Logs:Reflection
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| RL Date: 21 January, 2013 |
| Who: Brieli, Z'ian |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Z'ian, sort of drunk, kind of moody. Brieli, sort of tired, maybe sick. A very low-key conversation. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 11, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
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| Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black. The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat. It's late, really. There are no eggs on the sands and no reason for any person to be around now, given that there isn't exactly a lot to see. But Z'ian is in the tiers, resting on the lowest level of the galleries. It's chilly everywhere else in the area, but the heat given off from the ground keeps the place pleasantly warm in spite of the brisk wind that blows through. Anyone that gets particularly close to the bronzerider sitting alone out here in the dark is likely to pick up the faint smell of alcohol. He's been drinking, but he doesn't smell like the floor of a bar so that's probably something at least. And he's not causing trouble or bothering anyone, just sitting alone, staring over the rail. Late night in the galleries is something some people are well-accustomed to even if there's nothing to see; there's always some shadowy shapes up in the top tiers of seats, taking advantage of a somewhat deserted cavern to spend some quality time together, there's a few others taking advantage of the solitude and warmth in the chill weather, scattered here and there. Brieli has her reasons for knowing the galleries well in the dark - when she comes up from the bowl, the dark young woman's quiet steps are sure, and she's bright enough to take a good few beats to let her eyes adjust at the entrance before picking her way through the seats. Even if it gives everyone else a chance to note her here. Can't be helped. Though she casts a glance up to the cheap seats with a quirk of her lips, she doesn't climb up, but down. In the hushed atmosphere of the galleries, the intrusion of any noise is not something that goes unnoticed. No matter how quiet. Z'ian, despite maybe being somewhat inebriated has the sense to shift position when he hears those footsteps. He twists around to look up, arms still hanging out over the rails as he strains his eyes to look over at the weyrwoman. It's possible that he recognizes her despite the dim lighting; it's equally possible that her form just looks sort of familiar until she gets closer for him to really see. Either way, he lifts one hand up to give Brieli a polite wave and offer a hushed, "Evening." There isn't any reason to scare the make-out kids in the upper tiers or the other strangers scattered about by talking loudly. Taking her time in approaching, Brieli could be nothing but a tall, long limbed shadowy figure for a little bit, especially given she doesn't return the greeting, won't give voice to shape until she's thrown herself into a seat nearby Z'ian. "Evening," she returns finally, as lowly - it is quiet - flicking dark curls out from under the collar of her coat. Glancing over, kicking boots up on the railing to cross at the ankle, "What has you drinking in here, specifically? Interesting choice." The gap of time between his greeting and her response leaves him with the opportunity to turn back around. He keeps watch over the empty sands until she falls into the seat next to him. It's then that he glances at her, watching the goldrider from the corner of his eye. Her question prompts a quiet laugh from Z'ian and he untangles himself from the railing. Sitting back, "I did my drinking elsewhere. This just seemed like a good place to come and think afterwards." Slouching down into her jacket comfortably, hands in pockets, Brieli will also look out over the cavern, after a sidelong glance for the bronzerider, only mildly curious. "Generally, people don't come up with their best ideas after drinking. Just throwing that out there," she notes, dryly. Now that she's sitting, closer, she doesn't exactly look tired, but maybe she's just woken from a nap, dark eyes not quite open, less perfect, more tousled. "Interested in sharing your thoughts? Or is it personal?" The emphasis isn't mocking; she won't pry where she'd rather others didn't. Mostly. "Who says that I'm looking to come up with any ideas?" Z'ian replies, questioning as he directs a slow, wry smile to her. He exhales and leans back into his seat, pulling his jacket closer around him. "I guess that some of it is personal." His expression turns thoughtful and he continues to casually watch her along the periphery of his vision, not turning to face her yet. "The rest of it's all... where has the time gone? Sort of crap. Where are we now? Where are we going?" His lips curve and he looks rueful. "It's only uncomfortable in that it's things that I avoid thinking about most of the time. Seems like self-indulgent bullshittery. What about you, what's pulled you out here?" "That's what tends to happen, when one thinks. Ideas. With Iesaryth, they're fish, under the waves." Brieli looses a slender hand from her pocket to mime a fish - presumably - swimming through the water. "Fish-thoughts. I wonder if it makes them easier to keep track of." If she's noticing that Z'ian's watching her, she appears quite unaware of it, her expression neutral enough, but for a quirk of her mouth. "Are you on a deadline? Time... things take as long as they take. I don't like patience, but it's better to practice it than not. Better to think about things than not too. Otherwise... they find ways to make you." Hand slipping back in her pocket, shrugging, "I used to spend a lot of time in here. With Iolene, and when I was a weyrling. Before I had a weyr." "I think my dragon got wired wrong in the egg sometimes." Z'ian comments, the type of comment that seems random until he clarifies. "I hear from other riders how their dragons think in images or whatever. Tsanth is more a feeling and lots of words. The chattering, it's like having a second set of running thoughts sometimes." He taps the side of his head and smiles, shrugging his shoulders. He laughs again, a quiet sort of affair and folds his arms over. "No, it's not a deadline. It's a reflection." More seriously regarding her for her words on patience, "You talk like you're a lot older than you really are. Life?" It's not prying; it could be a yes or no answer. She answers his question and he dips his chin down, adding a quick, "Me too. And somehow I drifted away from it." With a slight smile, "Oh, she'll talk, too. She thinks about too many things at once for me to know everything she's thinking about, though." Brieli sounds like she's convinced Iesaryth is smarter than she is, and is comfortable with that - better to accept it than not, yes? She flickers a look over at Z'ian for more serious regard, arching fine brows a touch, as if she doesn't quite know what he's talking about. "Doesn't life kick everyone around? I spend time listening, so I don't make mistakes other people have." It's a good deflection, but one nonetheless. Glancing up towards the upper tiers, amused, "Well, I know where I drifted when I got my own place." "Sometimes I wish it weren't so directed at my attention. But I'm usually very tired when I start to make those wishes, so I generally just go to sleep." Being unconscious, some say that it's the poor man's vacation. Z'ian doesn't look like he's ready to go on vacation quite yet though; he's still looking relatively alert while they talk. It's a deflection and while it might not change his opinion, it slows him. "Sure it does. I guess you just don't notice it then." It's clear by the way he shifts to the next topic that he's not exactly expecting her to respond to that last. He follows her glance upwards and lifts an eyebrow. "Yeah? I'm sure I could re-trace my steps but I'm not so sure I want to." It's not depressing now, just wry amusement in his voice. Brieli has to admit, "She doesn't need much of my attention. There's that. She's always something to occupy herself with. Even if it's sleeping." That last is a little wry; as she turns back from the shadowed galleries, her eyes narrow a touch on her boots, still kicked up on the rail. Leaning forward to rub a barely perceptible smudge off one of the toes, her words are quiet. "Depends on how hard it kicks, I suppose. Hard enough, easy to notice." But the amusement is enough for her to glance back Z'ian's way with a bit of a grin, noting, "It's a lot of stairs. Better to avoid the whole thing if you can." "You seem tough. I figure it takes a pretty big kick for you." Z'ian decides, stretching his long legs out and catching them onto the rail. He tips the back of his head onto the chair and stares up. What she says makes him laugh, just a touch louder than the volume they've been speaking at. "Oh, woman. You've got no idea how many steps there are to that staircase. For me anyway." He exhales harshly and purses his lips, drawing his mouth to one side. "You're right, better to avoid it if I can." Tonight he's comfortable allowing silence to seep into their conversation. But before it draws out too long, "And how are you doing?" Once her boots are sufficiently de-smudged to her liking, Brieli resettles herself back in her seat, still looking across, more at the ledges than the crest of sand that's likely all in her vision. "Maybe now," she'll allow. "Maybe it depends. Better to avoid it if you can too." She turns slightly at his laugh, fine brows rising - but as she looks away again, she points out, "You're not that old. I know I'm supposed to say the opposite, but." There's no issues the goldrider has with silence; she doesn't jump to fill it, instead sitting companionably enough, eventually rummaging through her inner pockets for something. "I'm tired, honestly. I'm wondering if I'm coming down with something. I'm concerned. Well enough, otherwise. It could be worse." "It's not being old, it's feeling old. But that's not what I was laughing about anyway." Whatever it was, Z'ian still finds it at least marginally funny because his pursed lips are finding their way into a smirk. Unfolding his arms, he slips them back to lock his fingers behind his head and cradle it against the back of the chair. He turns slightly, looking at Brieli with his eyebrows furrowing just a touch. "If you're concerned, maybe you should go down to the infirmary." There's some hedging concern, just touching the outer tones of his voice. The last comes teasingly, "Or not sit outside in the middle of the night." "What's the point in feeling it before you are? You will be soon enough." There's a diffident little shrug - Brieli's not too invested in this particular argument, given she's all of about twenty, but she might have a point there. And she finds what she was looking for - a slender flask, big surprise there. She might give Z'ian's smirk the side-eye while she's uncapping it, but she doesn't ask. After a sip, "I'll give it a few days. Nothing's going around, as far as I've heard. It's not like when Jo and Leova brought back the plague. And it's hot in here." And cold outside, and the goldrider does have a thing for short skirts in bad weather. Fashion before comfort. Flask in hand, "I'd offer you some, but I could be contagious. Virulent." "It's not on purpose." Z'ian begins, taking a breath. It might seem like he's about to launch into an explanation but he doesn't go there, maybe he does realize who he's talking to. He settles for a simple and uncharacteristic, "Get back to me in ten turns." It's then that he begins to unhook his heels from around the railing and drag himself into a sitting position. The bronzerider flickers his gaze down to the flask in her hand before sending an assessing look towards her face. "Don't worry about it. Try to keep yourself out of trouble, yeah? Tsanth is calling." He's a flash of smile, more himself as he gets to his feet and hurriedly disappears down the rest of the stairs to the bowl. There's little room left for farewell. There's a laugh for that last, for some reason, as Brieli waves after Z'ian languidly. Keep yourself out of trouble. Right. |
Comments
Comments on "Logs:Reflection"Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Tue, 22 Jan 2013 07:56:09 GMT.
Aaaah. With all the craziness going on, a log like this is both relaxing and entertaining!
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