Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Mission"

The weather is cloudless and chilly at High Reaches tonight, perhaps a tradeoff - clear skies above for chaos below. It's not all that obvious visually, but something in the draconic mindscape has shifted, and not everyone is all that thrilled about it; there's a buzz of thought and conversation that's constant, and might make it easier for outsiders to slip in unnoticed if they're careful about it. If. Iesaryth isn't anywhere to be seen, staying out of sight even though there's no real need to do so; her tide is a constant under the noise, still soothing and unyielding - but muted and grey for all that, not the usual sparkling waves. As for her rider, she's likewise found a spot to hole up, in the darkened shadows of top tiers of the galleries - where it's warm, she can lurk, and look down on other people. What more could Brieli ask for, really?

Better such chill weather than the miserable, drippy rain such an outsider might emerge from, some distance from High Reaches' caldera. There's time enough for the half-frozen water to crackle off and then dry altogether, driven by the wind of his wingbeats, and time to tug on that tide like a particularly weighty third moon: come this way, this way, tell him what's become of the place and where she is, where her rider is, where the good times are. Not that Vhaeryth's so inclined towards stealth tonight, and even when he gives in to his rider's importuning, there's something about the way his long wings carry him over the cliffs that practically announces 'I'm so sneaky! So very, very sneaky! Sneaking!'

It might be a good night for Vhaeryth to be sneaky, in his way; there's a sharp-eyed green that might notice, who notices everything, but beyond that, the place is pretty much occupied with Ysavaeth, Ysavaeth rising of all things, Ysavaeth and Cadejoth, on and on. Iesaryth isn't gossiping, but she's thinking - not so much, though, that the bronze moon that pulls at the waves doesn't brighten them a little, both due to presence and general entertainment value; the little gold herself is hidden away in the barracks, but might poke her nose out for Vhaeryth; her rider is hidden in the shadows of those tiers and tiers of seats, where Hraedhyth was hatched, but she was not. Amused, « You are not very subtle. » She doesn't mind.

Vhaeryth isn't, is he, especially with that startled-looking spin that comes on the heels of her message... and projected so she can feel it, just in case the angle isn't quite right for seeing it with her own eyes. She spotted him! How can it be?! « I am very subtle, » he tells Iesaryth loftily upon his extra-calm extra-sedate recovery. « It is only that you are very, very perceptive. » So there. And while he'll coast on down towards the ground outside the galleries, the better to let his rider dismount, he'll also beckon: why doesn't she come too? And perhaps supervise the warmer-colder game of hunting down her rider through the shadows? There are perches, even higher.

Perhaps Iesaryth guessed; more likely she's going around borrowing images again - who's going to notice now? It doesn't take more than a few moments before she can see Vhaeryth from her own perspective, landing not-so-far-away, across the bowl from where she's made her way out of the weyrling barracks. As lofty, « I am. But I don't think you are. » But she enjoys the compliment. And can fly, even if just in the bowl, even if she could go further. There's a moment where that's considered - again, who would notice? But that's squashed like a bug from the outside; Brieli is no fun. Speaking of which, Iesaryth will be more helpful - the tall, dark girl is sliding out of the shadows of the very top tier of seats, fussing with her hair as she takes a few steps down towards the entrance. What else is new.

Like a bug. Poor Iesaryth. By now, Vhaeryth's not in the bowl any longer; by now, with his rider passing through the entrance, so is he... but higher, airborne, beckoning still with tiny tinfoil glitter trailing behind him like a lightning-bug. That ledge, up there. It's warm, and better, they can see even more than she, her rider, anyone's rider could. Meanwhile, Vhaeryth's rider doesn't walk on tiptoes or anything, though his weight has shifted forward as though the bronze is leaning on him to do something of the sort. No, he's making his way upward, to greet Brieli once he's close enough to see her and closer enough to say it quietly. "Very secretive," he says, humorous approval low in his voice. "And here I am, without any glows."

Indeed, poor Iesaryth. Her life is so hard. But she's eager to follow his trail, to stretch out wings that nearly match her mindvoice to fly up high, to perch beside Vhaeryth above the buzz of thought that can't quite be escaped, but can possibly be left below. She wonders; she wonders many things, quick bright thoughts still moving beneath the waves, but she leaves all those there to wonder where the bronze has been that's interesting. Down below, flashing a smile, Brieli assures N'rov as softly, "Your eyes adjust - some light comes in. And if you like lurking in the shadows, I'll keep that in mind for the future." Stopping just one step up from him, wryly, "You picked a weird day to stop by, but you'll have good gossip to take home."

Somewhere between there and here, it's gotten quieter and somehow empty, the bronze projecting a sense of quietness that, beyond him, becomes absence. Emptiness. Other minds might be found them, ordinarily, but tonight not so. Instead, there's the very physical duck of his head to bump his nose against her wings if he can, to gauge their size quite as though he can see only as well as his rider. Is anywhere else interesting? Snowy holds, snowy crafthalls, snow, snow and more snow? "On the right occasion," his rider agrees for the shadows, tilting his head upward to note, "You like to be taller, don't you?" He lets his eyes drift downward, teasingly, what with it being so very dark and his surely being unable to see a thing, before smiling back up. "Gossip. Do men gossip? I think it's 'share important substantive information' then. But seriously... is it true?" And his voice has sobered, too.

As always, she is curious about these shifts and changes, all too interested, but never all too eager to question; there's something about the gold that respects privacy, for all that she's entirely nosy, and unable to hide it. She rustles her wings, gives a little flap for his benefit - within the month, she'll be the size of a small green. The snow, everywhere, is quite frankly? Disappointing. With a slow grin that he surely won't notice then, Brieli will agree, "Sometimes." Like now, when it makes it that much easier to reach out, slide arms around N'rov's neck, edge to the front of the step. "Hello. And fine, right. Share this important substantive information... which I suppose is actually all of the above." There's a moment where the grin fades, and she just nods. Honestly, "I don't know what to think. I've been thinking." Here, alone in the shadows. Surely, that's healthy.

A small green! Vhaeryth lets it be known that he approves: so much larger than a small green... firelizard. And while he waits for Iesaryth's reaction to that, anticipation altogether too delighted, his rider can't help but grin in a way that lessens the tension within that neck Brieli's looped herself about. "Yes, fine, hello. But this doesn't count as the dance you owe me... What have you been thinking, what do you make of it all?" In the shadows. Not, now, so alone.

Iesaryth will just shove Vhaeryth, for all the good it will do her; too sparkly to really be annoyed. She still months to grow, and eventually shoving the bronze will produce desired results. And what will he do then? Patiently, in case the bronzerider hadn't sorted it out, Brieli points out, "We're not dancing." So obviously it doesn't count. With a purse of lips, a tilt of her head, "I'm not sure. I'm not sure that it makes sense, to begin with. But does it need to? I do know that it's going to cause issues... Do you want to sit down?"

Why, Vhaeryth will have to fall off the ledge, of course. Dramatically. As it is (and there might be felt beyond him a sense of one of those foreign someones, should Iesaryth be paying attention: someone masculine, familiar perhaps through Hraedhyth if no one else), there's an indulgent sharing: a heap of that same snow, and if it's shaking in perturbation, maybe it's only due to its being so near a roiling, melting, mineral-scented bath. She has bathed. Yes? Vhaeryth sniffs. N'rov sniffs. Does she smell clean? "It seems safer," he admits. "Standing up could lead to dancing, you know."

Iesaryth is always paying attention, even if Vhaeryth is distracting her with flattering overreaction; even as she's amused, she does know that sense of foreign someone, of fog that Hraedhyth has passed her way. There's passing boredom with conversations she can't be part of, but up and gone like a fish jumping out of the water. Then, affected indignation! Of course! The gold smells of oil and cold and snow; there's traces of that same oil lingering around Brieli, unsurprisingly - and, yes, soap and something warmer and honey-like. "Couldn't have that. I think we'd fall down the stairs." Disentangling herself to take N'rov's hand and start the few steps up to her perch, "What do you think?"

N'rov wanders up after Brieli, amenable to being led, and if she were Renni with a henchman then this would be a perfect time to get rid of him. "I think that... I don't know what I think, yet. I don't know enough about her, just what people say, and that's part of why I want to know what you think." Vhaeryth, meanwhile, lets the water swirl more even if the fish have gone: water warm enough to make the snow melt about it in great swelling drops that fall and fall and fall. Would she like that, to travel there, even if it isn't water that carries the salt of her tides?

"Which her? Ysavaeth or Iolene?" There's a slight smirk playing around Brieli's features at the question - and yes, in a certain light, she might look like that sort of girl, and this would be a perfect time to go pushing someone down the stairs, henchman or no. Oops, tripped, so sad. But she isn't, or isn't set on destroying N'rov - when she slides back into her seat up high, she doesn't push, she pulls him along with her. "Because those are two different things. Odd as that sounds?" Maybe not; Iesaryth isn't so much like her rider, easy and ever changing like the water - and water is water to her. Vhaeryth's rain is fascinating, more because the snow melts than anything. As for wanting to go there, there's little else she wants more than to go.

Somehow, that pulling just doesn't require all that much work to succeed, and not-yet-destroyed N'rov settles into that high seat, one arm stealing around the weyrling's waist. There's a moment where he could invoke weyrlingmasters and what they might see as naughtiness, but instead he admits, "You got me there. I was just thinking of Iolene. Queens can't control their cycles, can they? And I supposed the queenriders couldn't either, there's just 'the good of the Weyr' or whatever balderdash people come up with. Unless that's true, which I sort of hope it is," that in dragons there really is some higher purpose, making the world right. Even if the purpose looks, right now, like absently gnawing on a talon in a moment's quiet. Since they aren't going, yet.

It doesn't take all that much effort to slip that arm around Brieli's waist either - and she's perfectly comfortable with moving in close to fit against N'rov, whatever issues the weyrlingmasters may or may not have. She's not looking too concerned - not about that, anyway. Glancing up at him, distracted enough by proximity to trace a line along that rough jaw with her fingertips, "Iolene is... She didn't want to be Weyrwoman. She wouldn't even let anyone call her a weyrwoman. I like her. I like Ysavaeth,, but it might be more... I admire Ysavaeth? I don't think queens or queenriders can do any such thing, but if a dragon could..." She might put her money there. Shaking her head - crazy talk - she adds, "K'del won't hear the end of it." Not that she minds. And if Iesaryth could go, she would. But some people are in the habit of squashing all her awesome ideas. Woe.

People. Squashing. Like a bug. Vhaeryth heaves a sigh, wistful, and makes as though to lean on Iesaryth: she may be little, but surely she can prop him up, especially with his not letting on that he's not giving her his full weight. He hasn't flown here with a free heart, it seems, or perhaps it's just that this Weyr's buzz has followed to his home. He's not distracted in the same way his rider is, encouraged by that touch to smile for all that the conversation must call for seriousness. "That's funny, isn't it? The one who doesn't want it, gets it... wasn't the talk, about his disposing of his Weyrwoman, that he wouldn't stay in power? Though I've got to say, I bet I don't hear nearly as much as there is out there, with all Fort's been giving us to 'share important information' about. Elaruth rises a lot, they say. I don't know if those intervals compare either." He's just no help, is he?

It's quite a trial. Despite that, Iesaryth can forbear to hold Vhaeryth up, even if she's a bit skeptical about how much he's leaning; even so, as always, she enjoys the illusion. She'll even raise her head to give the bronze an affectionate nudge - she knows about the buzz, annoyingly constant. It's all over here too - at the very least, perhaps her rider will worry about it less? Or maybe not: "Well. I don't know. I'm not sure about..." There's more Brieli wants to say, seeming conflicted - but that fades as she mirrors N'rov's smile, not all that serious either. In fact, for a moment, it looks like she might have lost the thread of the conversation entirely. Dropping her hand, she pauses, expression and gaze sobering before she tentatively leans in to kiss him, lightly and briefly. Because this discussion is so entirely romantic?

« Does your sister like to hide things from you? » Vhaeryth asks suddenly, the vision in his head that of her big sister, browner and bigger-headed than she is in reality. It's distracting enough that N'rov blinks once before he returns Brieli's kiss, but not so distracting that he doesn't say, "It..." and kiss her again, even more lightly than before. "Doesn't sound," and here's another kiss, and again between each phrase as long as it lasts. "As though... you're kissing me... for the fun of it." There's no kiss, not even the lean into one, there at the very end.

Yeah, that's a bit of an image to come out of nowhere. Brieli doesn't even need to ask. Not about that blinking at least. Beginning to smile again, even as she's returning each of N'rov's kisses, she asks, when he's done, "Sound like? I can do more to convince you." Like run long fingers into his curls, like kissing him again, more persuasively - more like a girl who's been spending some little time thinking about kissing lately. Better? As for Hraedhyth and her secrets, Iesaryth is amused by the image; puts it away for later. « In a sense. She does, but she tells me she is hiding them. »

Better. N'rov almost says it out loud, even, except what he really says is, "You're not sure about...," his voice lifting at the end there as encouragement. "Go ahead. Keep talking." He can keep trying to distract her, little kisses along her ear maybe, though his hand tightening against her waist must be less purposeful. "You stop, I'll stop." How's that? Vhaeryth has questions too: « Does she like it when you hunt them down? » If Iesaryth does. Surely she does. She must. Never mind that she hadn't gone after Vhaeryth.

Entirely breathier, "I'm not sure if I should say what I was going to say, but that--" Likely those kisses along her ear, whatever else he's coming up with, "Might make me forget. Yes. he wasn't supposed to stay in power, he was supposed to go." Brieli isn't doing a bad job of picking up the dropped thread of conversation, but it might just be through sheer determination. Curling in closer to N'rov, fingers playing through his hair, "Even if he didn't know, it won't look that way." About hunting, Iesaryth has to consider - and she does, often; though in the case of Vhaeryth, Hraedhyth did not hide. « She does not seem to mind, but she likes to hide her conversations until she is done. I am not sure why. » But Iesaryth has her secrets to protect and would not pry into others, even if she picks up hints, follows, steals images. That's clearly different.

"Wasn't supposed to. Won't look that way," N'rov repeats agreeably, or tries, amid pleased sounds when she tugs just a little or else presses against muscles he might not have known were sore: see, he's listening! And he was supposed to... right, keep with the questions. "But it's not like he'd step down now." Not quite a question. « I do not know why either, » Vhaeryth admits after due thought. « He is just stubborn, » imaging Adiulth as not even a stone cliff but a brick wall, manmade, mortared.

With a smile that can only be felt, Brieli kisses along the side of his neck, up until she can agree in his ear, "No. And I doubt it. He's been moping around about it the whole time." And if there's a thread of derision there in her voice, it might be because her guard is down, her voice is low and quiet. "Who would step down?" She draws back a little, only enough to meet N'rov's gaze, brows arched questioningly. "Would you, if you thought you had everything you wanted?" But then, it's not too long till her attention flickers down to his lips, and she's kissing him again, if briefly. « Hraedhyth is stubborn as well, but I think she just likes to have her way. She told me she spoke to your brother and told him he could visit. » Just in case that's the issue with said brick wall - Iesaryth is in the know. So Vhaeryth can have company! Unless he was leaving Adiulth behind on purpose.

Was he? Such a perceptive dragon might be able to make such an inference, for all that Vhaeryth may be felt to be entirely too pleased at what she's relayed... and gives her back the image of a barely-golden battering ram heading for that brick wall with a roar. He can't wait. « Do you think she will win? » "Remind me not to mope with you around," N'rov says, laughter not so briefly in his voice: as though that were likely to begin with. Perhaps it's the lowness of hers that has both his hands, now, beginning to slide up her ribcage over whatever wintry layers she's got, those hands flexed so they won't curl; perhaps it's the night and the buzz and their own whispers. "Shells, as the riders say," he says with some wryness, "I'd hang on and never let go."

Iesaryth is delighted with the image, perhaps because it's so so very true. And she can't wait either - though she might wonder for a moment if it's a little mean to mock them in this way. But then, they both are trials, in their way - why shouldn't she and Vhaeryth entertain themselves? « I do not know, but I hope I am there. We should make sure we are. » Her own laugh quiet, Brieli points out, thinking it just as likely, "You wouldn't. You'd do something." She sounds confident enough in that for the little she knows him. There's layers enough, sadly, but that doesn't seem to lessen the effect of his touch; her breath catches and both arms slide around his neck again; she's very nearly in his lap. His response has her pause, looking a touch abashed, before murmuring, "Now you're making me feel bad for him."

« We should. » Vhaeryth's timbre is one of shared anticipation of the challenge, the latter made the more interesting for their siblings' strongmindedness: what fun would it be if one just keeled over, unless it were a ploy to keep the game going? And it is not as though he is imagining Hraedhyth breaking her head upon Adiulth, nor Adiulth toppling into broken-up pebbles before her. Much. Meanwhile, for doing something: "Unless I were kneed in the nuts or something," N'rov supposes sadly, surely the most romantic of possible whispers, for all that he doesn't then seem to react with any dismay at her moving into range. Quite to the contrary, what with him giving her a bit of a tug to move her closer yet: a human shield? "Don't worry," he murmurs back. "I won't tell."

Not much at all. Iesaryth would never tell, lest Hraedhyth think her suspicions about Vhaeryth are confirmed - that he can't be trusted. But the gold will still tuck those thoughts of destruction away for her own entertainment, for later. She agrees that it should be interesting; now how to make sure there is no meeting without an audience? Hm. While her dragon thinks, Brieli will roll her eyes, but not with so much exasperation that she won't respond to that tug by actually sliding into his lap, tightening arms around him. "You could ruin a mood like that." Never mind everything about her says quite the opposite, even her skin warmer to the touch. Meeting grey eyes with dark, "I got the impression you could keep a secret. Your eyes..."

...have suddenly crossed, quite as though N'rov's taken Brieli's supposed concern as a challenge: if that hadn't ruined her mood, what about this? His certainly hasn't been, as she might be able to tell, and not just because he's laughing so softly so close to her lips. "Tell me more," he invites, only to see about making it difficult by kissing her some more, and only then if he's allowed up for air does he remind her, "You mentioned something about a... favor." He says it teasingly, rife with implication, as though she hadn't just meant carrying a message at all. As for Vhaeryth, while Iesaryth thinks, he doesn't seek to bother her particularly... though he does replay the thudding destruction a few more times, always resurrecting the fallen combatant to play another day. Sometimes, there's even applause.

"Stop it!" Brieli can feign annoyance even now, even while she's trying not to laugh too - but it's difficult to do for very long when she's so loathe to pull away from N'rov, especially with his lips so close to hers. And then he's kissing her, and anything she might have said about his eyes is lost in that - she's not struggling to be given a chance to go on, not wrapped around him the way she is. She does let him up for air, if only because there's not likely much more they can do if she wants to see him again before graduation. Despite the teasing, the question shades her expression towards serious, but she's game; lightly, quietly, "What will I owe you? And tell me first if the name Vijay means anything to you." Iesaryth, of her part, is totally distracted by the repeated destruction, over and over again; one winning, the other next time. Do it again! « You should tell him that Hraedhyth would take it better if you came with him. Even if she claims otherwise. You can say I said so. » Because Iesaryth is the voice of reason!

« I will be sure to say you said so, » Vhaeryth agrees, the voice of smugness in a way that's not hampered in the least by her do-it-again: if anyone knows, Iesaryth should know, should she not? They have everything under control. (Thud.) "What would you like to..." N'rov starts to say as lightly back, but then she keeps talking and he colors. "Ah," he says after a moment. "It's a slang term for," but that can't be what she means, can it?

Exactly! Iesaryth is smart like that, especially in all matters related to Hraedhyth. Vhaeryth would know that too, would he not? She might be a little pleased with herself as well. Clearly, it's sorted. As for her rider, Brieli blinks, staring for a moment. "Really?" She's so distracted by that, she's not even noticing how cute it is that N'rov's blushing. Then it clicks. "Oh. Oh. No, it's an actual name." She spells it out, helpfully. "A trader family, though not much of one of late." A pause. "Sorry about..." Not explaining.

This time, when N'rov laughs, it's so awkward and he's so aware of it that he has to give her another of those tugs so maybe he can hide his face in her hair. "All right," he says when he finally straightens. "Whoever came up with that name, anyway? Although I guess it's easy to remember... it sounds vaguely familiar, like maybe I should know it, but right now I barely remember my own. What's going on?" Vhaeryth's no help with the memory thing. He's a dragon. Also, busy.

Brieli has the grace to just let it go, let him hide in her hair for a moment or two, even if she has to grin while he's doing it. For the question, she only has a shrug - who knows where these names come from? - and notes, "Maybe they've just been around for awhile. And there's nothing much going on, I've just found it difficult to get in touch with someone in that family I met at Crom. And I can't really go to find them, so..." She looks up at him significantly; "I'm left asking for favors. Her name is Aishani." Iesaryth might be more help with memory, what with her stealing... but she's suddenly very interested in her rider's conversation.

It takes Vhaeryth longer to pay attention, but if Iesaryth's interested, he'll tag along for the ride. "A Crom girl, a trader, named Aishani." N'rov says the name carefully as he repeats it, so she can correct his pronunciation if need be, even if his dragon does fidget a touch with impatience: hurry up already, man. "I suppose it's a good time of Turn to be looking for her, not as though they'd be on the road in this weather, would they? And you have, what, a packet for her?" She's still on his lap, he's got one hand on the small of her back so she won't fall off, but word by word he's focusing more and more on the mission she's setting him to: to get it done right.

Iesaryth is interested and Iesaryth is tense. The gold is also uncertain; but if Vhaeryth is there, she'll reach out for reassurance, her question weighted with importance: « He will not tell anyone? About this? » Worried even before her rider, who corrects, "A trader who was at Crom. And that's right. She's about the same height as I am, brown hair, but paler. And no, I think they should be in one spot; I can give you a few likely locations." Brieli shakes her head for the packet, and she doesn't seem devastated by N'rov's present shift in focus. "Nothing for her, I just... Just tell her you're from me, and ask her to send a message, something back with you? Something to tell me what's happening?" Her dark eyes are rather hopeful, and not a little sad as she asks. There's a moment before, heavily, "They don't like dragonriders much. If you can avoid being one, it might be better."

« He... does not intend to, » Vhaeryth reports after a moment's careful introspection, reaching back to meet her more than halfway. « He intends not to, now that I have told him you would not have it so. » And if there are circumstances under which his rider could be made to talk, they aren't matters of which the still-young bronze is cognizant. Nor must N'rov be thinking of such things, busy as he is with remembering, murmuring some mnemonic. Not so busy that he can't look back at her in her shift in tone, though, empathy in his quiet, "It won't have been the first time." And won't be the last, now, if someone on that ledge over there can spare the dramatics. "How will she be able to tell that it's for real, that I really am from you?"

« She will tell him. I just... » Iesaryth can offer vague senses where their riders might need to use words; hers has things that must be protected, and that is her job. This is one of them. Perhaps an unexpectedly serious side to the gold, it's the one time where the ocean tones of her waters turn to the deep blues and greens of the depths. Speaking of dramatics. Brieli doesn't interrupt him; stays quiet during his murmurings, though she watches, dark gaze sharp and curious. She'll offer a slight, apologetic smile for sending him into yet another entertaining hostile situation, and considers before; "I'll think of something. I'll send you something." Sighing, she leans in to rest her forehead against his, closing her eyes. "You don't know what this means to me. If you can... not tell anyone, I'd appreciate that too. I know she asked, but. It's just an odd situation."

"I'll keep it under wraps," N'rov agrees, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, letting her rest. "You'll send something. We'll manage." Letting them rest, even, a little while longer before the Fort pair must go. It's an odd sort of peace, even Vhaeryth refraining for once from outright exploring that deepwater sense, from nosing about whatever else might be so protected, from doing more than seeing the world through those lenses of green and blue and whatever else may lie between.