Bot at 21:33, 21 January 2016

2016-01-21T21:33:09Z

Kaleidoscope: Created page with "{{Log | who = Lycinea, Rh'mis, Rh'mis{{!}}Rosvelth | where = Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr | what = Rosvelth wants to Search Lya. Rhey does not. Lya doesn't like..."

2015-10-07T00:14:39Z

Created page with "{{Log | who = Lycinea, Rh'mis, Rh'mis{{!}}Rosvelth | where = Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr | what = Rosvelth wants to Search Lya. Rhey does not. Lya doesn't like..."

New page

{{Log
| who = Lycinea, Rh'mis, Rh'mis{{!}}Rosvelth
| where = Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
| what = Rosvelth wants to Search Lya. Rhey does not. Lya doesn't like making anyone happy. There are rainbows and sunshine.
| involves =High Reaches Weyr
| day =6
| month = 13
| turn = 38
| IP = Interval
| IP2 = 10
| custom =
| gamedate = 2015.10.06
| quote = "Hethinksyoushouldstand."
| weather = Steady, today's snowfall sticks, creating dunes on the bowl floor.
| mentions =
| ooc =
| icons = lycinea what.jpg, rh'mis solitary.jpg, rh'mis rosvelth.jpg
| type = Log
| desc =>---< Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------<

The far side of the lake gets much less foot traffic - there's less grass,
due to the poorer soil, and the bed of the lake is muddy and not at all as
nice to walk in. But a small stand of four willow trees with long branches
hanging low and swinging in the breeze provides some relief from the sun
during the heat of the day. A pair of small curved benches sit underneath
the trees. The ground rises up sharply towards the northwest end of the
lakeside, and the waterfall that feeds the lake thunders downwards there,
foaming the water and creating a fine mist in the air that distorts the
light.
| st =
| log =
Winter is a terrible time for brooding. Still, the benches that some feel should be only for that purpose see enough traffic that they're not overwhelmed (yet) by the snow that has been falling all morning and sticking. One in particular isn't overwhelmed because it's occupied by a girl in a thick wool coat, heavy trousers, boots, and slouchy crochet hat with a brim just wide enough to keep the flakes from finding their way onto her half-scarf-covered face. Lya's mittened hands draw in the snow on the other half of the bench, brushing away the progress every few minutes to let enough snow clean the slate to start again.

The lake is icy, but not icy ''enough'' for the solid weight of a dragon. That hasn't prevented Rosvelth from making a game out of it; for testing how much of his weight he can put in a piece of floating ice before it drops him off into the water and sends him launching into the air again (the answer, for the record, is ''not a whole lot because you're an enormous dragon, Rosvelth''). It may not be Rhey's habit to accompany his dragon anywhere, but there his is anyway, slouching his way around the lake.

Lya's blue-green gaze drifts up and away from the art or writing (or mixed media) at hand now and again to take in Rosvelth's antics on the lake largely with a neutral expression. It shifts not quite all the way to sour, but ''ready'' to go there as Rhey slouches nearer. "Are you going to make me share, again?" To be fair, hers ''is'' the most cleared of the benches given her attention to the space she's not taking up on top of a folded blanket that must be there to soak some of the cold that elsewise might leech into her very bones.

"Not my fault you have poor timing," is Rhey's very-much-sour rejoiner, made as he stuffs his hands deeper into the pockets of his light jacket and glowers at her. It's with exaggerated defiance that he sits on one of the other benches, heedless of the snow still piled up on it, and the cold and damp that must make it incredibly unpleasant. Rosvelth, from the lake, huffs out a breath of warm, meaty air, aimed squarely at the pair of them. He's moved closer, see, displaced water splashing up along the icy shore.

The narrow gaze follows Rhey until Lycinea seems satisfied that he's not going to sit ''with her''. Then she looks away and out to the lake. "Oh, yes, I just had this ''feeling'' that you were going to show up to gloom up my day and I needed to be here for it." That's probably not what Rhey meant, but perhaps that's the best (terrible) angle Lya saw for a come-back. At least she gets to roll her eyes with it. It's some silent moments before she eyes the closer-now brown. "Is he yours?" almost as if she were asking after a puppy peeing on a nearby tree.

"Your loss," says Rhey. ''He'' doesn't care, or so he'll have her think (if he can). He's very deliberately not looking at her, and not at Rosvelth, either, for all that brown seems very intent on trying to catch his attention. "He's his," is what he adds, finally, with a shrug. It sort of works as an answer?

"Yes," this word drips with sarcasm the load is so heavy, it flows freely though her next, "I'm sure my life is so much poorer for the lack of you," a pause, "not that you're helping to that end. With the whole talking things." Nevermind that Lycinea asked the question. She eyes the dragon briefly before looking back to the rider. "Does it work that way or do you just want it to? I've never heard of a dragon who was his own lifemate." Rosvelth earns another squinty-eyed look for that idea.

A beat. "You talked to me first. ''Could'' just ignore me altogether." Rhey's fine with that, crossed arms and all. He can't seem to resist Lya's questions, though, and although he doesn't give his dragon another glance, he answers nonetheless, "No one belongs to anyone else, that's all. He's just-- he's just himself." The nameless brown, who drops now into the water itself, which sends a wave further up the shore, if not far enough to actually reach the feet of the two people. He slinks closer, wings furled about himself.

"No, you'd like that too much," Lycinea points out with a dismissive wave of one mitten in his general direction. "I'm not in the habit of behaving as people would ''like'' me to. Call it a consequence of breeding, if you like. Enough others use being a bastard as an excuse to explain it." Her Lyatude. The dragon is eyed with increasing unhappiness as that wave comes nearer, but not near enough yet to warrant the Lyatude being directed directly ''at'' the brown. At least she doesn't ask Rhey to 'make him' do something like ''leave''. "If he's himself and you're presumably yourself, then how do you explain the whole him snatching you out of the Stands thing? Those rainbow eyes are supposed to mean something," or so she's told, the tone says.

In lieu of actually answering those first remarks, Rhey snorts, eyes focused intently on a tree, opposite, as if it is much more interesting than either Rosvelth or Lycinea herself. "It's not like that," he says, clipped, though Rosvelth's huff of air seems both amused at the concept, and also completely dismissive of it. His eyes are whirling, faster and faster.

Ouch. Less interesting than a ''tree''. That might even hurt, if Lya had a heart. As is, she's rolling her eyes again, but looking toward Rosvelth so perhaps Rhey won't see that much. "What is it like then, Rhey?" At least she doesn't call him 'leper-boy' so that might be progress.

"It's--" Rhey doesn't have words for it; his eyes close, his expression turned stonier than ever. This, plainly, is not a comfortable topic for him. Rosvelth has his own opinions; he's trying to climb out of the water, now, fanning his wings up and shaking water over the pair of them, but mostly so that he can nudge his head closer and closer to the blonde. He rumbles. "''No''," says Rhey.

"'It's no'?" Lya repeats, turning her head to eye Rhey. "Articulate." She rolls her eyes, arms shifting across her chest. She's definitely not disappointed by his lack of answer. "Whatever," huffed quietly is not a betrayal that she might just maybe be so.

Rh'mis doesn't look at Lya. ''Rosvelth'' does, though, and again he huffs warm air at her, clearly aiming to draw her attention to ''him'' instead of his silly rider. "''No''," repeats Rhey, louder and more forceful this time, his gaze shifting from that tree and towards the brown. His brown. "Rosvelth, ''no''." The brown freezes. Rhey freezes. Was that... was that the first time Rhey ever named his brown out loud?

Lycinea's shifting of attention away from the firmly stared at ''nothing'' only comes at that next huff. It's a long-suffering sigh. "What?" is annoyed and it's asked of both dragon and rider, but not for the moment that she's oblivious (or insensitive) to.

Rosvelth may not speak out loud, but his intentions are pretty clear: ''yes'' he says, to Rhey's no. Yes, yes, ''yes''. Sullen, trapped, utterly unimpressed: "Hethinksyoushouldstand."

Lya's next, "''What''?" is still annoyed but this time also incredulous. "Are you cracked?" she demands of the boy as she finds herself suddenly on her feet, mittens curled to fists like she's ready to fight (or run, most likely run). "Are you?" is directed to the dragon with just as much feeling. He'd have to be in order to think she should Stand. Then again, Rosvelth is the one that chose ''Rh'mis''...

"''I'm'' not," swears Rhey, standing up independently to Lya, and jamming his hands deeper into his pockets as he does so. "Don't blame me. He's-- fuck, I don't know, and I don't care. Don't do it. Don't give him the satisfaction. ''Go away''." Maybe that was intended for Rosvelth, that last. Maybe not. Rosvelth rumbles, again, wings furled, cape-like. He seems... smug.

Lycinea's hands go to her hips and she turns to face the rider. "Maybe I shouldn't give ''you'' the satisfaction of my saying no. ''Maybe'' I should make sure that ''everyone knows'' I'm ''Rosvelth's'' candidate." That she's ''Rhey's'' candidate. "Maybe I'll make you look like a worse rider than you already make yourself out to be, if that's possible," she pauses to eye him dubiously.

"Whatever," says Rhey. He's already started to turn away, to ''walk'' away. "Do whatever the fuck you want." Rosvelth, his duty done, begins to retreat into the water. ''He's'' absolutely sure of the greatness of his candidate, and her destiny on those sands. It's probably a good thing she can't hear his narration of the greatness of all of this; Rhey probably wishes ''he'' couldn't.

"Fine!" is Lycinea's shout after Rhey, though it mightn't be clear if she's accepting his offer or simply needs to have the last word on this-- disagreement? Agreement? Something. Hands on her hips she turns away from them both to pace along in the snow, glowering. The brooding bench ''would'' be appropriate for her mood now, only ''someone'' spoiled it. Thanks, Rhey.

Rh'mis aims to please!
}}

[[Category:HRW_Clutch_38_Logs]]
[[Category:Search_Logs]]

@@ Line 12: / Line 12: @@
 | gamedate = 2015.10.06
 | quote = "Hethinksyoushouldstand."
 | weather = Steady, today's snowfall sticks, creating dunes on the bowl floor.
 | mentions =
@@ Line 75: / Line 76: @@
 }}
 [[Category:Search_Logs]]

Logs:Rosvelth's Candidate - Revision history

Bot at 21:33, 21 January 2016

Kaleidoscope: Created page with "{{Log | who = Lycinea, Rh'mis, Rh'mis{{!}}Rosvelth | where = Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr | what = Rosvelth wants to Search Lya. Rhey does not. Lya doesn't like..."