Logs:My Dragon's Been Bothering Yours
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| RL Date: 28 March, 2010 |
| Who: K'del, Teris, Val |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Cadejoth interrogates a visitor; K'del attempts to make up for it. Visigoth not only survives but finds someone else to chat up, too. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 4, Turn 22 (Interval 10) |
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| It's the watchdragon whom Visigoth greets with his name, appearing high above High Reaches' gray rain, and evidently loathe to enter it by the way he circles in long, attenuated ellipses. At least, not physically: metallic glints here and there hint at his share of conversation with the elderly green, and once a warming waft of smoke. (Visigoth to Cadejoth) From his position atop the rim, there's little Cadejoth /can't/ see of the weyr-at-large-- it takes him barely seconds to narrow in upon the visiting brown, to size him up with a faint flicker of recognition. He's feeling posessive today, perhaps, a sliver of silver chain twining its way about his thoughts: my weyr, mine. Still, his greeting is warm enough: « You're a visitor! Hello. » Unspoken is his and-what-are-you-doing-here? (Cadejoth to Visigoth) Can that possessiveness go unrecognized? His identity does not, Visigoth congenial if less personal with the bronze than he'd been with the green: « Cadejoth, » voiced in a leathery baritone that's not a salute. It's a few wingbeats' worth before the unspoken question gets his additional, mostly-spoken reply. « All we Search are these, » ivory dice that tumble, tossed. (Visigoth to Cadejoth) Search? Oh-- but that kind of search. It's only for a handful of moments that Cadejoth questions this, and then, relaxing: yes, yes, of course. Not that it stops the questioning-- well, a bronze must watch out for his pack, must he not? « You've been here before, Visigoth? You and yours. » Not quite as much a question as it seems, because there is, after all, that faint hint of recollection. « To win our marks. » Or lose them. (Cadejoth to Visigoth) Win them, lose them, it's the way of the world, writ in what Visigoth does not dispute. Greens, too. Yes, they have been here before. To that acknowledgement he adds, « Would you mind, were it the other kind? » (Visigoth to Cadejoth) Mind? Cadejoth considers this with a faint tinkling of metal against metal. « Yes, » he says, in conclusion, one part apologetic, but just barely. « You have your own caverns to Search from. Benden's. » Benden riders for Benden eggs; High Reaches riders for High Reaches eggs. His. Though those most recent eggs are barely remembered, now. (Cadejoth to Visigoth) « Then it is good that we are not, » and with that, Visigoth sweeps down and into the caldera, even if it's also into rain. (Visigoth to Cadejoth) No argument from Cadejoth. He even shakes some mental dice for the brown, returns them all sixes, which is probably intended to be a friendly encouragement - good luck. « Enjoy your stay, » he says, congenially giving the brown 'permission' to visit. Isn't he nice? Not, of course, that this means he won't be /watching/. His Candidates. His greens. (Cadejoth to Visigoth) « Our thanks, » returns Visigoth even as he drops down to land on that guest weyr's ledge, seeing as how it's not currently in use. Perhaps it's only that he mustn't get his paws muddy. Cadejoth's candidates, after all. Cadejoth's... /all/ the greens? Really? But it's only an intimation, a humored, humoring drift of smoke on the wind. (Visigoth to Cadejoth) Rainy afternoons like this one find the Snowasis well occupied, groups scattered about in pursuit of cards and dice, as well as conversation. Leaning one elbow on the edge of the bar, K'del's indulging in the latter, chatting easily with the pretty barmaid standing behind it, who spends most of her time (when she's not batting her eyelashes) serving beer after beer, amidst the occasional whiskey. To Visigoth, Cadejoth is /quite/ smug for that, oh yes; /all/ the greens, all his. Like the rest of the weyr, surveyed from on high. /All/ the greens. Cadejoth must be very busy, then. (Visigoth to Cadejoth) Eventually Visigoth's rider walks in. /Her/ boots are muddy, her pants scarred leather, slung low in a way that fits her just so. Other gamblers get hellos, once a burst of brisk laughter. Either the Bendenite's slow, though, or took a detour, or just took her time... but now she's here, walking in like she knows the place. Even if she doesn't own it. Despite his obviously very important conversation, K'del's gaze sweeps the room from time to time, and it's on one of these passes that Val does, eventually, show. He follows her progress with an unreadable expression, lifting his whiskey glass to his mouth for a slow sip that earns none of his attention. The barmaid seems barely to notice this preoccupation, chattering on like silence would make the world end. To Visigoth, Cadejoth can handle it. He's Cadejoth, after all! He'll even show the brown a sample of what it's like, unveiling the metallic web that links together the whole of the High Reaches, greens and golds and browns and blues and bronzes, all. And Visigoth-- but /he/ doesn't belong. Visigoth doesn't, does he. At least he doesn't seem bothered by it, even taking a few moments to properly look over what Cadejoth's got to display: appreciating where the links cluster and where they break up, like a mere human might at a Gather. And he'll have, no, /had/, that one and... maybe that other? He forgets. The way of the world. (Visigoth to Cadejoth) She doesn't seem to be searching anyone out, or maybe it's more that she's found them: a table with a couple Glacier riders, of /course/, a particularly burly handyman, his girlfriend. Val leans in, makes a little small talk, taking it easy for starters. It's not long, though, before her hand drops to her belt, like she's going to buy in. /That/ is when K'del, finally, launches himself from his position against the bar to head towards the group of gamers, leaving his barmaid friend talking to air until, sulkily, she realises she's been abandoned. In lieu of immediate introduction, he says, brightly enough, once he's close; "Think my dragon's been bothering yours. Sorry about that. Don't /really/ mind visitors." It's not that Cadejoth seems /pleased/ by this (his greens, /his/!), but-- well, it is what it is, isn't it? He can share. Though... High Reaches greens are /better/ served by High Reaches dragons. Or so he thinks. (Cadejoth to Visigoth) Her fingers are so /close/, the game right /there/. But. The brownrider turns anyway and looks up, and up. No game then, maybe. Or a different one. She smiles then, a quizzical thing that lends brightness to her brown eyes, and leans enough to murmur into the girlfriend's ear, "Just a minute." K'del can have more of her attention then, a wider smile. "Any particular reason he's feeling territorial? ...Sir." With nobody particularly glowing right at the moment, at least that he's /scented/... still-good-humored Visigoth gives the chained display a last look, impressing it in the metal of his nature like he's going to /keep/ the memory of these links, and reaches out. Not touching, but still: look, those greens, those blues, that gold, there. And the little one. (Visigoth to Cadejoth) An apologetic bob of the head marks K'del's obvious understanding that he's keeping the brownrider from her game - the thing she came for, after all! But. But; "Shells if I know. Happens, sometimes. Happy-go-lucky one moment, distrustful of the world the next. He doesn't mean it... and I didn't want your-- Visigoth is it? To feel unwelcome." Beat. "Or you." No, no one glowing... though there /was/ that green this morning, and Cadejoth shares the memory of her, all minty-fresh and delightful. Not that he chased her; still! He follows where the brown's attention goes, examining each in turn: yes, yes, yes. And the little gold: for her, he shares a recent memory, the tiny queen exploring /his/ weyr. Small-w weyr. All sharp-edges and flared wings. (Cadejoth to Visigoth) "Visigoth," the brown's rider confirms, affection that anyone could read right /there/ in the low soprano of her voice. It could linger into what she says next, only she waits a beat, first. Just like he had. "Kind of you, isn't it? To see to it personally." Just a little dramatic emphasis on that last word, just enough to make it openly teasing, like they can pretend it's some herculean feat. "I'm Val," and she extends her hand. Still! A man can appreciate even what he doesn't bestir himself to go after, even if he is a dragon. And that leads to more fraternal good humor as Visigoth pays attention to Cadejoth's comments, the yes, the yes. Even the small explorer, though there's a moment's doubt there: « And what did she find? » Did she knock into anything? Did things go... /boom/? (Visigoth to Cadejoth) Dragon> An inkling of chains hasn't quite Cadejoth's silvery sound, but instead a metal that, however light, is more like steel. And then they're no longer the links used to trace her, but the friendly-enough flat of a blade: « So, Iskiveth. They say you explore things? » (Visigoth to Iskiveth) A different man might sweep a bow at this point, to really play up this pretense; K'del does not. Instead, he takes Val's hand, shakes it - firmly, at least - as he says, "Well met, Val. K'del. But you knew that. It's no trouble at all, at any rate." She's not, after all, hard on the eyes! But nor is he /outright/ flirting: just friendly. He /can/. And will. Perhaps this visitor is not so bad after all; Cadejoth certainly seems more enthusiastic, now (there might even be the faintest hint of a tail thumping against the rock-- not that it would be possible to /see/ it). « She wanted treasure, » he reports, amused by this, and sharing, now, a hint of the little queen's fire. « She only found papers, though. I think we shall go adventuring, one day. When she's older. » (Cadejoth to Visigoth) Dragon> Hot, curious flames crawl along the flat of the blade toward something more. Visigoth. Hmm. « Who says that? What else did they say about me? You can't have my things. » Just so we're clear here on that point. (Iskiveth to Visigoth) Hers is a callused hand but otherwise soft for all that, meeting his grip in good stead and letting it as readily go. "Glad to hear it," Val says, and lifts expressive brows at him, that small smile returning: is there anything more? Thumbscrews? The rack? She's in no hurry. « Papers can be treasures, » Visigoth supposes upon a taste of that fire, coloring his thoughts for a moment. « But not often. » Oil rags, now... « But what will you adventure to find? » Because if there /are/ rags, why, he has some already. (Visigoth to Cadejoth) Dragon> It's a /long/ blade, perhaps made the longer for her seeking out more than what he'll give her, though the steel grows gratifyingly warmer beneath the flames' touch. But gradually. « Are you sure you want to know? » Visigoth asks her, so gravely. « It might be my secret. And you must already have a mighty collection, to hoard it so. » (Visigoth to Iskiveth) Dragon> The curiosity of previous turns into a spark of impatience. The flames seek boldly to engulf what he isn't giving freely to her. « Yes. Tell me. You shouldn't keep secrets from /me./ » Iskiveth is special, after all. Whether or not she has any such collection is left unsaid but there are precious jewels and metals feeding her fire. (Iskiveth to Visigoth) Dragon> Is that a shimmer of a hilt, through the flames, so much darker than those jewels? But no. « Why not? » Visigoth inquires judiciously, as though he'd /like/ to tell her, but... just anyone could say that, after all. What makes her special? He's listening. (Visigoth to Iskiveth) Whatever implements of torturous interrogation are under consideration, K'del's smile shows no trace of it-- but there is the faintest of pink flushes as her eyebrows raise at him. Left hand holding right hand behind his back, now, he glances at the game-in-progress, then back at the brownrider. "Won't keep you. You came to play, after all." Perhaps the thumbscrews can come out /next/ time. « Not these papers, » agrees Cadejoth, though he can't seem to see /any/ papers as real treasures. Not when they take a man from the air and the skies and all the good things in life. « We will find treasures! But mostly just adventure, I think. Isn't that where the fun is? The /chase/, not the result. » Except when it comes to greens, perhaps. (Cadejoth to Visigoth) Whatever sense of papers-as-prison comes through, Visigoth sets the blade of his thoughts to it, like he'd slice the inky adversary in two. /His/ rider needn't deal with those, after all. Perhaps he should be... grateful? Could it be? Perhaps. Poor Cadejoth. « Come visit us. We have no such papers and piles and things. » Not of /those/, anyway. Not the sort to dissuade one from /adventure/. (Visigoth to Cadejoth) Do bright eyes notice? They /might/. Her smile might twitch just a little wider. Just a little. Before she turns back to the dice, Val mentions, "Maybe I'll see you next time, then." Thumbscrews don't have to fit on /thumbs/, after all. Dragon> Surprised by the question, flames hiss and crackle. « Because! » It's a perfectly valid reason. Why does she need anything more than that? « I'm a /queen./ You're not supposed to keep secrets from me. » And she will try valiantly to find them herself. (Iskiveth to Visigoth) Dragon> « If you were /my/ queen, surely I would show you, » mentions Visigoth as though he's sharing a new secret, a particularly special one. But see? Can she sense it on him, as she tries so valiantly to reach toward the hint of shapes beyond? He's of Benden. Benden claims him. « Still, as it is... I might find something for you. Since you're you. » No one else. Not even Benden. It's a little single-edged knife, her reward, sharp and shiny and hooked like a talon. « You might be careful. It cuts. » And they're all too easy to turn against a person. But K'del's in more-or-less a good mood, so despite that embarrassment, and a conversation that barely counts as more than awkward, he bobs his head at the brownrider and turns to go. "Next time, then," is his amiable remark, though there's less smile once he's facing the other direction and heading back to his drink. Poor Cadejoth, yes! So very dull, this life, unless one takes to interrogating poor, visiting browns... though that's turned out well, hasn't it? « Perhaps we shall, » he considers, current zinging through the chains of his thoughts, which conjure up some almost-forgotten recollections of Benden. « It would be a fine place! With no papers and meetings and boring things. Exciting! » (Cadejoth to Visigoth) Definitely no papers, no meetings, unless /they/ count as a meeting seeing as how they're meeting up... but that's different. Right? « Bespeak us, when you come, » says Visigoth with mountains and valleys as backdrop, and better, the rush of wind over old worked stone. And if Cadejoth may forget first... he'll be fine with forgetting too. (Visigoth to Cadejoth) And with that, the dice rattle, and in the next round the brownrider's lost in it. Sometimes she wins, sometimes she loses, and it doesn't seem to matter all that much. If he stays that long, he'll see an arm-in-arm dance parading between the tables, and more laughter, until finally it's getting late and she must make her way out into the rain. But it's to Visigoth, so in the end it's all good. K'del stays for some time, making it up to his abandoned barmaid, though he does keep half an eye on the brownrider - out of curiosity, of course. He leaves later still, heading off through the caverns instead of the rain (the benefits of ground weyrs, you see), but still, off into the evening. /Entirely/ different. Cadejoth /leans/ in to that imagery, delighting in the differences from his own mountains and valleys, exulting in the freedom of it all. « We shall, » he promises, with a wave of excitement and rattling bones. « It's been a pleasure, Visigoth. » He's welcome, now. Any time. As long as Cadejoth doesn't forget. (Cadejoth to Visigoth) Dragon> Benden! Iskiveth doesn't like this but there isn't a whole lot she can do about it but fume, is there? And she makes a show of that since they aren't even face to face, an inferno that threatens to consume everything in its path. « Oh! » The inferno banks back to something quieter and distracted when there's a gift. A /shiny/ gift. « Does it /kill?/ » (Iskiveth to Visigoth) Dragon> For all that fuming, and the ensuing enjoyment Visigoth gets out of it... he lets the metal of his thoughts flush flatteringly with heat, even hint at the way she might someday scorch along his own blade's back. Given time. « If used properly, » he tells the little dragon. « If not, it will only hurt. » (Visigoth to Iskiveth) Dragon> « Do you know how to use it properly? » Iskiveth's flames are careful despite the excitement of her gift. « I want to kill something. » It's a herdbeast that finds her fire now though a much, much larger Iskiveth is what actually makes it fall. (Iskiveth to Visigoth) Dragon> Visigoth can play tutor: « This edge, this cuts. And the point, it /stabs/. » Vocabulary! « I want to see you... » only then there's a brief break where there otherwise would, should be a gush of beast's blood. « We go. I take my rider home. Show us when we get back, Iskiveth, what you can do? » Surely great things! (Visigoth to Iskiveth) Dragon> « I will show you! » Iskiveth would show him now, perhaps, if he weren't leaving. This she doesn't like but he belongs to Benden so she doesn't try to make him stay by whatever forcefulness she might think she can use. « I will practice stabbing. » (Iskiveth to Visigoth) |
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