Difference between revisions of "Logs:Not Fitting"

Southern Rim of the Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
Directly opposite the sharp spikes of the Reaches' characteristic spires lies the bowl's south rim, from above seeming pinched like a baker's pie crust to form this distinctive lip: a soft curve, several dragonlengths long but only four lengths wide before narrowing into impassable crags. It would have to be an apprentice effort, however, given how even the flatter area is riddled with cracks and hollows, dusted with glittery silicate quartz that is far more gritty than sweet.
Though the view down into the bowl is commanding, the views beyond it can be absolutely breathtaking on clear days: eternally snow-capped mountains descending to high-altitude meadows and the dark brush of evergreens, and greener valleys beyond even those, with only glimpses here and there of human habitation. But the views come with a risk: the wind can blow hard and strong, and whether looking inward or outward, there is no protection from the precipitous chasms that fall away from these heights.

Month eleven is not generally known for nice weather, but it's actually not too bad this afternoon-- winter is certainly in the air, but summer has not been so very deeply buried. Nothing, of course, can stop the chilly breezes that gust over the rim, of course, so K'del - sat atop his lifemate's forelimb - is suitably rugged up against them, staring moodily (thinkily?) out over the Weyr below.

You know what's not in the Weyr below? Lythronath. He and A'rist are returning from... somewhere... as sudden shadows over the bowl. They drop fast, but they don't drop far. To the rim. To a spot near K'del and Cadejoth, though not so close as to threaten to knock the older bronze pair off. Surely Lythronath would never think of doing that. A'rist dismounts, tugs at the collar of his jacket (though it stays well flipped up, of course), and calls, maybe louder than need be, but he's trying to account for the winds: "Weyrleader?"

Even if K'del is distracted, Cadejoth is not; both members of the pair have already begun to swing their attention towards the younger pair by the time that call carries towards them. "A'rist," greets the Weyrleader, acknowledging him with a nod of his head, a nod that is partially echoed by his dragon... though Cadejoth is, it's fair to say, more interested in turning his attention back to the bowl floor.

Lythronath is not so interested in the bowl floor. Lythronath is interested in Cadejoth. "Hi," comes once A'rist has drawn nearer, taking acknowledgement as invitation. Cadejoth gets a quick glance from the younger rider. "Looking over everything he holds?" The smile that follows is almost friendly. Lythronath just stares more.

Lythronath is part of Cadejoth's pack; he matters. But... but. The older bronze has priorities. "Something like that," confirms his rider. "Not sure he sees it quite like that, but... close. His protectorate, maybe. Did you need something, A'rist?" That's friendly, too. Close enough, anyway.

A'rist looks out over the bowl for a moment too, looks out and squints his eyes, just a little. "Lythronath," he decides (who still is staring at Cadejoth), "would probably just see it as 'Mine'. Not 'mine' like mine, but, like mine." There's a thump of his fist to his chest as he says it, as if this could better explain whatever nuance it is he's trying to get out there. "Yeah," next. There's a moment where he might have considered waiting; then, "I wanted to ask about wings."

"Mine," repeats K'del, though his nod seems to suggest he gets what A'rist is actually saying. Those blue eyes hover over the other rider, considering him more thoughtfully in respect to that explanation. "Going to assume you mean the kind of wing you fly in and not those things that are needed to fly at all. Iceberg's not doing it for you." Not a question.

"Got those figured out," is wry, with a look over his shoulder to his dragon. "No," then is affirmation. Then comes real hesitation, and for a moment, A'rist's youth gets to shine in, "Not like I don't like them all fine..."

K'del's grunt is not far off being a chuckle... though it's still not actually one. "Mm," he says. "But it's not the right fit for you. Figured out where you think you might fit?"

"Can't know for sure," says A'rist, though something in his expression darkens with it. "Glacier. Maybe Boreal. Maybe yours." Lythronath has been staring, staring this whole time. « Cadejoth. »

"No?" K'del's answer prompts another question: why can't they know for sure? Haven't they done their research. Also, "Not my wing, though I take the point." « Lythronath. » It's not a sigh. It could be.

The younger bronze seems mostly satisfied. Even if he keeps on staring, unrelenting. "We're not the type that... that theories can just come up for," A'rist tries to explain, though the words that come out of his mouth make his nose wrinkle up, dissatisfied. "Thought about Savannah, but I don't know. That one... isn't his style."

Cadejoth seems largely unbothered by the staring; he's turned his attention more focusedly towards the wing - Avalanche - that's presently drilling above the bowl floor. "Mm," is non-committal. "No, I can't see Lythronath as part of Savannah. In any case, it's R'hin's call, there. I can... offer you a trial in Taiga. F'manis won't mind. You can see how it fits? If not, we can explore other options."

Whatever feelings A'rist has toward R'hin come out only in a confused little purse of his lips, that barely lasts. He nods, to the offer. "You think it'll fit? For both of us?"

"I..." K'del lingers over his answer. "If I'd known for sure which wing'd work for the pair of you," he says, finally, "I'd've had you there to begin with. Think it could fit. Think it's worth a try. That's the best I can offer."

A'rist nods; nods, and steps away, away from K'del and Cadejoth, and a bit toward the ledge. A bit more on his own, though his dragon's twitch of comet-blazed wings acknowledges the move. "Right. Taiga, then. Good." He looks back to his weyrleader, who might have caught those words, maybe. "I can talk to H'vier?"

"By all means," allows K'del. What he doesn't say: better you than me. He could. He won't. "We'll get the paperwork sorted afterwards. Once H'vier has released you, let F'manis know, and we'll get you into our rosters." His nod is something like a dismissal.

"Okay." A'rist bobs his head again. "Guess we'll be in touch, then." It's Lythronath who gets an upward nod of his head, the younger bronzerider turning to move toward the younger bronze.

K'del's, "Good," is obviously intended to follow the younger pair... though it may just get lost in the breeze, instead.