as he lets the tide pull him in... and then aims to shake invisible salt-and-saltwater off onto Iesaryth with a flapping of his wings. « You should go there, » he tells her as though it were that easy. « Do you have any other homes? » Five, ten, fifteen? Raising fine brows, slowly grinning herself, "They don't make us salute. They don't even make us say 'sir' or 'ma'am', but I do anyway, because it seems rude otherwise. -- But not with you." Brieli sounds certain on that last one - that might be a little weird. "And 'girl'?" She'll sound offended, but not so much so that N'rov can't take her hand, that she won't use the momentum of that to pull her in a few steps closer to the bronzerider, tilting her head as she asks, "Do I have anything else to congratulate you for yet? So I can decide how effusive I should be?" For her part, Iesaryth is fascinated by water's effect on metal, even when it's thrown back at her. Vhaeryth's exaggeration is met with bright, wry amusement - very funny. « Just two. Brieli-- » She stops. Nevermind. « I will go there. Will you still come with me? » "Lucky," N'rov teases, and keeps walking, no, promenading with her in hand. "Hematite. I fly with the Weyrleader," his voice now less gruff than grandiose. "You may congratulate me on that. I think... today I won't even be offended by the lack of 'sir,' since after all you knew me when." And he did get away with calling her 'girl.' So far. As for Vhaeryth, he doesn't mind, for all that curiosity reflects that much more brightly between the seasalt's smudges. « Why not? I must see that you are not attacked by ravening beasts. » And in the meantime, he'll sniff around the very physical snowdrifts, great snorting breaths as though to scare out anything that might be lurking here. "I think so," Brieli says, rather loftily, glancing over at N'rov sidelong as they walk. "Did they make you grovel at Fort? And really. Apparently, sometimes you do get what you ask for." She'll do an excellent job of looking impressed at all that grandiosity, pausing in their stroll long enough to lean in close and - if he'll let her - brush a gentle, lingering kiss to his cheek, close to the corner of his mouth. "Congratulations." And then, she's perfectly content to continue to promenade about the greenhouse. Outside, Iesaryth is often all bright flashes of curiosity, so it's hard to ignore Vhaeryth's; even so, she tries, allowing the bronze to shield her from any danger within the snow. « Do you think there are many great ravening beasts? And again, you think I need protecting. » "Once in a while," and then N'rov obligingly holds still enough for her to do what she wants to do. Or, at least, almost still: his cheek can't help but lift in a smile beneath her touch, a smile fuller-fledged on the mouth she doesn't kiss. Nor has he turned into it, but only replies, "Thank you. Not too much groveling yet, no, although I anticipate the opportunity for the future." Moving along the walkway, there are sights to be seen, even if they aren't quite the same as Monaco and only potting stations and the like. « Do you not like being protected? » inquires his dragon. « There must be ravening beasts. They would not be nearly as interesting if there were not. But you may have one of your own, if you would like. » His paw pokes a snowdrift, poke poke poke, even as his rider pokes more lightly against a particularly dangling leaf. "I am still disappointed at the lack of flamethrowers in the offing, you must understand." So kind of him. Brieli is smiling as well, and no longer really has the hair to hide how much, though she tries - dipping her head, letting dark curls cover what they can. Twining long fingers through N'rov's, "What do you think you'll be groveling over? Or is this just a general expectation - that eventually, you'll do something to make your Weyrleader angry with you? Am I right in thinking you're trouble?" Look at her running and hiding amidst the herb gardens. Iesaryth has to consider this for a time before; « I am not sure. It's just that it seems to be assumed that I need it. Do I seem to? » This is now an academic query, dispassionate, not a trap. Always magnanimous, « No. I think you may have the beasts. » It sounds like a lot of effort, Vhaeryth has to understand. Just like the snowdrifts. Likewise watching the poking indoors, the goldrider notes, "I said I could try. I could lose more hair than I have already, you are aware?" "Who am I to say you're wrong?" N'rov replies so very modestly, swinging her hand with his so long as she's holding it and all. What's a touch less teasing is when he goes on to say, "I suspect it's wise to keep some groveling in reserve, so they don't get too used to that. Too much and you'll hear, 'Backbone, boy!' One of my clutchmates, the other day..." He looks down at Brieli, not that it's very far down at all. "Or should I be keeping it light? Lighter." His free hand sneaks up and back, behind his neck, the better to try and tousle the hair of which she speaks. Vhaeryth, meanwhile, is mostly left with just a cold paw; he licks at it, only to have his tongue start to stick to one talon. He tugs, coughs heatedly, and pulls it free. « Don't do that, » he notes. What he just did. « You might not need to. But perhaps you will not let us, later, when you are grown. » Swinging joined hands as well, glancing down at them briefly as if faintly surprised with herself, Brieli's dark gaze flickers back up to meet N'rov's grey, a smile still lingering about her features, shading towards wry. "I have an unfortunate habit of turning every conversation towards the dire. Better you than me, this time?" More seriously, more quietly, "Can't write everything, anyway." Her attention slips to his hand, his hair; impulsively, her own free hand reaches out to brush back one of the bronzerider's errant curls. And if Iesaryth is all water sparkling with amusement, she definitely tries to hide it for Vhaeryth's benefit - and even distracts from the whole thing by leaping up to glide into a drift with a puff of snow. « Do what? » The gold doesn't know what he's talking about. « If you like to, I will let you. Now and when I am grown. » Now N'rov outright laughs, eyes closing momentarily, and aims to tug her toward and then onto that bench, over there: the one by the glass, where they can rub off some of the condensation and peer outside if they choose. "Well, the thing was he was talking to the Weyrleader like N'muir didn't rank him five times over, and trying to make him feel guilty or whatever. It wasn't so long ago, but it feels like it was... did I mention, they think they caught the girl?" Vhaeryth, genuinely distracted, starts to reply, « Do... » and then he's entirely distracted, not pouncing but rather rising back on his hind legs, pawing clumps of snow to try and bury her like a good big brother would. « Good! » Bright eyes peer bluely down at the mass of snow and dragonet, maybe a little too close for safety. Brieli is easily convinced to move over and sit, reluctant to relinquish N'rov's hand even as they do. Glancing at the fogged glass with only vague interest, she's intent on what he's saying, brows drawn together in thought. "It seemed familiar? Too much so?" she asks, trying to follow that particular thread first. Almost as an aside, "You'd be surprised here, I think. -- What? No, what girl? The one that got you punched?" If she looks a tiny bit pleased about that, she has her reasons. Iesaryth is all bright and quick to follow distraction, always curious - but then she's getting buried, and that takes some attention because it's cold and heavy. The snow/dragonet mass is getting pretty big, though at around fifteen feet, nowhere near where she will be - and so there's tons of snow to explode all over Vhaeryth as she explodes out of it, sunburst hide sparkly. She tries to shake it all off, unsuccessfully. "More like, not smart," N'rov tells her. "Like he's just anybody instead of somebody who could get him on sevendays of shit detail," but then he looks quickly at her, seeing whether she objects to the language... or to the rest, though it might be hard to tell the difference. Still. "Right, the girl who got me punched, only supposedly she was behind everything else too, including the one redhead who got locked up and," then he sneezes. Right when there's a sudden Iesaryth-blizzard exploding about his dragon, who warbles in surprise with his wings flapping all over again: tricked! She tricked him! Not seeming to object to language or N'rov's assessment, Brieli shrugs. "A lot of people are stupid. In fact, most people don't know when to stop talking altogether. It doesn't mean you have to save them from themselves, unless you feel some sort of loyalty." There's no judgment in her tone; if he does, so be it - it's just that she doesn't put herself out. "Behind everything else what? Someone else was locked up?" What kind of place are you people running over there? She blinks at the sneeze - then uses her sleeve to clear a little circle in the glass. Iesaryth isn't buying Vhaeryth's act, but she's rumbling happily anyway, her tail fanning more snow his way. "Sorry," N'rov mutters, and gives her hand a brief squeeze before letting go to retrieve what's, yes, a handkerchief in his pocket. "Vhaeryth." Only after he makes double-certain-positively-sure everything's completely clean does he think to clarify, "There's snow flying, see. Not that he got locked up. That was Orialu. The girl who's a potter, they say she attacked Hattie and that's around the time she stepped down for a while... or something. Vhaeryth was young then," like he's not now, but N'rov was even less clear on the details. "G'zal, though? I don't know, he's practically a kid. Maybe he'll learn... See anything good?" Maybe Iesaryth does, the bronze's ribs now that he's flopped himself down on his back as though he's been knocked over, a way he'd surely not do if there weren't snow to pad his neckridges, his tail flailing... in a way that just might trip Iesaryth if she isn't ready. "No, I know - I think I can see." Brieli's peering out the quickly fogging glass, trying spot the figures down at the lakeshore - good timing for the whole handkerchief situation. "I can see the snow flying, anyway. That's not usually her thing, actually. And it's hard to see much, but you can look if you like." Glancing back to N'rov, she seems a bit bemused by the details of the Fortian situation, or perhaps how the bronzerider is giving them out; what she can figure out for sure is, "She was framed." With a wrinkle of her nose for 'a kid', "I suppose, but do you think anyone will accept that as an excuse? But yes, some people do learn." A pause before she has to add, "Not very many, but..." She's a ray of sunshine. In the snow, Iesaryth is certainly unprepared for flailing, or large, crafty bronzes that might flail in such a way to knock her over - in the middle of a particularly enthusiastic scoop of snow Vhaeryth's way, she tumbles over her tail, rolling in the snow nearby. « Unfair! » How? Um, never mind. "Unless that's a setup," N'rov points out, with what starts out as a short laugh but then lightens: something about what she says, or maybe it's her expression, or maybe she just really does live and breathe that ray of sunshine business after all. It's certainly not the view outside, which hasn't gotten more than a second glance. « Very unfair, » Vhaeryth agrees smugly, and rolls back over himself to get to all four paws and shake the snow back down. « Do you like it? » Maybe it's not her. Maybe it's his dragon. It's slipping aside, either way. "Elaruth put the whole Weyr on lockdown. It was awful, hard to think, even." Glancing his way, dark eyes bright, "Don't encourage me to think of conspiracies. I already find them everywhere. I was accusing the bartenders of shorting us on drinks, just in case - and then the Weyrleader said that was a reasonable assumption. I don't need more help." Brieli considers for a moment before allowing, "Though perhaps I should believe the opposite of what he says. But - poor liar." Shaking her head a touch, eyes widen at N'rov's last, she asks, "Was it? I've never-- I can't imagine. We can--" There's some little awe there in her expression before, "Was it like - a lid on a pot?" Iesaryth finds her own footing, perhaps shoving Vhaeryth in the process, for all the good it does; ocean's rhythm undisturbed, water bright, « I like clever. » Something she and her rider have in common? Credit her patter for lightening his mood somewhat, for N'rov has to interject, "Shorting you and Iesaryth? How dare they," quite as if the little dragon were likely to belly up to the bar anytime soon. It doesn't stop a muscle from tightening in his jaw, though. "Actually... that's pretty much what it was. Like all the clouds sunk in. Like, well. What does Iesaryth feel like, in your head? We get saltwater and ocean and sometimes ocean edging things and sunshine, lots of sunshine. But I don't know how she feels to you." It isn't just chatter: he's intent on her, so much less playful than his dragon who sways this way and that way quite as though Iesaryth might topple him back over. « 'Clever is as clever does,' » Vhaeryth quotes back to Iesaryth, only in his tone, it's a compliment too. "Well, all the weyrlings - but I suppose I'm only really concerned with myself. And Azaylia." The other goldrider isn't an afterthought, it just seems like Brieli isn't entirely used to being concerned with other people, for all she's entirely observant; enough to lift fingertips to trail along N'rov's jaw where that muscle twitches. Resting her hand there, thoughtful, "That sounds awful. And that's what she is. Sometimes - not often - but sometimes, she's darker, or colder. Sometimes, she's less the ocean than a river. But she's water - never... static. She-- It's hard to tell you what she's done for me." With a rueful smile, dropping her hand, "See - it's not dire, but... He's bright. Bright enough for her. She's a little frightening, sometimes." And there is the sense that Iesaryth's quick little mind isn always working, the sense that when she was talking about going to Fort, she maybe thought she could just pop between right then - she's just that awesome. Pleased with the pretense that she could even sway Vhaeryth, she settles against him, swaying along like the rock of her sea. « When we can fly, we will visit, Vhaeryth. » His jaw is rough with the stubble that can be shaved if never wholly disappear, never as smooth as her own cheek, nor the palm that he rubs into before he can quite catch himself. He doesn't apologize. "A river," he says instead, a little wonderingly, much as the half-smile that he gives her next. It's an attempt at levity, at least: "At least she won't let you get constipated, right?" In one form or another. "Bright. I've got to say, I like that. Though I hope you'll tell us if we should be frightened. The reason why I asked was... Elaruth, she feels like an ocean, sort of. Except that it's more where it gets to land, and it's moving slowly, it's all marshes and all. And it was like the fog clamped down, like that lid you said. Just like that." Too much for Vhaeryth to want to share with little Iesaryth, should he even want to remember: « Yes, » he replies agreeably, and warms her with the whuff of his breath. She doesn't ask for apologies; in fact, that small gestures seems to free her in a way; she catches his hand again, sliding closer on the bench, watching him as if there's not some workers planting or weeding or whatever they do in the greenhouse, not so far away. With a little roll of her eyes at the joke, Brieli allows, "It's helpful in many ways." A faint smile playing about her features, "What do you like about it? And..." She sobers as she listens, head tilted to the side; her words coming carefully, brows drawn together, "Iesaryth is... as I understand it, very... relaxed for a gold - in general, honestly. If we... If she rises first, I don't honestly know how we'd do that. I suspect it might be more me that her." Not that she sounds enthused about any of it. If Iesaryth is listening, along for the ride, she won't let Vhaeryth know, keeping the quick fish of her thoughts below the waves for now. The warmth and companionship is enough to make her content, and what's happening inside has her so smug. She has to do everything around here. Foolish Vhaeryth! He can only credit himself for giving Iesaryth all that smugness, and (wrongly smugly in his own right) busy himself with stretching out that long foreleg of his to tease at the ice in echo of how they'd played before. As it happens, N'rov also stretches out his considerably less long arm, the one Brieli hasn't stolen, to drape it along the back of the bench behind her with absolutely no pretense of its being an accident. Quite to the contrary: as he glances her way, his eyes have an amused glint in them that's all too akin to a dare, for all that his voice is quieter with thought. "I like that it feels smart, interesting, and not glaring or blinding or my eyes, my eyes, they burn. You know? And I can appreciate that, relaxed, even if it's 'for a gold.' I wonder if she'll keep it. It seems like it would help, for a junior." If she stays that way. Iesaryth can't reach the ice, woe - not yet. All she can do is watch the bronze tap at the ice, less concerned with it's stability now that she's not on it. It doesn't take much to dare or lure Brieli into sliding all the way down the bench to fit against N'rov, leaning in close, her head on his shoulder. Eyes closing briefly, with a sigh, "You're both smart and interesting. And you knew me before... everyone started watching. Waiting." There's the smallest shudder. Tilting her chin up to look up at him, "She will. I needed that. I don't think-- I don't think the parts we need change." Beat. "Does that sound odd?" In that case, N'rov's just got to tighten his arm around her instead, tipping his own head against Brieli's tragically cropped hair until she glances up, not looking at the workers and not looking away from them: just towards the glass she'd smudged that's become opaque again, off and away. "I'm sorry it's like that," he says finally. "Although I'm not sure who could handle it better." His smile bends towards her, even if his eyes don't. "I don't think it sounds strange. Although... I think, I know, that Vhaeryth's filled in a lot of the rough spots. Maybe he's made more. I wouldn't be able to tell you." If Vhaeryth could, well, he's busy: just a little hole, then, just so she can see the dark water beneath. Brieli seems to have quite forgotten anyone else is in here, or it's possible she doesn't care. As for the workers - well. It's close to quitting time anyway, may as well go clean up or - hey, something else. Curling herself around N'rov, watching him look into foggy nothingness, "I appreciate both the sympathy and the compliment." She turns her attention off into the greenery, tone light, "I'd ask if you'd consider being around when all that happens, but it's perhaps a bit soon." A bit soon for a lot of things, but that hasn't yet stopped her. When she's able to glance back, thoughtful, interested, "Do you think he's made you better, or just different?" For that hole in the ice, Iesaryth is grateful, and will rouse herself to move down closer to the lake's edge and look, all bright hope despite; « The fish are asleep. » Or so they say. « We could wake them up, » Vhaeryth believes, although there's a certain wistfulness that comes with it, smoky as firestone: he's not fueled up right now, to send the water (a whole lake!) to boiling. And, that mightn't be good for the fish, and they wouldn't flap so enjoyably when swallowed. (And, although perhaps it's beneath his masculine dignity to admit to it, they wouldn't flap their tails all silver in the sunshine anymore. Would Iesaryth miss them, the fish she's never seen?) His rider does glance reflectively at hers now, but there's warmth in his voice to go with the simple squeeze to her shoulder. "I'll consider myself duly warned." As to Vhaeryth, "Better, I think. Though not exactly more patient, if you see what I mean." He exhales. "We... should get back." Iesaryth has never seen these fish; not the ones in the South that fly over the waves, nor the ones that currently hide in High Reaches' murk. She is torn; fascinated by the idea of a boiling lake, and by the idea of the fish themselves. « Another time. » Hopefully that will save both fish and dignity for all involved. Brieli looks back at N'rov as if she hasn't said anything that might cause such consideration - what? - and nods, slowly. "I think she made me better. Made me more... capable. Not that I wasn't before, but it's like you said. Things get filled in." Quirking a smile, "Patience is difficult. And... I know. Thank you for staying this long." Not that she isn't disappointed. With a slow grin and bright eyes, not yet moving away, "Are you going to say goodbye?" Another time, indeed. Vhaeryth yawns, the gape of his mouth gigantic to fit all sorts of fish inside, and noses at Iesaryth's shoulder before moving to collect his rider... but on the ground, unafraid of ungainliness or breaking trail through those high, snowy dunes, if only so she can match him. As for N'rov, N'rov faced with those bright eyes, his laugh is soundless. "Fine," he says, and leans in... but not to drop a kiss upon her lips, but rather to whisper the word, lingeringly, into her ear. It might tickle. Brieli has to laugh softly, perhaps because the breath at her ear tickles; perhaps because she probably deserves that. With a sigh, leaning her head against his, temple to temple, she breathes, "Don't stay away long. And I promise, when we're allowed to go..." They will go. It's all there in the lean, lanky lines of Iesaryth's body as she matches pace with Vhaeryth, quick if not long-legged yet. She's tense and ready - she could maybe fly there now if they'd let her. Inside, her rider echoes the whisper in his rider's ear, quiet and low, before starting to pull away reluctantly. "You'll come," N'rov says, more of that same breathless laughter low in his voice. "To Fort. Right? Right." Now she'll get that kiss, right when she's pulling away, right to her much-maligned hair before he stands and tears his way out. Because if he doesn't? The jungle really could get him. Brieli would answer, but she's left a little stunned by the sudden kiss and the more-sudden departure, but there's absolutely no accusation in her gaze as she looks after N'rov as he tears out. Maybe he's lucky he got out alive?
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