Logs:Not Comparable
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| RL Date: 7 February, 2013 |
| Who: H'kon, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia is apathetic from the start. H'kon snaps her out of it, but at what cost? |
| Where: Weyrleader Complex, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 13, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Rumbles and flashes of lightning intersperse between the periodic fall of snow throughout the day. There is humidity in the otherwise cold air. |
| Mentions: Brieli/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
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| Weyrleader Complex, High Reaches Weyr Only about a man's height from the ground, this low ledge is wide and flat, reached by a set of timeworn steps that hug the cliff face. As the ledge stretches back away from the head of the stairs, it simultaneously broadens out over the bowl and tunnels into the mountain to become a sort of antechamber, from which a passageway winds back to the Weyrwoman's weyr, the council room, the records room and the hatching sands. A small round table is set in a shallow alcove here, surrounded by four chairs that provide a waiting area for those seeking one of the weyrleaders. Another short flight of stairs leads upward from the tapering end of the ledge to the Weyrleader's quarters, while others lead to the further recessed junior queens' weyrs. While it's hard to get a good look at the lake from here, the view does encompass the majority of the bowl and the comings and goings across its span. Arekoth's wings, as he glides to a landing on the weyrleaders' ledge, have their outline blurred, no matter how sharp the lightning that strikes might have wished to make it, by falling snow. The brown's landing seems almost petite, delicate, lost as it is in the thunder crack that follows. Arekoth retracts his twisted limb instinctively even before his momentum's come to a full stop. H'kon is, for that moment, rather focused on his dragon, brow knit with something a bit more humane - concern for his lifemate - rather than the usual grump as his boots hit the snow-dusted stone. Is there a storm? He seems unaware. He stares steadily a moment, long enough for Arekoth to toss his head, flutter his wings. And when he takes a step away, and looks to - oh. Eyes go wider. Okay, so maybe she's already here then. "Azaylia." Maybe, if she's got really good ears, she'll even hear that. There's no crack to hide it, at least; just wind. Fat flakes leap in the crackling light, rolling thunder answered by a nearly dozing Hraedhyth, heard but not seen. No doubt she's curled in her wallow, warm and perhaps a little too cozy, trying to fit her mate in with her. Azaylia is bundled tight against the night's chill, chin propped up by one arm as she leans onto the round table that is always there. The little alcove cuts some of the wind down, providing shelter as the weyrwoman is mesmerized by the storm. H'kon's arrival doesn't prompt her to turn away, eyes sliding over minutes after he has uttered her name. Her features are soft, slack, watching him with tired eyes as she waits to see what the brownrider will do. Another step, only after the goldrider has looked back to him, and H'kon has to duck his head into down into the collar of his riding jacket, no longer blocked by his dragon. It's so hunched that he makes his way toward her. Arekoth does pass a quick glance toward Iesaryth's ledge, but for the time being... stays put. Maybe the honeymoon's over. Or maybe, the storm just complements his own rare imagery too well. "Azaylia," is repeated only when he's well within earshot, though he stops before he's come too close. "Weyrwoman," is a correction, and one that has him looking inwardly bemused, for just a moment. On another person, Azaylia's face might look dismissive, brows rising with little movement in her face as he approaches. "H'kon." Her jaw is anchored to her palm, the top of her head much more active to compensate. First thing's first: "Is Arekoth's leg alright?" Brown eyes flick past the rider to his dragon, for a moment looking as if she'll brave the storm in order to see for herself. She doesn't end up moving. Without enough energy to be wary, "What do you want?" Wary tone actually has little to do with her lack of energy, the question just as it sounds. Even now, she can't abide rudeness, her own in particular. It's no specific thing; the better acquainted he becomes with Azaylia's demeanour, the more formal, the more distant, H'kon looks. It's a gradual thing, really. "It aches when the cold takes a humid edge," has some expression, some strange mix of concern and a faint defensiveness. Arekoth, meanwhile, places his foot firmly into the snow, and ruffles his wings about him, puffing up, and peering sharply into the night. "He's fine," is already dismissing some of that texture from his voice. "I thought to tell you, officially, that I've made D'nis wingleader in Iceberg. And confirmed Sisha's place at the head of Avalanche." Hollow enough that it's probably not entirely true, at least, not as a whole motive. H'kons don't lie outright to their weyrwomen. "Does he want me to warm up some oil for him?" Azaylia might very well be aware of that defensive note in H'kon's voice, in the way Arekoth looks proudly elsewhere. Still, it's an offer she feels needs to be made. Her gaze eases back to the brownrider, blinking slowly until her chin leaves her palm with a patient sigh, "Oh." She'll have to sit up a bit straighter if it's official, hands tugging the warm coat tighter around herself. "Thank you for letting me know." Polite. There is a note of actual gratitude, though muted. "But shouldn't you be talking about the Wings with Taikrin?" The quirk to her lips might be a hint of resignation. Snow melts on his eyebrows and where it's caught in the bit of beard at his chin. H'kon doesn't much seem to notice. "Those actions I've taken have been recorded," echoes Azaylia's earlier warinesss, if perhaps for an entirely different reason. "Similarly, the actions she has taken are... generally known." It ends with a frown, and has him bringing his arms over his chest, perhaps something to be excused by the temperature. Azaylia lets out a fluttering sigh, words barely a murmur, "I guess that's a no." Hard to say whether she's speaking of the oil or the brownriders and their lack of communication. "Taikrin hasn't done anything wrong." Yet? Hard to tell if her clipped sentence has to do with him or her thoughts on the once-wingmate. "You should get used to working with her." Now, the weyrwoman moves to stand, "We're making her Acting." Eyes watch his face with a dull lack of expectancy. "You're welcome to Weyrsecond. If you want." Does it sound like she cares? It's another round of figuring out which is the cause: fatigue, or H'kon? If she's watching him, then she'll see a reaction. H'kon's eyes widen. Just after, his jaw sets. "I should wonder whose idea that was," isn't particularly charitable. H'kon takes his gaze purposefully from Azaylia, before it becomes too jagged. "Has her repetition of how if she leads, the wings will follow, finally set itself as truth in your mind?" Jaw clenches a moment, something at his temple twitches. "I doubt they will. Glacier, maybe, though it would surprise me if even all in your wing were content with her. But all of them? You risk your riders losing faith in your leadership." Azaylia seems curious at any facial movement from the man, though she's not terribly expressive this evening. "There have been women in the past who have led the Weyr. One woman brownrider, the other green." So there. Only she doesn't sound smug, or even confident during the delivery. It's just a fact, stated. "What faith?" Not bitter. "If you had any faith in m- us, you wouldn't have suggested..." No, he's been quiet about it since their last encounter. She lets it go, "Brieli and I have been taking care of this Weyr just fine." Impatient, "Do you want to be Weyrsecond or not?" H'kon snorts derision at the examples Azaylia offers. "Not comparable," is a mutter, low, probably hard to hear. Not so when she calls his faith into question. That has him turning a hard look on the goldrider. "I find it hard to believe that any council would have turned you, the rider of Hraedhyth, hatched at High Reaches Weyr, whose flight took place within the Weyr itself, out. Turned you out, in favour of a rider of another Weyr's dragon, who was so clearly trying to throw the leadership to a Fortian." He can match her impatience just as well, arms snugging to keep them from any lashing out, voice raising a hint more. "And you appointed two acting weyrleaders, for long enough that there could be dissension sewn throughout the ranks. And now you think to remedy this by giving Taikrin leadership? Now." The question of Weyrsecond is left unanswered. At least, not directly. "Do you think I'm only scared for myself?" Now there's emotion, starting with and matching the rise of his voice. There's a quiver to her lip, even as her words remain steady, "I wouldn't do that to Brieli. Everyone thinks she was up to something. She probably thought Hraedhyth was going to rise first, and that she could share something special with her... with him." Boyfriend? Lover? Fortian? "Why am I even trying to talk to you about this?" Voice is frozen, brittle as she turns away from him and begins to walk towards her weyr. "You don't care. Nothing's ever good enough for you. Stupid bronzeriders." Uhm, brownrider. "No. A woman like her does not make such a mistake." He might elaborate. Except that Azaylia starts to shut him out. And at this point, when all is more or less lost anyway, what point is there in turning to leave? Arms unclasp, and H'kon darts after her, short legs moving quickly. "If I did not care," comes in time with a grab for her shoulder, "then I would not be here. But you must hear this from me, because you have the good of this Weyr at heart. Azaylia, you are the only weyrwoman here who is not concerned with what High Reaches owes to you." And if his voice has taken another crescendo, well, that's surely so that he can be heard over anything she might say against him. The fingers begin to tighten at 'woman like her', but it isn't until Azaylia feels his grip on her shoulder that the fist flies. Stutters in the air. By the time it reaches him, it's to give a push to his shoulder that is far too weak, given how tight and yellow her knuckles have gone. "If that actually mattered, then people would listen to me." Pointed, though she doesn't look at him. With anger suddenly absent, she can't do anything but recoil, mortified. There's no apology, perhaps too distracted to utter one, "The Weyr would be a mess without Brieli. She was the one who took care of things after Iolene..." She swallows, still refusing to look at him. "How am I supposed to fix anything when I'm..." Hands open, revealing reddened crescents, "...me?" H'kon's temper is probably not really directed at Azaylia, but still, it's there. It's what has him, when she turns, when her fist (such as it is) hits (pushes) him, grabbing hold of her other shoulder as well. It's what makes those green eyes spark, if not quite so much as Arekoth's aurorae, while he stares at her. It's definitely what's making him grip that jacket so hard that his arms are trembling with every breath out. And probably making recoiling a bit more difficult to achieve, fully. She can have short arms' length at least."I doubt," comes before he's got everything neatly under control, "that it is a thing she lets escape to many." His arms stop with the shaking, relax faintly, though his grip stays tight. "And who are you?" It's a question to which he clearly has an answer, one held back, just barely, to give her space to offer her own. Azaylia doesn't like being held, not like this. Hraedhyth likes it even less, untangling from Szadath in order to charge out onto her ledge. Crimson eyes match the heat that flares within her rider's gaze when H'kon refuses to release her. "Let me go." No fear, the demand a sharp whisper. "Or I'll actually hit you." The threat is so idle, it's a wonder that it manages to pass her lips. Hraedhyth's mental touch flares, furious at Arekoth, and Arekoth's, for daring. No telling if she means to be difficult, "I can't expect people to trust in someone who can't even... I'm not good enough, yet." "No." He shakes his head, daring to break his gaze only to check Hraedhyth's approach, how near she is, how soon he might find himself crushed to smithereens. And he chooses to push his luck, to hold on longer, even with Arekoth alerted now, a yellow glow some attempt at soothing the queen, orange colouring his eyes as he stands, ready to move if needed. "That is not who you are. You are Azaylia, rider to High Reaches' own gold Hraedhyth, weyrwoman, who knows her Weyr needs fixing." Still holding onto her. "Now is this the way to go about it." He won't even try to look to the gold, for all he could probably swear to feeling her breath on his neck. Imagined, or otherwise. Arekoth's attempts will only earn him a too-close snap of her jaws, Hraedhyth on the move, leaping onto the snow-covered bowl floor. Her height is enough to have that ashen head shoved forward, jaws parted and oozing angry, frothy strings of saliva as she lets forth an unearthly snarl. Not his imagination, nope. Azaylia tenses in his grip even more, "And Brieli's friend. Her fellow Weyrwoman. And I have a feeling any ideas you have about fixing things," There's actual force now, using both palms to push at his chest, "Would hurt her somehow." Tired, frustrated and most certainly angry, "You're upsetting my dragon." She snaps, fingers curled, nails biting into his leather as she gives him one last chance. "Let go, H'kon." « He is my rider, » carries all the sound of reluctant but fatally earnest warning to his queen as Arekoth tries to push in nearer, ready to counter any move. That yellow has not yet disappeared. Hopeful. H'kon hasn't let up either. "Then search your heart and decide if it is more important to stay blindly loyal to your friend, or if it is worth at least questioning her decision for the sake of your Weyr. Ask yourself," and he's speaking with greater intensity, if now not such a high volume, and certainly with more speed - he does have a gold breathing on him, "if a Weyr that might be able to weather the uncertainty of two weyrwomen, if balanced, would be able to weather someone as divisive as Taikrin acting as weyrleader, and still remain whole." And now he does release her, stepping away from Azaylia, and toward the protection of his dragon. There's little sense in the touch that lashes out at Arekoth, meant to hurt but not cripple. No words, just a roar of angry flame, putrid smoke carrying with it the scent of scorched petals. Azaylia is still in there. Somewhere. It's why H'kon is allowed to speak as he does, why the gold doesn't act. The weyrwoman snatches herself away once she senses his grip relaxing, staring at the man's back with a hard to read expression. Hraedhyth won't make the journey a pleasant one for the brownrider, muzzle following too closely with savage growls streaming from her bared fangs. The goldrider is already gone, disappeared into her weyr without so much as a curse lobbed the brown pair's way. Instead, « Keep your distance. This will not be tolerated a second time. » The gold leaps onto her ledge, intending to go back inside only after Arekoth has taken off. If there happens to be a forceful push as he does, well... H'kon slows his step, even if his neck is tense and his eyes half-closed in a set wince for the would-be death at his back. "I do not believe you would have chosen her if she were not strong enough to lead," is said through clenched teeth. The rest of the way to Arekoth is stiff, everything pressed into not allowing instinct to set him to running, or even hurrying his step. He probably won't relax until well after they're safely in their own weyr. Even then... « Maybe you should give your rider some of that fire, » has lost its deference, the brown too influenced by his rider's adrenaline now. « Or else there won't be any way to see her way behind everyone else like she is. » |
Comments
K'del (K'del (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 08 Feb 2013 10:27:58 GMT.
< Oh man. That was epic.
H'kon is trying so hard. And Azaylia... I want to hug her. K'del will want to hug her.
Zian (Zian (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 08 Feb 2013 10:32:32 GMT.
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They were both totally amazing.
Ainslee (Castandcrew (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 08 Feb 2013 21:23:34 GMT.
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This was freakin' epic, man. So much heat on both sides!
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