Logs:Pieces
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| RL Date: 4 May, 2015 |
| Who: Alida, Ilicaeth, Faryn, Z'kiel, Ahtzudaeth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Three people speak of weyrlings and circumstances while two dragons share dinner. |
| Where: HRW: Feeding Grounds |
| When: Day 17, Month 9, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Foggy, temperate. 63 F. |
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| Afternoon is shading into evening and the feeding grounds are alive with the sounds of dragons feasting and herdbeasts bleating their last. Though the weyrlings are too young to hunt yet, that doesn't stop one particular pair from sitting to watch while the elders get their fill. Ahtzudaeth is settled on his haunches, head tilted while he watches the cycle of life - or, at least, this part of it - play out before rainbow-hued eyes. Z'kiel's perched on the fence while he watches as well, a periodic grunt escaping him, only to be matched with a chuff or whuff from his draconic half. Blugh! Clammy and foggy... the heydays of 'Reaches short summer are apparently gone, though at least it's not cold. YET. The weather wouldn't matter much, anyway, for those dragons who are hungry, and one of those elders is Ilicaeth, the craggy blue on his second catch - a wherry, after a herdbeast - his muzzle stained with ichor and bits of offal as he rips into the carcass with red-eyed, eager enjoyment. On occasion, his head lifts from his kill so he can cast that hungry gaze all about, and this round, it lights on the bronzen 'kid' out there beyond, a low grunt/chuff offered to Ahtzudaeth before 'caeth returns to feeding himself. Not far from fence-perched Z'kiel, a quiet Alida arrives just in time to catch her lifemate's look and call to the weyrling, which causes the palest-blonde to flick assessing, clear green eyes over to the youthful pair. There's always inventory to take, injured beasts to cull, and it's not exactly uncommon to find Faryn here this time of day, gauging in her quiet way how much she'll need to bring in in the aftermath to replenish what is taken. She's got hides for it today, though she's not using them. It's a bit too hard to see with the feeding frenzy behind the fence. She has a grimace for the anxious herbivores who are cowering far across the pens like it will save them when the next dragon decides it wants another, but there's not much to be done there. It's in passing, anyway; she's walking the length of the fence, stopping every now and then to peer in, and stopping another time when she comes close enough to see Ahtzudaeth and Z'kiel. "Hmm," is all she says, flicking a glance over both, and then pointedly stopping to lean over the fence beside where he sits. Just, you know, there. The young bronze rears back and rises up, allowing him to hook his front talons on the fence with the utmost of care. Much of his weight sits on his hind legs, sparing the fence - for now - from potential destruction. The offered sound is echoed, though Ahtzudaeth's response is more akin to a chortle than a proper chuff. Z'kiel, for his part, is resting with elbows on thighs, feet hooked into the rails, and his green gaze keen on the animals that aren't currently being devoured. One of his hands lifts after a moment to rub over his freshly shaved head and the result is a grimace. Alida's approach is caught by one or the other, yielding a sidelong look from the former hunter. The hand on his head is removed, if only to snap off a crisp salute to the bluerider. Faryn's approach is likewise noted, but it's the bronze that responds first; he leans just a little and cranes his head over, aiming a companionable whuff at the top of Faryn's head. Then it's Faryn that's getting a sidelong look - and a light thump of battered, split knuckles on the railing next to him in invitation. There's a quirk of Ilicaeth's head for the bronzeling's 'chortle,' the bulky blue perhaps rumbling both his mixed humor and ebbing hunger as he continues to chow down, though not in truly messy fashion. While he continues to slake his appetite, his rider offers 'baldy' over there a dark little smirk for his snapped salute, and then - perhaps oddly - just as crisp of a perfect salute back before she starts to amble on over towards the new-made triad of weyrlings and Faryn. Ahtzudaeth's whuff of the girls hair evinces a low chortle from the bluerider, though she does manage to eke out a polite bob of head at Faryn, as well. Maybe the woman's in a good mood, for once? Once nearer the other humans, the bluie leans her frame lightly against the middle rail of the fence, and proceeds to shift her attention between her feeding lifemate and the trio not 6 feet away...quietly observing. There's not much to blow out of place, at least; Faryn's plaited hair stays thus, but the bronze's greeting elicits a small smile from the herder. "And good evening to you," she says in reply, then tilts her head up enough to say, "And you, too," to Z'kiel. She accepts his invitation nimbly, climbing the rails of the fence and settling herself easily beside him, giving him a once over that encompasses the little bronze as well. If she lingers on his hair, well, who can blame her? But she'll offer, likely not as ignorant of the meaning as she makes it sound, "You look handsome, with short hair." Lurky McLurking Bluerider? Still not on Faryn's radar, not really, save her brief glance that direction when he salutes. She's not learning new etiquette, after all. The returned salute elicits a faint sound from the weyrling rider, though it's ambiguity shades toward little more than acknowledgement. Z'kiel leaves the bluerider to her observations, but only after a shallow dip of his chin. Then his attention shifts more fully to Faryn as she joins him, with him shifting just a little to a side to give her a bit more room. "Evening," is his intoned response, with a slight flick of his eyes skyward for a brief moment. Gauging. Assessing. Then it's right back to the herder. "He says hello," the bronzeling translates after a beat. "And he wants to know precisely what you do here." A grunt, more amused than anything, as the bronze attempts another huff at Faryn's hair - this time to try to get her braid moving a little. The mention of his hair returns him to sobriety and his upper lip twists just a little - but not at her. Another low hnnnh. Then: "I will have to trust your judgment. I do not care for it." As for Ahtzudaeth, he offers his oddly chortling agreement to Faryn - at least, that's what it sounds like - before his attention returns to the feasting Ilicaeth. Fascinating. There's a low, though not loud burp from Ilicaeth after he swallows his latest mouthful of raw wherry meat, and - after some nosing at the mostly-stripped carcass - the burly blue suddenly chooses to rip one mostly-untouched 'drumstick' from the downed beast, and then mosey the thing over towards the stripling bronze. « Wanna' piece, kid? » is rumbled in genial ease to Ahtzudaeth, only the fringes of the blue's ferociously dry, gritty, hot desert swirling in scratchy fashion at the surface of the dragonet's mind. Listening to Faryn's reply to Z'kiel's bare gestures earns her a faint smirk-smile that touches only half the 'rider's mouth, green eyes shifting from the other female to the young man who makes that strange little sound. Fog magnifies sound. The bluerider's own gaze continues to actively move between various little scenes near and far: Ilicaeth's moving closer with the leg of the wherry; a green dragon ripping into her buck farther beyond them, then back to the other two humans not far away. She happens to catch Z'kiel's words of his (lack of) hair, and the blonde finds herself murmuring just loud enough to carry over to him, "Weyrlinghood don' sit well with everybody. Not all folks 're born ta follow the herd." Shrug. A slow move of her gaze to the food beasts out beyond them might be significant. See what being an accepting herd gets them? Her braid isn't particularly willing to do anything - sway across her back a little, then roll back into place, but it's as sturdy as Faryn herself, in the long run. Even so, she doesn't seem to particularly mind his antics, not any more than she minds Z'kiel's aloofness, and both are met with a patient expression and a small smile. "I tend the herds," she provides, apparently having learned already that she can talk to Ahtzudaeth rather than through his rider. "And the runners. And until recently I chopped your food up." Such thrilling, delightful work it seems to be, given her even delivery of it, but she'll easily add, "Good. Because I wouldn't lie to you about it." And then Alida has sidled closer, Ilicaeth is belching loudly, and Faryn's attention is on the blue immediately. "Gross," she supplies as her own brief piece of commentary, her gaze lingering as the blue rips a piece of meat and starts bringing it their way. "Everyone's having troubles," she ventures, treading carefully. "Sounds like weyrlinghood might just be tough, in the beginning. Or, maybe, the whole time." The offer is greeted, at first, with a scintillating sense of gratitude. Ahtzudaeth's response is a cheerful, « Ah, you are most generous! I would like a piece, thank you. » The distant desert is further reflected in a mirror made of mirages, with only the faintest tingling at the edges - a tingle of anticipation, no doubt. He'll not make a grab for it, though; he'll be patient and polite, as is his way. This works out well, fortunately; Faryn's explanation is met with a cocking of his head and, at the mention of chopping meat up for the weyrlings, an approving, throaty warble. Z'kiel, meanwhile, sucks his teeth thoughtfully and translates, "He says thank you very much," and it seems there's a need to be very precise with the words, "and that he appreciates your work. He hopes you enjoy it." A beat. Then, "I know you wouldn't." Trust? Maybe a little. Alida's utterance draws his gaze, if just barely; she's situated somewhere in his peripheral vision, without the intense weight of his gaze. "They did not handle this situation," he passes a palm over his head demonstratively, "well. They could have done better. The rest..." he trails off with a clicking of tongue against teeth, with the answer intended for both Faryn and Alida, "He has taken well to it. All I can do is keep up - and he has long legs." The herd beasts are noted, but no commentary offered beyond a low, ostensibly thoughtful grunt. Well then, Alida's learning a little more about Faryn as the other female informs Ahtzudaeth about herself, and the bluerider remains silent to further absorb what's transpiring here at the fence. With Ilicaeth's arrival and his former, apparent overhearing of Faryn's comment of his belch comes a sudden, rather loud fart from the betwixt the blue's tail tips, and a small whiff of the telltale scent of it before the smell disperses upon the thick air. Cue a baring of those long, razor-sharp teeth of the dragon's in his own version of a grin (it looks much more like a death-threat, really) before he opens his mouth and drops the wherry haunch to the ground on the other side of the fence, not far away from the gathering of humans and bronzelette. Thump. « Enjoy, kid... » is chuffed easily, the blue lingering for some moments, watching how the youthful dragon conducts himself before 'caeth returns to the center of the pens...and there launches himself skyward. Soon, he's circling above, making the herds scatter and call out again as the blue picks his next meal. As for Alida, she's remaining quiet so as to better take in what weyrling and beastcrafter might have to say about whatever's on their minds, the periphery of her own hyper-aware gaze catching the motions of the other two as they continue to 'chat...' and then shifting fully to Z'kiel at his admission. "Pretty colored threads...pats on the head...carrots..." the blonde mutters with a faint roll of eyes, her gaze shifting back out, up again to her lifemate, who's suddenly swooping low to impale another wherry upon his coppery claws. Alida gives a small shiver and a swallow - her small smile that of a triumphant predator - and then 'resurfaces' from her dragon's kill to murmur, "Take the needed things seriously...weigh the rest. Pick an' choose wha'cha' apply." Breathe. "Don't be mindless...but mind the shit that you'll balance yer lives on." Belching and farting, oh my. Yet, Ahtzudaeth takes all of this in good stride, a mental chuckle accompanying his very physical equivalent. He extricates himself from the fence just before the haunch is dropped, lest he be in the way - and once it is on the ground, he approaches it with a bob of his head for the elder blue and a gaping of his maw in an appreciative smile. « I certainly shall, thank you. » He's delicate about his eating, for the record; perhaps it's something that's only possible given his still-small stature. Dainty bites. Thoughtful tendon-pulling. Lovely. One eye is trained to the skies all the same, watching Ilicaeth as he pursues yet another meal. Intriguing. Draconic gas-letting earns nary a grimace from the human half; he's been stuck in a room full of them for a while now. Z'kiel issues an oddly melodic hum-grunt of assent to Alida. "He is... better with that than I am." He absently runs the fingers of one hand over the busted knuckles of the other. "But, I am learning. The important things, those are easy. The rest," he just snorts and leans forward to spit at the ground in a display of disdain. "No patience for the shit. None." There's a beat, then a belated narrowing of his eyes as he studies Alida askance. "But. He wonders what the pretty colored threads are." Is it really? Hard to tell - Ahtzudaeth is fairly absorbed in his early dinner and a show. Faryn is heard, of course; the shifting conversation - and occasional mental intrusion - just puts things in an odd order. To the herder is a low-pitched, "Is that good enough?" From rider? Dragon? Hard to tell. All the same, the gesture he makes after implies a talk at a later time - though, once again, it's hard to determine just which side is making that decision. Alida simply grins an even, white-toothed flash of teeth at Faryn's outburst at Ilicaeth's loud fart, the woman soon enough flicking her clear green gaze to the beastcrafter after she utters her assessement. Snerk. "Actually, there were parts uv it I deeply enjoyed." Perhaps first hunts? Self-defense? The rest, however, is merely shrugged off by the bluerider, who once more shifts her gaze to a now-landing Ilicaeth, the blue out of the pens and not terribly far off from Ahtzudaeth, who gets a low rumble of the blue's own humor before he tucks into his final meal of the day. Mmmm, ichor and meat and guts! It's so much easier to enjoy than the verisimilitudes of human living. The bronzeling's 'smile' earns him a likewise gape of green-stained teeth from the elder dragon - hey, someone else does it, too! - before Ilicaeth returns to efficiently tearing into his kill. « Yer welcome, kid. » Chuff. The blue's lifemate will answer about those pretty colored threads with a lackadaisical alto, "Silver Threads program." Snerk, headshake. The other stuff, however... "Balancing act, all uv it... one I never had much patience with, myself." Sigh. "Asskissers, 'yes' men, good little boys an' girls." Eyeroll. Oh, and don't forget, "Status-freaks." There is a short shrug for Z'kiel's (Ahtzudaeth's?) question, equal parts disregard and dispassion. Faryn's fine with that gesture though, and takes it for what it is - later, not with the screaming of another herdbeast being felled and the snarls of a pair of greens squabbling over a wherry as the backdrop for it. She settles, slightly slouched and content to evaluate the tableau the two dragons form: the small bronze's dainty habits compared with the blue's, the mess being made outside of the enclosure, their respective riders chatting away. Her brow furrows slightly at Alida's appraisal and she tilts her head to the side, looking interested. "I think it's safe to say some of those people are just the ones who know how to lead a herd, rather than become a part of one. I don't think there's any fault to that. It's probably more effective than peeling off, at least. Less danger, less liability." She tilts her head toward the herdbeasts. "Someone has to take charge sometimes." The explanation earns yet another ever-so-articulate grunt from the weyrling. He shifts slightly on the fence, in preparation to dismount from it. Z'kiel might offer a shallow nod - acknowledgment, again - to much of what Alida says, but it's the Silver Threads program that elicits a dry, "Some of us are expected to look forward to that. To hope for it." Yet, there's a strange pull to his features and an absent rubbing of his nose that looks suspiciously like someone pushing spectacles up. It's followed by a perplexed crinkle of his nose and a narrowing of his eyes. His regard cuts askance to Faryn, then. He listens. He ponders. Eventually, he intones, "That's closer to how he sees it. How we see it." That's an odd admission, given the expression he makes after. "But, we'll see. They haven't handed those out. Not sure who they'll give them to." Or not give them to, as the case may be. Ahtzudaeth, unhelpfully, is taking his time with his meal - such as it is. He's fairly content at the moment, though, when Z'kiel starts to move, he hastens just a wee bit to finish up the last few shreds of meat. The bluerider listens as intently to Faryn as she does to Z'kiel, the blonde woman tipping her head a little to what the beastcrafter has to say of leaders and followers...a faint, if dark smile touching her lips along the way. "Don' get me wrong..." is murmured to the teen girl. "There's places fer leaders, followers everywhere. Two sides u' the same coin. All v' 'em are needed." A flick of greens over to the other female, and then to Z'kiel presages her alto, "And then, there's the...'divergents.' The ones who just don't seem ta fit any uv' the molds others try ta cast them inta'." As for the young bronze'rider's' words of expectations...well, the bluie has a knowing, impishly dark little smirk-grin to answer it. "Carrots...an' a whip if ya step outta' line." Beat. "Do the unexpected...but don't be stupid." And with a sudden incline of her pale head to both the younger folks - and to youthful Ahtzudaeth, too, perhaps - the bluerider is simply pushing off the fence and then striding over to her lifemate, who's complaining about a piece of sinew stuck between his teeth. It might be more-than-disconcerting to see the woman soon sticking the upper third of her body directly into the blue's gaping yap to try and fish it out. "You have to look forward to something, I suppose," Faryn supplies drily, absolutely not helpful on this particular front, bracing herself as the fence wiggles a bit with his dismount. It's a decent vantage point, at least, for her to keep track of the remaining foodbeasts, and an even better vantage to watch Alida all-but crawl into Ilicaeth's mouth. She watches for a moment, apparently very curious at the goings-on in that gaping, toothy maw, but her next observation is for Z'kiel, while Alida's head is not visible: "You know, you've never much struck me as the sort who needs much advice." Full stop, and no rejoinder or parallel for Alida's suggestion, even if her expression says she disagrees with the bluerider's assessment. "'Hnnnh. Z'kiel finally makes his way to the ground and takes a moment to dust himself off. "Guess that means we'll just have to walk the line as narrowly as we can." That last for Alida, though there's clearly little else to say on the topic; his thoughts, as usual, are safely contained for the time being. Ahtzudaeth takes the remaining bits of bone in his maw and deposits the mess on the other side of the fence - doing his part to keep this side of the fence clean, at least. « Thank you, again, » is tilted Ilicaeth's way, though his mental presence is subtle and deliberately unobtrusive. There's a fleeting sense of apology, words shifting into the fringes of his mind but never quite congealing. Then he's joining his rider, his shoulder level with the top of the man's head. The Igenite tilts a look up at the bronze's head, then to Faryn with a slight pull of his mouth to one side. Low-pitched, lest it be heard by anyone other than Faryn (and Ahtzudaeth), he replies, "I'm not. But. Many seem to think I do." The bronze is definitely included in that, too, given the look he gives the beast. He blows out a sharp breath. "Nothing new. After hearing him all the time, I'm learning to listen." Wry amusement twists his mouth into a thin smile. "And to dismiss." A thump is given to the bronze's foreleg and he starts to move toward the barracks; the Igenite will follow, but not without adding, "We'll talk again," for Faryn's sake. « Welcome, kid... » the blue 'mumbles' around a mouthful of his rider, his baritone swirl of gritty particulates muted by his own concentration upon keeping as still as he can. Alida is unaware of what goes on between the two younger people, given her intense focus on tugging away sinew and not getting herself impaled on big-ass dragon teeth. But when she's done, there's only a wrinkle of nose for the smell of her lifemate's breath, then a pat of his muzzle as they simply stride away towards the center of the Bowl. Faryn nods after Z'kiel (not much for Alida, in fact) but stays; she was here for a reason, after all. The hides she carries are finally laid on her lap, and soon she's apparently at work counting the slow-to-settle beasts. |
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