Difference between revisions of "Logs:Goldflights Can Kill You"

Hot Springs, High Reaches Area(#1636R)

Even further north than the Weyr itself, a short flight between crags and over crevasses that even a wing-scarred veteran of Fall might undertake, a cluster of clearings lies low in the shelter of hardy trees and ancient stone. The outer two clearings might have been lost to more stubbly trees Turns ago, if it weren't for the centre-most: a natural pool of warm, softly bubbling water several dragonlengths across, with enough space for perhaps a half-dozen people and their lifemates. Though the air is cold all Turn round, and snowdrifts frequently whiten the ground, the geothermal activity heats the mineral-scented water to such a consistently comfortable heat that it becomes a refuge for those who don't wish to travel further afield to wash their dragons. Of the clearings that abut the spring, the nearest is only a few steps away, though it's small enough that only a few dragons can lounge at once. A steep trail descends to its substantially larger neighbor, a gravel-strewn crescent with enough space to spread out and enjoy the crisp air and the mountain range's admittedly spectacular views.

There are precious few male dragons here soaking away the pains today, despite what one might suspect of their post-flight needs. Some have found a green, others more isolated spots to soothe sore muscles. That means there are only a pair of greens and Szadath here today, and the former are just clearing out as the brown gingerly wallows into the water, his lifemate a few paces behind him. Taikrin has the tell-tail redness to her skin of someone just back from the South-- she certainly didn't acquire a sunburn on an overcast day like the Reaches is offering today.

Riorde, like a couple others of her lot, did not immediately head back to the island after Rielsath's oh-so-thoughtful welcome back. But with the camping trip at an end shortly thereafter, Riorde heeds the grumbling of her disgruntled dragon-- first that flight, then back to that cold rocky beach to add insult to injury --and picks a place meant to soothe the sore muscles that go with his bruised ego and jealousy. « Much better, » the brown announces, not limiting his opinion to his rider as they appear in the sky above the hot springs and begin a slow, wide circle down. « Warm water. Warm water is better by far. »

It hasn't been quite long enough for the ignomy of bowing out of another gold flight, only to have her won by a lesser brown, to have faded from Szadath's mind; perhaps he can't be blamed for his sullen response: « It would be better if there was fire. Or someone to enjoy it with. » It's broad-banded too, enough so that one of the green injects the mental equivalent of sticking her tongue out before the pair take off back to the Weyr. And Taikrin? She's trying very hard to pretend that the pair flying are just like any other, and that maybe if she keeps her eyes closed while she leans back against the lip of the hot spring, it'll all just go away.

With a willing audience, even a sullen one, Sforzath keeps right on going. « Lots of fire. Fire makes water boil. » Now, he adds a picture to go with his commentary, the sea of some not-so-unfamiliar island bubbling and evaporating thanks to a vivid stream of what looks like lava flowing down the sloping shore and into the water. The small brown lands in the nearest clearing, taking the spot of the departing green. Riorde can't help but notice who the other brown is; maybe that's why she takes her sweet time in divesting Sforzath of his straps.

It's not enough fire for Szadath: he injects his own interpretation of himself, bellowing gouts of flame many orders of magnitude greater than he really ought, to boil a whole herd of meat animals in the springs... complete with bellowing screams and acrid smoke. Pleasant. « MORE fire. I need MORE. » Maybe Taikrin is watching Riorde. It's possible. There's a little crack of an eye open, and she's sort-of kind-of facing the newly arrived brown pair. Just, you know, in case.

« Yes. Like that. » Sforzath sounds dry in a way that is immediately reminiscent of his rider. He aims for the springs as soon as his straps are off, not waiting for them to even be pulled out of the way; Riorde has to move quickly to pull them away from his feet. She dumps them in a pile as soon as he's stepped free, then starts getting ready to enter the pool herself, half turning away as she starts to disrobe. Modesty, kind of.

« You wouldn't understand, anyways, » Szadath grumbles, disgruntled. The springs are large enough that he needn't move away to avoid any unnecessary contact with Sforzath, though he's subtly mantling in such a way as to look as large and imposing as possible. « Not about fire. » A flash of gold escapes his mind, dark and smokey, before being clutched back in as tightly as a favored toy. And, okay, Taikrin is definitely looking, now that Riorde is half-turned away. She can't help it!

« I wouldn't? » Sforzath sounds more curious than challenging, almost prompting, especially after that glimmer of gold reaches him, and he in turn reaches for more. The weyrling brown is significantly smaller than his big brother, but the comparison doesn't seem to affect him even with Szadath's stance; for once, his wings lay flat on his back rather than the points of his shoulders lifting, too tired for more in these days after getting caught up in a gold flight. Riorde drops her jacket on top of the straps and momentarily hesitates before pulling off her shirt-- but she hasn't got a change of clothes with her, so Taikrin or no Taikrin, first a sweater and then a thin shell get dropped along with the jacket. Knowing her destination, she hasn't bothered to wear underwear on top. A couple of dark bruises lie along her hips, visible now that her shirt's off, but Riorde doesn't immediately drop her trousers. Instead, in a subdued tone, she asks over her shoulder, "Would you mind?" Because she can see Taikrin. Dragon eyes.

Damn, damn, damn, caught. "Sorry," Taikrin flushes, dropping back down in the water and looking away, but then seems to realize what it is she's doing and, though she's still looking away, drawls back, "Ain't like I ain't seen it all before, anyhow." And hello to you too! « No. You would not. » That golden glimmer is HIS treasure! Possession slams down like a trap, jealously hoarding the tiny flame in his mind all to himself. He puffs himself up yet bigger, frustration and dissatisfaction oozing off of him in waves. It seems to make Taikrin hesitate, because she holds off on needling Riorde in favor of directing a sidelong look at Szadath. Then, "You doin' alright?" Because she saw the bruising.

It must be said that Riorde doesn't sound offended -- even embarrassed would be a stretch. Just tired. "Yeah, well." An answer that isn't an answer, and nothing more forthcoming. Sforzath dismisses Szadath when the other brown won't share (though refusal makes him that much more curious) and instead drifts over towards the one remaining green with a studied switch of interest and attention. Szadath, he's now ignoring. Her dragon's deliberate attempt to lavish attention elsewhere draws Riorde's tolerant smile as she turns back around once fully undressed and quickly enters the water, hissing through her teeth with a sharp, whistled intake at the difference in the temperatures. "Yeah, we're fine," she answers, choosing to interpret Taikrin's question in a particular way. "Sforzath really had no business with it. He's too small, but he was already there, and you try telling him that."

"Heard you got caught up in that," Taikrin allows, still uncomfortable enough that she's focusing her gaze strictly on her smouldering dragon. "First time he's gone up, ain't it? Or he been after a green or two, already?" It's mostly rhetorical, because she doesn't much pause before adding, "Hell of a thing, ain't it? 'Specially a goldflight. 'Specially when you're chasing." There's nostalgia in her voice, but then discomfort and a flush to her cheeks and white lips, and she's all at once changing the topic. "Had a good time on your island?"

Without left any time to respond, Riorde just nods despite the fact that Taikrin isn't looking at her. "It was--" The younger woman starts to say, and then reddens and veers towards safer ground: her dragon, not her. "I don't think he would've chased, except that he was there, and the rest of them were there, and he didn't want to be left behind." She says it all quite quietly, like that will keep Sforzath from hearing. A futile exercise, when the dragon's in your mind--yet he's purposely busy filling her head (and the green's) with how lovely she looks with her hide all wet and glistening. Except that the green is far too mature to be taken in by some upstart weyrling brown. "Yeah. It was-- good. Interesting." Riorde glances at her dragon, who hasn't given up on the green out of pride, although his own interest is only perfunctory to begin with. "It's different now."

"It's different now," is Taikrin's slow agreement. Her eyes slant towards closed again, though they remain just open enough to allow her to peek at Riorde in a totally un-subtle way. "Weird, how they make you do things you never thought you would, y'know? Y'just want to do what's best for 'em, but-- it's hard." She scratches idly at the sunburn on her exposed shoulder, which is not quite ready to peel-- but probably will be soon. Then, she offers, "Sorry, about before. I didn't-- well, y'know. Glacier. I did warn you."

One too many mocking comments from that green about Sforzath's youth and utter lack of sex appeal (such as, just how long did you last in Rielsath's flight?) have him turning away in a huff with a shower of even ruder remarks. Riorde's suppressing laughter, but the greenrider's looking nettled and annoyed as she finishes washing her dragon's hide. "Yeah," Ri agrees, reflecting, as she drifts around the rim of the pool in order to locate a place to sit. "S'alright." She should probably apologise herself, but doesn't, sounding slightly uncomfortable until she switches back to talking about the island. "He didn't really like it that much. I think cause it's not his too. It was just mine, and that was before him, and he kept going on about how place was important..." Riorde pauses in the awareness that she's going on in the need to share this with someone, and purposely watches Sforzath rather than Taikrin as the brown sinks down as far as he can go in the warm water. A surge of self-consciousness makes her quieter. "He was better when he was around Ysavaeth."

Amusement sweeps through on a gust of chilled air, Szadath's frozen laughter silent but palpable. « Your touch sucks. » At least he's not broadcasting to the green, too? "Szadath gets like that too, sometimes, when we go back home, or to see people I used t'know? He ain't had a-- I think it always leaves kind of a bad taste in his mouth. He don't remember, exactly, why he don't like it, but he just-- does." Queens make Taikrin uncomfortable now, enough so that she doesn't volunteer anything at all about Iskiveth or Rielsath or any of the others. Instead, "He'll be better after he finds himself a green or two." And she's looking at Riorde again, a question in her gaze that she can't quite find the words to express.

What Sforzath lacks in suaveness, he makes up for in biting acerbity. « Oh, let's see you do better. Didn't you drive that other green off earlier? » Riorde hasn't moved to start scrubbing at Sforzath's hide; apparently the purpose of this trip was more for a long soak than any real need to get clean. "I guess." This line of not-quite-questioning must be making Riorde ill-at-ease, since she's sinking up to her chin. "I don't think he'll try again soon," she carries on nonetheless, "but that's fine."

« Only because she's boring. They both are. » Is if to emphasize his point, Szadath rises up briefly out of the water and shakes his wings out, flinging droplets every which way. It doesn't seem to bother Taikrin, who barely even flinches when she gets splashed; she's too focused on Riorde to really mind his antics. "He'll forget in another sevenday, max, and then-- you can't hold him back, y'know." Why does Taikrin look so guilty about this? "It ain't good for him... and then he'll just go after someone you probably don't like." To deflect from her own pallor, she adds on in a weak attempt at humor, "Might even end up under some heaving filthy bronzerider or something."

Sforzath, at this point, is inclined to agree with Szadath, even if that means that, well, he's agreeing with Szadath. Riorde's out of the splash-zone, though Sforzath isn't. "Guess so." A noncommittal answer if ever there was one. She turns red after Taikrin's final comment. Bright red. At least the steam rising off the surface of the water obscures her otherwise obvious embarrassment to a large extent. Sforzath finds it funny, undefined amusement coming off him in a quickening tempo evident despite the silence he maintains. Riorde tucks the wet ends of her hair behind her ears and, a little awkwardly, wonders, "Did you ever...?"

Taikrin is fascinated in a horrified kind of way at all the interesting colors Riorde is turning-- there's enough familiarity there to know when something's not quite right. Her mouth is hanging open, a little, so that she splutters at the question. "I-- well, once Szadath caught this dude's green, and it was a little tough tryin' to figure out what parts go where, but-- he's good to me. Mostly." Except for now, when he's making wavelets while he resettles himself under the steamy water. "He didn't-- you didn't-- you are okay, yeah?" Genuine concern there, finally, breaching through her surprise.

Briefly, very briefly, there's amusement at Taikrin's description of that greenflight in question, with a flicker of a smile that quickly pulls back and disappears. "I'm fine," Riorde insists with a firmness meant to close the subject. Except that she goes on, intending to allay suspicions with what in effect acts as a confirmation. "Wasn't like that." Like what? She doesn't specify.

"Wasn't like what?" Taikrin is quick to jump onto that, expression intent and maybe a little intimidating, because now she's splashing through the water towards Riorde like a woman with a mission. "Because Faranth help me if you got jumped by one of those assholes after the flight, I will fly right back there and end them right now." Szadath is interested again, in a grumpy sort of fashion. « At least yours managed to catch something, is it? »

It is about now that the third rider in the hot springs decides that she has absolutely no interest observing flight-induced death threats, rolls her eyes, mutters something about idiot macho brownriders, and pulls herself out of the pool. Riorde, startled, would step back except that she's already sitting in a natural hollow along the edge of the pool with no where to go except sideways or forward. "Like what you think." Her eyes wide and round as she holds her ground. Taikrin bearing down on you can be scary - why did she never notice this before? "He's not an asshole," she protests, damning herself. As for Sforzath. He must have an inkling of consequences, but he and his rider have been at odds all week, so he issues a short thrum of confirmation; loyalty at least keeps him from naming names.

"Are you sure you're--" She nearly reaches out to manually inspect Riorde; at the last possible second Taikrin realizes that might actually be a terrible idea, and is so left with her arms hanging awkwardly out in mid-air for a few moments before she tucks them across her chest. At least she's less scary-looking that way? Awkwardly, "I just, you know-- don't want t'see you gettin' hurt is all. Guys after a flight can be-- rough. Just lookin' for a convenient hole, you know?" And then, for no apparent reason, "Sorry." But Szadath? His sullenness ignites, icy hot railing against his enforced impotence. « Must be nice. »

Embarrassed isn't the half of it; with Taikrin closer now, the dusky red shadows appearing on the younger woman's cheeks are plainly evident. "I'm fine," she insists for what seems like the millionth time. "I can take care of myself. If I had to. But I didn't-- I mean, he wasn't-- " She takes a breath to stop herself from stammering further and looks at Taikrin squarely despite the way that she's still flushed and uncomfortable. "He likes me." Sforzath has settled down in the wake of the second green's departure. He doesn't bother to cover up a certain smugness at the other brown's reaction, after all that thinly veiled aggression. « It was. »

Szadath is beyond posturing now-- there aren't any females to see it, in any case. Now he's just a low-simmering pot of pent up aggression and frustration, and that smug answer is met only with the worldless dull roar that is the hum of Szadath's mind. "I-- he what?" At first she's confused, as if she couldn't possibly be hearing properly; then comes surprise, and awkwardness, and maybe a little (tiny) bit of hurt. "Oh. Well, uh. Reckon that's good." One of her arms unwinds to scrub at the back of her head, and she shuffles back a half-pace or two so her lowered gaze isn't just staring at Riorde's chest. "Didn't figure."

"Figure what?" As part of the recovery from her obvious discomfort, Riorde goes on the offensive with a series of questions. "That someone might like me? That a guy might like me? What's so wrong with that?" She puts her arms over her chest, but she looks more sulky than defiant when her shoulders round and her chin tucks in. "You told me to go -- meet other weyrlings." This, clearly, is all Taikrin's fault.

"No! Yes!" It's too easy for Taikrin to go defensive, and she's flushing brighter beneath the heat and sunburn. "Nothing! I just-- I didn't think, okay? I wasn't thinkin' then and I ain't thinkin' now, and fuck, I'm sorry, okay? It's been--" There's no words to describe her situation, only helpless, rueful laughter as she draws her hand down over her face. "Forget it. Sorry. Didn't mean nothin' by it." Szadath simmers. Simmer, simmer, simmer.

In lieu of the response Riorde doesn't immediately have, she puts on a deep, glowering frown that moves from Taikrin to a general reflection on the wide pool. "Nevermind." Her fatigue draws out the word meant to be kept clipped, with a faint sigh appended. For a time, Riorde doesn't say anything, but she's stealing little looks at the other rider, and eventually she grudgingly excuses Taikrin with the words, "It's alright."

And now she's trying to psyche herself up into this idea of Riorde and some other guy, and it's really pretty sad. "Because, y'know, y'ought t'be happy an' try it out--" Her accent thickens, as it's wont to do when Taikrin is particularly upset about something. "Anyways, reckon I ought t'go a'fore Szadath chews a hole through a rock or somethin'. Don't want him passin' on the fucked up crap he's got in his head to Sforzath, thinkin' it's alright." The brown out-and-out growls at this, then lurches from the water in a frenzy of jerky motions that might be intended to dry his hide-- or might just be movement for the sake of movement. Lamely, she tries to add, "'M glad you, uh. Made out okay. After Rielsath. 'Cause goldflights-- they can kill you."

Riorde doesn't look particularly comforted, with the changing character of her frown making her glum. The springs are big enough that Sforzath doesn't have to make room for Szadath, but he moves further away nonetheless, displacing the already disturbed water further.

"Yeah." Riorde rallies into a marginally more positive tone and even manages a thin, poor excuse for a smile. She keeps quiet thereafter, until, just before the other brownrider leaves, she voices with an unsteady, uncertain lift, "Taikrin?"

Taikrin still has one leg in the pool; she pivots, crouching on the stone lip in all her violently scarred glory (there are some new ones, bright pink and angry, across her torso), to make an attempt at nonchalance. It's pretty bad. "Yeah?"

Riorde tries to observe some rules of decorum by keeping her eyes fixed on Taikrin's face to an admirable extent. "I'll see you around?" The questioning nature of what she says then and following rings audibly. "I hope I didn't fuck it up." She rubs sweat away from her hairline, pushes wispy wet pieces of hair off her forehead, and adds, "With your wing."

"Yeah?" She can't help but sound maybe a tiny bit hopeful. It's in her nature. "Don't worry about them, they're a bunch of assholes. Reckon they were pretty impressed t'see you got a pair of balls on you, though." There, briefly, is Taikrin's charmingly lopsided grin. "Ain't a lot of people who ain't, well, them, who'll give me shit." With that pleasant thought, she pulls herself totally out of the pool (with complete unconcern for how bare-ass naked she is) to go and dry off.

"Okay." Riorde keeps her response short and sweet and simple. It wouldn't do to be caught mooning after Taikrin after she pretty much made a point of stating that it's bad behaviour, so she pulls herself over to Sforzath. His wings rise and fall and flutter with agitated, cross adjustments, but there's no doubt that he's happy to have her at his side with how his neck curves around towards her, his eyes taking on a shade that imparts greater ease.

If only Szadath were so happy; he's snappish when it comes time for Taikrin to mount up, and both look ill-at-ease. Look at the horrors that mating flights (or the lack thereof) can bring!