Logs:Opting Out
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| RL Date: 2 September, 2015 |
| Who: A'rist, F'manis |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A'rist does not want Lythronath chasing Niahvth. |
| Where: Lythronath's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 9, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Storyteller: K'del/ST |
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| Grudging, petulant, and with as much force as a stomp of tantrumming feet comes, « Isplonath. » Grump. « Here. » Hopefully the smell of blood will be enough to guide him, and that faint sense of being in a place that is Lythronath's. All Lythronath's. Not A'rist's. Not today. (To Isplonath from Lythronath) It's a good thing Isplonath is not a fussy, picky dragon, disinclined to be ordered around by his subordinates - but then, he ought to be used to Lythronath by now. « When we've finished, » is answer rather than correction or warning, and though it takes some time for the blue pair to appear, appear they do. Backswinging, Isplonath comes to a landing; thoughtful, F'manis unbuckles himself and begins to dismount. (To Lythronath from Isplonath) They will arrive, then, to the end of a stalemate. Lythronath is click-click- clicking at A'rist; the headbobbing has since stilled, but those talons still tap irritably at the ledge, leaving little marks in it and gathering bits of dried blood and other uknown gore on themselves. A'rist stares evenly, but not at Lythronath. He is watching the sky. He is waiting. On that little bit of the very edge of the ledge to where he's been pushed, but Lythronath, in the end, is some sort of dragon. And he's not going to fully shove his rider off. "Move." Enough room is granted the blue to land, but A'rist is still mostly cornered. So he has to call a bit, for the, "Thanks," to have any hopes of reaching his wingleader. "Problems?" F'manis is amused, more than anything, at this little scene, and sticks close to his blue's side rather than invade any disputed territory; it's for the best, really. It certainly is. "No," says A'rist, calmly. His perception of the bluerider might be a bit fuzzy from one eye. Because of the bronze nostril in the way of it. The one that makes him wince those eyes closed, when it snorts, a half-growl of displeasure. He doesn't ignore that blue (blue!), but he doesn't engage him. There are more important things. "Niahvth is proddy." Explanation or introduction. No problems. Fine. F'manis doesn't argue the point, though he does cast the bronze a lingering glance before turning his attention back on the half-hidden rider. Isplonath, calmly, mantles his wings. "Yes," agrees F'manis. "That she is. Even a bluerider can sense that." A'rist nods, the corner of his mouth pulling off to the side. Now, Lythronath is spared a glance. "We're scheduled for sweeps tomorrow. Over Tillek. In a few more days, I think it was supposed to be High Reaches? And drills, of course. That's our wing duties coming up." He leans out, far enough that he can use both eyes to look at his wingleader, far enough that he's hanging a bit off the edge. Far enough that the muzzle backs off a little bit, just in case. "I think I want to take him away. Until she's risen." "Because it's a senior flight, or because...?" F'manis' question is prompt, and firm, his expression arched in such a way as to suggest that he expects full disclosure, here. A'rist's jaw sets, dark eyes caught up in a look that is darker at being probed over this. Whatever steel it is that he draws up, that makes Lythronath back up when the young man takes a few steps farther onto the ledge, and then one toward F'manis, manages also to get into, "Yes." But he won't force the bluerider to poke him too much more. A'rist crosses his arms over his chest, and states, simply, "Now isn't the time." "You'll get no argument from me," answers the wingleader, calmly. "I'd rather see a senior flight without incident, thank you all the same. Go. We'll cover your sweeps. You can make up for it once you're back." Beat. "How's he taking it?" A'rist doesn't snort, but it comes close, that push of air through his nose, but the proud lift of his head nonetheless. They are what they are. "Good. I'm sure we'll hear when it's over, but you can always call us. We won't be going so far out." Another sidelook to Lythronath, who has bobbed his head, once, mostly at A'rist, somewhat at... whatever those feelings in the air are. "It'll get better for him eventually. At least this is an option to us now." F'manis nods. "Good," he says. "Good. Fine. I'd leave today, if I were you. I don't imagine she'll be proddy for long, and the last thing you need is to be caught out. We'll see you in a day or two." He reaches, then, for Isplonath's straps, pausing only to glance back at the bronzerider: anything else? "We plan to. I plan to." No look to Lythronath, though the comment is clearly pointed. A'rist shakes his head, to that next question. "Not unless you need anything more from us." For a moment, F'manis allows his attention to linger on the bronze, but it really is only a moment. "We'll see you in a few days, then," he concludes, before climbing up, and heading off. |
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