Logs:Meat Breath
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| RL Date: 14 March, 2015 |
| Who: Lilah, N'rov, Eliyaveith, Vhaeryth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lilah continues to not get along well, even with her new knot. |
| Where: Bowl, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 3, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Backscene. |
| Tossing firestone bags, climbing up and down her dragon, it is certainly something that Lilah is able to do in a moderate amount, but perhaps as a point today's drills had pushed past the point of 'moderate'. The goldrider practically melts down from Eliyaveith's back when the wing is dismissed, but she doesn't make it far before she curls up against golden hide in an attempt to conceal ragged breath and legs that won't current carry her. At least she hasn't laid out bonelessly along the ground of the Bowl as she might like, a strength of will not to in front of the rest of Hematite. Red-gold curls plaster to her neck in sweat where they've escaped capture, her forehead against her leather-clad knees. It's not impossible that certain wingriders might have pushed their 'wingsecond' further than strictly necessary, all in the name of what they always do, but then again, Hematite is a hard-riding bunch. N'rov takes it in stride, though he's been distracted; Vhaeryth's been distracted, fewer aphorisms and more imagery when he bothers to speak. Still... after a while there are footsteps, and the thud of something landing next to her: less massive than a firestone sack, and followed by sloshes. It takes Lilah a moment to draw the energy to even move to pick up that waterskin, her breath hitching as she does as if it could cover the fact that she is struggling to breath. Eliyaveith, at least, seems unaffected by the drills: indeed, while she may not be fast or graceful, those powerful muscles of the gold allow her to last longer than even the largest bronze. The waterskin is sipped from carefully at first, before the goldrider gulps down a larger amount and then thrusts it back to N'rov with a quick glance around to see who might be watching them. He takes it, but after that he isn't watching her, half-turned away. There are those who are, of course; one gives her a wink before wandering on. A curse word escapes from below Lilah's non-existant breath, barely legible as something like 'fucker' for that wingrider that winks at her. But it spurns her to shaky legs, standing with fingers against Eliyaveith that is at least better than before. "I hate this wing," she adds once she's standing, flat in her un-diplomatic words. "Wasn't that the point?" N'rov, briefly amused, and not really a real question at all. He gives her a beat before, "What does it take to get you back where you belong?" Lilah's lips twist into a flat line, her dark gaze touching on N'rov before she questions, her flatness taking on a hint of dry, "Are you eager to get rid of me? Worried that I will call you on your shit that no one else does, obviously?" She pauses, her fingers brushing against gold hide before drawing away at Eliyaveith's reproachful glance. She adds, flat again, "Because we already established that you don't care." "Right, right. You've found us out." This time, N'rov's drawl is rich with humor, at least until she goes on. Then it's not. "That again." He exhales; he turns to look up at Eliyaveith. "You tell her. Does she always get things like that in her head? And come to think of it, how about you, enjoying stretching your wings?" It's a prompt for Vhaeryth to look over, vaning his. "Do not do that. Do not bring her into this," snaps Lilah as the bronzerider addresses her dragon, for all that Eliyaveith only rumbles a happy noise at his words before bringing her head around to huff a breath over him before pushing her nose gently into N'rov's hand. It's just there, after all. She casts a flicked look at Vhaeryth and then away, but a steel wall exists between her usual warmth and the bronze. It seems she, too, at least is upset over her bronze chasing and catching another queen, for the moment at least. "Don't worry. I am sure I will return to my own wing soon enough, where I can clean up your messes on the other side of things." No? N'rov may not look at Lilah, but there's a definite curl to his mouth as he attends so assiduously to Eliyaveith; he even pulls off a glove to stroke her muzzle as long as it stays in reach. Vhaeryth hasn't poked at the wall, but then again: distraction, even a touch of unease that his rider might not be helping. "Out of the goodness of your heart, I'm certain." Eliyaveith is more than pleased to accept N'rov's attention, even if it brings the narrowed glare of her rider at them both. The golden queen even shakes off her own wings, fanning them out in a showy way that doesn't quite seem to be like her. "Because otherwise, no one will address it," she replies flatly. "And apparently you can't keep your dragon out of any flight, no matter who it will hurt. Wingmate or Weyr." His swift inhale suggests immoderate speech, but then N'rov says more measuredly, "If it hadn't been Vhaeryth, it would have been another." The way he touches Eliyaveith stays gentle, deliberately so, though if she's sensitive she might still pick up the tension he controls. "If it hadn't been Vhaeryth, it wouldn't involve Fort Weyr," Lilah counters, her own tension overruled mostly with impatience as she watches N'rov's profile. It is only after some shared words from her dragon that the goldrider makes a sharply dismissive gesture. "Find a new rider, then. Have N'rov since you care so much. I am sure the two of you will do well together." That, obviously, is directed in towards the queen, before her rider turns on a heel to storm away. "How long is it from Lemos to Fort Weyr by foot," N'rov puts out the hypothetical, as though he were still a junior assistant weyrlingmaster framing questions for his pupils. "Or, no, surely they would at least use wagons to storm our gates." The bronzerider stays put until she's departing; then there's cause to mention to Eliyaveith, or maybe to Lilah's back, "She must be feeling better. Look at her go." He'll stay there for a little while, as long as the queen does, and then turn more sharply back to his dragon. There's work to be done. Eliyaveith does not leave so soon after her rider, for all that surely those words have made a mark, yet the gold does her best to comfort him rather than her. If it really is so comforting for a large dragon to press their muzzle and warm breath over you. When she does draw away, she has softened enough for that wall between her and Vhaeryth to come down and allow a brush of her usual warmth against the bronze's mind curiously. « Eliyaveith. » Vhaeryth's there. Vhaeryth's been watching. He's not pacing, but it's a near thing, the bronze's underlying satisfaction overwritten with disquiet. That disquiet is certainly enough to worry his golden aunt, alighting on it brightly as Eliyaveith questions, « Vhaeryth? » He answers with imagery that's more sensation than sight, darkness and tumult and raised voices perhaps heard, perhaps imagined. And waiting. Another presence would be a shadow, were she not warm and golden. But that's all; Vhaeryth will deal with the rest himself. Torith cannot come. That presence, that not-shadow, is enough to affect Eliyaveith with that remembered jealousy. Her warmth withdraws and that steel wall returns. She only waits a moment before launching herself into the air, gliding in a retreat to her ledge and away from the bronze. Absence isn't met with argument; for all that Vhaeryth is of Fort, he doesn't and won't deny his new-mated queen. He may look after Eliyaveith a moment, but the drills weren't enough. He has to, has to fly. |
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