Logs:Death and Other Ridiculous Things
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| RL Date: 17 June, 2014 |
| Who: K'zin, Rasavyth, Valenros |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'zin and Valenros cross paths (literally). They chat. It's ridiculous. |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 1, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Melty and muddy in the wake of heavy rains. |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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| Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself. A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs. The Weyr saw heavy rains yesterday, and though things froze overnight, the chill but clear day today finds things muddy, melty, and mucky. Rukbat is shining, though, so that's something.
Icy rain, frozen puddles, and muddy-muck - some of the things Valenros likes the least. Still, the young holder has found his way out into the bowl, bundled up in layers of sweater, leather jacket, and woolen cap pulled low over his head. His hands are completely hidden in the depths of his jacket pockets and his posture is hunched over. He follows in the wake of an infirmary aide - noted by the shoulder knot she bears - who is busy recounting a list of ingredients, of what seems to be some kind of salve. "Quite interesting, really, but I must insist..." Valenros tries to butt in, to stop the onslaught of words, but she ignores him and sloshes her way through a puddle, almost running into the wandering bronzerider. She gives him a dirty look before she maneuvers around him. Embarrassed, the holder stops and ducks his head. "Sorry.. er.. about.. that one. She doesn't have any.. manners." The dirty look is answered by one that mingles surprise with confusion. Then his brows are diving from up to down as he looks to the mud that's now splattered just above his calf-covering boots. K'zin's lips pinch together and this is the look that greets Valenros first. It clears quickly enough to a rueful smile, "On the bright side, she must be really good in-" Abruptly the bronzerider cuts himself off, glancing after the infirmary aide, since he didn't get more than a quick look, to decide if she's someone who stands a remote chance of ending up in bed with someone almost of an age with himself. Obviously, old people don't have sex. Ever. Regardless of what his determination is, he doesn't finish the sentence, instead showing a smile and shrugging. "Guess I was in her way." He doesn't believe it, but it's not worth making a big deal over. "Is this your job? To follow her around and apologize for her?" Valenros lifts his shoulders in a quick shrug. "I don't have a job.. here, at least. But she seems to think I'm here to act as her aide." His brown eyes pass the bronzerider, following the infirmary aide's exit; she's still talking as if he's behind her, gesturing with her hands and speaking in a way that her voice carries back. "Sorry.. again. She's... not got the best manners.. and um, yeah." One more shrug to explain away the weird and awkward situation they're in - though, it doesn't really. "Valenros, visiting from Winter Ridge Hold." He watches the other man expectantly, an unspoken question hanging in the air. "Ah," K'zin looks amused. "Best be careful then. You might be so good at listening, whether you're there or not," he didn't miss that she hadn't stopped her dialogue, "that she won't let you go back where you came from. I hear that's what weyrfolk do to holders. Kidnap them. Never to be seen again, sometimes." He's grinning, so obviously joking. He extends his hand readily, "K'zin. Rasavyth's rider, from here. Welcome to 'Reaches, Valenros, and well met. Are you staying long or just passing through?" The mere suggestion of being kidnapped, to stay at the Weyr permanently gives the Holder pause - does he even DO jokes? Valenros starts hesitantly, "For what purposes would they even need holders? Aren't we all too.. too.." He stops searching for a word and simply nods, grasping the bronzerider's hand in a quick shake. "Well met, sir. I'm just passing through. Should be on the road again very soon. Just.. visiting.. a dying man." Hints of sadness creep into his face, a fragment of an emotion that's being shoved down and concealed. "We're looking to leave before the Hatching. We're not keen on getting caught in the crush." The first has K'zin's grin going just a little wider. He could be kind. Only he's a twenty-one turn old bronzerider. "Oh, you know. To hold hostage in the weyrs. I hear some riders even like to keep them tied up, or gagged so they don't prattle about things only important to mere holders. As opposed to the all-important dragonmen. The young man keeps the expression believable for only a moment before he relents. "I'm kidding, Valenros." Then, "And don't 'sir' me. I can't be much older than you and I'm hardly even a proper rider right now anyway, and wouldn't like it even if I was. Just K'zin." All this before the man's face becomes appropriately somber. "A friend of yours?" This, dying man. Valenros stands perfectly still as he listens, eyes wide and face pale. Even when the bronzerider admits to telling a joke, the young man looks nervous, as if he believed his tall-tales more than his honesty. "What do they.. do with ..the ones who don't Impress then?" He looks truly curious, if a little worried. "They usually.. stay, right? So.. why.." As if someone could want to stay at a Weyr of their own volition. "K'zin." Color returns to his face, slowly even. "I don't know him.. directly. Friend of a friend, you can say. Someone that's like family, but.. not really. It's his.. old friend, from.. the Hall." His words fall flat, ending in tense, awkward silence. "Seriously. I'm kidding." K'zin feels the need to reiterate, just in case it helps with the stick being stuck where it obviously must be to be so pale. "Some do, yeah. Candidacy is a while. Some make friends they don't want to leave, some find the Weyr suits them better, some want to Stand again so they just stay on. Most don't end up living in a rider's Weyr, and those that do are certainly there of their own free will." The bronzerider shifts, one boot tip dipping into the puddle in front of him. "Sorry," he says, and it, like the silence, is awkward. "I don't follow. Who's dying? In relation to you, I mean?" This particular bronzerider does have a lot of muscles, so maybe it's just that his brain isn't the most powerful of body parts. Maybe Valenros should use smaller words or speak more slowly. "That.. makes sense." Except his expression doesn't reflect that it does. Valenros keeps that anxious look on his face, saying, "I guess." He shuffles his feet, crunching icy-snow underneath, and screws up in mouth in a grimace - explain? Again? "A stranger.. to me.. uh, friend of a friend. No one I know personally." His shoulders lift in a hurried shrug. "It's sad.. but uh, yeah. I just came to accompany.. my friend.. so he.. so he wouldn't be here, by himself. He's old you see and he might.. he might.." Get eaten by a dragon. Fall prey to some dastardly dragonrider in a dark corner. All things are implied, and not, though if the implication is lost on K'zin, all's well. "Die?" K'zin asks with raised brows, because the implications that put dragons or riders at fault are lost on him. Clearly Valenros is simply concerned by his friend's agedness. "It's good of you to keep him company. Dying," the bronzerider starts in a sort of quietly knowing way, "isn't easy to go through for the person doing it or the people close to them. I'm not sure there's a good way to do it, but I'd think having someone or several someones you care about around would be better than not." "Die.. yes.. he could.. die. Or.. other things. Lots of things to do here.." This conversation is completely ridiculous - but at least Valenros has the grace not to say so. He's happy enough to simply shuffle his feet some more, squishing the nasty, dirty mud between his boots. "I doubt it's ever easy, even with.. uh.. other people around. That might be, kind of, embarrassing. I wouldn't want.. anyone, to.. to.. watch me die. Like that." How long did it take Valenros to notice that K'zin is a Bronzerider of Very Little Brain? He's fooled the rest of the Weyr this long. It must be something about being a Holder. "Yeah? I think being alone would suck. I can't imagine Ras going through the wing dislocation and sail tears alone, let alone dying. But I guess that's one advantage to being a dragonrider. When I die," eventually, someday, "I won't be. Though it does pretty much suck that when I go, I take him with me. I've often wondered what the lifespan of a dragon would be if it wasn't limited by that of its rider." Now that's just a more philosophical kind of musing. "But that's probably not of any concern to you. It's been my experience that most holders don't care for the affairs of dragons unless they aspire to be a rider. And you don't seem the type." That last has K'zin looking the holder up and down. "Right," Valenros says with a equally blank stare and blank voice. It seems to is one of those people.. who doesn't care for the affairs of dragons. "I don't.. no.. I couldn't be a rider. It's too.. too.." the sentence trails off as he looks around, as if suddenly realizing where he is and to whom he's speaking to, "..ah.. too, different. I'm born and bred to be a holder. I guess I'll.. die.. a holder too." Not too elegant, but what can you say. He gives a jerky nod and takes a few steps to the side. "I should.. be going.. nice to, uh, meet you." |
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