Logs:Where We Belong
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| RL Date: 17 August, 2013 |
| Who: Bristia, R'hin |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: During Monaco's clutching, R'hin and Leiventh sneak away. |
| Where: Monaco Weyr / Somewhere Remote |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Oriane/Mentions |
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| It was the sound of dragons that woke him. Trumpeting noises of delight and low bassy crooning that woke him from a dream about... something warm and delighted. He tried to hold onto the sensation, but it faded away, like all dreams did. He stretched out, to be met by a cold, icy wind. « Zaisavyth clutches, » Leiventh told him. Rolling quickly out of bed, R'hin reached for his flight jacket, not even bothering to put on a shirt. "It's time." No response -- no verbal one anyway -- but a sudden uplift of wind that made him shiver, made him move faster, as it was undoubtedly meant to do. Leiventh was already waiting, outside, dead still: listening. R'hin didn't bother with straps, climbing up onto the bronze's back, leaning low once he'd positioned himself between the bronze's neckridges. « They watch. They all watch. » He sensed the bronze bunch muscles beneath him: felt the stinging, sharp sensation of muscles-still-healing pulling as Leiventh launched skywards, but it was momentary and overshadowed by anticipation on both their parts, as he/Leiventh thought of the warm, distant jungle, the water spilling over the mountain that provided afternoon shade. He could smell it, even before the cold of between took them, even while in between. A cacophony of noise greeted them. « Leiventh! » « You are here. » « Home. » Yes, home. Not even Leiventh knew whose thought that was; all of theirs. R'hin's, too. The rush of emotions from the bronze was unusual: both in its intensity and mood. It was as happy as R'hin had heard Leiventh in a long time. This is where we belong. « Yes. » Maybe they should consider some way to move out here permanently, like the others. It would be harder for them, with Oriane, with others... There was a rumble of something like agreement -- chased with a flash of momentary discomfort as Leiventh touched down. « We would make it work. » Yes, maybe they could-- "No." Bristia stood, hands on her hips, scowling up at him from the ground. R'hin took his time getting down, as much to aggravate the obviously impatient greenrider as to put off the inevitable argument. She was still scowling as he strode up to her: scowling a little less when he picked up her in a bear hug and spun her around. "No, what?" he asked, innocently, when he finally set her down. Bristia tried to maintain her scowl, then settled for knocking her shoulder into his as she strode past, heading for his tent. "No, you can't move here." Fuck. He'd forgotten how open the dragons were here. Three months at the Weyr had made them too isolated, too used to being in their own heads. Leiventh was unapologetic: he'd missed Saindyth, and all the others. "Why not?" he asked, lengthening his stride to match the greenrider's just as she ducked into the tent. "You need people," Bristia said, simply, walking over to his cabinet and helping herself to his drinks. The levels, he noted, were far further down than when he'd last been here: she'd been helping herself quite a bit, he suspected. "I don't need people," R'hin responded, folding his arms across his chest. In the back of his mind: « He missed us. » « He did. » He wasn't sure which of the dragons it was, but either way: Shut up. Bristia walked over, carrying two glasses: there was a smirk for his folded arms, before she offered him one of the glasses, tipping her head up to look him in the eye: "You need to meet new people. You need to learn them, unfold them like a puzzle, figure out how they work. That is what engages you. Interests you." It was R'hin's turn to scowl at her, "Stop harpering me." "I'm not. You're practically an open book, Rathin." She was right. Of course she was gold-damned right. But he couldn't tell her that. Her head was big enough, for such a tiny woman. He drank his drink, like a good boy, trying to ignore Bristia's knowing smile. Fucking harpers. « You could do that, too. » He was really out of practice.
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