Logs:Doomed
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| RL Date: 31 December, 2013 |
| Who: A'rist, G'laer, Lythronath, Teisyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A'rist comes by with a proposal. Lythronath and Teisyth are themselves; the conversation takes a turn, and then an abrupt u-turn back to A'rist's original proposal. |
| Where: Teisyth's Ledge and Bookworm's Paradise Weyr (G'laer's), High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 9, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, J'vain/Mentions, Klohi/Mentions |
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| Teisyth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr A broad and welcoming ledge, wide enough to accommodate two medium-sized dragons slants slightly towards the Bowl, turns of landings on its edge having worn the stone down to a smooth finish. Along one side of the ledge a rocky outcropping hugs the outward curve of the ledge, providing some shelter against wind and rain for a tiny terraced garden. Currently, the beds contain a variety of herbs, sturdy plants that in the right season give off the heady scents of sage, rosemary and thyme. The wide maw of the weyr opens up onto a fairly standard couch-space, with hooks in the walls and a storage container for dragon-care equipment. A sturdy woolen curtain separates couch from weyr to keep out the elements. Bookworm's Paradise Weyr, High Reaches Weyr In clear weather, sun dapples the floor of the southward-facing weyr and reflects prisms of light from the fine glass that fronts wall after wall of neatly carved bookshelves. Empty now, but for a few volumes tucked up on a shelf, clearly this weyr is a bookworm's delight, all ready to welcome someone's collection of scrolls and finely bound volumes. The living space here has been sacrificed somewhat, cozy rather than spacious. There's enough room for a table and chairs in front of a hearth overhung with a precious maple-stained skybroom mantle, but the sleeping area is another nook carved into the wall, neatly laid with a comfortable double mattress. The linens are presumably stored in the lovely trunk set just to the side of the nook, a match in stain and wood-type to the mantle. Niches for glows are well-spaced along the tops of every shelf, the glow-holders made of interlacing strips of copper set with mica to give the light a mellow cast. All in all the space invites one to come in, curl up with a favorite drink and a book to read.
Lythronath is getting to be a whole lot of big these days. Maybe not by grown-up bronze standards, but by clutch standards... Anyway, there's lots of him to block out some of that sun, maybe even Teisyth's view (he's far more solid than her wingsail) when comes in toward the ledge. « Here. » Not that Teisyth knew he was coming - Lythronath didn't say anything before this - and not that it's hard to tell he's arrived (big), but it's true. And If it's not permission to land, it's at least warning, just before those talons bite stone, and A'rist starts to free himself from those straps. Some dragons are particular about their spaces, but not Teisyth. While this ledge is undeniably hers, with the way her scent seems to be rubbed all over everything, the newness of the scents show a haphazard pattern, it's as though she were simply exploring everything all over again on a regular basis and oh, does that smell like her now? So be it. And visitors? Visitors are always a cause to be excited! Unless it's one of the few dragons she doesn't care for; Lythronath is the opposite of these though, her favorite and the first time he's visiting! (That she can remember anyway.) She's up and honk-bugling her enthusiastic greeting along with radiating a mental sense of welcoming when he lands, the green shaking off her still blocky but not-as-big bulk, but not moving out of the couch. Plenty of room to land. G'laer's head turns when the bronze pair arrives, but he doesn't move from the task at hand, at least not yet. A'rist hops down from his dragon's neck, giving no farewell pat or anything of the sort, naturally. He moves quickly toward the little garden-y thing, tilting his head a bit as he comes to a stop. "That's sort of neat," greets G'laer, while he nods a chin toward some of those herbs. Lythronath had barely waited for the dismount before starting to move around. This ledge does smell like Teisyth. Kind of everywhere. It doesn't stop him from talon-scratching this spot, now that one, as he explores. Lythronath was here. Lythronath is here! That means Teisyth needs to follow him. Not only follow him, but give him the tour. The tour includes such pearls of information like, « An' that spot there is where I usually stand so as G'laer can oil me, » and « I'm thinkin' 'bout puttin' some flowers over there, or maybe some dried grasses. » Initially, the thought was dried wherry, but she'd eat them when she got hungry. The grasses wouldn't interest her, gastronomically. As it happens, the man is just finishing up as A'rist makes his approach and offers greeting. G'laer brushes his hands together before pressing up from the folded rags he was kneeling on. "Yeah," is his agreement. "It'll be better once I swap out some of the useless ones for things I use. Won't have to take as many trips out to find wild-grown." Then he waits. Because they don't really do plain ol' 'social' calls, do they? Lythronath sniffs, looks, and feels the stone beneath his feet. This ledge is not empty, but it's not his. And after that inspection, and the final scratch of his talon, he turns to thwack Teisyth with his tail. Apparently, she is more interesting. "That'll be kind of nice. If it doesn't all die every winter." A sharper sort of barb than anyone else might get, but this is G'laer. So A'rist gives a strange crook of his mouth, and then squints at the sun. "So drills today were sort of..." What's the word? The sound that comes from Teisyth at the thwack is sort of an interesting combination of her honky-bugle and something more strangled. It's like a honk-squeak with a hint of wheeze after. « Yer too big. » She complains now, moving to bump her much smaller form into his side, leaning against him. He has at least six feet on her at the shoulder and well more in length. The senses that she knows and admires how big and strong he's become are in her mind for the sharing, but the tail thwacking? It stings now, and not pleasantly so. "Some will. But the advantage of learning my herbs in Crom is that most things that survive in the mountains there will survive here too." G'laer shrugs, glancing briefly toward the dragons, lips pulling a little into a frown. The look only increases a little at the mention of drills. "Yes." He agrees without providing a suitable adjective. That is a different sound, and it sparks some sort of fascination in the bronze that the ledge never could. That big and strong head turns so that he can take a full-on look at the little green, hot air pushed from his nostrils in a silent puff, talons clicking against stone. That big tail slowly shifts, snaking as much in thought as for balance with Lythronath's changing posture. It's not quite predatory, but it so easily could be. A'rist is aware of the change in his dragon, reflecting it in standing a little taller, and forcing any new tightness to leave his shoulders. To the task at hand: "I want to start doing some in off-time. For those who want." One thing Teisyth is good about is never being prey. Yeah, the tail thwapping might now have gotten to where it hurts because he's a bronze and she's a green and they're no longer itsy bitsy babies, but she is not his prey. She bonks her head lightly against his shoulder and then rubs there in the soothing way she used to (and probably doesn't remember doing) when they'd had a particularly tiring day at flight drills. She doesn't really have the guile to intend to distract him, so it's likely that she's just trying to relate to him in another physical way because their relationship often has some physical elements of one variety or another. G'laer's eyes shift away from A'rist again and to the dragons, watching, even as he answers A'rist, "Alright." It's probably support. Or at least as close to support from G'laer as A'rist is going to get without posing a question more directly. Lythronath marks Teisyth's movement toward him with a clicking - not of his talons, this time, but a deeper noise from the back of his throat. He opens his mouth, enough to bare those teeth, and rubs the side of them - and some drool, let's face it - alongside the green. Just so she knows they're there. But so long as she's still rubbing his shoulder, the fascination will start to dissipate. "You're the first I've told," comes after a bit of a pause, once his dragon has eased off. "I'd like you there. Especially as you've had experience leading the wing." Needless to say, that's a compliment, if certainly not intended as flattery. A daintier green that Teisyth might be bothered by the drool. Since this is Teisyth though, her reaction is to radiate affection, taking the teeth and their wet rub as an endearing gesture, even though she knows that's not how he intended it. She redoubles her efforts with his shoulder, letting a little purring sound that might be a distant cousin of a growl and a hum leave her throat as she works the muscle with her nose and chin. G'laer is still watching the dragons, but he nods to the man, even as his frown is deepening. "We'll come." He agrees. And frowns more. Dragons. "Good." A'rist gives his head a firm nod. "I'll let you know when I work this out. There's others I need to talk to, but once it's all set... I don't see a reason to keep anyone from participating. Hopefully Klohi won't go all..." his nose wrinkles, "girl about it. If she hears." Lythronath stretches carefully, stretches in a way that moves that shoulder toward Teisyth, and slowly, slowly, starts to settle in. Maybe this ledge isn't so boring. A'rist doesn't seem to pay him so much mind, expression a thoughtful one, but another nod bringing, "Just to make sure details that are getting missed... don't." "You might try to get her on board." G'laer's eyes pull back to the teen, his expression returning to one of neutrality. "I wouldn't point out your feelings about her drills, but more make it seem like you're doing her a favor by doing extra work. Unless your aim is to make her look bad?" If it were, the look the older man has would seem to indicate he doesn't care, but then, he seldom does. He looks to the dragons and back. His jaw tightens, but he does ask as Teisyth encourages the settling in with her warm thoughts and the gusto with which she works at a knot she's found with her nose, "Have you had your flights talk?" Since some have been taking those lectures privately, it's a reasonable enough question. A'rist nods quickly, acceptance of that advice - talk to Klohi - almost instant. It should be obvious enough that his plan for extra practice is little to do with trying to damage the greenrider's reputation. The mention of flights catches him off guard, though, and all at once the bronzerider's face goes a bit pale, while it's being turned to consider Lythronath and Teisyth's current arrangement in a new light. "Uh. Kind of." He's tensed up his jaw and is managing to look almost defiant when he turns back to G'laer, defiant to hide any possible discomfort (though plenty still works through the facade) at the fact that, "I think J'vain wants to talk to me specifically, though. 'Cause of Lyn being..." Grunt. "Lyn." "Yeeeeah." G'laer draws the word out as he looks at the green and bronze looking all companionable. "It'd be nice if he didn't kill anyone." There's a very subtle wryness to the older man's baritone. "Particularly Teisyth. If it were Teisyth doing the flying." Maybe that's enough. G'laer's arms actually move from their almost-always-position at his sides and cross lightly over his chest. We'll call this G'laer's discomfort showing. "Wouldn't it." Whether unconscious mimicry of the older man, or just sudden lack of confidence, A'rist brings his arms up and around his torso, crossed tight enough that those arm muscles weyrlinghood's been building up are taut. Lythronath, meanwhile, has eased into a contented drape, and this time if his tail comes into contact with Teisyth's, it's just to lay across hers. 'Cause that won't make this whole conversation worse. "I know he's dangerous," is darker, quieter. And A'rist shakes his head, at a loss. "Yes." G'laer's one word will serve as agreement for both. "She knows it too." He adds after a moment, "Doesn't underestimate him. But likes him for just who he is." Beat. "You know what's possible, right?" His arms tighten just a little. "Because it won't matter to her that you're too young." For him. Does Teisyth notice the tail over her own, or the contentedness of the draping? It's hard to say, she's moved on to his other shoulder, which brings her bulk that much more in contact with his as she wiggles a little to get a better angle on the spot she's rubbing with her snout. One of those comet-blazed wings shivers, twitches, and then lies flat. Lythronath heaves a sigh. Lythronath... is falling asleep. "Yes," is curt, and for a moment A'rist's eyes focus, bright and sharp, on G'laer. More aggressive, after just a beat, is, "Fuck." It comes sharp, and easy, and heartfelt, from one who's generally not in the habit of using harsher language, even to impress people. He turns again to his dragon, quickly, and then back to G'laer... and there's nowhere for him to go, so he just glares at some herb that must be especially offensive. G'laer watches A'rist react. The man is similar to the bronze, except less overtly predatory, and in this case, the greenrider isn't making A'rist into his prey, so that speaks volumes for the attempt at friendship that he's making, despite their age difference. "Drink?" He offers, letting his arms fall to make a gesture toward the inner weyr. "It's the kind of topic that drinks are good for." He adds, lest poor A'rist think G'laer is making a pass at him. It's also an offer to talk about it but giving the bronzerider the chance to pass up the conversation, if he'd prefer. A'rist's stupid uncontrolled weapon of a dragon is asleep anyway, as one last rueful look behind him attests. So, with jutted jaw and furrowed brow, the bronzerider just gives one, quick nod. Surely, eventually, Teisyth will be satisfied with her work, but not yet. Though, as the bronze starts to slumber, her efforts gentle so as not to impede his sleep. G'laer leads the way into the inner weyr, wasting no time in pouring a drink, except a detour to grab a rag to wipe his dirt-encrusted hands a little more thoroughly. The glows are already uncovered enough to let a person be functional and it's on one of the many bookshelves that he pulls a pair of glasses and a bottle. He doesn't speak again until he's handed the drink to the bronzerider. "Do you have a preference you know of?" It's hard to say if G'laer is intentionally vague or if he's just following on from the earlier comments. A'rist follows after the greenrider, and the motion, at least, seems to help somewhat with the mood he's gotten himself into. So, apparently, does poking around G'laer's weyr while the older man tends to the drinks. Just enough poking to inspect some of the shelves, to move over to a chair, to stand at it but not to sit, and to not manage to keep the surprised look for the decor from his face by the time G'laer is handing him the glass. That look then turns back toward the mood that had preceded it, with the question. "What, like girls or guys?" Oh, and that first sip makes him shake his head and cough out, "Girls." At least he manages not to spill. There are more books than one might expect, and a number of shelves are occupied with arrows, the unstrung bows and spears leaning here and there. G'laer doesn't look entirely moved in yet, but it's a sampling of what one might expect the weyr to become full of in time. The books, if one cares to look, are on a variety of topics, though there are notably a number of volumes on herbs and history, local and world. There's a slight nod from G'laer to confirm that's what he means, and then another that simply accepts the word. "That'll make some green flights uncomfortable for you." His eyes go briefly toward the ledge and then he takes his first sip, clearing his throat if not coughing. "It is and it isn't a big deal. It's a big deal if you let it be. I'm given to understand with flights, it's about them anyway, and even if you wouldn't be into it normally, you'll be into it for at least the time it takes them to have their fun." And as G'laer goes on talking, A'rist's look goes from moody and angry and uncomfortable to a disbelieving look, like maybe something's started to grow out of the greenrider's ear. "I'm not worried about whether it's - Faranth - a girl or a guy," is talked slightly over the end of the older man's last sentence. "I don't... care so much. Besides, they talked to us about that. All us guys with guy dragons." If there's irritation, it's probably not really meant for G'laer himself. The second swallow of his drink doesn't have the same shock for the young bronzerider as did the first. "Good. Then things won't be weird if Lythronath flies Teisyth." G'laer's jaw is tight and each word is enunciated carefully as he nails A'rist with a look over the edge of his own glass. Of course they'd be weird, but. It's a nice idea anyway. That seems to be as much as G'laer cares, though, and the whole reason he brought it up, because he doesn't say more, simply sips on his drink. "Not 'cause of that." It's teenage incredulity, as much to do, surely, with the hormones pumping through the bronzerider at this stage in his life as with the awkwardness of the topic. His back and shoulders are obviously tense, even to the point of affecting the drinking motion, when he lifts the glass again. A'rist is not a heavy drinker, least of all with a dragon like Lythronath. It might be that, which has his cheeks going a bit rosy. Or, you know... all the rest. It's after some good bit of glaring at one of G'laer's chairs that he shrugs and pushes out, "At least you could probably take care of yourself fine. Maybe even it'd be you hurt me." Glare. G'laer shrugs his shoulders. Could he hurt A'rist? Probably. But he's never been one to brag or flaunt physical prowess. "No one can say what it'll be like to be in flight lust until it happens to you." But the conclusion can and is drawn. "You're worried you'll hurt someone? Like he might?" "I know that's what J'vain's going to talk to me about." It sounds calm, lucid, and when A'rist nods his head a couple times, for a moment, his expression clears, looking almost thoughtful. And then he holds his empty glass out to G'laer. "Are you like him?" G'laer asks as he accepts the glass. "Do you have experience enough to know what you are like in that context?" His gaze is even and measuring as he regards the younger man, the questions probing as much as his eyes. A'rist's eyes just stay on that empty glass, a bit dissatisfied. "No." He turns a bit, his hands go to the back of the chair, in lieu of wrapping around himself, and he clenches his fists around that. "I got close once, but- doesn't matter, different life." He pulls the chair back onto two legs, lets it smack back down, and looks some more at that empty glass. It might be the way A'rist looks at the glass, or the way the conversation is going that prompts G'laer to finish his own drink and move to refill them. "It might matter. Were you aggressive then?" The question comes while the man's back is turned, but soon enough he's turning back and slides the glass across the table before taking a seat himself. A'rist eases his grip on the chair a bit once G'laer's on his way, and pulls it out some. "I was an idiot then. And like fourteen." Ancient history, surely. "I don't know, everyone was sort of messed up then, it was the gold flight." He's still behind the chair, still not sitting until the greenrider himself is back. Then, it's less an easing into a seat as it is a stubborn drop into one. For the sake of being polite. He reaches for his drink, and takes one. "Anyway things are different now." "They are." G'laer concedes. "Goldriders have to control their mates when they fly. Green, too. They talk to us about that. About not letting them get carried away or darting between when they're about to be caught." A finger taps the side of the glass thoughtfully. "I've heard stories. About Weyrwoman Azaylia's flights. Things have been known to get violent. Hraedhyth isn't flowers and perfume." Even if fire and smoke have their own beauty and intoxicating scents. "Might help to talk to her, or someone like her. Someone who has to have more than average control." Does she? Well, G'laer seems to think so anyway. "Ung," says A'rist at the thought of having to ask the weyrwoman for this sort of advice. He says that, and he brings a hand up to rub at his face. Then, another sip, and some silent reflection. When he gets back to looking up, and this time looking at G'laer properly, he's more A'rist again, and less the drama-torn teenager. "You've done it." He's heard about the kids. "Once you're into it," if there's a pun there, it wasn't intentional, "can you even like... think straight?" Again, no pun meant or even acknowledged. He's looking serious. If G'laer catches the possible jokes, there's no sign of it on his face. "When you're young, it's harder to stop. When you're new to it, too. Later, it gets easier, and it's easier if you're not all that into it to begin with. Only, with flights, you'll be into it, so will whoever you're with. I'm not sure you need to worry about that, really. If they get rough with you, it's not because they want you to stop, it's because they, or their dragon, want it rough. With flights, even if you or he or she really doesn't want to be there, you really do for that moment." Those first few observations are not comforting to the young bronzerider. He sits back with something of an 'umf', and watches G'laer through sober eyes. Despite the red in his cheeks. Despite the lifting of his glass for another drink. Eyes rove toward the ledge, and all at once, all flat-toned and flat-faced, "My dragon's asleep on your ledge." "Yes." G'laer agrees stoically. "But if I keep drinking, she'll rouse him soon enough by being to rambunctious," read: hyyyyyper, "-to ignore." And to that end he takes several long swallows, enough to empty his glass. "Just because it's harder to stop when you're young and when you're new to it doesn't mean you can't." Maybe that's meant to be comforting. "I guess," doesn't sound overly convinced, but A'rist doesn't offer up further detail. The glass lifts again, and he drains the rest of it, setting it back to the table with finality of some decision he's reached that's not been voiced, that probably won't be. This time, there's no staring for a refill. "You think of anyone else would be good to have along to help run these drills?" Here's hoping G'laer follows him to the change of topic. There's a shrug to G'laer's shoulders, but it's for the last question, not anything that comes before. "You could ask some of the other wingleaders or 'seconds. Or some of the silver threaders that want to get their feet wet before it's their turn to really lead. If you rotate the leaders of the drills, Klohi may be less inclined to see you, specifically, as a threat to her image." Since it's already been made clear how Klohi feels about being made to look bad. "And it would reinforce that this isn't meant to replace the daily drills, just offer additional practice." Even though they both know that's not really the truth. True to G'laer's promise, Teisyth's brain is becoming more and more energized and even though she's trying not to wake Lythronath, it's becoming impossible to keep her vivid colors and coppery taste to herself, especially with him in such close proximity. A'rist nods, thoughtful. "So long as the right people get to leading, I guess. I mean, not that we'll know for sure, with some, just have to keep it so there's progress going on, you know?" A glance out to the ledge again, where Lythronath's tail lifts and thuds, not thwacks, just thuds. His wings twitch, too. And he rumbles a bit. Cranky Lythronath is cranky. And has closed his eyes super-tight. "Might try talk to some of them tomorrow, though. I don't know how good a guest Lynner's going to be, after..." he waves his hand, "all this." Nevermind that he's clearly a bit tipsy. "So set it up that you pair a new person leading with someone experienced as second for the drill set. Test them out that way so there's always someone who knows. It'll give us a preview of what the coming months'll be like, and-- shit." G'laer almost never curses. But the word is emphatically expressed just as Teisyth catches sight of something down in the far off feeding grounds and like an unwelcome alarm clock, shouts excitedly, « WHERRY!! » Before tripping over Lythronath to get to the edge of the ledge and away after her sighted prey. Lythronath is awake and roaring. And then Lythronath is gone. Chasing after Teisyth. Chasing after the wherry. Chasing after both. In the weyr, A'rist's jaw just drops a little, not so much in surprise (how could this be a surprise), but veiled frustration. He looks from the ledge, where his attention had gone, back to G'laer, shifts once in his seat, and then... "That's a good idea. Maybe get them to each select certain formations or drills to work in advance..." They may be here a while. G'laer's looking out at the ledge as if by looking the scene that played out will rewind and they can have a do-over, maybe with him drinking less this time. But no, Teisyth is gone. Lythronath is gone. And that wherry? It's doomed. The older man sighs heavily before rising from his seat and moving to a set of shelves that has papers and writing implements, fetching them back to the table along with a bound sheaf of what prove to be his exhaustive notes from when he was wingleader. "Or we can plan it all out, set it all up and let them work off of it. Provide a plan from which they can deviate as needed." He glances back toward the ledge and then to A'rist, "Since we have time." Time, and apparently also more alcohol, which he tempers with a loaf of bread and cheese pulled from another shelf. The dragons will be back... eventually. |
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