Logs:Brownrider to Brownrider
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| RL Date: 18 March, 2014 |
| Who: H'kon, Rh'mis |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: H'kon doesn't waste time on useless brownriders. |
| Where: Rim, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 4, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
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| It's not H'kon and Arekoth's morning to fly sweeps, nor theirs to play watchrider. But when Rh'mis and Rosvelth return to the Weyr, they will be there, perched on the rim. Their attention turns from the drilling Avalanche below, and even though Arekoth can see Rosvelth's ledge just as clearly as he can see the younger (and bigger) brown himself, he doesn't move to lift off. Any hints of rebellion against the mental restraint are expressed only in a twitch of his wings, and the overly-smooth tones when he calls, « See lots, did you? Come see what you can see from here. Then we don't have to 'invade', » if dragons could only roll their eyes, « your ledge. » « It would be no invasion, » points out Rosvelth. « I like visitors. People to listen to stories, and tell me new ones! » The sun gleams through those wingsails, and perhaps it's obvious that he's not informed his rider of the diversion they're making-- Rhey is stoney-faced, and Rosvelth chuffed, as they move to land upon the rim. « We saw lots of things. The meadow was so green, and the lake so blue. I wanted to roll in the grass, but Rhey said no, not this time. But next time, perhaps I'll end up like a green! » But better, obviously. He backswings, and his rider turns his head to regard H'kon. What? Closer up, and not just a speck on Arekoth's neck, H'kon proves to have spent much of his wait time weaving a bit of riding strap about his fingers. He's so tethered to his brown when he turns and squints against any wind Rosvelth brings with him. « Were there little creatures running about in the meadow? » There's something encouraging in the older dragon's voice. The same sort of 'encouraging' he might use for little dragonets not yet out of weyrlinghood, but not so awful as to be insulting. Yet, at least. « No fires in the lake I take it? » All through this, H'kon stays, looking Rh'mis over, sizing him up, unhurried. Blue eyes, as observant as ever, take in H'kon, his fingers, those straps. Rhey can be silent, too; he can wait. Besides, he can escape, this time, if he decides to: Rosvelth's wings draw back, but he's still easily seconds from flight if he needs to be. « Little ones, » confirms Rosvelth. « I would have become their great leader if only I'd had more time. I could have had an army of them. It would have been glorious. » Presumably, that means there were no fires. It's hard to tell, sometimes. « They're good for eating, too. » Arekoth, of course, doesn't question that he and Rosvelth might be talking of different creatures. H'kon, meanwhile, carries on with his watching. It's a few good moments before, finally, the older rider gives the slightest of nods, trusting a fellow brownrider to understand, and eases back in his seat atop his dragon. "I have watched you and him, drilling with Iceberg. Wing drills. Big drills." Whether or not they are talking about the same creatures, Rosvelth accepts this piece of trivia into his thoughts without question. His minions-to-be are also lunch-to-be: excellent. Rhey's jaw tightens as the silence continues; it tightens more when H'kon finally speaks, lifting minutely in a quietly defiant kind of way. "We do what we have to," he says, keeping his tone even. The bare minimum, certainly. "Indeed." Those fingers had been woven closer, but not tightly. When he squeezes his hand into a loos fist, this leather tightens. He holds it, a test. The release is slow, measured. Green eyes stay on the younger rider the entire time. "Arekoth and I fly our own exercises, when we are able. An exercise we take alone, for the most." "And?" It's a prompt; Rhey raises his eyebrows to regard H'kon, though his expression otherwise remains impassive. He's quite still: his hands rest upon the neckridge in front of him, his shoulders drawn back - perfect posture. In a away, he looks the model brownrider. "And," is a bit weighty, the path H'kon would have travelled well enough without the prompt, "you may join us if you should wish to." Again, taking his own time, he turns his gaze from Rh'mis to Rosvelth. "If either of you should." Now, it would seem, his part is done. H'kon adjusts his posture once more, and looks away from the other pair, and out across the bowl. Arekoth does too, although Rosvelth is given, « You really ought to see the fish. » Rosvelth's head turns, those big eyes considering H'kon in an almost thoughtful way, though something about the way he shuffles his wing suggests he is interested, whether or not his rider is. Rhey, true to form, takes longer to react. "Why?" he wants to know. « Fish. They travel places I may never see. Such stories they could tell! » « And then you could eat them, » Arekoth promises, amusement in his tone; his colours, today, are subdued to the point of not showing. H'kon turns back, steadily, and with as little rush as he's had since before he and his dragon were joined by the younger two. "Because wing drills, big drills, are loud in their very nature." Rhey is silent in answer, though something about his expression suggests he's giving H'kon's answer some thought. "Why me?" And yet, he's also nodding, and adding, a few seconds later, "When?" It's not a promise to attend, and the defiance in his expression suggests it. Even so... "We're not useless." « I would eat them all up, and then they would live on inside of me, » decides Rosvelth, pleased. "Because I asked that you not be placed in my wing, though not on account of you." Whatever it is, that H'kon has seen, or thinks he has seen, in him, to make such a stress on that pronoun necessary. The 'when' is harder, and it makes the older rider frown a bit. "There are... other elements in my life now which I must work around. We will give you fair warning for those times we would be joined." And to the last, a cold truth of, "My time is not so limitless that I would spend it on the useless." Arekoth has turned that sharp head of his to consider the other brown. « You think? » Rh'mis opens his mouth, about to say something, and then - well, stops. There's something pink in his cheeks; something uncertain, too. "Oh," he says. It rather sounds like he's not sure what to think about that. "Well." His chin lifts. "Fine. If we're available, maybe we'll join you." It's a return to defiance, certainly, but it lacks the angry assurance it so often has. « As part of me, » Rosvelth insists. « Forever and ever. » « Not the part you poop out, then, » has a glimmer of understanding. Somewhere. Under that glare of humour. Rh'mis' pseudo-acceptance simply earns itself a hard nod from the older man. H'kon begins to twist and unlace his fingers from the straps. Once they're free, once he seems ready, once Arekoth is stretching his wings, "You will hear from us." « That bit goes between, where it will also stay forever, » decides Rosvelth, indicating, without words, that he's quite sure it does something absolutely amazing in that other world. It must, right? It must. "Well... fine," says Rhey, more awkward, now, and clearly utterly uncertain. "Fine. Whatever." And Arekoth takes flight, dropping from the rim, wings, half-extended already, reaching to their full span. H'kon, it seems, has nothing more to say to the boy. But his dragon tosses back, as farewell, « And I'm sure it smells lovely all that time. » « My poop would never smell, » insists Rosvelth; his own version of farewell. A few moments later, they're launching into the sky once more themselves: it's time to go home. Rhey may need to freak out. |
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