Logs:Shady Shadowing
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| RL Date: 28 February, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist, H'vier |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: H'vier gets a teenager following him around. It's as awesome as anyone might expect. |
| Where: A random sweeps route near Nabol |
| When: Day 14, Month 2, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
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| Plateau near High Reaches Weyr The weyrlings at shadowing age is not H'vier's most favorite time ever. While he's been polite about it, for the most part, he hasn't been exactly enthusiastic over being personally responsible for babysit-- taking a bronze weyrling under his proverbial wing for the day's duties. Particularly not sweeps, which are mind-numbingly boring at best to begin with. According to H'vier, anyway. Reisoth, on the other hand, seems to legitimately enjoy them, so he's in good spirits as he gives Lythronath a crisp picture of where they're betweening as he ascends and then disappears. A'rist has been watching H'vier quite carefully this morning, keeping his questions to a minimum. Thus far. He simply braces himself when Lythronath rises, winging fast after Reisoth, something to prove, always. If not less intense, both weyrling rider and dragon seem more in tune once they've come out the other side, at a precise distance from the more experienced pair. Lythronath issues a roar, though holds his hover in place. A'rist has gone from watchful student to hardfaced dragonrider for the trip, and seems intent on staying in the second role. At least for now. H'vier could probably be more talkative. If not conversationally, then at least something attempting to be educational. But he's not. Besides, talking at this altitude once a dragon starts moving isn't entirely practical. Once he signals for them to move, Reisoth starts gliding toward just the right height for maximum viewing pleasure, the familiar, though currently snow-barren, fields of Nabol's surrounding cotholds dotting the landscape below. « If you see anything unusual or interesting, say something. » The interesting is likely for Reisoth's own benefit, though there's a sense that he doesn't expect the other bronze to see anything that he won't see first. Lythronath breathes steam into the air, waiting, waiting, and then finally gets to go, a burst of energy that seems just within the bounds of A'rist's control. « Sheep, » is expressed promptly, as desire rather than report, carrying with it the hunter's instincts so readily at the surface in the younger bronze. It makes A'rist grit his teeth. He scans the ground before them also, using a different pattern than Lythronath, though perhaps one no less methodical. While the weyrling pair is doing what they ought to be doing, H'vier himself seems to be paying almost no attention to the ground below. He does look over to the weyrling on occasion but otherwise seems bored and lost in his own thoughts. He's not exactly the best of role models. Probably especially considering he's Iceberg's Wingsecond. But Reisoth seems not mind. He hardly seems to notice his rider's lack of attention. « Sheep are hardly unusual. Or interesting. There is somewhere we may be able to grab some if you do your job well, however. » Incentive! Reisoth is clearly the brains of this operation. « Steal, » Lythronath substitutes. The, « Hahaha! » doesn't exactly make it easy to determine if he means it in jest or not. It's not that kind of laugh at all. A'rist adjusts his angle on his dragon, scans a few moments more, and when he does throw a glance over to H'vier, it's fleeting at best. And makes him set his jaw as he goes back to his duty. Reisoth doesn't seem entirely sure how to take the younger bronze's comment or the laughing. And being unsure of anything isn't how he likes to leave things so he assures, « H'vier has an agreement with one of the herders. There is no stealing involved. » And then to change the subject, perhaps, « Is yours doing well? There is a tavern mine would like to stop at soon if yours doesn't object. » Lythronath does not say 'psht.' He does make a strange sort of gnawing-but-not noise, that comes with an open roll of his jaw and snap of his teeth. The younger bronze is very focused on the ground as Reisoth gives his question, and takes a moment to answer, in typically curt Lythronath fashion, « Fine. » The way any other dragon might say, 'that would be fine', except without all those words to get in the way of his meaning. « Good. » Reisoth doesn't seem to take the terse responses from the other bronze personally. In fact, he seems to like it. So many dragons, and people for that matter, only prove themselves slow and dull and boring when they say too much. It's sometime later with little interesting going on below them that Reisoth silently signals a descent. He lands only long enough to let his rider dismount and then there's the prospect of sheep to urge the other bronze to join him once his rider does the same. "Hungry?" H'vier finally asks the weyrling as he gestures further along to the clump of buildings where that tavern must be. Finally. Something to do. And eat. Lythronath takes little encouragement. Luckily, A'rist is clear of his wings by the time Lyn's after Reisoth. "I'm pretty much always hungry," is halfway a boast, and halfway terribly self-conscious, a testament to the age difference between A'rist and so very many of the full-fledged riders of his weyr. There's a deeper shade on his cheeks, a hint of awkwardness as he comes up alongside H'vier. "I thought that might be the case," says H'vier without looking over at boy as he walks. "The food isn't very good, admittedly, but it's hard to tell if you have a drink or two first." He doesn't say whether or not he'll be buying that, of course. "Enjoying yourself? I don't like sweeps very much." Just in case that wasn't already ridiculously obvious. A'rist shrugs, a gesture left to stand as response for both question and the assessment of the food. "I've been with other riders who say they're important." A glance back and to the sky, to try and find the silhouette he knows so well. "Do we have more to do after this, or was that your entire route?" "They are important. Very," H'vier is quick to say. "But that doesn't mean they aren't boring as-- well, boring." He's still trying to hold up this respectable routine so he won't go swearing where he usually might. "Depends." On what, he doesn't say. The bronzerider is silent the rest of the way to the tavern. It's kind of seedy, but would anyone expect more of H'vier? "Order whatever you like," he tells the weyrling as he leads them to a table and gestures for someone to come take said order, in which he adds two beers. Outside, Reisoth leads the younger bronze to a field where a small herd of sheep have been left out to dig through the snow like a dragon buffet. « Try not to make a mess. » A'rist shrugs up his jacket on his shoulders, and generally tries to make himself look better. He probably doesn't appreciate how obvious all this likely is to any onlookers. H'vier included. A'rist's tastes are, seemingly, simple; a plate of cheese, bread, sausage. "Do you usually stop here?" Lythronath is all but ignoring Reisoth the moment he's spotted those sheep; those sheep in the fresh snow. The older bronze's words are bounced off with, « Hahahaha! » And he goes for the kill. Fortunately, H'vier isn't going to say anything about anything obvious. "Often, I suppose. You learn to make friends on your usual routes. Well, I don't know if everyone bothers. But I like knowing people." Which might be part of why they're here now, getting to know the weyrling a little better. When the drinks arrive, he pushes one towards A'rist with a gesture for him to help himself, then lifts the other to take a healthy pull. Reisoth doesn't join in the killing just yet, content to settle nearby and watch Lythronath curiously. White, or even off-white snow was made for bloodying. It's not a blank slate for long. Even one of the slower, not-killed sheep might have been splattered. The younger bronze doesn't dip his head to eat until he's clawed up earth to mix with the snow, and clearly left his mark. El Lythro. A'rist looks at that beer before him, and then, back up to H'vier. "So do we have more to do, after this?" He grips the glass, but only in preparation. Reisoth might have a vaguely disapproving rumble to offer, but it's ambiguous, if even noticed. "If you don't drink it, I'll have to," says H'vier with a grin finally pulling at his bearded face. "We'll just be flying the rest of the route. It's not far. Sometimes Reisoth does it himself while I get a drink. The bastard enjoys sweeps. Bored by everything else under the sun, seems like, but sweeps..." His voice trails off and the bronzerider shakes his head. "So where are you setting your sights?" Wing-wise, presumably. "If we've more ways to go," A'rist starts softly, sliding the beer a little bit away from him, "maybe it's best I wait. I didn't have a big breakfast." Never mind that food is on the way even as they speak. "I'm still thinking on it," to the question of wings. A'rist is watching H'vier sharply, though, when he asks, "So when your dragon is flying sweeps alone... what happens if he finds something?" "I'm not going to get you drunk, kid. Loosen up." Never mind that H'vier has had turns and turns of experience drinking and could probably drink several beers and still be perfectly fine to finish their sweeps. Sometimes it's hard to remember that not everyone might have his tolerance, since it would also require him to think of someone other than himself. Fortunately he has food coming, too, and he looks quite thrilled when it does. "Were you nervous?" he wonders about the not-big breakfast. "I don't usually eat breakfast, myself. Not hungry until later." As for Reisoth finding anything, like this should be obvious, "He comes back and gets me." "No. Lythronath and I have flown with lots of wings by now. We're nearly through weyrlinghood. We've done plenty of sweeps, too." A'rist simply leans back to allow the plate to be set before him, giving the one who dropped it off a quick nod. "And you've never met anything that couldn't wait on sweeps, that you would've had to be there for? And he can interpret everything for you, and it's always right?" The kid's still not going for his beer. Maybe he's getting his fill of drunk off Lythronath's bloodlust. "Good," says H'vier thoughtfully. Then he repeats himself, tone slightly more present, "Good." With his plate in front of him, the older bronzerider focuses on that for a time, like he might just ignore the rest of what A'rist is asking, like it's not really worth an actual response. But after a few bites, "He's smart. For a dragon. His eye for detail is better than mine. There's not much of note in that stretch, anyway." He eyes A'rist's beer, then eyes the kid and goes back to eating. A'rist stares back across at H'vier for a moment, and then, finally, stabs one of those sausages with a fork. It dribbles a little when he bits it. He swipes his chin, and finishes his mouthful, before saying, "If stretches never changed, they probably wouldn't have us riding sweeps." "Well, aren't you a smart little shit." This isn't an insult, exactly, but it doesn't seem like H'vier is going to offer much other information. He does, however, reach over to take A'rist's beer, which is now his beer, and sets it down beside his other. But even though he takes it, he says, "We're done. Once we're done." Eating, presumably. "Yes, sir," answers A'rist to the plan, such as it is, laid out before him. He doesn't look to the beer H'vier's taken. He only looks briefly to the bronzerider, while speaking. And then he's focusing on his plate, and likely also trying to keep Lythronath from going after all those sheep, right there, just waiting to be used as paint and foodstuffs. Reisoth hasn't moved from his position of observation, watching Lythronath all the while as the younger bronze paints the snowy field with bits of sheep and dirt. It might be helpful for him to claim some for his own. But he doesn't. And then, all of a sudden, the big, lean bronze is in the air again, no doubt expecting the other to follow. H'vier makes short work of his meal, finishing off what had been the weyrling's beer only once he's done eating. "You ready?" Lythronath follows, with a swoop over the sheep that manages to be only a swoop, and not a tipping, or a maiming, or anything of the sort. A'rist just hurries to try and eat what he can. The cheese, he'll take that to go. "Yes, sir." Quick, professional, although he's watching H'vier quite carefully throughout the whole affair. H'vier's expression is distant for a few moments, the familiar look of a dragonrider talking to their dragon. And then he's back, giving the weyrling a polite sort of smile. "Good. Let's go," he says as he rises, leaving enough on the table to pay for their meal, his drinks and a bit left over for a tip. Nothing crazy. Once they're outside and heading back to where the dragons are headed, H'vier tells him, "You're dismissed." A'rist follows H'vier out, nodding thanks for the food. It's after he's dismissed, and snaps off a bright salute, that he bothers to actually speak, "Thank you for the opportunity and perspective, sir." And, "Also, the food." Lythronath, he's eager to get on to other things anyway. He just gives Reisoth some sort of rumbly vocalisation in parting. The Wingsecond returns the weyrling's salute, not quite so snappy, and waves off the thanks that he's given like he'd really rather not bother with it. "Enjoy the rest of your day, A'rist." H'vier himself won't be back at the Weyr for awhile yet. |
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