Difference between revisions of "Logs:Meeting Up with Leova"

Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr

Already the morning's hot, Rukbat up for hours in a way that light-starved residents can only dream of in wintertime. With still more hours to go before sweeps, Vrianth descends to the mouth of the weyrling barracks and the shade that's to be had there, a quick landing that, by the impatient rustle to the green's wings while her rider gets to the whole dismounting business, doesn't promise to last long.

A'son apparently has not been informed that it's a bit too warm. Because he's out jogging, canteen in one hand. The bronzerider is hot, and that's meant hot in a disgusting, sweaty way. He's got an unusual gait, as if he's not exactly moving as properly as a person should be. When he gets by the weyrling barracks, he leans against the wall and begins to rub out the leg with the scar. This old wound is probably what's causing him to look so awkward. He looks up, watching as Vrianth descends to the ground nearby.

Could that be /why/ Vrianth landed nearby? Except, no: scenting him before she ever sees him, the green's head swings around to stare, her large eyes suddenly that much more speedily awhirl. On the green's far side, Leova's hand hesitates on the buckles for a long moment, but... in the end just lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug that doesn't quite complete. Hooks the green's straps on that shoulder. Starts hauling them beneath Vrianth's neck with a dry, "Morning." If he's still there.

To all Glacier dragons, Vrianth informs Nikoth, though she doesn't bother with being as careful with her bandwidth as she could be, « Be careful with your rider. Someone could land on him. »

To all Glacier dragons, Nikoth's returns is dry, not so easily riled up. « You perhaps should be careful, little green. Some things can be devoured. » There's a flash of images of the much larger bronze opening his mouth to eat Leova and then, Vrianth herself.

A'son is breathing a little heavily still. He rubs his hair, flicking sweat off it. Attractive. The expression on his face is carefully blank as he watches the greenrider dismount. He takes a long drink from his canteen before returning her greeting. "Morning." There's a wave with the free hand before he's taking another drink and then stretching his legs out some more.

« Like to see you try, » is Vrianth's stone-against-stone, all-but-singsong reply. Of course, then she goes and adds an image of setting up shop in the rib-chambered cavern that must be the bronze's belly, complete with glowbasket and barrel of oil: the necessities of life. (Vrianth to all Glacier dragons)

To all Glacier dragons, Nikoth projects, « You have to rise sometime, sweetheart. » The reply is cool. And then he's sending images that are not exactly fit to properly explain. And probably worth of adult dragon magazines. « I'm sure you would like to see me try. »

So attractive, Leova stays well away from all that flicked sweat, as though he were marking territory with it. And maybe he is. She leans into Vrianth's shoulder a moment, glances up at the green, and then continues on: bypassing him to head for the barracks proper, not that she actually goes /in/. Just sits there, on the ground. In the shade. With the straps on her lap. Finally, "Been running long?"

/Rising/... it's a distant thought, unrelated to the green herself. Give her a sevenday. Or three. Or two. In the meantime, a flick of her mental wings would send those images flying even as /she/ takes wing: up to the Star Stones! And sun. As her ledge is still in shadow. (Vrianth to all Glacier dragons)

He manages to desweat most of his hair, flicking it out until very little is left. A'son doesn't notice if Leova is avoiding getting to close to him because of that or not. He looks up after he's done, screwing the cap back onto the canteen. "Yeah, maybe twenty minutes or so. I'll probably head back to Nikoth once I catch my breath." He tells her, letting her know he won't take up her space for all that long.

The space that she just got of her own free will. "Whatever," the greenrider says, but not unamiably: he can stay, he can go, she'll be just fine. From his expression, her gaze travels gradually downward, following the motion of his arm, tracking down... his leg. That leg. The scarred-up leg. That scar. Her mouth compresses, but she keeps looking for another moment before her gaze is allowed to retreat. Vrianth's long gone, up and away, a spiral over the lake sending her up to the heights to sun.

The leg with the scar is massaged out some more as he attempts to get the kinks out from running. A'son feels her eyes on him before he looks up, watching her watch him. His dark eyes stay on her until she finally looks away. There's a brief sigh before he straightens up. Arms are extended over his head and then he drops them. The canteen is picked up and he looks like he's ready to start the jog back. "Nice seeing you."

He speaks, and Leova's head swings back to look, only not like she's actually heard what he said. Nor is she looking back at him, exactly, more his shoulder if not something else more distant. "Glad you're... working with it," she says instead of some offhand you-too. "Imagine it was even harder with his wing like that." Buckles clink as one hand frees, thumbing back over her shoulder. Only maybe that's not good enough, so she adds, "Zunaeth's. I mean," this time with a flickering upward glance after all, one that doesn't linger.

A'son stops before he fully commits to going. "Working with that?" He asks, looking at her with some confusion. When she mentions Zunaeth's wing, he still looks confused. Until it really settles in. There's a glance down to the own scaring on his calf muscle. He lets out a breath, "Oh, that. It's fine. Just a little painful now and then. But thanks."

She nods, shallowly, and then she's looking back down. Her straps are there. She can get a pot out of the sack that hangs from her belt, start rubbing out some of the summer dryness. She does. "What did you make of him?"

"Make of who? I'daur?" A'son asks, eyes drifting to the weyrling barracks. Then he's looking to Leova again, gaze curious as she fiddles with her belongings.

Leova doesn't flinch at the name, though there's a certain braced quality to her shoulders that might account for that. Just, after a moment, "Right." Her thumb retreats to the same section of leather she'd first started rubbing, and there must be something verging on brittle about it, for she adds a little more from the pot and pays special attention to it for a little while longer.

"He probably saved my life. At the very least, a good portion of it from working in the Crom mines." A'son lifts his shoulders. "I thought he was a good man. If a closed one." For his part, he doesn't seem to notice her bracing. He's looking again at the barracks.

Leova can't help but shudder at that, however controlled. "Can't imagine that. Nikoth, and all. He... it didn't... /seem/ to fuss him," that word of his, "People thinking it was him who did it. When he didn't. Just went on."

"It wasn't fun." A'son tells her, something she probably already knew at least. Eyes continue to be focused on anything other than Leova. "I think that maybe he just didn't care. He never said a word about it."

"Hard to believe, a body could not care. About that." Leova controls her sudden inhale better on the way out, slower, slower. "Told us some of it, back when we were weyrlings. A little. Politics. Asked more, later. A little."

"He was just a different type of man than most of us. Harder." A'son chews on his lip. "Or weaker. I don't know." He exhales, "I don't want to talk about politics. I try my damn best to stay out of them these days." Seriously. He looks ready to bolt, but then after a step forward he stops. He finally looks at Leova and there's another exhale, "I'm glad you're a good friend for Milani."

Leova's expression alters, a tremble to her lip that would argue harder and weaker both if she'd only speak. She doesn't. Just nods, for politics, for avoiding them. Only... only then, abruptly, she's looking up and at him, really at him, eyes startled wide and her hands gone loose in her lap. "A'son." And then, as thank-you, "Try to." And, "I didn't ask... because of politics. So you know."

"She needs a friend, a good one. She thinks you're one." A'son presses, hand going uncomfortably to his neck. There seems like he wants to say something more. But then he clams up, mouth pressing into a line. To her other words, he lifts his shoulder. "That's alright, even if you did."

"I try," Leova near-repeats. Only, hesitantly, "It's been... a bit. If there's anything in particular." That he can say. She gets a hold on the straps again, gets back to polishing, or pretending like she is. "Is it? You said you didn't want them." Politics. "Just. Strange. Barracks without him in them."

"I don't know. I haven't seen her since a few sevenday ago. I guess she looks okay. I heard she was sick." The fiddling with the back of his neck continues. A'son looks like the picture of uncomfortable while he stands there. "No, I don't. But it doesn't matter if you talk about them. Everyone does anyway, I guess."

There's a brief, disquieted nod. Leova doesn't elaborate. Only, "She'd been staying with a friend, for a while. Another friend." She may not look so comfortable herself, but she has the luxury of actually sitting, in the shade, with an occupation for her hands. "Still. Don't mean they have to do it to a body's face. Or would you rather always know? What people are wondering."

"Oh, another friend." A'son shifts his feet, kicking at the dirt on the ground. "Well, that's good. As long as she's okay." He clears his throat, unscrews the canteen and takes drink. Leova may be sitting the shade, but he holds the bottle out anyway. "Thirsty?" He's sweaty and gross, and so is that thing in his hand. But the water inside should be clean, refreshing and mostly untainted. "Sometimes it's okay to know. Lately I've been happy not knowing though, addmitedly."

"A /friend/." It's underscored, though not heavily, quite on purpose. Leova's eyes lift. She could ask, only... there's that bottle. She gives it a flick of a glance. Then, "Thank you." She reaches to accept it from A'son, without even pulling out a handkerchief to wipe it down first, and any slick drying sweat gets on her hands... at least she doesn't grimace. "Not like it's... pressing. Considering." She turns the canteen around in her hands. "Do you /understand/ why? He might have done it. What he did." Then she'll drink, shallowly at first, and then with relief: water that's mostly actually clean.

"A friend." A'son repeats. He keeps kicking the ground. "You're welcome." It's handed over to her. "He never talked to me about it." There's a touch of regret to his voice. For never asking? For not finding the time? "I didn't think he'd want to have a conversation, regarding that." He shovese his hands into the pockets of his shorts.

"I..." Leova stops there. Not just for the rest of what he has to say, but longer. Finally, "Meant about... about... /You're/ out here. Running. Hope you'll keep at it, A'son, not just... let it slide. Write yourself off." Give up? She can't say it. "Even when you're old as he is." Was. She should correct herself, but instead she drinks again. It's a canteen, not a flask. She can do that.

"Yeah, I am. I'm not planning on laying down and dying anytime soon." A'son tells her. He rolls his eyes, not so much at anything Leova has said as for other things. "I guess you shouldn't do that either. Still a long lives to live and all that."

"/Better/ not." The greenrider's gaze roams out, looking for Nikoth, though his next words put a fractional quirk to the unhappy turn of her mouth. "Sure about that, are you?" Leova asks more lightly. "Reckon it's the last chance to change your mind, get me off drowning myself in the lake. Jumping off my ledge," /her/ ledge, "Something." As if. She even smiles. Offers the canteen back.

"Jumping? Or do you mean being thrown?" A'son asks, corrects, whatever. His eyebrows arch even as he puts his hand to take the canteen back from her. "Yeah, I'm sure. Are you? Last chance for me to go totally desperate and leave your life once and for all."

Lucky for his canteen, when she fumbles it, it doesn't get far. Once it's safely in his hands, her eyes narrow up at his face, "You knew about that?" And, when she remembers about humor again, "Pretty sure. Unless you're offering a rain check. Or you could manage something heroic with a volcano."

"He told me. More shaken about it than you probably think." A'son answers, catching the fumbling canteen before it hits the ground. "I don't think Nikoth would fly me to any volcanos. Though I hear Vrianth wouldn't mind stepping on my head if given the opportunity." His lips curl up, but just a little. He couldn't possibly be smiling or anything.

"You're in luck. She's too busy sunning right at the moment, not worth the bother to move." Only. /She's/ still looking up at him, searchingly, those straps a knot in her hands. Finally, "How's that? A'son."

"Just was." A'son shrugs, not apparently, willing to give up any other details on that front. He wraps the leather thong of the canteen around his hand. "It was nice talking to you, Leova. Maybe next time you sit with me, I won't run away."

Leova can't be surprised, but disappointed? Hopefully she hadn't gotten much of his sweat on her hands, because all of a sudden she's raking them through her hair, with a pause to rub her temples and peer out at A'son that way. "/Someday/," she says. "Would like to manage... getting along. Glacier." But it's brief, and lighter yet when she lets it go: "Same back to you. Don't tell anyone else, hm? Got to place my bets first," and then /there/, there's her smile as she waves him off for his run.

"Someday. But not for Glacier, not for the weyr. For something a little different than that, because it's just better when it's for that instead everything else." Perhaps a weird cryptic response. He shrugs his shoulders then, another touch of a smile, "No, I won't tell anyone. You either, keep it a secret." There's a nod his sweat-dried-on head before he picks up his jog and begins to become a disappearing jog to the other side of the bowl.

What? It's a long blink that follows him, and a longer look. A muted chuckle, even, for his quip. And then the greenrider's back to work, but slowly, and silent from there on out.