Logs:Luck For the Future
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| RL Date: 27 October, 2015 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Z'kiel |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Aidavanth meets Ahtzudaeth. Jocelyn (sort-of) thanks Z'kiel. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 2, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| It's a snowy late afternoon that finds Ahtzudaeth lumbering toward the Eastern bowl with his well-bundled rider in tow. Though the bronze's gaze strays a bit toward the feeding ground, it would appear this detour is purposeful - even if Z'kiel might not seem to understand it as yet. Fortunately, the man's perplexed expression is well-hidden within the scarves and under his knit cap - boring, with its 'Reachian colors and lone pompom on top. The detour strays further and further from the feeding grounds and closer and closer to the weyrling complex, as it were. His rider has to jog to keep up with the bronze's measured stride, though it's not - yet - enough to make him breathe hard. Little Aidavanth sits an easily walkable distance from the entrance to the weyrling barracks, a bright pop of orange in a sea of muted neutrals between the snow, what's visible of the ground, the caldera walls. Attention mainly trained on a hatless redhead jogging small laps around this section of the bowl, she's still the first half of the pair to notice Ahtzudaeth's approach and the first to extend a welcoming hello. Jocelyn turns, has to finish the small circuit she's allowing herself before she draws up short, slowing her pace to a brisk walk. Her, "Ahtzudaeth, " is at once pleased, if cautious. So is the look she turns onto his rider, one hand reaching up to push away a piece of hair that's come loose during her exercise. "Your gift was kind. And lucky." That's for when he's within a good range for conversation. « Ah, little one! It is quite a pleasure to see you. » Ahtzudaeth's mental voice is warm and paternal, with a scintillating dose of good-natured humor that winks and glitters in the smoke and mirrors that comprise his mind. He'll come fairly close before offering a bow to both the little queen and her rider. Only after will he settle in a stately posture, forelegs crossed and wings primly folded. Z'kiel tips off a pair of salutes, one for each, with a low grunt that might pass as a greeting until they are, indeed, within range. He tugs the scarves down enough to expose his face - but only just barely. A knuckle is tapped just above his heart and he intones, "His idea. The bracelet." A sidelong look is angled to the bronze. One corner of his mouth distorts into a half-smile before his gaze centers on Jocelyn again. "Glad it worked." A beat. "She a good one? Are you good?" « I'm pleased to meet you, » says Aidavanth cheerily. Her alto is warm, lovely even at this age and accented only by the occasional sense of a nearby thought waiting in the wings. « Jocelyn says that we owe much to your encouragement. » There's an awkward little space left after the bronze's bow, a physical turn of her head toward her partner before she stretches to her feet, carefully stepping a bit closer. She still has to look up at him, but there's a thoughtfulness that lingers even after she resettles where Jocelyn stands with arms folded. "It worked, " she agrees with a faint frown, uncomfortable in the wake of Ahtzudaeth's display of respect. "She's bright. Pleasant. We're getting along well enough, if that's what you mean." The bronze chortles - physically and mentally - and gapes his maw in a grin. « No, » he replies, glittery bits of satisfaction swimming at the fringes, « I merely opened the door. She chose to go through it. » He dips his head, putting him slightly more on her level, as it were. His mind is open - in as much as it can be, with aromatic pipe smoke shifting and swirling throughout. The mirrors reflect images of her - and her rider - with faint traces of mystical luminescence that illuminates this detail or that feature. « You are a perfect fit. » Knowing, that. Z'kiel remains where he is, neither moving closer nor away. Arms eventually fold, ostensibly for the sake of warmth. "Told you to trust him." Another half-smile, fleeting though it may be. "Might serve you well to keep it. Not sure if all the luck's spent out of it or not, but it can't hurt." He sucks his teeth while he listens, a slow nod following. "Good." Another nod. "Yeah. Some have trouble from the start. Some always do. Hope you don't." Curiosity greets that shifting smoke, those mirrored images as Aidavanth gives his words due consideration. « She might not have opened it herself, » but her silent thank-you for his assessment of her choice is a pleased one. Jocelyn's own half-smile is there and then not, but it's genuine if lacking in overt size and duration. "I'm sure that future good wishes can't hurt matters, " she says at last, glancing briefly over to where the little gold seems pleased to simply sit and converse with the older dragon. Frankly, "Every relationship seems to get a little rocky in patches. I'll just have to hope that ours are - manageable." It's wry, pragmatic, followed by a small shrug. Ahtzudaeth is satisfied enough with entertaining; the smoke takes on fantastical shapes, but only if she's not looking directly, and the mirrors begin to move, just so, as if following her every move. « They so rarely do, » he muses. « That's why we exist. » He extends his nose in an attempt to bump against her own in an amiable gesture and soon settles into a comfortable and open sort of silence - listening for now. "No. No, they won't." Z'kiel briefly rubs against something on his chest, buried as it is beneath the jacket. He sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly at that, his grim expression briefly souring. "It will happen. The Weyrlingmasters are good for helping. But," there's a tip of his head toward the bronze, "he's pretty good at helping, too. If it's needed." A beat. "Don't think it will be, though." His observation? Ahtzudaeth's? Hard to tell. "But. If you do need anything - ask." And that orange-gold nose nudges his back, after only a moment's hesitation. She watches the smoke through its reflection in those mirrors, sharing small tidbits of joy from the day: playing in the snow, the visceral satisfaction of a good and prompt meal, a flash of the especial comfort from having hers nearby as she sleeps. Jocelyn's observant gaze falls to where Z'kiel's hand rubs a spot on his chest, lifts again to meet his with slightly raised eyebrows. "A generous offer, " she notes evenly after a beat, pale eyes studying the other carefully. "We'll remember it." It isn't quite an acceptance, but lacks the bite of a dismissal. The older bronze chortles again, his thoughts bubbly and bright. Ahtzudaeth takes in all of it - if, admittedly, without any reflections of his own - and settles in comfortably, with the distinct impression of one who is leaning in and listening with great intensity. All of those things are good things, at least, and he is utterly and unspeakably pleased to 'hear' about it all. Z'kiel, meanwhile, might notice her attention - but won't remark on it. There is no need. There's a glance askance at the bronze, another round of thoughtful teeth sucking, and an eventual, "More than you think. He was going to get something to eat, but had a feeling he'd see one of the weyrlings out." Go figure. Wry humor emerges in a rusted out chuckle. "Should see him off to do that." Something to eat. That eventually gets the attention of the still-smaller dragon, who brightly shares in the other's conclusion that it's such a good idea. "Never delay a hungry dragon, " agrees Jocelyn briskly, raising a hand to bronze and rider in farewell. "Good afternoon." They don't linger to watch Z'kiel and Ahtzudaeth's path, but set off for the barracks entrance with a steady pace. |
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