Difference between revisions of "Logs:Killjoy"

Zmeyth seeks out Solith amidst shadows and hushed whispers, his raspy baritone scraping in an intrusive way, « Ceremony and search and home. » His sigh is loud and smoky. He shares a memory, its edges are blurred, of soaring high above the clouds and then, down, down, and: « Are you free to fly? We want out. » (To Solith from Zmeyth)

« Search? Ceremony? » Solith is curious, though her outer thoughts fade to near-nothingness in reaction to all that scraping. « I fly already, » she adds with decided humor. « There should be enough room for you too. » Her image of Nerat's coastline might not be as sharp as if Telavi had a share in it, but it's there, skies blissfully blue. (To Zmeyth from Solith)

Lightness, if there can be for a dragon like Zmeyth, relieves some of the darkness. « That suits us, » is his answer, produced with a proud uplift, « We will come. » (To Solith from Zmeyth)

Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. The scenery's pretty and all, if you like water and sun rippling off water and ships sitting in water, especially when one is sitting up and away enough that it doesn't all smell so much like fish; still, when your friends have had to go off to work actual sweeps, it's harder for a Telavi to enjoy that you don't have to. She sighs, there where she sits on the rock wall that borders the roadside overlooking the harbor; she swings her legs beneath the floaty skirt of her sundress; she sips her drink, the old pottery mug marked with the cothold who'd lent it. Solith is up there; Solith is having fun flying around and happy to greet Zmeyth with a bright warble; Telavi has a little bit of shade and a little bit of sun.

Zmeyth might be tempted to knock V'ros off mid-flight to join Solith's flying, but he has enough sense, once he's popped from the blackness of between, to land and deposit his precious cargo. He's up again when his rider's feet hit the ground, taking off to join in draconic games and willy-nilly. But V'ros, he's tugging on the collar of his short-sleeved tunic, clearly regretting his clothing choice given Nerat's climate. His footfalls carry him on a path up the road, towards where Telavi sides on the rock wall; he stops just short of being directly in front of his former teacher and shrugs out of his jacket. Eyes squinted against the brightness of the day, he executes a classic greeting: "Uh. Hey. Thanks.. for.." A vague gesture, because really, this is all their dragons' faults.

It's only when he's fairly close that Telavi spots him, and that with surprise, as though he might be a mirage-- but then he speaks. Then, she smiles. "'For'?" She's not filling in the blank.

Another collar-tug, plus a cough. "Invite?" V'ros sounds suddenly unsure about that, though he stays where he stands, not backing away from the greenrider; which is a good sign. "We were.." He winces and shrugs, curling his elbow to his side and his jacket with it. "With everything in Nabol.. and Teris.. we just wanted to.. get away."

'Invite' gets a lift of brow along with Tela's quick, "You're not sick, are you?" She doesn't back or even scoot away, but then there is the lift of stone at her back, and she got here first. Only he continues, and she sighs with reluctant sympathy. "This certainly is," was, "away." Blue-today eyes consider him from beneath the fine veil of her lashes. "Did you know Teris, is that why you still care?"

"I'm not sick," V'ros says with a frown, "I haven't been in.." But before he can get lost in thinking back on his past ailments, his shoulders slump and he hedges a few steps closer, where his quiet tone can reach Telavi without effort. "No. I didn't. It's not easy," he mumbles, "even if I don't know them. When they die. For no reason." No sickness, no fight, just.. between, is what he means, likely. "It reminds me of Aishani, and I did.. know her."

Evidently Telavi's relieved enough to not comment further upon V'ros' health, ill or otherwise; she swings her foot again, in lieu, listening. "I could tell you to let them go," she says. "People die; it happens; if one reminds you of another of another, you'll never get over them and be miserable forever." Forever! "Or, I could tell you to sit in the sunshine."

"How can you.." V'ros spreads the fingers of one hand, shoulders bunching up, "be that.. unconcerned?" He sounds unsure of that, too. "I can't imagine when I could.. not care.. that someone I knew died." Or someone that he didn't know, as it were. His shoulders slump again and he shuffles to the wall, where he turns to perch about a foot away from Telavi. "You didn't mourn.. at all? Solith wasn't.. sad?"

"Solith keened," of course, says Telavi's tone. "She was sad, I was kind of sad, but it's been a month since then, V'ros. Not only did I grow up in a Weyr where you couldn't miss, ever, any rider dying, I've had my period since she did, and that's enough to scare anyone back to normalcy."

"What if.. I died? You wouldn't be sad longer than a day?" V'ros has his serious face on, fingers tucked between his knees. And then they're talking about Telavi's period and the brownrider does a little lean away with wide eyes. "Uh." Because what does one say to that? "..nice?"

"At least two days," Telavi promises-- and then she's giggling. Reaction, unlocked.

Red-face aside, V'ros is trying to look anywhere else. "Two days? That's rough." He is back to wearing his serious face, even with the blush; no giggling on his side of things. "I couldn't.. in two days.. maybe you're just.." There's a quick side glance, to the greenrider, before he pulls at his collar again.

"It's a floor, not a ceiling," Telavi reminds. "At least two days. It could be two Turns. I could pine."

V'ros sighs and drops his gaze to the ground that his boots are idly scraping at. "I need a drink.. where'd you get yours?" and back up, to stare hopefully at the scarred ceramic mug Telavi holds.

Tela gives his downturned head a wistful look, possibly because although she's driven him to drink, it's not like she beat her record; then again, had she really been trying? Once she's had a last quick sip: "Over there," she points with her outthrust mug. "It's some sort of herby water, but it's better than it sounds; refill mine too, would you please?" Beat. "Don't worry. The woman's nice. It's free."

Herb water? V'ros' face mirrors disbelief and then disappointment, but never one to purposefully let anyone down, he takes her mug and stands. "Fine, sure, yeah." He follows her instructions to find the lady over there, and the woman is indeed nice and the water is free, but the brownrider looks less than pleased with his bounty. Returning, he hands Telavi hers and re-seats himself, cradling his own mug between his hands.

At which point Telavi doctors hers before offering the little silver flask to V'ros, and sees what that does to his disappointment. There's a hint of dimple showing, definitely.

Relief is what that little flash gets. "I didn't think you were the type to.." V'ros accepts the offering and pours it into his own mug, before passing it back to Telavi. "keep a flask of.." He sniffs his newly-altered beverage, trying to test the liquor in question, and shrugs. "You been here long?" he asks conversationally, after taking a sip.

"Good stuff," Tela completes, winsome. It's got a touch of citrus to it, not quite clear, refreshing especially in combination: less 'knock you on your ass' and more 'trip merrily down the garden path.' "A few hours, though there were more of us then! What type did you chalk me up for?"

Nodding his head right along, because it is good, good enough to take a generous swallow of while he's listening to the greenrider. "You're with K'zin, so.." He glances aside at her and coughs. "I don't know. You follow Quinlys' rules. You're a.. teacher, and not.." He blinks, shrugging off his own statements as he turns his gaze outward, to look down the road. "A drinker?"

Tela, round-eyed: "You think Quinlys isn't a drinker?"

"Quinlys.. probably." V'ros has another side-eye for Telavi, bringing his mug up to drink. "I would if I.. was in charge of a bunch of new weyrlings. All the time, which.. aren't they due for more, soon? Isn't that how that.." A vague gesture. Because Weyrlingmasters can be what they are without weyrlings, right? Or so it seems he's implying.

"Not really; it's not like queens rise to keep Quinlys employed," this more confidential teasing than anything with a sting, "and-- say it with me-- 'It's Interval, after all.'" Telavi does indeed employ quote marks. While she's at it, with a swing of bare leg, "I wouldn't do it, if it weren't for her. Do you ever see yourself in charge of anyone... ever?"

"No," V'ros agrees, "but what do you.. what does she do when there's not? Drink?" That idea makes him laugh, a little, into his drink; his shifty eye glance at Telavi suggests he's unsure about that response. "It's an Interval, after all," so literal, but since they're bouncing along, he stretches out his legs and sets his heel into the dirt, "Not.. no. Not anyone, really. Zmeyth wouldn't mind, but I'm not.. you have to be responsible and a rolemodel. I'm neither of those."

Telavi mimes a head tipped back, a glug-glug-glug, in reply to his question before her bright eyes peek back up. "Do you want to be? 'Responsible' and 'role model' can sound like a death sentence to some of us," she invites.

V'ros laughs quietly again, looking down at his cup. "Yeah, it would be.. nice. To be.. someone that others could look up to, depend on. How long have you.." He turns his head to look at Telavi, "Been doing it? It's gotten old that fast?"

"Then give yourself time, and learn, and," Telavi instructs this with a bit of a moue, "follow instructions. You'll get there. Me? ... It's not that it's gotten old, V'ros, it's that it's new. Quinlys talked me into it; it's all her fault," which may or may not be the complete truth, but certainly is the fun version. "That's how I got to be such a killjoy." That Telavi, always so stern and fun-hating during weyrlinghood.

Telavi earns a trace of a smile from V'ros. "Quinlys' fault? You could have said.. no." But even he sounds unsure about saying no to someone like the Weyrlingmaster; it's a given their relationship is different. "You're not a killjoy, you're.." He grapples for the words, coming up with a single "helpful" with an insecure laugh.

"Who's to say I didn't?" Tela glances at him over the rim of her mug, winsome as ever. "To start out with, anyway... but thank you." She stretches, linking her fingers together and then everting them over her head. "Maybe you'll help her yourself, one day." Couldn't it happen? Even if he did suppose not, a minute or so before.

"You did? She.." V'ros looks surprised, that Quinlys should have such tenacity, even without hearing the greenrider's answer. "I don't think.. I'd have anything to offer.. to teach. I can barely control my.. emotions.. from Zmeyth." He shrugs. "Snowdrift's nice enough." He's not buying that one.

Tela lifts her shoulders for a moment, a bit of a feminine shrug; whether or not that's what actually went down, she'll go with it for now. "If something's difficult for someone," she reminds, "sometimes that's something they're better at teaching. You know, than if it were super easy and so all they have to say is, 'I dunno, I did it!' or 'If you work harder, you'll get it!' You know?"

A nod follows, his expression revealing a bit of cluelessness. "I.. guess? I don't have the experience, but if you say so. You're the.. teacher." Assistant weyrlingmaster. V'ros shrugs those shrug-ful shoulders of his and glances skywards. "Is it.. is this where you saw yourself? Before?"

"Right here, on this wall, in the sun?" It's a little playful, but hardly mocking; having such a detailed vision mightn't be as foreign as all that to Telavi.

"No." V'ros smirks in self-derision. "As.. a rider? As Solith's? Teaching.. weyrlings the ropes?"

"Oh! Oh, no. Not even High Reaches," Tela says lightly, right before she turns the question back; "You, where were you in your mind's eye?"

Introspective, eyes settling on a far off point. "Not here. Tillek. Not a.. rider.. not.. but I wouldn't take it back," V'ros rushes to assure the greenrider, lest she think him ungrateful for what he has, now. Zmeyth and A'rist and Lycinea and.. home.

"Well, but where-- what?-- at Tillek?" Telavi wonders. "Even Tillek has a lot of different things going on, it's not like it's," teasing again? "all fish!"

"No," with a patient smile, "just sheep. No fish. I didn't.. get that close to any, but.. it wasn't this. It's just as well." V'ros slips off the wall, planting his feet solidly, before turning to look at Telavi. "Can we walk? It's nice out. Too nice to.. sit.. on a wall."

He can walk. Telavi, by the way she doesn't just hop off the stone wall, might have broken both legs in the past five seconds. She looks at V'ros-- and then upward, where Solith is still enjoying herself a little too much, and so the greenrider gives another of those little shrugs and slides down. "Mug?" By the inclination of her head, she has the inclination to return them both.

"Uh," the brownrider wavers, but does hand his half-empty mug to Telavi. "We don't.. have to.. we can just.. but.. it's nice?" V'ros gestures to the sky, to the blueness and the sun, to the loveliness of the day as opposed to, say, sweeps or running laps with weyrlings.

Tela peers at it, finds its half-full-- there's the difference!-- state, then offers it back before traipsing over to get rid of her own. It's just on the front stoop that she leaves it, nothing that takes too long; then, "You get to pick which direction, you know." Since this walking thing was his idea and Telavi, she's just being flexible.

The mug is woefully re-accepted, and the contents drained. V'ros follows the greenrider's footsteps, and places his own on the doorstep next to hers, before re-joining her for their direction discussion. "We can.. walk down to the beach. Enjoy it while it's here. Winter'll be here.. in a few months." And all that snow.

This time, it isn't a pretty, girly shrug; this time it is a shudder. "You said a bad word," Telavi tells V'ros. And then, all at once, she laughs and skips ahead. Until Solith gets tired-- or Telavi sunburned, or bored-- beach it will be.