Logs:Playing With Fire
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| RL Date: 22 December, 2008 |
| Who: K'del, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 7, Turn 18 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: I'daur/Mentions, N'thei/Mentions |
| Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself. A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs. It's not the first day of flaming practice for these particular weyrling pairs, and it's hardly going to be the last, but at least it's early enough this summer's morning that not too many would-be swimmers had to be shooed away from the lake with its nice big rocks. Which is to say, very early indeed: the only reason why the sun's even risen is because High Reaches is so far north, and the cliff face casts long shadows into the bowl. Still, there's perky-looking G'gor, and his cool-eyed Paelath, along with a couple other pairs lined up before their piles of firestone that they had to truck over themselves. Vrianth, though, she's already fueled up. Enough to hiccup a tendril of smoke. Just for the fun of it. Then, eyeing the weyrlings, another one. "Target time!" her rider calls out immediately after, gesturing with one bare arm toward the nice big not-firestone rocks. "Who thinks he's ready?" Watch K'del's hand shoot straight into the air: ding! He seems to be getting more sleep, these nights, or perhaps he's just learning to hide it better. Either way, he looks alert, this morning, hovering near Cadejoth's shoulder with the intention to be the best written all over his face and straight-postured stance. Predictably, Cadejoth is less focused; he's eyeing Vrianth, and those little tendrils of smoke, with a great deal of interest, and the gleeful shake of his ever-moving tail. G'gor's hand goes up nearly as fast, but A'stel's slower on the uptake even if his Terluth is looking all sorts of attentive. Attentive to something, anyway. Might be the lesson. Might be what Cadejoth's up to. Leova gives the bluerider the eye, after meeting the others' gazes in turn, and he straightens up: klah can come later. "All right, start feeding them. Ask them to keep their tongues out of the way, to think of their second stomachs," and everything else they've been drilling until they can about do it in their sleep. "And where do their muzzles need to be pointed? Or not pointed." Vrianth? Sets a very bad example by yawning right at Cadejoth and his kin, her mind prickly with energy, /her/ tail a still arrangement of loops behind her that might be easy to overlook. "/Cadejoth/," says K'del, forestalling the bronze's apparent intent upon-- what? Something to do with Vrianth, anyway, whose prickly energy attracts him as much as those smoky hiccups, his head angling out in that direction, his mind all aflutter with shivering, shaking bones. This distraction gives G'gor the edge in answering the question. He does so with enthusiasm: "Away from us! So they don't get us, by accident." His hand tight on Cadejoth's shoulder, K'del murmurs something in the bronze's direction, as he begins to feed him chunks of firestone, expression verging not so much on /sulky/ - as on ferociously intent. "/Focus/," he murmurs. "Stay /focused/." All that shivery-shakiness: the adult dragon reaches out, brushes it delicately with static, her own presence becoming clearer and smoother bit by bit: what will that do for the little bronze, still barely longer than she? Will it help him... focus? Her wings lift slightly, lets more of the morning breeze whisper beneath them, lift the silvery ailerons until they're just about floating. And then Vrianth... gets her own sidelong look from her rider, but only after G'gor's gotten the approving nod he's earned. Leova follows up calmly, "Where /us/ means all of us, mind. Not even any head-turning to look at whatever's-over-there. You ever hear our esteemed weyrleader talk about controlling your dragon?" Not so much with the focus, no. The static seems to electrify Cadejoth's mind, setting his mental chains to clinking and sparking, now completely alive with energy. /Oh/, his mind seems to say, too much enthusiasm there to form proper words. /Yes/. He strains up, physically, his tail sharpening behind him to a stiff point, as much as the rest of him stiffens. K'del, again, glowers. "/Cadejoth/. Have another chunk." His attention returning to Leova and her questions, his head shakes. "/I/ haven't. What's he say?" Again, he nudges at Cadejoth: you hear that? Having lived here all their lives, A'stel and G'gor are already nodding, the bluerider looking dour while the other weyrling leans a little more on his Paelath's neck. "Probably doesn't in those wing meetings," Leova comments to K'del, "Seeing as how wingleaders should know it already. But." Her hand finds Vrianth's neck too, which arches under her palm, arches into it. Into that enthusiasm, too, made the warmer for it. And the green wonders perceptibly if he can /stretch/ those chains, can expand them so far and wide until there's no kink or clink left. /And/ chew. At the very same time. Could it be? "Dates back when he was a weyrling. A'son, you remember as how he was Ista's weyrleader awhile back? His Nikoth from that same clutch, he turned his head into the wind. Blew right back on him, his rider too, burned 'em both. And Wyaeth?" The assistant's low voice lowers further, though not like she's trying to be ominous. More like, it's escaping. Swallowing, his expression solemn, K'del even pauses in the firestone feeding process to listen to the explanation, though his chain remains in the air, a gesture of pride, of confidence. Cadejoth, entranced, dispels the sparks, seeking to prove himself in this challenge. Out, out, out come those chains, straining and stretching, clinking on the way but only as they ripple past each other in wide circles. /And/ chew? Well - he'll do that too, because he /can/ and he /wants/ to and-- his head nudges at K'del, who, after a moment, reaches down for another piece of 'stone, to feed it between those wide, waiting jaws. He's distracted, though, listening. More solemn than ever. "And Wyaeth?" Barely audible: just a breath of a word. He /can/. Fascinating! And such wide circles, too: he could track all /sorts/ of things with those, so long as he doesn't tangle them up upon their return. Vrianth leans in, seeks to guide those chains of Cadejoth's back towards their accustomed alignment if he'll accept it, or at least charge them with a hint of that heady, directed energy that his metal might conduct so well. It's not that he need stop. It's just that chewing means flaming and flaming means focus and they can play afterward, surely, and can he feel that promise of burning within? She can. He can do it. If he wants to, keeps wanting to. Her rider, quieter, "Heard they were being taken care of. And then Wyaeth... Different stories have it different ways, and /don't/ you be going and bothering I'daur, talk to Emilly if you've got to, but. One of the other weyrlings, she wound up /blind/." The eyes of the other weyrlings are on K'del as he takes this in, not so much like they're judging his reaction, as simply noting it. His expression is impassive, though his eyes widen just slightly at the word 'blind', and his hand on Cadejoth tightens just a fraction. "Ah," he says, finally. Nodding. "Hear that, Cadejoth? That's why you got to concentrate on this. Won't be like that." Between this, and Vrianth, there's incentive enough for Cadejoth to assent, his chains sliding gently back into alignment under the green's guidance, though they spark and tingle with that energy, kept close and focused. He /can/, and yes, later, later, later, they can play. A promise, held close, in the back of his mind: if he /concentrates/. So he will. She lets him go with a ripple of reassurance, shares (with all three of them? if it's not Cadejoth alone, they're on bands as fine and private as his, as unlikely to be overheard) the sensation of letting that burning go: there, oriented along that long and angular muzzle, where experience and will would have it. There, its potential rising up along her throat, surging, impatient to be set free. /There/, fire raging just where Vrianth directs it, burning a boulder to charred... well. The rock pretty much stays rock, and she doesn't choose to hold her flame long enough to make it crack. But at least the moss on its underside catches flame! And the later lake-visitors are going to have a nice sooty perch. Lovely. And then Vrianth blows a set of smoke-rings, just because she can. It's enough to make Leova roll her eyes, move back, and encourage her green to do the same. Just in case. When they're settled, "Right, you lot. Aim for your rock. When you're ready? Have at." BeingGood pervades Cadejoth's mind, if not to the point where it actively distracts him from the task at hand: the listening and watching. Even his tail manages to still itself beyond the occasional twitch, his wings sitting in tight, his body pulled to a crouch of studious concentration (See? See! He can do it). The smoke-rings, though obviously of interest, draw his attention for only a moment - there's K'del's hand on his shoulder again, refocusing him upon the rocks ahead. The weyrling confirms Leova's instructions with a sharp nod, then turns back to Cadejoth, watching, his hand still there. Then: flame! Terluth's comes a moment later, then Paelath's. As his bout ends, Cadejoth's tail flicks in excitement. /See/! Never let it be said Vrianth does not appreciate her charges doing her will. Even when it's something they would have gladly done anyway, still she shares that oh-so-positive reinforcement right down to /her/ flicking tail. She sees. Sees, also, that Paelath's is right on target and Terluth's, though initially off, has a good solid burn. Her rider says, "Fun, isn't it?" her low voice kept just this side of wistful. And then she explains, maybe because they're all silver-threaders and this is something to think about, maybe because she would have anyway, "Back when we were weyrlings, when there was still the comet-Pass, could practice more than nowadays. Funny how, without Thread falling, miners'd rather go digging up ore or sparkly rocks than our 'stone. Can't say as I blame them, but got to be careful anyway, hm?" Cadejoth positively glows beneath that positive enforcement, sharing his view of what happened with not just Vrianth, but also the other two dragons: the flame emerging, shooting towards the target, hitting, burning! Look what he did! If the other two are not so impressed (didn't he SEE that they did that, too?), well, there's always Vrianth, and a refocusing, towards her entirely. Lookit! K'del seems pleased, if not only surprised, with Cadejoth's success, and his reaction, his hand returning to bronzen hide, stroking lightly, though his head tilts to the side to consider Leova's words. "Suppose that makes sense," he agrees. "Them wanting to dig up things that're useful. But. We all gotta be good at this. Because we'll have to keep teaching the new weyrlings, right down the line, right? Until there's a Pass again. So that /they/ know." "That's the thing, K'del. Useful. Useful to them," and Leova opens one hand, "Useful to us." The other. "Like what you said: /we'll/ have to teach. Someone will. But that /we/ don't necessarily mean you in particular, or you, or you, get me? Some folks say, don't have to be everyone who drills hard, can learn to do other things. Others figure everyone got to keep in fighting trim, could be another comet Pass or... or like that surprise one we had, when it wasn't really ended. A plague. Who knows. What do you lot think?" She scans the dragons, scans Vrianth with her yes-she-saw, of-course-he-could, now-do-it-again. and again. and again. "If talking, it don't get in the way of paying attention to what they're doing, anyway. Once they target it right, right off, ask them to back up and try again."" "Can take that point," allows K'del, thinking out loud. "Reckon everyone needs to be prepared to have to use these skills, /able/ to use them, anyway. But I guess it doesn't have to be full-time for everyone, because we do still have to..." He breaks off, and G'gor takes over: "We still have to make sure we can support ourselves. So it'd be a waste, to make everyone drill like it was still a Pass. But still, everyone needs to do /some/, so that we're ready. In case." Preening, Cadejoth repositions himself, pushing himself back into that headspace of utter concentration. Paelath is first to release his flame, this time, and Terluth's is better aimed - and Cadejoth manages a solid, even flame, which more or less hits straight on. Pow! If they were flaming fellow weyrlings, their targets would be not just blinded but dead in the water. Luckily it's just boulders, who pretty much sit there and smolder. "Pretty much. Question is, are you going to be in a group getting to go burn things a lot, or a group that bothers with things other than drilling." And regardless of Vrianth's palpable keenness when it comes to flaming /more/, it actually comes out sounding like reasonable people could pick either way. Maybe. But then Leova gives a look to her dark-sparred green and says, less with the reasonable-discussion and more with the at-/ten/-tion, "Anyhow. Stop with the flaming until I say. We're going to give you a taste of what wind can do. But this is /not/ something to go practicing on your own: we've been flaming a whole lot longer'n you." At least three whole Turns. Once all appears clear, and Vrianth has flowed around them to get at the right angle, a scan of the younger dragons lands on, "Cadejoth, you head straight ahead a few paces, please, then stop. Keep your wings back of your muzzle, paws back, everything. On my signal, flame. Vrianth's going to blow across your flame at an angle, like wind, and you'll see just how much it can turn. Anybody got questions? Ask. If not," they're good to go. By the set of K'del's jaw, and his utter focus, it's pretty clear which group /he/ intends to be part of; his hand tightens upon Cadejoth, perhaps warning, perhaps reminding - probably, something else is going on beneath the surface, but it's not clear from the weyrling's expression, nor from Cadejoth, whose chains remain tidied, his attention /just so/. Both seem pleased for the bronze's part in the next demonstration: he takes the paces forward, then positions himself as requested, his whole body still, for just this once, though every so often, he lets out a little quiver with that long tail of his. There don't seem to be any questions - not from K'del, who is stock-still and watching, nor from the other two, who seem just slightly more relaxed. Their reactions don't go unmissed, all six of them. And Leova keeps watching the other four for a long moment, to make /certain/ they're moved to pay attention. But it's the single pair's obedience that has Leova raising her arm and then, aiming for eye contact with K'del, dropping it like downing a flag: go. And Vrianth gets set to, once Cadejoth has his flame steady, blow out a sharp-but-hopefully-not-too-sharp gust of... air, one hopes. Even hot air. Just not burning hot. K'del, looking a little adrift without his lifemate beside him, has already turned to watch Leova by the time she lifts her arm - ready. Eye-contact made, he nods shortly, and turns his attention back towards Cadejoth, who follows the unspoken command and lets free his flame. The others are at least made more serious by this, straightening to see better, as Vrianth's air meets Cadejoth's flame, turning it away from the intended target, not so far ahead. Cadejoth's reaction is instant, a stamping of his tail in surprise; K'del's eyes just flick slightly, and his head inclines slowly: he sees. "Imagine what winds will do when they're flying," Leova says simply. "And keeping in mind that, if your dragons are aiming forward, they're flaming into a headwind to boot. Need a /whole/ lot of breath control. Now... thank you, Cadejoth. You, Paelath, Terluth, go ahead and keep flaming your rocks until you're about all flamed out. Shouldn't be long at all. I need to talk to your riders about some practice you'll be doing." The greenrider beckons them over. "They can practice controlling their breath without flame, too. Like this," and she illustrates with a puff of breath. "See how I didn't let my cheeks bulge out? More control this way. Get them to practice, long breaths, targeted breaths. Always straight ahead: they can turn their heads to change their aim, but no making their mouths into funny shapes to direct their breath off to the side or to make you start snickering. G'gor." Narrow eyes for her fellow greenrider, who's not doing well at suppressing his mirth. "Someone tell me why not, and then you're good for practice on your own, just make sure they hork up the afters in the ashpits, the usual. I'll stick around for anything else on your mind." With a trumpet of a rumble to tell Leova that, really, it was no trouble at all, Cadejoth turns to bound back into his previous position, leaving K'del to duck out of the way, and then shuffle after the other two to join the greenrider. While the bronze continues to send forth his flame with quiet - and very well controlled - glee, his mind flickering with sparks and flames again, K'del listens quietly. "Because they might burn themselves, by accident," hazards A'stel. "If they did that with flame, I mean." /He/ manages to withhold reaction to G'gor's mirth, but K'del does not: he glowers at the other weyrling, head shaking. K'del has another question. "/Will/ we get to decide for ourselves if we want to focus on the drilling, or on... other things?" Whatever the temptation to fan those flames, for the moment Vrianth resists, instead starting around the lake to flame any weeds that have had the indecency to spring up where they don't belong. Things that look like weeds, anyway. Probably they're weeds. Meanwhile, after a wave to trumpety-rumbly Cadejoth, Leova's quickly focused on answering A'stel, "Right. Mouth's somewhat protected, has to be, but no sense in flaming part of it on purpose, hm? More control straight ahead, too. Also gives you riders a better visual of what your, or other dragons, are up to." A level look to K'del, never mind the disparity in height, suggests that he can pipe down, she's got it. G'gor, now, he's down a few inches on K'del but up more than a few Turns, and gives him a smirk of a smile that's all bring-it-on. At least, until he gets eyed in his turn. Leova, with a dry laugh: "Decide for yourselves? Not hardly. But. You've got access to those wingleaders, with those silver threads of yours. Can figure out who's working the way you think you want, and if they like you, you get good recommendations from us, they work the bidding right, maybe you'll get the wing you want. Trick is, not sucking up, and not pissing off any of the wingleaders who maybe aren't your first choices, hm?" Cadejoth expels the last of his flame on a poor, defenseless boulder, now entirely denuded of the moss that rested there not so long ago. Hah! says his rumble of delight, sparking merrily as his chains clink themselves out of their storage places, free to explore again now that the work is done. One of K'del's hands lifts, mild acceptance: he'll shut it. G'gor, he'll ignore, however - and then, there's his question to be answered, and he's the serious, mostly-grown-up again, nodding thoughtfully. "So it's a matter of bidding, is it? They decide which ones they want, and-- ah." All the groundwork he did, trying to get /into/ the program, K'del looks quite pleased with this, though it all depends, no doubt, on what /they/ consider to be 'sucking up'. Much of the time, post-lesson time means weyrlings making tracks for catching up on memorization or sleep or, sometimes, even getting clean. This one, though... natives of the 'Reaches or no, G'gor and A'stel are sticking around too, at least for the moment. Even the grandstanding's set aside. At least for the moment. "The senior riders, they got all sorts of stories for how it /really/ goes down. Back rooms. Dragonpoker. Whiskey, always whiskey. Some of them are maybe even true. Probably depends on who's the Weyrleader too. Favors owed. One got first pick last time, gets last pick next time. Who knows. But it's not like all wings get the same number, either. What do you lot think might make the difference, more or fewer?" "Given N'thei--" begins G'gor, and all three weyrlings share a grin on that one: definitely whiskey. It's K'del, however, who hazards an answer to the question, tucking his dirty hands behind his back and looking thoughtful. "Do you mean... how many each get? I suppose it's a trade off. You might decide you that there's one weyrling you particularly want, so you'll accept just ending up with one, in order to get him." Beat. "Or her." A'stel adds in, at this point, "Or maybe there are a couple no one wants, so you offer to take them, in exchange for one you /do/ want. So it all depends, I guess." Three weyrlings, and an assistant weyrlingmaster, though the latter's mouth is pulled rather to the side. It eases with her nod for K'del, though, and the second for A'stel. She leaves her own beat before summing it up with, "Making things work out." And elaborating, "Sometimes, it makes for good timing, or incentive, to swap senior riders too. Sometimes it's not even a swap, if a wing's got some more senior riders retiring. Likely, if someone's on the verge, their wingleader might want the decision made before the weyrlings are divvied up instead of after. Also depends on the makeup of the wing, whether they need a particular color or personality of dragon to fill things out. Who can work together. Who can't. Who can, a little too well. Or ties: wouldn't want father and son in the same wing, you know? Not without a real good reason. Got any other ideas? Other questions?" G'gor's up on the balls of his feet, bouncing slightly: ready to go pass it along to U'zin, no doubt. At least, if things /look/ done. "Politics," surmises K'del, evidently in less of a rush to break the discussion off than G'gor, though he's not pushing it. "Only, strategy, too. So... strategic politics. What works best, and how you're going to get it." He's clearly intrigued by this, his head nodding again and again as he works it all through in his head. "Probably you'd keep people in a relationship in different wings, too?" he surmises, though it turns up into a question at the end. One dirty hand reaches up to run through his short hair, a reflective gesture. "So that might be another reason for a swap." Head turning, he grins at G'gor, hand lifting slightly - he's nearly done, it's okay. "And tactics. Who goes into it with a hangover," though Leova might be joking. Hard to say. Certainly the corner of her mouth turns up just a touch, but that might be for his next question, or for Vrianth who's returned after torching the vegetation and getting rid of the remaining ash, and now hangs a smoky head over her shoulder to stare at the other three humans. A'stel retreats a little more, then mentions, "Going to clean up." There's his share of leftover firestone to wheel back in the barrow, too. G'gor stays... at least a little longer, grin or no grin. "And, you'd think. Back when we had Fall, anyway. Now? Not everyone cares as much, but there are still plenty old-school who /do/. Happens, though. People working together." She rubs her own cheek, hesitates, then reaches around to rub Vrianth's mirror-image. Gently. Hangover. Ah, yes. K'del nods, looks amused. After nodding in the direction of A'stel's retreating back, he turns his attention back to Leova, his eyes briefly shifting to consider Vrianth first. But still: Leova. "Ah," says the bronze weyrling, nodding, his hand dropping back behind him now that it has dirtied his hair so thoroughly. "S'what I thought," he adds, of people working together. "I suppose it doesn't matter so much now... But." His head nods. Old-school, yes. He's still watching, as she rubs her own cheek, then Vrianth's, his expression thoughtful. "Guess it just makes more sense, to me, to keep doing things properly. In case." And Vrianth doesn't so much as spin a single facet of those dark-sparked eyes towards Paelath, over there, but she /does/ slide her jaw through the caress to nose at G'gor's hair. Not the dirty hair. G'gor's just-a-little-smoky hair. At which point Paelath takes the bait, and all of a sudden that weyrling's excusing himself too. Success! Vrianth settles down, just one paw curling possessively around her rider's booted feet, and it's nothing Leova seems to mind. Anything but. "Properly," she repeats, like she's chewing it over. "Depends. You got a wing that happens to work real well, and a couple people get together but it don't make much difference toward the running of things except they want the same rest day, to one wingleader it might be worth it. Even if it means dealing with things when they go sour." No if. "Or the next couple who's more of a pain, but they say that so'n'so got to stay together, so why can't they. Back to what you all been learning about, hard-and-fast rules versus being flexible, you know?" "Possessive, much," remarks K'del thoughtfully, as he waves away G'gor and his green, watching them go with an honestly perplexed expression. Cadejoth takes this moment to pad back towards the remaining pair of riders and Vrianth, settling down on his haunches so he can watch, tail wagging, mental chains all a-clink again with happy exuberance. K'del rests a hand upon him, fond but vague, too busy listening to pay him too much attention. "Mmm," he agrees, half-heartedly. "Suppose that's why the Wingleader has to know to make decisions based on circumstances, not-- not the hard-and-fast. I get it. The hard decisions. The ones that might make people unhappy. But you have to, because it's better, overall." "She is, too," Leova says mildly. "Depending." She has another pat for Vrianth's cheek, too, slid into easy reach just when her hand's going up, just before the dragon turns dark eyes on Cadejoth. Perhaps she'll just have to pay him a little attention, then. "Don't think he'd mind if, say, you went flying on... Zunaeth? Or Rousath," this with an eye to how the tall weyrling might take /that/. "Way I see it, a real good wingleader can make the tough decisions but also help people like them. Or at least not hate them. Something to be said for hard-and-fast for some things, though: don't have to think. Like how each wing has its own place in the Bowl to fuel up in for a Fall, don't have to go negotiating, just already know where to go." As Vrianth's gaze settles upon Cadejoth, the bronze /leans/ forward, as if to pre-empt this with attention of his own. His mental chains are all of a clutter, again, and there's still some leftover spark from before, warming and /zinging/ the metal, which creeps out, curious and delighted all at the same time. "He would," admits K'del, suddenly bashful for this. "Not sure he'd mind another dragon /touching/ me, though. But... Mostly, they don't seem to do that." Not Vrianth, anyway, his tone seems to suggest, his gaze shifting to let him give the green a thoughtful glance. "That does make sense," he adds in, head nodding again. "/Respect/ them. At least that. I didn't know, that the wings did that. But it makes sense. I suppose they all tend to have favoured places for drills, too. Must take a while, for a Wingleader to work out what works best." At least Vrianth doesn't seem inclined to leap on K'del (and his dirty hair!) when he looks at her. She's in good color, her predominantly olive hue less flamboyant than most but gleaming with good health. No, she just sits there, could even seem prim as Paelath to one not privy to the swift back-and-forth between them. « /Would/ you mind? If I... touched your rider. Not that I wish to, » and the gravel of her voice is warm all over again with good humor, less sparks herself at the moment than a more subtly electrical current. Her rider? Slings an arm around Vrianth's neck and just leans. "Of course, respect. But if something more positive can be gotten, so much the better, hm? And... generally a wingleader's one of the 'seconds that are tapped, who's been a rider in the wing before that, who knows how things go. Who also knows not to change things up too fast. Gets riders cranky, change does." Wary, but not overwhelmingly so, K'del gives up his consideration of the green in order to focus upon her rider, nodding. "People liable to do better for you, if they /like/ you, as well as respect you, get that." Another nod, for the ascendancy of wingseconds. "Guess it would. If you're used to things being a certain way, and then they change on you." Cadejoth, now, performs the consideration of Vrianth, telling her, finally, « Touch? No. So long as he wasn't, like, cozying up to you (though /I/ could cozy up to you, I bet, and that'd be fine). Wouldn't like him /riding/ another dragon, though. Why would he need to, if he has me! » He's affable, in this, thoughts merry, chains slinking in a melody of their very own. "Wingleaders don't change very often, I guess. Or Wingseconds. Stick in, for a while. Long while. Could be a Wingsecond, and never a chance at Wingleader." "Think you respect them," Leova agrees, still leaning, head pressed against that smooth hide: enough to get some ash-smear on her cheek, not so much that she can't talk. Vrianth's meanwhile listening to Cadejoth, unhurriedly attentive, with just a bit of current threatening to spark (cozily?) across the bridge between her presence and the nearest of his chains. Until, « He should certainly not ride another, » she agrees, /that/ current much deeper and faster-moving, a strong sense of That would be Wrong that doesn't so much dissipate as submerge beneath the slink and clink of his chains. Still flowing. Somewhere. "Pretty much. You remember L'vae, Searched you and all... that don't happen much, getting tapped as fast as he did. And someone gets wingsecond under him, they're liable to stay there a long time, I reckon. Unless Fall comes back." A shudder escapes her, less in how she stands than the shiver of hide she touches: somewhere between apprehension and sweet anticipation. « No, » agrees Cadejoth, definite in this, agreeing with her assessment. « I don't like it when he does things I can't do. Or goes places. I wouldn't let him do that. No, no, no. » The threatening current is considered, not with apprehension, but eagerness, manifest in the twitching of those chains, the way they slink and twine, all connected. K'del has put his hand upon Cadejoth again, just letting it linger, though he makes no further motion to touch the bronze. "Suspected that was unusual," he agrees, with an eagerness that suggests he'd love for history to repeat itself, there. "he's so young." There's a pause, as Fall comes up again; uncertain, he nods, watching. "Guess that would change everything. Again. But it'll be stable-ish, without it." Vrianth's all too ready to agree, all but pouncing on the thought he reminds her of, her eyes whirling that much more rapidly and even her own tail beginning to flick at its tip: « Cadejoth, have you /seen/? Some riders have /little places/ in their weyrs. Where their dragons cannot fit, not even reach their paw in far enough, if they are needed. » Can such a thing be believed? It's that shared excitement (places! that they can't go!) that ignites a spark this time, aiming to make the leap, run pell-mell along that nearest chain and see where it could possibly lead. "Young for a wingleader," Vrianth's rider reminds, not ungently. "We were both twenty-odd when we were Searched." Only then she hesitates, looking off to the side, past the tall weyrling and his dragon both. "Just hope it'll be stable in a good way. That's all. Hard on some, still." This thought of Vrianth's seems to stir a memory, in Cadejoth, who mulls over it, stretching it bare, as wide and thin as it will go, while his chains buzz and spark, the recipient of Vrianth's electricity. « Yes! » he agrees, then, having come to some kind of a conclusion. « Though mostly not /quite/ that small. Uanth has a-- » He projects the image, instead, of a staircase leading up to a tiny, child-sized alcove. « And K'del has a hole in the ground. » But the image that follows indicates that it's big enough for Cadejoth's paw, at least. « I wish I could see! It isn't right, that they have places we can't get to. Even the /caverns/. » How dare they, go in there, leave their lifemates behind. "For a Wingleader, yes, that's what I meant," K'del says, accepting the correction with an earnest nod of his head. "I suppose being older makes a difference. Even if you haven't been a rider long." His gaze follows her look off to the side, and he shrugs. "Change is always hard on some. Gotta move with it, though. Re-configure things. Make it work." "It can." And Leova has a nod for that /change/, shifts from foot to foot, restless as that green paw reaches further around her shins and then up to her knees, getting a pat for its trouble. Except. "How do you reckon you and H'tram are getting along, these days?" After a second pat, more of a caress this time, Vrianth quits her illustration of /reaching/ in favor of arched-back twisty-tail why-don't-we-go-fly. She will, at any rate, and apparently the younger dragon is also welcome, for even as she pivots around and leaps skyward her mental touch is as close as ever. Those sparks ride the metal rails in dips and swoops, « So /tiny/. I went into some of their caverns, when I was younger. Smaller. » Her Leova remembers, and so does she. Higher, lifting up onto the morning wind, « Our weyr has no place that is too small to reach. If I am... careful. » K'del, busy nodding along to Leova's nod, stops abruptly at mention of H'tram, his lips pulling in, pursed, his expression both surprised and considering. His distraction sends his hand flying, caught out, as Cadejoth shoves himself bodily into the sky after the green, in no way intending on missing out on this new fun, chains spinning and twirling, bones shaking with glee. « I did, too, » confirms Cadejoth, with the lingering sense of one of K'del's memories - of his howling, unhappy self, refusing to be left behind, though the bronze adds in his own note of I'm-sure-it-was-never-quite-like-that. « If you are careful? There are places that are nearly too hard to get to? » Shoving his hand behind him again, K'del finally manages to answer the question. "Guess we're okay. Maybe. Don't really talk, much. He's a lot older than I am. Reckon he still blames me for," a hand runs through his hair again. "Why?" Even as she soars higher yet, slowing slightly for the weyrling's benefit as she veers out over the Rim and towards the rising sun, Vrianth can still regard this memory Cadejoth confides. Darken and lengthen its shadow. Whiten and lengthen its fangs. Add a little reverb on the howl. Perhaps, more like that? « We have... breakables. » That Vrianth chooses not to break, apparently. A table. Five chairs, all different. Wooden carvings, set upon a shelf. A bowl. Possibly more, but Rukbat's stronger light casts them all into sudden shadow. Leova's eyes narrow at that same relayed light, less surprised than the weyrling at their dragons' sudden departure but still taking a moment to get back to where they were. H'tram. All that. She brushes /her/ fingertips through /her/ hair, short as his or maybe shorter, her smile reappearing for a moment, wry. "Was curious. When we were in your shoes, got real close, the five of us. Was harder on Lu, I think, since she had to work extra like us but had different things to learn... Anyhow, went different ways. Reckon we still got each other's back, though. Guess we'll see what happens with yours." It's a shift in the memory that Cadejoth can accept, even embrace - like that, if you like. Like enough. Not now. K'del can go into caverns, /now/. If he wants. Though, really... Why would he? When there's so much outside to love? « It's bad to break things, » he agrees. « K'del gets upset, if my tail goes whoopsy, so I try to be really, really careful with them. » Honest curiosity marks his consideration of what the green shares, particularly for the carvings on the shelf - « Little things! » - but the thrill of flight, too, distracts him. Up! "Ah," K'del says, fingers twining behind his back again. "Mostly... Maybe it was because I came later, but still. We do get along. We talk. Must be strange, when you stop being a weyrling, and having-- /your/ class. Got to get used to a wing. Different." "L'vae came later too, if it's any consolation. Was after one of the whole-group politics lectures. Crom," Leova supplies. "And it was. Got particular wings you're eyeing, yet?" Her eyes track upward, then, her head tilting back, following. "And... ask him to be careful around those spires, would you. Asked /her/, but she says he wants to, and why shouldn't they." Around and around and around they go, and where they stop... Vrianth's turns are loose, easy but not simple, designed to be enticing to follow. « He should keep his breakables out of reach of your tail, Cadejoth, » /she/ suggests: only fair, after all. And then she turns again, leaving breakables (carvings!) be for now. Maybe later. This turn is /sharp/. This piece of information seems to please K'del, though aside from the way his posture straightens just slightly, it would be hard to see it - his expression remains, ultimately, unchanged. "Can't get it right all the time," he says, in a very even, casual tone. Looking up, to the dragons high above in the early morning sky, he grins. "He says he's fine. As for your question..." Head tilted, he shrugs. "Maybe Iceberg. Or... Avalanche. /Not/ Hailstorm - don't think B'ren likes me much, and Cadejoth'd freak over the politics." The focus has returned to Cadejoth's mind, an almost single-minded dedication pushing him on through each of Vrianth's turns, utterly enticed. His are looser still, focus not quite enough to provide /control/ - a few times, he gets perilously close to those spires, but always, always, he saves himself at the last moment. Such fun! « He should! But sometimes I just want to /move/, and then my tail gets in the way. Of his things. And then he gets mad, because he told me not to. » There's resignation in his tone, though: ah, such is life. And, anyway: turns! Flying! Fun! She has a slight chuckle for that, barely more audible than the hungry-belly-growl that succeeds it, that makes her gaze flick momentarily downward. Just that moment, and then up again, but to the young man's expression rather than the sky. Wings. "Steady group, Iceberg," she says. And: "Not the Weyrleader's wing, hm?" Weyrleader's wing. Wyaeth could be lording it over the Star Stones even now, one of his favorite haunts, but Vrianth doesn't look. Not for more than a glance, at least, being rather more engrossed in sending young Cadejoth a warm pulse of energy for every just-close-enough turn he makes. Now she loops around invisible spires, her path as particular as though they truly existed, as though nicking a wingtip on one of them could possibly be as dangerous. « If his things were not in the way, then they would not be in danger, now would they. If he will not, perhaps /we/ should... move them. » Someday. When they get bored of flying. Which will never happen, not if her exuberant roll has anything to do with it. It's enough to make her rider give the skies a transparently wistful glance, then murmur something about better-get-breakfast-before-it's-gone. "Normally, maybe," shrugs K'del. "Like the sound of the... prestige of that. But. Don't know the Weyrleader that much, and most of the people I've talked to don't like him much at all. So." It's said in a low voice, careful not to carry, though there aren't really many people about yet to overhear. Still. Cadejoth has no time to glance anywhere but where he's going, and every so often, at the green, truly glowing with her encouragement, his bones and chains ringing out. He follows, as best he can, reigning in his tail, his wings, pulling tight to get him past those invisible spires. « Move them? » His mind is alight, alive, with this idea. « Yes! And then there would be no problems. He can put his things in the cave. Where I can't reach them anyway. » Such a good idea, Vrianth - so clever! He doesn't manage to match that roll, but oh, he dives anyway, soars up. "Mm," agrees K'del. "And wash up. Thanks." For the lesson, the talk? Whichever. Something about how he's lowered his voice narrows her eyes in response, and then Leova says as quietly, "Reckon those who're his sort of man, they get along real well. But. Meantime, glad you're keeping it to yourself." Or her. She sticks her hands in her pockets, a fulcrum over which to sway her shoulders slightly forward, back. But in the end all she says is, "You know where to find us." Tips a nod towards the last of the firestone, left for him to wheel back. And aims for the lower caverns, her stride set to lengthen as she goes. Vrianth? For Cadejoth's acknowledgement of the spires' existence (and that so-responsive glow! and undoubtedly his so-clever...), she sends a loop of current for him to fly right through, to burst into many-colored sparks all about him like how the smiths light up the sky at the largest of Gathers. And then she turns the tables. Literally turns, with a swoop that threatens to ride right up on his tail: while their riders are busy with more earthbound things, he can fly, show her just the way /he/ likes. And she'll, if not always follow, certainly see. "Guess I wouldn't really know if I am or not. Only ever really seen him in-- Wingleader meetings, and the like. You know? So." He breaks off this train of thought to confirm, with a nod, the need for keeping it to himself, expression rueful. A second nod, quicker, confirms her next statement: yes, he knows where to find them, and probably it's a goodbye, as well, as he shuffles on to start gathering up the firestone to wheel back, pausing only to glance upwards again, at the dragons. Cadejoth soars through Vrianth's loop of current, enthusing in every possible way about those brilliant sparks, clattering about him. Her turn catches him by surprise, has him scattering just out of the way. Show her? He can do that - and there, /off/ he goes again, up, higher and higher, as much speed as he can manage, free and about as graceful as a limb-waving child in freefall, only he can control it, push away, dive again. See? See! |
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