Logs:Hand-Delivered
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| RL Date: 9 September, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Solith, Teisyth, Telavi |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Telavi Stormcrow. |
| Where: Teisyth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: B'gherio/Mentions, Gallania/Mentions, Gheara/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Death in the family. Angst! Back-dated! |
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| Teisyth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr A broad and welcoming ledge, wide enough to accommodate two medium-sized dragons slants slightly towards the Bowl, turns of landings on its edge having worn the stone down to a smooth finish. Along one side of the ledge a rocky outcropping hugs the outward curve of the ledge, providing some shelter against wind and rain for a tiny terraced garden. Currently, the beds contain a variety of herbs, sturdy plants that in the right season give off the heady scents of sage, rosemary and thyme. The wide maw of the weyr opens up onto a fairly standard couch-space, with hooks in the walls and a storage container for dragon-care equipment. A sturdy woolen curtain separates couch from weyr to keep out the elements.
Why, yes! There is Teisyth. She was minding her own business, snuffling at the dying herbs in the boxes on her ledge, and -- well, maybe she's just tasted one or two of the leaves. That means she has to do some not as discreet as she thinks it is spitting before turning to bugle-honk her greeting to the incoming dragon and shift to the side to make for an easier landing. G'laer isn't long in appearing on the ledge, still tucking his shirt into his trousers to complete his habitually neat appearance. "Telavi," he greets her without emotion, and then waits. Surely she came for a reason. Even if it's just Solith, as the glance to the green seems to indicate he might believe to be the case. As Solith gets settled in, only barely missing the spat-upon patch of stone, Telavi's already messing with the sack attached to her green's strap; she glances up-- down, rather-- at the greeting, eyeing G'laer speculatively. "Afternoon!" This, while hefting the packet in her hand as though she's considering just tossing it down and heading off again... but just then, an errant gust of wind flutters her ponytail where it's visible beneath her cap, and in the end she gets down. "For you. Or rather, for your parents-and-family," the lift of her shoulder suggesting he counts for something. If a Harper was of a mind to tell this story later, this would be the moment, as G'laer reaches to accept the packet and flicks a finger under the wax seal to break it, that time would slow down; it is always so when someone breathes their last breath of innocence or ignorance. It's hard to say whose reaction is more profound: man or dragon's. G'laer literally staggers back a step and seems barely to catch himself in time to only sink to a knee rather than out and out fall. It's a visceral, raw, emotional reaction from the greenrider who is not given to such displays. And Teisyth? Teisyth, who was so happy a moment before, to be greeting Solith and showing her the dying herbs, she creels as if in pain, her eye changing to hues of distress and whirling at great speed as she tries to turn, tries to get to her rider on the now crowded ledge. A startled swear escapes Telavi's mouth, and Solith, she just about falls off that ledge-- and then does, getting out of the way, leaving her rider to attempt to hightail it out before Teisyth runs her over. "G'laer?!" It's as clear as if she'd cracked and then remelted the seal that that's bad news. Teisyth stops short, negating Telavi's need to move, as G'laer has raised one hand, palm out to stop her while the other one touches the ground to steady himself, packet half-crumpled in it. He's staring at the stone. Is he seeing it? Maybe? The green shifts with agitation, a very different sort of wiggle from her usual. He-- doesn't seem to have any words, but when he looks up, he looks completely blank. It's beyond his usual seriousness. It's nothing. Does he see Telavi? Maybe. He probably will wish later he was able to get it together faster, but he can't. He just can't. Telavi skids, slipping on the stone; she recovers that much. If only G'laer could. Solith's an uncertain, worried question mark where Teisyth's concerned-- strongly enough that Tela flushes, jittery, and momentarily glares over her shoulder towards her own airborne green. She edges toward the older greenrider, carefully. "...G'laer?" If he stays blank like that, she'll reach for his shoulder. It's pure instinct, many turns trained muscle memory that has G'laer's hand snapping up from the ground to grab for Telavi's wrist. If his hand finds a hold there, the grip isn't painful, just firm. As ever, it's the green who's the fount of information. Her thoughts are chaotic though, just now, so it comes scattered, but really only two words are important Gran, dead. There is Teisyth's own distress and then G'laer's which has been walled from her now but in the first unguarded moment was so terrible it's like to give her nightmares for days (until she forgets). She's still moving-- and then stops: partly it must be the hold on her wrist, but partly what breaks through to her from Solith. She's not used to that. "Oh no," Tela breathes, worried green eyes on G'laer. "I'm so sorry." Telavi herself has-- had-- only met the woman a few times, but Gheara's grandson, her protege and caretaker, G'laer-- It's in time with his breath that his grip loosens and then removes itself from Telavi's hand. Slowly, slowly with just as controlled a movement, the greenrider gets to his feet, looking, for this moment, turns beyond his age and not the graceful fighter of only thirty that they both know him to be. G'laer takes the packet and stretches it between his hands, and forces himself to finish reading, or perhaps just re-read. Finally, he clears his throat. "I will tell them." Beat. "Thank you for delivering it." She catches herself staring; she steps back. "I'm sorry," Telavi says again, and retreats. No-- once Solith's finally back there for her, she flees. |
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