Logs:Dragon Voices
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 28 July, 2013 |
| Who: E'ten, Reesa, N'dalis, Elaruth, Isyath, Maldoranth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Suraieth is hearing things, maybe. It unsettles dragons and people alike. |
| Where: Lake Shore, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 5, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: R'zi/Mentions |
| It's a clear spring day, and more importantly it's sunny for once - and so it shouldn't be a surprise that Reesa's taking advantage of it. Almost immediately after morning drills and lunch is over she's out here, stretched out on a towel in the sand, trying to soak up the sun while she can. She is, at least, modestly covered for the non-Weyrbred in a bikini, lying on her back. Khiabeth, meanwhile, soars on the thermals above, occasionally dipping and soaring past Isyath's circling route, to the apparent delight of the queen. One only needs to look up to determine that Khiabeth is in the Weyr proper and by extension - Reesa. It's a rather late lunch break for the bronzerider, whose jacket is opened so that he isn't being stifled by the encroaching heat. Food will come later in the form of what he can persuade the staff to part with before dinner is in full swing. For now, his intention was to... Well what exactly? Spotting a permissibly clad greenrider on the beach, some ideas are quickly form as his steps approach with boots crunching in the sand until he looks down appreciatively for a few moments before with a twitch of his lips cause his eyes to regard the lake instead. "Productive afternoon, Ree?" "You're blocking my sunlight," comes the greenrider's immediate retort, without even cracking an eyelid. His comment, however, makes Reesa smile, as she answers, "Indeed. My tan's been lacklustre over winter; I'm so tired of having to between somewhere warm. It's nice to just relax at home." And, presumably, she doesn't mind that anyone walking by can see, too. "You'll thank me when you're not sunburned tomorrow," comes the rejoinder as he doesn't move, being the persistent shadow that keeps the tanning process stalled. With the slight smile, E'ten does sober his expression as he steps away to stop blocking the sun and to settle into the sand beside her. "But I did want to mention, apologize for something," the bronzerider says with a careful stretch of both legs in front of him before stealing another glance to one side. "I haven't seen you in awhile and I wasn't sure if there was any need to apologize for that evening." The one that landed him in her weyr with a rather fine bottle of brandy. "I'm Istan born; I don't burn," comes the immediate protest, Reesa actually pushing up to an elbow in order to give E'ten a /look/. "I'm getting cold," she adds, pointedly, and only relaxes when he steps away. She stays up on one elbow in order to watch as he settles down on to the sand, with a grin. Casually, the greenrider reaches down and brushes some sand off her leg, glancing sidelong at him after. "Apologize?" she echoes, in a tone that is deceptively light. "Apologize." Echoed with a leg being brought closer and an arm draped across the knee, E'ten may be staring at the lake but the corners of his lips remain upturned. Ever so slightly. "I mean, it's not a habit that I keep to down a half bottle of good brandy and end up in bed," he says, voice deadpan and amused with another glance. This one meant to meet her eyes, already knowing or suspecting the effect of his words. Hence, the balance in his posture while sand bound, almost as if he expects having to get up quickly. "You thought you might need to... apologize. For sleeping with me?" Clearly, Reesa wants to make sure she's got this right, because there's an air of disbelief in her tone. She must be disgruntled, given she actually pushes up into a seated position. N'dalis heads over from the bowl proper. N'dalis has arrived. This isn't exactly what he means to say. It shows in his body language. Not that E'ten's reply is lacking clarification. "No. No," he says, pushing away with that arm against his knee until settling back into the sand without regards to the fact that he is still on duty. He'll be sandy. He'll deal with it later as he lifts an arm to cover his eyes and to protect from the sand in due course. "It's.. I mean.. /no/. I'm not apologizing for /that/. But wouldn't it have been better if we weren't half drunk at the time?" At the moment, the riders are seated in the sand along the lake shore - she on a towel and he? On the sand directly with their backs to the bowl proper. Reesa is currently sitting on a towel on the warm sand, her bikini indicating she's in the midst of sunbathing. Or was, anyway- the fact that she's eyeing E'ten like he just ate a puppy in front of her suggests she might've been interrupted on that score. That look - and some deftly-wielded silence that her former Harper master would've been proud of lingers - until finally she says, "Well, I guess we'll just have to try it again sometime, then. Without the alcohol." And then she's stretching out onto her towel again, with the clear intention of 'sometime' not being 'right now'. It's not - very much not - that Dal is eavesdropping, honestly. That his limping, crutch-supported steps carry him not so far from the pair of riders is pure coincidence, partially marshalled by exploratory Suraieth, and partially because this far back from the water, the weyrling's cast is safe. The sound of sand beneath foot and crutch ceases abruptly; should either rider glance around, they'll find a frozen, awkward N'dalis, attempting to edge around in order to head in the other direction. Ah. Yes. That's apparently well and fine for E'ten, who remains on the sand in some measure of apology? Resignation that he must have said something inherently 'bad'. "Alright." Muffled enough by the arm, that is apparently agreed upon. A date? Maybe. The sound of footsteps on sand are not possible to miss, abruptly sitting up onto one elbow to regard N'dalis and Suraieth with a blink. Then another before his shoulders relax and he resumes his reclined position on the sand before lifting a hand in a beckoning fashion. "Come on over," he calls, without any hint of the earlier flustered nature to his voice. There's a noise from Reesa that might be pleased acknowledgement of E'ten's acceptance, but then again it might be contentment at stretching out in the sun again. Yes, N'dalis is not getting away that easily. "Dal," comes the blonde's delighted tone of welcome as she twists briefly to squint in their direction. "Come and join us. Suraieth's looking better," him? Well, that cast is a bit of a burden. She pats the sand to her other side. "Some sun will do her good." The faintly pink cast to N'dalis' cheeks implies rather clearly that he's overheard enough of the conversation between the pair of riders to have registered the implications; he seems reluctant, as a result, to interrupt. "I'm not - uh, interrupting anything? I'm sorry, sir, ma'am. Su wanted to stretch her legs some more," something she's doing carefully, her still-injured wing held close and tight: well out of potential harm's way, unless flying projectiles make it as far as the /beach/. He /does/ take a few steps forward, but they're hesitant. "She's doing well," he confirms. The air is warm, the thermals plenty, and the skies blue- Khiabeth's loving all of these things, twisting and turning in the air above Fort's lake. She can't help but to share this with her clutchsiblings: such a wonderful day! (To Maldoranth from Khiabeth) A breeze stirs the calm waters of your thoughts for a heartbeat, somehow familiar. (To Suraieth from Unknown) "It's alright." Spoken while propping himself onto both elbows, E'ten's already sandy enough to make cleaning up later mandatory as he quirks a bemused smile at the weyrling pair. "Ree doesn't mind and neither do I." Still using his nickname for her, he's not about to remark more on their agreement as it currently stands. Not even a coloring of his cheeks or appearing sheepish. "Besides, Suraieth does need to get out more. Same could go for you as long as that." Meaning the crutches. "Don't get in the way. I'm not a fan of staying cooped up in one place unless absolutely necessary." The wing, though, is given another glance. "How is it for her? I can imagine that she would want to stretch out her wings eventually." "Not at all," Reesa's rather quiet and casual to reassure. If she's aware of any awkwardness that overhearing their conversation might've caused, she's adept at ignoring it. She pushes up into a seated position, to make conversation easier, fingers running through her hair before she stretches hands out behind her, slightly-less-expert eye running over Suraieth. "Swimming would help to build up strength, once she's- cleared," that with a look at E'ten, questioningly. "At least," with a wry smile now for N'dalis, "Having the cast means you get out of sack tossing; I could never get the hang of it." But then by all accounts she didn't exactly have a typical weyrlinghood. Thus reassured, N'dalis /does/ settle himself onto the ground - though it's an awkward process, and one that has him wincing. It takes most of his efforts, leaving words for afterwards, once he's more or less comfortable: "We like getting out," he confirms. "She's not /impatient/, but..." His words don't so much /trail/ off as get /cut/ off: he's abruptly silent, staring at his green, and Suraieth, further down the beach, is abruptly frozen. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, he /shivers/. Abruptly, Suraieth reaches out into the afternoon, seeking blindly. « Who was that? » she asks - no, /demands/. « That was /not/ my breeze. » (To Fort dragons from Suraieth) There's a quizzical sparkle of stars from Isyath, circling above. (To Fort dragons from Isyath) Almost clinical is Maldoranth's study of Khiabeth's images, twisting and turning them, looking for the angles. Little is shared of his own locale, aside from a low rumble of, « It is not raining here. » Only the barest glimmer of gold indicates he thinks this is a good thing. (To Khiabeth from Maldoranth) The delight of the skies, of the warm summer thermals pervades Khiabeth's thoughts, which chase after Suraieth's for a time. « There are many breezes up here today. It is a great day to fly. » (To Fort dragons from Khiabeth) Maldoranth is curious, but distantly so, perhaps keeping Suraieth at metaphorical wing's length. Was he ever this young? (To Fort dragons from Maldoranth) Logic and reason don't work so well, somehow, when there are /strange breezes/ in one's mental waters. Suraieth is put out, falling just short of agitated. « /I/ cannot fly, » she announces. « And it was /not/ my breeze. I don't like it. Go away. » (To Fort dragons from Suraieth) To Maldoranth, Khiabeth doesn't seem overly curious about her clutchsiblings locale; /here/ is perfect for her mood today, and she has no desire to be anywhere else. That doesn't mean she doesn't comment, « Reesa says it will rain less now, and we can fly more. » Is that an echo in your head? More; more; more; more. Is that /laughter/? (To Suraieth from Unknown) Already anticipating that look from Reesa, E'ten remarks, "It will still be some sevendays before I can say for a fact that she's able to swim. But even then, it should be undertaken lightly." Explained with what might be his dragonhealer's tone of voice, there's a watchful eye as N'dalis sits and Suraieth steps further down the beach before relaxing. At least, he was planning to until the lad shivers. And that, catches his attention. "What's wrong? Did you put too much pressure on the leg," he asks, already looking to the bowl beyond where Adiulth suns himself before exchanging a glance with the greenrider in question. With a slight roll of eyes for E'ten's strictness, Reesa in turn says, "She's not in a cast, though. She can splash around in the shallows. There's plenty of weyrbrats who'll help clean her," since N'dalis obviously can't. "Hm?" she missed the shiver, but it's E'ten's question that makes her look sharply at N'dalis, and upwards, briefly, with a frown. To Fort dragons, Adiulth may not be in the skies but he is enjoying the sunlight. Below. The mention of strange breezes has his own mental tone tinged with curiosity for the youthful. « What was it like? » That's right; Suraieth can't fly, and so Isyath's attentions might be brief, but there's a warmth of reassurance that a distant parent might give a frightened child. There, there. (To Fort dragons from Isyath) To Fort dragons, Khiabeth seems frankly puzzled by Suraieth's words. « They are /our/ breezes. You need to learn them. » /Their/ Weyr, /their/ breezes. She knows nothing of strange ones. Mention of swimming, though that would normally be a topic of interest to N'dalis and his green, goes by without comment from the weyrling, who lets out a little unhappy breath, and turns a bewildered glance towards the pair of riders. "No," he says, on the escape of another breath. "No, she says... she says there's a voice she doesn't /know/, and it's /laughing/ at her." Is his dragon insane? Let him down easily. Suraieth is still quite still, so still, in fact, that only her breathing betrays signs of life. To Fort dragons, Suraieth /is/ frightened. WHO IS IT? WHAT DO YOU WANT? « They are not MY BREEZES, » she announces, petulant, like a small child stamping her foot. « Leave me alone! » "But what if she extends that wing by accident," E'ten replies back to Reesa in the next beat, perhaps more protective of these because they are weyrlings and young ones at that. "If she can manage it, that's another story. But." But whatever he says is cut short by what N'dalis says and reveals about his dragon and the discomfort. /That/ catches his attention fully. "A dragon laughing at Suraieth," he asks, voice cautious while sitting up into a fully seated position as he looks to the young green. "Has it said anything else?" To Fort dragons, Maldoranth is not all that well-suited for dealing with petulant dragonets, but luckily any response he was forming is forcefully yanked out of the mind space, presumably by a more conscientious rider. The prior thought is indeed abandoned, and only a lingering impression that he will /gladly/ leave her alone drifts along his own strand of the conversation before the bronze withdraws altogether. Okay, that'd definitely a new one, to judge by Reesa's expression, somewhere between bemused and unsettled. She looks at E'ten: he's the dragon expert, after all. Surely he has an answer for... whatever this is. "Has she been sleeping okay?" she adds, cautiously, looking back at the dragon in question, too. A whisper on the air: « So much more. » It fades abruptly, like a wisp on the wind. (To Suraieth from Unknown) So much noise! There's more soothing tones from Isyath, as much to protect the rest of the Weyr as any particular maternal instinct from the queen. « There is no one there, Suraieth. Just us. » (To Fort dragons from Isyath) Abruptly, just short of panic: « TAJIRETH? » (To Fort dragons from Suraieth) "I don't think it-- /Tajireth/?" Suddenly, Dal is sitting straight up, /staring/ at his lifemate in bewildered unhappiness. "She says," he tells the other two, without glancing at them: he only has eyes for the prenaturally still Suraieth. "She says the voice just said the same thing Tajireth always did. She /knew/ it. But... that's not possible. Is she imagining things? Do dragons do that?" He glances back, now, finally, his eyes wide. Something firmer, now: « He is gone. » She doesn't remember the /when/, just that it is so. (To Fort dragons from Isyath) Only now does Elaruth pick her way into the stream of voices - so many voices - seeking to settle her quietly motherly presence right there next to Suraieth, a blanket of gentle mist cast out like she could wrap her up in it and calm her. « Hush, little one, » she encourages oh so softly, a hint of the calming influence her station and temperament grant her lingering at the edges of her voice. (To Fort dragons from Elaruth) Under Elaruth's influence, Suraieth is soothed; her panic fades to something more muted, a /wrongness/ that she is no longer terrified of, even if it still stands out. « I heard him, I did. He spoke to me. And then he was gone. I will find him, one day. » She's abruptly certain. (To Fort dragons from Suraieth) "Tajireth?" Voice incredulous, E'ten's already moving to one knee in case there's something, anything that needs to be done as he looks over to Reesa. This is entirely out of his normal range of dragon illnesses to be addressed. "But that technically isn't possible. Wouldn't Isyath have felt his presence of he and R'zi managed to escape? For now," he says, mind racing but trying to maintain a sense of calm in some measure. Maybe it's not complete but close enough. "Keep calm and maybe she'll take the lead from you. We believe you, but we don't know how and why yet." That puts Reesa on her feet, pretty well quickly, crossing the brief distance to N'dalis to hunker down beside him, aiming for a reassuring pat to the weyrling's arm. "It's not possible. Maybe it's just a... a nightmare, like we have sometimes. Remembering what happened all over again." /Is/ that possible? She's looking at E'ten, more concerned, now. She has no idea on the topic of queens, so she settles for, "It'd be- I'd love to think that those have gone Between could still be heard, somehow." Wistful, briefly, "But it's not possible." To Maldoranth, Khiabeth is subdued, /for her/, anyway- thoughts of S'fin and Yalzurth weighing heavily in her/Reesa's thoughts, making her seek out the mental sanctuary of her clutchmates in reassurance. Her earlier exuberance is nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile, Khiabeth's aerial display ends, abruptly, the green soaring overhead towards her ledge, followed briefly by Reesa's gaze and a thin press of lips. The hairs on N'dalis' arms are standing straight up, flesh beneath them goose-pimpled despite the sun. Solid, sensible Dal takes in a deep breath, and nods, glancing from one rider to the other. "They're dead," he agrees. "There's no way. It's- Elaruth calmed her, and the voice is gone, and..." Another deep breath, but his eyes are still wide with discomfort and concern, and his dragon remains utterly still. "She doesn't tend to make things up or anything. Maybe someone was playing a joke on her? /Can/ a dragon pretend to be not themself?" To Khiabeth, Maldoranth is... conflicted. There is a muddled /feeling/ that is shared along the mind link, but nothing else for a while. No sound, no color, no scent. Khiabeth, better than most any other dragon at Fort, though, might recognize it as Mal's talking-to-N'rad symptom. In a rush, though, he returns full force, bringing with him a rush of crisp sea air, the tang of brine strong. « This is ridiculous, » the bronze replies quietly, but with conviction. « Tajireth is here or he is not. He cannot be both. » The particular "here", however, is fuzzy. Perhaps even Mal's rider does not know what he means. E'ten has no idea what to say in this situation and neither does his dragon. For all that Adiulth is quite aptly observant, this is beyond the bronze's normal capability. "Maybe it could be an echo, but I have /no/ idea if this has happened before. None of the dragonhealing records have said anything like it in recent history." Which means he may have to go searching. Standing with hands brushing off the sand matter of fact, he considers the prospect of a pranking dragon. "I can't say that I have seen a dragon /do/ such a thing before." "No rider would make a joke like /that/. None." Reesa's firm on that score, the press of her lips possibly even angry. "As for pretending to be someone else- I've never /heard/ of it. Dragons are normally upfront; they're not given to deception like we are." Her gaze goes momentarily distant, then refocuses. To Maldoranth, Khiabeth doesn't probe further, through the silence; there's a sense of stillness, like her aerial display has ceased, thought the sun's warmth radiates through her tone all the same. « No, he cannot, » the green agrees, on the heels of Maldoranth's statement, as if /him/ saying it makes it true- tru/er/- in some way that eases his clutchsiblings' concern. « Reesa does not think Suraieth's rider is prone to fancy. » Whatever that means. N'dalis rubs at his knee above the cast, exhaling uncertainly. "Then I have no idea," he says, his voice thick with /something/. "But as long as it doesn't happen again..." There's something /hopeful/ about his voice as he says that, something that has him staring at Suraieth again - she who has finally begun moving, drawing herself back up and padding onwards towards the shallows. "I'm sorry. You were having a nice afternoon out here, and I -" He waves one arm, vaguely. Now everything is creepy. "True," E'ten adds on the heels of Reesa's words, turning now to not only look at Suraieth this time but the area in general for anything that might look amiss or just not right. "And I would hope that it doesn't happen again. A once in a lifetime event, but I'm surprised that no other dragon picked up on such thoughts and impressions. But for now, I would suggest to not think on it much right now. Not until or if you're both calm." Or if asked by the Weyrlingmaster and staff. "I'm sure it won't." Reesa sounds certain, or convincing enough anyway. Her fingers lift from N'dalis' arm to wave his latter comment off, "It was starting to get cold anyway, and I need to change before dinner. Speaking of-" a glance at E'ten, that's probably supposed to be meaningful but might not convey all that well, "-why don't you have dinner with E'ten and myself, Dal? Once you've gotten Suraieth settled. I'm sure we can sneak you onto Hematite's table without too much fuss." Conviction fades in intensity, if not in density, lingering, but from a further distance. Khiabeth's last statement is weighed and measured, likely echoed along his own private link with his rider, but the response, when it comes, is subdued. « We do not know the rider, » Mal has to admit. His rider's feelings toward weyrlings is hesitant, but it is the bronze's own distance from the young that keeps them detached. « The little one is confused. » (To Khiabeth from Maldoranth) N'dalis's jaw sets, firmly, a very visual sign that he's determined, now, to move on from the creepiness of the afternoon. "Yes, sir," he says, in answering to E'ten. "I'll do that. I - " He seems cautiously pleased by Reesa's offer, but pauses, studying both expressions before he answers. "I wouldn't be getting in your way? Which is to say - I'm flattered, and would be pleased to, but don't... feel obligated. I /will/ be okay." Except insofar as /standing/ my be concerned: he makes an attempt, and stops, self-conscious and apologetic as he adds, "Ah, could I get a hand up?" « Confused, » Khiabeth is malleable enough to agree without hesitation. Perhaps there'd be more, but the sun is warm and... her thoughts linger for moments longer but kind of drift away by measures. (To Maldoranth from Khiabeth) While it might be a look that requests more explanation later, E'ten goes along with the glance without missing a beat to remark, "E'dre won't mind, for a number of reasons." The foremost would be this afternoon's silly and strangeness that just happened. "As long as I don't make this a normal occurrence. If you want, consider it a learning experience for when you /do/ get to shadow the wings. All of the usual rules apply that you have, which is to say polite but don't stop to salute mid-mouthful. Alright?" To Khiabeth, Maldoranth is happy to let those thoughts drift, if they leave a troubled trembling wake behind. It is a small wake. Even gentle. But Maldoranth's mindscape is not as black and white as it normally is. Likely with help from N'rad's own thoughts, Mal also remembers S'fin and Yalzurth, the latter now weighing more heavily, but he mentally pushes the sun and warmth as if helping them along, a ship carried by thermals. A slight roll of eyes from Reesa, like she hadn't even considered what E'dre might say. "I don't feel obligated; I'm your friend." At least, the greenrider's decided it's so. "And you're a rider, and we look after our own. Don't rules-him, E'ten, he'll chicken out. Here-" she stands, bending to offer her hand to his- she isn't exactly strong but she can lean back as a good counterweight to help N'dalis stand. "Say, an hour- and a half?" after a brief look at E'ten. E'ten senses "Reesa's look is rather... well, suggestive. Or maybe it's just another one of those inscrutable girl-looks. Who can say!" "Yes, sir," promises N'dalis, without hesitation... and /with/ a salute since he is not, after all, mid-mouthful at the moment! He seems pleased by Reesa's declaration of 'friend', but says nothing immediately - just a smile, albeit a serious one, one that lasts as long as it takes him to hoist himself back to his feet with her assistance. Leaning on his crutch, he nods to confirm: "An hour and a half. I promise, I can behave myself at the adults' table." E'ten laughs. Whether it's because of Ressa's comment or the salute that's given now from N'dalis or both, the rider shakes his head as the latter of the two. "If I didn't believe you could do that, I would have disagreed with Ree with no exceptions," he notes as a quip of words as he takes a final glance at Suraieth in reassurance that the small green is fine before looking back to his fellow wingrider. "An hour and a half is fine. I need to find someone anyways before dinner and get rid of this sand." "It's settled, then." Reesa bends down to collect her towel with an expert sort of flick to free it of the sand, grinning at N'dalis. "See you then." And she's striding off across the sand towards the bowl, presumably to meet Khiabeth. "Then I'd better live up to expectations," says Dal, cheerfully enough even if there's no return of his smile. He glances over his shoulder in Suraieth's direction, and the little green turns back towards him, one foot in front of the other: if /she/ has any lingering concerns from the events of earlier, she's making no sign of them now. "I'll see you both later then," says the weyrling, before he starts making his own, hobbling way back towards the bowl. |
Leave A Comment