Logs:Cold and Glittery
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| RL Date: 13 May, 2013 |
| Who: Jo, Telavi, Arekoth, Cadejoth, Cailluneth, Deveriteauxth, Hraedhyth, Iesaryth, Ilicaeth, Rojeth, Solith, Tsanth, Vrianth, Tacuseth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo briefly stops by to visit Telavi. The dragons make them unnerved. |
| Where: Telavi's weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 10, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, C'wlin/Mentions, E'sren/Mentions, I'zech/Mentions, K'zin/Mentions, N'gan/Mentions, Quielle/Mentions, Sabella/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Overlaps Logs:Secrets_No_More. |
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| Abruptly a sandstorm picks up. Whipping through the weyr and flinging bits of grit everywhere. It's on Iesaryth and hers that they land. « Liars. » (To High Reaches dragons from Tsanth) « HEY! That's *my* sand!!! » *takes it ALL back* (To High Reaches dragons from Ilicaeth) « ...Sand? » (To High Reaches dragons from Solith) To High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth is abruptly, and unusually, very still-- just the faint clink-and-rattle of his chains to remind the weyr that he is, indeed, still here. Liars? Yes. Oh yes. To High Reaches dragons, Hraedhyth's flames flare in surprise, drums deafening for the duration of her confusion. The sand whips through her fire, making it crackle and rousing heat that does not strike out. Yet. And then the target is realized, and her savage drums lessen slightly, their tune shifting to a wardance of truth. Ocean's weight does not weigh heavily on the Weyr still, but it hovers; ocean's breezes keep her skies clear for all that they darken. Iesaryth does not apply that term to herself - there are things she has had to hide, for they were not her secrets to reveal - but she has not offered anything but the truth. Even if it meant the absence of anything. « They came to us. » And trapped them in the corner. Don't you judge. You with your perfect shiny riders. (To High Reaches dragons from Iesaryth) To High Reaches dragons, Arekoth's flare of attention is unfocused, radiating out to everyone, resting on no one. Not even Tsanth. Not even Iesaryth. Solith'd still been drifting into wakefulness on the heels of Ilicaeth's outcry, but on those gusts she listens, near-equally rapt and unsettled. (To High Reaches dragons from Solith) To High Reaches dragons, Cailluneth's moonlit rainbow reaches out as balm; the soothing softness to ease such troubled feelings. She offers no words, but a gentle warmth and a steady-throbbing heartbeat amidst her muted pastels; a dove-soft wish for calm and peace. To High Reaches dragons, Rojeth's fog is present, undisturbed, but with the watchful tingle of eyes in the dark. His off-beat humor apparently not meeting with much of an audience, Ilicaeth shrugs his 'returned' golden sands, and rasps into being an image of popcorn in a paper bag, which he settles down to munch while watching from the sidelines. Solith is offered a muzzle-full, as well. (To High Reaches dragons from Ilicaeth) The refreshing cold of a relatively unknown, white-green mind lingers just to the edge of the conversation - curious, yes, but not too willing to get involved... though the clinking of ice, the tang of aniseed and the sweetness of his sugar may lean just slightly towards Iesaryth's ocean. (To High Reaches dragons from Deveriteauxth) With a predator's gaze and warrior's awareness, Hraedhyth settles into watching, a reverberation of tension following each drumstrike. Poised, ready, but for what? Dark smoke gather though they smother no one, ebon plumes hovering much like Iesaryth's own ocean. For now it seems she is willing to play the part of bystander, and is looking for no reason for that to change. (To High Reaches dragons from Hraedhyth) The abscence of a denial, is affirmation for Tsanth. The sandstorm rages, irritating in its persistance. He cares not for the things Iesaryth wishes to hide. « Liars. Supporters of a false queen. » He was disobedient before when they forced him to obey and he'll push now, sending the message out again and again: Liars. Cheats. False. Untill eventually, someone stops him. Be it his rider or one of the golds. (To High Reaches dragons from Tsanth) Ordinarily Solith might drop low within Isath's grasses or disappear in the dark spaces between Olveraeth's stars, but in that moment the fog triggers her reflex and her attention darts in its direction: perhaps he might let her cloak herself within the mists and still listen. It's getting to be sensory overload out there. (To Rojeth from Solith) And in this? Cadejoth is behind Tsanth-- metaphorically speaking, with his chains and his bones, jangling in warning. And there, too, the distant, barely-remembered, sun-on-snow of a distant queen. A true queen, now lost to others. (To High Reaches dragons from Cadejoth) Solith's ledge could look silent, unoccupied... if it weren't for the way the curtain between ledge and weyr keeps twitching, a narrow green muzzle poking out only to even more unhappily retreat. To Solith, Rojeth feels that little ripple of a breeze, stirring beneath his clammy mists, just above the glug of swamp water and secretive, dank earth. But it's the fog that shrouds, the claustrophobia of craggy twisted trees that protect from flying sand and fires and seas and rattling chains. The rustle of underbrush laughs at her hiding. False, cheats, liars. The idea rankles, and Arekoth crackles, still everywhere, still nowhere, until finally he's made to focus on a thing closer to internal, and fades into something more distant. (To High Reaches dragons from Arekoth) That breeze could make that underbrush rustle, all right, or so it might think. ...Except for the part where, yes. Hiding. Solith has to remember that, but it's hard, right up until there's even more crackling and she goes quiet again. Or tries. Good fog. Nice fog. And the trees, too, claustrophia right now just what she needs. (To Rojeth from Solith) Tacuseth wings to a landing on Solith's ledge, and he's quick to settle in a way for Jo to quickly dismount. The blue's ruffled by something and it shows outwardly. However, he sends smooth greetings out to Solith since he can sense that she's there, right behind the curtain. Jo is at Tacuseth's side for now, allowing her dragon to make the call in case the green pair was truly out of their weyr. The chains and bones that now jangle warning once rung in support of the false queen, but Iesaryth doesn't expect such logic to be recalled or dealt with; she frankly doesn't expect much logic at all, but appeals again to a thinking dragon (if one resides within the bronzes, or out there, in those listening) - there is little one can do in matters of honor. In matters of word given, promises made. Other than that, the salt-water queen has no particular interest in quelling whatever message Tsanth or Cadejoth wishes to send: it's Cadejoth's funeral, and she's long past tired of dead dragons' lies. (To High Reaches dragons from Iesaryth) It takes a moment for that sense of air-in-motion to reappear, and even then it's cloaked in a hint of trailing mist. She moves, a skittering touch that might as well be the lightest of inward-directed pushes. Yes, he and his may stay, and she'd actively welcome him if only... if only. As it is, all she can do is permit. Tacuseth touches with a sliver of shadow - perhaps a first from him to Solith, since his mind voice normally is felt with winds. The whisp of shadows show curiosity - is hers still sick? - if only what? Getting whatever confirmation from her blue, Jo approaches and moves some of the curtain aside so that she can see inside before going in. "Tela?" she now calls, seeking out the bed in the case that the weyrling is still sick. "Yer feelin' better?" What comes next is not so much rage, no more of that vicious, biting wind laced with wet grit. But a subtle change of currents, the flow changing away from the falseness of Iesaryth, to the wardance of Hraedhyth. The older bronze settles his weight there, his age, his experience (what he remembers of it), the whole thing. There he stays now, silent. But visible. (To High Reaches dragons from Tsanth) To High Reaches dragons, Rojeth's fog seethes further, toward Tsanth, though in plain 'view' of any watchers. The mist swirls, like the cocking of a patient head, slowing as its attention narrows. « Why? » The angle's wrong to see the bed from the ledge, and no doubt deliberately so, but if Jo walks further in... well, she doesn't even have to walk far, because Telavi's emerging, barefoot in slate blue leggings and a too-large shirt with its sleeves rolled up to her wrists. "Jo? What's going on?" She looks her normal self, but though she greets the other woman with a smile that would like to be glad and welcoming, it just winds up fraying about the edges. Close as she is, Solith can feel the temperature dropping in the swamp, the encroaching chill. Rojeth's voice comes, quiet and rough. « Noise. » Or at least, that's his assumption. There's derision in it for now. She needn't worry about noise. (To Solith from Rojeth) « Noise, » Solith seconds, only too glad to take on the more senior dragon's view as her own. Of course, she doesn't like noise. Some noise. That noise. But he's right, she doesn't need to worry. (To Rojeth from Solith) Jo does make it further in before she finds Telavi approaching her, the woman taking in her appearance before her words registers. "What?" Disoriented, she blinks in slight confusion for the question, closing the distance. "Is Solith alright? Thought maybe ya were still feelin' out of sorts or somethin'..." She stops and looks over her shoulder behind herself towards the ledge, her frown heavy and disturbing. "The dragons are stirred up," she supplies suddenly, hearing the restlessness of her blue. It's likely that her and Tacuseth are communicating as she speaks. Storm clouds are quick to gather on the horizon and over the swelling waves, sea-salt breezes picking up into gale-force winds - maybe the whys aren't important, but it's not the metaphorical move the bronze makes that so infuriates Iesaryth, dropping the ocean into a deep-freeze - it's the idea of her falseness that has her so angry. She doesn't seek to explain, just ignores Tsanth entirely. However, if no one else will fill in the blanks, she will. Why not, now? Why not, if the door's been opened? « Ysavaeth did not rise. But she convinced Cadejoth... and the rest of us... that she did. » And though her weight does not lift, she feels lighter... but does that weight feel familiar to those who never felt quite right under Ysavaeth? (To High Reaches dragons from Iesaryth) "Do you mind?" Tela asks, but regardless, she's walking all the way out to the weyr and Solith to try and gingerly place her arms about the green's now downbent neck. Solith doesn't exactly relax, but some of the yellower tones leave her eyes, and she gives the blue's rider a low whuffle over Tela's shoulder. "It's that," the girl says to Jo. "That they're stirred up? Not me. It bothers her," so she knows that much, she and Solith too are talking that much. "Do you know why?" Unless maybe she does. « What? » What does that mean? She's cold. (To Rojeth from Solith) Jo follows her to where Solith is, that first question merely getting a grunt of acquiesce. Tacuseth seems to have returned to calm, enough so that she's looking towards the ledge again as Telavi comforts her green. "Tsanth," she says the name of the bronze that started it all. "He's angry with Iesaryth. Or perhaps it's Z'ian with Aishani," which openly unnerves her, bringing her guarded dark gaze back to the weyrling as she traces fingers up and down the opening of her black leather jacket. "Callin' her a 'liar' and a false queen. It's all I'm gettin'." Tsanth is accepted into her ranks, Hraedhyth's nightmarish troops somber in their welcome. The severe truth robs any of celebration. Her flames make no effort to warm Iesaryth's waters, though thick plumes of smoke offer shelter beneath them for those who seek it. « It is true. » A low snarl, confirmation before any might ask it of her as well. « No eggs. » That spikes her drums into a savage frenzy, aimed at none as flames lick against the lies, scorching them away forever. When the battle ends, when her smoke clears, she and Hers will clear away the ashes of that secret. (To High Reaches dragons from Hraedhyth) Little Solith may all too easily be missed, particularly within her fog-wispy veil: she, who never knew Ysavaeth, shivers. And then sneezes. (To High Reaches dragons from Solith) The damp mists retract again, to that comfortable periphery, slowly mulling the explanation that's come, the discomfort of the old lie now revealed leaving his twisted swampland trees to creak in irritation. But that's all. Rojeth presses for nothing further. (To High Reaches dragons from Rojeth) Vrianth's witness, distantly so. She's not at the Weyr but abroad, a darkly electric current moving further yet. (To High Reaches dragons from Vrianth) M'ron's Hiyudath reaches out to Tacuseth, curious and confused by the stir. « What is this? » the brown sends, and the question is strengthened by Kait's Jormunth. The dark shadows and winds swirl through an empty Colosseum, Tacuseth strengthening the forces there in his irritation. He doesn't like this development one bit, but he sends to them both, « Not our battle. We stand down. Iesaryth knows where our lot is cast. » And clipped, gritty Ilicaeth? He listens to, watches everyone in on this clusterfuck, the blue's eyes a deep and brilliant green within a swirling wall of golden sands. Neutral. Studying. (To High Reaches dragons from Ilicaeth) In the wake of it all, there are divisions: more obvious than there have been, some deeper than ever before. There are those who look to Szadath, and whose support for Iesaryth remains undiminished; there are those, too, who turn their gaze away, now, to Hraedhyth, and to no one at all. And those, yes, who don't seem to care one way at all - who close their eyes and their mental ears against the ruckus. Someone else's problem. (To High Reaches dragons from Cadejoth) He has said his piece, laid fuel to the flame of truth and fanned it. « They helped them. They knew the truth all along. » Tsanth is satisfied with the notion that it's out there, he'll say nothing more now. With time, he'll forget. But his rider won't. Will the others? (To High Reaches dragons from Tsanth) "Z'ian." Of course, Telavi would leap to the rider's name instead of the dragon's. But then, how many times has she written it, in the months of near-daily reports? "Why would he..." She's tensed, up on her toes, her grasp unconsciously tensed around Solith's neckridge. And she's noticing the movement of Jo's hand now, Jo who'd backed Aishani up the night she took Solith, and suddenly the girl says, "Do you have to go?" It's distinct that there's nothing coming from Tacuseth, even though to those that could recognize his signature, he's around and listening. There's the heated winds, dimmed to something dull, and the shadows seem to seep into every crack and crevice. All of the convict dragons are distinctly silent, though this one lets his wisps of shadows crest Iesaryth's waves. He is content to just listen. (To High Reaches dragons from Tacuseth) She's hidden, hiding within that wisp, but for a moment there's a breath of air that might alter just one of those swirls as it passes by. For all that she hadn't taken up his invitation earlier, she notices. (To Ilicaeth from Solith) The shadowy stillness of the swamp eases, the temperature rising, some distant light catching in the mists and letting the haze glow. It just makes it harder to see through, really, but perhaps it's comforting anyway. And maybe that's the point, after the shivering and sneezing. But there's still a chill in his words. « False queens. All of them. » Rojeth is not surprised. (To Solith from Rojeth) The scents of rich butter, fresh popcorn, brisk salt dot the golden sands and sometimes glinting mica within his swirls, Ilicaeth offering a low chuff of dark humor to his green 'sister.' He offers cover/protection, if she wishes, *and* delicious food, borrowed from his lifemate's mind. (To Solith from Ilicaeth) And as for Cadejoth, himself? He's content to hold his silence, now, though there's no shame, not even for those who look in askance at him, too. Yes, he too was fooled. Yes, it is a shameful thing-- but he is not ashamed. It is done. « We are all now free. » And that is all he said. (To High Reaches dragons from Cadejoth) "This is a mess," Jo states, her gaze on the ledge as she's clearly communicating something with her dragon. "Z'ian, he...and Shani..." there's no words, really. The convict rider just sighs and finally turns resolutely from the ledge to face Telavi and her dragon, firmly shaking her head. "It's fine," she says quickly. "I've told Tac to keep silent. To stay out of it. I'll deal with this later." Stepping towards her, "Yer on yer feet," she notices, permitting herself a little smile now. "Whatever ya got must've passed? Do ya need me to go?" That for the last, noticing the tenseness in the weyrling pair. Perhaps it is. She breathes a little more easily, now, the quiver of tension in her bit of air beginning to lighten. And yet even as she wants to believe, to be believing what he believes, to believe something that surely he knows better about, there's discomfort from the instinct that says to trust. To trust the queens too, to trust them maybe most of all. (To Rojeth from Solith) "If you're sure," Tela begins, only she's looking so closely at Jo and then she says like she's realizing, "When people aren't watching, to see who heads for her. Or is that it?" There's no judgment there, only quick questioning assessment, as though this were a puzzle on one of the essays she's had to pull apart. Would that it were. "No. Stay. Only I thought you knew? It was only my monthlies," 'only.' She looks at Solith again, checking, then decides, "We can go in, in a little bit, I think. Rojeth? He's helping. " She's grateful, he can feel that, even if she doesn't understand this popped corn bit. She's managing, though, and with help, the faint rare sense of her Tela's arm about her own slender neck shared before she dissolves again into the mist. (To Ilicaeth from Solith) Like a good little antisocial beast on the fringe of society, Rojeth has no such impulse to trust, but nor does he council Solith against it. The queens are queens, yes, but he waits for more. And there's some flicker of a distant memory of a fur and diamond ice, a queen that was. The light fades and the fog remains, all shadows and mist, comfortable if one likes that sort of thing. (To Solith from Rojeth) There are, after all, two of them. Solith's momentarily intrigued by that flicker of thought, but it's so quick to disappear, it's so tough to hang onto. At the moment, she seems to be liking that sort of thing well enough, certainly not inclined to try and clean up the place or even go nosing about... but then she is fond of Ghislaith and her own form of haunts, and who knows what's still lurking out there. Of course, if the swamp burps at her... that too could change. (To Rojeth from Solith) Apparently, all the hub-bub of the older dragons is over, anyway, so the 'need' for popcorn dwindles, though its scent and perhaps taste linger for a few. « Enjoy, toots... » Ilicaeth's raspy almost-baritone notes easily, with a hint of leftover humor, finally swirling into nothingness as he withdraws his clear, deep greens and then his presence. (To Solith from Ilicaeth) Jo stares back at Telavi, looking as if she has nothing to hide. Right? "It's more personal than that," is her answer, a slight hesitation there that has her momentarily looking awkward as she looks away. It's brief, whatever it is, but she does add on, "I'm....close to them both. It's complicated." Isn't it always. Still, when Telavi tells her to stay, she nods to that and snorts when the 'sickness' is revealed. "Thought it could have been more than that," she admits with slight amusement. "Go on, calm her. What's this about I'zech's? He's helpin' Solith?" Right! Of course, as highly attuned as she ordinarily is to Jo's reactions, that change catches at Tela in all its brevity even in her current distraction. "It seems like it would be," Telavi says, her voice soft, maybe a little too soft for what usually lies between them. Still, she changes course readily if not happily in response to the bluerider going on, wrinkling her nose as she pats Solith's neckridge, "More than that? I almost wish it were. It's embarrassing, just worse than usual that time," and the topic's dismissed so far as she's concerned, especially since now she gets to grin at Jo for the first time today. "You sound so surprised," about Rojeth. It's right then that the green looks at her with whirling, swirling eyes, and she checks with Jo. "Before she forgets... do you happen to know of a queen, all cold and glittery? And fur, I guess, though I don't know if I'm understanding her right." To Solith, Rojeth seems amenable to allowing the wispy little green to continue taking her refuge under his lurking shadows, with those disembodied noises rummaging around here and there in the underbrush as the bronze himself is in some distant conversation of his own. And then the chill creeps in, the swirling fog testing at Solith, seeking out the reality that surrounds her in place of the imaginary swamp. She might peek about here and there at the odd noise or two, but she's not about to go hunting them down. That way lies monsters, after all. She shivers again, but there's still that hinted-at warmth of her rider's presence, the familiarity of her stone, the low sound of women's voices in conversation. Another dragon's perched near, on her ledge, yet she doesn't seem to mind. (To Rojeth from Solith) "I usually eliminate complications," Jo admits, at least a bit briskly. "But...I can', so." She makes it sound like it's no big deal. At all. Since they're both working on dismissing awkward topics together, all she does in response to that horrid monthly is jerk her chin in a half-nod to it. Telavi's grin seems to warm some of the tension that comes up though, talk of Rojeth getting an arched, "I'm not used to hearin' of that pair helpin' anyone other than themselves." It's deadpan and dry, but the amusement is lightly there. "I guess he's really takin' their post seriously. Who'd have thought." I'zech. It's hard to tell by her tone if Jo's impressed or not. Her gaze lands on Solith when the dragon moves, frowning at the question given. "'Cold and glittery'? With fur? I...does she mean here, in this Weyr? Elsewhere?" Maybe she's even mentally turning to Tacuseth for clarification of this. There's that contemplative look in Tela's big greenish-blue eyes again, for Jo and that so very unusual can't, though it's chased by quiet laughter. "Maybe so." Telavi aims to catch the bluerider's eye and then breathes in, deeply, before breathing out again: she's not holding her breath! "I don't know about the queen, though. Maybe here, maybe somewhere else, just someone he knows? He hasn't... flown any queens, has he?" Because apparently that would wreck her worldview. Maybe Rojeth finds those bits interesting -- he did search for them: her ledge, her rider, the perhaps-unexpected presence of others. But there's no reaction to say he's satisfied with what he's learned. No change in the fog other than a slow withdrawing that fades the trees and stagnant water from existence. Just before it pops out of being altogether, there's that aftershock of a cold screech in absolute silence, and some beats later a gravelly chuckle comes from great distance, away from the Weyr. (To Solith from Rojeth) « But... » but, she had a question! someone had a question! and then surely Solith's heard Rojeth's going between before, but that doesn't mean she remembers it enough not to be startled now, and she squeaks. But she'll survive. (To Rojeth from Solith) Meeting Telavi's gaze steadily, Jo's regarding her in much the same way in the brief silence. Something said has her fitting a slight frown Solith's way, a dubious expression stealing over her features. "Who, my Tac? Flyin' queens? He wouldn' stand a chance against the browns and bronzes!" There's a brief 'no offense' look going towards the ledge, but then, it's not meant as an insult. It's the way of things. "The queen doesn't sound familiar, if Solith doesn' have a name. Unless she meant I'zech's. Who knows what his bronze has flown." She certainly wouldn't. "No, no," Telavi's quick to say, though apparently not quick enough. "I'zech's, right. Except he," she stares at the suddenly-startled Solith who's just swept her head high, "left? Went away? Not saying, anything. Maybe it was a wher queen," Tela teases, rubbing her not quite disjointed shoulder and then giving Solith a last pat, too, before starting back into her part of the weyr. There's a fire in the hearth, but she pulls up the collar of her big shirt anyway, raised just past her chin. « What? » She had a question. She can ask it. He's far, but not so far that he can't hear her, even if he's too distracted at the moment to send up a whole swamp around her again. (To Solith from Rojeth) Okay then! « They want to know if you flew a wher queen, » Solith enunciates very precisely as though that might help her words reach over that distance, shadowed by a badly photocopied glimpse of glitter and fur. I'zech's. The clarification and Solith's head movements capture Jo for the moment, blinking before she gives a crooked grin for the tease. Snort. "And interestin' pair," is all she seems to say on them now, even though her tone just remains deadpan for them. Ahh, clutchmates. She starts to follow Telavi into the inner weyr proper then, taking in the fire in the hearth with her gaze before they're drawn back to her. 'Did'ja miss much bein' out from the class?" she asks now, following not too far behind. "Like ya know. Aren' ya'll learnin' to flame yet?" "No, no, it was just the one day." Not that Tela's holding a grudge or anything, really. "Apparently C'wlin told everyone I had some 'contagious disease.' It was sweet, really. My weyr's never seen so much action." There still aren't any couches here, much less chairs, or a table. The bed's been moved, though, so people can sit on the fluffy rug in front of the hearth and lean back against its foot, which is exactly that Telavi proceeds to do. "Still no flaming. We have to wait." Not that she's holding a grudge there either. Really. "We have to get a talk about flights and everything," here the weyrling rolls her eyes, "and you heard about Quielle, didn't you? Only now it really is Quielle and N'gan." That rustle comes again, the scrape of something on the ground, dashing low through dried leaves: Rojeth's own brand of laughter. « I'm sure they do. » There's something pleased filtering in, sharp and stark as moonlight; he lets it through. (To Solith from Rojeth) Solith siiiiighs, or at least she does when she's done skittering a bit at that scrape. « You're so helpful. » That for the pleasure, herself not displeased, and very nearly in her rider's tones. (To Rojeth from Solith) Taking a look around the place and what's been moved around, "Action, huh?" Jo echoes that one, choosing to make that particular part of Telavi's statement dirty. "I bet so." Dropping to the rug with a stretch of her wiry frame and arched back, "Flamin's fun. Hope ya don' have to wait too long," she goes on to comment. "Yeah, figured it was that time, huh? Flight talks and all. What happened with Quielle and N'gan?" for she hasn't heard, and once her leisurely stretch is done, she leans herself back on an elbow, facing her. "You know, all those people coming in and out," Tela says lightly, "of the weyr." The impish look she gives Jo then, though, it doesn't last long. She tucks her feet up to sit lotus-style, even though the bluerider's sprawled, and flattens the hem of the shirt neatly over her knees before leaning forward to explain. "So you have to know N'gan. He and Quielle are, were, were before K'zin was anyway, the other two people of our 'silver thread' group besides E'sren and Sabs and me... which, we didn't necessarily know much about each other before, but since then we've had, we had to work a lot together, take extra classes together, go to the meetings and write up summaries, and coordinate things besides. So you can imagine that we got kind of close," she says to Jo, watching the bluerider searchingly for any hint of confusion, of anything. "Mmhmmm," Jo rumbles out on the first with a click of her teeth. "Yeah, I know of N'gan. So he and Quielle were close. Is that a problem? Or...." Or. The bluerider's brow lifts in silent askance at her, prompting her to go on as she asks, "So what...they hooked up while the rules were in place? Got caught doin' it? Which one of them blabbed?" Which is betrayal in her book, really. But go on. "Right," Tela says, only then, still looking at Jo, she rounds out the air in front of her own belly with one hand. Blink. Jo watches the motion of the hand and sits up a bit, abruptly. "Shit, really?" she asks, eyes slightly wider now. "She's really knocked up? Huh." She looks away for a moment only, then shakes her head. "So they both got kicked out, then? What are they goin' to do with her?" "Really," and Tela sounds anything but thrilled. "She got kicked out of the program, privileges taken away, back to the barracks, everything. And then there was waiting, and of course N'gan didn't want to have anything to do with her then, and of course it wasn't him, except now they're sure enough that it was that finally he's out too, and pissy... and of course now they're in the barracks together," which just makes her roll her eyes some more. "He's an ass." Jo listens, silence being something familiar for the convict rider as Telavi speaks on N'gan. At the end of it, "The boys that knock ya up and act like ya don' exist usually are," she remarks on the last, moving to sit up straight. "Sucks it had to happen, though. Quielle was a friend of yers?" Sharply, maybe the most sharply Tela's ever spoken to Jo, "Is." "Is a friend," Jo corrects at leisure, studying Telavi from where she is. Her face, then her body. The study isn't masked, either, but when she meets her gaze once more, "Then Quielle's lucky to have ya, darlin'." By her side, she doesn't need to say. Better. But even before then, Tela's still so painfully sensitive to Jo's attention that that by the time the bluerider's looked up, a blush has kicked up on her cheeks. "I want to help her," she says lowly. "Even if I don't know what she'll need, even if there's less time now. At least her family's here, but they aren't part of us, they can't do anything about the cracks some of them make." That her study has brought on that blush, it's a good chance that Jo's aware of it. There's no teasing this time, though. There's something there, but she's not bringing attention to it. Closely resembling curiosity, maybe. "Talk to her about it," she suggests all the same, bringing her focus back to the topic. "They haven' forbade ya'll from seein' them, right? That would just be pointless. Have her back against those cracks." Jo's big on loyalty, if anyone that knows her would notice. "Seem like ya gotta good heart," she observes soberly. "What ya do for her....it'll come natural." A compliment? Sounds like it. Is Jo ever not curious? "I will," Tela says. "I'll try," though at that last she turns her head a little away, making her glance towards Jo that little bit askance. She can wish. She sighs, and loosens her feet so she can draw her knees up and put her arms around them, though one bare foot inches Jo's way. "Tell me something good." Jo seems to accept the first: the try. It's the last that has brows lifting just a bit at the request, finally letting amusement touch the curve of her lips. She doesn't answer right away though, perhaps giving it some thought before, "Managed to get under the skirts of this cute blonde greenrider that's been playin' hard-to-get with me for the last few sevens." That's a good, according to her. "Sometimes I do like a good challenge. Yer turn." "Only a few sevens? Easy girl," teases Tela for that blonde, probably blonder greenrider. She eases into it even if the tension is taking some time to dissipate, and takes less time to come up with, "I think I finally found an armoire that will do," picky, picky girl, "and a handyman who thinks he can take it apart for me so we can get it up here, and hammer it together so it won't wobble on this side. But I think that should count as two." "Every lady has their limits to my charms," Jo is so confident in saying, that growing grin winsome. "I'm sure ya have yers, though, somethin' tells me it would be a lot shorter than a few sevens if I worked atcha." Open flirtation, perhaps, and the convict rider gives into quiet laughter at it before tacking on for her sake, "Since ya came all this way. To this Weyr. I just happen to be here." Just so. Telavi's answer gets it's appropriate lift of her brow in interest, nodding. "Busy girl. Bet the next time I drop by, ya'll have this place fitted nice. I'm even thinkin' of doin' some remodelin' myself. Haven' really done much since I've gotten the weyr." "Hm, could that possibly be experience?" as, with a wiggle of toes and a pursed-mouth puff of exhaled air, Tela makes a show of drawing her foot right back again. She bends a sidelong look at Jo. "Maybe, depending on just how long you take to visit. I might have a couch. I might even have all three. It could happen. What would you do to yours?" Laughing, "Uh-huh. Hard-to-get doesn' work if ya really like me," Jo notes back, alluding to the fact that, yes, she knows Telavi has a thing for her. Moving on though, "I'll be by. I promise I will, when things get done. I'll keep comin' by till I figure ya out." It's a mission. Then the weyrling's asking about her weyr and decorating and Jo launches into all sorts of ideas that she has for it, the majority of them easily discarded, but they're all good enough for them both to poke holes through. At least she's willing to stick around and speculate on the dubious challenge of weyr redecorating, likely mulling over any suggestions that Telavi may give. At least the talk of lesser things will also help to dissipate the tension between them as well, having been brought on by their dragons' earlier disturbance until it's time for Jo and Tacuseth to leave. |
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Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Tue, 14 May 2013 21:26:12 GMT.
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I love it when scenes take place during big, weyr-wide events. It's so natural, and seeing the characters react to things right then is always a treat. Solith... solith sweetie, you're such an adorable little air head. XD And I'm surprised that Rojeth actually looked out for her a bit. Not surprised, but pleased that Ilicaeth did, too.
You bet it's complicated, Jo. xD I feel bad for her, but if anyone can work two opposing sides...
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