Logs:The Monster Under Her Bed
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| RL Date: 30 June, 2015 |
| Who: Besmernyth, Taeliyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Fort's newest queen meets Fort's newest monster. |
| When: Day 20, Month 2, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Feel free to edit, etc etc. |
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| Has he felt watched since his arrival? Well, that's only natural since she's been watching. Taeliyth's kept her distance though, never intruding herself intentionally on the bronze, but that's through no fault of good manners for now that she finally does address them it's with a 'pop' that might practically be the sensation of buffeting into him, if she were there, wherever he was. « Oops! Sorry! » is offered cheerily as if she has no intention of staying in this unintentional contact with the older bronze. She's just clumsy little thing, after all. Accidents happen. (To Besmernyth from Taeliyth) Oh, he's noticed. He's noticed her, but has she noticed him, well and truly? Has she felt his skeletal presence reaching for her while she sleeps, to test her panic threshold, to taste the fear she projects unwittingly out? Has she seen him lap it up, like some delicacy? Has she heard the howl of dogs in her dreams? Surely, she must have. « Do not be sorry, » he replies, his voice low and churning, unperturbed. Something reaches out to her, not tentative enough, and wraps around her ankles gently, not possessive -- examining. Testing. « I've waited for you. » (To Taeliyth from Besmernyth) Is the big bad bronze supposed to scare her with his parlor tricks and tiresome tactics? If he is, there's no sign of it. Neither is there sign of the panic that is not her own that wakes her too readily, nor of the fleeting fear. And dogs? Those just give her warm fuzzies. She's supremely unbothered as she neatly moves to slip ankles suddenly too thin for the testing touch to retain, magicked into nothingness and reforming in the nebulous space where it pleases her. « For me? » is too innocent, but she's not had time yet to hone her skills to just the right level of 'playing dumb.' « Sounds like a snooze, » she remarks brightly, sun tickling down through leaves to dapple his skeletal presence in light in her own sort of test. « Shouldn't you be doing something else with your no doubt valuable time? » (To Besmernyth from Taeliyth) Scare her? Oh dear, why would he do something like that? Though his dogs are not fuzzy--their fur is mangy, they are skin and bones, fleeting glimpses of them running on peripheries would reveal them as barely dogs at all, certainly nothing you'd cuddle up to. But neither is he, and so it falls in line. She shrinks, and Besmernyth's nebulous grip flexes then releases, as if he never meant to hold her in the first place. His tone is like black tea - barely sweet. « Never boring, » he disagrees politely. « I wonder if you are old enough to understand. » Understand what? He doesn't tell -- doesn't elaborate. Feathers rustle like dried paper, and several fall out into the snow. « I manage my time well. You needn't worry I waste it on anything that is not important. » Something seems to strike him, though, and there is the spark of metal-on-bone, a sharp flash gone after a second, an afterimage at best. « Are you well? » It's the collective you -- he means her, but he means her lifemate, too. (To Taeliyth from Besmernyth) Okay, so maybe she wouldn't cuddle up to those dogs, or this bronze, at least now, perhaps never. In the moment there's a stubborn moment and a half formed thought: she likes dogs. (Or has resolved to.) « No, I'm sure I'm much too young, » she answers his inquiry before the sunlight sparkles off dew too fantastic to be real. « But you should tell me anyway. It's the least you can do if you're bent on wasting time with me, » there's an innocent cheekiness to the last remark. It's almost, but not quite enough to hide her defensive bristle at the last question. « We're well. » (To Besmernyth from Taeliyth) If it is what she wishes, what she'd like, she will have them all: snapping, slathering, toothy things with whiplike tails who brush her mind as their hindquarters list to the left, their prominent vertebrae rippling beneath their skin. « I would know you, as my queen. » He is not being lascivious, for all his whispers are low, and all his breezes caress. That is just his mind, the backdrop of everything. « One of my queens, » comes the sharp correction, but his interest in her is both unmistakable and unshakeable. Her sparkle of sunlight is allowed to remain briefly, but then he tamps it down, turning the landscape bleak and greyscale again. « You may well beat as the heart of this weyr, one day. I wish only your comfort and safety as you grow. » He is bold in smoothing at her bristles. There is an impression of a hand to a cheek, of tucking hair behind an ear before withdrawing. « I would keep you that way. And yours. But you tell the weyr your troubles. » (To Taeliyth from Besmernyth) To Besmernyth, Taeliyth may yet become skilled at subverting her natural reaction, but the sudden tension in her touch at the feelings that might make her like some dogs a little less is unfortunately palpable. It pairs well with her flinch away from that phantom sensation which very obviously has less to do with him and more to do with her. When was the last time her lifemate touched her outside of bathing or oiling? Or when she wasn't instructed to? The thought flickers bitterly across her mindscape, the Wood withering fittingly to pair with his bleak landscape, the rot touching here and there, infecting her. It's not him that does, of course. He could only wish to hold so much sway with the young queens feelings. « We'll see, » is all she manages before the creak of dried brambles heralds the close of the connection between them, the subtler masks slipping away. She can't hold together anymore. Not just now. Flinging herself down in her wallow, she lets the feelings consume her. Her fear unwittingly radiates and this time, it is her fear. To Taeliyth, Besmernyth is not surprised at her reaction, or at the shift in her. The dogs are gone as is -- everything. The snow, the rot, everything. It is suddenly warm, a raging fire in the hearth, a promise, a threat. « I will keep you warm, Taeliyth, should you ask it. » But he does not pursue the connection any further, coiling back into his own mind, and she might sense his invitation yet lingering on the edges of her fear. |
Comments
Alida (21:17, 30 June 2015 (MDT)) said...
Danger, Will Robinson! ;)
X'vin (22:07, 30 June 2015 (MDT)) said...
Alida pushed the wrong button. False alarm. Everything is good, move along.
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