Logs:Welcome
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| RL Date: 13 August, 2011 |
| Who: Emme, E'gin, Lujayn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Rielsath is already curious about the new weyrlings. |
| When: Day 25, Month 6, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
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| To Rhazekth, Rielsath is the faint rays of a rising sun and boisterous curiosity despite the morning hour, gently searching out the minds of the Weyr's newest children. « You are Rhazekth? » Symbols, now: scales, long-legged desert birds, books. « Welcome. » Literally beaming, her voice carries warmth and excitement. To Rielsath, Rhazekth rouses from the light slumber he'd been waiting in, perking up instantly at the sound of a new voice. « I am! Who are you? » little scarabs scatter in the distance, helping him search for the answer to that, a slow wind of excitement swirls desert around in circling eddies. « Ohhhhh, this is /morning/ mine says. » To Vysravth, Rielsath extends her mind to the weyrling barracks with unusual gentility, sunbeams filtered through gauzy clouds. It's not enough to hide her excitement, the chime of bells ringing. She's caught a mind that's half-awake at least. « Hello! » To Rhazekth, Rielsath projects, « I'm Rielsath, » She replies immediately, the sense of wind whipping through her excited greeting. A clear image of the bowl at dawn, shadows retreating ever so slowly as the sun rises. « It is dawn. When things begin. » Her own ledge is catching the first rays. A wash of silver mixes with the light, her conversation more imagery than words or sounds. « Is yours from the island? Lujayn says there are lots of them in the barracks. » To Rielsath, Vysravth is silent for a moment, no indication that he is actually awake, but then a deep clink, the turn of a gear, slowly at first. Clunk, clunk, clunk. « How you doing? » To Vysravth, Rielsath has no smooth queenliness to her voice, joyous uncultured youth and a casual twang. She watches those gears turn with interest, waiting for them to go into motion before answering. « Great, sleepy, gotta start somewhere. You're Vysravnth, aren't you? » Barely a pause, « Yeah, I thought so. » A dragons'-eye view of the sands, a large brown hatchling wandering. « I remmeber you. » To Rielsath, Rhazekth raises his muzzle to the wind, even in the confines of a mindscape, his wonderment at the image of dawn breaking through in a deluge of water and the racing heart of excitement. « What are those colors, how does that /happen/? » Oh yes, he is one of those. Everything comes with a how and a why, his young voice and eager singsong of wind through reeds. « She is. She is the one who was a harper. Is a harper. Will be one again. » To Rhazekth, Rielsath the gold and silver again, mixing to a strange electrum sky, dances at Rhazekth's question. « It is mist. And the sun. And my own, y'know, mind. » She's no smooth-talking queen of lore, but a good conversationalist. « Like there aren't real beetles .. well, yeah there are, those trundlebugs, but right now it en't raining or anything, y'know what I mean, » Turned garrulous by his questions, the imagery fades and it's all Rielsath now. « That's good, yours. I like harpers. » A hazier, more warped memory of music, clearly gleaned from Lujayn's mind, of entertainment at a Gather. To Rielsath, Vysravth is all bass and his voice echoes off the gears that turn, ever so slowly. Broken? Weak? No, but the load is heavy. Each metal tooth clanking as it fits into place. « You were watching me? » A pause. « Why? » To Rielsath, Rhazekth is, obviously, fascinated by this - his interest displayed through the quieting of the storms and only faint rustle of insect wings. « I understand. » he decides, at least for the moment. And into the skein of music that the queen weaves, he begins to pepper the background with conversation that he pulls from Emme's memories. Law, and argument, and then the rustle of book and hide and pages to be studied. « Mine says yours is called Lujayn, and that she is friendly. » To Vysravth, Rielsath bounces her sunlight experimentally off of those turning gears, willing them to speed up; she's having an awfully hard time slowing to their thoughtful pace. « Everyone was watching, you're all new here. » It's not judgemental, just the facts. « I had a good seat. » As if that justifies spying. « I'm Rielsath, » She can't wait to be asked any longer, her light sparking where it meets the brown's metal cogs. « When do you get to come outside? » To Rhazekth, Rielsath's light blushes a rosy hue of girlishness, though the silver mist from her rider's mind is predominant. « Yes, she is! And a big sleepyhead, 'cause she stayed up too late last night at the celebration. But weyrlings are up all the time, I think. » Example: Vysravth and his shifting gears, indicating that the queen might be chatting with more than one dragonet just now. « She studies, then, your Emme. » Cool breezes flicking over the pages of those books, grains of desert sand still embedded in her mind. She understands the desert. The Gather scene is a happy one, so she embellishes it with color: vivid crimson on the dresses, jewelry glinting bright in midday sun. Dancing. To Rielsath, Vysravth shows no signs of acceleration. A emminates from the gears as they strain under the weight of the mechanism they control. Sun sheds light on the grotesque machine the gears are turning. Old, left to decay, to be forgotten for some sinister action, awakened now by Vysravth. « /They/ will not let us out. ». To Rielsath, Rhazekth tries to play with this silver mist, using his windy sandstorms to swirl it around in glittering display. « Yes, we have spent much of the night talking instead of sleeping. » he admits, without an ounce of shame. His interest is piqued again that others are already awake. But, it fades into excitement again at the image of books and sand. « She studies /too/ much. » he clarifies, having already come to this judgement, somehow. He adds his own splashes of color to gather dresses, with deep blue and jewled purple showing up here and there, until finally... « It is time to eat! I am hungry. » At which point, the youngmind is too consumed with thoughts of red bloody meat to be of much use in conversation. To Rhazekth, Rielsath urges the dragonet towards promising buckets along the back wall. « I ate yesterday, I'm not hungry. Good luck! » She can't help a farewell, watching him for a moment before scanning the rest of the barracks for open minds, new minds, the lure of youthful conversations. To Vysravth, Rielsath creates images of chains, crystal balls containing faraway stars, bell jars growing beautiful flowers within. « They will. And there's so much out here. » Already the images of a rising sun and the glittering lake are in her words, but she is careful not to overwhelm this one. « Would you like to see? » To Rielsath, Vysravth longs to ensnare those hanging chains in the gears. To hear the satisfying crunch of glass ball as the teeth strangle their starry visions. « When? What right do they have to keep us trapped here? » The gears suddenly stop, the chains and balls and jars all returned to their places. « Yes, please..but how? » To Vysravth, Rielsath doesn't pull away at the violent images. Her intrigue only intensifies, watching the interaction in a lapse of warm silence. « You're hungry so often, right? And then you want to sleep, and they want to make sure you don't hurt yourself, and.. » She shakes at the chains as well, flinging them away. « It's not /fun/. Here, I can show you. » Some images are more warped and embellished, some are pure in-the-moment flashbulb memories, but all of them are real despite Rielsath's bent for storytelling. A colorful Gather, the splash and silver coolness of the lake and its waterfall, heaps of snow upon the ground that morph into endless desert dunes. To Rielsath, Vysravth's mind voice is quiet as scenes like a warped family video are flickered on the wall of his mind. « Yes. Ilikethatplace. That is where we belong. E'gin can bring food, and are there not places to sleep? No. I do not think that is their reason as at all. » The gears being to groan again, clunking awkwardly at first as they begin to turn again. To Vysravth, It's hard for Rielsath to play devil's advocate on this issue, her own love of freedom catching with Vysravth's in a whirl of clouds whipping past and a Weyr far, far below. « Wait. » The images fade, back to her mind-world where things can be manipulated at will. « You can learn a lot just from where you are, about the dragons and their riders. Then when you come out, you will be better than before. » To Rielsath, Vysravth is not placated by this idea at least for a moment, then a sudden switch. The machine picks up speed, slowly accelerating to an appeasing pace. « Yes, there is much to learn, isn't there? » His low voice rumbling through the scene, « Rielsath, what do you do in the weyr, are you in charge? » To Vysravth, Rielsath picks up with the cogs' acceleration, attempting to shine the rust off of them with gritty sand and bright sunlight. « I'm in charge of me, » She replies stubbornly, not a moment spared for Iovniath's influence. There is a dim image of Tiriana and K'del, working to keep things running smoothly. « They do a lot, but they're just human. And it's /boring/ work, they don't get to have any fun. » See, being in charge is not so great. « I hunt, and fly wherever I want, and talk to my Lu and have all sorts of adventures. » Majestic mountaintops. Harsh deserts. Deep, dark oceans, mysterious. She creates a world of extremes, one vista after another, ending with a scattering of lonely, rocky islands. « The whole world. » To Rielsath, Vysravth gives a burst of feeling. Admiration twisted by jealousy, not yet in control of his emotions. « We want to be in charge of us too. » Another pause, « Some day we will be. » To Vysravth, Rielsath projects, « I can show you more later. Lujayn is waking. » The next image is real, her sun-drenched ledge over the bowl, peering into her own weyr - just glimpses of beaded curtains, light dancing on stone walls as brightly as her own youthful words. « You'll do great, Vysravth. » Is her last parting comment, the images of her mind fading and focusing elsewhere, replaced by darkness and a faint silvery mist. « Someday. » |
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