Logs:The Greatest Stories Ever Told
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| RL Date: 22 July, 2014 |
| Who: H'kon, Rh'mis |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Riders watch a hatching, sitting next to some girls. |
| Where: Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 4, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Dilan/Mentions, G'var/Mentions, Jadzia/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions, Raija/Mentions, V'ros/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated to hatching day. |
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| Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black. The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat. Arekoth's voice has already joined those of the clutch parents when he lands on a ledge above the sands, wings flipping and folding, tail twitching, head ducking up and down as he settles his body and finds the best viewing angle. « Rosvelth! » The younger brown will have even a flashing ribbon of green in this mental reach, that younger brown whom, along with his rider, had been put off for a planned meeting with the dragonhealers' declaration early in the morning, that H'kon and Arekoth might go fetch Lilabet from the Harper Hall. « Plenty of room here. » In the galleries, H'kon is seeking out the same, Madilla and the girls not so far behind him as he lays claim to suitable seating space. « I've told him and told him that today will be a day of greatness, » Rosvelth reports, as if he knows all about hatchings; as if he's been to hundreds, and not just his own, long forgotten. « I'll work on him. I'll attend. » How could he miss it? The young brown folds his wings about himself as he settles alongside Arekoth, humming in a visible, visceral way. This? This is important. Perhaps it is his dragon's enthusiasm that draws Rhey to the galleries, or perhaps it's a desire to blend in, and not have to explain himself over and over again. In any case, hands shoved moodily into pockets, he angles his path through crowds and towards H'kon. He may be pretending that Madilla and the girls don't exist, as awkward as he is in focusing his attention, instead, upon H'kon. Considering how rarely Lilabet's been home, Rh'mis might almost have some sort of cover. From the girls. H'kon has the benefit of Arekoth, who has agreed, « Great greatness, » and since then has surely tipped off his rider. Green eyes - H'kon's green eyes - have found the younger rider well before he's reached them all. There are no waves of hands or broad smiles to greet him; simply a slight shift toward Raija (seated next to him, but currently all eyes and ears for her older sister and none other) to make room on his other side. That Rhey is discomforted by the presence of the girls is plainly obvious from the way his gaze darts over them, as quick as anything. He probably doesn't notice Madilla's watchful, thoughtful expression as he passes, nor Lilabet's (though she already has a harper's ability to mask her interest, feigning full focus upon her little sister). Rhey is silent as he seats himself, hands pressed to his knees, eyes focused now on the sands - if not those rocking eggs - rather than the brownrider. He's silent; his brown is not. « The greatest that ever was... except, of course, the day I was hatched. That was greater still. He was hiding from me, but I still knew where to look! » Rosvelth is too smart to be evaded by silly boys, clearly. « One of the greater. » An amused twist of yellow amidst the growing ribbon that lights the night of these little dragons' birth. « Hal was hiding too. » Arekoth's confidence of such information, of such a name, are all easy. But then, he and Rosvelth are practically brothers by now, for as many winds and angles as they've fought, side by side. « Not very well, though, » rolls with a laugh. H'kon has not looked to Rh'mis since making the space, paying some attention to the end of whatever game or story the girls have between them. He looks away, but to the eggs below, as Arekoth speaks his rider's memory, with one thumb tracing little Raija's shoulder blade quickly, for all H'kon's face stays unreadable. Rhey, listener that he is, probably is paying attention to what's being said on the other side of H'kon; this, and perhaps other conversations, too, that carry on around them as the first eggs begin to crack, down there upon the sands. « One of, » agrees Rosvelth, settling upon this possibility with satisfaction. « Silly, that they tried to hide. As if they could. » From dragons as fine as these two? Surely no one ever could! « Oh, ho-- a green! Not bad at all. Almost as good as a brown first, don't you think? » That first dragon has H'kon sitting up straighter, eyes intent and tracking, now. « Pretty little green, though, isn't she? » Arekoth's tones have gone higher, his head tilting to one side. « Good girl! » When she chooses her boy, his wings shifting on his shoulders. It's H'kon who announces, "First brown," low-voiced, for his part, but near enough that Rh'mis might be able to catch it. Listener that he is. Gaze flicks toward the High Reaches Hold contingent, but only for a moment. « Rhey won't like that, » says Rosvelth, almost like a snicker. « But then, he doesn't like the ones with girl riders much, either. » It's not Rosvelth's fault he's a stud, okay? Wings mantling, he settles back again, content to watch with those keen, keen eyes. Rhey's experiences in life haven't given him a lot of words to put to use in a situation like this. He turns his head to glance at H'kon, measured and thoughtful, and then shrugs his shoulders. "Solid enough," he ventures, uncertainly. Arekoth crackles something again like a laugh. « He should be proud of your victories! Enjoy them. His attention slides from that new brown, back to the boy and the green he's leading off the sands. « But right now, they're just cute. » It's not an adjective H'kon attempts to pin onto that brown, at least. "So he seems," is simple agreement. There's clearly no question about whether or not Rosvelth will enjoy his victories... his many (for the record) victories. Even so, there's something wistful and dismissive; something he doesn't explain, in his thoughts. Ah me. Such quiet woe. Except: « Adorable, » he confirms, tail curving about his feet. « I was never so small and awkward. » Rhey, having made his attempt at conversation, goes silent again, pressing his palms flat upon the solid plane of his thighs. « Two browns. » A normal, human conversation might carry on with a few more pleasantries, perhaps a comment on the weather, at least the heat of the galleries. H'kon, however, simply gives one nod in the direction of the second brown when he hatches, and, after a moment of watching the two little ones fumble about, asks a direct, "Did you watch Rosvelth's hatching?" Of course Rh'mis was there for it. « All the best clutches have good browns, » decides Rosvelth. Rhey may or may not even have noticed the second brown of his own accord, though it's likely enough Rosvelth has not allowed him to miss the event altogether. Apparently the distant wall is terribly interesting; or is it the very distant patch of sky? "No," he says, on an exhale. "Needed to stay out of Rone's way. Besides; I was listening." He puts heavy emphasis upon that word; it matters, apparently deeply. « All the best Weyrs have good browns. » Arekoth's voice goes grander, just as does the idea. That joviality is ever-present. "Hm," says H'kon. He's not looked over to the young brownrider yet, not since shells began to break. He still doesn't. "I watched your hatching." And the absolute best Weyrs? Have the best clutches sired by the best browns. Granted, Rosvelth hasn't managed this feat (yet!), but still. He knows these things. He-- « Oh, another green! » "Did you," says Rhey (it's not a question). "No doubt you'll remember it better than me, then." That the first brown has Impressed does not rate a mention. Arekoth has! "Riders generally don't attend hatchings," murmurs H'kon, "to remember the specifics of the one they are watching at the time." Now he does turn his eyes away, but only so long as is required to note Rh'mis' outline in his peripheral vision. "I remember yours, but yours was strange." When Raija bumps him, H'kon looks her way. He may have missed the hatching of that bronze. Arekoth, Rosvelth is quick to remind the other brown (albeit without words), has more than a few turns on Rosvelth. Give him time (baby). "Why do you--" Rhey breaks off from asking that question, and the other that is inevitably lurking upon his tongue. That might be Raija's fault; he's stiffened up, as if he's suddenly remembered the collection of women and women-to-be sitting next to them. He studies the bronze, impassively. « You'll do just fine. » How could he not, having been taken under Arekoth's wing? "The celebration - the watching, the feast - is for the current clutch. That brown there," who's just impressed, "we're all here for him." Or the bronze. "But what most riders remember here is their own impression." H'kon's dragon glows with pride in that moment. And meanwhile, two amber eyes appear, unblinking, from the woman-to-be side of the bench as Raija leans forward... and stays forward. Rh'mis is silent; impassive. "I don't remember it," he says (lies?). It doesn't help that those amber eyes are in his peripheral vision. There must be something wrong with him, that they can make him flinch, so, and turn away. Rosvelth does not need Arekoth's reassurances, though he'll not turn them away. He raises the intensity of his hum, apparently smugly pleased by that most recent Impression, quite as if he had something to do with it personally. Also? « I know he remembers. How could he forget? It's one of the greatest stories ever told, the way I found him. » « Make sure to tell it to him again, later, » counsels Arekoth, his head bobbing in an almost human nod, wings shifting on his back once more. "I have wondered at times how well any of us truly remembers it... and how much of it we have shaped in our own minds." But it's said as conclusion, and H'kon nods his stubbled chin out toward the sands. "There are few left." It might be an attempt (made in vain) to redirect that little girl's intensity as much as a way out for Rh'mis. Any comments that follow from the brownrider will be on this hatching, right there before them, comments for those on both sides of him to hear. Arekoth's own conversation might stay more pointed, but then, he has a much more willing companion. Not even that one stunted brown can draw more words from Rhey, now; he's finished, even if his brown is not. « It gets better every time, » Rosvelth admits, of his 'greatest story ever told.' « Just like me. » And - just maybe - Arekoth, too. Maybe. |
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