Logs:Uninvited
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| RL Date: 18 August, 2012 |
| Who: N'rov, Azaylia |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Then again, when is Vhaeryth ever invited to bother her? Hraedhyth's mood is even worse than usual. |
| Where: The Minds of Dragons, Fort Weyr/High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 7, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
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| There's a fleeting image: a darkened cave, a woman with Timor and Belior swinging enchained from her hands, ablaze. (Vhaeryth to Hraedhyth) Not even her drums answer, at first. The plains are dead and dry, scorched earth eerily untouched by foot or pawprint. The rumbling is low, not enough to be annoyed, Hraedhyth's words lack true bite. « You have finally lost your mind. » (Hraedhyth to Vhaeryth) Surprise shines back at her, as though he'd not even realized he'd reached out so. And then, « No. » Look closer: the cave is a tent, the woman dancing sinuously, half-clothed, the pots of fire leaving streaks of light across her skin. Behind them is the sense of a pressing /audience/, of people leaning and waiting, entranced and unseen. No one has eyes for anything but the fire. (And that faint smell of mingled sweat? Surely that's not feigned.) (Vhaeryth to Hraedhyth) To Vhaeryth, Hraedhyth's attention shifts, the effort in doing so not hidden from the foreigner. Teeter, teeter, and a careless THUMP, the weight of her mind flopped over to the bronze. What. Silence falls once more, watching the flames that are not hers with a sense of a half-lidded gaze. « Ah. » She understands, now. « It is that one who has lost her mind. » The dancer. At least it's over, not /on top of/. « She does it well. » Vhaeryth points out, a little sullenly even so. « Everyone stares. /She/ is not burned. » (Vhaeryth to Hraedhyth) To Vhaeryth, Hraedhyth feels no guilt in the subtle sullen note of the bronze. She did not invite him, she holds no responsibility for dampening his fun. And yet, « Every rider should learn. » Bland, she offers not an image of what she means, but more words let out in a husk. « Imagine. Wielding dragon flame without being burned. » Scraps. Bones. Tossed towards the Fortian who had only just been enjoying himself. Startlement. And then Vhaeryth thrusts savagely at her, at the younger queen, the image of a girl with flame scarring fabric into her chest and shoulder, the girl's mouth gaping, unable even to shriek. (Vhaeryth to Hraedhyth) Apathy can only last so long. The assault on her mind, as Hraedhyth sees it, will not be tolerated. She gives the bronze a mental shove, snatching away the image to inspect it and see if it's worth shredding. Just because. Morbid curiosity stops her, inspection ending with a snort. She doesn't come off as uncaring as she would like, « Mine has heard about her. » The gold settles back into her soot, the muck, the broken shells of what was supposed to be. (Hraedhyth to Vhaeryth) Her words echo through silence, though not quite absence. If only he could be absent, if his breathing could stay inaudible in the dark. (Vhaeryth to Hraedhyth) To Vhaeryth, Hraedhyth listens to the breathing in the darkness. It almost inspires her to hunt. Almost. It's an improvement, though he hasn't been around to see it. And why should he? Foreigner. And yet, with it so dark no one will be able to see her press upon him something not born of animosity. Amiable touch is gone in an instant, just his imagination and seeing too many odd things on this day. As if. But does he accept it, or does it stay between them in the darkness? She won't know until, if, she leaves and then returns to find it still there or gone. Taken. (Or stolen by something, someone else.) (Vhaeryth to Hraedhyth) To Vhaeryth, Hraedhyth does not return. Why would she? When has the warrior ever sought out the bard? The jester? No, what is in the dark will stay there, whether accepted or crumbling without anyone to claim it. Stolen? It is difficult to take that which has never happened. Who could claim that it has in the unseeing pitch? The young queen is gone, and shall stay as such. Behind her, there's a noise. A... squeak? A whisper? A /something/. But she's gone. (Vhaeryth to Hraedhyth) |
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