Difference between revisions of "Logs:Agency"

Arekoth is - well, of course he's not tired, because he's Arekoth, but they have flown an especially long way today, flown back as well, no betweening, flown and flown and flown, to the point that his acrobatics have died down, replaced by simple, purposeful flight. The older brown's chest rises and falls rapidly once he's landed on the plateau, finally near enough that he can call it home. H'kon's posture, also, shows signs of wearying, though his eyes do not. He's staring toward the Weyr's rim.

There's not much Rosvelth likes more than a good, hard fly-- especially when there's good company involved, and for the moment, Arekoth certainly counts. His wingbeats are easier, now, as they head back towards the weyr, and easier still as he glides down towards the plateau, though he's likely no less winded and (not) tired than the older brown. « Good flight, » he decides, brightly. « One of the best. The kind that don't involve a green, anyway, eh? » His rider is, no surprises there, quieter, gaze flicking from H'kon to that rim, and then back again.

« Yeah, » Arekoth agrees, forcing brightness into his own voice, rolling and round by design, hardy, ready for anything, « for not having a green. » He stretches his wings out, flicks and flutters them on the recoil, and turns to try get an itch with his nose. H'kon is moved in that turn, has to adjust his weight, and although that part happens unconsciously, it has the conscious effect of pressing air out of him. In the form of words. "Still standing."

"Most of it," is Rhey's answer, quickly enough that he must have been paying attention despite his usual taciturnity. He glances side-long at the other brownrider, now, watching him with interest that is mostly hidden beneath his usual dark glower. « Makes for a good story, » Rosvelth adds. « Two browns against the world. » He never has picked up on the emotions of others very well.

H'kon nods once, slowly, seriously, while reaching to deal with that itch that Arekoth is nosing at. « Conquering, » Arekoth is freed up to correct Rosvelth. The rider's hand stays on his dragon's hide a moment once his brown is (more or less) sated. "Indeed," is said at length, once the topic might have died. If it weren't these two.

« Conquering, » agrees Rosvelth, accepting the correction without so much as a blip. « And doing a fine job of it, too. But one would expect no less, of course. » He shuffles his wings, mantling them carefully like a cape, moving enough in the process that Rhey needs to hold on, one hand pressed flat to his side; exactly what Rosvelth was after. It being these two, Rhey's reply comes just as slowly. "Must've sucked." Understatement of the turn, perhaps.

When Arekoth settles, back into his original position, where that reach is not so easy, H'kon draws his hand up toward his chest, the better to massage at his wrist, thoughtfully. « Not by now, after all we've done, » the older brown encourages, some more natural amusement getting in there. Also some distraction, as H'kon keeps on prodding at his arm. "It was a long time," he finally says to the younger rider. "Without time."

"Yes," says Rhey, almost instantly, almost as if he understands exactly what the other brownrider is saying. "Without time. Without... context and structure. But mostly time." « Precisely, » agrees Rosvelth, pleased. « I'm surprised they haven't made us Weyrleader, yet. In recognition, you know. For everything. »

The immediacy of it has H'kon looking over to Rh'mis - not in a jerking motion, but a sure and purposeful way. "Without time," repeats H'kon, with all its identified qualities now, "and without intiative." He's still not stopped going at that wrist. « I would be a just ruler, » Arekoth decides, though his tone doesn't sound fully sincere.

Rh'mis' expression shows no change: studiously neutral. "Initiative," he repeats. "That, too. It's a strange thing, to have that taken from you." His tone is bland, as if he were talking about something as simple as the weather; he glances away, now, staring out towards the rim. « I would be very just, » says Rosvelth. « To me. And my harem of queens and greens. »

H'kon finally seems to realise he's been worrying away at that wrist. Both hands go down to the neckridge before him. There, they are still. There's a moment in which he's thoughtful, weighing whether or not to put forward what he eventually does: "Of all those there, I was the one with the most capability, or possibility, of doing anything. Except."

"Except?" Rhey lets that word hang between them, still not looking in H'kon's direction.

"There was nothing," says H'kon, simply, "there was nothing. Waiting."

"Nothing." Rhey is heavy with the repetitions, today, and seems at least half aware of it; his brow creases. "It's the worst thing." Now ought to be the time for 'you made it out, at least' reassurances. But... this is Rhey.

"Hm," is agreement from H'kon. He seeks no reassurances or distraction. But he does watch the younger rider, with some bit more interest now.

Slowly, "I've felt like that. Not Rone's army; after I Impressed." Does he need to explain further? His shoulders have slumped.

It's Arekoth who turns his attention away from considerations of green harems, and onto Rosvelth. H'kon still watches his rider. And nods again, just the once.

Rosvelth has gone still; his thoughts, too, not just his body. It makes his rider awkward, too-- his rider who may have accepted him, but only... barely. "It's better, when you have agency," he says. Is it apology? To H'kon, to his dragon? "Easier."

"Easier," H'kon muses, though it's not agreement. "More palatable," is offered in lts place. "Seldom the case," thoughtfully, "wholly."

A pause. "Yessss," agrees the younger brownrider, extending the 's' longer than he may have meant to. "Few things are wholly... but yes. It makes a difference. At least you know." That you can do something? However small.

H'kon's hands are no longer so studiously still, as he looks down. Fingers trace along either side of the ridge, if only briefly. When they stop, he watches them, for a long while. And then looks back up toward the rim, turning only enough that he ought be heard. "Are you certain your lack of agency was after your impression, rather than only in its instant?" It sounds rhetorical. Arekoth draws up his wings. « Ready? »

Rosvelth is buoyed by Arekoth's question, his own wings drawn up and out and ready to go. But first-- Rhey hesitates, turning to glance at H'kon for one silent moment. If he has an answer, it's not a verbal none, and not easily discerned from his expression, either. In with case, Rosvelth is away; there is still joy, here. There can always be joy.

So long as there's air, anyway. Arekoth jumps. They fly.