Logs:Scarring
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| RL Date: 16 April, 2015 |
| Who: A'rist, Alida |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: During a bender, Alida and A'rist share thoughts of Azaylia. Ilicaeth and Lythronath? Not so much. |
| Where: HRW Rider's Lounge |
| When: Day 22, Month 7, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Windy, stormy night. 78 F. |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Please feel free to change your char's icons if they don't suit you, A'rist! :) |
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| It might be weeks after that horrible day, but still, many riders can be seen drowning their continued sorrows in and out of the Weyr. Tonight, Alida's one of those seeking solace in the bottle, the blonde seated as far back in the Lounge as she can be, her back to a wall...and a miasma of darker emotions practically blanketing the air around her. She's in good company, though: enough of the other riders in here tonight are also drinking heavily. Some are loud and at times somewhat teary-eyed as they remember Azaylia and Hraedhyth, while others scowl or keep silent in their grief. A'rist was not one of those who'd been teary-eyed, nor one being loud. Well. Not at first. He was one leaning over the table and talking to a greenrider, one whose green Lythronath has flown several times now. It had been going well. Those who'd been watching them even would've seen him have the invite. And then, next, would have seen his back stiffen in his seat, and a glare go out towards, past, the ledge. The greenrider says something uncharitable. A'rist is left to his own devices, a mostly-finished glass of whiskey his only companion, other than the one causing trouble outside. Usually, someone like Alida would remain alone in their grief, nurture it like a festering crush, but suddenly, the woman feels terribly alone. Not in the way most dragonless humans are - Ilicaeth's always with her - but without another human someone. No more Azaylia...her unadmitted friend. It causes such a flood of emotions within the blonde that - perched upon the Rim - Ilicaeth gives voice to a startled, sick sound that wrenches the summer's night air: a mix of grief, anger, bereavement, and confusion...his huge wings half-spreading as if to hurl him to the sky. The blue's eyes whirl an intense mix of many colors as he remains perched there - now having to reassure some of the other dragons nearby (brusquely, of course) that he's handling it fine on his own - but, honestly, he misses his dam as much as Alida does Azaylia, and such sentiment is shown in a slumping of his strong shoulders and a look down towards where that damned bazzar used to sit in the Bowl. Inside, his rider cuts off her own muffled groan, and suddenly lurches to her feet - swiping up whiskey bottle and shot glass in hands - and carefully steps towards...somewhere. Somewhere that contains more humans...somewhere that happens to be towards A'rist. Squint. Lythronath leaves the green's ledge, where he'd been resting, leaves under duress, under A'rist's press. But not before he can roar back to that blue, the sound loud and without shape, but the thought behind it strong enough to manifest into one word: « Quiet! » He wings away, wings for his own ledge, where some of the bones that were one Hraedhyth's can now be found. He sets to scarring the stone. Soon, there's like to be fresh blood to spread. Better herdbeast, even if the population is only recovering, than dragon's ichor. A'rist finally can push back away, once his dragon is elsewhere. It brings his attention to the approaching bluerider. And her squint. "What." « Fuck off... » is returned instantly by Ilicaeth - without much rancor, though, given how shitty he and his rider feel - but the thought is there, seen in a lessening of grey within faceted eyes in favor of orange... for a few seconds, anyway. If Lythronath needs instructions on how to 'fuck off,' there's a quick image sent of the bestial bronze trying to mate with himself as he hurtles in a ball through the sky. Coppery claws unsheath, grip tightly at the rocky Rim for some moments, and then practically 'snick' back into hidden quiescence, once more. Inside, Alida gives a low burp that's partially blocked with the back of her shot-glass-bearing hand, then regards A'rist silently for a few moments before answering, "Look like you need a drink." Have a shot, on her. The woman's words are still rather clear, though slower and softer than normal, her hands partially lifting shot glass and half-full bottle of dark liquid towards the bronzer. Just like that, A'rist is back to not paying attention to Alida. His teeth are gritted. His eyes are almost closed. He knows the bluerider is there, though, speaking to her through his teeth, "Don't let him do that right now." Lythronath roars back up to the rim from his ledge, and bobs his head, and gnashes his teeth, but he doesn't take flight. Not yet. The bottle, the burp, none of that's really registered. Huh? Oh...him. For some long seconds, Alida assumes 'the look' all riders get at some points, her own blue wrestling with her for some moments before he grumbles and resumes his more private grief. Even so, the blue's slightly manteling stance continues, though his wings now try to cover him from the sight of others, those strange 'eyes' on them seeming to watch, anyway. Inside, what A'rist might notice is the slow pressing of that bottle to Alida's brow, and the softest of sudden breath intakes, follwed by a disheartening sigh. "I need a drink..." is mumbled automatically, the blonde shifting her stance so she can pour herself a half-a-shot with slightly shakey hands, then toss it back without a blink. Smells pretty potent. This time, it takes A'rist longer to even start to stand down. He doesn't really get far into it, tensed again, sitting upright again, though his dark eyes have come to focus on the woman across from him. "Sure," said in answer to her own statement, her own need. He reaches for his glass and finishes what's in it, not much tasting it, it seems, though he does have to lick at some bits that try to escape the numbed corners of his mouth. "I can join you." That empty glass is pushed over to her. He stares, alert. Lythronath keeps wrecking up the place. Not those bones, though. Not those. "Don't mind if I do..." is huffed out breathily to A'rist's 'sure,' Alida blinking a little as the stinging alcohol makes her eyes water some. Once the younger man's glass if clear of his face, she's pouring it a quarter - no, make it a third - full, and inviting the bronzerider to, "Drink up. Good fer ya." Once done with that task, slightly reddened green eyes meet A'rist's gaze, the bluie muttering low, "Didja' keep anythin'?" Huh? A'rist looks down to his filled glass, and then back up to Alida. He grasps the glass. "Lythronath's got scars," says the bronzerider matter-of-factly. "Don't think they're going anywhere anytime soon." Only now is that glass actually lifted. He doesn't bother sniffing at it; he could smell it from where he was just fine. He doesn't manage to do it all at one go. And he grimaces when the liquor goes down his throat, all hot and tingly. It's telling behavior, that glancing down of his - even to a drunk Alida - but she goes with it, her braided head bobbing once before she murmurs, "Ilicaeth, too. Says she wrote her life inta' 'is hide." A sudden lift of her shot glass to the air in honor of Hrae lets the woman discover it's empty, and with a lip-twist she fixes that right away...only a couple of precious drops spilled. Down the hatch! To A'rist again, though quietly this time, "I took a few...mementos." Nod. "Lythronath's got scars," repeats A'rist, "because he and Hraedhyth would play rough." It's abrupt, matter-of-fact, hard. "It wasn't about life." As to Alida's momentos... the bronzerider lifts his glass for more of that godawful hooch, and lifts his eyebrows. That can be read as an invitation if she wants to tell him. Maybe it even is. "So does Ilicaeth..." Alida also repeats, but factoring in an insistent, "...from him an' Hrae tusselin' on many occasions." Another soft burp ends in more pourage of that rotgut whiskey into A'rist's glass, plus a casual, "Sure it was. She was alive, gougin' 'er claws inta 'is hide, an' he hers." Affirmation of living: pain....which the bluerider is currently trying to short-circuit via alcohol. To those raised brows, the bluie offers a sly grin, plus a sing-songed alto, "I tell mine if you tell yEeeeeerrrs." Wink, drink. A'rist answers all that with a flat, even borderline threatening expression. But all he does is set his glass down on the table, and twist it back and forth, slowly, in its place. "See," comes back to her offer, eyes narrowing a tiny bit, "thing with us was, it was a thing we understood. Her and me. Her and him." Period, says the finality in his voice, the refusal to share, the glare on his face. "Spoil-sport..." Alida announces with a shit-eating smirk of A'rist, the woman apparently not a whit concerned about his expression or that pugnaciousness. Pot, meet kettle. There's a sudden shrug, and another sudden pouring and drinking of half a shot as something within pains her. Not quite totally numb, yet. Softly, so as to be sure she's not heard by anyone - maybe not even A'rist? - the bluerider whispers in liquor-laced breath, "She was...I was..." She's too blitzed to bother to redden, at this point. "I *wanted* 'er." Burp. "But I figured she wasn' inta women, aside from Flights." A small drop of chin to chest soon has the bluie murmuring once again, "So she was somethin' like my aunt...sister, I guess." Now that is information A'rist doesn't know what to do with. It sends an eyebrow arching, and gets the edge of his mouth to curl downwards. The bronzerider doesn't give any vocalisation to his hesitation, but there's a marked pause nonetheless, before he reaches for his glass to finish its contents. "Yeah, don't think she was," is the best he can come up with at the end. The hand not busy with liquor reaches up over his shoulder, to scratch at his back. Greens can't help but notice the bronzer's reaction to her statements, Alida finding A'rist much more interesting that her own drunken admission, right now. His next words remaind her, though, and the blonde leans in a little to insist quietly, "This is b'tween us, mind ya. I keep secrets good...an' I figure you do, too." Right? A'rist shrugs a little at that. "Sure. Don't think you're the only one, though." It's still spoken quickly, curtly. Other cards are kept close to his chest. And although his glass is empty, he doesn't go looking for a refill. He just keeps on twisting at it. That twisting reminds her to pour him another third. Thank goodness he's got a glass, because Alida sloshes the potent whiskey a little as she dispenses it. Blink. "Only one? What; wanna-be lover, 'r secrets?" A look to her own empty shot glass has the woman suddenly eyeing her own hands, and announcing to herself, "Close." To her limit. Belch. "Only girl who thought that way about her," A'rist answers, stilling his glass long enough to watch it filled, though now he doesn't lift it to his lips. He leans a bit into his chair, but his back won't relax. Still, Lythronath is on the ledge, and although the tearing and clawing has died down some... still. "Yeah, I figured. Likely Taikrin, maybe Jo...others," Alida murmurs, then correcting A'rist with a small point of finger and a smirky, "*I'm* not a girl." Beat. "Woman." Another point in the vague direction of the candidate barracks (though how could A'rist know that?) presages a clipped, "Girls." Thumb-jerk to her upper chest. "Woman." Blinking a few times, and noting that stiff back of his after a few moments (damned guard!), the blonde mumbles, "One more'll take care uv' that." Beat. "'R a good massage." 'Others' receives a bit of a nod from the bronzerider. He eyes that brown liquid in his glass. He looks in the general direction where Alida is pointing, but only sees so far as the lounge. "Can't," is decided with some finality, and he pushes back that glass, even full, sloshing a little. "And don't feel much like you're offering." Which is probably why he's standing up. Blink, peer. "Why n..." Oh. He did ask her to pull Ilicaeth out of Lythronath's influence, earlier. "Oh. Yeah. *Him*." Huh? Alida hesitates for a moment, and then rather suddenly shrugs, and notes directly to A'rist, "Why not? Been told I got good hands." Grin. "You don't wanna go there right now," A'rist says, simply. "Besides, I'm not as pretty as Zay was." There's emotion there, at the end, and it makes his face tic. And that makes him grunt and nod and leave. Right away. Lythronath meets him on the ledge. "Okay..." Alida allows with a small shrug, the moving-towards-blitzed woman just accepting A'rist's words as canon, right now, her own brain in 'live for the moment' mode. "No..." is murmured to the young man's words of Zay, his facial tic making her suddenly jerk her own gaze away so he can't see her eyes mist over. "Later..." is mumbled to his retreating back, Alida clenching up inside and out in order to force her unruly emotions back down. And not long after A'rist and Lythronath take their leave, she's doing so, too, barely able to attach one safety strap to her belt to see her safely back to Ilicaeth's ledge...and the certainty of her own bed. The next morning? It's gonna be a painful one...but at least there'll be numbness and unconsciousness tonight. |
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