Difference between revisions of "Logs:Interrogations"

One of those foreign dragons shows up again, high above the cloud cover, slow to descend into it and the Bowl itself: there is rain, after all, drizzling rain, when he'd come from sunnier climes. Not that it stops him, in the end, though there's a fussy flick of dark wings as he enters the gray. (Vhaeryth to Cadejoth)

To Vhaeryth, Cadejoth keeps tabs on his Weyr from high up upon the rim, where neither rain or wind can disturb his sense of ownership. Foreign dragons are not uncommon, perhaps, but Vhaeryth is of /Fort/... and that is a different thing altogether. It's surprisingly subtle, really, the way he highlights the gilt mesh that encapsulates his Weyr, and Iesaryth within it. /His/ Weyr. Vhaeryth might make his intentions known. Now. Cadejoth is waiting.

So subtle it is, that it takes several wingbeats for Vhaeryth to notice the gilt cage and the bronze who crafted it, and a few more to truly remark on it, and yet another for, « Hm? » He /is/ quick to send the sensation of a second stomach not now full of firestone, in case that helps: no, he's not locked and ready. Or maybe it's just because Vhaeryth thinks it's funny. (Vhaeryth to Cadejoth)

That gilt cage may have been too subtle, but Cadejoth's response to Vhaeryth's reply is far from: he is not amused. « What is your business, » he wonders, with a flick of metallic chain, the dry rub of bone against bone. « in my Weyr? » And why has he not announced himself to Cadejoth, whose Weyr it is? There's no warmth, not this time: just cold steel. (Cadejoth to Vhaeryth)

Vhaeryth carries his own steel, but that chilling bone... « We visit, » he replies simply, a touch chastened. Is it so large a thing? (Vhaeryth to Cadejoth)

To Vhaeryth, Cadejoth's silence stretches on for beat after beat, his presence marked only by that subtle scrape of metal. Finally, « Your Weyr would not approve if I were to visit unannounced. We demand the same courtesy. Why do you visit? Do you seek to claim our queens? » Ysavaeth, his queen? Rielsath? Iesaryth, Hraedhyth, still far too little for such things; that's a warning, too.

The silence lengthens the duration between Vhaeryth's wingbeats; he's no longer descending now, his rider settled forcibly into his straps, head bowed, waiting. But when Cadejoth speaks, it brings genuine confusion, a haze of tiny metal shards clouding about him: « I am not Bijedth. » Why should anyone care about /him/? (Vhaeryth to Cadejoth)

To Vhaeryth, Cadejoth is, now, instructive - not combative, not unduly harsh, but firm in his explanations. « You are bronze. And you are of Fort. » On their own, both are enough, but together? Together it is too much. « I would know your business before you arrive. »

If it's not fa-air, that his smaller Weyr-mates should escape unscathed, there's no hint of that in Vhaeryth's tone; he takes to the senior dragon's instruction, to the extent that clear words make the tasks comprehensible if not the whys and wherefores. « Oh. We... visit? I had wished to see the barracks, as they are all but empty, but they are too small to look into, » sad Vhaeryth. More hesitantly, more quietly, « Why, why us? Does Riuscyth not want us? » Only there's no strong sense of the third bronze's name, only a nebulous haze. (Vhaeryth to Cadejoth)

There's quiet, subtle approval for Vhaeryth's acquiescence; Cadejoth is not all unhappy disapproval. « You are too big for such things, » is his remark, which is even and difficult to read. « Riuscyth was unwelcome at your Weyr. » It could be an exaggeration; certainly, it's not something Cadejoth himself remembers. (Cadejoth to Vhaeryth)

Vhaeryth's not so old that he doesn't respond to even a hint of approval, if not so young that he wriggles under it... and, after all, Cadejoth is not /his/. « All I wished to do was look, » for wouldn't it be glorious, a weyr sized large enough to fit so many dragons, and barely have to share? Although, it /is/ on the /ground/. All that is quick, pushed into the space before Cadejoth's continuation and his own wordless surprise. Not /welcome/. (Vhaeryth to Cadejoth)

To Vhaeryth, Cadejoth can say nothing more as to Riuscyth's welcome (or not); or perhaps it's simply that he chooses not to. « You might see through another's eyes instead, » he offers, though it's with the understanding that no, that's never as satisfying. « Ours is surely little different from /yours/. » Surely! « In any case: you will announce your arrival, in future. » His command is quiet, authoritative, protective. « It is only polite. »

There are fewer tiny bits of shrapnel left, having disappeared from the bottom up as though swallowed by waves, but there's a frustrated /whir/ to them: a sort of quivering, hovering in place. Finally, « To you? » Surely not just the watchdragon. « To everyone? » The metallic bits lose their whir into a buoyant, boyish /lift/: he could do that. (That could be fun.) (Vhaeryth to Cadejoth)

To Vhaeryth, Cadejoth sounds out a twanging noise, one that clears his mental places into something smoother, more careful. « To Ysavaeth or myself, » he instructs. « If we are not available, then to the watchdragon. It is only polite. » No, not to everyone. /Please/ not to everyone.

That twang catches the bits midair, and they shiver into place, for all that there's less-structured wistfulness in the confirmation that follows. « Not everyone. » Such a sigh. But: not /everyone/. And /then/: « The others must announce to the watchdragon, yes? » This must make them special! And not at all in a bad way! « Can we go now? » Which is not to say, /leave/. (Vhaeryth to Cadejoth)

Simply: « All of your Weyr ought to announce yourselves. » To the watchdragon, to Cadejoth, to Ysavaeth, accordingly. The bronzes? Yes, to Cadejoth and Ysavaeth, /yes/, in particular. « It is only polite. » His chains jangle a confirmation, even as he is withdrawing: yes, go. But /watched/. (Cadejoth to Vhaeryth)

« I will tell him, » Vhaeryth promptly assures, overlaid with the image of a smaller bronze that he doesn't think to name, probably thinks the whole world must recognize. And since Cadejoth is watching and all, his metallic bits hover together into what starts out as an oval, then gets a hole in the center: a sort of blobby link that can't quite coalesce. See? « Goodbye! » (Vhaeryth to Cadejoth)

Comments

Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Tue, 24 Jul 2012 02:51:47 GMT.

*DIES* If that's a halo at the end... man, Vhaeryth is funny. 

Gotta love protective daddy Cadejoth. <3 What's the dragon equivalent of a shotgun? He needs to cradle it between his paws, sitting in a rocking chair on top of the Star Stones.

Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Tue, 24 Jul 2012 03:03:32 GMT.

YOU'RE NOT MY DAD!