Logs:Parental Responsibility
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| RL Date: 12 July, 2013 |
| Who: Rasavyth, Cadejoth, K'zin, K'del |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: After Solith's flight, and after K'zin runs too far, he needs a ride. He's not drunk, but Rasavyth's request to Cadejoth sounds a lot like "I'm at an underage party and I'm drunk, can you come get me?" |
| Where: Outside High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Telavi/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Jo/Mentions, Kinzi/Mentions |
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| Outside High Reaches Weyr Impressive enough at a distance, up close, the sheer size of the mountain is imposing -- to the vulnerable, overwhelming -- the more so as its crown of spires, distinguishing High Reaches from every other Weyr on Pern, thrusts long fingers of rock into the sky. The plateau just short of the Weyr's shadowy entrance can seem very small and very flat at the best of times, pinned as it is against the side of the mountain, but at least it's a refuge from the narrow, tight-kinked road that has to twist its way through the rest of the mountain range to reach the rest of Pern. It's been nearly an hour since Solith got snared into Olveraeth's welcoming grasp. Each loser has gone to deal with the loss, each in their own way. It's a curious reach that Rasavyth's reflection of oozy chains cast toward the older bronze. Mixed in is an odd reflection that is neither Cadejoth nor Rasavyth, but Tacuseth. There's a quiet, distant roar of crowds, the snap-snap of oozy banners. « Cadejoth. I have a favor to ask on behalf of my K'zin. He ran down the mountain and is lost. Will you and yours find him? » The sensation is of dragonhide to dragonhide, comfort, and a dull aching pain. His first loss. And so embarrassing. (To Cadejoth from Rasavyth) To Rasavyth, Cadejoth was not among Solith's chasers, today, and nor was he even in-weyr... though that may have been harder to know. He's still aloft, now, albeit in a different direction to the one the catcher and catchee sailed off into, all that time ago. Cold evening air whistles beneath his wings, rattling his chains in a muted kind of way. « K'del says I did not catch my first, either. » A gold, not a green. A senior gold. He doesn't remember this, but K'del does, and there's sympathy because of that. « He thinks your rider would not want to see us. » There is a thoughtful pause. « It is my understanding, though perhaps I understand these things not enough, that when one is lost and in trouble, it is to one's parents that one turns. An inconvenience to be sure. But his blood are far away, and they do not care. Your K'del does. » He's certain. « If he is unwilling, » And the tone suggests that K'zin probably wouldn't be surprised if it turned out so, he's been left so many times before, « I will find another who is. I do not wish to fly with my shoulder this way. » Bitten. « He does not know I asked you and your K'del. » It seems only fair to note. (To Cadejoth from Rasavyth) To Rasavyth, Cadejoth cannot fault this logic, nor, does it seem, can the relayed-to K'del. And yet-- there's a sense of something being held back, and of a conversation between not-quite-closed doors. Cadejoth's wings continue to beat, as he maintains the connection with the younger bronze, but he's still coming to an conclusion. « I will find him, » promises the bronze, then. « Do you have any idea which direction he went in? » But he will turn back towards the Weyr, down and down towards the lower curves of the mountain upon which the Weyr resides. The crowd of reflected Tacuseth gets louder and more excited as Rasavyth has opportunity to present Cadejoth with a game. It's a mental board with little raised separations that one might recognize as a layout of the Weyr and the land beyond in 2-D. A marble begins to run through the board. From the guest weyr, through the bowl, to the weyr entrance and then beyond, sliding as the board is tilted from one side to another to another, down the switchbacks and finally sliding into a little hole made just for it. « He is there. » It is far. Far enough that it might be obvious that K'zin must have taken off immediately, or close enough after the flight and just not stopped. Until now. (To Cadejoth from Rasavyth) Impressively far, by Cadejoth's calculations - or is that by K'del's? Cadejoth, surely, has little concept of distance for those not travelling by dragon's wings. It's not so far for him, though, not with untired wings and the evening's winds to carry him. He shares his progress with the other bronze: the white-topped mountains, the lights of the Weyr below, the snow-cleared road and down, down, down. Strapless, riderless, he - eventually - reaches the location provided, circling above. (To Rasavyth from Cadejoth) K'zin's expression when Cadejoth circles is confused. That's not his bronze. He didn't really expect it to be, but that's also not a bronze with a rider. As the older bronze gets closer, the younger rider recognizes and his expression momentarily darkens. « You had to call him, didn't you. » K'zin sighs inwardly as well as outwardly. « Yes. » It's simple, direct. « You wished to apologize. Nothing has changed. Only-- » Only Rasavyth realizes through K'zin's awareness that K'del is not there. Ugh. K'del. There is disappointment in Rasavyth's mind. « I am sorry, my K'zin. I thought he would come. You needed him. » His heart hurt, more now than before. « Whatever. » But it was a lie. K'zin moves toward the bronze once he's landed, "Hey Cadejoth." He greets, face tear-streaked, expression fighting to be casual and failing, betraying his sadness, his frustration, his heartache. "Thanks for coming to get me. Sorry--" For? He doesn't know. "All of it." He finally says emphatically. Quietly, « Tell him he wanted to come. » He knows, must know, how this will look. « And he would like to talk to your rider. Soon. » But it can't be now. « He is not in the right state to talk. » The bronze lands, his talons digging into the snow beneath him, his head lifting-- and then lowering, so that he can blow warm air towards him, and then aim to gently butt his head against the young man's shoulder. That's sympathy; that much is impossible to miss. (To Rasavyth from Cadejoth) Somewhere, back at the Weyr? K'del is probably pacing, quiet and worried, on edge as he waits for word from his dragon, and of his (estranged) pseudo-son. For a brief moment, shared to Cadejoth's mind is the face of a pretty girl. A girl that looks vaguely similar to K'zin. The edges of the memory are fuzzy and her voice sounds a little distorted; a memory from a time when Rasavyth slept, imperfectly remembered. But she's saying, "Oh, Waki!" Breathless, eyes full of delight, "It's so exciting for you! Mother wanted to come, I'm sure..." And she rattles on. The context is given in the sensation of Rasavyth sleeping: the deep, contented sleep of one newly Impressed, practically gorged, and oiled. Hatching night. It's shown because, though Rasavyth will relay the message, he wishes for Cadejoth and Cadejoth's K'del to understand that it is familiar sentiment. Trade dragon for sister. Trade mother for faux-pa. So much the same it will seem to K'zin. (To Cadejoth from Rasavyth) K'zin's face tightens upon receiving the message, his jaw, especially set. A breath sounds ragged. So close to tears again, but he doesn't. Not now. Not where Cadejoth can see. The rider can't speak, simply nodding to the dragon, once, crisply. He reaches his hand up to place gently on Cadejoth's head, stroking along his muzzle in the way that Ras likes. "Thanks." He manages after a moment, but its a choked sort of sound that makes the word. The sympathy is appreciated. The stilling of Cadejoth's chains, and the general silence from the bronze is acknowledgement enough that the message has been received... and that both are sorry for it. « He could not come, » repeats the bronze, more certainly now, but it's not an excuse, and he does not seem to intend it to make any difference. « Tomorrow, » he says. « He will talk tomorrow. » And then: « And he is sorry. » He shares the frustration and hurt and sadness his rider feels; the knowledge that he hasn't been enough, and that he hates that K'zin hurts. But... (To Rasavyth from Cadejoth) Again, Cadejoth blows warm breath in K'zin's direction, his eyes whirling only very slowly, very sadly. He likes the muzzle-stroking, that much is clear, but at the same time, he's dropping himself lower to the ground: whenever K'zin is ready. They both are disappointed, but neither holds it against the older bronze pair. It is what it is. And what it is is disappointing. « He will try. Tomorrow. » Then, « He hurts. » It's a quiet admission from Rasavyth. For a moment the depth of that ache is shared, it's a hurt that is deeper than just losing this flight, than losing Telavi. It's a hurt that goes down, down, down and feels like it eviscerates him. It may be dramatic, but he's eighteen, and so much of this is overwhelming. Some of the drama is legitimate. Other parts, not. But regardless, he hurts. « Olveraeth's Quinlys told him to fix himself. » It's thoughtful. « We are trying, but-- » They don't really know how. (To Cadejoth from Rasavyth) The muzzle stroking goes on a moment longer, then the bronzerider is moving to the side of the bronze that isn't his and climbing up, as if he were. It's different, but the same. Cadejoth is bigger. It feels strange, but it is what it is. Cadejoth doesn't have answers to things like these. He's not a thinker, like his grandson; he's a do-er, a creature who enjoys life, and throws himself into things without thinking of the consequences. This... this is foreign. « K'del loves him, » he says, finally. « It doesn't help, I know, but he does. And you will fix this, all of this. You will be strong again. And K'del will be here. Tomorrow, or later. » It's likely that some of those words are K'del's own, borrowed for the occasion - but Cadejoth means them wholeheartedly. (To Rasavyth from Cadejoth) There are no straps, and so Cadejoth, when the time finally comes to rise up off the ground, does so carefully. He's not an easy ride - not a gentle one. But he's trying. Up, up, up they go. And then in the direction of the Weyr, those lights brightening the darkness of the partially moonlit evening. « He loves your K'del. » Rasavyth replies simply. « He would have-- » There's an uncomfortable pause, a pause because dragon and rider did not feel the same. « He would have died for your K'del. Before. He trusted him. In a way that was absolute. » Another pause as ooze tries to find the right words. « He cannot, any longer. And trust no longer comes easily to him. His eyes are opening. » Whatever that means. The distant roar of the reflected audience that Tacuseth favors rises. « I will meet you at the infirmary. If you would oblige. » As a drop off point. (To Cadejoth from Rasavyth) It's good that K'zin hasn't had a drink today, or this story might go differently. He's exhausted, true, but he, too, is careful, keeping himself curled into the neckridge, his strong arms bracing for unexpected shifts. He's also without his goggles, helmet, or gloves, so when his teeth start to chatter... well, it can't be helped. Cadejoth's sorrow for this change does not for a moment imply that he wishes it could be fixed. It is, after all, part of growing up: no one is perfect. Not even his K'del, as much as he would like to paint him so. « Of course, » he confirms. « I will have him there for you shortly. And... Rasavyth, he will feel better again. Even my K'del does. » And hasn't he had plenty to shake up his world? (To Rasavyth from Cadejoth) The bronze flies swiftly, as swiftly as he can, into the night, and then down, down, down into the bowl. His landing upon the bowl floor, just outside the infirmary, is not entirely without jolt, but-- K'del would probably be proud of him. Landings never have been his strong-suit. There isn't exactly belief, but it's not unusual for Rasavyth to hold things for contemplation before judgment, so there is hope instead. (To Cadejoth from Rasavyth) As promised, the bronze is waiting outside the dragon infirmary, a croon to Cadejoth showing his gratitude, the ichor dried on his shoulder. Not a bad wound, but something that ought to be cleaned up at any rate, and it could use some numbweed. K'zin's thanks come in the form of a touch to Cadejoth's side after he's dismounted. "Thanks again, Cadejoth." The flight gave K'zin time to pull himself together, and something to focus on: not falling off. He moves then to meet his dragon and head into the wide mouth of the cavern. Cadejoth's farewell is a rumble and a growl, but not a ferocious one: in a way, it could almost be taken as soothing. Then he's lifting off again, back into the inky blackness that is beginning to take over the evening. |
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