Logs:Nothing for Revenge
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| RL Date: 10 August, 2015 |
| Who: Alida, Ilicaeth, Ka'ge, Zymadiath |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A Reachian blue visits Eliyaveith's couch; the gold's first hatched is still searching. |
| Where: Lilah and Eliyaveith's Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 7, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Lilah/Mentions |
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>---< Lilah and Eliyaveith's Weyr(#1080RJ) >---------------------------------<
Eliyaveith's Ledge, Fort Weyr
The first off the steps that lead up to two of Fort's junior queen weyrs,
this ledge is quite round in shape and likely to be cast in shadow for at
least half the day, thanks to the Weyrleaders' complex to the right and
the higher junior queen ledge to the left. Its surface has been worn
smooth and level, and bears few nicks and slices into the rock, making it
comfortable spot for both dragon and human to settle. There's room enough
for a queen and good-sized bronze, but not much more. The mouth to the
weyr proper dominates the space, lending some protection from the
elements.
Lilah's Sanitized Watercolor Weyr, Fort Weyr
The whole of this weyr seems strangely sanitized and impersonal, with
walls painted white and cleaned often if the subtle shine is any
indication. The first room is vaguely triangular in shape, with the
generous dragon's wallow carved into a deep curve towards the right. The
rest of it appears to have been left as a reception room, a white-washed,
stone table centered between the wallow and the far-left wall with its
surface kept clear of any knickknacks and four varnished, wooden chairs of
simple taste each claiming a side. On the left wall runs a long, brass
shelf, upon which sits a small collection of bound books and a large
fantastical watercolor depicting a scene that could never exist anywhere
in Pern. Hooks under the shelf hold flight gear and even a flamethrower,
still leaving space for more.
A wide, doorless entryway at the northmost point of the triangle leads
through to the rider's private quarters - an oval-shaped room a third of
the size of the last. Within, the hearth is small, but finely-decorated
with ceramic, white tiles, with a woven brass safety screen protecting the
room from embers. The double bed lies in the left-hand portion of the
room, made up with crisp, white linens and a down comforter covered with
soft, white fabric embroidered with raised white vines. A white, wool
blanket lies folded neatly at the bottom of the bed. In the middle of the
far wall, another unprotected archway heralds the existence of another
room: a small bathing room, complete with pool, basin and shelves, which
hold a container of soapsand and a stack of towels. The only person Alida honestly knew and cared any about at Fort...is now gone. Her brief 'visit' to the place a few days ago was mostly for material purposes, though the memories of Fort's all-too-briefly serving Acting Weyrwoman still linger thick in the bluerider's mind. Unknown to any but herself and her lifemate, their reason for returning to Fort again for *any* reason is... Ilicaeth. The loss of his own dam not so terribly long ago was a heavy blow to the craggy blue, made more tolerable only by dint of his typically short, draconic memory. Still, it hurt whenever he touched portions of his human's mind that jogged his mind about the event, the loss. And now, suddenly and inexplicably, the only other gold that mattered even three-quarters as much as Hraedhyth had to him... was gone. Inexplicably, mysteriously, and without the finality of a heart-wrenching keen...but gone forever, nonetheless. Twice bereft - the blue suffering from surges of loneliness, melancholy and even brief spurts of anger - he had finally broken his typical tough-guy stance, and told his lifemate that he wanted to visit Eliyaveith's weyr one more time. No further explanation was needed: even though his did his best to keep his own pain to himself, it bled through to Alida at vulnerable moments. The pain they both feel is currently kept under wraps, shared only between the 'Reachian pair as - curled up in the gold's former, large wallow - Ilicaeth snuffles deeply at various points upon the stone, as if hoping to catch any lingering traces of his friend's scent...perhaps her heated mental presence. His rider - leaving her lifemate to his semi-private grief - is currently sitting just outside the entrance to the weyr itself, her back abutted to one warm, stony wall, a metal flask in one hand sipped from, on occasion. If anyone from Fort questions their foreign pair's presence, they either know of the blonde's reputation and leave her alone, or just do not care. It's intentionally loud, the bronze's landing a little less than a dragonslength away from Ilicaeth that is. His trajectory- that being, from above- makes it seem like he must have dropped from a ledge a few spaces up. The weight of his heavy, ill-proportionedly large wings almost smacks into the ground, but it's collected with an already-practiced slow, deliberate slide. Zymadiath doesn't get to have the night at his back as he'd have preferred, but it makes the details of his darkling form that much darker against the light backdrop. Red simmers across his facets as it has increasingly done so every day that Eliyaveith's been gone. And for the past few days in which it could be nothing but confirmed, his vigilance has become obsessive, aggressive even. The young bronze who, whenever not required to be in some lesson, takes up residence on some high ledge to watch for something, anything to happen because surely and absolutely something will. Because, afterall, something did. And not just something. A loss, an intense loss. Zymadiath, Eliyaveith's first hatched, is intense as he stays where he lands almost too-still to be a living, breathing creature as he watches. Eventually, the creeping shadows of his form seem to seep into the conciousness, touching the foreign blue's mind. The foreign blue who is not so foreign. « Do you know of anything? » The darkness, in its gritty low mindtones, has to ask. Ka'ge comes a little later, likely summoned since he certainly has not been as devoted to the Watch as his weyrling dragon. Blue-green eyes dimmed under hood's shadow sweep the room until his attention falls on Alida, mid-stride as it were as he approaches and steps up into the weyr itself. Lazy gait, lazy boy, seems far more unperturbed than the bronze and the hint of annoyance found on his face denotes this probably isn't a first time this has happened. Probably not even the first time today. "'ey." A greeting, half-hearted, a gloved hand used to salute without much granduer behind it. When he stops, he doesn't really face her, but rather the inner weyr beyond. The sound of approaching steps is reason for Alida to squint under the brilliant summer sunshine until she makes out some weyrling bronze and... Ah. The weyrling boy-man she encountered some months ago. Sip. Loud, soft...*Ilicaeth* doesn't seem to give even a half-a-shit. Curled up loosely in the gold's wallow, his bulky self seems as impenatrible as the granite itself, the aggressive 'little' bronze's presence not making him shift one inch. Even the blue's rider only stares at Zymadiath's 'antics' for just as long as it takes to reassure herself that he's not going to immediately tear into anyone, the woman returning to her solitary drinking, while her lifemate - grey-eyed within - finally dredges himself up from his hurt, his memories - to answer the Fortian dragon back with a desert-parched, baritone sand-scour of, « I...we looked. » For days on end. North and South. « I called. » He finally *demanded* Eliyaveith show herself. Oversized blue pinions, though currently closed, rustle once with some emotion he's unwilling to show, though Ilicaeth does seem to droop those wings in defeat. « Nothin'. » Back outside, quiet green eyes and a poker face 'greet' Ka'ge and his singular word, the pale-skinned blonde at first only grunting to his sloppy salute as she sips, eyes him for somemore long seconds...and then mutters in her brusque way, "All yers..." Beat. "'Couch's taken, though." Aformentioned bronzeling is treated to another solemn study...the woman unknowing of how he'll take this pronouncement. Red begins to grey out across his facets, though never quite dissipates into that hurt. He can't fly so far, he can't look. For a Reachian dragon to have looked and failed.. The weyrling bronze stretches out from his landing to stalk forwards, still so much smaller than the blue, to pause a few steps from the edge of the couch. He appears to be on the prowl, ready to attack at any moment, but it becomes clear that it's his normal movement after some time more. The shadows writhe in steady tempo, creating and uncreating those phantasmic figments as they consider what's shared. The bitterness leaking from that darkness is stifling from wherever it stems from so far beneath. « I do not.. » The shadows catch, stuck on their inability, « understand. » With that, he collects his paws under himself to settle there, watching Ilicaeth as if there might still be some answer to come. Ka'ge's saluting hand falls slowly, balling into a fist to weakly, non-commitantly punch-tap the wall beside him. Eventually his gaze flickers back to the Reachian rider. "No intention of taking it. Pointless, time-wasting being here anyway. He calls me for almost every visitor, as if you have something he wouldn't." The 'he' being her dragon, Ka'ge's chin tipped briefly towards the pair. A studious moment follows, that look of delayed recognition, "Do you?" There's mutual, if differing reasons for their hurt over Eliyaveith, and - since Zymadiath's a son of the missing gold's - Ilicaeth allows him more leeway than he usually might any who invade his personal pain. There's implicit, bone-deep understanding of the 'whys' for that red in the bronzeling's faceted eyes...so soon dominated by greys, just like Ilicaeth's own orbs. Just to be (painfully) factual - and perhaps to share his efforts and frustrations with the weyrling - the elder blue allows the bronze into his memories of flying practically everywhere in Pernese creation on the hunt for Eliyaveith...allows him to feel the bone-deep weariness of the search, the anger and frustration...and the blue's troubling lack of closure. It's a narrow band of sharing - nothing else offered to the weyrling bronze so as to preserve not only the 'Reachian's privacy, but the younger dragon's still-growing mind - but it's all he can offer the gold's first-born. « Neither do I. Eli...Eliyaveith... » She was fine. She was *good*. Right. Confusion/frustration dominate suddenly, followed by a guard's incessant *need* to figure out any mystery. « Why?! » Grumble. The blast of those emotions momentarily subsumes Alida, her free hand suddenly slamming a fist down to meet the stone beneath her with a painful impact. Hiss. Green eyes - hurt and angry, and still searching for ANSWERS - jerk up to meet Ka'ge's...and then she's controlling herself and her lifemate, the blonde's gaze gone distant for a play of seconds before returning to the human half of the weyrling equation. "Neither uv' us..." is finally muttered darkly, another deep sip of potent booze taken. Still, "Ain't pointless." Her flat stare seeks to pierce the younger man. "Nothin' uv' importance ta you 'r yers is ever pointless." A significant look over to the angry/mourning bronze and her own blue is given before the woman returns to looking out over the Bowl beyond them all. Zymadiath's physical stare ceases, those eerie nigh-glowing orbs being half-lidded as Ilicaeth lets him in, lets him feel the search that he can't do. His cape-like wings droop, the tension of his body that's been worked up into full-swing for exhaustive days on end is held in pause like a breath caught in anticipation. Those shadows, their depth indeterminable, don't feint away, the nightmarish dance continuing on. The warmth, yes. The warmth, the welcoming, th compassion. The hostility flares in response to Ilicaeth's eruption, the red and oranges of his eyes re-washing over the facets, though dimmed through the lid that covers them. The emotions that rise through those shadows bare no changes on them in essence- darkness is darkness only, consuming and heavy in its own, but the dragon beneath it is tumultulous. Vengence, it demands. But to what? To who? Ka'ge's forced to close his eyes around the same time that Alida hits the stone. His head throbbing forces his own hand to come up to rub his temple. "Yeah well." The weyrling bronzerider says, his voice changed, thinned, due to the leaking of emotion from dragon to rider, "People die. Nothing's forever." He's blase, as if talking about the weather, and it doesn't seem to be a coping mechanism. As he looks over her face and then away again. "I don't care if he thinks it's important." His words are dismissive and selfish, "He's got to learn." Ka'ge watches the pair, his gaze narrowing slightly at the abnormal posture change of his bronze. Nothing. It's *beyond* frustrating, incredibly disheartening for a dragon like Ilicaeth to not discover the reason, to not find any evidence for and of the passing of Eliyaveith and Lilah. Another burst of those emotions - along with a disjointed sense of loss and yearning - causes Ilicaeth to snarl loudly, his coppery foreclaws deploying and lashing out in a hard scrape against stone that sets the ear to ringing, Alida wincing as the combination of wretched sounds assaults her senses, inside and out. "*Fuck*..." is cussed out low, her own free fist clenching up again, though she controls her reactions enough to not slam it into stone again. Hurt too much the first time. And Ilicaeth? There's no sense of closure, of a place to seat or sate the bronzeling's need for vengence, his own need, as well. It's only when Alida's once more firmly in control of at least herself that she allows her chill alto to comment back to Ka'ge, "Ain't that the fucking truth." Guzzle, wince. Her brew in that flask is potent. Sniffle. Still, "You'd better care, kid." It doesn't sound like she's taking him to task. Nor does the woman seem angry at Ka'ge, her tones devoid of anything but brittle coolness, though those clear green eyes flash with some guarded emotion. "'Cause someday, the dragon that goes missin', that goes Between 's gonna be *yers*...an' y'll likely disappear *with* 'im, too. Whatcha' gonna leave behind? Anybody gonna give half-a-shit? Di'ja give anyone any *reason* to?" The bluerider suddenly lurches to her booted feet, her lips twisting in scathing fashion. "Fuck all this shit." She looks even more bitter than Zymadiath potentially feels.
Warrior/guard though Ilicaeth is...he's just not able to summon up any more hostility without something tangible to honestly point one of his clawed 'fingers' at for Eliyaveith's loss. The blue lets Zymadiath be furious for both of them, while *he* just continues to curl in the gold's abandoned couch and subconsciously sniff around for traces of Eli. Just in case. "Wrong..." Alida instantly mutters darkly to Ka'ge's words of nothingness, the bluie appearing to round on him as she lurches about to face the weyrling. His words of her want-to-be hero state have the blonde honestly gawping at him for a moment...and then launching into laughter so harsh and bitter that it might just taint Fort Weyr's lake with its acidity. "Aye...aye..." is finally agreed to the 'meorability' of the typical Pernese - including the typical dragonrider - the woman finally shaking her pale head a couple of times before she lurches into motion, her boots taking her in no particular direction at all. Over her shoulder to Ka'ge is muttered in tones full of hard-won knowledge and that continued, galling bitterness, "Maybe y'll figure it out before it's too late, kid. Maybe." Snert. And off the 'Reachian steps at a brisk, almost militaristic clip, her wayward path going nowhere important, just so it's away from these all-too-insistent reminders of loss, and away from Ka'ge, Zymadiath, and even her own lifemate, who's now absently rubbing one side of his jaw upon granite, as if to pick up Eliyaveith's final scents and transfer them indelably to his own hide. Mine. She's had enough...but Ilicaeth has not.
That look of his is easily readable to one of her ilk, though - for once - it doesn't find itself answered by anything other than a contemptuous bit of an eyeroll, instead of the typical readiness Alida usually gives to potential 'threats.' It's a good thing she did miss Ka'ge's comment in her need to be as quickly rid of this whole darkly charged atmosphere as possible...or Alida would likely be reporting not only to K'del and Irianke, but also to Ebeny, E'dre, and Hattie exactly why she sought to (and perhaps succeeded) in making a punching bag out of one of Fort's precious weyrlings. She's currently paying off, in spades, a former large fuck-up of hers, so another just isn't on the tables, at this point. |
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