Logs:I Have a Question
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 11 August, 2011 |
| Who: Iolene, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Iolene's walk by the lake is interrupted by a green and her rider. Actually, it's the other way around. Iolene interrupts a green and her rider and is tricked out of telling one of her secrets. |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 6, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
  |
| It's not the ocean. The water's fresh rather than salty, or at least as fresh as water can be when dragons are prone to splash through it , dragons and humans where some of the latter are very, very young. The water hasn't any true tides, just the movements of its inhabitants, from those splashes right down to the water-plants off to one side that so subtly follow the sun. The water's pebbles are nearly as smoothed, at least, though here and there a chance foot finds a rough one. And the water also is what it is, not the phrase meant to find acceptance but something better: the water is the lake. The lake reflects high stone cliffs and the lake reflects brambles. The lake reflects the sun and brightens the still-early, still-quiet day. The lake cools bare legs. The lake gives Vrianth something to do when her rider scrubs up behind her headknobs, that tail of hers splishing and splashing. Leova murmurs, more affectionate than exasperated, "It's just caked in a little, be patient. A little more patient. How /did/ you even..." It's been almost half a turn since the exiles were 'rescued' and then (forcibly) integrated into the Weyr. In that time, children are children, much as the water is water, and have acclimatized to their new home in a way that might be impossible for most adults. Too many traditions and memories war with what reality is and whether Iolene falls into the former category of children or the latter of adults is difficult, sometimes, for even those who know her best to decide. At just seventeen, the blonde girl's approach of the lake, with its morning sun cresting over the bowl walls, shining down and throwing the loose lines of the slip dress she wears into a semi-transparent state, makes it all too clear that she's of a nondescript age: her height belies the thin angles of her body and the malnutrition of turns is showcased in the light blue shadowed silhouette of a girl turns younger. "Maybe," having arrived just on the heels of Leova's seemingly rhetoric commentary, Io's clear rich voice lifts in a cheerful interruption, "She caked herself in mud and sunned. Some of the girls back home used to do that. They said it helped their skin look all smooth and polished." She's stopped along the shore nearest Vrianth. /Vrianth/ must have taken some incidental notice of the girl long before, in the way that one keeps track of little creatures if one does not wish to step accidentally upon them, but it's another thing entirely when they up and speak to her. Her Leova. Close enough. She shifts at the awkward position that restrains her, gets a shhh that's to silence motion rather than sound, and sniffs surreptitiously in the girl's direction: is this one clean? Meanwhile, her Leova half-turns, three-quarters smiles, though she has to blink a couple of times against the halo that the sun throws about the blonde hair. "Did it work?" As if she were waiting for a sign that her interruption was ok, Io's solemn features, that are at odds with the good cheer of her voice moments before, blossom into a sudden, bright smile. It's a transformative look, changing her all too thin features all at once with its good nature. A hand lifts to rifle through the tangled mess that's her hair and then just steps there, palm to the back of her head, her other hand to her hip as she looks up and up along Vrianth's length to find the sun-shadowed figure high above. "I guess so. They kept doing it. But somehow, when they did it, it was a beauty treatment. When I do it... I'm being immature." The words, affable on their own, are punctuated with another brilliant smile. It's lucky K'del's not around, the next words might have him running for the hills: "I have a question." There's a laugh for that, a low, familiar laugh that the lake makes light, and Leova flicks a bit of mud or caked skin or /whatever/ it is into the water. "Of /course/ you are." Vrianth sighs, stretches out her neck a little more, and this time the greenrider works with the skin presented to her rather than asking her dragon to go with /her/ plan. Then, in dry welcome, "I don't mind," And: "There's a bit of a ledge here, behind her. I'm really not that tall." /Just/ in case Iolene was wondering. Vrianth's eyes even lid partway: look, she's resting. Perfectly safe to walk by. Does she understand what Vrianth is conveying? Perhaps. For the dubious tilt of one eyebrow is favored the green dragon even as she takes one sidling step towards where Leova and that ledge might be. "Oh, I see," though she doesn't quite yet. See, that is, just how Leova got up there. The hand bracing the back of her head curves over her tangled curls to come and shade her eyes as she tries to see all the better, but failing that, just plows through with her question. "How long does it take to wash her? Why do you wash her? Can't she wash herself? Wouldn't diving into sea water be more cleansing than soap? What happens if the soap gets into the lake? Do the fishes die? Are there really fishes down there?" Perhaps, there's a reason why K'del might run away. "I'm sorry. I've been wondering and the only other dragonrider I really know...," Iolene's voice trails off, apologetic. "When did you learn to count?" Leova has to ask, but she makes sure that her tone's leasing, humor in that smoky voice that's meant to be shared rather than that of those mean girls with the mud. It might help that she's starting to answer, too: "Takes a while. Couple-three hours, maybe? Longer if she's wiggly, or the sun's out, or any reason to just feel like it. And then there's the oiling, after, even easier to lose track of time. She does do most of the /washing/ herself, but it's not as though she can scrub and..." here the greenrider pauses for an interchange of warbles, Vrianth and an elderly green who's just now landing but apparently only to lounge in the sun. "Where were we. Fishes. Yes. And this other rider. And whatever else." There might be steps back there, or a twisted sort of ramp, or it might just require secret riderly powers of levitation... but it's Iolene's neck, not hers. Her hand remains fixed against her brow, in an elongated salute that keeps her eyes shaded enough to spy out Leova. "Mmmmm. So washing her is something that takes pretty much most of your morning. Or afternoon. Or-, well, I imagine nights aren't very pleasant to wash by since there's no sun to dry you out." Her bright smile pushes past her brow-puckering curiosity as Io's gaze slips from Leova down to Vrianth, should she be paying attention. It's a congenial, kindred spirit of a smile. One that might understand just how nice it is to have the sun dry you, particularly after being damp. Instead of moving closer along the shore, Iolene steps one bare foot into the pebble-floored lake and then another until she's ankle deep. Then knee-deep. Then waist-deep as she steps closer to Vrianth with a lifted hand, fingers splayed. "Might I...?" Again with the trail off, this time with a question lilting Iolene's voice upwards both in pitch towards Leova and in timbre, questioning. "Good on a hot night," not that it often gets /that/ hot around the 'Reaches, except as a comparative thing, "...but remember, we can always 'tween to where there's sun. Always is, somewhere." It's enough to turn up one corner of her mouth, but then the greenrider hesitates, watching. Her hand lifts, a not-quite-yet that's not /no/. Vrianth's refocused from the white-dressed girl's first step into the water, and though some of that sunwarmed camaraderie's still in her thoughts, her attention's set now to explore the girl who'd approach her: what /is/ she like? What does she want? It might even be felt, subtly, like senses opening gradually, electrically up. Even the lake is different to dragons. "...Touch her?" It's half an afterthought, checking to make sure, while Vrianth decides. \\Maybe the conclusion to her question is enough of a confirmation, for Iolene's splayed fingers stretch forth to press lightly against the dragon's side. "Ooooh," is her soft utterance, surprise and uncertainty co-mingled in the inflection of that throaty sound. "I'd forgotten." A beat. "If I ever knew. The last time I was this near a dragon-." Io has become quite good at the whole trailing off thing when the subjects start to diverge into those of either uncertainty or things she'd rather not remember. "She's softer than what I thought she'd be. The sea monsters in my dreams are never this soft. Wet too," an impish smile can't help but emerge at that 'no shit' statement. "I'm Iolene," is shared quietly with the green dragon, to Leova's exclusion. Soft is one word. Another might say smooth, or warm, or cool, or resilient, or aware. Most definitely aware. What Vrianth does not do is pull away. What she does do is slip her neck around so that her mouth, her /teeth/ might close upon the girl's shoulder. Not hard. It shouldn't hurt. It shouldn't rip, unless Iolene jerks. Vrianth knows precisely what she's doing. She has such a long neck, such well-cared-for teeth. Watching, Leova's brows have drawn in, but all she says, "You're all right." Iolene's fingers vibrate against Vrianth's hide, as if that very awareness is igniting a similar sort of feeling in the girl's skin. In her muscles. In her fingers and then the suddenly coldly damp palm of her hand. Iolene doesn't jerk. She's too still, too afraid to move more than the tucking of her lower lip into her mouth, behind her own teeth that remain unbared. And then, those dark eyes close, staring, lidded, at the green of the dragon's hide and her jaw works in minute increments: as if a silent litany is being mumbled in the back of her mouth, unable to be voiced. "You're all right," Leova repeats, in a different tone. There's a short splash, and then the quieter sploshing that must be the woman approaching. And if the girl's still still, there's a warm hand on her opposite shoulder and her name, "Iolene. She, Vrianth, she... /appreciates/ that you talk to her directly. Take it easy, is all." Her hand lifts, gradually. The great jaws open, even more slowly. "Don't go away, yet. It's just, she's not a pet. You can see her wing from here," except that she couldn't, not until now, when Vrianth expands hers and diffuses the sunlight for them. "See how her joints move? I'm Leova, I'm a dragonhealer. Like healers for humans, but for dragons. But likely you guessed that." "I'm all right." Iolene exhales the repetition, releasing it to the world along with her lower lip. Her eyes remain closed, so she can't really see how those great jaws open, but most likely she can smell and feel the warmth of draconic air about her. Or sense Vrianth's movements further in the still finger-tipped touch that keeps Io in contact with the dragon. As Leova explains, as the hand drops to her shoulder, as things happen in a world without one of her senses, slowly, ever so slowly, Io cracks one eye open and then the other training her gaze first to the green hide and her hand that started all this, and then becoming malleable to the greenrider's touch and guidance, tipping her head to find that great maw by her with its specially cared for teeth. Repentance colors her voice as she looks to the dragon, "I'm sorry." For touching. For being impulsive. For being... her. That warm breath has a now-rare remnant of firestone to it, but at least that isn't blood. Though blood might be, to an islander, more familiar. It's a hint of smoke, smoke like the rider's voice. "She says... you'll learn." Or else? Vrianth chuffs once, only to have Leova shake her head and add on her own behalf, "It's not as though she couldn't have moved, hm? Or knocked you over. Or whatever. But you're all right." Character, not just safety. "She has a bit of a... learning curve, does my Vrianth. But there's something to how your voice sounds, and that's not so common. If you're going to rub her, here." Ignore those teeth. They've moved on, the green's muzzle tilted down, her eyes so very brilliant above. Out of touching range. Her neck isn't, though; Leova points to one spot, where one ridge succeeds the next. "Knuckles are good at first, I think. The heel of your hand. She's fast, agile, nervy, but she'll wear herself out to get it done. What's your next question? "Or eaten me?" Io can't help herself, managing a nervy little giggle at that that might be verging towards shrill. But not quite yet. That uncommon voice can't seem to climb so easily into those upper registers even when unnerved. "I'm too stringy and tough I bet anyway." There's obedience in her movements, following what Leova tells her to do without another thought; as if she's spent turns of her life following what others have told her to do... eventually. First the knuckles press against that spot on Vrianth's neck, needling in one at a time as if she were playing a scale on a violin, and then repeats once more, before continuing to the heel of her hand, rocking skin-covered bone against sleek, smooth, aware hide. "Why did you say yes? When you were asked to Stand? Or did you ask?" Her voice sounds more distant speaking to Leova than it did speaking to Vrianth, or perhaps that's just the distraction of the work of her hands glossing over her intonation. By way of encouraging the humor, "That wouldn't be /civilized/," Leova teases. As if Vrianth were particularly civilized at all... or maybe it's just that hers is a different civilization altogether. After the greenrider's watched the girl for that little while, and more importantly after her dragon's made sure that all's well, "Now you can play around a little. If you like. And yes. I was asked. I... wouldn't /ask/," and there's a questioning look at Iolene, as though this might be further out of her worldview than washing techniques, somehow. "I didn't live here. I was at Tillek, the Hold. In the stables. With my friend. I was working there, at the time. It was... it's hard to make into words. Do you know why? For you." She leans her shoulder into Vrianth, a gesture so familiar and unthinking as to speak of utter trust, rubbing at her temple as though that would give up the reasons of the woman she'd been, back then. Startled and disarmed in that question, her, "For me what?" is blurted out unthinkingly, a sudden movement turning her back to look at Leova. "Why you... went for it." Low, easy voice. Half-puzzled amber eyes. Many-colored eyes above her, glowing, reflecting the still-rising sun as Vrianth looks away. "Or would?" Iolene goes /still/. More still now than before with the teeth. "How... how did you know?" she breathes out, unaware that by her very response, she's giving Leova an answer. "You're not supposed to know. No one's supposed to kn-... Oh." The teenager's jaw works and she suddenly finds the lake and the water-billowed slip dress she wears very interesting. "Oh." Her chin jerks away from Leova and Vrianth and that hand whose heel was digging as gently as boney wrists can into the green's side falls. Quietly, "I asked." "You..." Leova's hand drops, and then she's hugging herself, and Vrianth might as well not be there any more than the cliff except she is, she so very much is. And Leova's voice drops too. "Wait. Why aren't we supposed to know?" There might have been stories, about exile girls and shenanigans, but nothing more than a muddle, nothing that's been /important/. Softer yet: "/Asked/." "They told us we could. The ex- islanders I mean. If we wanted to. We could ask. Well, some of us." Iolene reaches again, a bit more forlornly to see if her finger tips might graze Vrianth's hide, if the green is even still within reaching distance. "We were allowed to and I didn't want to until-... well, we're not supposed to go near the eggs at all. Me. Rhae. Ri." Do-Re-Mi. "We hurt one of the eggs and the dragon mommy was angry and we're not allowed to go near them, but-, but... K'del said we could! But we can't tell anyone, cause then Tiriana might have his head. Or our head. She doesn't know who I am anyway, so it doesn't matter. She'd never know. Please. Please," rounded, owlishly unblinking eyes pin to Leova, "Don't tell her? Or anyone?" The cliff hasn't moved, and Vrianth hasn't either, only now she goes so far as to let Iolene touch the velvety skin of her muzzle. The girl /cares/, and Vrianth can tell. Leova's eyes flick up towards her dragon's in response, and then she's pressing her lips hard together, not biting them, not talking at /all/ out loud until Iolene's run out of words. What she says is, on a low breath where she keeps Iolene's eyes and holds them, "It's their eggs. But it's her business. She /ranks/ him there. But I'm not going to tell her, no. It's going to be over very soon." It's a victory. But a very poor one and Iolene's slumped shoulders know it. Instinctively, the lanky, thin body leans into the velvet muzzle that comes down to her fingers, dragged finger tips turning into pressed knuckles. "Thank you." Though quietly spoken and mostly neutral, there's an undercurrent of desperation; as if she needs to stand but can't or won't explain why. "I'm sorry to put you both in this position." "Don't worry about me." Vrianth's breath is low and easy, a regular in-out that can be felt. Such a soft muzzle, not just the texture but how it's pressed to the girl's hand, when she wants it to be. The greenrider does say, mutedly, "Don't know that I could, would, lie. But I stay out of her way in any case. No reason for anyone to ask me." And then, maybe that desperation and maybe something else, "Why did you? Ask. /Want/ to." Because sometimes there are things that people may not want but they ask for all the same. "I can't tell you that." In this, Iolene is sure. How do you explain choosing something that's someone else's life as a means to escape a reality you'd rather not deal with anymore? It's not possible, at least not for Io. Reluctant fingers draw away from Vrianth's muzzle and her leaned lean body slowly straightens. "Thanks for answering my questions, Leova. Thank you. Vrianth." For the dragon, at the very least, there's a ghost of her former smile. "I hope I didn't disrupt your morning too much." If she only knew how familiar that was, to so many youth that Stand those sands. "I could say, you owe me," Leova says, not ungently. "That much. But." Instead, "If he went for it, I hope he'll own up to it after. Not say you just sneaked on." Not let the girl swing in the breeze. Vrianth shifts, and the green's long tail splashes in the water, as though the world were starting up again. "You look like you're about to go. Good luck, hm? And... if you want to let your dress dry off a bit more, before you go, we won't hurry you by." They'll even turn, get back to work, though if it turns out to be more sunning than scrubbing... it'll be that much better a day. Discomforted, though trying to hold it together, Iolene just shakes her head. "I should get to-," wherever it is she's supposed to be dawdling at today. "Have a good morning!" That being one last attempt at good cheer that just falls short by half an excalamation point. |
Leave A Comment