Logs:Fractured Reflections
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| RL Date: 5 February, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist, Alida |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Alida buys A'rist a drink and tries to bond. Empathise. Something. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 12, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: G'laer/Mentions, Laghnei/Mentions, N'rad/Mentions |
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| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr The gold firelizard with a message holding tube fastened about the junction of her neck and chest hopefully reaches A'rist while he's awake and Lythronath's asleep. The scrap of rolled-up hide within the carrier reads - in almost elegant cursive - 'Drinks on me at Snowasis. Now. Bring yourself.' - Alida. And if the bronzer weyrling does show up, why there is indeed a bluerider with pale hair waiting in a booth, a pitcher of beer with about one glass-worths already drained from it sitting in the middle of the table. And said gold flit is perched on the table top as well, accepting a bit of soft pretzel from her mistress' hand. Lythronath isn't asleep at all. What he is, is hunting. And not for firelizards. A'rist was leaning on a fencepost at the corral, the posture easy, the look in his eyes belying his intensity. The message forces focus, forces decisions. So he's even later arriving at the Snowasis, leaving his bronze to the hunt only grudgingly, and only after they've shared in the first kill and taste of blood. The weyrling who presents himself is as neat and clean-cut as the weyrling who stood at the pens; however, this one has pushed all signs of animalistic lusts from his face. This one's just A'rist, more closely related to Aoristen than Lythronath. And this one walks up, stands just behind an empty chair, and waits, eyebrows arching just slightly. She's patient in the 'proper' causes, and this is one of them. When A'rist finds her, Alida is into her second glass of beer, finishing up her part of that soft pretzel, and idly stroking along one of the tiny gold's unfolded wings. As the weyrling nears, his motion draws the bluerider's strikingly verdant gaze to him, and a bob of plaited head and a quick curl of finger invite him to a booth seat across from her. A'rist's query doesn't fall away, even though his eyebrows go back to their more normal position. He slides to a seat, shifts until he's sitting straight and, presumably, comfortably, and then looks, expectant, to the, "Bluerider." "Alida's fine, fer now..." the blonde's mile-a-minute alto notes casually, her expectant gaze studying A'rist as he settles down across from her. "You drink beer?" A clean pilsner glass set aside for that purpose is nudged in the youth's direction upon tabletop, longer fingers then resuming their traces upon her flit's diaphanous wingsails. Her eyes remain affixed to his own gaze by now, searching his reactions. "D'you enjoy the formalities, 'r do ya' prefer to-the-point conversations?" "Yes," A'rist answers, to the question of beer. His hand moves, smoothly, planned, for the base of that glass, where fingers grasp, and he pulls it just enough towards himself that he can show it's been accepted. He doesn't look to pour, nor look to her in any sort of request. He just looks back. Blinks once. Says, "You're the one who wrote the message..." Once he's accepted the glass, Alida moves her hands gracefully, efficiently...lifting the pitcher and pouring A'rist a near-perfect glass of deep-amber beer with a small head atop it. While she does so - and listens to her tablemate's next words - there's time for thought, which soon enough translates into a low, "Mhm." Clear, deep green eyes flick up again once the pouring's done to watch the weyrling as the Glacier rider continues quietly, "Been hearin' on the grapevine that yer pairing with Lythronath's kinda rough." One of her arms lifts, waves some until a waitperson notices, nods. "Couldn' help but noticin' that G'laer's sister's blue an' some Fortian bronze got roughed up by 'im at that greenflight." The quickly enough arrives at their booth after Alida's done speaking, for the moment, and bluie's hard-accented voice notes, "Another pair uv' soft pretzels, please." And off the waitress goes with a nod. If A'rist's back wasn't rod-straight before, it is as soon as she hits his dragon's name; the tone, the feel of it, has him on the defensive. It's a mental process on the part of the teenager to fight it back, to keep whatever words or sharp expressions as might have come from his lips and face. But that posture, it stays rigid. Normally the type to smile and thank the one waiting the table, this time, A'rist ignores her. Ignores her, and stares straight on at Alida, and waits, much as does his beer. She's not a guard for naught: Alida can't help but noticing A'rist's defensive tightening, that flat stare. She leans back a little into her seat to present less of a 'threat' to the weyrling, her free hand slowly lifting beer glass to lips for a slow pull...green eyes cast down to her pet, by now. "I'm not here ta bitch atcha', A'rist. I kinda understand how tough pairings go." Up comes that gaze of hers again, touching his own for a few moments. "Ilicaeth mentioned ta me that - aside from one uv' yer fellow weyrlings - Lythronath dislikes blues. Got me wonderin' as ta' 'why...'" Shrug, sip. And where he might have answered, how tough pairings go, A'rist's chest and shoulders simply rise and fall with a slow, controlled, silent breath. It's when Alida is sipping that beer that the weyrling's eyes dart, once, twice, as he tries to work up some sort of response. He still hasn't brought the beer any closer when he says, "So you sent me a firelizard?" "Didja' want me ta send ya' a fruit basket, instead?" Alida ripostes smoothly, her lips quirking into a bit of a smirky-smile, green eyes laughing a little before she sobers some. "Yes. Pyrite needs more experience, so I chose her for message delivery, this round." Ah, and now come those delicious, slightly salty pretzels, the waitress setting down their basket on tabletop, then accepting a tiny coin from the bluerider, as well as a low, "Thanks." Over to A'rist as the other female departs is murmured, "I won't bite unless provoked. Drink up. Pretzel?" A look down to the basket and the fragrant, very warm contents within it presages her taking up one of the big, soft twirls of baked dough, and nipping into it. Cue some begging by aforementioned firelizard. A'rist looks down at that pretzel. With Lythronath sinking his teeth into struggling, tensing muscle, gushing blood spurting into his mouth, dribbling through his teeth... A'rist looks down at that pretzel, and looks decidedly bored. He looks next to the beer, and leans back in the booth. His arm draws it nearer for the sake of comfort. He doesn't drink, yet, and his back is still stiff, but now at least it's resting on something. "I'm okay." She watches him from beneath the cover of long, pale eyelashes as the weyrling glances down, settles back, Alida taking another nip of pretzel, then a sip of her beer. To A'rist's statement of his own state comes a moment to pet her flit, then a lazy, "Never said ya weren't." Beat. "But I did inquire as ta why Lythronath dislikes blues." Green eyes slowly move from beer to firelizard, whose belly the bluie scritches. "Again, I'm not holdin' anything against either uv' you. But, when my own lifemate's involved, even in random fashion..." - like in that Fortian greenflight - "...I find myself wantin' ta know why. So I c'n avoid potential difficulties later." There's a twitch in the muscles that control the bronzerider's jaw, though his jaw itself doesn't move much. Finally, "All due respect, but I don't think it's up to you to avoid 'potential difficulties' later on. Ma'am." Again, those merciless green eyes notice that small jaw twitch...so when A'rist's next words come, Alida's not allowing his current attitude to bring her towards anger, the blonde instead peering flatly over the tabletop at him, then asking in poker tones, "Why not?" "Because," and the teenager has lifted his chin, just a little bit, "he's not your dragon." He looks over at that beer before him, letting Alida stare on at him, letting himself look at things other than her. He still doesn't bring it up to his lips, though. The woman's head quirks slightly, as if she's sighting in on A'rist from a slightly different vantage point, Alida continuing to idly stroke her pet's hide as she listens to her tablemate. When her words resume, they're still neutral, though touched with nuances of firmness beneath their surface. "Ordinarily, I'd agree with you. But when another's dragon can directly and potentially negatively effect my own dragon...then it becomes more my business." Sip, munch. "Are ya gonna wait until Lythronath chances ta send Ilicaeth t' the dragonhealers ta tell me what I should know in order ta' avoid more mayhem? What about other pairs?" "With all due respect," repeated again, with more emphasis this time, and more tension, if not yet the tone of teenage attitude that might be expected, "Lythronath isn't the only dragon who can, or has, done damage. Do you invite all male dragons' riders for beer and pretzels?" For a moment, there's nothing on Alida's features but grave neutrality... And then it occurs: a widening of her lips from smile to grin to sudden dark laughter, which she tries to quiet some behind one hand... after some sound peals of it upon the already loud atmosphere. "Aww shit, kid. Ya earned yer beer." After feeding her slightly irritated flit a small bit of pretzel to shush her, the bluie notes across the table, "It's gotta be...shells, I ain't got the right words... ferociously tough on ya, dealin' with a lifemate that's more a force uv' nature than a typical dragonchild. I got one uv' those, in certain instances." An offhanded gesture is made towards that beer A'rist's still holding. Drink up! It's not the response he was expecting, and for all the other impulses and reactions A'rist's managed to repress, at least a little, this one catches hold. His mouth opens a little, and his head tilts, just a bit. He looks to that beer again, though the incredulity at her attempted solidarity shows, even if it's pointed to that glass. It's only momentary. He brings the beer closer, but he doesn't drink it. Still. Finally, brown eyes are back on Alida. She's not surprised at his lack of words and that brick wall attitude; after all, Alida's possessed of the same...and thusly knows the basic place where A'rist's coming from. After some internal mulling, the bluerider notes in less 'cop-like' fashion than previously, "You ever get any time ta stand down from high alert?" Just in case her guard lingo isn't getting through, the blonde adds, "Unless he's asleep, is it always a battle uv wills?" That has the weyrling's eyebrows drawing closer together, and his lips pursing. "What makes you think it's like that all the time?" It's the most naturally-toned thing he's said since her introduction of the topic of his dragon. "Ya have ta know that 'battle uv wills' doesn't always mean a fight..." Alida notes in relaxed fashion to A'rist, the woman continuing to munch and drink, pet her flit. "Sometimes it's a bit uv' a go around uv' mental games, other times it's somethin' different. Depends on the dragon, the rider." Shrug. "I think, fer a few riders, it might just be nearly 'all the time...' But one never knows, unless they're close t'the pair." A look up and 'out' towards the general area of the sky beyond the Snowasis presages the blonde's low and vaguely humored, "Like this: Ilicaeth's a smart-ass. We have these mental... go arounds at nearly the drop uv a hat. Some might consider that a continual battle uv' wills." There's a fond little smirk for her napping blue, up on his ledge, and then green eyes flick back to her table mate. A'rist listens throughout her explanation, that guarded look on his face again, though less cautiously maintained than it was previously. "We really don't do that," comes at the end, comes as a certainty. He pushes his back a bit more firmly into the booth seat, no fond looks, nor secret smiles, nor anything of the sort to be seen from him. She remains quiet as the weyrling speaks, tending to her appetite and her pet. When Alida speaks again, it's almost thoughtfully. "When I was a weyrling..." and here the blonde gives am exaggerated eyeroll for being the teller of one of 'those' stories "...I had a singular month uv literal battle uv the wills with Ilicaeth...when he went from bein' hand-fed ta' havin' a his kills delivered ta him still warm." She looks and sounds serious, at this point. "He went from curious ta' nearly crazed in two seconds flat... pouncin' on the carcass, snarling and growlin', baring teeth...on and on." A blink of green eyes has the bluie's look cast inward for a moment, as if reliving it all over. "I was nearly bathed in sweat sometimes, I was tryin' so hard ta keep 'im under control. It was... well, beyond visceral...and one uv the hardest things I've ever had ta do in my life." A'rist's eyes have fallen to that beer again. He lifts it, examines the condensed circle left on the table where the glass had been, and then, carefully, tries to place it right back in that same spot. When she seems to be reaching the end, he starts nodding, keeps it up until she's done. And then, "We're really not like that." There's a quiet little nod from the woman, who dusts off the remains of her pretzel from fingers, inserting the last little chunk into Pyrite's open yap before pouring herself another beer. As she does so, "Respectfully... what is it like between the two uv ya?" A'rist's discomfort with that question is apparent. He slides the glass across the table, from one hand to the other, leaving a trail of water as it moves. He makes a face at that trail. "It's not between the two of us," he decides, pushing a heavy finality into the last word, eyes flicking up to the bluerider across from him. "More on his end, I take it?" is murmured, Alida slowly swirling her glass, looking into the bubbles. "And maybe you're the one who's gotta apply the check 'n balances..." A faint nod of potential understanding is followed by a knowing, "And sometimes, it'd be damned nice ta be able ta just let go fer a few seconds..." "No," A'rist's answer is certain again, his head shaking, even. There's no interest expressed for that beer any longer, not even in moving it, not even in the trace it's left. He doesn't quite catch himself before he sends a look toward the exit, though he seems to realise it afterwards, face flushing a little. She's been making a large effort at being unlike her usual self tonight, and when her 'suppositions' go astray, Alida can't help but lifting a brow and tightening her lips a little as A'rist looks towards the exit. Quietly: "He puttin' pressure on ya? Dangerous ta drink at this time, maybe?" A'rist's lip twitches, just once, settles. "No. Look, ma'am- with all due respect," again, "I really don't think my dragon's like you think he is. But thanks," and he tries something of a smile, and waves his hand toward that beer, "for this. I mean, it's a nice thought, it just- I kind of have to go?" The smile turns a bit awkward, a bit pained. A'rist drums the tips of his fingers against that glass that he still holds, but seems barely aware of it. The look on her face is as flat and nondescript as a blank piece of hide, but there's a look in Alida's green eyes that silently says, 'I call bullshit.' After a few moments of her green regard, the bluie waves A'rist off, though she leaves him with a quiet, "I hope it doesn't get worse for ya, kid..." and a slow shake of her head. She'll not send the bronzling off with meaningless well wishes. Not her. And when A'rist is truly gone, frustration is all that's noteable on the woman's features, which she procedes to drown with another three glasses of beer, including the one poured for the weyrling. And when a weyrling green dragon finally drops the drunken blonde back off on her ledge, she doesn't really care anymore. Halfway slid out from the booth, A'rist tries to insist, "It's not..." but that age finally comes through, and he substitues, "Never mind," for any explanation. "Thanks again," as he finishes the slide and finds his feet. Lythronath drops from the sky to retrieve him quite promptly; where they go from there is kept between them, and no one else. |
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