Logs:After Hours
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| RL Date: 27 March, 2013 |
| Who: Arekoth, Kazavoth |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Arekoth reaches out to his favourite brown son. In secret. |
| Where: High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
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| It is a late night when Arekoth offers a cautious glow of green, late enough that most of the weyrlings ought to be nestled into their couches by now, much of the Weyr sleepy, if not quite yet asleep. « Kazavoth. » The touch already has a bit less of the father, a bit more of simply the older dragon; but he does remember something of this brown being his offspring. It's in the tone. It's in the aurora. (Arekoth to Kazavoth) By that rapidity of the young brown's reply, Kazavoth could not possibly have been asleep yet, by nature just a little more alive during the nighttime hours. The backdrop of his mindvoice resembles the current night's sky in nearly perfect detail, though he views those auroras with intense curiosity, seeming to sample them delicately before leaving them be. « Arekoth. » The reply is quiet, more an aside than a whisper, more a purr than a rasp. Like Arekoth's aurora, Kazavoth has a certain warm tone for the older brown, like the haze just before a summer thunderstorm breaks a blistering evening. He still remembers his sire. (Kazavoth to Arekoth) « Good. » Some humour rises, displayed in the rolling quality of Arekoth's words. « Just wait until they let him at women. » There's something of settling in that mental presence, the cool tempered by Kazavoth's warmth, fading away as well, leaving only Arekoth. « You, then. Strong and fierce I hope? » (Arekoth to Kazavoth) « The strongest! » Kazavoth projects with glee, accompanied by sudden, silvery bursts in his mind's night-scape, like half a dozen little fireworks that glitter down from the heavens. « I look forward to baring my teeth at my prey again. For now, they still bring us dead things. » All hint of glittery fireworks fizzles out into the duds of failed bottle rockets. fssssssssss... sss. Then nothing. (Kazavoth to Arekoth) « Good! » comes again, this time with more feeling, the weight of a heavy clout to the shoulder in those words. And all that pride, too. « There's no taste in dead food, » comes only after those fireworks have fizzled out, a dirge. « At least you'll be able to show your clutchmates all how it's done. When they stop overprotecting you. » (Arekoth to Kazavoth) Smug shades of navy-lined grey filter through as Kazavoth replies with his own more subdued form of pride. « I have shown what I can for now, » the little brown states with regal reservation, « but when the time comes, I have no reservations. » The faint scent of wherry blood reverberates in the distance, faintly remembered, but relished. After a moment, colors and scents are washed away, replaced by the tooth-twinging chill of a mountain stream. « Why do you keep your distance, Arekoth? » (Kazavoth to Arekoth) Mountain streams are recent enough in Arekoth's memory. He does Kazavoth one better, a quick image, between-point sharp, of a Koths-eye-view of a meadow in the mountains just beyond the Weyr, where the snows have begun to melt, but only in patches, where things are untouched and different. Where adventure waits for rules to fall away. « Letting the strong show their strength is a 'bad influence'. » His distaste is not veiled. « Your mother and their mother seem to think so. And they, » drawn out in a sigh, « are the only golds. » (Arekoth to Kazavoth) There is a long pause from Kazavoth as he consumes that vivid imagery. He drinks it in until nothing but the void of space remains, then returns it in a blink, exactly as he found it, like some mental draconic scanner. And... saved to file. Click. After the image returns, he adds delicate touches here and there, improving upon nature with overly gilded sunlight that glitters off the stream and attempts to wash away the snow. The scene of newly revealed, water logged air rises up, filling the senses with the sense of fertile soil that overcomes that unveiled distaste. « The only ones here, yes? » Perhaps a prompt for further opinions? (Kazavoth to Arekoth) « That will serve you well, » Arekoth says of the immediate return. The more artistic touches are seen, considered, and not corrupted by added light or chill. Nor are they remarked upon. Arekoth is no artist. « Our only golds, » the brown specifies, though it's mostly affirmation of Kazavoth's venture. « Doesn't do to get them all angry at you when they're already irritable. This is why we have to be quiet. » (Arekoth to Kazavoth) To Arekoth, Kazavoth seems to consider this for a long time, while he plays with that new imagery, fading it to evening, where the golden highlights turn to silver and begin to dance, just abstract shapes in the pale moonlight. « It seems to serve little purpose to have anyone angry with you, » he states hesitantly, ponderously, unconvinced of it, himself. « Unless... to throw them off balance. Ooooh. » There, this is a much better thought, and one that spins his little brain off toward other thoughts, only faintly reflected along that link. The one thought that is clear is that anger could be a tool, but a dangerous one. « Yes, best to keep quiet, » the young one finally concludes in a small voice as the tool is set aside. For now. To Kazavoth, Arekoth's chuckle is almost there, just below the surface, a ribbon of yellow arcing into that nightscape - or, what is left of it. « Not always worth the fun of it, » Arekoth is willing to admit. « But often. » He distances himself again, all things hushed, checking once more. Cautious. Almost a whisper, is, « I hope your clutchmates are well. » And even at the end of that, the older brown is backing away... The retreat is noted and allowed without question, though Kazavoth remains where he is, merely watching. His nightscape remains for a while in its muted form, then one by one, the silvery stars go dark until all that remains is the dimly moonlit stream, the remains of his link to Arekoth. That narrows to a trickle as the little brown sends a last, faint thought that someday soon they will hunt again. It is a hazy, only partially formed thought, but the heart of it remains. (Kazavoth to Arekoth)
CommentsAzaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Thu, 28 Mar 2013 01:24:50 GMT. <
Dammit Arekoth! >:< No! That's a bad brown! Tsst! Tsst!
Actually, I'm glad to see the two be rebellious in this little chat. XD It's no fun if Arekoth behaves himself. And Kazavoth is a curious one, isn't he? Oh so corruptible (if he isn't already there already e.e).
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Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Thu, 28 Mar 2013 01:24:50 GMT.
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Dammit Arekoth! >:< No! That's a bad brown! Tsst! Tsst!
Actually, I'm glad to see the two be rebellious in this little chat. XD It's no fun if Arekoth behaves himself. And Kazavoth is a curious one, isn't he? Oh so corruptible (if he isn't already there already e.e).
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