Logs:Second 'Second
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| RL Date: 25 July, 2015 |
| Who: T'mic, Z'kiel |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: T'mic has one of two wingsecond knots left. Z'kiel comes over, and then he's cleaned out. |
| Where: Bosom Buddies Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 5, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Keysi/Mentions |
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| Bosom Buddies Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
The invitation comes via Jorrth, fresh from a soak in the cold - but not as cold - lake. In the shelter of their shared weyr, the blue has grown sleepy, and so it's slower tones that bring, « We would like to speak with you. And, » hint of energy, « you could see our weyr, » to Ahtzudaeth. Inside, T'mic has at least changed out of the sweaty clothes that he wore for drills, and washed up so much as he can at a corner basin. There's a little table sort of thing, with a chair on one side, and a trunk dragged over to serve as secondary seating on the other. It's near the fireplace, where the floor is (mostly) hay-free. The pitcher holds water, only, but he's managed to liberate (which probably means, has asked nicely for) some finger food from somewhere. T'mic, dorm room host. And the bronze accepts the offer with his usual grace: « Ah! Wonderful! It will be our pleasure to visit. We will be there shortly. » Incandescent smoke shimmers around the words, scintillating and merry. Ahtzudaeth is also quite right; they are there shortly - in about ten minutes, give or take. Z'kiel's cleaned up a little and changed - though changing out of sweat-soaked drill clothing and into riding leathers isn't that much of an improvement. The bronze lands lightly on the ledge and announces his presence through a mental « We have arrived, brother-mine, » and a low chortle that's physically articulated. A muted thump follows as his rider dismounts and makes his way toward the weyr proper without a need for further words. Jorrth knows; Jorrth has poked his head out by the time Z'kiel has dismounted, flicking his tail, and adjusting his wings on his back. « Good! This is our ledge. » It's not said without a bit of amusement to it. Of course it's their ledge. But now, it's been introduced. Inside, T'mic hops up off his trunk, raising his chin to the bronzerider as Z'kiel enters. "Thanks for coming," from the bluerider. "Chair?" An appropriately inviting gesture goes with it. « And it is a fine ledge, » Ahtzudaeth responds, giving the stone a solid thump with a forepaw. He seems perfectly comfortable outside and will settle there for the duration unless he's invited inside. Z'kiel's helmet and goggles are removed and held against one hip, freeing his other hand to lift in a quick salute to T'mic. "You called, we answered," is a fairly straightforward thing - and probably one of his things, for that matter. Or his and Ahtzu's. Hard to tell. The offer of a seat is met with a slight shake of his head, though he does go to stand near it and put his helmet and goggles on it. "So. What have you called us for?" That salute is returned, with some hint of a smile. This is still one of the novelties of that wingleader's knot, even a few weeks later, which tickles him. T'mic is preparing to sit back on his trunk - and then doesn't. He clears his throat, though, and nods. Business. "Wingsecond. I've got two wingsecond knots. Keysi's accepted one already. After drills, earlier." A sideways nod of his head, as if he could indicate just when on some invisible timeline. "Other's yours if you want it." "Ah." For a second, a curious play of emotion skitters across his features; there and gone in the blink of an eye. A furrow of brow, a sucking of teeth; thoughtful things, all of them, capped off with a momentary glazing of eyes to hint at draconic communion. Z'kiel's expression settles into the usual grim neutrality that typically occupies his face and, after a beat, he nods - just once. "We do. We will." Settled. Outside, a low rumble of satisfaction can be heard, practically palpable for all of that. " " Jorrth still waits, attentive, still doesn't offer more on his ledge nor on his weyr. T'mic nods. "I was thinking I'd put Keysi a bit more toward the dragon side of things," Neianth is intense, after all, "and have go a bit more to the physical training side. In formations, you and Ahtzudaeth might also take point sometimes. There are things that just work better with a big dragon at the front, and Jorrth's a big blue, but." But. There's a bronze out there with him, there with them, now. "But I wanted to meet with Keysi and you tomorrow. Before drills. And we can sort of see where things fall naturally throughout the week, too. Might get you both in on some of the paperwork, too..." To which there's a grunt and another nod from Z'kiel. "Good. Works well for us," there's a slight lift of his chin and he clarifies, "for all of us." All things in their place; all things in their perfect element. "We'll be there early. Don't have much else to do, except for drills and the rest of our duties." And the weyr-cleaning, but any visitors would note that he's been making excellent headway on that nightmare. Even the mention of paperwork does little to dampen that mood of secure knowledge. "Shouldn't be too hard, unless they changed the requirements for the paperwork." "It's not really hard," T'mic shakes his head. "But I figured maybe it'd be good to see it, you know? Keysi and I, we kind of did some of it, with silver thread..." He shrugs. "Like to have an hour before we start drills tomorrow. That early." He's nodding. "Oh." And then he does bend toward that trunk, to lift its corner (it's unlatched) and draw out a little box. "Here. New knot." "I was wingleader before." Z'kiel's shoulders rise and fall in a shallow shrug. "I know. Wasn't sure if they changed things or not. Wouldn't be surprised if they did." But, there's tomorrow to sort that out and he'll leave it at that. Instead: "We'll be there." And probably a half an hour earlier, but he's not especially known for being the 'sleeping' type. The offered knot-in-the-box is studied for a heartbeat, then two, before he reaches to take it. "Thank you, wingleader." The knots are swapped, his old one pocketed and the new pinned in place. "We'll do our best." "I know," says T'mic, simply. « Make sure to look inside before you go, » says Jorrth. Messages are relayed and Z'kiel cocks an eyebrow slightly. The box is thusly opened, without a word. « The weyr. » Jorrth's is a laughing tone, sun-warmed. T'mic grins a little, too, and gestures around him. "He's proud. And then, the nod. "You don't have to see it now." A sidelong look is angled to Ahtzudaeth, who is now chortling - mentally and physically. Z'kiel narrows his eyes, snorts once, and snaps the box shut (again) and hands it off to T'mic. "We're here," he finally says. "It just seems to make more sense to do it now." There's a beat. Then: "Unless you want us to visit another time. Ahtzudaeth enjoys visiting others." And, speaking of the bronze, he's craning around to peer inside with a gaping of his maw. "Nah," says the bluerider, gesturing to the full expanse of his weyr, not that it's a big one. "You can hang out as long as you want, too. We've got nowhere to be. Just some sweeps to set up. Could even show you that, if you want." They do that. |
Comments
Squishy (07:45, 26 July 2015 (PDT)) said...
This was cute, and awesome and Jorrth <3
Alida (22:26, 27 July 2015 (PDT)) said...
Ilicaeth gapes back at Ahtzudaeth. « *Finally*; another dragon who knows how to GRIN! »
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