Logs:Ready Or Not
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| RL Date: 16 January, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist, G'laer, Lythronath, Teisyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Wingleader A'rist corners another weyrling. This one doesn't go between to get away from him. |
| Where: Teisyth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 10, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Miravea/Mentions, Rh'mis/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated a smidge. |
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| Teisyth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr A broad and welcoming ledge, wide enough to accommodate two medium-sized dragons slants slightly towards the Bowl, turns of landings on its edge having worn the stone down to a smooth finish. Along one side of the ledge a rocky outcropping hugs the outward curve of the ledge, providing some shelter against wind and rain for a tiny terraced garden. Currently, the beds contain a variety of herbs, sturdy plants that in the right season give off the heady scents of sage, rosemary and thyme. The wide maw of the weyr opens up onto a fairly standard couch-space, with hooks in the walls and a storage container for dragon-care equipment. A sturdy woolen curtain separates couch from weyr to keep out the elements.
A'rist still wears his silver thread - for now - when he dismounts from Lythronath, freshly arrived on the ledge. Lythronath barely waits before he's barging in to find Teisyth. A'rist is at least a little more subtle, going to the weyr's entrance, and waiting until that arrow has completed its flight before he announces himself with, "G'laer, if you've got a sec." Well, it's not the sound of A'rist's approach that causes the arrow to veer off and into G'laer's bed frame. Azure eyes set first upon Lythronath, who Teisyth greets with an enthusiastic honk-bugle as she starts to rise from her unladylike sprawl. Probably, under other circumstances, the arrow would've flown true, but the way the green is greeting the bronze... well, that exuberance is probably really what surprised him. He turns fully now to face A'rist, letting the bow touch ground between his toes. "I do." And then he waits. As usual. A'rist stands up straighter, and looks in the direction of Teisyth's couch. Where his bronze is making to nudge her over with repeated headbutting, to give himself room to stretch out. "I was wondering how your dragon's been. She wasn't herself with flaming, was she?" G'laer's head tilts to one side, regarding the shorter weyrling, expression mostly neutral but with a flavoring of thoughtful. "She was herself," The greenrider says after a moment, "But herself when it comes to flaming isn't what it ought to be." There's a brief gesture toward his shoulder as though to explain: where the thread is not. "We're still working on it. The flaming." And hopefully G'laer won't have to endure too many more scorchings before they start to get it right. Teisyth, who readily shifts over to make room for Lythronath, who might sort of fit now, but who one day will certainly not, has seemed back to her bouncy confident self in the past seven or so, except at flaming drills. "Oh." The explanation is accepted readily enough, though it doesn't stop A'rist from sending another thoughtful look in the green's direction. Or, the bronze's, since Lythronath's flopping down like he owns the (far too small) place. "So are you worried about her, then? With between coming up?" If only Teisyth wasn't so keen to share everything she has, she might object to the pretended ownership, but why? When it's so much nicer together! The way she shifts accommodatingly has G'laer looking their direction. "Yes." Plain. "She's not ready." Beat. "She can't stop embellishing the visualization images." He reaches up a hand to rub fingers at temple and brow, like just thinking about it gives him a headache. "She'll be ready when, and only when, she can get the image right and hold it in her mind for as long as is needed." It might distress Teisyth to hear G'laer talking like this, but Lythronath is very distracting! At least for the moment. A'rist frowns, heavily, thoughtfully. Lythronath stretches out his neck a bit more, and holds his wings back, and makes his shoulders good and easy to get to. Just not sayin'. One eye whirls as it focuses in on the green - or, what he can make out of her. "I know you won't do anything stupid." That frown deepens. "And I know you'll work with her," has a hint more suggestion in it, though it's mostly confident, still. A'rist's fingers twitch, but he stays in that same posture he'd assumed at the beginning of the conversation. "Would you tell me when you're ready, then? The two of you?" Oh, look! Shoulders! Teisyth knows what to do with shoulders. Even if she starts with an intentional tickle. "Don't have much of a choice. Just need to find something more compelling to say than, 'No, Teisyth, don't draw extra flowers in the garden. Don't put avians in the sky. No, don't draw yourself in a treat for when you arrive.'" G'laer's eyes briefly roll at the green before coming back to the bronzerider. "I'll tell you when I think we are." He's not so confident in his own assessments as to say he'll know for certain. "But it's not yet." "She's not excited about just... going? Lythronath, when we really think on it, it's like all he wants." Except right now, more than that, he wants a massage. Which is why, even with a wing having twitched at that initial touch, the bronze is just lying there. « Good. » "But yeah. Just... let me know." And, with his expression taking a turn for the moody, "No point in rushing, either." "Well," G'laer considers the dragon and taps the end of the bow lightly against the floor before he steps through it and shifts to bend it and remove the string as he says, "She does sneak over to Rosvelth's ledge late at night when she thinks I'm asleep to hear him tell about the jump to Nabol. But I don't think you're in any danger of her wanting to do it. Mostly, she doesn't want to let me down, or you, or anyone. And she trusts my judgment enough to know she stands a better chance of letting people down than making me proud if she doesn't do it properly. It's likely out of curiosity, or perhaps politeness that the older man then asks, "Do you think he's ready?" A'rist scrunches up just about all the muscles in his face, while it goes a little pink. "I'm sure she does," is a bit dark. He brings his arms up in front of him, and takes a step away from the wall, that he'd not quite been hugging. "He's ready," the bronzerider confirms, the look sent to his dragon one of frustrated pride. "We're both ready." It has the sense of a rite of passage, though A'rist doesn't elaborate. "You want to talk about it?" G'laer asks as he pulls the bow back into hand and slips the quiver from his back. "Not the being ready part." The Rosvelth part. Unlike a lot of people, it's not a coaxing invitation to talk, it's simply exactly what it seems: he can if he wants, but if he doesn't, no one gets their little squishy hearts hurt over it. "Really don't," A'rist answers him, honestly, and rather abruptly. Now, he takes a step back, and looks expectantly to his dragon. "Let me know, though. About you and Teisyth, 'kay?" Lythronath, he grunt-growls something and stretches his front legs. "Ok." No complaints from G'laer on either score. But. Lynner... going? Not if Teisyth can help it as she shifts to make her massage better. And if it just so happens to flop some of her weight on top of him so getting up becomes that much harder... oopsie daisy! A'rist gives Lythronath a long-suffering sort of look, while Lythronath, ooooh, Lythronath likes when she rubs that spot right there. In non-rider company, such a long stare from rider to dragon might be awkward; surely other riders are used to this sort of thing, though. At the end, it yields, "Sveianth can come grab me. Don't... let me interrupt you too much. I can hang out on the ledge, that's fine." Sometimes, even A'rists need quiet time. G'laer looks from dragons to man and shrugs his shoulders. "Suit yourself. Door's open." Since there's no actual door, it must be the figurative one which invites A'rist to follow G'laer inside as he moves in to first collect the arrow from his bed and then put bow and quiver in what must be their still-temporary home. "I know it is," the boy answers, quietly. But still, he leaves G'laer to his things, and turns to head out onto the ledge. There's not even picking or peeking at the garden out there. No, A'rist just sits, and waits, and when Sveianth and Miravea show up, they don't even get much beyond a smile and a few pleasantries. Lythronath might call it 'upset A'rist', but Lythronath... he's busy falling asleep under Teisyth's ministrations. To each his own. |
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