Logs:Relating news
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| RL Date: 1 June, 2013 |
| Who: Ilicaeth, Rasavyth |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Ilicaeth is suspicious. He downloads information to a sleepy Rasavyth. |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: C'wlin/Mentions, N'hax/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Follows the dragon chatter to all High Reaches dragons in Logs: Not Being Smart. |
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| An errant-seeming swirl of golden sand bumps into one of those many bugs of the bronze's, particles of sand grating just enough to be felt/noticed. (To Rasavyth from Ilicaeth) The ooze burbles. It's a sleepy sound that's as soothing as a whistle of winds rushing gently past sheer stone's face. (To Ilicaeth from Rasavyth) The dust whirl forms into a sustained circulation, the small gyre continuing to bounce and swirly grittily atop the surface of the ooze. (To Rasavyth from Ilicaeth) « Yeees? » comes Rasavyth's tired tenor. It is paired with the sensation of one eye being opened while the rest of him continues to try to rest. (To Ilicaeth from Rasavyth) Ilicaeth launches right into it, his gritty baritone as fast and clipped as his rider's voice. « Jhorinth is pissed off about somethin'...and Olveraeth 'n Iesaryth told him ta' shut up *really* quick. » Thereafter comes the sensations of what their bronze clutchmate shared with Ilicaeth before the elder blue and gold purposely silenced him. The memory of the communique with Jhorinth, between ALL of them, while Rasavyth was snoozing: Dragon> To High Reaches dragons, Jhorinth is the strident clang of forge and frustrated vent of bellows, overheard by too many: « I told you this was a bad idea! » Anyone's guess on who he's talking to. Dragon> There's attention from a clutchsib, but he answers back on a narrow band, dry and swirling sands condensing into a golden dust devil. « Whazzup? » (To Jhorinth from Ilicaeth) Dragon> To Ilicaeth, Jhorinth is disgruntled and angry, bifrost bisected to show only the spectrum of RED: red everywhere, dripping bright and dark and every color in between, hit over and over by the darkness of the forge, beaten and battered. He's silent, against his own will. (To Rasavyth from Ilicaeth) To Rasavyth, Ilicaeth projects «
Something's going down somewhere, and the cop in Ilicaeth is not pleased. « He refused ta answer me after that. » (To Rasavyth from Ilicaeth) There is a moment of silence. « I did not snooze. » is the first notation that Rasavyth offers, « I shall let you know what I find out. Thank you for sharing, Ilicaeth. » The bronze's response is cordial, not sharing the same drive to track down the details at this moment. This moment is for sleeping, and to sleep he returns. (To Ilicaeth from Rasavyth) Apparently Ilicaeth's the do-er now-er, his associate the schemer-for-tomorrow. At least he got it downloaded into the long-memoried bronze's brain. (To Rasavyth from Ilicaeth) |
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