Logs:Flying Disagreements - Revision history

Bot: Text replace - "HRW Clutch 35" to "Clutch 50"

2016-01-21T21:05:29Z

Text replace - "HRW Clutch 35" to "Clutch 50"

K'del at 09:51, 23 March 2015

2015-03-23T09:51:36Z

Bot: Text replace - "{{Log" to "{{Log |involves=High Reaches Weyr"

2015-03-08T21:50:13Z

Text replace - "{{Log" to "{{Log |involves=High Reaches Weyr"

Bot: Text replace - "{{Log | who" to "{{Log |type=Log |who"

2015-03-01T01:22:08Z

Text replace - "{{Log | who" to "{{Log |type=Log |who"

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2015-02-28T13:03:27Z

Text replace - "{{ Log" to "{{Log"

Bot at 10:52, 27 January 2015

2015-01-27T10:52:05Z

Bot at 08:12, 5 July 2014

2014-07-05T08:12:29Z

Bot at 07:48, 5 July 2014

2014-07-05T07:48:07Z

K'del: Same pose, different attitude.

2013-12-04T04:04:52Z

Same pose, different attitude.

New page

{{ Log
| who = L'sha, Rhey
| where = Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Rillaeth and Rosvelth test their wings, while their riders... well. It's not all harmony, anyway.
| when = Day 6, Month 6, Turn 33
| gamedate = 2013.12.03
| quote = "Nope, ''Rh'mis''. Rhey's who you ''were''."
| weather =
| categories = A Crisis Of Succession, Clutch 35
| mentions = Quinlys, Rone
| ooc =
| icons = l'sha L'sha1.jpg, rh'mis sigh.jpg, l'sha rillaeth.jpg, rh'mis rosvelth.jpg
| log = '''Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr

''Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.

''At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake, there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl, standing out amidst otherwise an empty space.

''The weather today is very pleasant. A few clouds chase each other across the mostly clear skies, and a soft breeze picks up in the afternoon to make for a fine day.

----

Over the past seven or so, the weyrling dragons having been taking their first real flights - the kind that involve real wingbeats and not just careful glides from a gently raised surface. Today's lesson involves more practice on that front, each dragon taking a turn, while the others wait (patiently or less patiently) in line. True to form, Rhey is diffident about this, and Rosvelth energetic. "Just... you know, ''fly''," the boy mutters beneath his breath as his brown takes his turn, the dragon testing out his wings with one beat, and then two, before landing once more.

L'sha patiently waits his turn in line, wearing his customary cheerful smile as he watches his fellow weyrlings flap around the bowl. Rillaeth is a bundle of barely-controlled kinetic energy, whirling blue eyes following each of her brothers and sisters as they take to the air and pawing at the ground, leaving deep gouges in the dirt with her black, chipped talons. L'sha glances sidelong at Rh'mis, slightly stunned at how someone could be so blase about something this ''thrilling.'' He shrugs and looks down at Rillaeth as it's her turn. She rears back and ''launches'' herself forward into a glide, then flaps mightily into a wide turn at much greater speed than the previous dragons tried (and the weyrlingmaster allowed). L'sha grimaced and balled his hands into fists, trying to get her to take it easy, which he just barely manages as Rillaeth backwings to a graceful landing.

There doesn't seem to be much Rhey ''isn't'' blase about, with the notable exception of probing into his personal life, and personal space. Even now, he joins the line of weyrlings, but stands well back from the weyrling ahead of him, arms crossed, gaze mostly downcast. Rosvelth keeps his thoughts on his rider to himself, but Rillaeth's flight is far too exciting: << I want to fly like ''that''! >> he declares, reaching out to all of the weyrling dragons, his thoughts gleaming with gold and the salt-tang of the ocean.

Sadly, Quinlys and Olveraeth seem less enthusiastic; << Rillaeth! >> cautions the blue, pushing down upon her mentally with all the authority he can, and including the others in it, too, just for emphasis. << No. >> "Control her, L'sha," says Quinlys, warning in her tone. "Or there'll be no more flying until you can. She could break a wing."

Misery washes over L'sha's face. "I'm sorry, Weyrlingmaster, I tried, I really did! She just got out too quick. I promise she'll go slower next time." Rillaeth preens at the attention from the other weyrlings, completely unrepentant. << I'm the fastest. >> No doubt about it in her mind. Her rider's shoulders slump as he returns to the back of the line. "What did I tell you? Take it slow for now!" He sighs, then glances over at Rh'mis again, who he ended up in line next to. He hasn't caught up with the brown weyrling since a certain incident, so he decides to venture into that forbidden space. "So...Rh'mis," he begins, in a low tone so Quinlys doesn't hear, "I guess you must be feeling relieved lately, eh?"

Quinlys' dubiousness is softened by something that could ''almost'' be described as smugly pleased, though it doesn't linger. "See that she doesn't, L'sha," she says, tipping her head forward once. Then, her attention slides back to the next weyrling, and L'sha is dismissed.

<< ''I'' want to be the fastest, >> grumbles Rosvelth, straining forward as though he'd throw himself into flight even now, even though it's not his turn. << I could be! I could be faster than you, Rillaeth. I'm stronger, anyway. >> It takes Rhey several seconds to even register L'sha's comment, and even then, he's slow in turning his head to regard the other weyrling. "''Rhey''," is his correction. And, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Rillaeth snorts derisively at Rosvelth. << Uh, ''no'', ''I'm'' the fastest. >> Duh! L'sha smirks. "Nope, ''Rh'mis''. Rhey's who you ''were''," he mutters, then flicks a glance over both shoulders to see if anyone's listening. "Anyway, I meant, y'know, after ''he'' died. Must've been quite a weight off your shoulders. Not that someone dying should be a relief to anyone. But I guess no one from that bunch will be looking for you anymore."

<< For now, >> decides Rosvelth in a way that might be ominous, except that's he's ''excited'', shoving his way past one of the blues so that he can move closer to where the action is. << But later, I'll be faster. You'll see. >> Rhey is visibly irritated by L'sha's mutter, sharp ears having caught all of it, and the rest doesn't seem to make him any happier; his expression tightens. "My name is ''Rhey''," he says, through gritted teeth. Three and a half months in, and on that much, at least, he's absolutely certain. And the other? "''That''. It barely matters. The murdering bastard can rot; I don't care."

L'sha simply grins at Rh'mis, then looks down at Rosvelth. "I bet that's not what ''you'' call him." He looks over toward the other weyrlings floating in lazy circles. The metaphor is right in front of him. "If it were me, if something like that happened, it would be like the chains holding me down were broken. I would be totally free to fly as high as I wanted." He closes his eyes, feeling the breeze on his face. He turns back to Rhey. "Now you have the rest of your life ahead of you. With him." Rillaeth watches her lifemate, then looks over at Rosvelth, exasperated. << There he goes again, with the pretty words. Boring! >>

"''He'' calls me by my damned name," mutters Rhey, shuffling several steps ahead in a way that seems distinctly designed to keep him from having to meet the other boy's gaze. Shoulders held truculently, he stares at the blue ahead of them as that dragon makes his next flight. "I already had the rest of my life ahead of me. Or did you think they could imprison a dragonrider?" Of Rosvelth, he makes no further mention. << ''So'' boring, >> agrees the brown, sagely. << Except when they're telling stories. Sometimes, when he's in the right mood, Rhey tells the ''best'' stories. But only when no one else is around, because, I think, I'm the only one good enough for them. They're... they're like ''treasure''. >>

L'sha chuckles. "Of course not." He suddenly gets an idea and crouches down by Rillaeth. "Listen, sweetie, I know you're the fastest, but last time you went around, it was so fast, they didn't get to see how ''beautiful'' you are. This time, just fly really gracefully and slow so that they all get a good look!" << You may have a point there, >> concedes Rillaeth. << I ''am'' the prettiest as well as the fastest. >> She looks over at Rosvelth. << Ooh, stories! I want to hear one sometime. >> L'sha stands and winks over at Rhey. "And she's also vulnerable to flattery."

It's with deliberate, exaggerated disinterest that Rhey ignores L'sha's interaction with Rillaeth: he crosses his arms, shoves back his shoulders, and stares straight ahead unmovingly. << You're allowed to be prettiest, >> decides Rosvelth. << I don't want to be that. I'm ''brown''. >> And stories? Welllllllll, his thoughts suggestion. ''Maybe'' he'll think about it. But for now, it's ''his'' turn to fly... and his turn, too, to add some extra wingbeats and extra speed, and earn the combined wrath of Quinlys and Olveraeth. "''Ro''--" Rhey stops; flushes. "''Stop that''."

L'sha snerks, stifling a giggle at Rosvelth. Rillaeth watches the brown do his turn with an appraising eye. << Eh, not bad for a beginner. My turn! >> This time, however, she does indeed fly with more grace and much less speed, her wings flowing gracefully with the wind rather than beating it into submission. She holds her head high, every move shouting, 'look at me, see how pretty I am?' She backwings gently to a landing and folds her wings with a flourish, then struts proudly over to L'sha. The greenling can barely contain his laughter, but crouches down and scritches her headknobs. "That was ''perfect'', love! I knew you could do it."

<< Huh! >> answers Rosvelth, allegedly unfazed by Rillaeth's assessment of his efforts (though it may also be said that he watches ''her'' next attempt with interest). His rider... well, Rhey has already moved off to one side, and though Rosvelth returns to his side, nudging his head against that of his rider, there are no affectionate glances there. "That's it for today," announces Quinlys. "Class dismissed."

L'sha nods to Quinlys as she dismisses them, then find Rh'mis and jogs over to him. He tries to meet the other weyrling's eyes with his own eyes full of concern. "Listen, I'm sorry for prying, I didn't mean to upset you. You just...look so ''down'' all the time. I just want you know that I care, okay? ''Someone'' cares. So if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me. I'm a ''very'' good listener, you know." He smiles. "Well, I'll see you around." He turns and heads back to Rillaeth, who is still preening. << Fastest ''and'' prettiest. I can get used to that. >> She follows her rider back to the barracks.

Once again, L'sha has completely managed to throw Rhey off balance: he's too surprised to do more than ''stare'' at the other weyrling, eyes wide and completely disbelieving. It's only after the greenrider has gone that he manages to find anything to say, and it's clearly to himself, and not even to Rosvelth. "I'm not fucking down. I'm not... why do people fail to get it? ''Fuck''." Poor Rosvelth: he just stares at his rider, stares and stares and stares.

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 |who = L'sha, Rhey

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 | quote = "Nope, ''Rh'mis''. Rhey's who you ''were''."
 | weather =
-| categories = A Crisis Of Succession, HRW Clutch 35
+| categories = A Crisis Of Succession, Clutch 50
 | mentions = Quinlys, Rone
 | ooc =

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 {{Log
-| who = L'sha, Rhey
+|type=Log
 | where = Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
 | what = Rillaeth and Rosvelth test their wings, while their riders... well. It's not all harmony, anyway.

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 | what = Rillaeth and Rosvelth test their wings, while their riders... well. It's not all harmony, anyway.
 | when = Day 6, Month 6, Turn 33
 | gamedate = 2013.12.03
 | quote = "Nope, ''Rh'mis''. Rhey's who you ''were''."

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 Once again, L'sha has completely managed to throw Rhey off balance: he's too surprised to do more than ''stare'' at the other weyrling, eyes wide and completely disbelieving. It's only after the greenrider has gone that he manages to find anything to say, and it's clearly to himself, and not even to Rosvelth. "I'm not fucking down. I'm not... why do people fail to get it? ''Fuck''." Poor Rosvelth: he just stares at his rider, stares and stares and stares.
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