Logs:Flattering The Sun
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| RL Date: 5 October, 2008 |
| Who: Kasadel, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del meets Leova. |
| Where: Bowl, High Reaches Weyr / Skies above High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 12, Turn 17 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: L'vae/Mentions |
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| Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake. At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. Only the faintest traces of sunlight break through heavy clouds, this windy winter's afternoon, leaving behind a gloomy dim despite the eary hour. Nonetheless, the bowl is full of activity, a hub for those going this way and that to carry out their duties. And then there's Kasadel, who drifts, lingering around the edges of the bowl rather than the centre, making an unplotted journey to - apparently - no where in particular, one that currently takes him not too far from the infirmary. Which is around when Leova emerges, knitted hat already on her head, reaching back to secure the doors before pulling up her hood and directing a narrow look around her immediate vicinity. Dragon. There's supposed to be a dragon there. No dragon. Just a Kasadel, instead. "Looking for something, Greenrider?" The young man, digging his hands deeper into his pockets as he speaks, lifts a brow curiously, his easy gait carrying him closer to Leova in a handful of long-legged steps. Plenty of greenriders around here, but he's approaching. So her gaze swings back at him, level and maybe a little curious too, made easier by the distance until he shortens it step by step. "Yes. Could do with some sun. Don't suppose you've seen it?" "Think it ran away with the warm," says Kasadel, sadly, his head shaking in dismay that is only partially in jest. "Feels like it's been forever since we saw hide or hair of either. S'pose sun pines without warm to keep it company." A easy grin settles in to his pink-cheeked face. "Think so? Pretty disappointing, that," but given the amused crook to her mouth, Leova's evidently willing to entertain the possibility, at least until Vrianth shows up, which... any moment now. Or another. Or another. The rider pushes up her sleeve, tucks in the ribbing of her glove. "Want to think the sun has more backbone, after all. That it wouldn't run off with the next pot of klah that looked at it crosswise." Having such a receptive audience, Kasadel continues, shaking his head again. "You would think so, wouldn't you. The sun should be - strong, and present, and responsible. Lonely, though, I think. Cold and clouds? Like to pretend it isn't there at all. Cruel, really. Suspect the sun just likes a bit of flattery, sometimes." A gloved hand is pulled from his pocket, and then Kas is tugging at his cap, pulling it more tightly over his ears. And while he's talking, that's when a certain rangy young dragon glides to a leisurely stop in the distance behind him. Dragons land all the time around here: nothing unusual about it, particularly when the rider's eyes don't change their focus, and her sudden, deeper smile could be chalked up to his sally. But Leova also secures her second glove even as she says, "Question is, how would you flatter the sun?" and despite the entertainment, there's an air of about-to-move-on. Kasadel doesn't seem to even notice Vrianth's arrival; he's wrapped up in the telling of his tale, enthusiasm writ clear upon his features. "Difficult," he says, considering, though a flick of his gaze, even if it stays upon the greenrider, marks his words. "Not like some girls, the sun. Probably I'd-- well, tell her how beautiful she is. How necessary. How she can shine through the clou-- Bet you could almost get close enough to talk to the sun, from way up there." His words shift abruptly, although his tone remains conversational, and he lifts a hand, indicating above - the bowl walls, the star stones, maybe just the sky in general. Not /really/ hinting. Maybe. Maybe not. Quick speaking: good thinking, given the givens, Vrianth flowing nearer yet with her wings all but pinned to her spine. Her pace is quiet, for all her length, the only question being whether she's quiet enough. Or perhaps one more question after all: "A /girl/, the sun," her rider has to say on something like a laugh. "And here I thought you were going to talk about someone more.... Lordly, as well as lonely." Leova gives the tall teenager a longer look. That gesture, that shift in phrasing, the not-quite-hint. "You're one of L'vae's, aren't you. What do you think he saw in you?" "A woman, then," shrugs Kasadel, unperturbed by this, grin still well in place. "Which probably makes more sense - she's more majestic, you're quite right." He still doesn't seem to have heard Vrianth, but perhaps that's not surprising: the bowl is not precisely a quiet place, even in this weather. "I am," he agrees, of Leova's second-to-last question. "Thought it was a matter of what Bremuth saw in me. As to what it is, I couldn't tell you. Not sure it matters, so long as it was there." So Vrianth settles herself behind him, not /too/ close, and the easiest way to tell she's there is the way the wind has all of a sudden... banked. Not that gusts don't tease here and there, but it's quieter, without so much of the nagging, tugging cold. Her rider tables his first comment in favor of a flick of gloved fingers: L'vae, Bremuth, so very much the same. "Doesn't it? Matter. But maybe we'll find out." The pause that she gives the idea isn't long, moving back to the, "Girl, woman, could just as well be a man, hm? Unless you're saying they don't like their flattery too." And Kasadel does seem to notice that much, if only in that his hair below the edge of his cap has stopped rippling so much, but he doesn't turn even now. "When I Impress, you mean?" Confident, rather than arrogant - just /sure/. "Doesn't your dragon see the same thing? Don't you? But - no. Sun's female. Moons, too. Just the way it is." There's a distance behind her eyes. "No," Leova says. And blinks it away, really looking at him again, just one corner of her mouth turned up. "Sooner than that. And no. We don't. But that's all right: here. It's... rivers, is about as specific as I can get." And then she walks towards him, only it turns out to be walking /around/ him, right to the angled head coming down to meet her. What vivid eyes Vrianth has, and now they're fixed on /them/. Like he ought to understand, "Bremuth doesn't use much in the way of words, but I have to, see. Rivers. Moving. That's you." Never mind the moons. "Just the way it is." Kasadel looks - confused, that confidence shifting slightly as he makes his way into those words, thought-processes so clearly outlined on his face though the end computation still seems to be a simple, straight-forward 'huh?'. As Leova walks towards him, he straightens, then loosens, turning, as she approaches Vrianth instead. "Honestly? Really don't understand what you mean by that. Rivers? Moving rivers?" His eyes flick up towards the green, then towards her rider, finally settling on both together. "That's how he sees you," Leova explains, or tries to, humor clear in her voice even if it's also more bemused than anything. "Or sees something in you. Whichever. See, I asked Vrianth," and her nod says this-must-be-Vrianth, "And she asked /him/, Bremuth, so there you have it, and is it any more clear than mud?" The wind kicks up: the dragon's turned her head on that long neck of hers, and there's a glimpse of her throat but not whatever she's seeing, so high above. "Rivers," repeats Kasadel again, sounding less utterly baffled this time, but still not exactly confident. "Huh." His gaze shifts towards Vrianth again, as if measuring her thoughtfully, then slides back to Leova. "Interesting to know," he tells her, "I suppose. Still not sure that it /matters/, as such, but still: interesting. Bit hard for me to grasp the way they think, just yet." He glances skywards, as if trying to follow Vrianth's gaze, but fails, and again, his gaze heads back to Leova. He can measure all he likes, for all that Vrianth appears to takes notice. "Might not, in and of itself," her rider says amiably enough. "We'll know more later. Looking back." But the lift and fall of her shoulder has a lingering sort of ambivalence to it, as though whichever-way-it-goes is not just binary, isn't just yes or no. "You're not expected to grasp that, at least. If it's any consolation. Besides," but then she stops. Looks up: where Vrianth's looking. Looks back down, at him, searchingly. Kasadel, recovering nicely from his earlier confusion, has a relatively unbothered expression by the time Leova makes her comments, merely nodding calmly. "We'll see," he agrees in an easy tone of voice, with the flash of a smile. Although he opens his mouth, all ready to respond further as soon as Leova finishes speaking, her stop and look breaks off his intentions, and he pauses. His eyebrows raise, as she looks back, querying silently. Leova flicks gloved fingers upward as if that should serve as answer, the curve of her mouth pulled wry. It nearly becomes a no-you-go-first, it's there on the verge and the way she's leaning, but at the end... maybe it's /because/ the candidate knows how to be silent, sometimes. "Listen. Don't know if you're Beriah or one of the other ones? But. If you're not on duty," or can make himself not-on-duty, "If you do have questions. Or... don't know if you've flown much, even, seeing as how you sound like Tillek." She slides a look back at him. Kasadel waits, during that silence, unwilling to break it, not even seeming close to doing so when Leova finally speaks, at which point his expression breaks, brows drawn back to their usual position. "Don't know that I really have much by way of questions," he tells her, waiting a few beats after she's finished before he puts words into action again, his tone light. "But you're right in that I've not flown much - and from Tillek, yeah. Easy give-away. I bet," he adds, straightening just slightly, gleam in the gaze, "It'd be fascinating up there, today. Like you could almost get above the clouds, right?" Click: just like that, the ambivalence, even reluctance, disappears into get-things-done. "No /almost/ about it," Leova says, giving Vrianth's neck a pat, and not bothering to hide the humor in her low, easy voice: if it was bait, she took it quite on purpose. "Wouldn't offer, but you're one of L'vae's..." and that's at least part of it. "So. Want to go flying? Tell me your name. Go dig yourself up a heavier jacket. Let them know you're going with Leova. Do it quick enough, we'll still be here." Kasadel's expression is one of pure satisfaction. His head bobs, just once, eyes taking in both green and rider again. "Then I'm grateful for being one of his," he tells her, "Because I would be-- /delighted/ to go flying. Name's Kasadel, anyway. Kas. Be back in a minute, then." A few moments more, time enough for a response to his words if there's one forthcoming, and then, with long strides, he heads within for that jacket. He won't be long. And the undiluted nature of his reaction, the way it /shows/, that gets green and rider trading glances beneath his gaze: Vrianth's head has tipped just enough for it, her multifaceted eyes whirling with the last traces of diffuse blue becoming something quicker, greener, saturated with color and intent. And her rider looks back at him, gives him a, "Welcome. Kas." And a flick of her fingers: /go/. But Kas misses those traded glances, misses everything, it seems, except Leova's words, which draw a swift bob of the head and a smile, before he turns to go in. When he comes back, minutes later, his coat has been replaced by something heavier, though the sleeves are slightly too short for his long arms, the cuffs of his sweater visible beneath. "I didn't ask," he says, as he approaches, "But you're Leova, right? Vrianth. Remembered that name." Good enough, apparently: short sleeves or no, Leova's look at once assesses, dismisses, no problem there. A few things in the bowl have changed in his absence, people and dragons moved hither and yon and clouds thickened in the sky, but Leova and Vrianth are right where they had been, rider lounging against her dragon's side. Even if the second set of straps, the passenger set, has been unclipped with its loops and buckles ready. "Better'n the other way around," the greenrider says dryly, beckoning him over, gesturing: that loop there, that's for his foot, though it proves to be something of a moving target when Vrianth's neck curves more tightly so she can watch things, too. "But yes. Leova. And you're tall enough, reckon you should be able to see all right from behind me. Cruise over the Weyr first, is what I was thinking, and from there... Tillek from on high? Or have you left all that behind." Kasadel's expression is rueful for a moment, but that clears, the young man making his way easily towards the rider. If he hesitates, it's just slightly, and only because of that moving target thing - then, with a calm confident, his foot goes for that loop, his arms helping to lift, and then he's pulling himself up gingerly. "Should be able to," he agrees, already straining to see further. "Sounds perfect. Wouldn't mind seeing Tillek. /Was/ home, after all. Still like the place - just not to live." It's easier to climb Vrianth than a runner her size would be, since she's in the mood: she subtly adjusts her neck, balancing his climb, particularly if he should even begin to slip. Up there, her hide's brighter up there beneath his hands and the dark leather of her straps, the attached buckles clean and polished though hardly to a mirror shine: a flicked glance is Leova seeing whether he'll try to handle those on her own, just before she climbs up to join him. "All right, then. And she'd like me to tell you that she's going to be patient with you, though /I/ should point out that she has in the past changed her mind. Once or twice..." and right then is when there's a ripple beneath them, Vrianth swinging her head around to stare. Despite his lanky, teenage gracelessness, Kasadel is evidently a relatively quick study, for he manages to mount without too much hassle - though Vrianth's efforts certainly don't hurt. Tentatively, he reaches out a hand to touch her hide beside him, as if to test the feeling of it, but it doesn't linger: he goes for the straps without waiting, although his efforts fail, and his head tilts towards Leova, helpless and hopeful: "Not so easy as I remembered," he admits. "She's like that, is she? You can tell her that I'll take what comes, though I appreciate the patience." Hard to feel the subtleties of her hide if his hand's still gloved, would have been even if he had lingered: an impression of supple solidity, that's the most of it. And, perhaps, that she's paying /attention/. Her rider's quick to smile, and make a quick job of buckling him up, though not so fast that he can't see: here, this is where each goes, and the ends get secured into their loops so they won't flap around. "She is indeed, is my Vrianth. Among other things. And..." the smile reappears, deepens. "She can hear you herself. Though yes. It's polite. And I hope you won't regret you said that, but since you did... here, give the straps a rock, see if we got it good and solid." And pretty much as soon as he's done that, and any necessary fixes are made, they'll be aloft. Kasadel holds his hands well out of the way as Leova manages the buckles, but he's watching carefully, eyes flicking from this to that, a solemn nod concluding the exercise, as though he's confident, now, that he's committed it to memory. "Interesting," he says, but probably of Vrianth rather than the straps, because now that the buckling is finished, he's watching her again. "Ah. Thank you, Vrianth," he adds in, head bobbing, while he tests the straps, hands dropping after a moment, satisfied. Ready. Vrianth's still looking, her angular head tipped forward, headknobs tipped further than that. Could be just a trick of the wind, what might be a sense of cool warmth against the back of his neck, and certainly it's when Leova mentions, "Welcome, she says. Along with a few other things, but for now, give your cap a good tug down, hm? Don't want to lose it over the edge. Hang on." She gives him a level look, a you'll-be-fine, and turns back around right before Vrianth casts one last look around, bugles warning upward, and leaps. Her wings catch them above the ground and then send them higher, higher yet, pale sails and dark spars, easily traversing the airspace. A few landmarks get pointed out as the dragon sails above or beside them: lake, of course, but also the far side where the willow trees grow. Random weyrs. More random weyrs, only a few of /those/ have food shafts. From the main caverns' area to the ledge outside the Snowasis, high enough that nobody spills any drinks. Around again, this time to point out the weyrling barracks. And higher, the better to get a good view of the Rim and the Seven Spindles themselves. Kasadel smiles at Vrianth, as Leova speaks, but he does what she suggests, cap tugged down hard, and hands pulled together into his lap for warmth. He meets her gaze again as she gives him that look, nodding once, though as they do launch into the air, he's a little pale. The thrill of flight, however, outweighs anything else - he squirms forward, leaning over to peer at this and that as they pass. His hand half lifts as they pass the Snowasis ledge, as if he intends to wave at those sitting there, but he restrains himself: only kids would do that, surely. "It's--" he begins, breaking off, the wind battering his words. "/Stunning/." Vrianth indulges the squirming, leaning into most of those curves well past what would, on a runner, be the tipping point: see? and, why not, she adds a dip of /her/ wingtip for the Snowasis. Even if nobody's looking. And the wind may try to snatch away his words, but Vrianth's got her own ways around it: "Isn't it, though?" her rider thus calls back. "And sweeps, sweeps're... Here," as they spin over the Southern Rim, unoccupied for now but such a frequent perch in the summertime, and never mind that it's very narrow indeed with drop-offs to either side, the green feinting a landing that only has them speeding back up that much more quickly. Next are the fabled Star Stones, and the watchrider on duty: Vrianth dips her wingtip again in something very like a hint. Kasadel just looks /impressed/, and on top of the world, and maybe even a little in awe, never mind his teenage brain and all it tries to do to make him think otherwise. He grins at the dip of her wing, maybe abashed for a moment, maybe pretending otherwise, his head shaking faintly as they hurtle onwards. "Sweeps'd be-- like fun, right?" Then there's the watchrider, that dip of the wing - Kas hesitates, but just before it'd be too late, he lifts his hand, and there's a grin on his face as he does so. "Pretty much! Except when it's raining," and maybe there are other factors too, but Leova just doesn't seem to feel the need to list them right now: they're flying! And the old bluerider on watch down there may not salute the candidate, but she does wave upward and call something or other, and Leova just shuts her eyes a moment and smiles into the wind. Now. Higher. Spindles. Vrianth speeds right towards them at an angle that makes them look like a solid mass, and she knows what she's doing but Leova has to watch anyway, the green not just angling but twisting a sharp turn right /through/, her rider's shout echoing off far-too-close stone. And Kasadel grins, not even seeming to find the concept of flying in the rain unpleasant while in this glorious moment. He positively beams at the old bluerider, but then they're out of reach already. His fearlessness wavers as they approach the spindles, his hands suddenly clinging to straps, his eyes wide, then shut, then wide again as if he's unable to determine where to look, whether to look. He's sort of squinting as they go through, unable even to cry out, except that he's grinning again, space splitting with delight, once it's clear they're through and clear. "That was-- /nice flying/, Vrianth." If he's going to do /that/... there's a laughing nod before him, Vrianth dipping that same wingtip only really she's wheeling on it, flinging herself toward stone all over again: at a different angle now, not just through but threading in and out through the spindles like a particularly incisive needle through the mountain's fabric. In and out, sharp turns. And then for a change of pace, how about a sharp coil around one, like climbing a spiral staircase? And quite a few more before her rider finally leans back, suggests, "Let's go touch a cloud." By the second time, Kasadel's actually able to watch the whole time, though he still takes a deep breath each time they get close to anything solid and potentially painful. One hand lifts, as if he's inclined to reach out and touch the spindles as they fly past, but, evidently, he thinks better of it, drawing hands back in tight. Instead, he just grins and grins and grins, whipped this way and that by the wind, pink-cheeked - and delighted. "Cloud? Yeah, okay," he says, sounding a little more restrained, though that's ultimately belied by the grin that won't go away. There's always the way down! And if he'd sat back all too-bored-for-this, it would have been something else again, but as it is... there's a decided spark in Vrianth's already brilliant eyes. All right, one more turn through the spindles. Just because they can. And /then/ up. Up. More regular beats now, more of them than larger Bremuth would have required to make the same speed. Up toward the dull gray cloud that's such a distant cousin of summer's fluffy white clouds, and... fog! Lots of it. A morass of it. And hopefully no more mountain. As they make their way up and up and up, Kasadel looks down and down and down, staring at the weyr as it shrinks below them, then seeking further afield, beyond the bowl walls, out as far as the eye can see. He's more still, now, looking with his eyes rather than his whole body, and while he hasn't stopped smiling, his grin is sustained in a quieter manner. He looks up, as they reach the fog, staring into /it/ instead, peering in, then lifting his hand to touch it, sliding right on through. "I'm touching the clouds," he tells Leova, sounding amused. "But the sun is still, evidently, hiding away with the warm." And now the mountains are starting to hide too, the further into the cloud they get, and never mind that it's already starting to thin ahead of them: it's a conspiracy! Leova twists enough to give Kasadel a look over one shoulder, and then turn that into a shrug and an oh-so-offhand, "Must just not like you." Offhand and laughing, because look: here comes the sun. Kasadel's lip quirks, then he breaks into laughter. A moment later, as he recovers himself, he shakes his head, telling Leova sadly, "Some women - occasionally - don't, alas. Although--" He looks up, eyeing the sun with some relief, some delight, quite a bit of enthusiasm. "That's more like it. Now, if only we could woo her back down further, sweep the clouds away." But he's still reaching out with his gloved hand, letting it slide through the air. Leova's brows go up, oh-so-astonished no-really? and she adds, "Go ahead! Give it a try," before getting back to leaning on the neckridge in front of her: easier on her spine, as well as hiding laughing eyes. And for that entertainment, rather than rise wholly above the clouds just yet, Vrianth flies just at their upper verge: as though they're gliding in a particularly sinuous boat. A leaky boat, maybe, given that the fog's swallowed their legs, but one that floats rather than sinks all the same. Gliding. /Sun/. "You mock," accuses Kasadel, but not seriously, free enough at this moment, up here, not to mind what would usually be offensive to his dignity. He looks up, though, eyeing the sun, as if to will it to shine strong, stretching out his arms as if these will bat the clouds away. He looks pretty silly, and he seems to know it, dropping arms after a moment, and just laughing. "I wonder how far we'd have to go, to reach the edge of these clouds. Can't be cloudy /everywhere/, right?" Lifted hands are not-looking-back Leova's plea of guilty-as-charged. And maybe a little more laughing. And then not just a little. "Not everywhere," she does call back, and Vrianth lets them coast for a while, although there's begun to be a subtle shift that could easily become a storm-at-sea sway. "You want the edge itself? Or just somewhere cloud-free. /Or/..." and Vrianth's still coasting, they could be stopped if it weren't for the cloud wafting across their knees, "I said Tillek. But. Pick some sky. Anywhere, the whole entire world, you want to go." Too relaxed to be a challenge, too steady to be a dare. Quite. But whatever he picks? They'll see. Kasadel doesn't seem too worried. For once, it's not a problem. Nothing is. He cants his head, as she speaks, obviously already racing into his thoughts to think even while she's still speaking. When he responds, it's a few moments later, and decisively said. "South. Heard about-- jungles. Never seen one, though. Don't mind if it's Ista, or further south. Just like to see a jungle." "You heard the man, Vrianth," Leova says gravely, and if she might have substituted /candidate/ or even /boy/, that's between her and her green. "Going to get cold, Kas. But let's try... Nerat." Released, Vrianth surges forward, her wings beating. Once. Just once. And then there's nothingness, like a stopped heart, like everything's stopped. Nothingness, and then they're sailing above the palisades, the sunset-stained stony cliffs, the green and climbing jungle as the ocean crashes below. It could be a different world. And so, the jungle. Which will be followed by other places - a white sand beach, and a black sand one, and maybe some plains somewhere. And eventually, home again, with a radiant Kas who won't be able to stop thanking the pair, though he'll compose himself once safely on the ground again. Back to normal, teenage Kas. But. Still. Worth it. |
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