Logs:Egg-Watching
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 31 October, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, N'rov |
| Type: Log |
| What: Aishani (Brieli) and N'rov lurk in the shadows. Issues of identity and family are considered. Iesaryth just wants to see some eggs. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 2, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Serah/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions |
| Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black. The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat. It's been a long day, at Fort at least, while here at High Reaches there's been perhaps as much work but definitely less daylight. Still and all, the galleries are warm, and the ledges are warm, welcoming for a Fortian pair who's come in out of the cold: especially the galleries, dimly lit as they are, familiarly shadowed as they are. It takes awhile, but eventually, within the deepest shadows at the back, N'rov whispers into Aishani's hair, "I /think/ I'm thawed." It's possible. She might check. Less daylight, more /snow/. It may have been a long day at Reaches - long enough that Iesaryth isn't apparent on her ledge, the cadence of her ocean slowed and softened, warm and dark, bright fish-thoughts nearly stilled. She's dozing, but still aware enough to let the tide slide out towards the bronze, the best welcome he's like to get here. Aishani doesn't need to talk for that while, far more interested in the prospect of defrosting N'rov, especially when his hands aren't icy anymore. Over a sigh, sliding her own hand under his collar, "Mm. Seems that way to me. But if you want to be sure, I don't mind helping for a bit longer." Like she's moving anytime soon. "You do that," N'rov allows grandly, laughter almost, /almost/ making it through his voice, far more readily perceptible to those knowing fingers. Although those fingers do make for a draft, so he squirms a touch. "On my way out," someday, who knows when, "maybe I should drop in and pass along a compliment to your senior. Maybe you'd get a raise, when she finds out how hospitable you are." /Now/ a smile escapes, if not a laugh in truth. It's enough to turn Vhaeryth's head, the bronze being up on one of those high ledges, for the most part seeming youthfully disinterested in queen and dimly-visible clutch. It's even warmer up there. The tide might feel that, as it approaches, as it recedes. His attention's begun to drift that much more ocean-ward, floating with the tide, seeing what there is to see. So Aishani does, tilting her head to trail a line of kisses along N'rov's neck, up to his ear, where she'll murmur, "I'm not sure that she'd consider you unbiased. I'm not this hospitable with everyone." One can hope not, at least. "Though I'm sure it might improve some relations if I were." Her own voice is threaded through with amusement, low and contented. With a bare glance for the shadowed clutch, outlined in the dark, "Have you seen much of your weyrlings?" The retreat of the tide draws Vhaeryth in, the warmth considered wistfully; it's certainly not cold in Iesaryth's weyr, but she won't unsettle Rielsath by her presence in near the Sands. That's a bit petulant too, begrudging acceptance. She'd like to look herself. "Good thing you /don't/," and N'rov tightens his arm about her on cue. "Besides, I don't see any reason why I should be unbiased. I like bias. It pleases me." He doesn't himself glance towards the sands, though Vhaeryth does and sends the vision along the waves, for all that it's not the same. Not like looking /herself/. But it's something, up and down and just a little iridescent when the light catches it right. And still, "No, hardly anything. It's a little strange, 'they look so young,' only they really do. And this clutch is, what, a little less than half its size... I have to wonder what goes into that." Shani's smiling for that arm tightening around her, resting her head on his shoulder. "I don't want you to be unbiased. I'm just pointing out that your view of my hospitality might not be worth a raise, in her opinion. But you never know." Iolene might hand out a raise if she had an excuse. And for Iesaryth, it /is/ something, and appreciated, compared with her other versions from her rider, from other dragons, all layered on top of one another. Though Vhaeryth's right that it's not the /same/; it feels like there's an essential part of truly /seeing/ missing for her. The turn in conversation shifts a bit of the gold's attention that way, curious about that herself. From her rider, "I suppose that everyone looks... vulnerable then. Younger than they even are, dragons and people both. And I wonder a little too. It's strange to see them in such a huge space." So he presses his hand into her hair, of course he does, too initially light and far too lingering to be a pat. "I was teasing," and would be better at it if that possessive note hadn't escaped him, surprised him. Relaxing again, N'rov has to ask Shani's loose curls, "What /would/ she give you a raise for? What are you planning on spending what you've got already? Other than keeping me in fashionable boots, of course. I like to imagine that you have plans." Speaking of plans, Iesaryth might be too sleepy, mightn't want to /move/, but... the focus on that clutch shifts: less eggs than queen, a queen that at least appears to be asleep. A queen, older and more experienced than them both, who might wish to stay asleep. Iesaryth might visit, quietly, perhaps. If that other dragon doesn't raise a fuss, and why does Rielsath keep him around, anyway? Vhaeryth's quite confident that if Iesaryth wishes, she can move quietly, if not precisely /sneak/. "It's not as though we can choose," his rider says, finally. "You do that," Aishani can agree reasonably, and there's not even amusement in her tone, though it's fond, intimate. "Often. And I really don't know - I imagine I'd have to do something impressive on the Weyr's behalf." She doesn't sound as if she considers that likely. That hand resting warm under N'rov's collar slides to the back of his neck where long fingers can creep into /his/ curls. And, "I always have plans, though less so what to spend on. And I keep myself in boots as well, I'll have you know." There's a moment before reluctantly, "I don't like to think about all of it too much. The way I live now is so... different." When does Iesaryth ever /want/ to move once settled? Especially out into the cold night, though the thought of the skies beyond are enticing, enough to rouse her beyond Vhaeryth's mental touch. Bright curiosity and inherent manners war for a time, schools of fishes under the water. She could glide over, perhaps. Maybe alight for a few moments to peer down into the darkness. Shani's none the wiser about all of this, more curious about; "Can choose... what? Who impresses? How we react? How many eggs?" "Impressive, hm." N'rov tilts his head back, heavily, propping himself on her hand: if she let go, he could fall sideways and then topple down the steps as promised! It could happen. "Choose... who finds us. Or doesn't, I guess. With only seven, the chances don't seem nearly as good. I hope your family's making it through the winter all right." The thoughts, they flit through him like Iesaryth's fish, like Vhaeryth's metal made into floating motes. One of the latter follows an air-current: look, this way. This ledge. It's a good ledge for peering from, and he'd even make room. "Do you want me to bring them anything?" Speaking of spending. And then all at once, "Do you think Iesaryth will brood much. It seems as though she... could." Though with her wrapped around him the way she is, it's more than likely he'd take her with him. So Shani's hand holds up his head, fingers deep in dark hair. With a brush of lips to his throat, "Not that I'm not impressive, but not necessarily selflessly." Or on behalf of High Reaches, more to the point. "And I suppose we don't. I did everything I could to try to make /something/ happen, but who's to say it mattered? And there's to be no searching out of the Weyr. Likely to keep things... uneventful." She might be smirking at that - but she sobers at talk of her relations; quietly, "I don't know. I don't know that they would take it." The waves are bubblier this time as they wash out, preceding Iesaryth by mere seconds, a sun in the night sky. She can glide quietly enough, first just a shadow across the sands, then circling down to that ledge Vhaeryth's found, if cautiously. Her rider notices that; with a glance ledge-wards, "I mostly wonder if she'll be bored or not. If her thoughts will be enough to keep her company." That's one way to make N'rov tilt his chin up, to make him laugh, gray eyes warm for her in the cold-out-there night. "Uneventful, you say. And with weather like this, I suppose it's unlikely that you'd have people hiking up from the nearest Hold just so they could 'happen' to be up here," humor in his voice for the Southern Boll boy who'd done that not so long ago. "Perhaps someone will find themselves conveniently in need of rescue, to be flown back to the Weyr and escape frostbite. I wonder if there'll be a dragon who won't want to be told 'no, you can't have that one,' or if they understand the rule..." he shifts at some errant thought, or perhaps as Vhaeryth does: his dark-glass wings folding in layers behind the arching crest of his neck. See, there's room. See, from here, /she/ can see. They can be very, very quiet. He won't even play at popping bubbles, this time. "Wouldn't she have... company? I'd wonder more about /you/, bored and all." He doesn't smirk right away, but just the corner of it does appear. Then: "Blankets." "Can you imagine? I'll be sure to closely question anyone who is brought in, half-frozen. If they're around the age, that is." Aishani would be the sort to interrogate someone fresh out of the mountain snows. "Uneventful," she echoes, with a wry quirk of her lips. "As if we can tell them where to go and who to choose. The boy is worried there won't be enough choice - or it might be his dragon that's concerned." I'kris, who's all of two turns younger. Up higher, Iesaryth can land lightly despite her size, her wings no louder than the wind outside, for all it must seem otherwise. And she does /see/ and appreciates; appreciates Vhaeryth for nudging her out to see, for being quiet. "She might," her rider allows. "It's hard for me to tell if she'll want it or just /mine/, for all she's not... like that. And I'd find something to do. Blankets?" Because it's too warm for them here. "And if they aren't, maybe they'll have kids-cousins-uncles who /are/," N'rov determines, because what's life without another conspiracy theory? He glances upward with a different sort of smile: Iesaryth's landing, Vhaeryth's teasing about how yes, he's being quiet. So quiet. So very, /very/ loudly quiet. And then the bronze silences more solidly, lets her look in peace, to the point of seeking to deflect others who might all of a sudden be as brimful with questions as he. "You'd do blankets?" N'rov inquires, briefly guileless before he sobers. "I was thinking more, maybe, they might like blankets, your family. But you'd know, all I can do is guess. And the boy's the... father? The dragon is, I mean?" After a beat, "Cousins. Speaking of that... you haven't seen mine around since the hatching, have you? I-- haven't." There's not much more Aishani can add to that, no way for her to hide the genuine concern in her words. She's still eyeing the ledge speculatively, murmuring, "I'm not sure what she's looking /for/. If anything." Iesaryth's oceans sparkle briefly under the moonlight, amused at Vhaeryth, but still grateful - for silence, for company, for that shielding. Eventually, « I wonder if mine will be more interesting to watch. » That's quiet too, for all that the other gold sleeps. After rolling dark eyes, "Yes, that's what I meant. And..." She has to take some time with it before, "I feel like it's the least that I owe them, but I don't know that they'd take anything they thought came from..." Her? The Weyr? The Weyr's marks? "It might be worth trying. I've... been thinking about them lately. About who I want to be." Maybe not in a larger ephemeral sense. "And yes, I'kris. Svissath. I'm sorry." N'rov's got a reluctant headshake for that, if also a slow one, designed to comb her fingers through his hair instead of yank at them. "Hope she's coping, anyway." He follows Aishani's glance, is still looking towards their dragons as she continues and then he does. "Pride. I get that. But if they're freezing," and discomfort messes with the set of his mouth, because when has he ever had to go without furs and good wool when he's needed them? "Maybe they got to somewhere good and warm," he decides, somewhere that no doubt took them in, clothed them in furs and sisal and fed them dessert at every meal, with a two-mark piece to top it off. Besides, he doesn't know them, not like Aishani does, and his dismissive wave takes care of the brownrider thing while he's at it. Of far more import: "'Who you want to be,'" he encourages instead. Vhaeryth, meawhile, regards Iesaryth as though he can't quite envision /that/: eggs? Of her own? Where would she put them? Under her wings, bobbing like floats for fishermen's nets? After an uncharacteristically hesitant moment, he offers a time-fuzzed vision of Elaruth's: those just sat there. Interesting, for a little while, but not /so/ interesting. Perhaps Iesaryth's (to the extent he can wrap his head around Iesaryth doing such things at all) might grow fins and a wider flap of a tail, right through each shell. /That/ would occupy them. Softly, uncertainly, "I hope so too." Aishani's fingers run through N'rov's hair, now twisting a lock idly. There's not much else she can say about Serah that's not already obvious, so she just continues to look over towards their dragons, with a sidelong glance for that discomfort, that vain hope. After a few moments, "You could try. And maybe I'd feel less..." She can't find the words until, "Less like it's all blood money. Marks that they have /because/ of my family." It's no simpler to explain herself and how she's feeling about what she is or wants to be. If she had a hand free, she'd be chewing on her thumbnail. "It's like I said," finally. "I like who I am when I'm with you. Because I'm not pretending. I don't know how long I want to... How long I want to." Iesaryth waves are bubblier at Vhaeryth's bemusement, because where do eggs go but on the sands? She is a queen, is she not? It's something she will /do/ (though part of her mind recalls 'is meant for', but she rejects that entirely). Elaruth's eggs bring a little surge of pleasure, even for fuzzy images. She wasn't able to see them either. There's a sparkle of light on water for fins and a tail, imagining eggs swimming through the sands, dragons trying to make them stay /still/. Little water-bubble eggs? Filmy fins, long-long-long tails that reflect that sparkle so their dragon-caretakers can see them in the dark. They'd pounce, though gently, so the eggs wouldn't pop but instead just squeak and evade. /That/ Vhaeryth can get behind, only in his mind they're watching more of them, not just those few out there right now. More to play with. His rider's less playful, though he does turn his head to her fingertips to nibble her nails for her. Or, no: it's simply a kiss. "How long you want to... pretend?" he double-checks, but gently. "If you gather the blankets, I'll take them. If you want something else, we can talk about that too. It seems," quieter yet, "it would be hard to stop. Pretending." Shiny like her fish, like his metal. Reflecting what little light there is, so they can carefully pounce and stop them from cracking on walls they can't see. Iesaryth would enjoy that, not only being /different/ but also the chase. But more - yes, more seems a certain thing. Her rider has a smile for that kiss, if a bare one; she trails those fingertips along his cheek, down over the roughness of his jaw. "I'll decide. What you should take. Not too much, so if they don't..." It wouldn't be a total waste. Pretending is more difficulty to talk about, for all that gentleness, though after time, "I know. I don't know... how to stop. Or what I'd lose if I did." And her arms tighten around him, because they started with a shared secret; perhaps she's worried about losing /that/ too, whatever's built between them. All right, then. Vhaeryth's paws flex, imagining, a sort of kneading pull and release.The air is so warm here, so thick, it's almost like water they really can breathe. Would she like it if they had eyes, even a single eye within the entirety of their shell-bubble? Would she like it if they didn't need them, then? "Yes," his rider agrees, his mouth tipping up when her touch explores. He can go along with that. Has bought into that, maybe. "I'd," and then he's holding her back, tighter too, and maybe it would be wiser to hold back but that's never, not really, been what they've been about. Iesaryth might like it if they could see, if she could watch them just like creatures underwater. She wonders about /need/ - what do the eggs need them for otherwise? Her wings rustle, still quieter than the other sounds of the night, but forgetting for a time that she's not /supposed/ to be here, really. She's not distracted by her rider, but there's a sense of watching, paying attention now. "Thank you," Shani whispers, the words carrying greater gratitude for all the levels of meaning attached. There's a moment that might seem longer, as she rests her forehead on his shoulder, just holding him. But eventually, "You'd...? Tell me." She'd rather know. She'd watch them, they'd watch her back, might come visit and rub up against her paws for attention. And possibly squeak. It's of more immediate interest than the dim recollections of eggs needing to be turned as they're tended, something he'd been told but not yet /sensed/, though one imaginary finned-egg has begun to swim upside down just in case. Drawn by attention, it undulates towards her rider, towards his, until one big paw curls it back towards them. Mustn't fall off the ledge. "I forget," N'rov half-laughs, all rueful, his head still tipped to hers. He hunts for it. Eventually, "I guess what matters is what you want it to be like. What you want to do, or not do. Is it so different, who you are with them?" Squeak! That would keep Iesaryth entertained, as would paying attention to them if they /moved/ rather than her moving /them/. This turning of eggs catches something deep underwater and draws it up - again, a sense of rightness, but nothing she's been told either. And see, if they could move, they'd turn themselves! It's more interesting than the eggs actually /are/, as is the sky above - perhaps she's done with looking, though it is still warm here. Aishani has an unseen skeptical glance for N'rov initially, but as he considers, it softens; with a kiss to his shoulder, his neck, "It depends who I'm with. Sometimes, not so different with Azaylia, even less so with Iolene. But the others..." A pause, before, "I don't think anyone would trust me again. Not that they would if they knew anyway." That's what's intriguing: things she knows without being told. What else mightn't Iesaryth know that she knows? Vhaeryth peers, as though there might be something /else/ he could see from here. What he doesn't do is leap skyward, for all that he rarely needs an excuse to fly; some tie, something that's less strained since Ryerith but still not as free-flowing as it had been, keeps him near. He's got something else to watch, someone else who needs him, if not precisely to be /turned/. But, or so the bump of his muzzle says, she may if she likes, and perhaps even send him back a glimpse of sky. His rider's been listening, to Shani if not so much to Vhaeryth, and now he says, "I don't know about that." His hand flattens on her back, curves around her shoulder, as though she were an eggling aiming to swim off that ledge. "Maybe not." He breathes in more deeply. "People don't all have to know all the details. If all you'd want to do is be High Reaches' junior weyrwoman, to do whatever there is they do, and be called by your real name... that's different than getting that blood money paid." There are many things in the depths of Iesaryth's mind; stolen treasure in the form of memories or knowledge, a few things she knows to be true. On ocean breezes, the musty scent of records is borne the bronze's way, the sense of searching. There are scraps and bits of understanding from her rider, that there is a way to go to different days and hours - something /she/ feels she knows, but Shan is reluctant to believe. Speaking of her rider, she can understand that tie; her head nudges his briefly in return - she will not fly without him, not tonight. Shani's not aware of the discussion, lifting her head from his shoulder to regard him in the dim light, curious. "You don't know that I'm that different? Or that they wouldn't trust me?" N'rov stating what she is as well, the actual title sends a shiver up her spine, her expression torn. "I'm still not used to being /that/," she admits, before another, larger admission: "I don't know what I want to do anymore. I don't know what's right." Not that she wants him to tell her, but something about her tone and the sudden brightness in her eyes says that she might think over an answer, if he had one. Different days, different hours, and now different smells: the thought brings back a sending of stars. It might be memory, but these tick strangely backward. He has the luxury of a lack of urgency, of being curious without the demand to /go/. But then, he likes it where and when he is, does Vhaeryth, tonight. When the search brings safety, though? Then he'll have to take it all apart. "I don't know that they wouldn't trust you," his rider clarifies, no better-informed than hers. "Not any less than they'd trust another weyrwoman... You know everyone doesn't have to know everything. I'd be surprised if most people even knew where you said you were from," but then again, he mightn't have the most accurate idea of just how much weyrwomen are watched. "Anyway," and here N'rov tips back, if only so he can tug Shani closer on his lap as though it would take her away from that shiver, or from any chance of another. "I don't know either, other than kissing me," and here he slides her a slyly teasing glance. "But as long as you don't /do/ something, you've got time to figure it out, right? There's no deadline. Maybe talk to your Iolene, if you really do feel better with her. She's the one you answer to, after all." This image of the stars ticking back, bit by bit, has Iesaryth fascinated - and more certain in her belief that it should be a simple thing, as easy as anything has ever been for her, except perhaps /waiting/. But this lack of need to /move/ from Vhaeryth is something to be appreciated, given the givens. If the queen below isn't yet stirring, the one above will resettle, leaning her bulk against his, content with looking for the stars above. "I suppose you have a point at that," her rider can allow, if uncertainly. "And I'm less worried about people who don't pay attention than about those that do. Wouldn't you wonder?" N'rov, with his questions. As he tips back, she's more than happy to fit herself against him, pressing close - and to kiss him, since he mentioned it. Once, twice, quick and gentle; the third and fourth kisses linger, breathing a bit /faster/ after. "You're right, there's no deadline. And maybe I will. I just... wanted to know what you thought." Because he's the only one to ask, the only one who'd really be affected by it, by knowing. She leans, he leans, eyes half-lidding. Vhaeryth's gleam deeply luminous blues, here and there facets approaching green, while N'rov's have less color to them but something of that same quality. But he's just human. "I haven't been bothering to track down details of Hattie's life, if that's what you mean. Although, come to think about it, I don't know about N'muir." Maybe he should question! Just now, though, he's got lazier things to think about. Including maybe another kiss, if he can sneak that one in too. It distracts him out of, "Your cousin, would she..." and into something else, something that makes his hands go even more still. "Are you wondering, Shani, if I'd still visit with you? If you weren't a well-mannered young woman and, what could they call it, an executed traitor's daughter?" Still, but not loose: he's not letting her go. Warm and dark and so comfortable against him, Iesaryth's fleeting thought is that it'll be a shame to have to leave here, eventually - with dragons and riders both content. Well, riders mostly, but that's their way. Lightly, Aishani notes, "No, I don't think that you have or you would bother, but if you find something interesting or not quite right..." And then, N'rov sort of proves her point, and she can ignore all that in favor of returning that kiss, with a soft sigh for moving hands - but then, what he asks has her blinking, pulling back suddenly. "No. No, N'rov -- if things changed, I don't know if anyone would believe you /didn't/ know about me, and you have enough problems with your Weyrleader to begin with. I... I wouldn't think you wouldn't want to see me." There's a moment where it seems like she'd stop, but she pushes on. "The only thing that worries me about us is that things might be different, without... all of this. Without so many secrets." Maybe he won't be as interested. It's not very flattering to either of them, and she has the grace to look rueful, apologetic. And quite the valid point it is, Aishani's but Iesaryth's also. Vhaeryth's no longer precisely relaxed, but neither is he a hatchling to leap up and pounce. Especially with his rider's sudden relief: "No. Good. We're all right there, then." And if he might think that he still doesn't know /everything/, if he might later speculate how another man (surely another man) could make people believe what he wants... he's only a man who theorizes, he's not /that/ man. He won't be. And it's for both their sakes, besides. "To be clear: you'll think that I'll want to see you." To get rid of those double negatives, and all. But then N'rov's smiling at her, on top of that underlying seriousness, taking it over. "And well, all right, it'll be different. Maybe I'll have to make up a name for you... don't worry, you can make up a name for me, it'll be fair... and trot you into this bar or that, undercover." Just now, with her and that rueful look of hers to smile at, it's so easy for him to say... but the way he says it, he /means/ it. With a relief of her own in her smile, Aishani confirms, "I'll think that you want to see me. I don't know if it'd be all that easy to stay away." For N'rov, for her - for both likely, the way she's still entwined with him. If she could read his mind, now or later, she might be grateful for who he is and who he won't be; she won't drag him down with her... though it seems, sometimes, that he's pulling her /out/. Her smile widens as she echoes, "Undercover." Dark eyes bright for a different reason now, "I'll start thinking of names for you. Just in case." There's gratitude in her tone, appreciation for /meaning it/, though it's always been easier for Shani to show how she feels than find the words - and so she does, with long, slow kisses that say everything she wants to in this moment, in the dark, everything she wants to always. And above, Iesaryth's little world is near-perfect; she'll stay there with Vhaeryth until she's forced to go back to her less-warm weyr, whether by rider or broody queen. |
Leave A Comment