Logs:Dedication
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| RL Date: 1 April, 2011 |
| Who: K'del, Val |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Weyr hunting! |
| When: Day 12, Month 5, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Lujayn/Mentions, Teris/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| What, no rain? Cloud-filtered sunlight softens the dark, dripping stone of the High Reaches, and when Visigoth appears, he appears within it without particular fanfare. It's a slow coasting spiral, downward, that lets his rider have plenty of time to change her mind. Again. But she's wearing her red jacket, for luck, and rings on all her fingers. He can feel, just barely, the metal in their inner bands, her hands pressed against his hide, foolishly and endearingly ungloved. « I brought her, » he tells Cadejoth before he bothers with the watchdragon, the briefest aside in their ongoing exchanges. « For... good? » And not for bad. Or for temporary - for taking home again later. For /making/ home. Cadejoth's question twangs like a harp-string - or perhaps it's just metal wire, thin and quavering, part of some greater piece of mesh that extends... well. About the weyr. His pack, isn't it? It may be too far to see, just yet, but Cadejoth has risen from his boneless lounging upon his sun-warmed ledge, risen to tip his head up and watch the pair. His tail wriggles and squirms. « She is not a canine who turns the spit, to be harnessed and leashed, » but there's a /but/ in Visigoth's tone, the fine blade of his thoughts answering metal to Cadejoth's metal. He won't slice his way in, not now, won't pry the mesh open like a clam to make room, just slip nearer and see. A sort of wry wistfulness slips into, « Shall I bring her down? » Not to tell the younger bronze what to do, but: down, to the ground, to where she could walk to the Snowasis or the baths or elsewhere, out of their reach? No, admits Cadejoth, albeit not so much in words. She's not, is she? None of them are. Better that way. That web of his, though, that extended mesh - there /is/ a gap in it: a place where another might join, if they were that way inclined. /If/. « Yes, » he says, though a moment later: « Or - no. /K'del/ says, we could go and look at weyrs. If you wanted. For... now, or for later. » Whichever it is; he's not pushing. Nope. What an interesting thing, a gap. One might hope, not a trap. « Now would be good, » replies Visigoth, with humor. « She does like to explore. » There's a little Val, with two braids instead of one, crawling through a crack in the very back of... somewhere by some barracks, maybe. It's not too dissimilar to how he noses about the edge of that gap, less a conscious thing than instinct, the way things /fit/:.. something that he doesn't seek to conceal from Cadejoth, mostly, the way he might have done those months ago. Is the laughter that follows that image of Val all Cadejoth? No: There's a hint of K'del in there, too, somehow; the bronze must have shared. « Then we shall join you, » he declares, with a rattle and shake of enthusiastic jangling; it's better than laying in the sun, even. /Flying/. The edges of his mesh wave in what is, perhaps, enticement; there's a sense that goes along with them of belonging - of blue, and ice, and cold, and /High Reaches/. His. « We have a list. Third along after the one with plants on the top row, he says. We'll meet you there. » It's nothing that the brown seems to mind, though there's no sense that he's shared that sharing with his rider, either. No, that might disrupt the whole thing where they're flying along, casual, muscles warm, just idly looking at the stone walls below. Their holes. Their... plants? He slows even further, somewhat in the way of a passing, younger brown, to look before he lands on the ledge beyond it. That landing looks like an easy one, too, as though he put no thought into it, if one disregards the lack of thump. Steadying, one hand on the crutch strapped to his side, Val wrinkles her nose. Possibly at Visigoth. Possibly at the ledge, the damp, the plants, the... blue?.... the /change/. But probably mostly at him and his carefulness, before she turns to shade her eyes and look up towards Cadejoth's descent. There's room for him too, right? There's room, but only just - it's close enough that K'del scrambles down as quickly as he can, so that Cadejoth can get back into the air as soon as possible. Or perhaps it's simply that the bronze is more eager to fly than explore; /his/ weyr is bound to be better. Even if it's not so high. "Hey," says his rider, giving Val an up-and-down glance, eyes lingering only a moment on that crutch. At least it's actually to her face that he adds, "How's it going?" By now, Val can put quite the showy spin into that crutch: see? Surely it's just for kicks. It doesn't even thwack Visigoth's side, nor his big nose, which has just leaned down in bemusement. "Not bad." And then, "See? I'm here," and she steps away, concealing much of her limp with the help of the stick. "You didn't even delegate. I like that.... Did you settle into your weyr, much, before you had to move?" From him, her glance finally roams out towards the Bowl rather than the ledge itself, brows pulling together just slightly. K'del doesn't go so far as to applaud, but his nod is somehow approving; also, he grins, cheerfully. "You're /here/," he agrees, emphasising the second word despite the fact that, as a whole, his tone remains casual. "Usually, it's the Weyrwoman's job, to assign weyrs," he puts in. "She'd've given you something at random, probably. 'less she knows a person to like or hate." Val should be honoured. "We-- had settled, yes. Bluerider has my old weyr, now. So if Cadejoth doesn't catch--" He, too, might be in the market for a new one. "Want to look inside?" The ledge - well, it's not huge, but it's flat, and there's sun. But nothing special. Here, and: "I'm also honored," Val quips for her cue. "Does she know you know me?" Should the brownrider be worried? Especially if Cadejoth doesn't catch? But she waits to reply to that last, until she's borrowed a barely-not-impish look and a, "There must be /something/ fun inside... since you think I'd like it," and wandered in. She hasn't brought glows. Maybe K'del has? Or maybe she'll just do without. Certainly there can't be as much sun as on the ledge, maybe making it easier to say, "Do you think it's likely? Is she... due?" It's softer. Visigoth watches from the ledge, twice-lidded, when he's not casting a leisurely gaze around for neighbors. "Noooo," K'del admits, extending the 'o', albeit breezily. At least he /has/ brought a glow, which is good, since it /is/ pretty dark inside, almost impenetrably so. Past the dragon couch, there are two separate rooms, one larger and one much smaller. No furniture, but there's a glittering lamp hung from the ceiling in the larger of the rooms, one that, with a glow in place, will probably cast pretty, spangled light about. Not very practical, but-- pretty! "Been three and a half turns," says the bronzerider, conversationally. "Guess that means it has to be sooner rather than later, right? Even with three queens." Predictably, Val's brown eyes rise toward the lamp, though it can only glitter in reflection: she can see the possibilities! "I wonder if that lowers," she murmurs. "It must. I wonder if that can be moved." Though she tries to keep the crutch quiet, every now and again it taps more loudly, and the inklings of a smile about her mouth disappear for a little while. "I will be off this soon, you know," she reminds them both, maybe more herself than him. That second room... large enough to be her closet, perhaps? Turning, ready to go, "I'll wish you luck, yeah? Your boy, he's a good sort. You can tell he's watching over everything, but it's not like he wants to rub your nose in it." Their noses. Presumably. Definitely closet-sized. Big closet. K'del, too, eyes the lamp, lifting his glow so that he can get a better look. Sounding pleased; "Was pretty sure this was the one with that in it. Pretty, right?" He doesn't have a comment about the movability of it; perhaps he's got no idea. Probably. He doesn't remark on the crutch, either: just smiles. Of course. And, as he turns to head back out to the ledge, following her lead: "Thanks. Don't know what difference it makes - wishing luck - but it can't hurt. He's-- yes. Eager to please. But protective. Reckon it'd be hard for him, to let that all go. Until he forgets." Right! says that bright smile of hers, back, and she flips her braid over the front of her shoulder. "Make that, good luck," Val specifies along the way to Visigoth. "With possibly a little help along the way..." She leaves that a little elliptical, busy as she is with mounting her brown. "Like a ride over to wherever's next... do any of these have baths?" Bright eyes. "...Or would he mind? I don't understand dragons' memories, sometimes. My boy can be awfully tenacious, and yet the next instant he's forgotten something. I even have to keep checking his hide, he'll get a dry spot and not think it's /important/." 'Help' has K'del raising his eyebrows, and casting, after a moment, a glance towards Visigoth. He frowns, thoughtful, but doesn't turn the thought into actual words. Instead; "If /he/ doesn't mind." Visigoth, presumably, because he's nodding towards the brown. "Cadejoth's gone-- further. Won't mind, this once. He's strange what he remembers, too. Never know what it'll be." Beat. And in a non-sequitur to that: "Wonder if B'tal completely moved out of /his/ old weyr. That had a bath. Or-- think there is another. Dude died, recently. Old dude." Does she mind, his raised brow asks. "He figures you'll know not to kick him," Val says on her big brown's behalf. "Not like a holder," and this time her smile's less on her lips than in her voice, the cock of her head, and wryly so: weren't they both holders, once? "Further?" Visigoth even makes it easy on the bronzerider by crouching in a way that makes his neck particularly accessible, though his frame is less rawboned than that the bronze. B'tal, the name, doesn't get a particular reaction. Maybe he doesn't frequent the gambling haunts, or at least, the louder of them? But the old dude... "/Old/ is good. It sets a nice precedent, don't you think?" Laughing, K'del mounts the brown, remarking, once he's settled; "Different to Cadejoth. Been an age since I rode anything but. Thank you, Visigoth. Down two levels, and then it's-- fourth along, I think? Towards the middle. Point it out when I see it." To Val, keeping his voice low, and cheerful, "Does rather, doesn't it? And so long as you don't mind the whole dead guy thing-- well. Figure these old people tend to horde the really good ones, right?" Visigoth has an amiable rumble to K'del, a running commentary to his bronze... and they're in flight, coasting along on easy but effective sweeps. "Did he die /in/ it?" she asks, twisting back for a peek though none too careful about her braid. "Surviving's got to count for something." Her tone isn't quite as breezy, though that might just be the wind. Right before they land, "After Fall, and all. There was a lot of trading up. I wouldn't let anyone kick us out." Ducking out of the way of Val's braid, K'del surfaces back to a sitting position in time to, hastily, confirm, "No, no. Went between, him and his brown. Rather think it was intentional - had enough, all that. Getting too old. Few sevens ago, now, at least. Longer." He indicates the next ledge with one hand, though it is, after all, exactly where he said it was initially. This ledge is larger than the last, albeit curved in a funny way that will make multiple dragons landing more difficult. "Right. Guess there was lots of... room." Visigoth's headknobs are tipped their way, and that /brown/ can't go amiss: more likely to be the right size, then, though Visigoth's large for his kind. He doesn't remark on the odd shape, though Val gives it the eye, and a more appreciative one at that. "Who were they?" she asks before she swings down, careful of balancing the crutch. "It's the best way to go, in the air. I couldn't stand to be grounded. We should remember their names." Once they're off, Visigoth can nose around and see what's what, though for now he stays still, just a slight swipe of his tail in the air. "And I don't think you said, whether you thought me and your new junior would get on." It's slyly said, teasing, the better to lighten up from talk of those hard, deadly Turns. it's only when he's on the ground, having inclined his head in thanks to the brown, that K'del answers: "J'vani and Ascenrath. Flew with Boreal, forty odd turns, I think. Six grandchildren." He knows it off the top of his head, too, speaks it without further hesitation. "Rather go that way, myself. /Seems/ like it'd be pretty peaceful, too. Doing it intentionally." It's still - given his expression - a less than happy thought, though; he swallows, staring at the sky for a moment or three, before, "Lujayn?" He laughs. "Probably. Reckon she gets along with most people, really. She's the approachable one, out of our Weyrwomen." He indicates the passage into the weyr; ladies first. The still-living brownrider repeats those names, under her breath, and with respect. Perhaps it's interest in the weyr, perhaps it's a different sort of respect that's giving K'del space while he takes that time he needs, but Visigoth keeps an eye on the man even though she doesn't. "Promising," Val calls back lightly, looking up at the stone of the entrance as she passes beneath it, her crutch tucked under her arm for balance. Her eyes are slitted, though: there could be dust! "I wonder if I'll be in Boreal. I don't envy you, juggling everything, even if you do have very nice furniture... and food... and hot-and-cold running goldriders." K'del spends a few moments more outside, no more than that: time to take a deep breath, run his hand through his hair, glance at Visigoth. Then, following Val into the weyr, his glow out to assist with the giving of light: "Mm, yes." Promising. But how could it not be, with a bathing cavern and all? "Boreal? Mm, probably not where I'd put you," he says, a note of teasing lingering in his voice. "Reckon I don't envy myself, half the time. Weyr makes up for it, though. Mostly. On the other hand... could just lay claim to this one in advance, just in case." It may not be especially ornamental, but it has /space/. And a bath. Very important. He gets a laughing glance over her shoulder, "So I should hurry up and decide, yeah? What's so special about..." and then Val sees it. The /bath/. There's a delighted gasp, and then suddenly the brownrider's abruptly turning around to limp a few steps back out, "Visigoth! Did you hear that?" As if mental talk just won't suffice. "You won't have to carry me down when I'm stinky anymore!" And /then/ she's limping back again, just to push up her sleeve and make sure it's warm. It must be warm. And not clogged. To K'del, "It's lovely. And big, which is important for Visigoth." Her voice, so solemn. Her dancing eyes, not so much. There's a certain amount of smugness in K'del's expression as he waits for that reaction - and gets it, as enthusiastic as he could hope. He's not got so much as a single word, as he watches her test the water - as warm as one could hope, and all in excellent working order. "Very important, of course," he agrees, finally, after the last of her words. "Sounds like we might have a deal, then. If you want it." Casually. Val laughs up to him, "What, do you have anything better?" /Could/ there be anything better? Her expression turns blithely stern, "You realize, this one needs better lighting. I can't have you holding that glow for me forever. I think it needs the lamp from the first place, or I couldn't possibly see," and never mind that she's already sold, and it shows. Does it ever. Visigoth might roll his eyes, if he weren't so pleased with her himself. And with what Cadejoth and his rider have arranged: « She likes it. He thought to find a good place for her, and she feels liked. It is even better than Jajingeth's. » Which also has a bath, but it's the more usual /low/, and closer to blue-sized besides. What the brown does not say, not in so many words: she does so like to be liked. Most of the time. K'del's got an easy shrug for that first: he /might/. But then again-- who can know? Of the lamp, he says, "Officially, of course, could never condone taking something from one place... but I suppose you know where the first one is, now." So if she wanted. Not that he's saying it. Or would. « He's glad. He likes it when people are pleased. » When /he/ can please them, more to the point. « He hopes you'll both be happy, here. » Hopes. Hopes a lot, just quietly, though it's so obvious in the way Cadejoth expresses himself. "I see," Val says ever so seriously, and then she has to jump around a little. Hopping, really, with the crutch and all, but still. "I appreciate your dedication to making your riders smell better." His riders? Hop hop, just a little one or two and then she's mostly staying put again. "It will take me a little while to get situated, but you'll tell me where to report, who to pay attention to? And of course I'll need help to move," but her moue says that he couldn't possibly be expected to help with /that/, Weyrleader that he is. "If you know someone who would do that, who'd be helpful." Potential minion qualities strictly optional. « I hope this, also. It is a very good start. » By which Visigoth signifies, not just the place itself, but the welcome they've shown. His riders. Is K'del's expression all smug again, for that one? At least a little bit. But mostly just pleased. "Reckon it's my duty," he says, casually. "Right - will do. Think it'll be Snowdrift, but I'll get it confirmed for you, once it's all sorted. Reckon I can rustle up some help for you, too." /Particularly/ given the leg, which gets a glance, along with the crutch. Useful. For once. "Shall I leave you to your planning? Getting acquainted with the place?" Trying out the bath? « I'm glad, » says Cadejoth, with a merry jangle of chains. « We're glad to have you. » They're part of the web, now: all integrated and Belonging. Part of his pack. His duty! So impressive. Val has an even more solemn nod to go with it, though her, "Mielline, yeah? I've heard good things," is more serious. She can match wing to wingleader! She's paid (some) attention! "And, I wouldn't dream of kicking you out..." though the way she trails off, the way her smile pops out again, she knows he knows she can't wait to go snooping around and make it all hers. Well, theirs. Visigoth will have to listen in to her chatter too, even while he plays with the mesh: if he taps against /here/, can Cadejoth hear him back? "I think I can do something with the place." Possibly involving suds, but unlikely, unless J'vani left sweetsand and nice fluffy towels, too. Not to mention a spare set of women's clothes. Mielline, yeah: K'del agrees with a nod. He waves an idle hand at the brownrider, promising, "I'll get out of your hair, then. See you soon, right?" Now that they fly for the same weyr, after all! Cadejoth's net ripples in response to the tapping; he seems to think it's great fun. But not so fun that, a minute or two later, he's not there to pick up his rider, to fly him away again. Farewell! |
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