Logs:Looking Ahead
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| RL Date: 4 July, 2015 |
| Who: Lilah, N'rov, Vhaeryth, Eliyaveith |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lilah and N'rov talk around some things. |
| Where: Lake Shore, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 3, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Dense fog greets the morning and lingers until well after midday when the sun finally breaks through enough to start dispelling the mist. |
| Mentions: N'muir/Mentions, E'dre/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
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| Most of the fog's migrated off by this late in the afternoon (maybe chasing the gossip of N'muir's resignation?), but it will be back. In the meantime, N'rov's no longer in the midst of his wing. Rather, he's about as solitary as it gets around here: leaning over a big rock, eyeing the dragon who's had the inopportune timing to really want to float about the lake and indulge the littler dragons who want a moving target for their splashes. Every now and again the bronze roars and lunges from the water, sending dragonets shrieking in joy, but N'rov, he just drums his fingers against the stone as though he can't wait for it to be over. The fog is the first movement that might given away Lilah's movements, the lingering tendrils responding to the approaching steps and curling around the Weyrwoman. Bright hair and dark leathers are enough to give the bronzerider proper warning as to who exactly is approaching, even from a distance, but her path doesn't seem to be headed straight towards N'rov. It is the dragons' play that draws her, even if without a handy rock, she is timely splashed with the movements of those dragons as she draws near the lake. And it's only from there that her gaze slides from N'rov as fingers lift to wipe droplets off her jacket. "Taken back up with the weyrlings?" is what she greets him with. His gaze turns her way, grayer even than the fog, sharp of focus and yet distant in a way that predates her. "No," N'rov says briefly. His hand has stilled, if not relaxed. Water's touched him as it has her, droplets sparkling across his shoulders but further darkening his hair. Lilah meets that gaze, that answer with the curve of a brow lightly upwards, but her own dark eyes only slide away back towards the dragons. "He seems to be good with them," is another casual remark. "That's because he's..." N'rov inhales through his nose, breathes out through his mouth, but even then it's close to a snort. He looks at her. Then he says more offhandedly, "We'll tone it down, of course. When the littlest ones get to go out there." "He's--?" presses Lilah at that aborted answer, glancing back towards the bronzerider. But this time, he doesn't just get that brief study on the goldrider's part, but she actually moves towards the protection of his rock, erasing the distance between them. "Eliyaveith would appreciate that. But a little rough play likely won't hurt any of them." For a moment N'rov doesn't answer; then he nods with a tip of his chin towards his dragon. She can see, can't she? But then, answer on answer and dryly at that, "Ten." He doesn't make room for her, but there is room, somewhat. "One of my cousins said, once, that if you kept swimming until you ran out of breath, you'd breathe the water and then you wouldn't have to breathe." Lilah will take that room with absolutely no compunction, not seeking permission for it as she finds a place at the rock. Yet, that philosophy only earns the weight of her focus, not looking back towards the dragons, as she studies him with a sharpness. She only adds on a murmur, though, "That is true enough." He glances down his shoulder at her, a faint smile curling into existence. "Not necessarily reassuring to our mothers, however." While he's at it, "If you stare at me long enough, will I turn green, or do you have some other symptom in mind?" "That you would make the point you are trying to make," answers Lilah, though her gaze does finally slide away from his, back towards the lake and the dragons there. "That would require," N'rov notes not ungently, "my trying to begin with." The dragon and dragonets have gotten very still, waiting. "Which seems destined to lead me into some trap of the verbal persuasion, but I'll risk it." Lilah's brow curves upwards, but she only dismisses dryly, "Of course, because I am only ever waiting to trap you into something that you didn't mean." Her dark eyes, though, narrow slightly on the bronze in the water and the dragonets there. "No, I will believe you, N'rov. You weren't trying to make a point." "Yes, and sell me at the local Gather. Piecemeal." N'rov tips a brow at her before choosing to add, "On sale if there's some left too close to closing." One of the dragonets is circling around behind Vhaeryth; his glance distracts that way, though his dragon's doesn't. Back to Lilah, "Would you like to make a point? Which craftstamp would you give it?" "An apprentice harper's, perhaps. No finesse and too blunt," Lilah answers, her gaze sliding back to him even as he looks away towards the circling dragonet. And she adds, simply, "It wasn't my doing. Any of this." N'rov's gaze is just as gray as before; none of that's changed. But he does reach for her far shoulder, to adjust the line of her jacket and then settle his arm over her dampened shoulders. What he doesn't do is come anywhere near her knot. There is a moment of tension in the way the Weyrwoman holds herself, one that doesn't even truly fade when his arm has settled there, though her gaze slides towards the dragons in the lake. And she doesn't move away from him as she continues quietly, "I am going to need to find a Weyrleader, for when Eliyaveith does rise. A dragon to catch her. It wasn't ever going to be Bijedth, and it is not going to be Wroth, either." Whether the bronzerider regrets the movement, the one that means she might feel the faint rise in tension, it doesn't show in his expression; but then, were she an iron stove suddenly set to burn, he might not withdraw his arm then either. "Loading the dice," he says a little wryly, not like this is a new thing. "You might find a few." The splash hits his last words, audibly if not coming near their rock, the dragonet zooming... and the dragon ducking, everything underwater but the back of his neck all set to run into. "And you?" is Lilah's question, perhaps some measure of expectation written in the words given their previous conversation. Still, it doesn't stop the Weyrwoman from lifting her gaze away from Vhaeryth as he disappears and up to his rider instead. This time N'rov does, after the pressure of his palm that isn't quite a pat, pull his hand back; it's so he can wedge his thumb in his pocket and turn towards her, but that's when Vhaeryth goes up, up, up with the little dragonet atop and creeling in excitement. It draws his gaze, too, and the beginnings of a grin that grows rueful as he looks back down. "They're distracting," he says without particular apology, but also with attention. "Am I, what?" It's a real question. "One of the few? One of the many, to support the few? You have to know that's the only reason we ever chased Elaruth." "Of course. Because you have no ambition of your own." It isn't exactly an accusation so much as a simple repetition of his words another time, Lilah's gaze never leaving N'rov despite the distracting play of the dragons nearby. She adds, "Then I suppose we'll see if whoever you choose to support catches her." N'rov shakes his head, brief irritation; "N'muir was supposed to stay Weyrleader forever," he tells her. "Since that's not happening," his shrug is loose, indeterminate. "Do you want your Weyrleader to have his own ambition?" Own. That question draws a sharp smile to Lilah's lips, only softened by the humor she finds in it before she answers, "But I also don't want a Weyrleader who doesn't want to be there at all. That will fight against me because he is unhappy." She doesn't address the first point, but then, does she need to? "Smart," works for both. It can't last. "Though I can't believe," and N'rov's drawling here, "you're not just going to count on draconic mojo to make the difference. I mean, everyone knows that dragons getting it on fixes everything." "Of course. If everyone in the Weyr just wishes for a single Weyrleader, we can leave it up to that, as well," Lilah replies in agreement, an actual laugh to her words as she leans back against the rock and finally drops her gaze back to the dragon playing there. Maybe she's considering Vhaeryth's ambitions, though the softening of her expression seems to be more enjoyment of the simple moment. "Right," and it comes with N'rov's low laugh. He looks at her, looking at his dragon. His Vhaeryth, who's still playing with the little dragons; some (after pointed reminders about claws) get to literally walk just about over him so he can bounce them off again, while others can hide beneath his vast wings only to leap upon their sibling-prey. True, it's not as though this is frequent, but someone could see him. Has he no self-respect? A dragon who's caught queens the way he has, surely he's supposed to be brooding darkly and exchanging dark witticisms and constantly throwing shade lest he ruin his reputation. This is N'rov's lifemate. He sees what she'll make of that. Whatever Lilah makes of it is only shown in the curve of a smile at her lips, crooked. And perhaps she simply makes of it as a mark in his favor as a sire; surely, Eliyaveith would, given her own attachment of her children. The goldrider, however, pushes away from the rock even as she shrugs out of the jacket that N'rov so carefully straightened. It gets dropped, knot and all, onto the surface there, before she bends for the boots. He crooks a brow at her, but N'rov certainly makes no move to stop the redhead; "If you freeze your feet off," he warns her with dry humor, "you know we won't find them until summer." That's all, that and a sudden grin. "I heard K'del once jumped in High Reaches' lake; I think in the middle of winter," Lilah answers dismissively. "It is practically spring, now." Even if it isn't exactly warm. The boots are yanked off, yet they aren't the only things to go. Next, she reaches for the stays of those skintight leather pants, pushing them down her legs and stepping out of them. Then she will start towards the lake, leaving behind her things and N'rov, if he doesn't join her. N'rov smirks, but doesn't immediately speak, and definitely doesn't stop her. Nor does he comment about the attire she has remaining; he's busy picking up her clothes, surely because he's such a tidy fellow and not at all because he's going to be going through her things. "Clear skies!" "You're welcome to join me, if you aren't a scared wherry," tosses Lilah back, even if she immediately regrets her decisions as she steps into the icy lake. A gasp leaves her lips, a shiver curving up her spine, but she presses forward until at least one little brown dragonet has broken away to splash her in invitation. And she splashes back. "Nope, definitely scared." N'rov even makes wherry sounds to prove it. It's her jacket he delves into primarily, wasting no time; the scrap of hide gets read with a slight lift of his brow, and as for all those Bitran marks... she'll wind up with the same value as before, only he deftly swaps some Keroonian eighths for one and draws a smiley face on the reverse of a couple more. And look, he even folds the garments when he's done. Meanwhile, "Cruel woman," he calls. "Blasting an innocent dragonet." Who shows every appearance of coming over for more. Lilah laughs at that, for all that her teeth must be chattering as she adjusts to the cold of the lake. "He did it first! I was only defending myself," she maintains innocently. But she will draw closer to the brown dragonet, cupping his muzzle in her hands before she adds, "Ok, fine. You win. Take me to your leader so I can make amends." That is not a good way to keep from getting licked. Not to mention, a rush of baby dragon breath. N'rov's still avoided touching the knot on Lilah's jacket, except for now where he stacks her other things beneath it on the rock and gives it a tug, so it looks more like a 'don't touch this' poisonous tunnelsnake. Then he can saunter out from behind the rock, even while Vhaeryth stays lounging for the moment; « 'Let your imagination wander,' » remarks the bronze to Eliyaveith with great sententiousness, eyes whirling with blues upon blues. « Look who's coming. » She could be here. Yet, Lilah is still laughing as she pulls away, even as she exclaims, "Ew. Ew, don't do that." And she splashes the dragon again in retaliation even before her gaze lifts back to watch N'rov. Eliyaveith perches above the bowl to oversee her Weyr, and as the bronze dragon draws her attention, finally her gaze falls down to the playing dragonets. Or maybe she has snuck peeks before, but now her warmth infuses against Vhaeryth's mind as she answers, « Wasn't he always? Just as you will. » Some might call it a cockiness, but it's a sureness. She doesn't join them, though. Whatever, whenever she's sure of, « If I do now, they will get all wet. » Vhaeryth doesn't note that as intrinsically a bad thing; only, dryly, « And grumble and gripe, » gripe and grumble, repeated higher and higher until those human-like voices aren't so much intelligible as squeaky-squeaky-squeaks. N'rov isn't squeaking yet; N'rov is laughing, a low and easy baritone that by now might carry some of Eliyaveith's own warmth. The brown has scuttled behind Vhaeryth's wing, peeping out with big blue eyes; save him, save him! "Shake your fist," the bronzerider suggests. "Look scary." "It's been suggested that I am scary enough as it is," Lilah answers to that, though with wide, dark eyes filled with laughter and skin flushed with exertion and cold, she does not look very much like a woman that any would call scary, right now. That red-gold curls have started to escape as flyaways, where they haven't been dampened by water, doesn't help. Yet still, she turns back to the dragonet and shakes her fist, even tossing up to Vhaeryth in addition, "Traitor! Taking his side." « Not now. Later, » agrees Eliyaveith warmly, a silent encouragement given for him to stay and continue playing with the little dragonets. « Later, » is dry as his rider, right after Vhaeryth's chuff of unabashed, unconscionable traitorhood; for later, they've got plans. If she should look out of the corner of her mental eye, she might see more in the glass-on-metal reflections of his mind's periphery: the disruption that's barely begun to take hold, that's created by man and not by dragon. Listen to Wroth and not Bijedth? He's used to taking cues from the brown when he must, but his wing, it's always and ever Bijedth's. N'rov doesn't speak of Bijedth's. N'rov is assuring, "Supernally scary. Enough to make any traitor's knees knock in his boots." If Vhaeryth wore any. The bronze does, probably at N'rov's prompting, swing his head back to eye the redhead from that vast height; never mind the little green who evidently takes that as a dare, attempting and failing to leap just as high. Eliyaveith may catch that reflection, concern sparking like popped embers from her fire, but she doesn't chase it to offer reassurances. She doesn't try to make any of it better. She only watches him from a distance, there if he needs her, for all that dragon instinct still might not consider her the senior queen. At least, not until she rises again. "Careful," is a quick, immediate concern to the green's reaction, no playfulness there as Lilah steps back away from the possibility of flailing claws. "But! I will award the title of my champion to whoever can defeat this traitor by climbing to the top." Of him. Sorry, Vhaeryth. It's better that way. N'rov likewise keeps an eye on the green; he spares a sideways grin for Lilah even so. "You know how fast I could get up there." Would that be cheating, or just weighting the dice? But the bronzerider stays on solid ground, thumbs slung in his belt, and lets (Vhaeryth lets) the group have at it. "Assuming you could get past me to help him," challenges Lilah lightly, but her gaze does draw pointedly to his boots, to where they rest against the shore. But then she turns back to watch the progress of the dragonets, laughing where that green pushes a brown back into the water. The prospect of ruined leather doesn't seem to bother the bronzerider, whose laugh suggests a card up his sleeve for all that he plays along, "Quite right. I quail at the thought." He stays for a while longer, enough to applaud the green, even to catcall now and again but without the trash-talking designed to egg on humans; Eventually, in the middle of it all, "About that other thing, Lilah. I'll think about it." It's brief; once said, he can leave, today's winner on the horizon but unannounced. Certainly his statement is met with intermingled surprise and interest both, but Lilah only accepts it with the weight of a dark gaze on the retreating rider, before a splash and a creel draw her attention back to the blue, who appeals the unfairness of the last push to the goldrider to intervene in. |
Comments
Alida (00:45, 5 July 2015 (MDT)) said...
Not only is it interesting to watch the interplay between these two, but also the whole way Eli/Vhaeryth/the dragonets reinforce their humans' reactions with their own shennanigans. ^^
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