Logs:Who Are You, Really?
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| RL Date: 15 August, 2011 |
| Who: Kesil, Iolene |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Kesil's resting when Iolene and Ysavaeth interrupt it all. Iolene finds out she's considered 'weyrfolk' now and this thought doesn't agree with her. She also finds out Kesil is not weyrfolk. Then, dragon narcolepsy kicks in. |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 7, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
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| A fine summer day it is, the soft breeze flowing along in eddies and currents throughout the long grasses surrounding the fertile area of the lake shore. More than a few have taken advantage of the beautiful day and people taking their chores at a more than leisurely pace seem a common sight across the bowl. With a dragonpair froclicking in the waters near the diving cliff, Kesil has set himself up on a more isolated section of scrub, a well-eroded boulder forming a perfect seat for the young man as he stares out over the water, his shirt long forgotten as it lays draped haphazardly nearby. A trying early morning has led to a no less trying late morning as an exuberant baby dragon, in all her pale white goldenness, comes skittering over the crest from the weyrling barracks and down towards the rocky lake shore. Immature wings are spread to catch in any breezes and delighting in this, though it doesn't carry her anywhere, Ysavaeth toots her incredibly joy in a succession of musically off-key notes. And there she goes, *splashing* into the water just below Kesil's boulder and causing a short plume of water to radiate out of her point of entry. "Ysa. Ysa! Wait! No. You're going to-," and then it's too late and the too skinny blonde that chases after slumps somewhere near that boulder as well. Her, "You're going to fall asleep out here and I won't be able to /do/ anything," doesn't even have the strength to call out anymore and is spoken to the ground. Oh sigh. The toots of joy bring a first warning to Kesil, his reverie shattered as his head tilts around to glance casually at the skittering golden form. Shifting his weight into a less lounging pose, the young man's attention shifts back to the dragons weyrling, a small smirk crossing his lips as the girl straggles after the energetic young dragon. Despite the calculating look his face may often adopt, apparently these calculations failed to take the dragons trajectory into account as a healthy splash of water hits the man as his back is turned towards the weyrling. Sputtering slightly, he glances down at the blonde with nothing short of increduality. Clearing his throat he lets escape, "Umm, are you going to be alright?" Ysavaeth cavorts, splash splash splish. Two hands work their way up to her cheeks, pressed there to smoosh her skinny feature into looking as piggy as they might be able to get and then complete the ascent to push her tangled blonde hair up and away from her head. Thin fingers curl into those curls and then after struggling with her all over the place emotions, Iolene just lets go again. Slump. "I'm fine. I'm always fine," is said without looking and the blonde girl /leans/ her lanky frame against that boulder of Kesil's. It's then that her head tilts to one side a glance cast up to where the erosion's made a natural seat, that she finally takes a good look at the dark haired possible teen that her dragon's splashed. "I'm...," and suddenly a thin smile cracks her wearied demeanor, followed in quick succession by a little laugh. "Oh. I'm so sorry. Do you need a towel? I don't have a towel. You can use my shirt? Though- maybe that's not a very good idea." Kesil looks- confused would probably be the best word, but no specific word fits the young mans reaction to the nearby weyrling. Schooling his features into a more neutral form, only a slight quirk of lips remaining, he keeps his gaze on the girl, unsure of what to make of it all. The reaction to his wettening only further consolidate any thoughts and expressions he may have that the weyrling before him may be a little less than sane, and this may be a big reason that her question brings forth no lewd comment. Composing himself yet again, "No, no. You needn't worry about me. It cooled me right off." He adds a grin to indicate no ill will. "Though maybe if you need to be worried about someone, yourself may be a good start." Relief. "Oh good. I like my shirt. I wouldn't have liked giving it up that much. And I haven't slept in a few days," confides the blonde girl, her head tipping in confidence towards the man. "It's really hard to think when you haven't slept but have you ever had those times when you're thinking about so many things your brain just won't shut off?" Iolene looks up, hopeful for reassurance: that this phenomenon is not just her. In the mean time, Ysavaeth has started to stalk a tiny little orange fish, intrepid little thing that he is, that scurries about her limbs which takes her deeper and deeper into the lake by minute baby dragon steps. "I...I guess so?" Kesil answers in reassurance, though its hesitancy may do little to allay any fears that the weyrling may be entertaining. Adding, as though an afterthought, "Haven't had it happen to myself, I might add, but I'm sure it makes sense." He raises his eyes to look over to the young dragon, asking his next question with a nod in Ysavaeth's direction, "THose things don't give much slack, do they? Looks like more of a taskmaster than I've ever encountered." He doesn't look like he has any thought of offering a name or introduction. Iolene nods, a rag doll head bobble. Then, she seats herself on the ground by Kesil's boulder, head rested against the big rock, as if she can't hold it up with her own strength anymore. "I... They... Yes," is what she ultimately decides on starting off with. "I've never been so tired in my life and," the girl's lips purse as she finds a golden head still above water, "I never thought I'd say that after the storms of last year. Days they went on and it would be so hard to sleep with the winds blowing outside. I'm sorry," the teenager says again, looking up in all apology. "We ruined your nap." Giving a wry look in the direction of the bowl, Kesil offers a smirk at her apology, "No need to be apologizing, I'm not supposed to be napping anyway. It's just hard not to on a day like today-" a hand gestures to the sky above, a glance given the quickly scudding, little puffy clouds. "-and I don't envy you in the least." He offers what looks an attempt at sympathy, but clearly it is not an expression often attempted. "What would happen if you did nap?" He questions, still looking slightly incredulous. The tired, it makes her babble, though the resting against the boulder seems to have eased the need to have a constant stream of her thought train from tumbling out of her mouth. At least for now. Io's eyes close, unbidden even as he inquires of the consequences of a nap, and then fly open when he finishes. "We're not supposed to," Io says, suddenly quiet, "Not when they're awake because they can't really do anything for themselves yet." Such as now, when Ysavaeth takes that one step that brings her from the shallows to the deep and it's only a squawk and flail of limbs that rights her back to safer ground. The orange fish manages to get away this time leaving the gold dragon sulky with an expressive tail that lashes the water for her loss. "What do you do?" Curious. Letting out a soft whistle between his teeth, Kesil widens his eyes in surprise, "Those things are -big-!" He keeps an eye trained on the young dragon as he offers more, "Didn't expect something that looks so-" he gestures randomly, apparently not find an appropriate word, "-so.... To be so reliant on you Weyrfolk." Her last question gets the man to turn his attentions back to the weyrling from dragon, "What don't I do, more like. Probably be a smaller list. I just work." And that's likly all that will be offered on that subject. Something Kesil says troubles her and it's not his vague evasion of what he does. It's the, "Weyrfolk?" that's repeated, a little uncertain, that Iolene latches on to. "Why would you call me that?" It's definitely less 'you've insulted me and my mother' in tone and more- well, confused. Kesil frowns slightly, looking to be less than pleased at the attention given his not-so-innocent choice of words, "I, err, meant that you are folk. Folk of the Weyr. Not like a holder would keep a dragon!" He lets out a chuckle, offering a reconcilliary grin towards the weyrling. There's been many a designation thrown her way in the last week, and in the months leading up to that, and Iolene tries this one on for size, repeating, "Weyrfolk. Weyrfolk." And ill liking it if the sudden inward curl of her shoulders means much. "I'm not weyrfolk," she finally decides. "I'm me. I'm Iolene and-, and weyrfolk is what happened to Seani." Spoken with absolute conviction, there's the sense that she expects Kesil to just know what she's speaking of. A surmise floats to her lips, "You're not weyrfolk then." Kesil looks at the girl with a critical eye, considering. "Who are you, then? Saying you're 'me' means nothing. Everyone is their own 'me'," he probes, grimacing slightly at the mention of Seani, something he surely got word of. To answer her unasked question he answers with an even simpler, "No." "Why do you need to belong with anyone to be more than just you?" Iolene returns after a long moment of silence. Having tired of chasing a fish she can't swim after, because the lessons on swimming aren't innate and she hasn't learned them yet, Ysavaeth trudges back to sure to slump in a heap of exhausted rose-cast white gold limbs by her rider's side. The size of a very large puppy at this point, Io is still able to wrap one arm about her dragon's body, just below the sharper neckridges and bring her in close. With Ysa around, the girl shifts from leaned against the boulder to leaned tiredly against the dragon. "Neither am I." "I didn't mean it like that..." Kesil looks to have almost said, 'and you know it', but it seems he hasn't forgotten her tiredness. "What is contained in this 'me'. I also am me, but there's a lot contained in that which makes me.... -me-." He can't help but crack a small smile, the words coming out of his mouth likely making no sense, even to one knowing where they came from. He grows somber again with a question, "How do you intend to ride a dragon but not be a part of this Weyr? They have a hold on you that can't be broken." There's a, "Why?" ready for Kesil's final comment of the Weyr's hold on her and those delicate, overly thin shoulders cringe again. Any further discussion however comes to an end as her own extreme tiredness couples with a suddenly snoring baby dragon and that arm that's looped itself over Ysavaeth's shoulders falls limp as does the rest of Iolene's body. Score two, for dragon-induced narcolepsy, and score one for a Reachian summer sun baking both dragon and rider for the rest of the afternoon. "Why? Well..." Kesil trails off as the weyrling collapses into a slumber. His mouth opens and closes silently for a few moments, not sure what to do next. He gives a hesitant smile at the pair, looking ready to drop it in a moment if the sleep is only temporary. "Who are you, really?" he whispers towards the dragonpair, puzzlement creasing his brow. He gathers his shirt quietly and pads off towards wherever he may find himself solitude yet again. Tags: (norcon), +exiles, +weyrling, @hrw, kesil, |
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