Logs:Vrianth and Wyaeth and the Clouds
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| RL Date: 24 May, 2008 |
| Who: Vrianth, Wyaeth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 28, Month 6, Turn 16 (Interval 10) |
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| She'd sunned and slept on the Star Stones through so much of the day, barely glanced at the approaching cloud front before spiraling down into the shadows of the Bowl. But now, her view obscured by the cliffs, she reaches back through the memory of that and sends a thought Wyaeth's way. Just a tingle of ozone through the prairie air: is he still there? (Vrianth to Wyaeth) The gravel-drawl; « Depends on why you're asking. » It's a hand-kiss greeting despite his frequent brusqueness, a little back-hills manners for Vrianth. Physically, no indication where he is. (Wyaeth to Vrianth) Such greetings are well and good, but when the answer's not for the question she's seeking? Still it's enough to distract her a moment, bemused, amused: « It matters? » Images flick back and forth, Wyaeth on the Star Stones and then on his own ledge, fast enough to seem both at once. (Vrianth to Wyaeth) Wyaeth> I bespoke Vrianth with « Yeah. » The blur of images arrest his thoughts, pull him back from Vrianth tangibly while he sorts them out, his mind's eye heat-hazy enough without Vrianth's quick-thoughts to worsen things. Rather than course, it's courtly; « You need some'n? » Sudden, suddenly youthful surprise shines through their link upon his return, /that/ he returned, and Vrianth's reply comes more slowly: « The clouds. Would you show me where they are, Wyaeth? » And for why she doesn't just go fly up for herself, well: no quick images here, but the sensation of warm oil across new-washed hide, and of the beloved hand that smooths it in. (Vrianth to Wyaeth) Up. Very literal. The feeling of up rather than the actual look of it, the shimmering of early stars, the cool of altitude air. « Where else'd they be, sugar? » (Wyaeth to Vrianth) She reaches through that shimmering coolness, unerringly angled for where the clouds were, for where they /should/ be now. But are they? « Not here. Yet. » She can still see stars. (Vrianth to Wyaeth) Wyaeth> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth's puzzled, thoughts all confused like the uncertain beginning of a dust-devil, not yet a funnel, more than a scatter of grit. « You gotta give it time, sugar. Clouds'll get here when they get here. » Shouldn't she know this by now? « That's what I tell her. She's in a hurry. » Though not now, not through the oiling, enough to keep the woman calm with Vrianth's special brand of tranquilizer. (Vrianth to Wyaeth) Wyaeth> I bespoke Vrianth with « Who? » That's a stupid question, and he realizes it while the echoes of the thought still whistle between his mind and Vrianth's. « In a hurry for what? Ain't as though we won't get rain enough this summer. » That's also disarming, enough for a whirl of bright fizzy sparks where that incipient dust-devil had once been. « For it to be /right/, » comes Vrianth's unguarded reply, although she whisks the thought of rain away: no need to go that far. Quite. (Vrianth to Wyaeth) Wyaeth> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth... tries... but it's like trying to drink from a desert rainstorm, never enough. Finally, out of frustration-- « Did you need some'n? » Women are so damn confusing, the blunt undercurrent of gritty thoughts. That effort's something to appreciate, the grittiness familiar, and even so. Even so. « Think so. Don't know. Don't think you can give it to me, Wyaeth, » comes her own gravelly reply, and a warm spark for his /trying/ before she starts to slip free. (Vrianth to Wyaeth) Wyaeth> I bespoke Vrianth with « All right. » Long and slow on the drawl for that. Drifting, drifting off as she does, a jack-rabbit pause before his presence deserts hers. « Lemme know if there's anything I can do. » |
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