Logs:It Just Sank
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| RL Date: 6 July, 2014 |
| Who: A'rist, K'del, Miravea |
| Type: Log |
| What: A'rist fucked up. Again. |
| Where: Lythronath's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 3, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions |
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| It's late, too late for polite calls, more the time of drinking with friends, bedding with 'friends', or sleeping, soundly. A'rist, however, is doing none of these things. He's pacing his ledge, looking exhausted, somber. And it's more his voice than Lythronath's that comes across the link, a quiet, determined, « Come, » that only has a bit of the bronze's own contempt for the call in it. Cadejoth, well. Cadejoth was sleeping. Was. Now he's not, though he's fuzzy brained and not wholly with it; it's been a long day, with a queen - his queen - to soothe. « Soon, » is his answer, only a little irritable. It's actually a little longer than soon, and if either A'rist or Lythronath are paying attention, they'll note that Sveianth appears out of between above the Weyr. It's the blue who comes to a landing upon the ledge and allows K'del to swing down; Miravea, looking as sleepy as her uncle, remains on board, staring down at the pacing A'rist and wide-eyed K'del. "Soon," A'rist echoes to Lythronath, a bit of a snarl curling on his lips - not upon speaking the word, but upon his dragon's reception of the repetition. "Still," is next, a command, and he spends the time eyeing the scrapes and scratches all along those powerful, and in some places, at the chest and underbelly as he paces. The pacing slows but doesn't stop when Sveianth approches (« Blue. »), and A'rist loses most of that cold determination he'd had on his face. K'del gets ignored for a moment, in favour of that bluerider, and he gives a little wince that tries to be a smile. « Sleep! » shouts Lynner to Cadejoth. Just in case he'd gotten there. K'del's gaze, focused so heavily upon the bronzerider, abruptly turns back towards his niece; he makes a sound through his teeth, something between a sigh and something more disapproving and/or long-suffering. Miravea, in answer, lifts her chin into the air, glancing down at A'rist somewhat dubiously. "Shall I wait for you, Uncle K'del?" she wonders. "No, no. I'll get Cadejoth to take me. Thanks for the ride." Sveianth doesn't wait; Miravea doesn't say goodbye. « No sleep, » is Cadejoth's answer to the younger bronze; there's a sigh in there. No sleep. None. For all that he could say, what Miravea receives from the bronzerider is, "Thanks for bringing him," before A'rist turns away. And to K'del: "Thanks for coming. I, um." A glance over his shoulder; he waits until Sveianth has taken his leave, while Lythronath promises, « Ever! » joyously, and oh so loudly. "We fucked up." A strong word for A'rist, compared to his usual. Stronger is the tone, that would very much like to kick and claw and make the word, "Again," bleed. But it can't. It's just inflection. Ever? That's just cruel. « Shut up, » Cadejoth tells Lythronath, grumpily, settling back down against his mate. K'del doesn't make much of an effort to stifle his groan, his eyes squeezing shut against the frozen night, his gloved hand pressing hard into his forehead. "What," he says, slowly and deliberately, "Did you do this time?" « Quiet! » answers Lythronath, tail swinging as he swivels so that he can leave a claw mark in a since-dried trace of blood on his ledge. It's a welcoming place, this one. A'rist glares hatred for K'del's words, probably misdirected. "Hit a ship." Cadejoth doesn't answer. Cadejoth may well be doing the draconic equivalent of putting his hands over his ears: this bites. K'del, in answer, glares disapproval and irritation; they turn rapidly into dismay and, yes, even a hint of anger. "You what?" Lythronath doesn't need answers to tell Cadejoth what happened. « Ship. Hahahah, splinters! » This was a close second to winning a gold flight, as far as grand days out. Here, let him tell you all about it. A'rist clenches his teeth. "A ship. We had to get out of the Weyr. So we wouldn't hurt anyone. And then just..." He waves his hands a bit in the air, as angrily as one can do such a thing. "I dunno, it just sunk." It's cold out here, and K'del's clothes are suggestive of the fact that he dressed hastily: he could certainly have managed to dress more warmly. Having said that, the whiteness of his face may well have rather less to do with the cold than what he's just been told. "It just sunk," he repeats, barrelling over the edge of fury. "It just sunk. Whose ship was it? Were there survivors? Please tell me you're not fucking serious." « You, » says Cadejoth, with uncharacteristic irritability. « Are a bad, stupid dragon. And I don't like bad, stupid dragons in my pack. » "Yeah," answers A'rist, his posture changing at the same time as Lythronath's eyes, yellow, now. His voice raises, though he probably doesn't notice it. "Just. Before we came back. They had lots of time to evacuate. It's not like they'd take our help." Go figure. "It was pirates anyway." « Yours. » It could be a snort. "For fuck's--" K'del doesn't finish that. He's turned away from A'rist, stalked a few paces away, closer to the ledge's edge. "You don't go anywhere near them, ever again. Do you hear me? No pirates. They saw you. That could ruin everything. You could ruin everything. So yes, yes you fucked up. And right now... frankly, I'm too angry to even talk to you." « Mine. » Cadejoth's. "Yeah, they did," answers A'rist. "So go round them up. They were near land, they won't get far. Lythronath can tell you where." A glance to his dragon, a grunt. "Can tell someone. It's not like they've got dragons with them to take them away. And then come back, and you and Azaylia can yell at me and my broken dragon all you want." Lythronath had an answer for Cadejoth, all lined up, but instead it's just a mental shove that comes before it's distracted. By what's going on on his ledge. "Because collecting pirates is exactly what I want to fucking do," rails K'del, spinning back around on his heel. "Shall I build up a pretty little collection of them? What am I supposed to do with them, afterwards? This is fucking ridiculous." It doesn't mean he won't do it, of course. His next words are clipped: "Get Lythronath to show him where. In the morning, you can go and tell Azaylia what you've done. The position you've put the Weyr in." Cadejoth doesn't deign to answer that shove. He yawns, instead, all teeth. "You don't even want to know the first thing that came into our heads," A'rist answers, voice low, now, threatening. It would be Lythronath's clicking in his throat, except. "You're the one who wanted to go play heroes anyway." It's a quick turn on his heel, a quick scrub through sweat-matted hair, long since dried. "You should probably get Cadejoth to come get you." "You're right," says K'del. "I don't." He doesn't answer that other comment; perhaps that means it stung him. Perhaps not. In any case, he's silent, arms crossed, until his bronze arrives to pick him up-- and take him away. A'rist doesn't wait with the older rider. He does, somehow, manage to get Lythronath away from the main part of the ledge, though there's that slow clicking from before he arrives, up until Cadejoth takes his leave. |
Comments
Azaylia on 01:22, 11 July 2014 said...
Woooow. I think that's the meanest thing Cadejoth has ever said to anyone. >_> Yeah, A'rist and Lynner done fucked up.
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