Logs:Nightmare Fuel
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 26 May, 2012 |
| Who: Azaylia, Brieli, Lirienne, Kushvetath |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Candidates talk about how big n' scary dragons are. Azaylia tries to get over it. Then Kushvetath shows up, being big n' scary. |
| Where: Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 11, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr Wedged between the lake and the rest of the vast bowl are the dusty feeding grounds. Here, the well-trampled ground is contained by a sturdy wooden fence, cutting right through one end of the lake to section it off into a muddy watering hole for the animals. Several gates allow people in and out, while at the back, large overhangs of rock provide the herd -- a mixed bag of herdbeasts, wing-clipped wherries, and fat porcines -- shelter from storms or the hot sun. What grass survives is usually bloodstained, but feeding troughs are stationed around the edges of the pen. A lovely, cloudless sky offers warm sunshine during the day, though the weather turns distinctly chilly after dark. Rukbat may as well give up, sunny rays doing their best to combat the chilly gusts of wind which carry a touch of winter. For locals, it's still a fairly pleasant afternoon. For Azaylia, it's reason to wear her large fur coat, shaggy, brown, and severly aged. At a glance, it may look like one of the beasts has managed to escape the pens. She's managed to find matching styles of gloves this time, though the colors still differ, gripping the wood of the feeding pens as she peers inside. Upon closer inspection it's easy to see that she's holding on for dear life, eyes wide despite the fact that only the sacrificial animals are visible. For now. Definitely not a local either, Brieli is in her most bundled state so far - scarf and mittens and a too-big shapeless woolen black coat, hunched over from her usual height to try to warm herself against the wind. The only question is - why the hell is she out here if she's so cold? Her steps are careful over the slippery ground as she makes her way along the feeding grounds' fence, only looking up to blink when she notes a shape and movement ahead. Tilting her head as she watches Azaylia grip the railing, she calls, "Are you all right?" Lirienne is, actually, a local - at least, as much as three turns can make her, which means she's gone out with her shawl - and a small childthing. Long legs keeping one step to every three of the wee one, the two are heading towards the feeding pens, "....drop out of the sky, and BAM! blood and guts go everywhere and then they are all running!" Liri, clearly having heard this story before, merely hmmhmms and nods at the enthusastic waving and talking. Three turns has done nothing to harden Azaylia against High Reaches' chill. Nor has the time done anything to make that coat of hers less heinous, it should really be taken behind the stables and have a crossbow bolt put into it. But it's warm, and that's what matters. "Mmhmm." She answers, tight lipped and high pitched which clearly contradicts the answer itself. Yes, she's quite all right being not-all right, thank you. Though she manages to toss a glance over her shoulder, strained mouth turning up in a smile for Brieli, and soon Lirienne and her rather graphic ward. Now that Brieli's closer and she can get a better look at Azaylia's coat, she gives the other candidate an odd look - but it's that high-pitched reply that really brings out the side-eye. Pulling her coat about her more closely - she's still under three months! - she picks her way over to the railing next to the hideous-coat-wearing girl, momentarily distracted by the enthusiastic discussion of dragon feeding habits and Lirienne both. Turning back to the grounds, she has to ask, "What are you doing?" Lirienne slows as the pair of them get closer to the feeding pens, then looks down at the childthing, "I still, hm, don't understand how watching that qualifies for a /reward/ though," she tells it, before the child starts the story again. With that level of bloodthirstiness and love of chaos? Probably a boything - though given the slight smile as the kid runs off at the mouth /again/, she probably did it on purpose. Freeing a hand, she lifts it in a greening to the two at the fence. "Trying to... uhm. Watch a dragon eat?" The lilting tone at the edge of her words is meant for Brieli's possible disapproval. Azaylia knows it's strange, what she's doing. Or trying to do, as it seems that not a lot of dragons are feeling peckish this afternoon. Fingers still grip the fence tightly, even more so as the boychild begins again the tale of The Gory Luncheon. "Lirienne. Brieli." Greetings are a touch late, but it's taking her a bit longer to muster up any social courage. Seems she's used up her reserve just by dragging herself to the Feeding Pens. "I'm thinking... that if I maybe watch what dragons can do," To prey. To people, if they wanted. "Th-then maybe I could... toughen up?" With a wave back to the candidate with the bloodythirsty kid, Brieli offers a flash of a grin. Lirienne's charge just gets a little shake of her head, long dark curls bouncing. Looking back Azaylia's way, brows lifted in surprise, she echoes, "To watch a dragon eat?" There's no dragons around at the moment, but one could happen by at any time. The introductions garner a smile for both candidates as she notes, "We've met, yes. Thank you. And..." Her dark gaze flickers out to the herd before she's finished sorting it out. "Is it seeing the death? Or is it the..." She pulls off a mitten to make a claw of long fingers; mock-slashes at Azaylia. Lirienne nudges the boything towards the fench, "First pole only, and stay on this side," she gives permission for, before nodding at Brieli's words. There's a hint of a smile, before she murmurs, "I haven't done that yet," she admits, before adding, "But I did spend a sevenday or two in, well, the infimary. Dragon-side." To see how those sort of things worked. Azaylia flinches at Brieli's playful clawing at the air, though there's a smile despite her cowering. "I've seen death." She murmurs, lips straightening on her own though she's not trying to be sullen. "It's just a part of life... But the," Her bright yellow glove releases the fence, curling and giving a kitten-esque paw at the air. "Isn't. At least, I feel like..." She falters, shoulders drooping and offering the scent of storage-herbs to slip free from the fur of her coat. "I don't know. I'll try anything." Lirienne's words have her staring, just as Azaylia finishes her last sentance. "Did you really? D..do you feel like it helped?" Brieli has to admit, wryly, "It's more than I've done, I think. I've tried to become more acquainted with the history of the place, but honestly - I was terrified for my ride to the Hold and back, and that was only partially due to the height." She shivers a bit at the memory, the cold, or both, leaning crossed arms on the fence railing. Staring out over the grounds, she tells Azaylia, "I think there's only a few lucky people that get far into their lives without death." Curving another smile at the yellow-gloved kitten-paw, "It's part of their life. Just rather violent, yes?" She's curious about the infirmary too, though in a more academic way; she turns Lirienne's way to listen. Lirienne pauses a moment to think about her answer, teeth sinking into her bottem lip as she does so. "It was... good. To know about some of the problems, and how they looked," she finally says. "Because... this aside," she waves at the feeding pens and everything else, "It's.. responsibility. Us, for them; them, for us. So, learning was.. a good thing. But I still haven't flown anywhere," she adds with a faint flush. "I had a very nice talk with Brueth." Azaylia seems to perk up some, though she's still not abandoning the fence that is helping her to stand on wobbly knees. "He was the blue I rode to the Hold. It helped. You should try asking the rider to introduce you." A smile of encouragement for the idea that worked for her, at least. "Animals eventually die. They get sick. Old." For Brieli, "But a violent end? I... maybe that's why dragons are so scary?" A weak theory that is abandoned as Lirienne speaks, leaning her body against the fence though her head remains turned away. "I might like to try that..." Whether out of curiosity or in another attempt to squash her fear. "They're just so big. That's the thing that bothers me most. I don't know that any learning or anything else might help. It's like they could just squash you and not notice. And Ysavaeth isn't all that pleasant at the moment, and she's really the one we need to worry about." Isn't Brieli a ray of sunshine? Seeming to realize she's likely not helping, she shifts to offer what's meant to be a reassuring smile to Lirienne and Azaylia. "I'm sure it'll be fine, though, what do I know about hatchings? And violence itself is frightening. Big and violent is certainly scary." Yet, they're all committed to stand. Insanity. Lirienne nibbles on her lip a moment more, then lifts a shoulder. "Well, seeing someone sick or hurt - well, I never like seeing that, but it can, uhm, remove some of the fear factor? But they /are/ big," she agrees, before taking a step forward and snagging the boychild by the back of his shirt. "First pole only." A looming ominous shadow sneaks in, nipping at the girls' heels, swooping over their heads as the entire sky appears to go overcast with some terribly misshapen cloud. One whoosh; one suggestion of wings beating, pumping. Then a shape-- a great meteor-- plummets from the sky, cast down from on high, to land with a crashing of peeled and crackling bronzen skin. Squelch of flesh torn, crack of crushed bones, and a hysterical death squeal-- not because the poor creature's still alive when it's eviscerated, but because the great weight has squeezed its last nerve and snuffed its air and that's what came out: dead before it knows but still time to scream; Kushvetath has come to feed. With a great snapping unfurl of his cracked wings, he descends his jaw to clamp down on what's wholly his. "Ysavaeth sleeps a lot." The tone is defensive, but in all honesty Azaylia has nothing to defend with. She hasn't really seen the gold dragon in action, obviously. "Why would you say that?" Though there's no frown, or even a wrinkle in her brow for Brieli's words. But there's something all three can agree on, "I think greens and blues are the least scariest. But those big b-b-b-..." Legs lock up as that shadow passes over them. Both hands return to the wood, eyes hypnotized by the dragon's flight, following him down even as he so viciously ends the life of an animal. "...bronze." The color drains from her face, cheeks taking on a yellowed palor as that one word is uttered in a squeak. "Maybe," Brieli allows to Lirienne, tone dubious. "I'm unsure if empathy would be enough to kill my caution." And then, the sky darkens as the whoosh of air has the tall candidate ducking suddenly, as if the bronze's claws might skim their heads as he plummets from the skies. Her easy calm frayed, she winces at the death squeal and cracking of bones - but she'll still watch Kushvetath with horrified admiration, lifting unmittened hand to her lips. Azaylia's worse off though; hurriedly, to distract her, "Ysavaeth doesn't trust anyone near the clutch but for Io and the Weyrleader, basically. She seems... impatient sometimes." There's no judgment in her tone, just explanation - though her words might be a bit muffled by that hand. "That's so neat!!" the boything can be heard to.. well.. basically shout, as he tries to free himself from Lirienne's grip and move /towards/ the bronze eater of things. Thankfully, shock has Liri's grip to iron, as she just sort of stares at the sudden death in front of her. "Ah... how often does a dragon eat?" is all she really comes up with, watching the devouring going on. Despite the flash-bang of his drop, Kushvetath takes his sweet, deliberate time getting his large, expansive jaw situated around the body of his prey, completely irreverent to the stampede that arrests the rest of the beasts as they catch on. Expert chomping yet sprays blood across fire-whipped bronze on his muzzle. The proud spread of his wings, fearless and boastful-- that all who run in his wake may see and quake in rightful worship-- sends the light through, amplifying their thin sights, as if, even now, tiny holes were appearing and spreading over such gaunt sails. When he's done, the herd's staggered to a nervous potential stop, so he snakes his tail across the flattened plains of grass and lashes violently, spurring their panicking feet to dash-- one, two, too close to him-- a talon swings with the arc of his foreleg's aim and clutches one inside its thick fleshy haunches. A fling of his head and he's reeling it in, slowly, watching the squirm with bemusedly whirling eyes as it squeals, and squeals, and fights helplessly. Azaylia swallows the lump that's formed in her throat, though it weighs heavily in her gut as she does. It's too gruesome to look away from, morbid curiosity mingling with weak determination. "...young mothers are... like that." She'll offer for Brieli, voice heavy with horror and stunted as if in a trance. Kushvetath's feeding has mismatched gloves rising to her mouth, doing what she can to keep quiet, to keep his attention on the creatures trapped inside with him. Lirienne's question has her slowly shaking her head side to side, eyes never leaving the feasting bronze. Who knows how many times dragons subject the poor animals to this? Okay, the reeling in might be a bit much for Brieli, who's staring with wide eyes. With a shake of her head, she turns away from the quaking herd and the slaughter to come, "I've still work I'm meant to do in the infirmary - I ought to get back. And I'm not sure how often... this happens." If all dragons are like Kushvetath, that is. To Azaylia, with a nod, "That is true. Hopefully she'll give us a bit of leeway despite her concern. Anyway..." She starts back towards the bowl and the caverns, offering, "Good luck." Lirienne remains in a state of staring - at least until the boything wiggles /out/ of his shirt, and goes darting for the fence to get a better, closer, oh-faranth-he's-gonna-get-eaten! look. That has her darting forward, and picking the boything up - and wincing as she starts getting kicked. "Shar.... I think it's time to go inside," she mumbles, and then slowly backs up. Baaaacks waaayy up - because turning one's back on the predator is just asking for trouble. Squealing, pathetically spewing up noise and kicking up useless dirt, the unfortunate beast has reached the curl of Kushvetath's neck. With chilling calm and patience, he picks up his other foreleg, laying it over the sputtering beast. His neck, as chipped with flaking itchy skin as the rest of him, shifts in a snaking line. Talon braced around his prey's neck, his piercing gaze turns right to the tiny little audience outside a fence laughable to think of separating him from them. Large, whirling orbs pin straight on Azaylia, Lirienne, and writhing child-thing as he jerks his talon in one brutal motion: snap. No more squealing. Azaylia can manage. She can deal. It's a part of nature. A sick, twisted part of nature that she needs to cope with if she's going to be staying in the Weyr. It takes the candidate far too long to realize that she's being abandoned, first by Brieli and then by Lirienne and the squirming, kicking boychild. Despite the chill, the young woman is sweating lightly and looks rather sick. Concern for her borrowed gloves have them lowering away from her mouth, lips quivering just as the poor beast reaches Kushvetath. The moment those whirling pools land on her, Azaylia's entire body goes cold, and she's already unconscious before she even reaches the ground. Fainted. Crumpled on the ground, the young woman shouldn't be out for too long... but hopefully when she comes to the nightmare bronze will be gone. |
Leave A Comment