Bot at 02:23, 22 January 2016

2016-01-22T02:23:52Z

Bot: Text replace - "FTW Clutch 32" to "Clutch 118"

2016-01-22T02:07:51Z

Text replace - "FTW Clutch 32" to "Clutch 118"

Meg at 04:10, 8 June 2015

2015-06-08T04:10:24Z

Meg at 13:01, 31 May 2015

2015-05-31T13:01:56Z

Meg at 03:35, 31 May 2015

2015-05-31T03:35:59Z

Meg: Created page with "{{Log |who=Lilah, N'rov |what=After the hatching and after the feast, Lilah and N'rov have a conversation regarding the day. |where=Nightheart, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Weyr |..."

2015-05-31T03:35:32Z

Created page with "{{Log |who=Lilah, N'rov |what=After the hatching and after the feast, Lilah and N'rov have a conversation regarding the day. |where=Nightheart, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Weyr |..."

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{{Log
|who=Lilah, N'rov
|what=After the hatching and after the feast, Lilah and N'rov have a conversation regarding the day.
|where=Nightheart, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=11
|month=12
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.05.30
|quote="It's not just ''about'' the ending, Lilah."
|mentions=Hattie, Ali
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon lilah darkness.png, Icon n'rov.png,
|log=Somehow the wandering of N'rov-and-co. leaves him washed up here, slumped in a chair after midnight, a chair that doesn't even have anyone else in it. He's not snoring like his buddy over there a few chairs away; that slump carries too much tension even now. Besides, he's got a beer bottle to ping unpopped kernels at. This one hits, but it's not like it's going to knock the bottle over either.

Lilah hasn't stopped moving since the hatching. There has been enough to see to, with the usual feast though dampened and the newly Impressed and visiting dignitaries and even Fortian dragonriders all needing ''something'' as the night has dragged on. She is cleaning, now, which is surely something that falls out of her responsibilities. She has a rag in one hand, stray glasses that have some bit of remaining backwash hooked in between the fingers of her other as she carries them with her into the nighthearth. She stops where she is on catching sight of N'rov and co., a frown growing at lips just ''as'' that kernel hits that bottle.

N'rov gets around to looking at her. He focuses on her, even. And then he lets another kernel fly.

"If you break that glass over this floor, ''you'' are going to be sweeping it up," comes the threat from the weyrwoman as he throws that kernel, her gaze narrowing with suspicion on the bronzerider as Lilah starts forward again. She sets her carried glasses down next to the abandoned beer, freeing a hand to move to collect other errant glasses and bottles to the growing pile, ignoring the sleeping rider there and N'rov both. Or at least, doing a good job at pretending to.

"Right." He more shows teeth than actually grins, and more or less watches her doing what she's going to do. The snoring continues. There's a spot on N'rov's shirt. At length, before the spot's dried the rest of the way even, "Why are you playing drudge."

"Because half of them will be drunk tonight, and the other half--," starts the goldrider, cutting herself off with a press of her lips together before Lilah glances back to N'rov. She continues, flatly, "It needs to be done. You could help." She even holds up that rag, hooked on fingers, towards the lounging bronzerider.

"It can wait," N'rov tells her, that plain.

"For when?" challenges Lilah to that, dark eyes dancing over N'rov even as her fingers close back around the rag tightly, withdrawing the offer.

"Tomorrow. The day after, even." N'rov eyes her. "What, that other half has better things to do?" Whiel he's at it, "You could be drunk. It's a place to be."

Lilah's brows curve upwards, though she answers with a flat, "The other half can barely stop crying long enough to do anything." Her knuckles whiten, slightly, as she grips that rag, but she turns to wipe at the mantle with a quick gesture. "Getting drunk isn't going to help anything, is it? And ''one'' of us needs to be in control of themselves." Whether she's talking between the pair of them, or her and her lifemate, or her and Hattie as goldriders--. She doesn't clarify.

"Isn't it? Imagine the excitement if we ''weren't''." Whether he's talking about him and his even drunker friend, or others who have come and gone, he doesn't clarify either. "Plus," N'rov tells her, "tomorrow we can blame it all on the hangover." Clearly a virtue!

"And what, exactly, do you have to blame on a hangover, N'rov?" Lilah questions quietly, her gaze drawing back to rest weighted on the bronzerider.

"You were there." N'rov keeps looking at her. If she's paused in her cleaning, he's not yet patting himself on the back.

Lilah's words are low, practically a hiss where she points out, "It wasn't anything ''you'' did." Though dark eyes do search for guilt, there, or something else in his.

"No." She can look at him all she likes, until he leaves. "It wasn't anything they did, and look at them. It wasn't," N'rov says very deliberately, "even anything you did."

Is there a suspicious sheen to Lilah's gaze? At least ''she'' doesn't cry, even when she admits at that very deliberate statement, "I didn't think it could actually--. I have never heard of them actually ''not'' choosing someone, except in records."

"Nor I." N'rov adds half despite himself, "Or songs." He eyes her and her potential cryability; he's already donated his handkerchief. Then he stands up, careful in that, careless when he spots a stray kernel and drops it in the beer bottle's mouth. While he's still turned away, "Those dead eggs. It's not like they're always born dead."

"They are easier to ignore. Easier to overlook than-- ''that''." Lilah doesn't move, not to attempt to clean or even as N'rov rises, but her gaze follows him.
"Yeah." N'rov starts stacking, not for utilitarian use, but for height. So far, he's dexterous enough; perhaps practice helps. "Not every place Searches outside. Not every clutch."

Silence meets that, the goldrider without response for it. What could she say, after all? But it is obvious that thoughts haunt her, especially with Eliyaveith still growing heavy with eggs.

"Not like we didn't have any kids," N'rov says, turning back. "For them." It doesn't stop him from asking, "Why didn't we Search at Ruatha or Boll, Lilah?"

"They didn't inform me as to the reasons," Lilah answers simply, her lips pressing together as she meets N'rov's gaze again. "As you said, it's not as if every Weyr Searches outside--." A pause, before she adds with a hint of buried sharpness, "Maybe it was all my fault. Maybe her rider was the Candidate we lost in the landslide. Maybe there is only ''ever'' one Candidate for a hatchling."

Now he's frowning, though not ''at'' her. Until it is. "Maybe," N'rov repeats, lading it with doubt, ''quick'' as he reaches for the rag. "Only you'd think we'd lose more."

For all that she offered it before, Lilah's fingers are now tight on that rag and not exactly willing to release it, though if N'rov persists, he can surely work it from her hand. "That is what ''I'' thought," she murmurs agreement for that. "That it would be impossible-- How could she ''not'' have chosen?”

N'rov does not persist, not when he can attempt to wrap it around her hand instead, in all of its raggy ''he''-doesn't-know-where-it's-been glory. "I don't know," he says briefly. "I've heard riders say before they didn't want the dragon coming for them. Until they did, of course; it's part of the happy ending.”

Lilah's gaze drops to the rag being wrapped around her fingers, but she only watches much like she did when she was a Candidate herself and this was a scarf instead. "Is there any happy ending? For any of this?" is what she challenges, though.

"No, of course not. It's just a myth to keep us sober until we die," N'rov says with a snort. He tucks the rag's end in, then moves back a step, rubbing his palms off on his trousers. "We also never get to go flying, or," he doesn't really pause at all, "feasting, or anything else."

"I am serious, N'rov," is replied with a hinted edge of frustration, Lilah reaching to tug at that wrapped rag with sharp movements as he steps away. "But don't worry; you don't ever need to be. Just continue getting drunk and continue avoiding--." She cuts herself off, shaking her head before she moves to gather those glasses again.

"So was I," N'rov says frankly. "It's not just ''about'' the ending, Lilah." He watches her. "What do you think ''you're'' doing, with that cleaning that you don't have to do?"

Lilah's twists back towards N'rov, to meet his gaze as he protests to seriousness. "Because I have to do ''something''," she answers.

"Fair enough." While he's at it, N'rov says, "You're reminding me of Ali. ''There'', anyway."

''That'' comparison draws silence from the goldrider, only the flick of dark eyes over N'rov before Lilah gathers yet another glass. "I would be lucky to be anything like Ali," she agrees, slightly dryly, before she moves to leave.

The bronzerider shrugs; she said it, not him. But as long as she's leaving anyway, "Go back to your weyr. Clean ''yourself'' up, get some sleep," N'rov tells her. "There'll be enough tomorrow that they can't do."

"I can take care of myself; maybe ''you'' should clean yourself up," is a sharp counter from Lilah, firm as she pauses only to look back to N'rov, but then she turns on a heel again to move away.

"But will you," has an oddly genuine quality, not just amusement. "Night, Lilah." He too turns, only it's to prop the other man's feet up and then loosen his collar before he too leaves.
|Categories=FTW Clutch 32a Logs
}}

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 "But will you," has an oddly genuine quality, not just amusement. "Night, Lilah." He too turns, only it's to prop the other man's feet up and then loosen his collar before he too leaves.
-|Categories=Clutch 118a Logs, A Green Betweened
+|Categories=Clutch 116 Logs, A Green Betweened
 }}
 [[Category:Angst_Logs]]

@@ Line 83: / Line 83: @@
 "But will you," has an oddly genuine quality, not just amusement. "Night, Lilah." He too turns, only it's to prop the other man's feet up and then loosen his collar before he too leaves.
-|Categories=FTW Clutch 32a Logs, A Green Betweened
+|Categories=Clutch 118a Logs, A Green Betweened
 }}
 [[Category:Angst_Logs]]

@@ Line 83: / Line 83: @@
 "But will you," has an oddly genuine quality, not just amusement. "Night, Lilah." He too turns, only it's to prop the other man's feet up and then loosen his collar before he too leaves.
-|Categories=FTW Clutch 32a Logs
+|Categories=FTW Clutch 32a Logs, A Green Betweened
 }}
 [[Category:Angst_Logs]]

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