Logs:Squawkers and Stars
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| RL Date: 13 April, 2015 |
| Who: Edyis, Zadkiel |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Gossiping about gossipers. Kind of. |
| Where: Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 7, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Clear and cloudless. |
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>---< Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------------------<
Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow
clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn,
graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a
reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl
are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to
the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting
some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake.
Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the
thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy
the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the
bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the
careful to get the job done.
Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly
warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the
air. It is well past sunset, and yet there is at least one person perched on the edge of the diving cliff, A small faded glow basket casting fingers of golden light over the area. Edyis hasn't been seen in the barracks since the lovely attempt at group therapy which exploded so spectacularly. She sits, arms braced behind her, one leg dangled over the edge, looking up at the clear night sky. His absence from the group therapy session wasn't - or shouldn't have been - unexpected. Zadkiel's excuse was a thoroughly reasonable visit to the Healers, even if it lasted an unreasonable amount of time. But, word travels quickly through the barracks and all it takes is a tittering, loudmouthed bird of a Candidate to inform him of what he missed. And he, for reasons only known to himself, takes his leave of that gossip-riddled place to take a walk. A long walk. A walk long enough that he finds the edge of the lake and into the proverbial shadow of the cliff. Edyis sighs, brows faintly drawn together as those dark eyes search amid the pinpricks of light dusting the sky. Perhaps it is her misfortune then that she does not hear the predator's approach, and certainly she isn't looking to the lake's edge for answers. That foot that dangles sways out and back, the woman softly humming some lilting melody. The glow basket is eventually spied by the hunter. Zadkiel prowls to the stairs and removes his sandals, only to tie the lacings together and sling them over a shoulder. The better to approach quietly; the better for a secure footing on the stone. Once onto the cliff proper, he catches wind of that melody - and adds to it, a low note that's mean less as a direct intrusion and more of a warning. A subtle distinction, to be sure, but there it is. The humming doesn't quite stop, but she is leaning back to look at the stairs and find the source of that distinct low note. The song fades when dark eyes rest on the lean hunter's figure. "Oh. It is you," comes a few moments later when she recognizes him, before returning her gaze skyward. "Barracks must be an unpleasant place to be tonight." That offered note cuts out sharply in contrast to the fading melody. There's a low hum-grunt from Zadkiel as he closes the distance between them and one shoulder lifts in a lopsided shrug. "Full of noise," is his assessment. "Should be quieter later when the loudest birds squawk their throats raw." He settles on the ledge next to her, though neither foot dangles over the edge; rather, he plants his feet just at the edge while he props himself up with his elbows. His gaze, like hers, lifts to the sky. "I heard it was terrible. The meeting." There is something of a wry smile that twists her lips at the mention of squawking birds. "I suppose you could say it illustrated the groups differences rather sharply. I can't say personally I was any better than any of the other Squawkers as you put it." Chin tipping upward, as she glances askance at the hunter. "You seem to have escaped the ordeal neatly." "Hnnnh." There is no shrug, but it's implied in that sound. Zadkiel keeps his eyes on the skies - or seems to, at any rate. "Yet, you are out here and not with the rest of them," he points out. "Why?" A sidelong look is angled her way, meeting her glance askance. As for her observation, it's met with another grunt. "Healers. Had to get them looked at again. But. They," damn those birds, "will make sure that I suffer the aftermath, regardless." She is silent at the question, as though weighing it. "I didn't want to listen to anymore, and since I know I won't be sleeping much, I thought I might as well not sleep where the air is quiet, and there is something beautiful to observe." Those eyes shifting then back to the stars. "I'm glad you visited the healers of your own free will." She teases warmly. The mild sound he makes is not a sound of judgment. It's a thoughtful, quasi-melodic mix of a hum and a grunt that's surely familiar by now - but drawn out by another beat or two. Zadkiel draws his feet back and sits up, but it's all a slow, seemingly serpentine prelude to rising fully. "It is a thing that must be done," is his easy reply. "And I cannot rely on you to not be busy long enough to remind me." Once he's on his feet, though, he's not one to linger. "I will let you know when the shrieks have died down." "I appreciate the chivalrous gesture." She chuckles, "Though I imagine If I wait for that to happen I will wind up sleeping out here." An interesting thought in its own way. "Good night Zadkiel. I enjoyed talking with you." And with that her attention goes back to the sky, and the melody resumes. |
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