Logs:Lakeside Arguments
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| RL Date: 22 March, 2013 |
| Who: K'del, Lia |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Lia has something to say to K'del. It devolves. |
| Where: Lake Shore / Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Also includes draconic cameos from Hraedhyth, Cailluneth, Athimeroth, Solith and Tsanth |
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| Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn, graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake. Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the careful to get the job done. The sky is clear today. The air remains cool and damp, but the weather is overall pleasant today. It's late, and since the days are not exactly all that long, yet, that means it's quite dark. The sky is clear enough that the stars provide some illumination, though, even if the moons are both little more than crescents, spaced out upon the night sky. Despite the hour, the sound of booted feet on stone interrupts the quiet: K'del is alone, as he climbs up towards the summit of the diving cliff, with his hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his coat, and his thoughts oh-so-obviously elsewhere. Not so alone as the case might be as a burst of cold air above illuminates a lightly hued green arriving from parts unknown. Daehyeth hangs there for a preening moment, as if on display in all her lean and long lissomeness, before winging to the lake shore. She lets out a low call in her descent, not quite a keen, that echoes off bowl walls, stirring a familiar blue here, and an unfamiliar dragon there. Once on the ground, her rider is but a silhouette to those more distant, a shadowy figure vaulting off and shedding the formalities of riding a dragon: gloves, helmet, jacket -- those all get tossed onto the grass-strewn sandy banks. K'del's head lifts at that burst of cold air, his gaze fixing upon the green, and then tracking her downwards. To do that, he has to step forward: edging his way towards the precipice, booted toes carefully marking out the line between cliff and empty air. He, too, must appear as a silhouette - a tall figured outlined against the slender Belior behind him, hands still in pockets, head tilted just slightly to one side. It won't be possible to see where his gaze falls, but it does, in fact, linger on the greenrider below, lazily curious. She stands there for a long while, still as she studies the reflection of the crescented moons in the lake. Her dragon, too, is still. But, as if moving to the same music, the same beat, rider and dragon stretch in tandem: the dragon's starting with a rustling of her wings and moving back into a lengthened, briefly tense tail, while the rider pulls her arms up to the skies and arches her back back up. In doing so, Lia's deep brown eyes find the silhouette far above, on the precipice of the cliffs and unrecognizing of even K'del's tall frame, keeps one arm up in a lazy wave. Perhaps the glisten of teeth can be seen in the moons' lights as she might even smile. Perhaps, her dragon's thoughts race through the minds of the dragons at High Reaches to see whether this person above is rider or not, friend or foe, man or woman? Daehyeth's touch to Cadejoth is one of passing inquiry, requiring no words. A moment after that wave, K'del's arm lifts in return, drawing itself free of its pocket and lifting to just above shoulder height. It hangs there, hovers, for several seconds, then drops again-- though it doesn't reclaim that pocket. Instead, the man half-turns, abruptly, and then there's Cadejoth to make the connection. The bronze's thoughts are full of the freedom of a spring night, cool air and clear skies marked out in ozone and a metallic tang, the rattle of bones. And there's the view from that cliff, echoed back towards the green in direct answer to her enquiry: there she is, moonlit, and her rider, too. The scent of spring racing through dew-covered grass returns in full force to Cadejoth as those wordless inquiries finally have a response. We won't speak of what that familiar blue and the overly-friendly brown might have bespoken Daehyeth with. It's to her sire that the green returns, in a vibrant cascade of spring blossoms that stretch out towards that metallic tang and the rattle of bones. Joie de vivre. I found you is an emotive singsong of not-quite-words. And on the shore, Lia's arm pauses, an awareness shading her eyes and stilling her frame once more. With the solitariness of the hour, her words echo upwards to K'del as clearly as her dragon's call. "It's you, isn't it?" "I hope I'm me," comes K'del's voice in return, complete with a teasing lilt of amusement. "If I'm not, there's probably a problem, somewhere along the line. Lia." It's hard to know from his tone whether he's recognised her, or if it was Cadejoth and Daehyeth who clued him in-- if he knew the name, or needed reminding. "Hello." Daehyeth's spring blossoms tangle and twine around Cadejoth's ever-present chains, the ones that now jangle with amusement leeched from his rider, and honed through the pure joy of flight on such a fine evening. Lia makes no movements towards the cliff, though Daehyeth takes to flight. The sudden movement gusts sand onto her gloves, jacket, and helmet on the ground, and possibly dusts her hair. Her small sleekness allows her to spin pirouettes in the skies above, enjoying herself and the show she's putting on for ledge sitters of both draconic and human varieties. She dances, twisting into herself and about in a show of grace. "Show off," is Lia's opinion, though it's more smug than embarrassed. Dark brown eyes look up, watchful of her dragon for a long moment of silence before she breaks it with: "If you're you, and I'm me. Then tell me something, K'del." Cadejoth is higher in the sky, presently circling around the spires at a merry pace, but he's got his eyes on Daehyth - he says as much, rattling his chains in a way that could well be appreciative. He sees her show; he sees her. "Something in particular, Lia? Or shall I say something at random... that the sky is clear tonight, maybe, or that it's nice that-- shells, I don't know. What is it you want to know?" She's ready. "Do you only do what's right when a girlfriend is at stake? Should the lower caverns hope you and Azaylia start sleeping together for you to oust a Vijay?" Weyrbred with a long memory, particularly when it's affected her family. "Or should we all sit and wait and be patient for someone to do something before they overrun us with their thieving paws?" It's the most charmingly voiced accusation ever, the woman's voice dancing as lightly as her attention-whore dragon dances in the sky. The dance turns plaintive with, "Weren't we supposed to trust you, K'del? Should we look to Tiriana again and beg her to return? Does she still have your balls?" Even from this distance, even given the poor light, K'del's wince is visible: a twitch of his shoulders, a shift of his head, no doubt his expression as well. "And what," he says, a moment later, as he re-squares his shoulders, "Would you have me do, Lia? Shall I go to Council, as a mere bronzerider, and demand that they remove another goldrider? Shall I have her exiled? In case you've forgotten, Cadejoth won neither of the flights. Right now, I'm effectively powerless." Something in his tone suggests he doesn't actually completely believe that - there's a hardness there, a quiet determination. "They're only brownriders." Dismissive. Disbelieving. It's not only his tone that doesn't quite believe the words he says, it's in Lia's voice and in her stance as her hands find her hips. "The goldriders aren't even trained by a real Weyrwoman." Being K'del's girlfriend clearly does not make someone more Weyrwomanly. "I'm surprised the Weyr Council hasn't intervened yet. That Monaco hasn't intervened yet. Do you know where I was, K'del? Where I visited tonight? Do you know what the other riders at other Weyrs think of my home? Should Boreal make Z'ian Weyrleader instead? We could." There's certainty in the sudden coolness of her call. "Lu--" But K'del doesn't even really believe that: that the goldriders were trained by Lujayn. He stops, abruptly dropping his other hand from his pocket, mostly so that he can more easily shrug his shoulders. "No idea where you've been tonight, Lia, but none of it would surprise me. None of it does. When Hraedhyth rises," he's so sure of that, too: absolutely determined, "We'll be there, and we'll make this right. Until then-- the most I can do is keep trying to remind the Weyr that they're not alone. That we're trying to fix things. She's not going to win. Not if I can help it." He speaks loudly and clearly, but there's no yelling. "Two turns from now?" Typically slow to show emotion, Lia's voice rises, shrill. "TWO FUCKING TURNS FROM NOW? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" In the sky, Daehyeth pretends to not pay attention to her rider's rising ire as her sky dance continues with tail swishes and wing dips. Her neck curves and her body arches. A glimmer of moonlight catches the grace of her relatively small draconic body and casts a luminescent gleam across its spring coloring. "If you don't want half the Weyr to transfer, you'll fix this. Or we'll fix it ourselves." Who this nebulous we is, Lia doesn't elaborate. Maybe it's just her. Maybe it's all of Boreal as she threatened. Maybe... maybe it's an empty threat. Dryly, the words escaping likely before he's really thought them through, K'del says, "What, are you going to poison her, Lia?" Is the sudden pallor of his face visible, in such dim lighting? Is his swallow audible? He does, at least, manage to press on, to say, "I repeat: what would you have me do, Lia? Tell me." Cadejoth is apparently unfazed by that conversation between their riders, for his flight continues without interruption: a lower sweep, now, one that allows the pallor of his wings to be caught in the low glow of the moons. Lia blanches, and her anger, briefly, subsides in favor of a hard swallow. Her voice reigns itself in, quiet. It's not even pitched to reach K'del in any fashion, but through 'oblivious' Daehyeth to Cadejoth, the broken words, "There's been enough senseless death of dragonkind," amplify. "Remove her as acting Weyrwoman. Brownriders can't be Weyrleaders. Bring back B'sil if you won't or can't." There's a sudden weariness that winds through the weyrbred girl's voice. "You and N'thei are the only Weyrleaders I know. Or remember." Could she be crying? It's through Cadejoth and Daehyeth that the sense of K'del's reply comes, too: the sudden burst of emotion, thick and hot and heavy, tangled in upon itself and hurting, trying to heal: too much senseless death. His voice is heavy when he says, a moment later, "Lia?" There's a lot in that question, unvoiced. 'Are you okay?' is probably part of it. 'I'm sorry' is probably another. "Doing everything I can, I promise." It's followed by, "Do you think the wings would follow, if Azaylia and I declared ourselves Acting Weyrleaders?" These are sad tears. These are angry tears. They're tears that Lia wipes away with her wrist in one quick motion. These are tears that no one will speak of, at least, not her. "I don't know. I'm only a greenrider." There's no self-deprecation in the (limp) matter-of-factness of her statement. "If you need to ask someone like me, then they probably won't." What she doesn't say but weighs heavy in her voice is, I'm so disappointed in you. "Half the riders in this Weyr are greenriders," says K'del, not hiding his disapproval of her attitude. "Or close to it. You know what, Lia? Don't care what you think." Beat. "Okay, that's a lie. I do care." He sounds frustrated, now, irritation running rampant through his tone, visible in the way he stands. "This whole damn situation is not my fault. Doesn't mean I'm not doing everything in my power to fix it. If you want to help, then stop thinking of her as the Acting Weyrwoman. Don't acknowledge Taikrin's orders. Everyone has power when no one has cemented it." There's that silence again, where the waterfalls on the otherside of the lake might be the loudest thing, followed by the wingbeats of Daehyeth continuing to fly, though even the green is starting to show signs of dwindling endurance. Those greens, built small and built quick in more ways than one. Chaos, is Daehyeth's sudden, gleeful interjection, shared on a broad band in a tornado tizzy of whirling spring flowers. The green dips, sweeping past the low flying Cadejoth in a flirty little shimmy, landing on the shore again. Lia says nothing, just stoops to pick up her things and climbs her dragon. Chaos, is Daehyeth's sudden, gleeful late night interjection into the thoughts of any awake Reachian dragon, a tornado tizzy of whirling spring flowers illustrating that non-verbalized word/emotion. (Daehyeth to all High Reaches dragons) In return, there's the abrupt sense of a fine, metallic mesh: the kind that sweeps over everything, encapsulating everyone. Cadejoth's mesh. Cadejoth's order. It's a warning; a challenge. A promise, maybe. (Cadejoth to all High Reaches dragons) « Order, » says Cadejoth in reply, abruptly vocal, though he glances in the descending green's direction only once. His order: marked out in chains, a mesh that captures everyone and holds them close. His order. "Don't be just a Greenrider, Lia. Choose your own destiny. If you're just going to wait for other people to win your battles, you'll always be disappointed." Like K'del. Sudden rush of dry, hot wind flurries up from the distraction of the chaos blooming on his own front to touch upon the voice of someone new. The baby bronze's anarchist soul rushes to the forefront with encouragement, excitement; he gets drunk off of the dual fronts of battling the establishment. Banners snap crazily in the wind, raging dark blue with blood-red stripes while far below, hazy figures assemble on the blurred smear of green and blue; a world below. Cadejoth's order is rejected, denied. Until something else snaps the baby dragon's mind from the masses to something else. /Hunting/. (Athimeroth to all High Reaches dragons) To all High Reaches dragons, Hraedhyth's flames leap, drums skip a beat, surprise fading away as the rhythm returns to normal. Her inquiry is an easy one, bellowed across her plains with good humor, one member of a tribe to another. Ho there? Cadejoth's mesh is seen, acknowledged, fire glinting off the fine metal with unbothered amusement. Oh. To all High Reaches dragons, Tsanth cares not for any mesh. Sand, pebbles and little rocks. They slip past that warning. But don't worry, he's too sleepy to get up tonight to bother real hard. To all High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth is abruptly silent again, but something of him lingers: a sense of claiming. Cadejoth has not abandoned High Reaches Weyr. Little Solith's less audible than movement, a skittering, netted and trying to get through... only to burst through all but what lingers as soon as the confines are released, momentum sending her tumbling out of the picture. (Solith to all High Reaches dragons) Twitch. Flick. Ah, youth. Hraedhyth is roused, protective jaws reaching for multiple scruffs, catching those dragonets who may be too interested. Warm, coarse fur curls around those innocent minds, hold easy but firm. None of that for you, pups. (Hraedhyth to all High Reaches dragons) There's renewed steel in Lia's spine as she sits astride her dragon. Angry once more, without the debilitating tears to accompany it this time. "Don't worry then, K'del. I won't wait." It's a very clear call, one that could be mistaken by eavesdroppers as another of K'del's lovers' spats. He does have a lot of them, doesn't he? Too many pretty girls, not enough time, right? Who is Lia, but another jilted lover. Right? Right? Daehyeth is in the air and to her ledge shortly after her rider's promise. Dervishes of Daehyeth's flower petals whirl intermittently throughout Reachian dragon minds. Chaos bubbles over, undampened by the non-Weyrleader's bronze and his order. Instead, it dances past Hraedhyth's flames and drums, some getting singed about the edges, floast over a baby bronze's rejection, and ultimately pays court in all its colorful rainbow hues to her somnolent wingleader's dragon, petering out only as sleep claims her. Even then, an ill-timed snore or sleeping sigh sends flowers everywhere. (Daehyeth to all High Reaches dragons) To all High Reaches dragons, Cailluneth's curious moonlight reaches out, tendrils of quicksilver colour curling towards her clutchmates, her dam, vaporous towards those dragons yet unknown. A trail connects them, dusky purple and diaphanous, tracking the course of the conversation, analysing it in a cloud of isolating white, but finding no answers to solidify the cloud of her thought - though Daehyeth's bright colours entice her to peep beyond the protective fur swaddling her. The force of the wind, the chill of the aether, and the humid heat where upper atmosphere meets lower atmosphere rolls around in that furry grip of Hraedyth's. A baby struggling against parent, there's no hope of escape, though glimpses through the gusts of forceful air give hint of whipping winds of plans. For this? No, perhaps not, but of other things? Yes-yes. Those hot, dry winds spread out once to touch clutchmates before collapsing in and drawing higher, higher, gone. (Athimeroth to all High Reaches dragons) K'del says nothing. He doesn't even seem to want to-- he just backs away from the edge of the cliff, disappearing into the gloom.
CommentsAzaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Sat, 23 Mar 2013 07:00:21 GMT. <
Lia... Lia clearly has all of the balls in the Weyr. Just saying. Poor K'del, getting all ganged up on by a greenrider. ...And not in the good way!
< K'del's life could be entitled: A series of Unfortunate Events. Awesome scene, though! I thoroughly enjoyed be able to participate via dragon!!!
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Lia only ever shows up to complain. ;) First about Azaylia/Io, now me. I think she hates goldriders.
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Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Sat, 23 Mar 2013 07:00:21 GMT.
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Lia... Lia clearly has all of the balls in the Weyr. Just saying. Poor K'del, getting all ganged up on by a greenrider. ...And not in the good way!
Ceawlin (Ceawlin (talk)) left a comment on Sat, 23 Mar 2013 07:29:52 GMT.
< K'del's life could be entitled: A series of Unfortunate Events.
Awesome scene, though! I thoroughly enjoyed be able to participate via dragon!!!
Aishani (Brieli (talk)) left a comment on Sat, 23 Mar 2013 13:00:52 GMT.
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Lia only ever shows up to complain. ;) First about Azaylia/Io, now me. I think she hates goldriders.
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