Logs:Making Waves

Making Waves
RL Date: 21 April, 2015
Who: Farideh, O'nahi, Rook, T'mic
Involves: High Reaches Weyr
Type: Log
What: Baby dragons play in the water. Or, watch demurely from the sidelines, as suits.
Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
When: Day 6, Month 8, Turn 37 (Interval 10)
Weather: The weather today is very pleasant. A few clouds chase each other across the mostly clear skies, and a soft breeze picks up in the afternoon to make for a fine day.




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Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself. A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs. T'mic and Jorrth were up early, T'mic alternating between trying to shush an enthusiastically hungry little blue and laughing. They've eaten now, and gotten themselves out of the barracks. Jorrth is powered by the meat and the sun and the breeze and the ground and everything, having leapt and bounded and hopped and stumbled his way all the way to the lakeshore without T'mic having to carry him even once. There's still energy left as those little feet dig into the sand at the edge of the lake, and then test at the water. « It's cold! » Sheer delight. He jumps high, jumps in, splashes. He jumps all the way back out. He goes back in, and spins and sends water everywhere. « It's wonderful! » To any and all nearby. Rhiviyth and Rook were here yesterday, on Rhiv's imperious degree, and today shows signs that it is no different. Rook's a wee slip of a thing, but she hardly looks laden-down in carting around her similarly wee lifemate. Endurance building exercises are supposed to be for both partners, right? Rhiv raises a ruckus at the sight of Jorrth, and struggles down to the ground to take off in a rompy rollicky run towards Jorrth. Rook's finally resigned herself to her fate, or maybe she's just exhausted her sense of propriety; she hangs back, looking awkward, as Rhiviyth romps in great awkward trippy splashy circles around her clutchmate. « Brother! » her alto growl trumpets as fiercely as a wolf sighting prey - or play, in this case; words cannot suffice for her blast of LITTERMATE ROMP WATER SPLASH -- was that tug-of-war? Did someone mention tug-of-war?! "You can't play that, you don't have anything to play it with." The words come all unwilling from Rook, her arms folded uncomfortably over her chest. Jorrth had only just started to notice the ripples, had only just started to (try) to stomp and step and splash in particular ways, when Rhiviyth arrives. « Sister Rhiviyth! » He knows her, he welcomes her, the musky-musty-grassy scent behind every word. Jorrth jumps and spins and splashes, getting his head down into the water when he goes in a bit deeper and using it as much as his feet to send water here and there and everywhere. T'mic has gone from lightly wet to starting to drip, but he's laughing when he backs up, laughing and almost stumbling and falling down, while his dragon makes a diving headbutt (that will prove surprisingly gentle from that little guy) at the green. His eyes are still down when he asks, eager, « Do you see the little waves? » The first seven of being a brand-spanking new dragonrider has been rough on O'nahi, to say the least. He's been exhausted; mentally, emotionally, physically. But now he's starting to find his stride. Or he's just enforcing a stride. When the weyrling becomes visible, it's with Kuviath draped over his shoulders like a, frankly super awkward, sack of tubers. But there are reasons! "Hey, guys!" he greets the other weyrlings as he walks right into the shallows to dump his dragon into the cool water before turning to leave him there. Fortunately Kuviath is immediately distracted by fun and he has all that energy saved from being carried here. Hurray! « Guys! Guys! » He splashes through the water toward his clutchmates, but apparently has nothing more than that to say to them. The rest is just bright enthusiasm to be here. Rhiviyth has an eager heart, and it shows in how she cavorts around the blue's head-swinging wave-making. Grass-green and bold, she frolicks with a puppy's abandonment of anything coming close to dignity, dropping her fore and wagging her haunches with so much power she about trips herself over, then pouncing forwards to crash through a Jorrth-inspired wave. Then she's headbutted and she crashes over with more theatrics than really are deserved. « I'm going to get you for that! » she declares in her bones-of-the-earth voice, bounding forwards to harry at his flanks, angling her head down to nip at his knees. Dragons have knees, right? « Little waves, big waves, blue waves, white waves! » she enthuses at him, a blast of pup-ferocious claiming puffing out from her like a mushroom cloud. « Brother! » she includes Kuviath in her claiming, clamoring towards him in splashy frenzy. Rook sidles a look over at the vastly too-big, too-tall T'mic. It's timid. Maybe a bit daunted, but whether by his size or his affable cheer isn't immediately obvious. She can't help but smile at the two babies, though, her attention returning to them and her expression softening. "Hi," she shyly returns to O'nahi, hugging her arms a little closer to herself as she returns her attention to the dragonets. There's still glimmers of interest from Jorrth in those waves, but they become secondary to the play and excitement of his clutchmates. He spins and races around Rhiviyth where she's fallen, and then jumps, higher than a dragon of his diminutive stature ought to be able, when she goes for his knees. Those little shaggy wings spread out, and accomplish relatively little, other than making him look shaggy, so much as they can. T'mic gives an easy smile to Rook, and an answered, "Hi," to O'nahi, drawing in nearer the other riders and then stopping. And promptly tugging off his shirt, with only an apparent desire to wring it out in front of him. « Brother Kuviath! » is greeted too, and Jorrth is racing in toward and around him, and leaping more, and at one point falling and splashing flat on his side in the shallows. Kuviath has an audible croon-growl for his siblings to go along with his awkward jump-splash when Jorrth races toward him. The dark blue tosses his head, wings mantled, and takes off past his brother to lumber at a respectable pace toward their sister. « What are we doing! » Not just playing. What sort of playing! O'nahi is going a very find job of ignoring the dragonets now that they're distracted by each other. Okay, a mostly okay job. He's not looking at them, but he's distracted anyway. "What's up? How're you guys doing?" It's asked to both, but he looks at T'mic when the big guy's shirt comes off, then briefly at Rook as though he expects her to react to it somehow. Rhiviyth goes down again, but this time she stays down, writhing in the glorious ecstacy of the very young. MUDBATH she projects, more the feeling of it than the actual word, and when she leaps back to her feet she is covered. Rook makes a sound of dismay and moves forwards, finally, wading into the water. "Rhiviyth," she scolds. She doesn't notice T'mic's shirt-removal, and definitely doesn't notice that look from O'nahi. "Anything could be on the bottom of this lake," the green's lifemate natters, her voice a fishwife's harranguing. Rhiv lifts her nose to touch her muzzle to her soul-sister's hand and then she's off like a rocket towards her blue brethren. Rook emits an exasperated noise and takes a step away from O'nahi apparently just on the principle of the thing. "Um. Good, I guess. You?" She's belatedly found her answer, and maybe a hint of manners. Or maybe not. T'mic shrugs those broad shoulders of his, and looks a little dismayed when he shakes his shirt back out to find that it's now loaded with wrinkles. And wet on both sides, instead of just the front. This was not well planned. "We're good," he answers O'nahi, though he answers around a yawn, while he's trying to open up that shirt without it clinging to itself. It doesn't look particularly comfortable, either, when he pulls it over his head and down and around his chest. Jorrth, Jorrth has an answer for Kuviath, those waves remembered. He stamps his little feet for show. « See the waves? » the smaller blue encourages in his high, squeaky little voice. And then, « T'mic, see the waves? » still out there for everyone to hear. It's not that he hasn't gotten better at talking privately, but just that he's so excited right now. O'nahi, if he notices Rook stepping away, and he probably does since he's looking at her, doesn't comment on it. Maybe this isn't an unusual occurrence. "I'm great," he lies, blatantly. "Tired. I'm okay. I think I'm getting a little more sleep, but he's just-- he never stops." So not that great. Except Kuviath seems pretty great! « Wow, that's awesome! » And he rears up to splash down on dark paws to make more, bigger waves, so he can snap at them ineffectually. Maybe O'nahi's face is just offensive. Or maybe it's so suspiciously pretty that women have to try to not stand close to him. Competition and all that. Rook doesn't seem to notice, though; her eyes flick from the skinny blueling to the stout one, and if she takes in T'mic, it's more to see the destruction he's wrought on his shirt. Rhiviyth, now, decides to step all in between the splashing blues and collapse down, panting happily as the water wages over her half-mantled wings. YAY SPLASH SIBLING LOVE. Give her all the attention. Or just let her sit here and get the Works Wash. « This is pack, » she declares to everyone. No really, everyone: hi T'mic, hi O'nahi. That growling alto voice, that's not all in your head. (Well...) Does anyone have any manners these days? Rook shakes her head, but she's grinning suddenly, as if Rhiv had another comment just for her. T'mic was called, and sort of forgets about O'nahi and Rook and even his clingy, damp shirt. He's gone up on his tiptoes, and is tiptoeing on closer to get a good look at those waves. « Brother Kuviath! » That little tail swishes, and Jorrth calms for a moment, walking around to face Kuviath again, without Rhiviyth in the middle. It is, by no means, a graceful walk. Lurching, more. « Let's jump at the same time! Let's see what they do then! » O'nahi's face is super offensive. To people who hate fun. He opens his mouth, stops, gets distracted by voices and glances over at the little dragons like maybe Kuviath has grown a second head. He hasn't, but that's not he point. « Yes! » Synchronized splashing! Well, synchronized-ish splashing, anyway. Kuviath, granted, turns to face Rhiviyth, splashing her with a flick of his muzzle before the Great Splash is attempted between the two blues. Rook does hate fun. This is a documented truth. See, she's stepping back, awkwardly hugging her arms around her again as she sits down in the damp turf of the weedy lake-reeds and watching the antics of the babies. Rhiviyth is worn-out for the moment, but her head is up and alert as she watches her bison brother ponderously move to face Kuviath. Her head tilts in an undeniably canine manner, her constant color turning to a questing evergreen: what is THIS magic they attempt? If she notices she's bothered O'nahi, that teeny greenling, she doesn't broadcast it. Rook, to O'nahi, shaded in all hues of apology: "I'm sorry. She's... loud." And Rook is very quiet, in case either of the others missed that somehow. T'mic is laughing again, laughing, and watching, and still relatively unaware of any of his surroundings. Except for Rhiviyth, who gets a fond sort of look. He's also, still on tiptoe, with his toes starting to get wet, where he's balanced at the edge of the lake. « Ready? » squeaks Jorrth to all and sundry. « Okay... » The rise in his anticipation surely should work better than any countdown. He looks at his feet, he wriggles, he spreads those shaggy little wings, and, « Now! » he jumps! Higher than any tiniest blue in the clutch should be able to. Another pair ambles their way, perhaps as yet unaware of their soon-to-be company, as they're obviously in some sort of internal conversation, from the way the girl turns her head every so often to look at the petite gold, or her expression flickers. They've come from the direction of the barracks, though Farideh is her jogging wear: simple, loose pants and an equally loose shoulder-baring top with sturdy shoes and her short hair pushed back by a cloth headband. Roszadyth notices her siblings first, her gentle mind touch reaching out to brush along each, in turn. « What fun. » She, while her lifemate stops on the sandy bank, keeps going to the very edge of the water, where she comes to a standstill, eyes whirling contentedly. Kuviath is all spring-loaded tension, wings fanned out as he starts to crouch down, watching Jorrth so maybe, just maybe, he can manage to do this at the same time. « Ready! » And he's so close! His jump is a few seconds after the smaller blue's, and he practically squeals - there's not really another word for the sound he makes - with excitement all the way down until his splayed feet his the water again. "It's... fine?" It's not like O'nahi can say much with his lifemate out there making embarrassing noises that everyone can hear just as well. And he probably wouldn't want to, anyway. His notice of Farideh is belated, but grasped at awkwardly as he half-lifts a hand to wave at her, then decides not to, but it's already up so he sort of waves anyway, "Hey!" Rhiviyth turns a happy draconic grin upwards at T'mic, keenly aware of that look in some instinctual level. Otherwise, she stays flopped and sprawled, her back legs frogging out behind her in a way that looks almost physiologically impossible, and watches this Summoning Of The Biggest Wave. She turns her head at the noise that emits out of Kuviath, first this way then that, curious and curiouser. « Make that noise again! » she demands, her snout snuffling towards the larger of the two blues even water-soaked as she is. Rook's duty of manners to O'nahi is now complete, and she ignores the arrival of Farideh and her lifemate just like she ignores the two blueriders, focused instead on the romping trio. It's not deliberate. She's just Rook. Jorrth jumped up pretty high, but even that doesn't make him and Kuviath land quite at the same time, no. « Okay, we have to try again! » Snorting water out of his nose is nothing more than that, the sound of it mixing over that little voice, that earthy smell. He gives his head a shake, and blinks this big eyes. « Sister Roszadyth! » But there is business to be attended to, and he flicks his shaggy wings and gets his feet stable. « Okay, ready? NOW! » T'mic knows about Farideh's arrival because of Jorrth, and manages to become himself long enough to step back, to the dry, and look over to Farideh. "Oh, hey." Cheerful enough. Roszadyth is content enough to stand just back of the water, to be the audience for her clutchmates' play, her big eyes following their frolicking. "Hi," Farideh directs to O'nahi, not as much unfriendly as disconnected. She folds her arms across her chest and lets her gaze stray to the smaller dragons splashing around in the lake. Her expression is shuttered, save the furrowing of her brow, but even that doesn't give the impression of disdain; she's thoughtful, as her dragon is, in quietly watching. There's a lukewarm smile, wearily, for T'mic, and a slip of her eyes to Rook. "Just-- enjoying the weather while you can?" It's definitely awkward. « What noise? » You mean the one Kuviath makes again as soon as Jorrth gives the signal for more jumping and he's launching himself upwards? This time when he hits the water again, though, he jumps right back up into the air. And again and again, squealing happily the whole, embarrassing time. O'nahi? He's starting to look like he would rather be anywhere else. A hand lifts to rub the back of his neck awkwardly and he looks... over there across the lake where absolutely nothing of interest (or embarrassment) is currently happening. "Uhh." Oh look, a person! Rook's eyes leap over to Farideh when she puts that question out, and the shy greenling offers a smile proportionate to that: "It is very nice out, isn't it?" It sounds almost painful how she tries to enunciate her words, the burr of her northern hillsfolk accent nonetheless turning her vowels strangely and clipping her consonants. Rhiviyth larks in that noise, prowling up to her feet (and wobbling over on those broad paws of hers almost immediately in the wake of that second wave); then she scampers around her bigger blue brethren, blasting out ELATION FUN PLAY more-or-less at Jorrth as she goes. « He sounds so funny! » (Sorry Kuviath.) « Do it again! » like the kid who wants to see it a THOUSAND TIMES. (Sorry O'nahi.) Rook, meanwhile, cringes softly. "Sorry," she echoes herself. She's going to have a lot of apologizing to do at this rate. Jorrth wanted to watch the ripples, but they're all changing every time Kuviath hits the water. There's a little grunt of dismay. He tries to get involved in the other blue's game, and then tries to answer Rhiviyth's invitations, he really does... but suddenly, there is fatigue. It's a fatigue that everyone ought to be able to feel as he tries to jump and tries to run and finally starts stumbling his way back toward the shore. Toward Roszadyth. Toward T'mic. « Fun, » says Jorrth, even if he's leaving. Even if he can hardly walk straight. Even if it is looking very likely that he's going to walk right into Roszadyth, and, if she lets him, probably just lean with his head against her shoulder for a while. T'mic nods a little over to Farideh, though his eyes have stated darting back toward his blue. "The water was wonderful," he offers as explanation. And tugs at the damp shirt that's making his belly stand out. "It is, for now, until the cold settles in and the snow comes." Farideh looks grim when she's recounting those words; winter being a horrible time in life apparently. "It will be nice when we can fly farther," implies elsewhere. She shifts to watch Jorrth come closer to Roszadyth, and seems unaware of T'mic's clinging-shirt issues or O'nahi's awkward-looking-elsewhere. Those wide, innocent eyes of the gold's follow the blue's movements, but she's quietly composed, and kind enough to take to the leaning, providing a soft landing spot-- or leaning spot, as it is. « Have you considered a lie down? » is the quintessential question, brushing finger-tip soft against all those around. She's the girl next door, Rook, with sunkissed skin and russet hair falling shaggy past her shoulders. Possessed of a visible innocence and light hazel eyes, she falls short of true beauty, though her features are symmetrical and bear a sense of pretty femininity. Maybe it's because she's short: she barely tops five feet on a good day -- and in good boots. There's a whisper of curves to her, but not so much that it distracts from the lean length of her lines: despite her height-challenged status, she was even shorter recently, and seems to be just now getting caught up. Kuviath keeps making the noise even after Jorrth starts to wander off. There's a moment where the larger blue looks after him, but then he's quite fully distracted by Rhiviyth's goading. He stops jumping, but he keeps running around, trying to run around her specifically now that it's just the two of them. O'nahi, at a loss, since he's not supposed to leave the blue unattended, just stands here. Probably trying to will the blue into exhaustion internally. Jorrth's contentedness in this newfound space, in not moving, in being in contact with one of his clutchsiblings, comes out as that usual smell of his, sunwarmed and sleepy. T'mic's face says it: little dragons are adorable. "Okay," he decides after a moment of watching, decides to no one in particular, and he sets forward, to Roszadyth's side as well, where he drops down to scoop up that little dragon. It's something they both love, it seems, T'mic carrying Jorrth. Chances are, the littlest blue will be asleep before they've gotten to the weyrling area. "See ya," T'mic thinks to bid the rest of the weyrlings farewell. A little weak smile for Farideh in particular, perhaps 'cause he's so near her dragon, and then off he goes. Rhiviyth stands like the regalest alpha bitch that has ever wolfed as a dragon, well-pleased at Kuviath's attentions. Maybe she wriggles around in a little counter-circle to his romping outer-circle. Look! Syncronization! Or something. She's starting to look a little grey, though; apparently, BOUNDLESS ENERGY!! is not quite so boundless. Rook doesn't reply to Farideh, apparently daunted by the other's grim statements -- or wait, no, just taken aback. "Snow? Why would you be worried about snow? It's just... snow." Her wide eyes blink at the other young woman, then watch as T'mic carries Jorrth away, her expression inscrutiable for a moment. Neither is bothered by Jorrth's nearness, and it's almost an afterthought for Farideh to lift a hand in a farewell type of wave to the bluerider. It's in turning back to the lake that she gazes passively at Rook, her arms returning to cross over her chest. "I hate the cold. It's-- cold," is so elegant, or rather, disinterested, with a scrunch of her nose. "I much prefer to summer months. When we can fly, it will be nice to visit places like Ista, or Southern, or--" slightly wistful, "Igen." Kuviath slows down, though his own energy doesn't quite seem to be flagging just yet. He brushes against Rhiviyth and high-tails it for the beach to creel at Roszadyth as he gallops a circle around her and then heads toward Farideh to do the same. O'nahi is starting to look red, but he can't bring himself to speak out at the little blue about it, even when Kuviath is heading toward him to butt his head against the skinny blond's shins. "Cold isn't so bad," he says, wincing once the blue makes thumping contact. "You get to get all wrapped up in blankets and coats and sit by fires and have fun." Maybe not all those things at the same time. He glances at Rook as though, for some reason, he expects her to back him up. "Igen... that's the island one, right?" Rook's voice holds all the uncertainty of the uneducated. "I'd like to see an island one day," comes the wistful statement from the once very-landlocked child. "I like the cold," she quietly agrees with O'nahi. "Snow's fun." On that quiet note, she farm-girl tromps towards Rhiviyth, who has just sat down in the shallows, a plaintive motion. Rook-the-quiet doesn't bother to explain her lifemate's tired, just picks up the little green and starts carting her back towards the barracks, a quietly-voiced, "Bye," her only departing statement to the gold and blue weyrlings she leaves behind. Rhiv rouses herself just long enough to send out a self-satisfied burst of PACKMATE to Kuviath, and a more-general, « Until later, my siblings. » to both of the dragons she leaves behind. Trailing as they leave: « Food! » HUNT HUNT CHASE PREY GORY GLOR -- and then right in the middle of that, Rhiv falls quite (and quiet) asleep. "You-- you don't know where your dragon is from?" That's all Farideh can manage at first, with a strangled sound and wide eyes on Rook. She slowly rouses from her surprise to look at O'hani. "I suppose if you like those sort of things," is her quiet concession. Both skinny brunette and chubby gold watch the departure of the green pair in silence, and once they've fled for the barracks, with Roszadyth's soft « Sleep well. » following them, their attention comes fully on O'hani and Kuviath. "Our dragons are from... here?" O'nahi sounds not entirely certain but also confused. Because he is pretty certain they Impressed right over there in that huge, hot cavern. He watches Rook's leaving for a few moments, not frowning but looking less than thrilled by the abandonment. Especially once the attention of both gold and weyrling turn on him. O'nahi looks down at his feet. Or rather at the blue who's trying his damnedest to sit on them. "Yeah, they're okay." Neutral, now. He doesn't have to like them if she doesn't! Rook peers over her shoulder at Farideh, uncertainly: "High Reaches," is what she responds. She lives as the wolf does: in the moment, here. A dragon clutched at High Reaches is a dragon of High Reaches. There's no past, no future to that statement, just a simple present truth. (And her CURRENT present truth is that Rhiv is getting heavier. Ugh.) "Lineage," frustrated. "We are High Reaches' but Niahvth is Igen stock and Reisoth is Ista stock. You'll probably have to know that for--" Farideh stops, her lips drawing thin. "Exams." She takes a step closer to Roszadyth, which prompts the gold to take one into the water. "I much prefer beaches and sun and sand to drippy cold and mountains of snow," is sighed, as she moves in tandem to her dragon, who is now fully in the water, enjoying the ripples her tail is making as it skims the surface. "Why would I need to know about lineage?" O'nahi, still utterly baffled. Maybe even more baffled now. "I think everyone prefers beaches and sun," but not sand, "over 'drippy cold.'" But he's just taking a wild guess there. Kuviath is rolling onto his back now, so there will definitely be sand and beach crap stuck to his hide and wings when he gets up. "Exams," Farideh repeats, devoid of emotion. "Placements are-- soon, I think. Next month? Or the next? History and-- records." Her slim shoulders lift and she stops just when the toes of her boots touch the water. "Why wouldn't you want to know where your dragon hails from? Shouldn't you take pride in that sort of thing?" But as for her, she's still shuttered and distracted, now, by Roszadyth's pale gold hide bobbing in the water. "No?" O'nahi doesn't sound like he thinks this is the right answer to give her, but he says it anyway. Live dangerously, yo. "Why would I take pride in where his parents are from? They're here now. He's from here. If you take pride in anything, it should be that." Shouldn't it? He's not actually sure how this all works. O'nahi watches Farideh and Roszadyth for a few moments before he's shoving at Kuviath with his foot. "We should go, I think he's hungry." « I am?! » The blue seems surprised, but not disappointed, by this information, flipping around back up onto his feet. Maybe he is hungry, after all! "Then don't, and fail," is Farideh's dismissive comment to O'nahi. That he's announced his intentions to leave must be why she doesn't speak further, moving instead into the water, though she stops momentarily to roll her pants leg up to her knees. But after, she's following Roszadyth, sloshing into the lake until the water skims the bottom of her rolled cuff. Dragon turns to rider, lovingly nuzzling her snout into the girl's stomach. "I will," O'nahi tries to sound the same as Farideh, but mostly just sounds kind of ridiculous. And not just because of the implication. Kuviath lumbers along with his weyrling as they turn to go back to the barracks, but at some point O'nahi will probably have to pick him up again because the blue has learned really quickly how to be very dramatically pathetic.