Logs:Snowballs and Escape
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| RL Date: 26 April, 2008 |
| Who: Lujayn, X'lar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Conversation is not always simple. |
| When: Day 28, Month 2, Turn 16 (Interval 10) |
| Rielsath senses that Malsaeth's thoughts arrive to search out the sunfire gold, curiousity making the clouds of his mind grow in darkness. « Mine tells me to offer his... greetings. » Humour strikes, like red-hot heat lightning, passed between the growing cumulonimbus clouds. Rielsath> Malsaeth senses that Rielsath pierces these rolling clouds with a brilliant wash of sunlight, her own curiosity prevalent. « D'you do like he says all the time, just like that? » X'lar is bronze Malsaeth's rider, at Ista Weyr. Rielsath senses that Malsaeth doesn't allow gold's thoughts to disperse the clouds all too quickly with that sunlight. « Oh, no, not at all. » A rumble from the clouds and spring showers begin to fall. « Most of the time, he does what -I- tell him. » The mischief in his growl is clear even if the weather is not. Rielsath> Malsaeth senses that Rielsath sends sharper sparks at the clouds, searching for clarity. Clouds are for hiding things. « Of course. That's the only real way to do those things. » A wash of approving warmth. « And what do you tell him? » Rielsath senses that Malsaeth provides more cloud cover as the older gold sends sharper sparks toward them, making lightning flare, thunder clap. All the best to hide, to blend in. « How to oil me. » He provides an image of X'lar beginning to oil him on the left side, but only after a moment, changes sides and begins to oil the right instead. « You must always oil on the right side first. » And then another image flashes, enlightened by the flare of another lightning strike against scorched earth. « I tell him to run. And to hide. Like me. » Rielsath> Malsaeth senses that Rielsath is in the light, the sparks, and now the flashes of lightning that precede the harsh thunder. Edging her way into every aspect of the storm, helping to illuminate those images. « Running away is for 'fraidy cats. » A neutral observation, tinged with blue of cold winter skies, but her words hold the warmth and comfort of home. Rielsath senses that Malsaeth considers this neutral remark and disperses only a few of the clouds, allowing the gold to see past the cover of puffy white and the near derecho-like weather conditions. « Sometimes hiding allows you to see things you don't normally get to see. » An image flares with the growing sunlight, X'lar grabbing a bubbly when no one is looking in Ista's living cavern. Rielsath> Malsaeth senses that Rielsath is quick to find this discrepancy, prying at it with a sharp flash of hot white. « Hiding and running away are different. » The grown dragon insists. She's more liable to respond with colors than images, but a brief glimpse of Lujayn is shared: gray eyes glaring, fists clenched, head held high when faced with some unseen conflict. « We don't run away. » Rielsath senses that Malsaeth seems to gather that image of the fist-clenched junior-to-be with more clouds, considering every facet before finally releasing it with a burst of air. « Neither does mine. » It is growled by the young bronze plainly, not defensive in the least. « Running away only works when you want the other to follow. » Rielsath> Malsaeth senses that Rielsath lets the image go, almost careless; there's plenty more where that came from. It's the sun again when the clouds retreat, pale glints of fire off of icy mountaintops. « Or to escape. » Cold snow below, warmth above. Rielsath senses that Malsaeth considers this, his mind embracing the thought of icy mountaintops, seemingly a lot more intrigued by the thought of colder climes than his own lifemate. « Escape... Have you needed to escape? » Clouds grow again, giving birth to sheets of lashing rain. Rielsath> I bespoke Malsaeth with « To do what I want, » The sensation is shared with this younger dragon, cold winds whipping past while the sun shines ever brighter with its enveloping heat, breaking through the cover of the storm. Freedom. « Boring, stupid, pointless things. I escape from them and do what I want. » Rielsath senses that Malsaeth seems to have found a kindred spirit as he hears the last thoughts of the gold. « As you should. As so we should all. » The freedom shared is not squandered, allowing the brighter thoughts of the sunny gold to break through. If only for a moment. Acceptance. « We should never be fettered. » The word fettered is growled out in agreement basked in bright summery rain. Rielsath> Malsaeth senses that Rielsath lets silvery clouds drift across her sunlight, casting nebulous dapples onto diamond snows. Give and take, after all. « We aren't. » The bright inflection of youth claims her voice, though she's long past being a hatchling. « Everything's like it's supposed to be. » Rielsath senses that Malsaeth explores those thoughts of diamond snows and sunlight reflecting from them. « This is good. When everything is as it is supposed to be then. » Another mask replaces his previous, curiousity getting the best of him. « Do you see this... snow a lot? Where you are? » Rielsath> Malsaeth senses that Rielsath is happy to share. A scatter of snow drifts from the clouds, thickening against a dusky lavender sky. « Every day. It's fun. » A snowball pelts forth from the previously gentle flurries, aimed playfully for Malsaeth. Splat! Rielsath senses that Malsaeth's youth and propensity toward slyness by no means saves him from being pelted by the snowball. Splat, indeed. But, rather than wail or cry, the crimson-chased bronze's thoughts decide to shape his own snowball. Unfortunately, having no direct experience in what said object actually feels or looks like, manages only a half-snowball that only disintigrates when thrown to the gold. « Every day? We get sun and rain and heat every day. I like this... snow. » Cold, wet, heavy. Rielsath shapes the next in plain sight, pushing it around. The sunlight is gone, hidden where it won't be able to melt her toys. « Mine builds things. Big walls and sculptures. » A lump of snow offered, much larger, for the dragonet to play with. To explore. (Rielsath to Malsaeth) Rielsath senses that Malsaeth considers the words before testing the thought of the lump of snow, practically hiding himself in it for a lingering moment. « Mine builds too. » A finely crafted, whittled fishing rod is shown next to the lump of snow. « He has many of these things just lying around. » Malsaeth seems to revel in the lack of sunlight too, clouds appearing in the corners, moving together to create massive cloud cover. The sun is gone, but not the warmth that's an intrinsic part of her being. There's light catching on the snow, in the water droplets that make clouds, anywhere she can find to illuminate. She shapes the snow as Malsaeth hides inside, until a thin white layer lays between him and outside. It's clumsily dragon-shaped. « If you have no snow, what do you use for fun? » Another snowball, this one a slower lob. (Rielsath to Malsaeth) Rielsath senses that Malsaeth seems greatly amused by the dragon-mold he provided for the snow, but he breaks it with a quick shake of his body and wings. « We use this. » An image is projected upon the snow, melting it with the hot sun that bares down on Ista: water, water, everywhere water, it's ever-expanding. « Mine uses what he builds to catch fish. To eat fish. » A brief flare of a rib bone is cracked, the young bronze reveling in the sound. As the snowball comes, this time he is ready and guards himself with quickly falling rain that turns to snow. In the mist, he projects another snowball, this time better crafted. Rielsath> Malsaeth senses that Rielsath doesn't pull away from the water and sun, though there's a definite line where Ista ends and her winter wonderland begins. « Different. » She comments at last, content to stay where she is and build a snowball arsenal. « Snow's better, I think. » Rielsath senses that Malsaeth considers the line, blurring it further where the line does not even exist. After all, he's the sly one. He'll take anything he can get. But as the line blurs, his attention is distracted. Sunlight filters through and lets a wave from the ever-expanding water splash Rielsath. And then, he's gone. No longer a presence. A warm ocean wave, the chilly roar of a blizzard, thick and white as Malsaeth's thoughts vanish. Always one to get the last word in, she heaves that generous stockpile of snowballs after the bronze. Perhaps a final attack, but more likely so he can take them into Ista and catch the lazy beach-going dragons unawares. A bright golden laugh, sunlight returning when the snow and water have departed. (Rielsath to Malsaeth) |
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