Logs:Herdbeasts, Not Wherries, Not Fish
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| RL Date: 12 June, 2013 |
| Who: Tacuseth, Solith |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Solith and Tacuseth scare herdbeasts in the rain. |
| Where: High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
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| « Tacuseth? » And then, « I don't see you, » as though somehow Solith should. (To Tacuseth from Solith) The blue's mind is indeed withdrawn within himself, until Solith calls. He seems not to be in the Weyr (counting for the distance of his shadows and gladiatoral fanfare), but his touch is suddenly there as he sends, « 'M here, » as if he could very well be right beside her. He never disappoints his ladies, of course. « Whatcha need? » (To Solith from Tacuseth) It's that speed, that closeness, that's never failed to delight her yet. But she hasn't an answer for him, not really, except for saying so, « I don't... know. Do you? » As though Tacuseth might be counted upon to find any solution, even something this intangible. It's rare for her, this wispiness, for all that it's now also hopeful. (To Tacuseth from Solith) To Solith, Tacuseth's sole attention seems to shift from the something beyond that had the brunt of it to her, the question perhaps a curious one to the blue. « What does yers want? » he chooses to send then, perhaps sussing out if perhaps her rider would want the same as her dragon. A simple solution, right? His wisps of sand and shadows seem to creep about the green's mind now, probing. They can creep all they like, though if they're not careful, the light breeze might set them adrift. On that same breeze floats a reflection of fire, of a girl, working by glowlight, her whiskey-blonde head bent over what she sews. So she's occupied, but what is Solith to do? What does his rider do? Perhaps she should do the same. (To Tacuseth from Solith) On that image, Tacuseth's shadows continue to flow towards the girl seen, those breezes buffeting with warmer ones coming from the shadow's direction. « Do ya want to fly? » he sends, seeming to interpret the image of her rider to be well and truly occupied in her work. « I can come by. We aren' far. » His purr of words are as enticing as his rider's, even though he adds, somewhat amused, « Mine is engaged. » Engaged, which comes with an image of his tall rider in the middle of a card game with a few men in some dive. (To Solith from Tacuseth) Does she want to fly? She might. She might not. « Come, » Solith encourages, though a flick of wind would have him leave his vision at home, lest Telavi get any ideas: she wants her where she can keep an eye on her. Only then, once she finally senses him near to the Weyr itself, she drops her wings and falls for a few bluelengths before evening out and floating above the feeding pens. The rain may pour downward, but her wings can handle it, she's not so fragile. Now. « Which do you like better, Tacuseth? » Wherry? Herdbeast? They have not, sadly, managed to corral fish. (To Tacuseth from Solith) To Solith, Tacuseth withdraws those tendrils of sand and shadows now as she calls, the blue's presence perhaps felt getting close to where she is. Apparently, he seems to think that his erstwhile rider will be just fine without him for awhile. Once winging into the Weyr, he finds her easily by the feeding pens, amused by her choice of meet. « Herdbeast, » is his immediate, eager answer, hovering beside her. The bigger, the better! « So we hunt! » he surmises since there they are: two dragons against a herd of poor wherries and herdbeasts. It's dark, yet the sense of Solith brightens at his answer, that it is an answer. Her eyes have taken on a quicker, greener whirl, and while she may admit that she's been told to feed elsewhere now that they can fly far... « It will be good for them, to be flown after. » Even if they do not yet kill. « It will not help them, to stand and shiver. » (To Tacuseth from Solith) Amused, « I'll follow yer lead, darlin', » Tacuseth sends, seeming all for breaking any rules thereof. He has no qualms about that. Already he's staking out a particular fat-looking herdbeast as he sends in agreement, « Puttin' them through their paces is good for them. I'm sure they'll be grateful for it. » Right. They'll be 'grateful' for a pair of dragons chasing them about the pen before eating them. (To Solith from Tacuseth) Solith has no plans to eat them. She glides in determined circles, three of them before down she goes. Since Tacuseth's hunting up a herdbeast so does she, but a different one, all coltish legs for all that it can't be as young as all that... and then her wings vane and she drops their torrent of rainwater upon the poor creature as though a waterfall had shown up just for it. Some creatures seem to have puffy black rainclouds following them around, but here and now it doesn't so much rain as pour. (To Tacuseth from Solith) Tacuseth watches the green's antics more than his own, and so when she dumps water on one of the unsuspecting beasts, there's suddenly whoosh of crowd fanfare sent her way to indicate his raucous laughter. He lets off the current beast he was chasing about, sending her an image of people running about as a pair dragons dumped water on their heads - instead of the wherries and herdbeasts. The image fades though as he returns to his little hunt, easy to keep up the game even if he doesn't necessary eat the poor thing this night. (To Solith from Tacuseth)
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