Logs:Starstones Interlude With Satiet
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| RL Date: 18 October, 2007 |
| Who: N'thei, Satiet |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| Where: Star Stones, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 11, Turn 13 (Interval 10) |
| You swoop down to a landing on the Star Stones. Star Stones, High Reaches Weyr The Star Stones stand as a silent testament to the dangers Pern faces, as well as a call to action for the protectors of the planet: dragons and their riders. Erected in a time long past, the Star Stones fulfill their purpose only once every two-hundred turns: to pinpoint the start of Threadfall. The stones themselves seem rather plain: as you look across the plateau your eyes automatically focus on the largest of the stones: Finger Rock. On dawn of the winter solstice, Rukbat will appear to balance on the tip of Finger Rock. Almost a full two dragonlengths away from that rock is the Star Stone itself, an unimpressive piece of work: on it are two engraved arrows. One points east, to the Finger Rock, while the other points a little north of east, to the Eye Rock. When you see the Red Star shining through the Eye, another Pass has started. Neither the impending winter nor the height of the Starstones has deterred Satiet from finding a respite from her duties with a bottle of Tillekian whiskey, no glass, and the warmth of her dragon's pale hide behind her. A blanket is draped over her knees and tucked beneath her, sharp chin lifted so her head tips up to study the stars as they appear from between the movements of dark clouds. Not so far away, betrayed by a gust of air even colder than a Reaches night and a flicker of dust-bronze movement, Wyaeth tricks in from *between*. The aerial saunter of his glide to his ledge interrupts just before gunmetal talons grasp stone, and he arcs back around in a too-sharp curve to the star stones. He scrapes a landing on the very precipice of the stones, in range only long enough for N'thei to drop down before he breaks away, back to his own ledge with a gruff-but-pleasant grumble of greeting to Teonath. Voice still muffled by the scarf he starts to remove, N'thei asks, "The Weyrwoman on watchrider duty?" Even in indolence, Satiet misses little, particularly the arrival of a large dusty bronze and his rider as the former lands, taking up the precious little free space of the Starstones, deposits the latter and then disappears. The blanket draped over her knees is scooted a little more tightly, warmth required no doubt for the gust of between that's escaped with Wyaeth's arrival, and the goldrider favors N'thei's greeting with the lift of thin, raven brows and ever pale, brilliant eyes. "Is there a rule that says weyrwomen aren't allowed to do so? You're home late." "Mm. I don't know from rules." Scarf uncoiled and pocketed, N'thei follows a look after Wyaeth until the bronze is out of sight on his ledge. It's a very few steps later, broken long enough for him to lower his head politely toward Teonath, that he stops alongside Satiet with a look down at her coziness. "Late for whom?" Teonath tracks Wyaeth's movements until he disappears, but then allows her bejeweled eyes to linger at the ledge he disappears onto. A lazy swish of her tail responds to N'thei's greeting, but other than that Reaches' senior queen dismisses the bronzerider with a turn of her head to resume what her rider now does not do - watch stars. "Late," Satiet says evenly in her upward regard of the tall man. Her mouth shapes crooked, the smirk complementing the mocking in her gaze. "Late doesn't have to be for anyone, just late itself. The moons are up, the sun is down. It's late. From Fort?" N'thei looks upward in a half-surprised way, gray eyes brightening with amusement as they pick out a pale star among the dark clouds, still bright when he looks back at Satiet again; "They keep things warmer there." A crouch puts him nearer to the goldrider's level, now with his head tilted back to bring the stars into focus again, now with his fingers outstretched toward her drink hopefully. "No less late for you." The pale queen's eyes flicker in a rainbow of blues, content and fascinatedly fixated by her stargazing and while her tail in greeting of N'thei has long past, a flick now and then, swishing in a delight unvoiced, mark the passing of time. "They must, it *is* warmer there. Come, bronzerider, I thought you smarter than that. Or more observant." There's a dry smile that flashes sidelong when he crouches, the tilt of her head and turn of her sharp chin dropping a sweeping lock of raven hair into her face. "Ah, but unlike you, N'thei, I'm already home." She punctuates her statement with a drag from the bottle, which she then offers to the man. N'thei takes the bottle before he even contemplates speaking, the combination of allure-- alcohol and Satiet with hair in her eyes-- enough to keep him silent for a lot longer than it ought to take to order a response. With the drink halfway to his mouth, he asks, "Is there where I ought to wax emotional about 'what is home?' No." He shakes his head and completes the gesture, laughing eyes rested on the tableau of gold and rider. Swallowing; "You have a fixation with stargazing." She's aware. She wouldn't be Satiet if she weren't, but time's also taught her to affect that naive obliviousness to the way N'thei looks and the silence, instead turning back to the skies in a reflexive mimic of her dragon. Free of the burden of liquor, her two arms rest on the tops of her bent knees and the fall of her bangs in her eyes is shook back loosely. But she's still listening, and a sly, low chuckle finds air in the middle of what he says, already presuming to know how the statement will end. "If you wish to wax poetical, do so. But I promise, neither of us will listen. You have a fixation with gazing." N'thei smiles into the drink, his attention moved to the glimmer of reflected light just visible at the bottom of the bottle; "Inattention. Ever a desirous quality in a leader." He downs another drink, eyes creased at the corners and breath blown out with a muted whistle, and then he offers it back toward Satiet with a nod of gratitude. "At you? Yes. Bothers you?" His tone answers that he'll be surprised if it does. Bothered? No. Pleased? Of course, but she's good enough not to be entirely too smug about it, only the glimmer in her eyes as it flicks sidelong to take in the big man by her side briefly betraying her. "A leader," Satiet parrots, mocking some nameless instructor, "Knows when to and to feign paying attention. I'd rather skip the feigning part." - "You're drinking all my whiskey." A slender arm frees itself from the warmth of her blankets to reach out, palm up, for the bottle. "I'll send you some more." For now, N'thei plops the base of the bottle on Satiet's palm, weights it down with his own hand longer than necessary before he gives it over entirely. In a casually confessing way; "It wasn't what I thought it would be. Serves me right for having expectations, suppose. When you come to the hatching, at least let me linger under the delusion that it's for me and not because it's expected of you?" He's straightened from his crouch by the time he's done speaking, looking down at the goldrider with a smile that's as smitten as it is accusatory. "You do that," the goldrider returns, cool amusement coloring her alto. The weight of his hand pressing the bottle into hers garners a flick of lashes downward, darkly feathered against her pale skin. Then, blue eyes reveal with those lashes rising slowly. "I'll wait to see if you do." She makes no remarks on his confessions, but does react with an involuntary smirk at the presumption of her attendance of Fort's hatching. Nothing needs saying at this point except the pinning of a lash-veiled glance upwards to the standing man and the smile that mires his accusation. "Clear skies and may you find a warm bed tonight." Looking upward, at the feather of clouds and the half-veiled stars; "I hate that expression. I really do. Sweet dreams." N'thei gives a last look at Satiet-- one-for-the-road-- and then strolls to the edge of the star stones to wait for Wyaeth. The bronze's return is just as choppy and heavy-landed as his departure, complete with a book-end rumble to Teonath when he breaks away toward his ledge again. It's when Wyaeth breaks away that Satiet, after a long swig from the bottle, calls out lightly, irrelevant to whether the words get lost in the beat of the bronze's wings or the race of the winter wind. "Strawberries go well with sunsets and brandy." |
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