Logs:Traditional Roles
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| RL Date: 30 October, 2015 |
| Who: Ka'ge, Lys, Evyth, Zymadiath |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A Fortian bronzerider and a Reachian greenrider play to their stereotypes (and don't). |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 2, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: H'vier/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Slightly back-dated. |
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>---< Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr(#276RJs) >-------------------------------<
The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but
here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening
and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions
to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.
A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides
warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced
off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water
there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows
drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge
undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be
bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge
divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky
outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one
-- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly
tempting stairs. The snow falls prettily on this sunny afternoon. The lake is in the process of thawing at High Reaches Weyr, but that's hardly an act worthy of spectators. More likely, it's the novelty of the place that draws the three-foot-and-change green and her lifemate here. Lys' blue-green eyes track Evyth's excited explorations of the natural world with a fond smile; it's the sort of smile that only the open would share so readily with the world. Lys? She's not the 'open' sort and as soon as a full-grown blue touches down within her eyesight, she scowls, the expression seeming more familiar to the muscles in her face. The blue doesn't take interest in the pair, moving on down around the shoreline. A roar passed above denotes the watchrider on duty calling out to a foreign dragon. The bronze that appears from Between is too-dark against the bright and chilly sky, his underside a shadow against what should be the brilliance of day. A returned draconic call is a roaring of equivalent energy, but the mental note is passed, and there's no more commotion in the skies as the dragon circles, watchful, and then descends into the bowl below. Much bigger than the blue who'd landed before him, Zymadiath doesn't move down the shoreline. Smokey black-masked face tilts towards the little green, his eyes an easy, calm-whirling green-flecked blue. The young man upon his back stays up in the straps longer than should seem appropriate, his dragon making the greeting first. Nothing so grand as lights or sounds or sparkles come with his touch. No, with him there's is only blackness. Shadows that creep, that crawl, that writhe at the edges of Evyth's mind- but utterly without intrusion. A creature that haunts from a distance, of eyeless sockets within nightmarish figures that watch, curious, and even extend fingerless hands in a welcoming, drawing gesture. Evyth's youth grants her bravery she might not feel in later life. Now, the shadows are a marvel. It's something new and unfamiliar. Nightmares? She's never had one. She doesn't recognized the figure that way. Feelings flood from the green, in the unchecked way of some of the young, curiosity being foremost, then a natural cheer and unfettered joy. « Hello! » comes without reservation as does, « I'm Evyth, who are you? » Lys' eyes don't miss the arrival of the bronze nor her green's sudden change of course to bounce toward the bigger dragon. There's a slight twitch to her features that might betray her lack of enthusiasm for trailing the dragon into this particular social interaction, but dutifully she goes, blonde braid being flicked over her shoulder as she approaches. She gives the rider a measuring look before the reluctant salute comes with a singular and long drawled word: "Bronzerider." Zymadiath settles before the little green, dark paws stretched out before him with blackened talons curled partially into the softer ground. His head stays particularly still and statue-like, though his wings remain slightly flared cape-like behind him that only accentuates the much brighter hues of his faceted eyes. « Hello. » The gritty mindvoice, deep and rumbling, is unpleasant in tone but not in character. The sensation of a gruff chuckle is felt more than 'heard', the slowly undulating ink-blot-like shadows trembling in the wake of it. « I am Zymadiath. » Comes with all the innate power one might expect from such a statement. « What entertains you out here, little Evyth? » Meanwhile, the rider has unbuckled himself, and repelled down to the cold Reachian ground below. "Greenrider." Well, kind of. Ka'ge's attention at first strays to the little green that has been awarded his bronze's attention so fully, his salute about as enthusiastic a thing as her own granted before he's even fully turned his blue-green eyes back to her, shadowed himself beneath the low edge of his hood. "Congratulations." He offers first, shoving his hands in his pockets, giving her a curious look. "Doesn't look like you're celebrating too hard." It's the word greenrider that decides Lys' assessing glance. One hand goes to her hip as it shifts to become noticeable for its feminine curve. The smile that is affixed to her lips might seem real enough to some, but the sarcasm is heavy enough in her blithe words, "Well, without booze and sex, is there any way left to celebrate?" to give it all away as merely an affectation of the cliche for her color class. That, though, has Evyth trailing off in her pleasant, effusive babble of explanation. What was telling Zymadiath about all the fascinating things she's discovered from the difference between rock and stones, between water, snow and ice, about trees that grow things when it's not so cold (though she harbors quiet doubts that it could ever be not so cold, for this is all she's known in her short life), is suddenly a too curious look at Lys' obviously odd behavior, something all too readily felt through her mindtouch to Zymadiath. It's enough to make Lys blush and scowl for it. The young man's grin draws slowly wider, the change in her stance making him glance out over the lake and back again to regard her with the slightest tilt of his head. "At least you know how to celebrate." Correctly, during normal times, he insinuates. "But," Ka'ge begins, drawing out his words with a bit of pained drama, shoulders rising and held in a shrug before being dropped together, "Without the good stuff," that being what she'd already described, "A smile, perhaps." Or faking one, he might be implying. He takes a few strides towards the water's edge, a brow-raised look lingering on her just long enough to catch that blush and scowl, his breathy chuckle his reply as he looks away. "Or are you just waiting a few months to enjoy yourself properly?" Those shadows on the horizon of Evyth's mind, the dancing figments of darkness that have no rush beyond their always-purposeful rhythms, continue to rise and fall, creating and re-creating their edges. Occasionally, as she brings up something profound such as trees growing things, there's a pause in the darkness. A semblance of an 'oh, really?' that has no formed words behind it. The night, though, shares little as far as imagery. There's no color, no tellable shapes besides those imagined from his figments, no support of whimsical versus reality. But the often aloof bronze is apparently quite resolved in listening to her babble, his attention a very patient one, even offering, « And you enjoy all these things? » To the odd behavior, the sudden curiosity, the statue-like bronze shifts his head just enough to angle towards Evyth's chosen, but Ka'ge does not. Lys' blue-green eyes flick away from her lifemate and back to the young man. It helps that Evyth is distracted from whatever her confusion was by Zymadiath's intervention. « Well, » she considers the question thoughtfully. « The mud is unpleasant when it dries, but Lys says the rain is important so things can grow, so-- » Her voice drops in quiet confession, « I don't enjoy the mud, but I do like the rain. » Take the bad with the good and go on living cheerfully. « Do you like it being so dark? » she wonders without judgment, peering up at the bronze in a way that might suggest his hide, but with the mental connection, it's obvious her curiosity is about his inner shadows. Her lifemate studies Ka'ge, eyes slightly narrowed, as she assesses and makes decisions. "Not my idea of a good time," comes her answer. "And my smile quota's allotted for Evyth, not strangers I'm never going to see again." She's dismissing him that readily. "You're from Fort," is observed without apparent interest, even if it is followed by: "Why are you here?" To Evyth, Zymadiath rumbles, more to himself than anything, lowering his head until it's even with the tiny green, now ignoring the human counterparts of both of them. « What is better than the dark? » Comes evenly from the night, of blackness that only gets blacker still further from the edges of those shifting shadows, « Do you not like the dark? » The gravely mindvoice changes his question's route with the second, a hint of curiosity rolling with it "No?" Ka'ge replies first, inappropriately surprised by her denial. "Seems you're all but set up to enjoy yourself plenty." His brow creases with her note of the quota, his expression faintly but mockingly hurt, "That I am." He answers, of Fort. "But not tied by my ankles with rocks. I've got the wings to show up at your door again. You, and your Evyth." Her 'door' being Reaches, apparently. Even if they'd not made their introductions, the dragons had. "To extend by congratulations or condolences, whichever fit better." His words are too thin to be earnest, and his smirk makes that all the more obvious even if he doesn't seem willing to give her any other offer of response. "Surely you've been visited by all the kindness of other Weyrs before." To Zymadiath, Evyth doesn't need to think to reply, « I like the stars in the dark, » the light that is all the brighter for the contrast. She does take the step back so that his great big head isn't quite so near to her really quite tiny body, still smaller even than her rider. « I like sleeping when it's dark, » is added thoughtfully as she tries to find the answer to whether or not it's the dark she likes, or things as they happen in and around the dark. "No," Lys confirms, but her tone turns sardonic as she adds, "Though I suppose now that I'm a greenrider, I'd best get a move on settling myself into the slutty expectation of it all. How's that cavalier disregard for authority coming along for you?" It's asked too sweetly, and paired with a smile as she tacks on, "I can see you're still working on that whole good looking thing." The rest of his smirking and words gets a roll of her eyes. "If you're the kindness of Fort, you can go on and lose the visualization, do us both a favor." She's so pleasant; obviously part of the 'Reaches welcoming committee. The shadows continue to writhe, fading and regaining their prominences over and over. Slowly, deliberately, like living, undulating things in and of themselves, « Good. » Zymadiath's confidence is bolder with that, pleased with her answer it would seem. « We watch so that you need never concern yourself with the dark. » This all seems very different than his darkness. (To Evyth from Zymadiath) Ka'ge folds his arms across his chest, the newer black leathers he wears creaking in the effort and making him a little stiff in movement. "I'm glad you're making the effort so early." The smirk's prominence only grows, "Takes practice, you know." There's a clearly of his throat at her question, ending in a half-hearted chuckle, "I'm far from the best, but I'm making great strides. As I said, practice." He shrugs, the sound of fabric heavy. "Am I not plenty kind?" This, more of the fabricated hurt, "But it's my first visit. I was hoping to make friends." A comment that might as well be said through a chesire's smile. To Zymadiath, Evyth's mindtouch flutters in surprise. « You do? So I don't? But we've only just met-- » There's confusion, there's worry at not understanding, and there's an uncertain sense that she'd like to be flattered, but she's not sure if it was meant to be. "That's what they tell me about everything," Lys answers with another roll of her eyes. "I don't know. I imagine if we were both playing our roles appropriately, you'd offer to help me practice with some stupid smile, if you even know how to do that, instead of whatever that is," a finger points to the one occupying the young man's face. "And I'd beam prettily at you and tell you if only and pine about rules that don't really break my heart." Clearly, that's not what's happening here. The darkness is unswayed, as if it's fine that only he knows his meaning. But the aloof, distanced bronze is less-so, somewhat maleable by the youth of Evyth, « That does not matter. » Does not help the confusion, but despite the blackness of his night lacking in warmth, lacking in anything of substance to produce a sense of safety, there's that strength of an unyieldingness to it that may offer what the shadows themselves do not. (To Evyth from Zymadiath) "They don't lie about everything." Ka'ge responds using some of her words, "It's a bit early yet for me to help you practice, but the offer is there." His brows raise again, and one hand frees itself to gesture outwards idly, with a lopsided shrug. "I'm supposed to behave myself 'til you got at least a couple months under your belt, you know." Spoken as if she's pushing for it. "I'm not sure it'd be appropriate if I turned my charm on you out here by the lake. I don't want to get you into trouble. I'll keep that smile for later." A promise to return, likely in spite of her earlier remark. « No? » Evyth's eyes are big, so big. Her mind wants to understand, but she doesn't. Not yet at any rate. (To Zymadiath from Evyth) "Gross," Lys tells Ka'ge without preamble. That's what she thinks of his offer to help her practice. "I doubt you'd know what charm was, let alone how to use it. You don't seem the type." There's a frown though, "You do seem the type to make yourself insufferable. We'd be so much happier living our lives with paths that never cross, you know. It's only fair to warn you that I am quite the master at being entirely insufferable myself." If she has to be miserable because of his presence, he'll have to be because of hers. The shadows are watchful, those figments creating eyeless sockets, big and round and white against the blackness of the background that blink at her. The heads tilt, and then they melt away again. « I watch all. » Comes Zymadiath's easy answer. « Protect. » Though again he doesn't offer her from what. « How are your clutchmates? » (To Evyth from Zymadiath) "I would overwhelm you, sweetheart." Ka'ge assures, but steps away until his boots are nearly at the water's edge, letting his arms fall back to his sides. "Insufferable is not a bad quality to have when it's necessary. If you can push 'em away as fast as you pull 'em in, well," His breathy chuckle is somewhat sinister in nature, "You don't have to deal long with the morning-afters. And with plenty of those to come, that'll save you some of the awkwardness perhaps." He speaks as if he has this sort of experience, and rung in his arrogance, could well be believable. « Oh. » It might not be understanding, not really, but she's not stupid, just thoughtful (and young), so Evyth digests this in silence. Her private musing is interrupted by the question. « They're-- » She tries, and then just stops, sheepish. « I haven't really been paying attention. I mean, I want to, only, it's just that Lys is so interesting and I've only just met her. » It's perhaps Evyth's sense of needing to defend her inattention to her clutchmates that draws out, « Did you know Lys has no family? And that she once spent two sevens- » a very significant amount of time to one so young, « -dying? And then she went and adventured out under the sky and the stars with traders! » So exotic! Pride weaves itself through every thought. Her brave, wonderful Lys. (To Zymadiath from Evyth) "Ew. Glad I could help you practice at being a bronzerider," Lys answers the Fortian, nose wrinkled in distaste. Bronzeriders. "Has anyone ever told you what an ass you are?" Her hands are on her hips now. "I'm sure you're a great authority on that subject, what with your great big bronze," a hand moves up to cast a dismissive gesture toward Zymadiath. « She is the most important. » Zymadiath responds, supportive of her chosen focus. He listens, the ever present darkness maybe a little closer than it had been before, but still oh-so-carefully at the edge, waiting and watching as if from a ledge above. « Everyone has family. » Is curious, but not stated as a question in that scratchy, rough deep voice, « You, at least, are hers now. » That level, unaffectedness of the night continues despite the intensity of two sevens of near-death and travel. Those slowly churning green-touched facets ever-brighter versus the smoky backdrop of his face lid slightly, briefly as he considers, « And these stories do not scare you? » (To Evyth from Zymadiath) "Ew?" He didn't question her 'gross' but apparently this evokes a reaction, even if simply an amused one. Ka'ge's grin broadens, crafting lines beneath his blue-green eyes. "I work hard to keep up that quality. I mean, it comes more naturally to some of us than others-" And, he implies, surely everything comes easy to him. "Can't blame all my talent on him, though I suppose he would take credit if it was offered to him." A beat, and then, "But surely I can't be all bad. We've only just met." Is more pitiful, "There's plenty more to get to know." « Oh, well, yes, » Evyth is her family, « but no! She really doesn't-- didn't--. I mean, there are a couple of people who she cares about, » 'deeply' is felt if not said, « but she was left here, when she was little. So she's never had family, even if she might have family somewhere. » She explains convolutedly. « Why should her stories scare me? They're some of the things that make Lys Lys. » As such, they're nothing less than perfect in Evyth's eyes. (To Zymadiath from Evyth) "I don't see why you would need to work at it; that reaction is very natural for me, when it comes to you." Lys' jaw is set stubbornly. "I'd probably gag if you told me your name." That's just how naturally the gross comes. "And getting to know anything about you is like feeding a stray. You'll just want more of my sparkling personality the longer you stay. So don't you have somewhere else to be now?" Since Evyth doesn't look like she's inclined to go just yet. « Where did she come from? » Zymadiath's curiosities are not dismissive by any means, though he does not betray a caring demeanor. The shadows quiver in the semblance of laughter without the sound to go with it at her remark on scary things, « This is true. » (To Evyth from Zymadiath) "It's true." The boy and dragon speak on different subjects with nearly the same words at the same time, though fortunately not to the same mind. "Well, it's kind of a lose-lose situation. Or win-win if you see it as I do." Ka'ge considers which it may be, granting a pause as he clears his throat to stifle a chuckle, "If we share nothing," And the we is stressed, "Then I'll just be ever so curious to find out. And if you share only a little bit-" He tilts his head, a gesture of agreement to what she'd thought would happen. "Would it ease your stomach if I came up with a name for you?" A pet name, he suggests. And to her last question, "I'm exactly where I should be." And, fortunately, keeps himself from tacking on the implied 'with you' for sake of controlling the nausea that would ensue. To Zymadiath, Evyth's shrug is there in her voice, « She doesn't know. » Then, « But this is where she belongs, with me, » of that, Evyth is certain. "I'll make sure I direct my puke onto your boots," Lys' sweet consideration is given the bronzerider with another one of those wholly fake smile, "since you're so concerned with my well-being. Yours wouldn't be the first bronzeriders' boots to have suffered for his concern." The fact that that's all she says might seem to indicate her plan to share nothing. The starless night that waits, that sits at the edge of Evyth's mind undulates and writhes in its on-going unchanging rhythm. Zymadiath has no words for her confidence, only the faint, dark feeling of approval. (To Evyth from Zymadiath) "So you're already well-visited, then." Ka'ge offers with all the provocation that could imply. "Not a bad thing. Rather good, really." He shrugs, gesturing vaguely in a 'you know' sort of motion. "Maybe we can get you some tea for that sensitive stomach of yours. But as I'll take your thorough explanation of your feelings as a plea for more." There's no question in that whatsoever, no seeking of permissions or agreement, and he turns to face her again, "A pleasure to meet you, dear weyrling greenrider" Is drawled, his voice even more simmering and suggestive than before, "Ka'ge, of Zymadiath." Comes with a faint bow of his head and a prominent smirk. To Zymadiath, Evyth is glad of the approval, though casually so; she doesn't need it. His lack of words, however, leaves her with little distraction from the conversation between their riders and the feelings it's evoking in hers. Startled by feelings of disgust and anger, she casts her confusion toward Zymadiath along with those feelings. What is his doing? "If only that were the only way bronzeriders make my gorge rise," is sweetly delivered back. Lys turns her head to the side and spits (vaguely in the direction of his boots) perhaps in warning or maybe just to illustrate her point. The darkness' tempo is unphased, the dragon portrayed by it thoroughly unamused by the interaction of the riders. Zymadiath remains more focused on the young green than the young humans, a steady unerring calm in comparison to the tumultuous sways of the conversation, « Mine evokes feelings. » He explains superficially, his low gritty mindvoice even more flat than usual, « For amusement. » Is all the bronze seems willing to give, but to such an innocent mind, it's at least something from the depths of his unknown blackness. "We're not all the same." Ka'ge straightens from his bow, head tilted just-so. "Each one with a little different skills, a few different tricks. Never to get the same experience twice." He struggles to keep a straight face with that, cracking with a moment of deep, sinister-sounding laughter. "Ah, but I should go." The amusement ends rather abruptly with that, letting his blue-green eyes flicker down her form once then back to her face before turning partially towards the bronze. "Leave you aching for more and whatever." There's silence as an initial answer. Then slowly, « Huh. I... wonder if that's why she does it? » Evyth's thoughts are distant and private, but the implication that, in this, Ka'ge and Lys might be cut from the same cloth is certainly there. (To Zymadiath from Evyth) "Oh, yes, you should." Go. Lys' nose is wrinkled again in distaste. "My head will ache for as long as it takes to forget you were here, I'm sure." She glances to her green, "If only my memory was like yours, Evy," and that has a hint of sincerity to it. Evyth makes an amused noise and bounces the few steps she needs to her lifemate. "Quickly now," Lys encourages the foreign bronzerider with a shooing motion of her hand before she settles it on Evyth's headknobs to rub gently there. Zymadiath rises with the slow intention of a predator, his comparatively massive-sized wings spreading as he does so. Everything about him calculated, slow, deliberate. He leaves the young green with those thoughts which warrant no answer. It's as he rises that Ka'ge grabs onto the flight straps 'round his neck, feet lifted from the ground in a rather agile swing that takes him upwards, hand-over-hand until he's back in the buckled safety of the straps. "Hurt not for long, love. I'll return to you, don't worry your pretty little head too much." There's probably a wink with the unshelteredly condescending remark, but his face is shortly hidden in an adjusted tug of his jacket's black hood, and a similar adjustment a dark scarf around his face. The bronze recedes from the lake as much with his mental shadows as his physical form, and then propels himself into the sky. Not yet to be gone from the Reachian environment, they circle only once and land on some ledge above to vanish within. Lys turns her head. She might actually be puking, giving the very convincing retching noises she makes in his wake. They're probably not wholly lost before the sound of wings and wind would drown them out. Evyth alone offers a cheery farewell to the pair; friendly, if not overly so, a small sense of puzzlement there for the seeing as she looks to her lifemate to sort these new sounds and why she's making them. |
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