Difference between revisions of "Logs:All Of This"

Iesaryth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr

Turns of inclement weather and use have smoothed out niches here and there for a current occupant and perhaps a companion, on this slightly downward impressed ledge. Two poles have been staked into the stone, immovable, and are about a dragonlength apart - perhaps supposed to be joined at one point. Nothing spectacular denotes the ledge itself, but the view it offers is one of the living caverns entrance a bit further to the north, as well as a glimpse of blue glimmer on the horizon of the Weyr lake.

Arekoth slept well, awoke feeling refreshed, feeling powerful, feeling triumphant. H'kon barely slept, awoke feeling frustrated, disoriented, nauseous. Their motivations are surely quite different, but the brown and his rider, at least, are of one mind when they fly off their ledge before dawn has had any chance to really lighten up the sky, when they make a short, fast trip across the bowl and to the queens' area, while most of the Weyr still sleeps off the excitement of the night before. H'kon dismounts promptly, marching to a space he deems appropriate, and stops to stare at the entrance. He says nothing. Arekoth reaches a yellow glow of a mental touch to Iesaryth while he finds a good perch, but doesn't press. They could stay like this - will stay like this - for as long as it takes.

Iesaryth returned to the Weyr late the night before, presumably to avoid Hraedhyth's flight or the after-effects, or maybe that's just a really good excuse. Either way, there may have been a wash of warm tides out across the night and in the brown's direction before they landed, before she too slept. So early in the morning, there isn't a lot of movement out in the bowl - the night before is also an excellent excuse to sleep in. The queen is on her ledge anyway; the waves are warm and the sun shines bright on them despite the early hour. All is well with her, and there's room enough on the ledge for Arekoth and his rider both. Apparently, she thinks not going in - good plan. It doesn't take long, not longer than an hour, but when Brieli appears from her weyr, she's perfectly put together and dressed for the day - she didn't rush. Her expression is difficult to read, but she doesn't look happy. Shocking!

Not longer than an hour, in which Arekoth sees how close he can get to his (for now) mate, aurora dying down, words at a strange minimum, especially for him. Not longer than an hour, in which H'kon stands, militaristically still, any motions only those minor, barely-detectable ones that keep feet from falling asleep, or heads from becoming too light. In which he doesn't shift the riding gear he'd donned, and gives no sign of being too cold, too hot. Too tired. And when she does appear, finally, that woman he still doesn't know, the brownrider lifts his bearded chin and greets her with a flat, "Goldrider." And makes no move to get more in, or further out, of her way.

Iesaryth is not the other queen; not aggressive in her affection, she is still affectionate - possibly surprising, given her rider, but that bronze has been curled up next to the gold on her ledge for over a turn. It stands to reason that Arekoth should be given at least the same courtesy (for now). She's content with the quiet, especially in the morning, though beneath the waves, fish-thoughts move, ever-present. If only Brieli were more like her dragon. She folds her arms slowly, careful in her movements, dark eyes flinty as she regards H'kon for a long moment. Finally, in low tones, "If you say you were the only ones there, no one has to know about the rest." No good morning, no greeting - let's just get this out of the way. Maybe it's less awkward if it's quick.

H'kon's face hardens; he holds her gaze so long as it's on him, so long as it will be held. That frown digs a deeper crevice into the rest of his features when she speaks. "The rest." His voice has pitched a bit lower than its norm, and he keeps it quiet. "Would that be your being isolated with a foreign bronze when your dragon rose, goldrider?" Arekoth's sigh might be a mix of content (for now) with Iesaryth and exasperated (always) with H'kon.

There is no looking away. There is lifting her chin; there is a defiant air about Brieli. Who, exactly, is H'kon to try to talk to her about this? "You don't know that's what happened. Nor do you have proof." That wasn't what she meant either, but she's not going there, not yet. With a purse of her lips, she asks, "What sense is there in telling that particular story?" As if it's a tale, one of many that could be told. Iesaryth is sympathetic, though silently.

It's H'kon's turn to take a long look at the other rider, holding that same frown, that same gaze. "There is certainly little sense to such actions," he says finally, heavily. "Strange," is as far as he goes into any sort of jibe, though there's a twitch of one eyebrow as he carries on looking at the goldrider. "I do wonder what all will be said, to try and decide all of this." And the last is certainly distasteful, wearied, as he gestures vaguely out. Out there. To the Weyr in general.

Nothing sways Brieli, nothing makes her even look guilty or apologetic. She's neither. Nor is she inclined to explain herself apparently, or take the conversation somewhere else, for all that Iesaryth might give her a look now and then; that she might want a jacket after awhile. There's a little anger that slips out as she notes tightly, "'All of this' might not have been an issue if you hadn't shown up. And what all will be said? To try and decide? As if you have no part in it." She glances out to the Weyr beyond. "There'll be a certain number that rule out Taikrin by virtue of being a woman; there'll be some that think it's all a wash, I'm sure."

"Oh, I have a part in it," H'kon says quickly, sharply, an with a drastic increase in the rate of his speech, and a forward lean that doesn't quite make it to his feet for a step in the same direction. There might be, at least, a bit more flash in his eyes for a moment. "What some and numbers think is of little importance, anyway. This is the leadership of the Weyr." Arekoth has either given up on his rider, or declared Iesaryth more interesting. It's she that receives a soft noise from his throat.

Fine brows arching, Brieli doesn't move or blink - but she does look interested, arms still folded, head tilting to the side as she watches the brownrider. Okay. And? "Then what do you think?" It's neutral, perhaps deceptively so. Just a question, but it's important if what the Weyr thinks isn't so much. Iesaryth can be pretty interesting, all things considered. She thinks about several different things at a time, from movements in the bowl to tracking the minds and shifts of dragons far away, the edges of the ocean whispering into the dim reaches. Lots to pay attention to instead of his rider.

Arekoth is happy to explore the distractions (for now), or perhaps just what he can glean of Iesaryth from it. There's a re-arranging of his wings, and the brown settles. Follows. Occasionally, in time, even, offers his own vague memories, if not current reporting. "I think," and any brightness in his eyes leaves, that frown dim once more, "that it is perhaps for the best a dragon from her Weyr - even a brown - found Iesaryth, even in her isolation. And little might be resolved as to the rightful leadership of High Reaches within High Reaches itself."

Disappointed. Whatever Brieli might have been expecting or hoping for is not forthcoming, and she just shakes her head, sets her jaw, turns to go. Low and hard, "Her Weyr has taken enough from me that I'm owed something back once in a while." Pausing in her steps, "If you expect leadership to be resolved through discussion or similar, you're deluded. Someone's going to step up, and if you know the people involved, you know who will. You just need to decide whether you follow or don't." There's a glance back over her shoulder, through dark curls before, "Tell whatever story you want. But I'd owe you. I'm not asking for me." For him.

"I expect nothing to be solved by discussion here. But it is would be foolish to think that High Reaches exists alone, even in an Interval." And as she turns, "There are many Weyrs," will have to be sent toward her back. H'kon is on the verge of turning when Brieli stops, and so he settles, lifts his chin once again to hear her out. "There would be a great many debts to keep track of, if you had it your way, wouldn't there?" And the brownrider shakes his head. "And whatever happens, so long as the waters are muddied, it seems the intentions and interests of the would-be weyrwoman should be weighed frankly and in full." Eyes narrow at the end, but he finishes with a curt nod, and steps back, faintly toward Arekoth.

"Mm. And is there any reason that a High Reaches goldrider might not want to go to the Council?" Brieli turns fully now, brows arched only for a moment before she tells H'kon, flatly, "It's not your decision. Azaylia won't do it either. We won't risk being shafted, by brownriders, no less." It might be taking things a bit far, but the goldrider is paranoid... and does have a point. "You don't know anything about me," she tells him, eyes narrowing. "And haven't I had it my way? But fine. As you wish." How she says it like 'fuck you' is a mystery, but there it is. She strides back into her weyr. Iesaryth's not kicking Arekoth off her ledge, but she gets if he kind of has to go.

H'kon has opinions, but now, after having said so much (for him), only hints at them by breathing out a sharp blast of air. "I know you look to yourself and not your Weyr," is quiet, perhaps so much it might be missed. Quiet, and, by the fall of his features as he turns, words he likely thinks have been spoken in vain, either way. And Arekoth... Dragon and rider consider each other for a moment. H'kon gives a deeper sigh, shoulders falling, and heads for the footbound exit off the ledge. And Arekoth ruffles his wings and stretches out, happy to wait next to Iesaryth. For a little longer.