Difference between revisions of "Logs:Seeing Red (Green)"

The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but
  here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening 
  and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions 
  to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.                  
                                                                            
  A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides      
  warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced 
  off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water
  there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows    
  drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge       
  undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be 
  bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge    
  divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky     
  outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one 
  -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly     
  tempting stairs.

The people of the Reaches would be fools not to welcome a relatively dry day as this one, however unpleasant it strives to be. The wind today is rough everywhere, but seems colder as it snatches up the chil from the water and turns them coppy and unwelcoming under each buffet. Yesia stands at the edge of the shore, her arms crossed and mittened hands tucked into her armpits for warmth. She's dressed for this: warm, fur-lined jacket and a cap drawn down over her ears, breeches as always these days. In the midst of the unpleasantness, serene and pale-lovely, Aeaeth basks on a rock just off-the-center of the body of water, apparently perfectly calm despite sometimes being splashed by an enterprising wave.

Even in unpolished youth, this two-toned bronze has the promise of presence. He might have been merely a pale specimen, were it not for the heavy shadows that drip, as though wetly oozing, from the tenebrous ridges of his spine. That pattern, if it can truly be called such with its extreme irregularity, is unbalanced from one side to the other: absolute boundaries of dark swallowing light in some places, grisly smears to unite them in others. Though bright against their dark spars, his wingsails also bear the erratic splatters of arterial spray. He's a solid, strong creature, but age will whet his angles into ever sharper, ever harder lines, from his hooked muzzle down to his honed talons.

Today is a brand new day, and its failure to be completely miserable outside is probably what has driven V'ret and Zoth out towards the lake, during some of their free time. Not that Aeaeth's interest in the water is predictable. Of course not that. It's slow progress across the bowl, since Zoth seems disinclined to move at a pace that might require him to look undignified, but the stroll does eventually pull them close to a familiar face. Or at least a familiar coat. "I miss getting to see your legs. I'm not sure I'm allowed to say that." Most people would start a conversation like this with 'hello', but same diff.

Yesia's parted her lips to breathe into the chill, letting the warmth of her exhales coalesce into tiny little wraiths that the wind steals away, and she's mid-exhale when V'ret's voice reaches her. "Ev!" Because who cares what his name is now, she gets to call him whatever she'd like, including nicknames that may not still apply. She swivels around to look at him more closely -- or maybe at Zoth -- and smiles winningly. "It'll feel so long, having to wait to see them again," she teases, and she could mean a break in the weather or the length of his training. Hard to tell. "I wouldn't tell on you, if you weren't. I think you're just not supposed to touch."

There's no correction for the name, just a broad smile like V'ret manages to be completely pleased that she's even remembered that he has a name. So easy to make him happy, it seems. "I'm not supposed to do a lot of things," he says, but then there's a momentary pause, and he amends, "but I suppose it's for the best. Still. I can look." And shove his hands into his pockets as though it's necessary to restrain himself from more. "Still, he's growing like a weed." Pause. "A very handsome weed." A handsome, bloodstained weed who could not be less interested in Yesia, though he's wandering off in the direction of the water, watching after Aeaeth instead.

"A very handsome, very bronze weed," Yesia amends helpfully, still smiling. Her eyes drift between the two of them in sequence, and she shrugs unhelpfully. "He just...he'll understand, soon. It'll go fast, and then we can keep each other company again. Not just look. But until then, maybe the weather will warm enough for dresses soon." Her smile turns wistful even if she doesn't sound exactly hopeful. Zoth's movements ultimately hold her attention because they are absolutely more interesting than either her own dragon's or V'ret's, and perhaps that helps him catch Aeaeth's attention too. The green lifts her slender snout from the water and watches the bronze back, and a deep emerald curiosity reaches for him. « Do you swim? » (re)

"Very bronze," V'ret agrees, watching his dragon go off, still beaming with a pride that if he had any dignity at all left he'd at least try to play off as ironic. No, not yet. "Though--bronzeriders don't seem to be having the best of luck around here, lately." That thought appears to escape his mouth before his brain entirely catches up with it. Added, quickly, "I'll just have to get lucky, I guess." He's grinning. His dragon is considerably more serious, testing the water. « It is cold, » he appraises it. And probably wet, too, while he's being obvious, but that he doesn't say.

"He's bronzer than Aeaeth is green." This certainly true. Aeaeth's pallor is stark even in the gloom of a Reachian winter, but Yesia has very little time to dwell on true or falses there. Her smile falls almost at once, a flicker of surprised sadness at the bluntness of it all that she works quickly to temper into something less disappointed. Her lips purse and her brows furrow. "H'vier was..... Not many people will miss him. I think I do, though. A little. Goldriders don't do so great either, from what I hear." Yesia eyes him sidelong, and it's cold enough that she shuffles closer to him, to bump her elbow against him like she might lean there. Like before he Impressed. "You could just be smarter. You had me convinced you were smart." Aeaeth snorts. « Not too cold. Do you prefer the warm? » She doesn't say how disappointing his life will be, if so.

They're both bundled up against the cold. Surely, it can't be against the rules for V'ret to just put his arm around her. It's not an embrace. It's a side-hug. They're perfectly chaste. Everybody knows that. "Had a drink with him now and then. Seemed okay to me. I'd like to think I'm smarter." Which is a bad segue to the furrowed brow and the, "Wait. Is she... not green?" V'ret is squinting off that way. Zoth is staying right where he is, regarding Aeaeth placidly. « Tolerance and preference are entirely different, » he says, though he sounds... distant? Distracted.

"He was smart. He was just...drunk." Yesia turns around to make sure no weyrlingmaster will descend upon them before she shuffles the last few inches to rest under V'ret's arm, where she sighs quite contentedly. It's just a side-hug. Totally means nothing. "She says she's just this side of green," she ponders slowly, like it means less to her than to her lifemate. "I never really understand, but she knows her colors." It's no skin off Aeaeth's back. She settles back in, lets her muzzle rest in the water again with the soft chime of bells. « Suit yourself. »

"Mm." It's just a noise. An acceptance of fact. One of those facts. It is, of course, a nice thing, this stolen bit of proximity, but it shouldn't be so nice to warrant closing his eyes, like he needs to savor it. Long breath. "She isn't... not green, but there are plenty that are more green." It's not the most certain thing he's ever said. « He is somewhat defective. » That... is not the sort of praise one would normally expect from a young dragon with regards to his new rider. « And he does not listen. » No, he's not even paying attention. Not to his dragon, anyway. « She is distracting. »

They're likely to get caught, they stay this way, but she nods, all that red hair crinkling funny against his jacket. Yesia's genuinely curious when she ventures, "What's Zoth like? Besides, you know. Handsome and bronze? You barely know, in the beginning, but I feel like...like around where you're at now, that's when I started really knowing who Aeaeth is." Aeaeth: sweet but critical, kind but arrogant, private and nosy and very matter-of-fact when she says, « You could have chosen anybody who was there. Your own fault. I bet he is very hard to train. I tried to tell him I did not like him, but he just kept coming around. Maybe you'll be able to train him the way they do canines. » She is only slightly nicer when she notes, « She is. It is because she's very pretty. I thought she was the prettiest, so I took her before anyone else could. »

He might not have warning, but it says something for how distracting this young woman apparently manages to be that V'ret just stands there without making more than a cursory attempt to lift a hand and shield his face from the spray. Then, he moves in the direction of his dragon. Priorities. Poor upset baby! Because he is just a baby and this is clearly just infantile distress about feelings he does not understand. "His taste is excellent," seems more a reassurance for Zoth than for himself. "I think he's just... overtired, is all. We should head back--but I'll see you later? I really--" Pause. "I'll try to find some time to see more of you. But later. You are so beautiful, you know that?" Impressing has not cured him of non sequitors.

"Sure he did," Yesia says, with that distant patronization that comes when she's splitting her attention. Aeaeth lowers her head just enough that she might look closely at Zoth, but she offers no further commentary. Maybe she would roll her eyes, if she could, given that departing remark, but she can't. She can snort-scoff, even as Yesia tucks her hair behind her ears to stick her helmet on her head. "Yes," she says brightly. "I do. You're pretty good looking yourself. Even if you look like you need sleep." That, of course, will be chronic. "Tell him to call Aeaeth, if you want. But, we're not hard to find." Same lake, same weyr, same time, every day.

Dragon just short of what seems like it could very well be a tantrum, V'ret is beaming like nothing could possibly be wrong in the world. "You stay warm until I get free enough to warm you up myself, huh?" Never mind that half a year from now will also mean it won't be winter anymore by that point. "No, look, you're fine, I'm fine, I don't know what you're--come on, we're going back, okay? We're going." This is the first he's resorted to speaking aloud, amidst this all, and his dragon suddenly has enough of his attention to warrant turning away to head back to the barracks.