Logs:Fly More, Worry Less
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| RL Date: 25 May, 2011 |
| Who: K'del, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Leova has information to share. Cadejoth is a sad puppy. |
| Where: Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 11, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: V'teri/Mentions |
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| A few days after Leova and Vrianth's visit to River Bend, the rain has been falling and falling, a ceaseless patter that turns the ground outside the dragon infirmary to slop. It's not a hard rain, no thunder, no lightning, just interminable wetness with brief pauses to let a dragon think for a little while that it's going to stop... only it never does. Which may be why Vrianth is all tucked into herself, just inside the entrance, while her rider's on duty. It's a slow shift, the cavern otherwise empty. Plenty of room. Plenty of not very exciting room. Plenty of time for Leova to push hides and refill jars, and for her dragon to... send a pulse of energy towards those Cadejoth-chains, over there. It's even in a good cause. Even Cadejoth - who would always far rather be out on his ledge, or up on the rim, or /somewhere/ where there's stuff going on, has retreated indoors in this weather. Indoors is boring, especially when his rider is otherwise occupied - no doubt that is why Vrianth's pulse sets his chains into such a frenzy of kinetic energy, buzzing and chiming with enthusiasm. « /Vrianth/, » he says, sending energy pinging back. « Cadejoth, » she gives him back, warmly, with a sense of /cave/: enclosure, space, large but not /too/ large and not too small, its thin sharp smells made rich by association. It is wet here, but only in the warm bathing pools for invalids and weyrlings that she does not, currently, enjoy. All the wetness is contained. Energy to energy to... a little while of playing, then, before Vrianth bestirs herself to note, « It is time for your rider to inspect our infirmary. » Hers. Possibly theirs. She says it like it's something he was to have remembered, and never mind that it's unlikely to be on the Weyrleader's agenda at all. Or, not for now. Recognition of where Vrianth sparks in Cadejoth's mind, each sensation a clue before the eventual (not /too/ eventual) moment of 'ah-hah'! Mental gymnastics are not quite as good as the physical variety, of which he would clearly, impatiently, desperately love to be engaging in, but he's pleasantly diverted nonetheless - though this comes to a somewhat abrupt halt at the green's announcement. « Is it? » It's followed by a pause, a burrowing into his rider's mind, perhaps; or just a sharing of thoughts. « He says he doesn-- » It's cut short. « He says he's on his way. He says the infirmary is too important to go uninspected." He /is/ on his way, cutting through the (nice, dry) caverns and the people infirmary to get there, showing up in quick enough time that he must have departed almost immediately, and kept a good pace to do so. Would he? That rangy green doesn't remark upon it, for once, unless the minute sparks that feather her energy's edges are some form of consolation: good boy. And then, where her sharper focus is, « /Good/. » Clever Cadejoth-rider. Clever Cadejoth, for keeping his rider up to date, up to speed, up to no... "Not even any arguing," her rider marvels when the door closes behind K'del. Her amber eyes have a weight to them. Her elbow's braced on the counter. Vrianth, still-as-a-statue Vrianth, more guards the dragon-sized entrance than takes shelter within. Cadejoth /is/ a good boy, and pleased to be recognised as such. His mood is lifted, his thoughts, now, embracing the stinging combination of wet-wet-wet and spark-spark-spark: an electrifying combination. Somehow, K'del isn't surprised to find the infirmary empty, Vrianth in position, Leova as she is, though he turns to face her with upraised eyebrows and an expression that asks for clarification even before he's remarked, quietly, "Didn't think I'd missed some oh-so-important date on the calendar." "For the /record/, things are in order. Put in a request for more gauze, reuse it as much as possible but that's harder with them. We'll have more aches too, come winter, and a couple who won't make it through." That's through her beckon, through what she might hope to be his approach. Leova's silent a moment, watching him, and then lowers her head to bend a hide's corner back and forth. "Anyhow. Might be nothing, but. V'teri. The one from Benden. You heard about him putting up a sign, looking for help, some treasure or other?" It's a matter of lining up wherries in a row. Meanwhile, Vrianth deplores, « It is a pity that there is /wet/ between us and /dry/. » Proper dry, that is: not ground but air. Sky. Nod, nod, nod - K'del is obviously listening to Leova's report, and no doubt making mental notes for later action, though he's watching her rather intently, and reacts instantly to her beckon. What she has to say seems to surprise him, for he bites his lip rather than answering immediately. Finally, "Heard that, yeah. What about it? Figure it seems harmless enough: keeps people entertained, right? Can't really believe that there's much out there, but - whatever, anyway." /Sky/. « It is a great pity, » Cadejoth agrees, reflecting upon the glories of sky with a fond swirl of white-cloud (as opposed to awful grey-cloud). « I would like... is there really treasure out there, do you think? » Amber eyes lift. Her gaze is steady on K'del, perhaps steadier for his uncertainty. "Pretty much. Wanted to go, for the going. But." Leova glances past him towards Vrianth, who has left off being a statue in favor of flexing a forepaw so she can better pry between her own talons, and makes a face. Maybe it's the cracking sound. She looks away, back to the weyrleader. "What would you say, if you knew he's got ties to River Bend. Some sort of history. Turns out, they got portraits down in the Hold, old Holders as who look a lot like him." With her words, there's a flicker of an inky curtain in Vrianth's thoughts, shiny as sateen... where it hasn't had little holes gnawed through it. « There /should/ be. » Perhaps not what Riuscyth is expecting. K'del very deliberately does /not/ look at Vrianth, as she does that: anyway, Leova is enough. Enough that his expression has turned into a frown; enough that he's sucking in a breath. "I'd say I thought he told me his family were pig-farmers and nothing more. I'd-- probably say a lot more than that, actually." An admission, at least of sorts. "Though, probably," he adds, thinking aloud, "Someone got someone pregnant on the wrong side of the blankets and they're-- off-shoots of the family, or something. Black sheep." Cadejoth considers this curtain, those holes, but his thoughts are rather too taken with this idea of /treasure/. A /hunt/. « There definitely should, » he agrees. « I would like to try and find it, but K'del says we shouldn't get involved. » Leova's back to creasing the hide's corner, not looking at it now. "Might be," she agrees. "Might be, they're pig farmers now. Anyhow. At that first setup meeting, he flashed a ring, something sparkly that he said was proof. Wouldn't let us see what was on it. But something else... something that's important to him, that's the River Bend sign, the one as is differentiated, that the Blood uses." She'd had the silver thread through her knot, once upon a time. /Vrianth/ asks, « Why not? » Surely /he/ should get to, if anyone does. Meanwhile, Leova's continuing, "But like you say, wrong side of the blanket. Black sheep. Wouldn't be the first to have a boy sowing his oats, give a girl something flashy." She says it easily enough. No doubt K'del, too, can pick that particular sign - certainly, he nods readily enough. Despite his easy explanation for the whole thing, he continues to look genuinely thoughtful, biting at his lip as he considers what Leova has to say. Despite that, he agrees, "There's plenty of explanations. Guess it's a bit strange, still, that he'd hide whatever link he has and then go /treasure/ hunting, but--" His shrug speaks volumes: we all have our secrets. "Glad to know, though. In case." Cadejoth is sulky, explaining, « K'del thinks he doesn't have the time, /and/ something about fairness. About-- people are less relaxed when we're there? And ought to be able to enjoy this. » Not fair. Even him? Leova lifts a shoulder, lets it fall. And ducks her chin. "Right now, only thing to hold against him is, he's got people worked up over treasure like it's going to be metal and marks, and he thinks... /Riuscyth/ thinks, Vrianth thinks, unless he's cannier than she thinks," that by way of a parenthetical aside. "What he's, V'teri's, really looking for is his 'history.' But you know there're going to be people who're pissed if there isn't treasure than they can spend." She straightens away from the counter, pats the poor corner straight. "Anyhow. Nothing earthshaking, but figured you ought to know. And if you'd keep our names out of it, so much the better." Vrianth: « You could go with /us/, » but even she knows that a dragon doesn't just go off without his rider. It is not right. It is /wrong/. « I do not see why they should be not-relaxed. You are not... prissy. » Unlike some she could name. K'del is probably an exception. But his expression is so unreadable that, who knows, he could be full of surprises. By the time Leova has finished speaking, though, he's frowning all over again. "Can see that that could be, uh, /problematic/." Emphasis on the word. "For people. Who're expecting something else." Whatever else he might think about it - about the ethics of it - he spares Leova from. Instead; "I appreciate it, Leova. Thanks. It helps to know, just in case. I promise: I'll say nothing of you, whatever comes up." Wistfully, « I'd like that. I /wish/. » Cadejoth will go in spirit, though much is obvious: he projects an image of himself, soaring over islands. It's definitely fantasy, though, the way he's surrounded by greens, and the way there are so many tasty herdbeasts on the shores below. « K'del worries too much. » Funny how Cadejoth's image develops some nice warm sunshine to it, the better to set off the white-not-gray clouds, the gleam of dragonhide... /well-oiled/ dragonhide. /Recently/ well-oiled dragonhide. Even if none of it is olive green. « Why does he worry? If he flew more, he would worry less. » If only because his brain blew out his ears. "'Preciate it." Leova starts to take a step back, then pauses on the ball of her foot, for once irresolute. "If something does come up. Would want to hear." Possibly she should add something polite, a hope-everything-else-is-going-well, a have-a-good-afternoon, something. Could there be anything more perfect than that image, with those lovely additions? /He/ can't seem to think of anything. « He /claims/ he doesn't have the time, and maybe-once-the-snows-fall. » Oh, K'del. Who seems about to take his leave, only there's that last request of Leova's and a moment of silence before, "Of course. We'll keep you informed." Which certainly /seems/ to be genuine. At any rate, having collected his report, and heard the quiet news, the bronzerider really does prepare to go, adding, "Have a good one, Leova. Thanks again." "Welcome." A last glancing look, and then she's just a greenrider working behind the counter. Labels, apparently, written up in a forced-to-be-neat hand. Vrianth's contribution is a prediction, « And then maybe-when-it-is-warm-again. » Poor mistreated Cadejoth! « Or perhaps they will find what they call treasure and then you will swoop in and... oversee it, » though again there's that sense of deflation: /finding/ it is where the fun is. Or at least speeding. She watches his rider's departing back with a baleful eye, and pokes sharply at her talon again. K'del departs without another remark - back through the people infirmary again, of course (the poor healers). And Cadejoth? « Perhaps when it stops raining again we will go for a /proper/ fly. » He can live in hope! « I don't want to oversee it. I want-- » But he is, as previously mentioned, a Good Boy. Who, thus, rarely has the most fun. Exception: once every few Turns. Four turns. /Four/. Life sucks. And then you... ... ... fly. |
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