View source for Logs:Outwitted, Outlasted, Outplayed

{{ Log
| who = K'del, Val
| where = Benden Hold Area
| what = Cadejoth and Visigoth make good on flying plans made long ago. K'del and Val come along for the ride.
| when = Day 2, Month 6, Turn 22
|day=2
|month=6
|turn=22
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
| gamedate = 2010.04.08
| quote = 
| weather = 
| categories = General
| mentions = 
| icons = k'del_cadejoth.jpg, k'del.jpg, val vv default.jpg
| log = Clear blue skies, still warm air, fluffy poofy clouds... where's the fun in that? When Visigoth and Cadejoth get around to making arrangements to go /flying/, which on Visigoth's part mostly consist of making his rider wear something warm and running off with her, there's a sharp wind blowing over the mountain peaks and softening only slightly into the lowlands. Benden's a quiet area as these things go, at least the skies of it, looking down onto the verdant fields that have been ploughed and tended for so very long. The wind chases the clouds along, diminishes the heat of the bright sun that still could give the unsuspecting a sunburn, and lifts the large, thin sails of trumpeting Visigoth's wings.

It's a little more complicated for Cadejoth to get away, which is perhaps why it's taken so long for this to actually happen. Still-- perhaps that's half the reason he is /so/ very enthusiastic as he drops free from Between, bugling his arrival to match Visigoth's trumpet, announcing them both to anyone else who might just be in earshot. Adjusting his wingbeats to draw in alongside the brown as soon as he's gained his bearings, he tells him, << We made it! >> all jangling metal-and-bones. << Duties to you and yours, of course. It's very /green/, here. >> Green is good, too, even in the growing grassy form, and not the hide-and-bones.

The announcement's enough to bring a few dots out down below, cotholders come out to look. The youngest don't even have the wary duck to their shoulders, the worn-in reflex after so much Fall. It doesn't matter that one has a Weyr for a territory, that the other travels and travels, just... they've got /wings/. Not that Val so much as looks down, leaning along Visigoth's nearest neckridge, the her arm lifted up in a wide wave until the wind's angle shifts and the shoulder joint brings it down again. << Duties, duties, >> the long brown agrees genially enough, seeing as how Cadejoth seems to think it's something to spend time saying. << We have much of it. All shades. Some do patterns, even, do you see? >> Patchwork fields.

Cadejoth's wings rise and fall in steady beats, and he darts lower to get a better look at those cotholders-- albeit still from quite some distance. Stretching upwards again, turning and sweeping and clearly /exulting/ in the sensations, he tells the brown, << I do see. What interesting patterns! On and on and on and on. >> He could go on, too, but he doesn't, not this time. K'del's head ducks slightly at the waving of the brownrider, but he returns it even so, though his is mostly a raised arm, still except for the buffering it gets by the winds they zoom through, and dropped again quickly enough. << They can't even see their own patterns. They make them, but they're /just for us/. >> 

That one dragon gets to be a bigger dot, and there's actual waving from a couple youngsters on the ground, at least the ones too little to have to worry about being thought cool. But they're left behind soon enough, to go back and toil at their jobs, while the dragons get to fly, fly, fly. On and on and on. << Can't they? >> Can't everyone fly? It takes a nudge, his rider's maybe, before his surprised, << Suppose not! There are hills, but it would not be the same. >> Two of them are coming up in the distance, or rather one of them, with a wide road carved down into it long ago. Visigoth arrows for it, for all that the space isn't /so/ much wider than his and Cadejoth's wings. Maybe because of it. << They should write patterns for us, perhaps. Did he think she would hit him? >> That abbreviated wave, as though he were afraid the wind would bite off his arm.

<< No, he's just silly, >> is the concise and somewhat disapproving answer from Cadejoth, who adds along with it a sense of awkwardness that he really doesn't understand. Something about being dragged along with an almost-stranger? Or something? << Anyway, it would /definitely/ not be the same. Poor them. Poor little people. Maybe they could make patterns just to please us, and then we might show them. >> Maybe. Cadejoth is feeling generous today, perhaps, zooming onwards, matching Visigoth in that defined path towards that carved-in road. 

Maybe it's the tone and the associations more than the words themselves, the former unlike what Visigoth's seen of the bronze so far... at least when Cadejoth's not interrogating him about his intentions. The brown doesn't press, just gives a fraternal snort of sorts: he understands. Riders do that, sometimes. He's got a even more dubious angle to the /maybe/, /could/ happen, not-/impossible/-but... and zoom, zoom, flying for the road. Humor lashes upward as he descends some dragonlengths over a wagon pulled by draybeasts, then leveling out and letting the road rise up toward him: so-mighty Cadejoth can take the upper route if he chooses. Besides, there's more room there. << Not hungry, are you? >>

/These/ lands, the people, the greenery? It all belongs to Chelth, not Cadejoth-- and the difference it makes in the bronze is pretty obvious. Freedom! Oh yes. And the room to bond in that fraternal understanding, the occasional silliness of riders. But he, too, abandons this, abandons thought of those dragonless holders, to hurtle mightily onwards towards the road. He descends, too, but not so far, angling himself carefully to test the space, then hurtling higher: safer, better, /free/. << Hungry? No. Not /here/. >> High Reaches beasts are better. /His/.

So Visigoth's guest can have the safe-and-free, because it may be Chelth's territory but Chelth isn't exactly here, now is he, and Visigoth himself will course lower and never mind that he's shadowed. Not nearly as safe. Better. Free. << Good. >> Because eating takes /time/, time when they could be /flying/. And then they're thundering through, the stone to either side, at least as low as Visigoth is, and the stone echoes the sound of their wings and the wind buffets them and it's almost, /almost/ like it used to be. Just for a moment. Not that the brown can exactly remember, except what stayed there, there in the bone. And then it opens up along the other side, and Visigoth veers to the right before swinging up, << Where do you want to see? >> All of it, stretched before them, land and rivers and rock softened by old, old habitation, and rare interstices left to be wild.

Flying wins. Flying /usually/ wins. Cadejoth's tail all but wags, no doubt not doing much for his streamlining, but he's built enough momentum that it doesn't matter so much. And what better way to share joy than that? (Without scaring the locals /too/ much, that is, of course). << Where's best? >> he wants to know, begging-without-asking to be shown Everywhere Awesome, his eagerness overflowing like a cup under a water spout, erupting like a severed artery. << Show me everything! >> His rider might have something to say about that, but for now, the bronzerider hangs low against his mount, leaning forward, perhaps not exactly as eager, but-- not reluctant. Not in this.

That's a lot of eagerness. Good thing Iovniath's the one who lives with it, but at least Visigoth tilts back a headknob willingly enough: it's a day trip, he can handle it. << /Hmm/. >> /Best/. Clearly, that's asking a lot. /Everything/ might be easier. << Let's start here... >> as there's a river to chase upstream, after all, waterwheels to point out, human bread to be ground. Down in, as Visigoth tells it, there are fish though not as large as those in the ocean, and water-weeds and good old mud, warm and sloshy on hide... His own rider /might/ be forgiven for clutching tighter, but there's the brown's laughter again, teasing her with the truth. She hasn't waved since that first time, has barely glanced a time or two. Visigoth's eyes are sharper, after all. Beyond there are shallow valleys, and hills, << That one, later, will be all purple. And the flowers' throats will be orange. >> It must be his rider who remembers. And speaking of his rider, << Their hold is back where we had been. Over /there/, the reeds, they make baskets out of them. >> Humans do like their little technologies sometimes.

Of ocean fish, not these smaller, river fish (though they are still interesting to excitable Cadejoth!), the bronze shares a memory, no doubt gleaned from his rider, of big fish with sharp teeth, eager (perhaps not /actually/ eager) to be chased! But everything is interesting to Cadejoth, from waterwheels to oh delicious mud that can't be explored, but oh-- Onwards. << Purple? A purple hill? Show me? >> Because he /does not believe it/. Hills aren't purple! They're /green/. << Baskets? >> This, too, confuses the bronze, but only briefly, his own rider presumably filling in the gap this time. His own rider who looks around with almost as much interest as he himself has, if, perhaps, a little more restrainedly. << K'del says... it must have been a nice place to grow up. >> /Cadejoth/ thinks it's a nice place to visit, but to /stay/? No, thanks.

<< It is not purple /yet/, but it will be. You will have to come back, to see. Now... now I can find you a yellow one. >> Visigoth seems fairly certain of this, veering along an offshoot of the river. Not that it's visible yet: just a few more hills coming up, their shadowed sides towards them. << Sometimes they catch fish in the baskets. >> What swims in, does not swim out! but compared to Cadejoth's fish, they really are not interesting at all. /Cadejoth's/ fish have sharper teeth. There's a glinting thought that the river-fish, the basket-caught fish, must be... well. Pretty stupid. But back to Cadejoth: << We did not grow up here. My Val, she says she was little still, when she was here, >> though there's that rumbling amusement again: she's little /now/. Comparatively.

Cadejoth tames his impatience for the purple (Purple!) with an accepting shiver of metal against metal - and the promise of yellow. Maybe it jolts K'del, as Cadejoth hurtles off after Visigoth, the veering angling them sideways for a short time; then again, maybe he's used to it. A glance in his direction would show a smile, anyway. To the brown, he suggests that if he sat very, very, /very/ still, they might swim into /his/ mouth. << But I think I would need a lot of small ones to fill me up. >> Sadly. Not that he's hungry. << Like my K'del and his-- >> he shares an image rather than a name: vines growing on hills, a copse of trees, a small house, a garden. Not the same kind of green as Benden, though. << They are both still little, though K'del says he's also /tall/. >>

<< Yes, yes, very tall, >> Visigoth humors the other dragon's rider. Humans. So short. As they fly above the local hills, he surveys the different-hills, the different-trees, the vines, << We have these also, only not here, and not where her people are. He visits? >> It's almost casual flight, those long sweeps of those long wings, except over the last hill... he slows, glancing over at Cadejoth to see what he makes of /that/. Afternoon sun, a valley, and /yes/! Yellow. Lots and lots of yellow, enough to get anyone prone to hay fever sick for a sevenday. And if deep down Visigoth is relieved that it's actually there, well, it's the hospitable side of things that he lets show. Except to his rider. Who's hiding a laugh.

Cadejoth /does/ grant, << For a human. >> Not compared to /their/ grand lengths. (His in particular, but he doesn't stress that too much, of course. It wouldn't be polite.) << We visit, >> he continues, idly, attention focusing on the real hills rather more, though he shares an image of it, these visits. Him, surrounded with small children. Maybe more of them than actually exist, it's true, though Cadejoth seems to delight in them, too. But; << Oh! It really /is/ all yellow! >> He hurtles downwards, dropping like a boulder from the sky to get closer for a better look. No reaction from K'del: he must be used to that kind of plummet. << Strange! >>

Not too much. Not that Visigoth doesn't pick up on it, adding merrily enough, << Just as well, as there is more of you to oil. >> And therefore that much more pleasing togetherness, rather than a slapdash job. Right? << Why? >> Strange, that is. Bypassing the lots-of-children thought for the moment, he rocks into his own descent, but more gradually. But then, it would be hard not to be.

<< I suppose there is that, >> agrees Cadejoth, the slosh of warm, soothing oil lubricating the more metallic edges of his mental touch. That togetherness, yes! He connects with the ground with a thumping thud as he explains, << There's so much of it. Yellow where it should be green. It's /different/. >> But fun, apparently: he lowers his nose towards it, sniffing curiously. His tail flattens a fair amount of it, too.

Visigoth circles a time or two, as though expecting Cadejoth to leap back up again, but then... but then his rider shrugs, tosses her black braid over her shoulder, and down the brown goes. A /little/ more carefully, even, though not so much that plenty of flowers don't get squashed. << Green underneath, >> he points out. << You leave... green pawprints. >> Something about that is funny, his blade's humor shining and dancing in the mental, metal light. And not that he doesn't leave such tracks himself, either.

<< Green pawprints! >> Cadejoth seems to find this particularly funny, and adds a few more, wandering forward a few steps, leaving the yellow flower he was sniffing just then a yellow squashed thing amidst the greenery. << But still. So /much/ yellow. Our mountains at home have flowers of all kinds of colours, not just fields and fields of yellow. So it's different. Fun. >> On the ground, it's easier for K'del to tilt his gaze towards Val, though he doesn't actually speak-- or try another wave, for that matter. 

<< Some of ours do too, >> Visigoth supposes, settling down in a sprawl that flattens two wings' worth of flowers now. It's like snow, but yellow! Or at least, yellow snow that's clean! << Except you can't tell until you're down close, really. Here you can tell. >> Val's been checking the state of her straps, one buckle in particular, but now she looks back at K'del. Her lips purse, the only really solemn thing about her, and even their corners escape upward. She lifts her brows at him: what?

<< You can, >> agrees Cadejoth, firmly and with radiant pleasure that sends his chains to jangling again. His wriggling tail flattens a fair few more flowers, but then he, too, lowers to a sprawn, which at least means it only flattens the same flowers over and over again. The brow lift sends K'del's eyes to duck towards the neckridge in front of him, though cheeks manage not to shade red. Then, finally, he lifts his voice to offer, "Hi? Again. Hope you don't mind-- Cadejoth, I mean. Remembering." Or being reminded.

What with Cadejoth sprawling too, Visigoth starts snuffling at the foliage like it would spook something out, or like he's forgotten anything he ever learned about being dignified. His Val thumps his neck, then hooks her goggles up onto her forehead so she can give his rider a better look. And a laugh. "Mind? Not hardly. My Visigoth, he likes a run." She rubs the wind-chafing from her cheeks. "How about you, supposed to be back home or something?"

It makes Cadejoth wonder, << Are there things beneath it? Things that might come out? >> Because now he's interested, too, and blows air at the green-and-yellow carpet, just to see. Shifting, more hesitant than actually awkward, his rider tugs at the top of his jacket to unbutton the neck at least, and pulls away his own goggles. "Not me. Not for now, anyway. Cleared my schedule to make him happy." His smile is indulgent. "Anyway. Just wanted to make sure, I guess."

<< Hm! There might be. >> The carpet ruffles under the other dragon's breath, at least the parts that aren't crushed, and Visigoth lowers his head even further. Looking. Was that... something? Over there? Surely not just a half-broken stem wavering up right again. "Cleared your schedule," Val repeats, only this time her laugh is softer, shorter, more to herself. Brown eyes do look up again, though. She could laugh all over again, but doesn't, and tilts her face higher so the sunshine's all over her face. To the sun, "So, K'del."

Being still is not Cadejoth's greatest talent. Nor is patience. He tries for at /least/ a few seconds before curiosity gets the better of him and he digs his nose down again anyway. If there was something, it's not there now. Not near him, anyway. << Maybe they're scared of me. >> And rightly so. "So, Val," says the bronzerider tipping his head to one side to consider the brownrider, leaving the sun to her eyes. "Don't remember... did you win? That game at the 'Reaches."

<< Maybe they're afraid you will step on them. Or inhale them. >> Or maybe that's just Visigoth who's likely to do that. << Maybe if I do /this/, it will herd them towards you. >> This: more puffs of breath, harder this time. A couple claw-presses into the dirt. Surely /something/ must move. Other than his rider, still leaning back. Val lets the wind blow by, like she has to think about it, and winds up with, "That was a long time ago." Wasn't it? "Let's say, I didn't lose my shirt."

Maybe, beneath the soil, some worms move around, but there's no visible movement, and Cadejoth settles back, radiating disappointment. << I suppose it's all still pretty enough, >> he declares, but-- still. It's totally not fair. << Unless you can see anything? >> Cadejoth might have missed something! Being here and not there. K'del swings around, letting both legs hang down one side, though he makes no further move to dismount. "Guess it was," he agrees, placidly. "Didn't lose your shirt, okay. Can call that good. You play often?"

Visigoth plants one big eye around plant-level, an inner lid closed so they won't poke him. Maybe that's why he can't see anything? << Not yet. Maybe if we were... loud. >> Whatever gets through to Val, she pokes his neck again, and tightens her knees where she'd let her legs go slack. "Pretty often," the brownrider understates, and briefly gives her voice a singsong lilt, "Here and there and everywhere.... What kind of a man are you, K'del?" And to be more specific, "Poker, dice, go fish?"

Evidently, Cadejoth is not quite so sharing with K'del, because he takes this suggestion as an invitation, and lets out a mighty roar-- just to test it all out. It nearly sends his rider flying, surprised, and evidently a silent dressing down follows, not that Cadejoth stops sweeping the area for movement. K'del's answer is delayed until he's settled himself again, though he holds on to pale neckridges just that little bit more tightly, now. "Good way to keep busy, I suppose," is his conclusion, then. And: "Wine, women and-- well. Whiskey and women, mostly. Read a bit. Fly."

It gets Val covering her ears, apparently not warned enough, or at least about specifics. Which has Visigoth informing Cadejoth, << She thought that was loud, >> like it's a great compliment. Maybe it is! Val's eyeing the tilt of his headknobs again with renewed suspicion, brought out of it only when K'del gets back to conversing. And then she's looking at him for a while: is he /sure/ that's the answer he wants to give her? "Sounds better'n the pile of papers I had you for," she says, letting her gaze slide to Cadejoth and then back, her smile widening. "Don't gamble? Or is that just the women."

K'del's apology is in his expression rather than his words, a twist of the features that eventually turns into a long glance at his errant bronze. << I hope it was loud enough! K'del says I shouldn't do it again. >> Sad Cadejoth. But, but, but! There's movement. A scurrying! Enough for him to reach out one paw to swipe in that direction, though he misses. << Lookit, lookit, lookit! >> "Papers're kind of a given, I guess," says K'del, turning attention back to Val. "Not really my leisure activity of choice." Her look gets no particular reaction, except that what he says next follows that train of thought: "Cards, occasionally. Not often. Never played dice. The women keep me pretty occupied... which isn't to say I'm trying to get you into bed, for the record." Just so's they're clear.

<< /I/ don't mind, >> Visigoth lets Cadejoth know, even as he's getting his wings back to his sides and then scuttling over so /he/ can see, too. << Besides, it's good for them, keeps them on their toes... >> he's looking, he's looking, he's looking! Val's leaning over so she can look too, maybe just indulging both of the dragons, maybe actually seeing something too. "Oh, if we're talking leisure," she says absently, still leaning. And when he keeps on, "Because you're a manly man and have girls scheduled twice a night already, I get it. But why not cards?" /Now/ she looks up and back at him, still with her goggles on, shading her eyes some. "No dice?" Like he's going to skip dessert and the main course, all put together.

That's mollifying, at least, and anyway, Cadejoth's all distracted, now, watching the scurrying thing with the greatest of interest. "Can't tell what it is," asides K'del, following Val's lead to glance over, shrugging his indifference anyway. "Now you're making it sound like I meant it as an insult, or a boast or whatever," he complains, then, settling back against a neckridge lazily. "Never learned," he says of dice, studying her reaction with a hint of amusement. "Got nothing against it, though. All of that stuff."

Val's got a nod for the can't-tell, reaching out to grab a neckridge /just/ as Visigoth tries batting at the grass too. Lightly. Not lightly enough not to break any plants, just lightly enough to not hit the ground. Much. And in the meantime, K'del's complaining wins another quick smile from the brownrider. "Did I? Now you got me wondering why women get offended when you don't hit on them, if that makes you feel better. Dice, though... still don't know why you didn't learn it. It's a life skill, K'del, I tell you." After a moment's thought, "Goes well with whiskey, too."

<< Did you feel anything? >> Cadejoth wants to know, craning neck forward to get closer still, though the thing - whatever it is - is rapidly moving out of his reach. K'del's smile is rueful for Val's retort to his complaint; he shakes his head. "Reckon I might just leave that one alone entirely. Guess no one ever offered to teach me. Dice, I mean." Because this is a safer conversational topic. "And here I am, just shy of twenty and still missing such a valuable skill. /Especially/ if it goes well with whiskey."

"Do you usually wait for somebody to offer?" Val has to ask, shaking her head, enough to make her braid swing. Or, no, that's from Visigoth's moving onward, step by step, another paw reaching out... foiled! He ducks his muzzle lower, right /at/ the ground this time, and inhales deeply. Which doesn't slow him down from confirming with Cadejoth, adding, << But it went down a hole. See? >> He sinks back to his haunches some, so the bronze can take a sniff of his own. << That's cheating, >> he says appreciatively. Simultaneously, his rider allows, "I /suppose/ I could offer. Though I better ask, are you a weyrleader on excursions like this, or just a fellow out with his dragon? Because a weyrleader gets charged."

"Point taken. Perhaps the opportunity just never ar--" K'del breaks off in order to consider Val's last words, a smile stretching out across his face. "Just a fellow out with his dragon, promise. Though I could offer some free drinks next time you made it to High Reaches, if that helped." Cadejoth pads after the brown, neck extending down towards the hole which he, too, huffs at. << Cheating! But smart. >> He can deal with the little things being a /little/ bit smart... though there's a sulky edge to it: they're not /supposed/ to do that.

"Drinks, /something/ good... you'll think of something." It could be a question, but Val waves it off, one hand slipping to her belt to jangle the dice cup there. "Anyway, I'd offer your first installment now, but grass, it's pretty easy to lose the dice in. Besides, I figure you can already count to six, yeah?" Her eyes laugh. Her Visigoth's less lighthearted, though, picking up on Cadejoth's sulkiness and shaking out one of his hind legs. << There must be other things out here. >>

"Probably, you'll just take all my marks then, instead," suggests K'del, with an easy grin. "To six?" He pauses, as if he needs to give this some real thought. "/Reckon/ I probably can, right. Big, dumb bronzerider or no." His laughter is less in the eyes and more in the mouth. Cadejoth's siiiiiiigh is a long one, as he draws himself up and shakes out his wings. << /Must/ be. More interesting things that don't go off and hide and dug. Scaredy-things. >>

Val laughs to that, easy as his grin, easy as can be, never mind just now how humor hadn't made it to his eyes. "You've got too much of a mouth on you to get away with that. If you were hulking, maybe, and grunted more..." then he might have a chance. "Which /reminds/ me, don't get your own set, just yet. I've got a few pair," another understatement, "and you can try them out, see what you like, yeah?" and in the meantime, she'll tighten her buckles up again, what with Cadejoth shaking out his wings, Visigoth easing back his own in a long, joint-cracking stretch that extends all the way back to his long-ago-scarred tail. << Fish, maybe. >> Oceanic or otherwise. Or maybe just the excuse for flight.

/This/ time, K'del's laugh is unreserved. "Things to work on, then. Talk less, hulk more. 'less I actually want to be considered intelligent, I suppose." And who'd want that? Anyway; "Oh, great. Take you up on that-- guess the feel matters?" But she's tightening her buckles, and taking his lead from that, not to mention the dragons, he swings his leg back around and resettles himself, rebuttoning the top of his jacket and hooking goggles around his head once more. He's barely in time: Cadejoth throws himself into the air with the enthusiasm (and gracelessness) of a much younger dragon, tackling the skies like every wingbeat is a victory. << Fish! >> he tells the brown, jangling merrily. << And Better Things. >> Than scurrying, hiding ground-dwellers. And flight! Oh yes. What could be better than that?

"Some don't think so," but by Val's tone, /they're/ the blockheads. She pulls her own goggles down, check-check, all-systems-go, and then /they're/ off: after the younger-if-not-that-young dragon, but not too much after, honing a sharp-angled flight up into the blue and towards those Better Things. As for the plants? Some will even survive, and a little creature will emerge from its hole and twitch its nose once the dragons are truly gone. Outwitted, outlasted, outplayed!

More laughter from K'del, lasting well into the air, where the wind drowns it out, and perhaps-- well, was that a whoop of exhilaration from him, too, not just his dragon? Who can say. It's probably a good thing Cadejoth has been so well distracted by this, and can't see that little creature: not fair! But at least the flying is good, the company pleasant, and there's still some daylight left to explore in, so perhaps it's not so bad.

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