Logs:Difficult and Different
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| RL Date: 9 August, 2014 |
| Who: Azaylia, Hraedhyth, V'ros, Zmeyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: V'ros has concerns. Azaylia does her best not to mother him too badly. |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 6, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
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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. Summer brings with it the perfect weather to work outside, stacks of stuffy hidework piled around the Weyrwoman. It just so happens that 'outside' is also where many of the weyrlings are, the occasional youth or dragonet pulling her attention away from her duties. Perched on a large blanket, Azaylia has been here for some time, judging by the empty plates and half-drunk water skin. Hraedhyth is curled in a loose, possessive semi-circle around her rider, though her intense gaze is on those of her latest brood. They are still small, still fragile, and the reason she doesn't try to splash with them in the lake or goad them into playing. Not yet. While other dragons might charge into the water and frolic, Zmeyth is never in any rush, and ambles leisurely towards the water. He nudges one of his green clutch siblings out of the way as he does so, not forcibly, but in a rough show of play. V'ros is not far behind, wearing his perpetually anxious look, even in loose short-sleeves and shorts. One of them notices the gold and her Weyrwoman first - a coil of smoke heralding the brown's mind presence, a soft caress as he says hello. « Hraedhyth, » he says at first, testing the waters, « Good to see you again. » As if they aren't on the most intimate of terms - clutch dame and her hatchling. It's only after he's already said hello that Zmeyth let's his weyrling in on his knowledge, and that's when V'ros looks around, spotting Azaylia with ease, because really who can miss a large golden dragon. Many would not believe the gold capable of such self restraint, opening herself up to that smokey greeting. Her drums thunder from a distance, the never-ending pulse of her Weyr-- their home. Her rough contralto offers only affection, « Zmeyth. » It's paired with a low snarl from her throat, the tail end lifting just enough to be a proper croon. Azaylia has been paying attention, eyes dancing from dam to hatchling, jaw cradled by her hand as she watches. Eventually, V'ros will earn his own warm smile and a wave as she straightens, legs tucked up beneath the skirts of her pale-gold sundress. "V'ros!" Not quite a formal summons. A green and a blue join Zmeyth in the water, where they take turns splashing and creating geysers with their tails. « I hope I find you well. » Where is all of that charm coming from? V'ros looks mildly concerned, himself, even as he treks closer to the goldrider. "Weyrwoman, Azaylia, ma'am," punctuated with a crisp salute, "You're.. reading? Out.. here?" He casts a glance around, at all of the assembled weyrlings and riders, enjoying the warmer weather. "Paperwork, actually. Nothing that can't survive a little splash." She assures him, though Hraedhyth is enough of a deterrent for those impish hatchlings who may want to help Azaylia 'cool off'. She moves a small collection off to the side, making room for the anxious weyrling if he'd like to join her on the blanket. A fond confession, "I admit, the babies are distracting." Once the brown is in the water, the tawny queen returns to watching over the collection as a whole, though Zmeyth still has her ear. « I am always well. » Not a lie, for Hraedhyth never does, but there is nothing in her recent memories to suggest otherwise. Gruff, careful, « You? » His charm is unexpected, it always is, but the queen does not judge him for it. A social cue is a social cue, and he's obliged. Hesitantly, V'ros steps forward and then seats himself on the spot Azaylia has cleared for him on her blanket. He has knees bent, hands balanced on top of them. "They're not really babies anymore.. three months already," the weyrlings murmurs, shading his eyes with a hand, so he can watch his wayward brown trudge through the shallows. "It's a lot different now than simply wanting food and to be oiled." Zmeyth is a willing attendee, as distracted as he seems in the water. « Something like that. » All of his smoke and ash has withered some, leaving behind a faint crackling and burn. « Do you like the summer time? I hear it's always warm like this. » Azaylia leans back, keeping herself propped up with outstretched arms and palms as she takes V'ros in. Warm and subtly giddy, "They're still small. Smaller. They won't stop being cute," Because dragons never do, you see, "But they're the cutest now." Hraedhyth's flames flicker at that burn, momentarily tempted to reveal its true heat. She regains her composure, that restraint, although there's a rumble at the strain, « I do. » And because patterns are easy to remember, « There are the cold days. They last longer. » Or at least that's how it feels. "Oh?" Azaylia reaches over, picking up her cooled water skin and offering it to V'ros. "Good different?" « I like the cold. » Zmeyth interjects, daring to be honest versus projecting everything his dame likes. « But it makes me itchy. » He is busy following a line of fish that keep darting towards the shoreline. "Different.. different." Because that clarifies, obviously. V'ros shakes his head, denying the skin. "No thank you, ma'am." His brown eyes are keen and alert, watching the brown's progress across the lake. "It's still.. hard. We're still trying to figure out.. us. Zmeyth is strong and dominant, and he thinks he knows what's best for me. Now that he can hunt for his own food, it's less work, but more work, somehow. Every day brings something new." Hraedhyth's gaze has been stolen upward, where a foreign dragon politely informs the Weyrleaders of her presence. Welcome as the green is in ferrying people about, Zmeyth may feel a phantom spike of the gold's true intensity. She has dragonets to guard. Once the foreigner is gone, Hraedhyth's dark smoke trails back toward the brown, « It is good weather to share a wallow. » The cold has some benefits. Azaylia takes a drink instead, brushing over her lips with a thumb as she tries to pick Zmeyth out. "Is he?" Not surprised, simply curious. "It's good that he's strong, though. He might..." Her words falter, laughter soft and apologetic. "Sorry. I was going to say 'toughen you up' but I'm not... I don't have room to talk." Reaching over, the Weyrwoman does give his arm a gentle poke, "Maybe, help you relax?" Far less offensive. Zmeyth lifts his head towards the sky, watching the new arrival, along with his likewise curious clutch siblings. They get distracted easily, chasing after the small fish again. « Do you swim? » It's an absurd question, but the brown seems to be feeling her out, trying to see which corners to turn and lines not to cross. "I don't think so," V'ros says, looking grim. "I've already been restricted to the barracks once because.. because Zmeyth wanted me to do something.." He shakes his head and laughs uneasily - a truly awkward sound. "It might be better if I was the strong one, I could temper him. That makes it that much harder." "Ah," Azaylia doesn't laugh now, watching V'ros with gentle curiosity. "There was something in the reports... a hiccup." Not that she means to justify the weyrling's 'incident'. His awkward sound only prompts the woman to scoot closer, an attempt to soothe him with a lean of her shoulder. Physical contact calms everyone down, right? "I know it's not much help, but I understand. Hraedhyth was... difficult." But it's V'ros' problem, and she leans back with a soft smile, "You'll find out what works for the two of you." Hraedhyth looks toward the lake, a chuff leaving her snout at Zmeyth's question. « I do. I can. » But, « I am too big to join you. » Or, they are too small. A hiccup? V'ros groans and drops his head in his hands, giving it another hearty shake. "I'm trying. Everyone keeps telling me to try. I don't think it's getting better. What if.." Here, he looks up, distraught. "...what if, I lose myself completely, what if I 'become' Zmeyth?" That prospect makes him look horrified - if only Zmeyth knew. But it's the contact that startles him out of his doldrums, making him become stiff where he sits, unmoving, with a stilted voice. "Yes.. yes, probably." Zmeyth counters with crackling amusement, gentle amusement, that caress of heat again. « There is a whole lake here. » Azaylia is silent, familiar enough with 'too much advice' to want to add to it. It's when he voices that fear and looks so horrified that brings her arm around his shoulders. "Oh, V'ros." Not pity, but concern. Even as he stiffens up at her touch, the goldrider is persistent, "Relax." It sounds more like an order, however maternal, "I'm serious. Being so tense all the time isn't good for you. And it probably isn't helping things." She'll pull away completely, giving him his space to do so-- in theory. "I don't think you're going to lose yourself. Zmeyth chose you. He must like something about the person you are?" Not that she sounds terribly certain. « When you are bigger, » Hraedhyth promises, not rising to the challenge of that heat, « Stronger. Then we can play. » But for now, he is safe to splash with his siblings, unwrestled. That arm, that closeness, it does tense him up, but once it's gone, all the fight goes out of him in a loud exhale. "Zmeyth likes me, he just.. he wishes I was more like him-" if that makes sense "and sometimes what he wants isn't rational or logical. Hurting people isn't ok, no matter the reason, but especially for stupid reasons." V'ros frowns, switching his focus to his brown dragon over yonder. "I hope everyone is right though. I don't know how much longer I can fight 'him', constantly blocking." Zmeyth is innocent as ever, just a cute little dragon wandering in the sandy shores of the lake with his smaller siblings. Tons of cut, no evil. « I'll hold you to it. » That's a promise, not a threat. "What's wrong with..." It's the trailing sentence of someone not thinking before they speak, Azaylia's whisper soprano lifting with curiosity, "Being more like him, but not hurting people?" After she says it, the goldrider gives a fanning wave of her hand. "I'm sorry. I don't know him like you do. Though if all Zmeyth wants to do is hurt people..?" Now she's looking at him with surprise. It's hard to believe the splashing brown baby going on any sort of violent rampage. « Good. » Hraedhyth grunts, « You are... » She doesn't have a word for what he is, but it is familiar, « You will remind me. » Of that, she's confident. "Being more like.. Zmeyth?" V'ros passes a troubled look onto the Weyrwoman. "I'm not liked as it is and Zmeyth, more so.. he just does what he pleases and says what he wants, without regard for anyone else." Aka a bully. "I don't think I could be.. like him.. some things are ok, like being brave and strong, but.." He runs a hand through his short-cropped hair, which has grown out plenty since its last shave. "No, he doesn't want to hurt them all the time.. he doesn't want to hurt them 'in so many words', but it's the suggestion.. mostly, he wants what he wants. If he has to go through others to get it.." Meanwhile, they're cornered some poor fish out there in the lake, pushing them into the grasses growing out of the shallows. « You can count on it, » with assurance, a touch of sweet heat. "Some things are okay. Like being brave and strong." That's what Azaylia chooses to focus on, not that by echoing the good it outweighs the bad. There is a gentle sigh of relief as V'ros helps to explain Zmeyth a little more. "He wants what he wants..." She leans back again, aiming a lift of her brows at the weyrling. "You're right. That does sound hard." Very helpful, this Weyrwoman. "Though, I don't know what's so bad about saying what you want. Brutal honesty is still being honest" Yes, she's teasing. Hraedhyth is all too interested in that fish, in the fact that they were hunting without her realizing. Her muscles twitch, but rather than stand up she cranes her stocky neck higher. Her (far off) drums rumble with approval, « A fine catch. » For Zmeyth and his siblings is a brush of coarse, warm fur. That chase ends easily enough when they go in for the kill and the fish simply fish out through their legs. Both of the other two get frustrated and pounce after their prey, but Zmeyth is bored - Hraedhyth won't play with him, those fish are just not fun, so what's left? He starts moving towards the Weyrwoman and his weyrling, giving V'ros time to pause and collect himself. "Sometimes.. sometimes things are better left unsaid," he mutters, then gives Azaylia another salute. "He's hungry, he says.. now, he says. Thanks for.. talking to me, ma'am." Then, he stands, shaking out his shorts and moving to the side, where he can catch up with Zmeyth. « Until we meet again. » |
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