Difference between revisions of "Logs:Thump, Boom, Shards"

Garden Patio Ledge

  Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the     
  weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just 
  plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have   
  let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that:  
  two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in            
  particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the  
  most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.                 
                                                                            
  Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to
  hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being   
  trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of       
  flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall 
  off.                                                              
                                                                            
 An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former     
  weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.          
                                                                            
  Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly 
  warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the 
  air.

A warm evening makes for a pleasant time out on the ledge, Azaylia's meetings having ended early enough that she can have a quick drink before dinner. The Weyrwoman is without a scrap of paperwork in sight, replaced by a tall glass of fruit-flavored liquor. Hraedhyth is looking for a ledge to borrow for the evening, and it's with a low rumble that she reaches out to a certain blue. « We are looking for company. » Her, on his ledge, and Azaylia at her lone table. The queen doesn't do 'subtle', and the rhythm of her drums picks up with the suggestion-- His should join Hers.

A muted thump is felt throughout the Weyr, as if a giant were stomping in the far far distance. It's dismissible by many who are in places with too many people around. Less so if you're alone. If you notice. You wait. You listen. But nothing else twinges funny. Maybe it was just your imagination.

He's still nursing the left-over emotional boo-boo of not winning Solith's flight, but - like a good soldier - the setback can't keep Ilicaeth down for long, and the blue winds up rumbling affably enough to Hraedhyth, « She's in there already, somewhere... » A quick image of the interior of the Snowasis is offered, as well as his genial baritone « She'll be there after she snags 'er drink... » plus a desert-warm evening puff of silica-laden sand that sparkles temporarily in the light of the summer moons. C'mon, down fer a snuggle session. Or up, since his ledge is higher than hers. On a seeming whim the blue inquires, « You hear that? » The 'thump' that occured about 5 minutes ago.

The seconds pass into minutes, and when most people have shrugged off the thump as nothing to be concerned about, a low rumbling BOOOOOOOOOOOM is audible within the lower caverns.

Even if you don't hear it, you most certainly feel it, this fine evening just before dinner. Whatever this second event is vibrates the very floor you stand on, the walls you cling to, the knick knacks on your shelves. It isn't quite so shocking as to unbalance most, but it is distinct and certainly not your imagination.

To local dragons, Cadejoth projects « What was that? » Cadejoth's thoughts are agitated; alarmed. « What just happened? »

Hraedhyth's slow hunt for company comes to an end with Ilicaeth's invitation, and the tawny queen lands with a heavy 'thud' on his ledge. « It does not hurt. » To land so roughly, if that's the sound he's referring to. The gold is quick to find the blue's smaller frame, snuggling into him with confidence. Mmm. Down below, Azaylia is truly at ease, eyes half-lidded in her comfort as she looks out at the darkening bowl. That is, until the echo of what Ilicaeth feels returns with a vengeance, and the Weyrwoman gives a sudden and sharp squeak as she picks up her spilled glass.

To local dragons, Rasavyth is still, too still. He might as well be a statue. What indeed, is echoed sentiment without words, concern lancing through with his oozy thoughts.

« Boom. » Lythronath is helpful. (To local dragons from Lythronath)

Pain mixes with smoke, a sharp thing that comes from the foreign dragon in the infirmary in the wake of that shaking. But Etrevth doesn't have an answer for Cadejoth, or an answer for anyone. (To local dragons from Etrevth)

Just as Hraedhyth is getting comfortable, there's a stutter of her drums at the feeling. The rumble is ominous, low, « I do not know. » To her mate, and to the rest of her tribe. (To local dragons from Hraedhyth)

He might be somewhat irked, still, by the Weyrleader, but Ilicaeth's a stalwart soldier, and chimes in to the bronze, « Dunno. Heard 'em both. » While he's not worried, the blue is definietly alert, and inquiring of enough other dragons. (To local dragons from Ilicaeth)

To local dragons, Niahvth projects « The Weyr is shaking. » Shit. Placid, brooding queen be damned. « The Weyr is shaking. »

Alert on the sands, even moreso than usual now, watching over the previously dozing dam and their clutch, Reisoth does not ask the obvious question, but he does wait for answers. Who has answers! (To local dragons from Reisoth)

Her talons rake stone, finding its vulnerable soft spots... or deceptively jagged spots... and catching. Static. (To local dragons from Vrianth)

Alida is making her way out to the ledge, a tall 'froo-froo' drink in hand, her aspect more relaxed than the last time Azaylia saw her. "Zay..." is murmured affably enough as the blonde slides into a seat beside the goldrider, a faint quirk of a smirk-smile given as she senses Ilicaeth cuddled up to by Hrae, the blue pleased as punch at the company. After a deep sip of her daiquari, the blonde murmurs, "Wanted ta mention... my pardons fer gettin' pissy, last time." Sigh, eye-roll, sip.

Boooom? Zay's heaved-over glass is eyes as the blonde jerks her gazae up and out to the Weyr-at-large, her gaze focused, sharpened, while Ilicaeth's head slews over hard from where he was nuzzling his dam's neck, yellowed eyes spinning rapidly as he tries to locate where the problem is coming from... if it *is* a problem.

To local dragons, Arekoth is suddenly not on the rim, where he'd been watching the Weyr. He leaps up, and then drops down, fast.

To local dragons, Cadejoth's tone is abruptly all authority. « Where. Report. Is there any damage? Does anyone know anything? Report. »

"Shards," It isn't often that Azaylia swears, but for her half-spilled drink and the scare, she'll make an exception. "Alida, hello. What was that?" So much for relaxing, the Weyrwoman slides to the edge of her seat as her gaze flicks up to the dragons. A familiar brown dives. "It... was bad." It could be for Alida's scene or for the earth-shake. When it doesn't happen again, she eases back into her seat, "You really shouldn't fight Ilicaeth like that. It can't be good for him." Hraedhyth's muscles curl from beneath her hide, tense and trembling from the force of her low growls. She doesn't like this.

He'll await his dam's favor for now, but Ilicaeth's mind is whirling through those of the Weyr's dragons that are his friends and acquaintences - and even just chatterboxes - the blue looking for any news as to the whats and whys of these sounds. (To local dragons from Ilicaeth)

To local dragons, Niahvth is too distracted, too distraught to report. Generally a pleasant dam, post-clutching, she projects nothing but fear, paranoia, and a healthy dose of don't you dare come near me and my eggs'. Except Reisoth. He's allowed.

Hraedhyth's drums are a different kind of boom as her fire spreads, wild and sudden. It doesn't burn through the thoughts of the Weyr, but it is there. Who? What? Is she needed? She will fight. It's instinct that drives her, that has her echoing Cadejoth's verbal commands as she listens. (To local dragons from Hraedhyth)

That paranoia ups Vrianth's, the green broadcasting it amidst her rider's sudden focus and fear on a higher frequency, a chill, tooth-aching scrape. (To local dragons from Vrianth)

Hraedhyth doesn't come near, would not dare with the clear message the other gold is sending out. Still, she is here. For the Weyr, and especially for Niahvth and her eggs. « You are safe. » Or so the queen believes-- and promises. (To Niahvth from Hraedhyth)

That kind of cuss is pretty mellow for someone like Alida, and the blonde manages a quick little smirk for Azaylia before the bluie replies, "Dunno. Could be one uv' the damned Smiths blowin' up somethin' again." Though her words sound darkly humored, there's an edge in the woman's voice, behind her eyes, that might speak otherwise. Oh, hey. Yes, that's Arekoth up there. Bad? Huh? Oh. That. Scowl, sip. "I only told him ta back off 'cause I was eating. He could've chased another green hours later, and I would'uv let him." Sip, nose-wrinkle. "Got 'is damned way, anyhow."

Daaamn, Vrianth! Quit that scraping! His mental teeth on edge, the blue finds himself grumpily standing up from cuddling with Hraedhyth, his coppery talons flexing into stone. While Niahvth's paranoia makes his muscles ripple with the urge to action, he confines himself to taking orders from either Hrae or Cadejoth...and neither have sent any. Yet. (To local dragons from Ilicaeth)

In this moment of uncertainty, Rasavyth probably genuinely doesn't mean to make it worse. He just wonders without words a little too loudly: what if this isn't something that can be fought? (To local dragons from Rasavyth)

Not a dragon given to unnecessary displays of emotion, Reisoth is calm for Niahvth. As calm as he's capable of being, anyway, so near to the queen's emotions. (To local dragons from Reisoth)

"Do you think?" Azaylia hopes, gaze turning from the sky and over to where the craft complex is. The dragons are talking. Hraedhyth is talking. It leaves the Weyrwoman in an unfocused stupor for a moment, before all falls quiet again. Not the dragons, but the ground. That's good, isn't it? "If he was putting up that much of a fight, you should have just gone." Her words may sound distracted, but she still means them. Her gaze eventually flicks to the bluerider, "More importantly, you scared the candidates." When there aren't as many.

"Possible..." is lipped off low to the other woman. Alida, too, is divided in her focus, Ilicaeth not sending anything more than his own irritated puzzlement and curiosity about the sounds to his lifemate, his aggravation at being interrupted from cuddling with his dam more apparent than his potential concern. This train of thought seguays too smoothly into the bluerider catching the latter part of Azaylia's words, green eyes flicking over to the Weyrwoman's dark gaze, meeting it unflinchingly. "They're not babies, Zay..." is muttered, though on the heels of that, the woman sighs, "Yeah, yeah... I know. Some 'r unfamiliar." Sip, siiigh. "Now what? I gotta apologize ta the kids, too?" Grumble.The half-spilled glass is raised

The half-spilled glass is raised to her lips, though Azaylia hesitates to drink as if she's waiting for something. When that something doesn't come, she takes a long sip of her citrus-laced drink, some of it seeping into the tablecloth. "Neither are you, Alida." She offers, managing to relax enough for a soft smile. "You're hardly a weyrling-- you should have a better relationship with Ilicaeth. With flights." She stresses her point, rather than make it sound as though she's criticizing the blue pair in general. "An apology would be nice, so long as you actually tried to cut down on anymore public displays."

Hraedhyth reaches out to her mate, the sudden intensity as much supportive as it is needing his support. « What. » His command is what keeps her to a ledge, her trust in him unwavering. « Damage. What is damaged? » The snap-crackle of her flames carries a darker concern: is Hers safe where she is? (To Cadejoth from Hraedhyth)

This is a rarer thing when she's in Azaylia's company: Alida is irritated, and at the goldrider. Instead of glaring at the woman, or giving her hell, however, the blonde calls upon some inner reserve, and notes coolly to the Weyrwoman, "One time... the *one* time I let my fuckin' guard down a little in public, and see what it gets me? Kicked in the teeth all over again." Her face is set like stone, soon only partially glimpseable behind her drink, which is now guzzled. Recovering quickly - though still flat voiced - the guard notes crisply, "They'll get it." Fuck it ALL straight to the Red Star, though. She's just about ready to lift her drink up and remove herself from this unpleasant situation when Ilicaeth immediately sends her what Cadejoth has to say. Instead of scowling more, the blonde lurches up from her seat - and then freezes in mid-motion, vapor-locked between action and that 'Stay where you are' command.

There. The Weyr itself seems to sigh, and there's one last low rumble before silence. The good kind? Those in the bowl suddenly see a few dragons who live above the Weyr entrance area skittering off their ledges, lifemates in various states of dress or undress in tow.

From a weyr, whose ledge is located just above the Weyr's entrance, « Our floor is is crumbling. But not gone. » The blue sounds more fascinated than afraid. « We vacate. » He is not the only one, as a handful of others chime in in varied degrees of flailing.

To Hraedhyth, Cadejoth doesn't know, can't fully get his head around-- « Everything, » is not right, and yet, what's the better answer? « I don't know. I don't know, but we need help. » Not him, not his rider. Not hers, presumably. But the Weyr.

To local dragons, Lythronath wants to see. Lythronath's interest presses.

Louder, now, and more insistent: « Stay. Until we know what's happening. Stay where it is safe. In the bowl, if you need to. Stay. » (To local dragons from Cadejoth)

His answer comes on the wake of that blue, of those riders in the bowl who are scattered and alarmed. There's a low snarl, anger at the disturbance, and though it is there it doesn't control the queen. « We will have it. » If only it were up to her. But it isn't. Cadejoth has made his orders clear-- she does her best to answer the rising questions, to soothe them. (To Cadejoth from Hraedhyth)

Stay where they are; a call to Smith, Wood, Minecrafts; thuds and booms; some dragons forced to vacate their weyrs from crumbling floors. Ilicaeth's (along with his rider's) mind puts 2 and 4 together to offer up a disturbed, « Cave-in, somewhere... » Are there people or dragos trapped? Yeeees, yes, bawss. *He'll* 'stay.' Gheeze. Lythronath gets a guard's brow-lifted stare. (To local dragons from Ilicaeth)

"I'm not kicking you in the teeth." Azaylia insists, voice firm but not angry. "I do think it was a one time thing. If it wasn't, I would have brought it to K'del's attention." Alida's favorite person. It isn't a threat, but an explanation of the situation. "I'm just asking you to be more considerate, next..." Her quiet voice falls silent as she listens with all her might, some commands and cries easier to hear than others. Cadejoth is obvious, and it's his call that has her suddenly standing. "The Weyr is..." Not under attack, but. "Those rumbles. That has to be what this is about." The Weyrwoman looks to Alida, then out to the bowl where dragons and their lifemates have retreated. While the bluerider is still, she reaches out with a hand, palm resting against the other woman's shoulder. "Don't." A gentle command, "Something has happened, but you heard him. Stay."

To local dragons, Rasavyth's ledge is sizeable, and evidently safe judging by the fact that the floor is still there (yay!). It might seem odd to some, but a wordless current of invitation allows for the stranded to come, to borrow his space for now, if they wish a higher vantage.

Her and her unruly temper. Alida halts while almost getting up to stare down coolly at Azaylia, trying to get her testy self to listen instead of *feel*, for once. SHe's still very irritated by the whole damned incident, and by lots of other things built up inside of her over the Turns that relate to it, in their own ways. The blonde's just about to comment back to her Weyrwoman when all apparent hell breaks loose, leaving her standing stiffly, but not plowing forward into action...Azaylia's hand upon her arm slowly bringing the woman down from high alert to simple 'alert' status. A soft shudder of the bluerider's frame transitions into a working of her jaw...and then, there's an easing of the guard's readied frame back into her seat. Muttered dourly, "Better not be anybody trapped."

Flickering fire has been reaching out to all in the wake of the disaster, and it's with a warm fondness that Hraedhyth presses upon Rasavyth. While she has found her perch and must keep to it, his invitation earns the bronze a low rumble of approval. (To Rasavyth from Hraedhyth)

It may not have been Cadejoth's intention to let it leak, but there it is: trapped. The thought is bit back as soon as it escapes, but too late; agitation does wonders for mental leakage. (To local dragons from Cadejoth)

To local dragons, Arekoth's piercing shriek, the slice of brilliant green across his mind's nightsky, it all comes with motion. The brown is airborne. His rider is trapped.

It's just as the words leave Alida's lips that the dragons confirm exactly that: trapped. Azaylia sucks in a sharp breath just as Hraedhyth gives a sudden snarl from on high-- though she still doesn't move. "Shards." The Weyrwoman moves forward, despite having just told the bluerider to stay. "I have to find out who-- H'kon. That was Arekoth." Before she can completely abandon both glass and bluerider, "Keep clear of the cave in. There are others who might need help." An order and suggestion in one, and it's up to Alida to take either. The Weyrwoman is off to seek out those who can tell her exactly what happened.

To Hraedhyth, Rasavyth's is an odd sort of calm, in the wake of this. Perhaps he's simply come to expect disaster. After all, he's personally witnessed the deaths of two queens in recent turns. Now his world is crumbling around him. But didn't it already? His thoughts are muddled. At least his ledge is useful, even if he is not.

On the heels of her dark assertion comes Cadejoth's unwitting communique - transfered instantly from bronze to blue to his rider - and Alida responds with a deliberate setting down of her drink upon table, a deep and loud sigh, and a lowering of her forehead to said table, where she thunks it twice...firmly enough to make her drink ripple in its glass. Quietly, but firmly, "Why can't this Weyr do anything easy?" Beat. "Just fucking once..." And then Azaylia's up and off to only she knows where, 'lida lifting her head to look after the goldrider and nod a couple of times. "I know..." is grumped a little to the Weyrwoman's retreating back, Alida sighing loudly again, and then finishing her drink before moving off towards the Craft area at a smart walk. There's not dragons keening - not yet, anyway - and so death's not in the cards, for the moment. She'll lay in wait like a jungle cat for the arriving Crafters, and get a jump on how to excavate and hopefully rescue H'kon and any others who might be trapped with him before many of the other Weyrfolk... damn them all.