Logs:Dal's Search
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| RL Date: 16 May, 2013 |
| Who: Dal, Elaruth, Hattie, Khiabeth, Reesa |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, Fort Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Hattie and Reesa are on a diplomatic mission. |
| Where: Road to Fort Hold |
| When: Day 16, Month 10, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| A pair of dragons comes sailing over from the direction of the Weyr; a gold and a green, contrasted by their notably differing sizes. The two circle down, the green in particular taking sharp, tight turns that means that Khiabeth reaches the ground first with a pleased flick of her tail, something that's probably echoed by the rider on her back. It's a little cool for summer dresses, so Reesa's conceded the weather by wearing a slightly (/slightly/) longer dress instead, with short sleeves. She's quick to slip to the ground, leaning back against Khiabeth to watch Elaruth's descent. The pale queen doesn't seem to be any hurry as she drifts towards the ground, or it might be that rushing is just not Elaruth's style of flying, her landing as neat as careful as she can possibly make it, to keep paws from thudding into the ground. Her chosen spot is not all that far off from Khiabeth, just enough distance there to be /safe/, her eyes a vivid green that convey her sheer joy at /flight/. Hattie's got one of her smarter, more closely-tailored sets of leathers on, though her long black coat of the same material hides a multitude of sins. "Just remember," she calls to Reesa before booted feet have even hit the ground, "don't compete with them. They won't like that; especially not girls of their sort." Dal's concession to the cooler weather is his wool pullover, though there's a sheen of sweat about his brow that is likely why he's rolled those sleeves up towards his elbows. As the two dragons appear, he's engaged in a trotting walk from the orchards and towards the hold itself, a basket of fruit counterbalanced against his hip. There's a hitch in his step as they both land, dark gaze giving Elaruth a wide-eyed glance, one that softens abruptly in recognition as it turns towards Khiabeth. He may not be on a collision course with them, but his steps /do/ carry him closer and closer still. The road is not very interesting, and doesn't seem to interest Khiabeth all that much; the green's impatient for the two to move on, perhaps, so she can get back to flying. At least until she notices Dal, noticing /her/. The green seems to like the attention, brief or not, her posture changing to something more 'posey' and appropriate to being admired, tail curled tightly around her body as she stills for once. With a look at her dragon, Reesa answers Hattie with a pointed lift of her chin: "I don't need to compete with them; I /know/ I'm better than them." Yeah, that attitude's surely going to go down amazingly well with the Fortian Bloods. "Yes, but the better part of /knowing/ is not /telling/ them that," Hattie declares as her feet find solid ground. "Show you're better by having better manners." Might that be the slightest hint of a plea in her voice, or is that pre-emptive exasperation, sensing a disaster on the horizon? Her better half has the better senses, and so Elaruth notices Dal's approach before her rider does, following Khiabeth's /noticing/ to peer down at him, clattering a greeting far softer (and weirder) than one might thing a creature of her size is capable of. The little queen's focus draws Hattie's away from Reesa and in Dal's direction. "Oh, is that..." But no, she doesn't recognise him, says the dipping of brows. Although Khiabeth's posing seems to amuse Dal (even if it doesn't draw a smile onto his typically taciturn face), and although he gives her a careful, formal nod, it's Elaruth's greeting, however weird, that has him abruptly dropping into something akin to an awkward bow. It's made more awkward still by his basket, though thankfully he manages to keep /that/ from tipping him over. His gaze lifts, carefully, and as it does he seems to realize that Hattie, too, is looking in his direction - and /that/ makes him freeze outright, as though torn between apologizing... and hurrying away. A grunt that might be disagreement comes from the teenage greenrider. "That rarely works, if people don't know their place," is Reesa's grudging retort, but the tone suggests she might well /try/. She hasn't noticed Dal yet- but Hattie's comment draws her gaze in that direction, with a momentary furrow of brow, before recognition sets in. "Oh, it's Dal! /He/ knows his place," is muttered under her breath to Hattie - though it's an approval rather than an recrimination. "Dal, hey!" she lifts a hand, and waves vigorously in a way that'd be difficult to ignore. Khiabeth, meanwhile, doesn't seem all that pleased at the bow Elaruth gets (even if it's awkward), sidling up alongside Elaruth, even though she's dwarfed by the bigger queen, a puff of noise escaping her. "They outrank you. Be the better /person/," the Weyrwoman proposes, trailing a hand along pale gold hide as she steps that bit closer to Reesa, to murmur, "I do hope that I'm /not/ labouring under the misapprehension of you wishing to graduate sometime soon." Not reprimand; not warning, but reminder, meant for her ears alone. Elaruth doesn't require bowing, nor does she seek to elicit such a response, yet since there /is/ bowing to be had, she extends her muzzle towards Dal like she might touch her nose to his shoulder, should he roam near enough. As for Khiabeth and her sidling, either she ignores any perceived disgruntlement or is oblivious to it, just happy to have her nearer. "Dal?" Hattie asks of the greenrider. "Just Dal...? Dal... something? Something-Dal?" Dal /does/ roam close enough, though that's mostly because of Reesa's greeting - Reesa's greeting, which has him abruptly straightening and giving her another of those oh-so-serious nods. It doesn't seem as though he's scared of Elaruth, though it would be hard to miss his absolute, perhaps over-played, awe and respect. "Ma'am," he says, to Reesa, as he gets closer. "It's a pleasure to see you and Khiabeth again." His free hand gets wiped against the course fabric of his trousers even as he's turning his gaze towards Hattie to add, "Weyrwoman-ma'am. Fort Hold's duties to you and your queen, ma'am." If she thought she could get away with it, Reesa'd probably stamp a heel into the ground right about now. But she's /eighteen/ and totally mature and so she manages to resist the urge, as obvious as it is in her disgruntled expression. She settles, instead, for folder her arms across her chest, and a set of her jaw in response to Hattie, but at least she doesn't snipe. Dal's greeting eases her mood noteably though, and she affords him a smile even, "And you, Dal." She gives Hattie a sidelong look, as if to say, 'see'? Meanwhile, Khiabeth finally comes to a halt, leaning against Elaruth briefly while watching intently. Dragon> To Elaruth, Khiabeth's tone- always a mess of energy and sparks of lightning- seems particularly active this afternoon; there's a buzzing of energy in her thoughts as she peers at the young man. No fear is good; no fear is encouraging, and so Elaruth does nudge her nose in against Dal's shoulder in a gesture that's remarkably similar to that which she might share with another dragon. Hello. She likewise leans gently in against Khiabeth, mindful of their disparity in size, companionable as they both watch the man. "And the Weyr's to you and your Hold's Lord," Hattie answers him, glancing momentarily back at Reesa with a remarkably calm and unreadable expression. "We've an appointment at the Hold proper, if you're walking in that direction? It might give you and Reesa some time to... catch up?" Those last words not uttered with distaste, but uncertainty of their being the right term. Dragon> To Khiabeth, Elaruth might not be aware of the /why/ of that energy, but she cannot help but notice it, a quiet blanketing marshland, the sounds of life drifting into the background as she lets that buzzing wash through. « You /like/ him? » she guesses in a mere murmur. Or, no, wait, maybe it's: « /She/ likes him? » "Hello," says Dal to Elaruth, aiming his words directly at her. "And my duties to /you/ directly, too. /And/ to you, Khiabeth." The green has not been forgotten, even if she /didn't/ get his bow. Having (presumably, to his mind) greeted the dragons properly, Dal adjusts the basket on his hip and turns his attention back to the pair of riders. "We've only met the once, ma'am, but as I am indeed headed for the Hold, I'd be happy to accompany you. Promised I'd get these," he indicates his burden, "up to the kitchens to stew for dinner." The faint smirk that traces its way across Reesa's expression is fleeting immediate reaction, which she covers up when Hattie looks at her. "He's an excellent guide," is all the greenrider says, with a flash of smile at Dal that is probably excessive for their acquaintance. Maybe she's trying to make Hattie think there's something there? Who knows. The greeting from Dal earns a contented rumble from Khiabeth, who- when Elaruth stretches forward, does likewise, too- not about to be undone. She seems awfully fixated, not that this is unusual for this particular dragon. "You're very kind to accompany us," Reesa adds, to Dal. Dragon> There's a slight shifting of attention, musing over Elaruth's question before the green responds, « He is intriguing. » Her description, or her rider's? The green doesn't clarify, but her attention remains keenly fixed on the young man. (To Elaruth from Khiabeth) The next nudge from Elaruth is not for Dal, but for Khiabeth; a gentle touch of her nose in against the green's shoulder in that same gesture. This one has manners. This one she approves of. "Good," Hattie states with a curt nod of her head for the news of his accompanying them or of being a decent guide."But if you'll excuse me, I'd better go on ahead to see that we're expected." Just in-case. "Come on, darl." Not /Dal/, but Elaruth, who regretfully turns from Dal and Khiabeth both in favour of following her rider close as close can be, padding along right beside her to keep up with her brisk pace. For now, they'll leave rider and holder to speak in private. Dragon> « If you like him, perhaps you should ask to keep him. » Though she seems not to be aware of any abilities that Khiabeth or others of her colour might have in great abundance, maybe there is something subtly there that she cannot and does not know how to consciously act on. Certainly, she is /encouraging/. (To Khiabeth from Elaruth) The minute twitches at the corners of Dal's mouth are the closest he seems to get to outright smiles, but they're /something/ - and something aimed at Khiabeth directly. He seems a little lost for words in so far as working out what to say to the departing Hattie; his hasty bobbed nod and, "Ma'am," is presumably indended to suffice. To Reesa, "It's my pleasure, of course. I, uh, hope you don't need a /guide/, this time, at least as far as the Hold itself, but I'll do my best to keep you on the road." He'll even - how very gentlemanly of him! - offer her his free arm. Reesa sends a bemused sort of look after Hattie, or maybe it's after Elaruth- her gaze seems more on the queen than her rider, shaking her head a little. "She can be so /strange/," and again it's hard to tell which /she/ the greenrider's referring to. Khiabeth, having lost her lean-to-partner, sidles up close behind rider-and-holder, practically peering over their shoulders in a hard-to-ignore kind of way. This just seems to earn a roll of eyes from Reesa, who focuses instead on Dal: how quick she is to use the offer of an arm to slip her hand through and press in against him. "I think I can manage /that/- I'm just on a Turn older than the last time you saw me." Not that she looks any older, of course. It's a good thing Dal /isn't/ frightened by dragons, given Khiabeth's present proximity - even so, he does glance over his shoulder once or twice, attempting a game almost-smile for the green. Perhaps part of that is that it's simpler than focusing on Reesa and /her/ proximity, for all that he doesn't pull away or betray anything more than very faint tension (and that could really just be normal). "Are you? Happy turnday, ma'am. I hope you had a pleasant one." The look that Reesa, for her part, gives her dragon is a little less friendly than Dal's; kind of warning, that the green seems apt to ignore. So, instead, the blonde focuses on Dal: "It was lovely. There were drinks and streamers and a lovely bluerider." A quick, sidelong glance at Dal, and her smile deepens. If she notices Dal's reaction it certainly doesn't deter her. "Sorry about Khiabeth- she's-" another look over her shoulder, brow furrowed. "Well, she seems to like you." "That sounds..." Dal's hesitation lasts only a moment before he borrows Reesa's own word: "Lovely. I'm glad." He, too, glances back over his shoulder, his brow wrinkling as he gives the green another glance. "She's fine," he assures Reesa, without glancing at /her/, though there's something hesitant in his tone. "She... likes me. That's a good thing, I hope? She's a very pretty dragon; I'm sure I like her, too?" He probably can't help that question-mark at the end: this is very uncertain territory. Reesa laughs; a pleasant, warm sound. "Lovely," she echoes, agreeing. She clears her throat, and while she's normally inclined to like any approval of Khiabeth, the dragon's interest- which now involves an odd crouch-walk of awkwardness that all dragons have when on the ground, keeping her muzzle close to Dal's shoulder- seems not to sit all that well with her rider, who tightens her hold briefly on Dal's arm. "Khiabeth likes /me/," she mutters. Yeah, that's pretty obvious jealousy there. "/She/ wants you to come back with us." Dal, meanwhile, just seems /confused/ - and now there's a blush to his cheeks, though it's hard to know exactly what he's imagining this all means. "Come... back with you?" he repeats, making it a very clear question. "She likes you better, I'm quite sure. I just - I don't understand." What could a green dragon /possibly/ want with a person who isn't her rider? So confusing! If it's confusing for Dal, it's moreso for Reesa. That, and /frustrating/. With a shudder that is only partially feigned, the greenrider presses in closer to Dal: "It's cold out here. Maybe we could walk faster?" Except that's not going to let them outrun a dragon, and the noise Khiabeth makes is something strange to a non-rider: like some mixture of plaintativeness and demand, under the aegis of an exhale of breath. Relenting, with obvious reluctance, Reesa slips her hand free of Dal's arm, and instead settles them on her hips, ill-pleased. "I think /she/ thinks you should stand for Isyath and Vhaeryth's clutch. I don't know /why/." Because that's absurd, right? He's a /holder/. Dal likely /would/ have increased his pace at Reesa's urging, but then there's Khiabeth's sound, and the greenrider's withdrawal from his arm, and now, more confused than ever, he turns so that he can look at both of them, utterly bewildered. A moment later, he sets down his basket, flexing out his arm now that it's free of that weight, and - well, /stares/, mostly. "I'm sorry?" Clearly, he doesn't know why, either. "Khiabeth?" "Yes, Khiabeth," Reesa manages to get out with an infinite sense of patience that... well, no, she doesn't have. That strange sense of jealousy is still present, tightening her jaw as she looks from him to the green- who has settled down now that Dal's still, practically at his back. There's another whuff of noise from Khiabeth, directed- it seems- at Reesa, who grimaces, and grudgingly: "She seems to think you should come to the Weyr and be a candidate. But- you can say no." More shifting from the green, and the blonde adds with a sigh, "But I'm sure she will drive me nuts about you. She /likes/ you. So, I guess you have to come. I'll wait while you get your things." Apparently Dal's opinion in all this doesn't weigh very heavily in Reesa's deliberations. "I..." Dal really doesn't seem to know what to say, though at least the finality of Reesa's last statement seems to jog him into some kind of action. "I have a child. Responsibilities. I can't just /leave/, just like that. If nothing else, I need to get these apples to the kitchens, and - talk to my parents." He actually sounds quite calm about this, as though listing the things he /needs/ to do makes this whole experience a little more normal. "You could come back for me. It's my duty to accept; I know that. But I can't just /leave/." Reesa expels a long sigh. "I'm sure they can find someone else to haul apples." Maybe she doesn't mean it to come out quite so disparaging; then again, maybe she doesn't really care that it does. "You have until Hattie and I finish this meeting with the Bloods." Something, to judge by the wrinkle of nose, Reesa isn't overfond about. She's surprised by Dal's admission about having a child, and she tips her head with a pleased exhale. "Oh, well, if you're married I can't take you. Khiabeth, I can't." Settled! Except Khiabeth doesn't much seem to like that, a low-throated rumble issuing forth. Dal's mouth opens, closes, and then opens again, fish-like. Except, with a low exhale: "I'm not married." It's hard to tell if he thinks that admission is for the better or not; certainly, it's not an easy one for him to come out with. Nor does he clarify. The apology in his expression is aimed at Reesa, only he doesn't let his gaze linger on /her/ for too long: Khiabeth is kind of distracting. Undoubtedly, Reesa notices that Dal keeps looking at Khiabeth, and it's probably why her hands move from her hips to cross over her chest, radiating displeasure. "Well, then. I guess you have to come. You can bring your child with you, plenty of riders put theirs with the nannies. It's how things are done in the Weyr; if you're going to live there you might as well adopt our ways." Khiabeth's rumbling approval is more felt than heard, this close to Dal; she's settled down so that her head is resting on forepaws now, apparently confident of the outcome. "I'm sorry," says Dal, who is clearly well aware of Reesa's displeasure, even if he's probably not completely sure of the reason for it. "It's my duty, isn't it? Even in Interval. What the Weyr wants..." The Weyr gets? In a strictly traditional manner, perhaps. "No, no. He can stay with my parents. If they're willing. I need - how long will your meeting take? I'll have to talk to them." He seems flustered, now, and still so intensely apologetic. "I'm /sorry/." Reesa seems somewhat mollified by Dal's talk of duty to the Weyr, more so than the apology. Her arms finally unfold, and with another look at Khiabeth, gestures up the road towards the Hold and moves to take Dal's arm again. "Knowing Bloods... for/ever/." Which is likely about as accurate as the teenager is going to get. "We'll say an hour. If I'm not done by then, you can be my excuse to leave, if nothing else." Her mollification seems to ease Dal's discomfort, and even encourages something-like a small onto his face. Before offering his arm properly, he pauses to lean down and pick up his basket again, hoisting it into place against his hip before resuming his progress towards the Hold. "An hour," he confirms. "I'll be ready. "Thank you, ma'am." For the confirmation? For Searching him? For something else altogether? He doesn't specify. But he /will/ be ready to go at the end of that hour, even if his uncertainty has returned-- and even if he casts a few glances back in the direction of the cotholds, thoughts likely on a small, confused boy, left behind. Reesa, for her part, is /early/. Maybe she really did use it as an excuse to leave the 'party' early, so to speak- there's no sign of Elaruth on the road, and as Dal approaches she straightens. She's quick to direct him how to attach his belongings safely, then just as quick to bundle him onto Khiabeth's back- keen, it seems, to return to the Weyr. Keen enough that, bare wingbeats off the ground, they flick between, despite it being only a short flight. If nothing else, it makes the air after they emerge above Fort warm by comparison. It's evident enough that Dal, while not a /first time/ rider-of-a-dragon, is not experienced with it, but at least Khiabeth's not a large dragon - and he has long legs. His teeth are chattering when they come out of /between/, his coat not quite enough protection against that bone-chilling cold. Even so, he straightens, his intake of breath one of surprise and apparent enthusiasm for the sight of the Weyr laid out below them. He's been quiet, since they met up again, but now: "Never seen a Weyr before." "Never?" Reesa's bemusement is apparent in her voice even with the need to raise it to be heard over the wind as they descend; Khiabeth's showing off, perhaps- or maybe it's just normal for those sharp turns that brings them quickly to the ground, encouraging a tight hold on the straps. "You're going to love it," the blonde says, once the green's settled, twisting to help Dal with the straps. "It's much, much better than Hold life." Not that she's ever lived at a Hold, but the teenager doesn't really consider that necessary, it seems. Dal /does/ hold tight, his knuckles white with tension as he clings, but he seems quick enough to recover once they're safely on the ground. "It never seemed... appropriate, to simply show up and visit," he explains, with a wrinkle of his brow, which probably does explain why he never ventured even that relatively short distance between Hold and Weyr. "I - suppose I'll see. Get used to it. While I'm here, I mean." Reesa slides to the ground with a deftness that she finds satisfying, before twisting to watch Dal- and to wait for him to recover his belongings, too. Khiabeth's not really /still/, so she might not make it that easy- it's not that she's deliberately moving so much as she shifts ever so slightly, but near constantly. "Not even for a Hatching?" the idea of /not/ going to a Hatching is a foreign one for Reesa. "Well, they'll do a Weyr tour for you, I'm sure. If you want to see the /really/ good places, though, you should come and find me later." It's a deftness that Dal seems to find enviable - certainly, he seems to take pains to watch, apparently appreciative (in a way), though his effort to echo it a few moments later leaves much to be desired. Still, he manages to get himself, and his belongings, safely back to the ground. "Not even for a hatching," he confirms. "I've never seen one. Will they? That will be-" Given the way he glances around, it's a good bet that he's feeling quite lost already. "Good. Should I? How will I find you?" A twitch of shoulders. "Ask any rider," Reesa says, for finding her. "As for the hatching, well, you'll definitely get to see one this time," there's a knowing sort of smirk that fades pretty quickly. Once she's certain that Dal has his things, she guides him swiftly in through the caverns. There's some sort of commotion going on near the barracks, it seems, but Reesa doesn't seem keen to find out what it is. Instead, she points a finger there- "Go get yourself settled in. One of the assistant headwomen'll be by to make sure you have what you need." She hesitates, visibly, then adds, "Khiabeth says not to be nervous." Dal's, "Oh," makes it sound like maybe he thinks, in retrospect, it was a silly question to ask - but then, he's clearly still getting his head around all of this. His gaze /does/ turn towards that commotion, whatever it is, but evidently there's enough going on, because he seems grateful to be directed towards the barracks themselves. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you. And - ah, tell her thank you, too. I'll do my best. To do you both proud." Whatever that means. Then, shoulders back, he strides into the barracks. It would be over-dramatic to say 'and into another life', but - something of that, too, maybe. |
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