Logs:Idiot-Bound Dragons
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 29 June, 2015 |
| Who: Taeliyth, Zymadiath |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Taeliyth and Zymadiath deal with threats, problems and human stupidity. |
| Where: Weyrling Barracks, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 2, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Lilah/Mentions, X'vin/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Slightly back-dated. |
  |
| To Zymadiath, Taeliyth's rousing mind is often a rumpled thing, her mind in a disarray of tangled twigs and gnarled roots that somehow carry the warning that any who dare disturb her before her first glob of meat will live to regret it. After some carefully chewed mouthfuls, her mind is still groggy but less beast from the sleep-deprived abyss and more dragon. Reasonable. (Nearly.) The edges of darkness stir to life as Zymadiath's mind seeks his golden sister's, slowly seething, forming into indescribable somethings. Low, coarse tones come from his shadows, as gentle as they are harsh, as familial as unpleasant, not prying in those unreasonable stages but also not hesitant to intrude, « Sister. » The bronze lies beside his rider's cot, though both the physical and mental sensation of eyes ever watchful is unmistakable. « Has Besmernyth bothered you? » (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath) « Don't even, » is a sharp warning fuelled by the residual grump. « You're a bronze, I'm a gold. That's that. » None of this sister stuff that complicates questions in her lifemate's mind. « Besmernyth. Besmernyth. Besmernyth. » She considers briefly before offering flippantly, « Doesn't ring a bell. » (To Zymadiath from Taeliyth) Shades tremble in what would be dark laughter before the figures resume their slow writhing, « Fine. » Phantasms twist in the figment of a head tilting, though the bronze himself remains ever-still in his vigilance from afar, « Gold one, you're already drawing the attention of olders who objectify you as much. » (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath) « Are they, » isn't exactly a question, but it's something Taeliyth considers as teeth sink through meat like a knife through soft butter. « And do you not do the same because you are my brother or because you are young? » If she implies that he would do as much if neither of those things were the truth, well... she probably doesn't mean to needle that point of honor. (To Zymadiath from Taeliyth) « You see yourself as what you are and not who, then. » That would be the shadow's only answer to that question. There's no offense taken, those figments unmoved in their ghostly boldness. The young bronze stretches one wing, then the other with slow deliberance against stiff muscles and ever-itchy hide. (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath) To Zymadiath, Taeliyth snorts her dismissal, pausing on the way to the meat held by her lifemate's hand, startling a glance from the girl that gets dismissed the same way. « Of course not, do you? » Did she plan that whole exchange only to force the question of the identity in shadow, that is shadow? « I am Zymadiath. » The bronze's gravelly low tones respond with not but dark-wrought confidence behind it. The shadows briefly rising in prominence, spreading wider, greater. A bronze, yes, those emboldening figures of the night seem to say, but better than that. « But I am not the target. It was you he came for. » (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath) « Mmm. » The sound is supremely unconcerned (but a flicker in her mind betrays it as a false confidence, however briefly). It might also be simultaneous commentary on her breakfast. Taeliyth cocks her head toward the bronze, « Are you going to protect me? » Her tone implies that she certainly doesn't need him to. (To Zymadiath from Taeliyth) « Of course. » His unpleasant tones return from the night's depths. Nightmarish phantasms twist, fading from the prominence they were, « I am just, » A pause, the tiniest give into the deeper mind of the bronze, « Slightly held back by size. For now. » It doesn't deflate the arrogance, of course, something about the shadow admitting to both hints of frustration and humor. (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath) « Size means nothing, » says the Tenacity in a Tiny Gold. « What do you suppose you would do to him if he were coming for me and you were of a size to equal him? Think for a moment. It's not our way. » Our. Dragons. « Is it what he would do? » is shrewdly asked of the bronze's rider. (To Zymadiath from Taeliyth) « There are ways to complete any task. » Replies the shadows with a certainty, smug humor not giving her any single answer. When his rider is brought into the equation, the night's ghost's churn curiously, « What do you know of my Ka'ge? Your Dahlia is too innocent to have understood what they spoke of. » It is not one event he pulls from his rider's memory, but many, though his darkness is too absolute to suggest any particulars. (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath) « I know she went to him and that he helped her steal from us. » There is judgment there. Taeliyth is resolved when she asserts, « It must be undone before it becomes known. I will make her do it without his help if he won't give it. » This is Taeliyth using her rider, using the brief, confusing collection of memories and feelings that involve the touch of Dee's hand to Ka'ge's face, her fingers curled into his shirt, all the moments she looked when she thought he wasn't looking and the kisses that mean nothing to Taeliyth beyond their use. (To Zymadiath from Taeliyth) The darkness doesn't give away details, emotions, thoughts. Patience is there. Consideration, maybe. The lull in response that occurs with it is not without the continued presence of the ever-warping blackened distortions. « He did not care about the task. » The bronze offers eventually, the barest of hints in that her attempt at manipulation is not misplaced, though he is not persuaded. « You put her at risk a second time to undo something petty. To what benefit? » (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath) Something petty? Something petty? It must be because Taeliyth's temper is so close to the surface, because she's as sleep-deprived as her rider, because she's just raw and angry anyway that this riles her. She snaps her head up and nails Zymadiath's physical body with a look. « And if the people of my Weyr, of our Weyr, of our mother's Weyr die because of their idiocy? » She demands of the bronze. « And if anyone dies, this becomes an idiotic choice that might end in our exile. Do you realize the consequences of their actions? » No wonder her temper has been foul. (To Zymadiath from Taeliyth) The young bronze is already looking at her as she turns to look at him, watching her with the eerie whirling of his faceted eyes. Had he ever looked away? « Ours. » Is what the darkness selects of what he deems are choices. « Ka'ge warned her not to do it, nor did he aid in the process itself. » Gravelly low tones remind, « But it is done. Stealing back what was taken won't change that fact. No lives were lost in the cause. It was idiocy, » The darkness uses her term particularly, « of mine to waste such time, but Dahlia. » The figments ebb and flow, their pace on-going but the sensation of annoyed amusement touching the arrogant 'words', « Mine's yet to listen to better judgement. » Meaning, his. « What is it she- you- would ask of him? » (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath) « It can be undone. » Taeliyth challenges his version of reality. « She says there are no rumors yet. There's still time. But there won't always be. Would you lose me to wherever they would send the unfortunate lifemate of a thief? » Now she uses herself. Her words are a passionate plea. « They have to put them back. All of them that took. All that was taken. » If it all can be found. Taeliyth is no optimist in this regard. « They will still be punished, » she says after drawing a breath that visibly fills her slender torso. « We won't be sent away. » She has to believe that. (To Zymadiath from Taeliyth) « Even if you pull every bandage off of every child that was treated by Dahlia's thievery, does that really undo a deed? » The shadows see it all in the same, the good with the bad. Darkness is calm in the face of that challenge. Always calm, always gritty with the feeling of 'unknown' that comes from not being able to sense what's down that unlit tunnel, what's out waiting in the middle of the forest when there are no stars for guidance. « I would not allow it. » Figments become a little more solid, a little more something. « Ka'ge would not allow it. » It doesn't matter how they would ensure that, only that they would and that despite difference, in this the shadows are together. (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath) To Zymadiath, Taeliyth's shock actually ripples as she listens to Zymadiath's first argument. « She hasn't told him. » That's the shock. « You don't know, do you. » And certainly, she expected he would. Her possible banishment? That's set aside for now, as is the talk of the bronze pair's impotence to follow through with their assertion, which is no doubt coming. All in favor of a dark shadow of Taeliyth's own making, of Dee's making falling across the bronze's mind. « Nothing made it out. » A breath. « Do you understand? It's all still here, waiting to be discovered. The dragonriders weren't there. Every piece of proof of their crime is here, » waiting to bite them all in the ass. If there's surprise, the darkness doesn't show it. « They've not spoken. » This is a fact and nothing more. The little bronze sits up on his haunches, heavy wings not quite mantled but lax at his sides not all unlike a smokey cape. « Then it is not so difficult to change. » Unshaken, the shadows continue their writing formation and deformations, « Are you sure of the consequences that would befall you and yours despite your importance? » Smugness comes as a twisted grin amidst the ghastly figments, « But as I said, » The ghostly aspects sigh in haunted whispers, « You needn't convince me to speak to him. Only Dahlia would be required to do so. » (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath) « They should speak. » Taeliyth's annoyance betrays her own impotence to make that happen. Perhaps Dahlia is holding her own against the gold more than it seems to the outside eye. Then again, so far Taeliyth has shown the same remarkable perseverance in getting exactly what she wants as her lifemate; it may be a never-ending battle. If only they were ever on the same side. « She doesn't want to worry him. » Idiocy. Sheer idiocy. It's obvious to Taeliyth, shouldn't it be obvious to everyone? (To Zymadiath from Taeliyth) The darkness doesn't need to speak to agree, though Zymadiath may almost, almost be tangible beneath a shade there where his annoyance surfaces just enough to be barely felt within the exchange. Would those shadows let her in? Possibly, if only for this. This is a frustration they share. « He doesn't worry. » About anything apparently as the gravelly voice is definitive, as it is in everything. « He considers her too frequently, and becomes angry. He won't approach her for unimportant reasons. » Maybe it's youth that allows him to give that much, or maybe it's planned. Either way, the shadows become deeper, darkening back to drown what may have shown back into the night. (To Taeliyth from Zymadiath) To Zymadiath, Taeliyth hesitates. It's possible in the next moment that she wants to open herself, to share as much as he has, but it's a bridge of twined twigs and vines for ropes that is still in the making. The best she can do is a wary acceptance of his words, a defeated sigh and a promise, « I'll speak to her again. » This is no promise that Dee will agree, but she'll urge her. Again. |
Comments
Faryn (22:31, 30 June 2015 (MDT)) said...
Nothing like little dragons with more sense than their not-little lifemates.
Leave A Comment