Difference between revisions of "Logs:Memories, and Special Deliveries"

It's been hours. No, really, it's been hours since the new assistant headwoman requested a lift to the Weaver Hall, her well-tailored, boyish outfit not exactly speaking of a great need for new clothes, nor a dress-fitting, for that what Faye called it. A fitting. Now, after whatever business she's had at the Hall, she stands in the courtyard, an umbrella held in the crook of one arm and several bound packages in the other, the sharp lines of her long leather coat making her seem like a stern shadow standing at attention. She waits patiently, not looking this way and that for her ride, yet there's a certain expectance in her dark eyes.

In the grey sky above, a dark bronze comes into view, quickly spiraling down toward the courtyard. If there is any word of greeting given Boll's watch dragon, it is a silent one, and the progress is steady and uninterrupted. A few rapid steps draw the dragon to a halt, only one paw skidding slightly on the damp ground, but he counts on the courtyard's grit to assist, and so it does. Before the bronze is entirely settled, N'rad has unclipped himself and begun his own descent toward the ground, glancing once at the assistant headwoman before he removes his goggles and helmet. "All right, then?" the rider calls over, taking a few steps. In case she needs help with the parcels, perhaps. His own accent is of the local variety, if the rougher edge of it, despite Fort's progress with his education.

The air is warm, the thermals plenty, and the skies blue- Khiabeth's loving all of these things, twisting and turning in the air above Fort's lake. She can't help but to share this with her clutchsiblings: such a wonderful day! (To Maldoranth from Khiabeth)

Faye doesn't begin to move towards the bronze or his rider until she's certain that Maldoranth has made a secure landing and all four of his paws are settled on the ground, her head tilting slightly as she rakes an evaluating look over first dragon, then rider. "Yes, thank you," she finally answers, only once she's started taking measured steps to meet N'rad, hefting the parcels a little awkwardly to make sure that none of them slide free. "If you wouldn't mind?" is requested with a nod towards his lifemate's straps. "I think they'll survive the journey better in his care than mine." She's not slow to have noted his accent, her own one that wanders, most often towards a Bitran sharpness. "Is there anything you must do before we leave, N'rad? Any detours? I am in no rush."

N'rad heads back to Maldoranth, who has finished hunkering down toward the ground, making it easier for his rider to begin messing with the straps. "Not unless 'no rush' means you don't want to head back just yet," N'rad answers, followed by a brief pause to give a buckle a tug, then another to give Faye a grin. Gesturing, he indicates he's ready for the first package. "Had just enough time to check on the folks, so I'm good. Everything's... fitting okay? Is that right? Don't know nothin'... don't know /much/, I mean, about Weaver stuff."

Abruptly, Suraieth reaches out into the afternoon, seeking blindly. « Who was that? » she asks - no, /demands/. « That was /not/ my breeze. » (To Fort dragons from Suraieth)

There's a quizzical sparkle of stars from Isyath, circling above. (To Fort dragons from Isyath)

Almost clinical is Maldoranth's study of Khiabeth's images, twisting and turning them, looking for the angles. Little is shared of his own locale, aside from a low rumble of, « It is not raining here. » Only the barest glimmer of gold indicates he thinks this is a good thing. (To Khiabeth from Maldoranth)

The delight of the skies, of the warm summer thermals pervades Khiabeth's thoughts, which chase after Suraieth's for a time. « There are many breezes up here today. It is a great day to fly. » (To Fort dragons from Khiabeth)

Maldoranth is curious, but distantly so, perhaps keeping Suraieth at metaphorical wing's length. Was he ever this young? (To Fort dragons from Maldoranth)

Logic and reason don't work so well, somehow, when there are /strange breezes/ in one's mental waters. Suraieth is put out, falling just short of agitated. « /I/ cannot fly, » she announces. « And it was /not/ my breeze. I don't like it. Go away. » (To Fort dragons from Suraieth)

To Maldoranth, Khiabeth doesn't seem overly curious about her clutchsiblings locale; /here/ is perfect for her mood today, and she has no desire to be anywhere else. That doesn't mean she doesn't comment, « Reesa says it will rain less now, and we can fly more. »

"Thank you," Faye says once again, polite and proper as she offers the first of the parcels out to N'rad. It feels like there's fabric inside, nothing sharp and no true corners to any of those that she might pass to him. "Is there anything that you would recommend seeing around here?" she asks the bronzerider, her umbrella-holding arm sweeping out a little to encompass more than the courtyard around them. "Though in truth I suppose I should ask if there is anywhere you would not mind showing me around." If we're to be pedantically accurate. "But yes, the fitting was... efficient. I find things go much more smoothly here."

To Fort dragons, Adiulth may not be in the skies but he is enjoying the sunlight. Below. The mention of strange breezes has his own mental tone tinged with curiosity for the youthful. « What was it like? »

That's right; Suraieth can't fly, and so Isyath's attentions might be brief, but there's a warmth of reassurance that a distant parent might give a frightened child. There, there. (To Fort dragons from Isyath)

To Fort dragons, Khiabeth seems frankly puzzled by Suraieth's words. « They are /our/ breezes. You need to learn them. » /Their/ Weyr, /their/ breezes. She knows nothing of strange ones.

To Fort dragons, Suraieth /is/ frightened. WHO IS IT? WHAT DO YOU WANT? « They are not MY BREEZES, » she announces, petulant, like a small child stamping her foot. « Leave me alone! »

N'rad makes sure the first parcel won't slip, then moves on to the next. "Suppose that depends on what you're into," the rider replies, frowning as he fits the next bundle just so within the wide straps. Usually used for larger, heavier luggage, the current items would probably seem a little dwarfed in comparison. "Early for swimming. Just right for the docks. Don't know the Hold so well, but the new knot lets me explore more than before."

"Oh, the Hold, yes," Faye murmurs, as though she's only just noticed Southern Boll Hold in all its near distance. "Your family are there?" she enquires, handing over two parcels this time, saving the heavier for last. She tips her head back, gaze tracing a straight path through the darkening spring skies. "There were a great many dragons here earlier, did you know?" Again with that expectant look. "No gold, but at least one of every other colour. You could just about make them on the heights, if you pressed yourself to one of the windows. The children were enchanted."

To Fort dragons, Maldoranth is not all that well-suited for dealing with petulant dragonets, but luckily any response he was forming is forcefully yanked out of the mind space, presumably by a more conscientious rider. The prior thought is indeed abandoned, and only a lingering impression that he will /gladly/ leave her alone drifts along his own strand of the conversation before the bronze withdraws altogether.

So much noise! There's more soothing tones from Isyath, as much to protect the rest of the Weyr as any particular maternal instinct from the queen. « There is no one there, Suraieth. Just us. » (To Fort dragons from Isyath)

Abruptly, just short of panic: « TAJIRETH? » (To Fort dragons from Suraieth)

"Ummmm. Sort of," N'rad answers, tone somewhere between distracted and uncertain. "Near Boll." He gives Faye a glance, then smiles, if a bit crookedly. "Based at the Hold, but they're on a ship." A shoulder shrugs before he tightens the straps. "Did hear a bit about that, yeah," he answers, ducking under Maldoranth's neck to balance the weight, though... a little pointless with today's burdens. It's habit. "I was north at the time." He looks toward the mentioned heights as if to see them there /now/, but then just goes on working with the straps. "The /kids/ were, I'm sure," he murmurs quietly. Perhaps implying they were the only ones. "How many?"

Something firmer, now: « He is gone. » She doesn't remember the /when/, just that it is so. (To Fort dragons from Isyath)

Only now does Elaruth pick her way into the stream of voices - so many voices - seeking to settle her quietly motherly presence right there next to Suraieth, a blanket of gentle mist cast out like she could wrap her up in it and calm her. « Hush, little one, » she encourages oh so softly, a hint of the calming influence her station and temperament grant her lingering at the edges of her voice. (To Fort dragons from Elaruth)

Under Elaruth's influence, Suraieth is soothed; her panic fades to something more muted, a /wrongness/ that she is no longer terrified of, even if it still stands out. « I heard him, I did. He spoke to me. And then he was gone. I will find him, one day. » She's abruptly certain. (To Fort dragons from Suraieth)

To Maldoranth, Khiabeth is subdued, /for her/, anyway- thoughts of S'fin and Yalzurth weighing heavily in her/Reesa's thoughts, making her seek out the mental sanctuary of her clutchmates in reassurance. Her earlier exuberance is nowhere to be seen.

"Hear a bit...?" Faye starts to echo, offering up the last of the parcels when she believes N'rad is ready to secure them to straps. Awful lot of stuff for a girl on an assistant headwoman's salary. "Has word already travelled? They were here not... perhaps an hour ago? I did not see them fly over the Hall again. Perhaps they are in the courtyard now? Or the beach?" Arms empty, she laces her fingers together before her, umbrella hanging from her wrist. Her eyes widen a touch as she lifts her gaze back in the direction of the Hold and its fireheights. "Oh, do you think they were the ones who were here the other day? There were... six, perhaps. Seven? I'm afraid I did not count them."

A frown is N'rad's only answer to Faye's first question as he gives her a curious look. By appearances, though, he's a little too wrapped up in securing those last couple bundles. With the last strap tightened once more, though, he steps away from Maldoranth's dark hide and scoops up his helmet. There is a moment's hesitation, then a glance in the general direction of the Hold. "Guess it's Boll's business, then, yeah?" Not all that convinced, though. Or convincing. He's never been the best actor, and both worry and curiosity are likely evident if Faye knows what they look like.

To Khiabeth, Maldoranth is... conflicted. There is a muddled /feeling/ that is shared along the mind link, but nothing else for a while. No sound, no color, no scent. Khiabeth, better than most any other dragon at Fort, though, might recognize it as Mal's talking-to-N'rad symptom. In a rush, though, he returns full force, bringing with him a rush of crisp sea air, the tang of brine strong. « This is ridiculous, » the bronze replies quietly, but with conviction. « Tajireth is here or he is not. He cannot be both. » The particular "here", however, is fuzzy. Perhaps even Mal's rider does not know what he means.

Faye begins to edge towards Maldoranth in the awkwardly respectful way of those still not quite adjusted to seeing dragons up close so frequently as she does now. "Do you think... Would it be appropriate if we were to go and see? Fly over the Hold to see if they are still there?" The proposal is put to N'rad himself, not to his lifemate, but she gives little glances towards the bronze as though to include and value his opinion. "It would not do much harm?" Statement /and/ question. "A report might be of use to the Weyr."

To Maldoranth, Khiabeth doesn't probe further, through the silence; there's a sense of stillness, like her aerial display has ceased, thought the sun's warmth radiates through her tone all the same. « No, he cannot, » the green agrees, on the heels of Maldoranth's statement, as if /him/ saying it makes it true- tru/er/- in some way that eases his clutchsiblings' concern. « Reesa does not think Suraieth's rider is prone to fancy. » Whatever that means.

As N'rad considers Faye's request, his gazes goes distant and distracted once more, if more pointedly this time. He stares up at Maldoranth's head, and yet beyond it, focus wavering. Finally, the rider gives Faye a single nod, the moves so he can help her to the bronze's shoulders, should she need assistance. The dragon also lowers his head until the intended destination is as level as possible. The pair is not unaccustomed to playing taxi, it would seem.

Conviction fades in intensity, if not in density, lingering, but from a further distance. Khiabeth's last statement is weighed and measured, likely echoed along his own private link with his rider, but the response, when it comes, is subdued. « We do not know the rider, » Mal has to admit. His rider's feelings toward weyrlings is hesitant, but it is the bronze's own distance from the young that keeps them detached. « The little one is confused. » (To Khiabeth from Maldoranth)

That is /not/ glee in Faye's eyes. Only it is, a quick flash of it before she regains her composure. "We will be useful then," she states, gratefully accepting the offered assistance. Though there's an undeniable grace to her step, there's /nothing/ graceful about the manner in which she clambers up straps to situate herself where she needs to be, quiet apologies given to Maldoranth the whole time. By the time she's settled atop the bronze, there's a slight flush to her cheeks, embarrassment otherwise well suppressed. "Thank you, N'rad."

« Confused, » Khiabeth is malleable enough to agree without hesitation. Perhaps there'd be more, but the sun is warm and... her thoughts linger for moments longer but kind of drift away by measures. (To Maldoranth from Khiabeth)

Actor though he is not, N'rad was taught manners before he ever ended up Maldoranth's or appeared within Fort's craggy walls. He very carefully gives no notice of any clambering and only climbs to his dragon's shoulders once Faye is more or less settled. Once he's up there, he makes sure they're both strapped in, then he hands over the spare set of goggles and helmet that had been clipped to Mal's straps. "We'll circle around," he explains before setting his own goggles in place and sliding the helmet on. "I had Mal tell the Hold's watch that we're letting you see Boll from the air, now the sharding rain's gone." Helmet is strapped, then gloves are tugged on snuggly before he gives the dragon a hearty thump on the neck that the dragon likely can't even feel. He rises up to gather the muscles in his hind haunches, though, and waits. N'rad is just another rider now, with his awkward eyes and blonde hair hidden by gear, but he's certain to wait for Faye before giving Maldoranth the go-ahead to launch skyward.

To Khiabeth, Maldoranth is happy to let those thoughts drift, if they leave a troubled trembling wake behind. It is a small wake. Even gentle. But Maldoranth's mindscape is not as black and white as it normally is. Likely with help from N'rad's own thoughts, Mal also remembers S'fin and Yalzurth, the latter now weighing more heavily, but he mentally pushes the sun and warmth as if helping them along, a ship carried by thermals.

The helmet plasters Faye's bob cut against her cheeks, but she makes not a sound of complaint about it, nor the goggles that don't look so flattering on her. "I have never seen Boll from the air!" she tells N'rad, either playing along or all too willingly disregarding their earlier trip to deliver her to the Hall. She checks one of the buckles keeping her in Maldoranth's straps, though it's the only check that she does, trusting the bronzerider to know what he's doing. "All set!" she assures.

The second the words are out of Faye's mouth, Maldoranth leaps up, his broad wings sweeping down to carry the momentum. The first few wing beats aren't entirely pleasant, though he's able to smooth the transition soon enough to more of a forward glide as they continue to gain altitude. At first, the bronze rises in a widening spiral until, likely from a silent word from N'rad, he swings toward the Hold. When a dragon is high in the air enough, it doesn't always seem like there's that great a difference in speed. This close to the ground, however, the surroundings whip past as they buffet against the wind and the brine of the nearby ocean. Within moments, they have left the Hall behind and are circling slowly over Southern Boll Hold, Maldoranth's angle enough for an effective bank, yet not so much as to unduly upset any passengers, in case Faye isn't quite used to this sort of thing. Below, half a dozen dragons can indeed be seen, and within seconds, N'rad tenses slightly, while Maldoranth adjusts his angle as if to join them. A moment later, however, the dragon resumes his initial pass, then begins to climb again. From where they're sitting, even without helmets and goggles, it would be impossible for Faye to see N'rad's face, but he certainly wasn't sitting that rigidly when they first came to Boll, nor was he needlessly patting his bronze's neck.

Instinct has Faye grabbing for N'rad when Maldoranth seems about to head down to the Hold, then /doesn't/, a quiet exclamation lost on the wind. Once she's steady, she doesn't seek to remain so, but /leans/ over, trying to get a better look at the dragons below that are, by now, mere smudges of colour to her. "Is there something wrong?" she lifts her voice to ask, shouting over the atmosphere as they climb. "It was six of them, not seven, was it not?" And then, belatedly focusing on N'rad's reaction rather than the cause, she lifts a hand, meaning to curl gentle fingers against whatever part of his leg that she can reach. "Are you okay? I am... sorry. I did not think it would be anything bad."

"It's not bad," N'rad calls back, the lie easy with the wind and the volume. And yet, that hand on his leg probably gives him away. Maldoranth dips his head to look back, which changes their trajectory for a moment, but then they're climbing again. Away. Taking as decent a breath as one can with the whipping air, N'rad loses a little of the intensity before glancing back toward Faye again. If she wanted more answers, they're not coming here and now. "Ready to head back?" he calls over as Maldoranth veers north. Not that they're likely to fly the whole way, but it feels more like going home.

"But you are--" Faye bites down on the inside of her lip, manners drawing her from the edge of pointing out the state that she perceives him to be in. She stares back at Maldoranth when he looks back at them, her eyes wide and an edge of unease lingering there, her lips moving to form a single word that might be 'sorry' or 'okay' or something else, and ultimately she submits to what she understands to be N'rad's desire to return home. "Ready!" she confirms, voice lifting to a shout just to make sure that she's heard and her agreement isn't interpreted as anything else. She's silent the whole way back, for however long they're in the air, and as polite in retrieving her parcels and thanking N'rad as she was when he arrived. It might be the least she can do to offer to buy him a drink, so that's exactly what she does. Either way, her end destination? The Glass Fountain.

N'rad is just as quiet, just as polite, but the earlier tension remains. Even Maldoranth might seem distractedly stilted, though that could just be from a long day of flying. N'rad leaves the bronze's straps in place before he follows Faye to the Glass Fountain, where the treated drink is much appreciated. However, the rider continues to hold his silence regarding those riders at Boll, maintaining only that he is fine. Actor he is not, but he knows how close to hold his secrets.