Logs:Old Souls
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| RL Date: 11 October, 2015 |
| Who: Tabitha, Z'kiel, Ahtzudaeth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tabitha and Z'kiel cross paths. They discuss death, life and change. |
| Where: Lake Shore, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 13, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: R'hin/Mentions |
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| Winter has finally taken root at Fort, the floor of the bowl dusted with snow and ice both, while the lake threatens to freeze over entirely, its near solid surface carved with jagged edges where chunks of ice float and clash with each other. The nearness of the lunch hour has drawn many inside, yet at least one figure stands at the edge of the lake, her footprints still visible in the mixture of snow and sand that is the shore. Tabitha stands with a book propped open against her ribcage, her fingers free of gloves and head not covered by hood or hat, yet the biting chill doesn't seem to bother her at all. She reads and the ice flows and the world goes on around her. They've been at Fort for some time today, though that time is slowly coming to an end. Still. A visit to a foreign Weyr isn't complete without a trek to the lake - or so Ahtzudaeth seems to think, for the angular, strap-wearing bronze is ambling that way without his rider. Snow and ice crunch beneath his paws and he cranes over to peer at the lake and its fragmented ice sheet with a sense of intense curiosity. Z'kiel arrives some minutes later, clad in dark leathers and a thick, knitted skullcap in the colors of the 'Reaches. He grunts at something or another, a pair of empty bags slung crosswise over his person. There's a sidelong look to the girl reading just over there - a look that's unconsciously mirrored by the dragon - but naught else. The crunch of snow and ice beneath paws makes Tabitha tilt her head the slightest bit to the left, yet ultimately she doesn't look up from her book, the only motion that follows one that has fingers almost numbed into hooks adjusting a little to turn the page. In this manner, silence is maintained with the bronze, whether she's aware of his presence or not, until the grunt from his rider makes her lift her chin and peer steadily in their direction. She watches, dark gaze weighing up one, then the other, before she looks out at the lake and declares in an abstract sort of way, "They say that one of you died." Of the 'Reaches, a rider, a bronzerider, a man; it's not so clear. The bronze reaches out with a forepaw to push a few sections of ice, nudging them away from the shore. He flicks his digits to rid them of a few lingering beadlets of water before he turns his attention to the girl. There's a curious cocking of his head, a throaty sound not unlike his rider's grunt - but, in the end, it's Z'kiel who answers, his voice low and still accented by the Weyr of his birth. Gritty and Igen, he grates out, "Happens sometimes." A shoulder rises, falls. "Not like that, usually. But." It did. He turns to better face her, though facing her mostly means looking down and leaving his features mostly in shadow, given the angle. "Not like that." Tabitha processes that by echoing another of Z'kiel's words, this one more heavily than the others. "Usually." She adjusts the book the tiniest bit, still letting it bite into her ribs, but angled more sharply now, just as the line of her jaw by the time she's done looking all the way up, though not without a glance to Ahtzudaeth. "Is there a 'usually' when it comes to the end of a rider's life?" It's not a flippant question, her tone respectful despite its edge of curiosity, tempered by manners - and the need for an answer. Hnnnh. Z'kiel sucks his teeth and studies her from the corner of his eye, his gaze cool and reptilian and strange - but it passes quickly. "Same things that kill everyone," he finally says. "Mostly." Another lopsided shrug follows and he rattles off, "Injury. Infection. Disease. Old age." Grunt. "Sometimes things happen during weyrlinghood. Too eager - or too stressed." Ahtzudaeth eventually moves again, this time to approach his rider and settle on the ground behind him - forepaws crossed, head poised just so. "That's as usual as it gets. But. 'Reaches seems to get more than its share of odd deaths." Matter-of-fact, that. "I find it funny," she says slowly, so slowly that she can't mean to find it amusing, "that old age should come so far down the list." Focus flits from one to the other again, from bronze to rider, before Tabitha looks down at her book once more, as if she must remind herself of where she left off. "Yet you stay." At the 'Reaches, presumably. Her lips purse for a half-moment, a deep breath taken on the heels of that twitch of motion, only for silence to follow, breath held as if she's forgotten to exhale. "How would you want to go?" she asks, putting it out there like it's an everyday sort of question, or something one can plan for. "We live longer." Z'kiel looks away from her and out across the lake, his expression unchanged. "So the Healers say. So I've seen." It just is. There's little else for him to say on it and, at her observation, he issues a slight shake of his head. "His choice at first. To stay. Mine, now." A beat. "We'll die there, unless we're forced to leave." And where others might be a bit uncomfortable at the idea of their mortality, he takes it in stride - unblinking and seemingly indifferent. Ahtzudaeth, for his part, appears to be dozing off - or on his way to, for two sets of lids are shut and the third might not be long after. "We'd go on our own. Before our minds are gone, before his wings fail. When we're no longer useful." One corner of his mouth lurches with dark humor. "But. Wouldn't surprise me if I ended up bleeding out somewhere because of a bad hunt." "Technically, you'll die Between, if you get your wish." It's an analytical comment, rather than a pedantic one, so says the distance to Tabitha's gaze that suggests she's still working her way through all of the information being offered. "Stories are full of that sort of thing. Dragon and rider going together. I wonder if we're all conditioned to think that's the right thing to do before any of us even think of Standing." She flexes one shoulder in what's not quite a shrug. "I hope you mean hunting beasts and not people. Not that one is really any more dangerous than the other, when it comes down to it." "It's a pretty way to think about it," Z'kiel replies with a slow roll of shoulders. "He seems to think that's how it'll be for us. One last adventure Between." He sucks his teeth, grunts, and continues, "It's not how we'll all go. Most, maybe. But not all." There's a look askance at her for the hunting comment, and a faint sound escapes him that skirts the edge of what might be laughter - deep and low. "I hunt animals. Humans aren't good for eating and their skins aren't worth tanning." He holds that for a second before adding: "So I've heard." Deadpan. Something like humour curls at the edge of Tabitha's lips, yet she doesn't quite let herself actually smile. "If you ever find out for certain, make sure you document the evidence. Anonymously, of course. Of all the things to earn a reputation for..." She hugs the book closer, now pressing pages to her rather than allowing the volume to dig in against skin, and looks Z'kiel up and down in a fashion a shade more interested than before. "What's your name?" A moment later, she adds, "And his." Another soft hnnnh escapes him, almost a laugh but never quick breaching into full audibility. Z'kiel intones, "There are worse things," presumably to earn a reputation for, but he doesn't elaborate. "Z'kiel," is a knuckle pressed to his chest. "Ahtzudaeth," is a thumb cocked over his shoulder. The bronze wakes up - or, rather, opens his eyes - and pushes to his feet in a fluid movement. The introduction is evidently "bow-worthy" for the beast does just that, dipping down into a draconic approximation of a bow before he settles again. "Alpine Wing," completes the introduction. "Says it's a pleasure to meet you." There's a slight pause, then: "What's your name?" Tabitha dips into a curtsey to answer Ahtzudaeth's bow, not a matter of play-acting or an awed, over the top example leaning towards the ludicrous, but respect met with the same, her focus his as she rises and lifts her head again. "Tabitha," she tells Z'kiel, gaze swinging back to him. "Just me. No dragon, no-one else. No wing." Matter of fact, rather than mournful, as if she must provide an adequate number of syllables in turn, beyond the simple three of her own name. "I work in the records. For turns now. Maybe forever." Acceptance, there. "Nice to meet you both." The bronze's satisfaction is reflected in a gape-mawed grin that brings a bit more light to his eyes. Ahtzudaeth is pleased and that, in a way, bleeds into Z'kiel's stance. Just a little. The rider nods once with a low, acknowledging noise, and one corner of his mouth pulls into a half-smile that lives and dies in the span of a second. "Tabitha and the records. Maybe forever," is echoed. Turned around. "Maybe not. Thought I'd be just a hunter forever." The bronze behind him chortles. "He changed that. Change happens." He takes a half-step back, one that allows him to pivot and face her - at least for a little while. "Plenty of turns left. Plenty of time for change." "I decided when I was very little that I would be a constant." To who or what doesn't appear to be so important to her, beyond that decision. "And then change happened to other people, and I..." Tabitha angles a quick look down at her feet, though makes herself look up again, something rueful edging her features. "Well, they didn't need me anymore," she finishes with a helpless little shrug. "People look at me like I'm so young, but I feel like I've lived a whole life already." Her huff of sound is not truly a laugh. "It sounds ridiculous. I'm sorry." "Don't apologize," is the first thing. The most important thing, probably, for the vehemence laid on those words. Z'kiel shakes his head. "Not for saying that. Not for being honest." A breath is drawn, held, and released slowly. "All you can be is consistent," and the word comes slowly, with a slight gloss over his eyes as if he's not quite speaking on his own behalf. "Not constant. Consistent. Be yourself always. But be flexible. Change happens. So, you might have to change a little. Don't have to change all of you. Don't have to change most. But, some. Sometimes." He's silent for a moment, two, then: "My dance teacher would have said you were born old. Said the same of me. Would say the same of him," with a tip of his head to the dragon nearby. "Old heart. Old eyes. You live with it. You learn." Tabitha doesn't startle in the slightest at his vehemence, but rather takes it in her stride, though it does ensure that she doesn't retreat any further after her apology. "It doesn't speak very well of me to say that I can't tell you who I am. I know who I'm meant to be. But... well..." Another one of those sounds passes her lips. "I could be half a dozen different people I've read about and thought had admirable qualities. Perhaps some of them were consistent. Her arms knot more tightly, crushing the book to her, only then she chooses to abruptly close it, like its presence is no longer acceptable, at least not with the chance that words on pages might spill out and over her. "I should get back before they send someone after me," she sighs out. Hesitation precedes, "But... would you come back, one day? One old soul to another?" "There is no can't," Z'kiel replies with a shrug. "Just a strong won't. Lots of things I said I can't do - and have done. Lots of things I've said I wouldn't - but did. It's all choices, Tabitha. Your choices." Ahtzudaeth rises shortly after that, though only to offer his nose - and another of those dragon-grins - to her. "You're always just going to be you," is, from the vocal inflection, likely the dragon's contribution to the conversation. "Who you will be - that's you. All you." Another half-smile, wry at the corners. "I was supposed to be an Igenite rider. Wingleader - or Weyrleader. I was meant to be this. For now." The last is added after a look from the bronze - and a low chuff of chastisement from the beast. The latter elicits a shallow nod of confirmation. "Sure we'll have more work to do that'll bring us here." It's not a promise - but it's close enough. One cold hand uncurls little by little to reach for and brush at Ahtzudaeth's nose, silently apology for the chill of her fingers in the gentle manner in which her hand skims over hide. "...I wonder that I should trust that you make it sound something much more real than a matter of semantics," Tabitha admits to his rider, the small smile that she finally manages touched by a healthy dose of self-deprecation. "I'm glad-- that..." She hesitates again, only to repeat, "I'm glad." She answers Z'kiel's nod with one of her own, just as she retreats into her own space and turns, to begin to carefully crunch her way back towards firmer ground. "Safe journey, the both of you." Yet, the bronze seems undaunted by the coolness and he'll press a little into the contact, with a warm exhalation issued just before she withdraws. "Trust - or don't," Z'kiel replies as he turns to match the dragon that's finally starting to make his way toward the bowl proper. "Not my place to demand it. But. Glad you're willing to listen. Entertain the idea." Another nod follows, another scrap of a smile that's there and gone. "May Rukbat light your way," is angled her way in reply and it's not long at all before they're gone as well, off to see to the rest of their duties. |
Comments
Alida (22:07, 11 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
I... really enjoyed reading this. Dunno why. Felt good. :)
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