Logs:Clutching Gifts
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| RL Date: 27 October, 2012 |
| Who: I'kris, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin has a gift for I'kris. It's probably not intended to be encouragement. Of that sort. |
| Where: Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 2, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Lujayn/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions |
| Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black. The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat. I'kris hasn't been home since the clutching: Svissath's been determined to stay close. The brown's reluctance to leave his clutch has the rider at a loose end, spending much of his day trapped on the ground in a Weyr that is still pretty foreign. There are places other than the galleries where he can spend his time, but this afternoon, as it continues to snow outside, the galleries are where he is. He stands right on the edge of the sands, watching as Svissath carefully rolls an egg just-so, under Rielsath's direction. "It looks fine," he complains. "Just leave them be." Having been at Monaco for so long, R'hin's not overly used to the cold of High Reaches' winter any longer, his own dragon's tendencies to hold to it notwithstanding. His riding jacket is kept buttoned up until well into the galleries, only undoing the top two buttons to start with, tucking a box under his arm as he surveys the occupants -- and more intently, the sands beyond. A nod is given towards the dragons on the sands, whether they notice it or not. "I'kris." The brownrider's name is uttered long before he reaches the lowest level of the galleries, putting him on par with the other Monacoan. To Svissath, Leiventh offers his own respects, of course -- the bassy thrum of his touch felt as he arrives, an odd sense of contentment leaking through, for the fact that he is /here/. The word 'home' is never vocalized, of course, but it's in his thoughts for the quick-witted to snatch and store away. I'kris' head turns at the sound of footsteps, even before the sound of his name; both dragons, too, lift their heads to watch, though neither seem bothered by the new arrival. "R'hin," says the brownrider, gaze flicking from the bronzerider to the box and then back again, the attempt at neutrality in his tone not entirely masking the pleasure and surprise beneath. "Welcome to High Reaches. It's a good looking clutch, they say. It seems to be." To Leiventh, Svissath acknowledges his sire's arrival with a quietly radiant warmth, sweetness pervading his touch along with the sharper hint of salt that can so often be found there. « Welcome, » he says. « You're pleased to be here. I'm glad. Have you seen my eggs? » He's smugly proud, and though he doesn't say it outright, he acknowledges the shared lineages, their return to one, in the smooth caress of caramel that follows his words. The quirk of lips from the bronzerider is, surely, in response to welcome to High Reaches. "It certainly looks to be," R'hin agrees, a measure of pride creeping into his tone as his gaze drifts past I'kris, taking in Svissath's attentiveness with a low-throated chuckle. "Svissath certainly has the tendency towards protectiveness. A good thing." The box is rested on the railing, one hand steadying it there, aware of the brownrider's interest but not calling attention to it as yet. "Plenty of bronzes and browns, I'd imagine -- Leiventh's clutches always had a predilection for them. Strong ones, too." He's not being -- and not trying to be -- subtle about the praise. The bassy thrum becomes more of a background noise, a monotone that is easy to forget after a while, though the strength of Leiventh's presence and pride still linger strong enough in his thoughts. « I watch through R'hin's eyes. They are fine looking eggs, Svissath. » And, too, does his attention touch Rielsath, his watchfulness intent enough as to perhaps, border on discomforting, despite the fact that he is polite enough to remain out in the bowl. « They are of both High Reaches and Monaco. They will grow strong, indeed. » (Leiventh to Svissath) I'kris is seventeen, and an often uncertain seventeen at that: he properly glows under that praise, beaming his contentment in such a way that that almost certainly banishes properly that earlier neutrality. "I hope so," he says, earnestly. "I know it's not a large clutch, but there's no reason why it can't still be a good one. Svissath's strong. Like you said. He's very dedicated, very protective." His fingers wrap around the railing, and though he seems to be trying to focus his attention on the eggs, his eyes keep sliding back towards R'hin. To Leiventh, Svissath is content enough with this, although the way the bronze's attention lingers on Rielsath is certainly something he keeps on eye on (for all that he's too polite to remark upon it). « We're very pleased with them. Rielsath worries about them, but I know no harm will come to them, while we keep watch. » It's something from his own rider's mind that he adds, then: « More High Reachian than Monacoan, of course. We know that. But the Monaco line is also strong. » Not unaware of that shifting attention, R'hin offers an unbidden smile at I'kris' earnestness. "I'd wager he has you all but glued to the sands. Perhaps later I can convince you to let me buy you a drink at the Snowasis. For now, though--" he slides the box along the railing until it all but touches where the brownrider's hand wraps around the railing. "A clutching gift. I'd have come sooner, but--" he doesn't bother to elaborate; he's often out of the Weyr 'on business', though as ever remains non-specific. Should he open it, I'kris will find a nestled within the box a finely crafted dagger -- the metal of the blade polished to a fault, and the hilt home to a stone with the colors of Monaco represented. While one might be mistaken for thinking it a solely decorative piece, any heft of the dagger would reveal a balance and sharpness of edge reflecting good quality, the stamp of a Master crafter edged on one side of the blade. Slowly, Leiventh withdraws, just enough -- his attention drifting from the Reachian queen to their surroundings, his thoughts brisk, brittle with the chill winter's cold of his home. « They will be safe. » He has no doubt of that; and while the bronze does seem pleased with the concession of High Reaches blood, though he's gracious enough to add: « Your dam's blood will also run in them. » (Leiventh to Svissath) "At the Weyr, definitely. On the ground, almost al-- oh." I'kris' thoughts are interrupted by the box as it is slid into his hand, and though he's obviously still listening as the bronzerider continues, most of his attention is very clearly focused on the gift itself. The knife is lifted into the air, firmly grasped within his hand; I'kris seems very pleased indeed. "It's a thing of beauty," he says, genuinely, as his shoulders draw back and his tone turns serious. "I'll use it with pride. Thank you, R'hin." He turns towards the other rider, front-on. "Thank you." Mention of his dam brings pleasure to Svissath, who can recollect the young Monacoan queen's presence with the clarity of recency: she's visited, then. Not surprising. « We will keep them safe, » he agrees. « Safe and well, until they find what is theirs. And then we will return home, and my I'kris will be happier again. » (Svissath to Leiventh) R'hin watches; watches I'kris take in the gift, and his reaction with an intentness that spills into a pleased grin near the end, a little belatedly. "Mirinda helped pick it out," he admits, with a quick lift-and-drop of his left shoulder. "I think she's afraid you might try and leave us permanently. But then, I don't think that'd be such a bad thing. Svissath and Rielsath could make a good, permanent pair, if they take a liking to each other -- and they seem to be getting on well." A comment on Leiventh's observation, or his own? Hard to say. Still, as I'kris turns fully towards him, his hands settle into his pockets, demeanor easy. "But, you're welcome. A rider should always have a good blade to his side, even in the hopes he'll never need it." A thread of surprise through the crimson splash of Leiventh's mental thoughts, wiping away any other response. « Yours is not happy? » (Leiventh to Svissath) I'kris seems even more pleased to hear of his sister's involvement, if that's even possible: the beam he aims at R'hin is positively ecstatic, though it fades a little, showing uncertainty, as the other rider continues. "I'd never considered that," he says, more quietly. "Being possible, I mean. I don't know. We'll see, I suppose." The knife is lowered, now, and carefully placed back in the knife for present safekeeping. "Just in case, right? That's why we all learn how to defend ourselves. Just in case." Several beats of silence follow, unharried even by Svissath's usual sweetness. « He is... I don't know. » It's rare for the brown to admit such things, usually keeping his emotions to himself. « He is determined to make people proud. I think he's lonely in it, and I am not enough. » (Svissath to Leiventh) R'hin's attention shifts from I'kris to the pair of dragons on the sands, head tipped as he studies them. "Mm. For some dragons. Leiventh's never been one inclined to take permanent mates, but it's been known to happen, one's own preferences aside," something wry in his voice, as he leans across with the intention of clapping a hand across I'kris' shoulder in reassurance. "Just in case," he agrees, happy to let the discussion shift, "Things haven't exactly been overly settled at High Reaches for a long time," is all he says, though it's pointed enough, even if he does so in a low tone. Silence, too, from Leiventh for a time while he contemplates this, though there's no sense that he's sharing: his thoughts are even, considering throughout. « One might always strive to make others proud. But there are always more people. If you are proud, it should be enough. » A beat, and then he adds, « Mine is proud of yours, if that helps. » (Leiventh to Svissath) I'kris lets out a low, rueful breath at the mention of personal preferences, but seems reassured by that clapping hand, and nods along. "Mm," is his first reply, just barely above an exhaled breath. "It... is always better to be prepared, I think. Particularly when, as you say, matters are... unsettled." He seems to be considering this pretty intently. "But of course, there's not so much time left, thankfully." To Leiventh, Svissath considers this, wrapping each thought up on the heavy warmth of his mind. « True, » he agrees. « I wish it were easier to remind him of this. I know he appreciates the pride of yours. His father-- » But that's not a topic the brown has leave to speak of, and so he trails off, and leaves it be. Tugging a hand through his hair, R'hin cocks his head to study I'kris. "Before the hatching?" he concludes, then, "We'd like to come, if we can make it." He glances over his shoulder -- at Leiventh, perhaps? -- and back. "So. How about that drink? Been a while since I've had some of Nabol's plum wine." To Svissath, Leiventh respects the brown's silence, despite his obvious curiosity. Instead, he falls silent, a comforting presence, perhaps, providing another pair of eyes to watch over the eggs that bake on High Reaches' sands, if for a short time. "Before the hatching," agrees I'kris, firmly - perhaps more firmly that is absolutely necessary for such a statement. "It would be - good to have you there. We'd appreciate it. I know Mirinda intends to come, too." He accepts the offer of the drink with another sharp nod of his head, tucking the box beneath his arm as he takes a step back from the railing. "I'd love to. I'm sure Svissath and Rielsath can manage without us." To Leiventh, Svissath seems pleased with that, somehow - and content. All will be well. "Mirinda's already commissioned a new dress for the occasion," R'hin reports, with a low-throated chuckle. "I doubt you could keep her away." Stepping back from the railing, the bronzerider begins to button up his jacket again in preparation for the cold. "Good man. I won't keep you away from them overly long." Although there's something darkly playful in his voice that might suggest otherwise. I'kris' groan is good-natured, and more teasing than anything. "Of course she has." The playfulness in R'hin's voice has the younger rider smirking, but he doesn't seem too concerned as he leads the way from the galleries and out into the snowy bowl. |
Comments
R'hin (R'hin) left a comment on Sun, 28 Oct 2012 04:50:19 GMT.
< It's probably not intended to be encouragement.
(Probably.)
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Sun, 28 Oct 2012 06:11:37 GMT.
<
._. Every R'hin/I'kris scene unsettles me more and more~ Good stuff!
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