Logs:A Present for Aleis
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| RL Date: 9 April, 2010 |
| Who: Silarra, Val, Iskiveth, Cadejoth |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Silarra doesn't ask for a bribe to deliver the present, either! |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Aleis/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Val/Visigoth are still based out of Benden in this scene. |
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| The weather is actually warm out, so with a few minutes caught between lessons and dinner, Silarra and Liniath have escaped into the bowl, taking a walk out in the sun. Silarra has a hand on Liniath's hide, and for once, she even has a grin on her face. "You told him that? And what did he say?" She asks the green, apparently catching up on the weyrling gossip. They don't get interrupted too soon, not by the Benden pair at least. Val's sitting on the edge of the garden patio ledge with the sleeves of her track suit pushed languidly up, a drink and a sack by her side. She does lean outward for a better look at Visigoth's cue, though, bracing the soles of her light shoes on the wall beneath her so she doesn't fall. Call it coincidence, but she's talking out loud too: "No, I don't think it's an overgrown firelizard." It's more of a murmur, though, under her breath. "Tease. Help me out here." To which the brown, arranged where he can enjoy the northern Weyr's extra-long day of sun, finally relents: « Psst. » It's a mental nudge for Liniath, friendly enough, if with a whiff of smoke. « Over there. » Not here, not where he is. Liniath turns her head, trying to figure out who is talking her. Her own voice is quite bright and cheerful, with a rather earthy undertone. « Oh! Hi! How are you doing today? Over there? What's over there? Is it something fun? Treasure? » Maybe she's been spending too much time among her clutchmates. Really, it's a good thing that Silarra can't hear what Val is saying about Liniath. Saves her from haivng to throw a punch. Is it treasure? Is it, she, his rider treasure? Visigoth's amused gaze tracks that rider of his, who swings a foot impatiently. It's not the sort of thing that's likely to make her spill what's left of her drink, though, unlike punches. « I would say there is treasure, but you may not take her home with you. However, there may be something else. » He thinks to add, « I am Visigoth. Of Benden. And you? Your rider may call mine... Val. I do not think she will mind. » « I'm Liniath! And I'm from here. » There's a bright mental giggle to accompany Liniath's words. « I don't think I'm supposed to go up on the ledge. She will be nice to Silarra if I send her up there? I don't like meanies. » There's a firm tone there. As if Liniath wasn't almost thirty feet smaller. Silarra's gaze tracks what Liniath is looking at, and the young woman turns to look up to the ledge, and Val sitting up there, the grin fading from her face. « Liniath! Hello, Liniath, » says Visigoth, the more warmly for the younger dragon's excitement. And possibly for her firmness. « I think she will be at least as nice as she is supposed to be, my Val. Do you think she could be too nice? » Maybe Val's wave counts as nice, a cheerfully airy thing that turns into a beckon: over here! She's even stopped the foot-swinging thing, that one fallen slack into a pointed toe, the other still braced against the wall the way it was before. "Be good." Silarra admonishes Liniath, before she's sauntering up the steps to the ledge, lifting her hand to wave back, looking Val over. "High Reaches duties." Her tone is clearly not as enthusiastic as Liniath's. « Is it fun coming here from Benden? » Liniath asks curiously. « I think she could be too nice if she made Silarra annoyed by being too nice. » « Good. » He heard that. He's amused. Though he tempers it some: don't want to be rough with the weyrlings, even a bouncy one like Liniath. Visigoth says instead, « It is. Fun coming, fun staying... and fun coming home again. I like your Cadejoth. » Says Val, "Benden's duties," and there's a little curve to her mouth where she could call Silarra by name, but doesn't. She leans back on her hands instead, even slides them back a touch: look! Harmless. "So Aleis is one of your assistants? She's mine, too. And if you mind if I steal more than a moment, I'll make it quick." Visigoth follows up, « How nice would annoy her? Because there is nice, and there is nice. And now, annoying-nice. » Silarra tucks her hands down in the pockets of her pants to stand and look over with a nod. "Aleis. Yeah, she's one of my weyrlingmasters." She hesitates for a moment before asking. "What do you need my time for?" The question comes out sounding slightly defensive. « Sappy nice. I'm the only one allowed to do that! Or really giggly nice. » Which would also probably fall under Liniath's purvue. « Or well, lots of things, really. Does Cadejoth play fun games with you? Like chase or roll in mud? » "I'm hoping," and here Val gives Silarra one of her more disarming smiles, "That you'll give her this, for me." She nods to the sack next to her, whose open mouth might reveal from the weyrling's angle what appears to be a wineskin. "That's all." Meanwhile, Visigoth furls his long wings some, and glances at Liniath again to reassure her, « Do not worry, my Val might giggle, but I do not know that your rider could do it. And surely it would not be as much as that! As for Cadejoth, we go flying, » and there's a just-enough-to-share sense of vroom and wind and nearly-into-the-stone and fast-fast-faster. Also, yellow flowers. To Cadejoth, Visigoth steals a teasing thought towards the bronze, « So, » he says. And yes, he's here. Visiting. « You roll in mud with the little ones? » Not visiting for long, but still: here. There's that low, amused voice again: « Hello, Treasure. » (Visigoth to Iskiveth) To Visigoth, Cadejoth knew that, of course. (Whether or not he actually did). His weyr, he knows these things! But: « Mud! » It sloshes and oozes through his chains, giving them a distinctly more muted twang. He does like mud. « When I can. It's fun! » « This one seems to like it. Also, playing chase. » Visigoth must report these things, for how else would Cadejoth know just how much he's appreciated? To Visigoth, Iskiveth crackles at the voice that's familiar and not. She's forgotten where she knows it from and can't be bothered to go searching into her shallow depth of memories. « Iskiveth. » Not treasure. Treasure belongs to someone. Her, preferably. No? Then it's a good thing Visigoth can be patient. « Iskiveth, » he agrees, and there's a glint of metal, not his but a possibly-treasured sweep of silver. Silvery. With an edge. Does she remember this? Because if she loses such things within her hoard... (Visigoth to Iskiveth) If anything, that disarming smile only makes Silarra look a bit more wary. Might seem that the green is the friendlier one of this lot. Silarra does peer down into the sack though. "Wine? Why don't you just take it and give it to her? Instead of sending it with me?" Liniath practially mentally leans into the sensations of flying shared there. « Someday I will do that! Then I can go zoom with you! » The poor flowers are ignored in favor of this flight stuff. « I will be very fast and very good at it. I know I will! » Contentedly (and maybe a little smug, too), « Of course! My little ones. » Cadejoth's not forgotten that! He's pleased by the news, silently appreciative of the brown. (Cadejoth to Visigoth) "Because I shouldn't interrupt her on duty," and look, Val can look patient, too. A little smile lingers, but now it's more like back to business. She even straightens up again, if only to take out the wineskin and reach out towards the greenrider, holding it by its throat. "And have you noticed Galbreth sleeps a lot? Most unhelpful... but this isn't wine, it's a treat. From home. Can I trust you to get it to her, Silarra?" There's nothing in her tone that causes Visigoth to look at her, but he does before replying to Liniath, « Do! How soon can you come, too? » It's just as well that she ignores the flowers, given how quickly the pair of males had crushed the real ones. « Of course. » Visigoth even goes so far as to share an image of young Liniath in the late afternoon light, all happy-looking, wanting to zoom. Never mind the hint of flames, there in the background. (Visigoth to Cadejoth) That she remembers. And she remembers that it's hers. Flames lick along her treasure, seeking to singe him away from it. But at the same time she shares a delightful wash of heated blood. Herdbeast. She went hunting in his absence. (Iskiveth to Visigoth) As he drops the image of that silvery curve, it vanishes. « Go ahead, check. It's still there, » Visigoth genially advises. And since she kept that gift, the least he can do is properly appreciate the taste of blood that way, that vintage. Herdbeast. Four-legged. Blood. « Your kill, » he can assume, but doesn't quite. (Visigoth to Iskiveth) Silarra reaches out to take the wineskin with a nod. "I suppose I can give it to her. And I think I'd sleep a lot, too, if I had to put up with this whole group of little dragons, not just one." Silarra states, with a look down to see Liniath unfurl her wings briefly. « I wish I could! But I think it will be forever. » The little green sounds sad about that. « Silarra says that I must be bigger to learn to fly. I am still not big. » To Visigoth, Cadejoth's contentment and pride only increases with this image: zoom, zoom! It seems to amuse him a great deal for some reason. The flames... he ignores them (doesn't notice?). Perhaps it's for the best. « Aren't you? » Visigoth leans his head down, nearly to the bowl floor, so he can peer comically at Liniath out of one eye. With her wings up like that, « You look huge! Gigantic. Bigger than me. » See? Brief or not, he sends her the captured image, nicely cropped so that her hunter-green wingspan all but blocks out the sky. It's enough to make Val close her eyes briefly, that utter lack of dignity and all, but then she's nodding back to Silarra. "Thank you. And... does that mean they're all as lively as your mate?" All that amusement! For Cadejoth, Visigoth can further share an image of hunter green... clouds? No, it's a nicely cropped view of Liniath's raised wings, so that they seem to block out the sky. It's brief, though: distractions, distractions. (Visigoth to Cadejoth) To Visigoth, Iskiveth does. She makes sure her blade is where it ought to be amongst her other mental treasures and the fire of her presence curls around them all possessively. « My kill, » comes naturally, of course. « Szadath helped. He's a good helper. I shared with him. » See how good she is to her minions? Szadath. Szzzzadath. Sizzle-adath? Visigoth hunts out an image, if one is to be had, to see him by. « He is your wingmate? » Another word for minion, perhaps. (Visigoth to Iskiveth) Happy to provide the Benden brown with a clear image of her clutchmate, if perhaps slightly smaller than he actually is, and his frosty presence, Iskiveth agrees readily, « Yes, he's mine. » (Iskiveth to Visigoth) Brown. A little brown, but still, Visigoth can approve. « Ordinarily, I hunt on my own, » he mentions, « But sometimes, sometimes we hunt together. » There's a reflection of it in his mind's eye, details somewhat obscured though the tantalizing sense of it is not: two dragons, one chivvying a wild winged wherry towards where the other lurks... and then pounces out at it. Feathers fly. There is blood. Ichor, yes, but: lifeblood. When the imagery repeats, they take turns playing hunter and stalker, the wherry rushing each time as though it could get away... only to have its hopes dashed, dashed, dashed. Poor wherry. Visigoth licks his chops, remembering. (Visigoth to Iskiveth) Liniath gives a playful flap of her wings before she pulls them back in. « You're silly! I'm not that big yet! Someday though... » There's a wistful tone there. « Then Silarra and I will fly together and zoom up and catch a cloud! » She sends over an image of a nice fluffy one. Silarra pauses to look down at Liniath for a moment before she answers. "Have you met Cadejoth? He is their sire." Silarra states. "They're all rather, uh, strong personalities, I think. Well, most of them. And they have this concept of treasure. And playing tag. Hopefully they'll outgrow some of it." This, apparently, is the topic to get more than one sentence out of Silarra, and even a half smile. Is Visigoth silly? He peers this way, that way, as though... maybe he is! « Shh, don't tell, » he teases. But to the more-important cloud, « Someday soon, » and indeed it flickers in his mind's eye for a moment, a single wherry plume bobbing in its wake. Clouds. Hunting. All good. "K'del and I, we took the boys flying the other day," his rider says offhandedly, with a hint of self-deprecation even, as though running off with someone's Weyrleader were no big deal. "They like a good stretch." And though her mission's been accomplished, the next logical thing being to get up and head back to Benden, there's Silarra's change in demeanor to be considered. Also sunshine. So Val says with interest, "Treasure. What kind? Now tag, our group did that, but I imagine everyone's did." "Anything shiny, I suppose. Or valuable. Except for Liniath. She doesn't seem as picky about what her treasure is. Like, if they're digging, she'd be happy to claim the dirt." Silarra shrugs with another half smile. "Tag and acting out stories are mostly what they play." Liniath eyes Visigoth. « Why shouldn't I tell that you're silly? Isn't it good to be silly? I think being silly can be fun! Almost as fun as playing! Do you want to play? » To Visigoth, Iskiveth bristles in all her spiky glory. « I'll hunt on my own. We're not allowed yet. » Or so she's told. She's done it once, there shouldn't be any reason for her not to do it again. Except rules. And there's an obvious distaste for them offered to the brown. But the rest of this seems to awe her. Flying meat. Even better than running meat. It's thrilling, that thought, and the pointy queen's yearning to use her wings, to kill one of these flying meats, wherries, whatever, is plainly obvious. "Sounds like it could be hard on you, rolling in the dirt," Val commiserates, except she's got a fond smile of her own as she looks back over toward the dragons. "Mud, too, I hear. My Visigoth always would get into things," as though he didn't still. Might even now, except with reluctance he supposes, « We should return to our Benden, before it gets much later. » Otherwise, surely he would play! The big brown stretches his neck, shakes out his wings, uninhibited at the moment by the scars running down shoulder and tail. « Save some playing or me? » Val stretches her neck, though she turns the shoulder-motion into picking up the sack and stuffing it into her belt. "I suppose we should get back, we're a ways east of you and all. But it's been nice meeting you, Silarra, yeah? And your LIniath." Though she doesn't offer the weyrling her hand, Val gives her a quick smile before hopping off the low ledge. Such spikes! Never mind her words, Visigoth could poke himself on one of those. He doesn't, though there's a moment where it must be tempting to see just how sharp they are. To, himself, poke. Poke poke. But. He doesn't. Just says into that yearning, offhanded as can be, « We go now, to hunt. » If it's to sleep and drill and then to hunt, the young one doesn't need to know it. « Perhaps two. Good night, Iskiveth. » Such a fine reflection he sends her off with, doomed but valiant prey, to fall beneath his talons and sharp, fierce jaws. (Visigoth to Iskiveth) Silarra looks after Val and nods. "Have a good, well, night there, I guess." Hey, she's hasn't given even one insult, even if it's not warm and happy friendly like her green. She eyes the skin for a moment before looking over to Liniath. "Let's get you settled. I need to get dinner." « Bye! Come back soon so that you can play with me! » Liniath states before eying her rider and taking off at a run towards the barracks. Now and good night aren't words that should be used so closely together, according to Iskiveth. She returns the good night in some sense of the words if not the actual words themselves and her parting gift to him is more of a challenge than anything. « I'll kill the biggest! » Of course she will! (Iskiveth to Visigoth) For the moment congenial as her own brown, Val calls with a backward glance, "Thanks!" It's Liniath, though, Liniath-who-likes-to-be-silly, who gets a brighter smile just for her. And then the brownrider's walking the rest of the way to Visigoth with an easy, athletic stride that wastes no more time. Their flight's the same way: a quick departure, a few sweeps of those long, wide wings, a circle overhead and a wave before Visigoth's gone. Along with one last thing: a glimpse, for Liniath, of those close-up clouds. |
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