Logs:At The End
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| RL Date: 17 April, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Zadkiel |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Zadkiel take a moment to enjoy the weather and talk about the hatching. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 7, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Amazing! 60, sunny, clear! |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, F'rain/Mentions, Nimae/Mentions |
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| The snow and near-persistent chill of winter seem a distant memory in the summer sun and favorable weather that's settled over the Weyr. Here, on the patio ledge, in sight of Snowasis' entrance, is the perfect locale for an afternoon treat and an unintentional sun-bathe. Sitting on the ledge, between the colorful pots that line the edge, Farideh's enjoying the sun on her exposed skin - in light linen pants rolled up to mid-calf and a short-sleeved blouse - and the flavored-ice treat she's diligently nibbling on through bouts of eavesdropping on the riders standing behind her, and sweeping the bowl for familiar dragons and faces. Her legs even swing back and forth, her feet bare, with her boots sitting next to her on the ledge; beautiful, wonderful, temperate summer. Things are better. Slightly. The bandages are gone, but Zadkiel's arms are still tender-looking. Scarred. A suiting match to the rest of him. The relative warmth is still not quite worthy of shirtlessness, so a thin, blousy-style shirt and matching pants - linen, all of it, and in the Igenite style - is worn. A brightly colored sash encircles his waist and is echoed in the kerchief that's tied around his forehead. His hair is braided, of course, but the stray bits are kept at bay. Barefoot, the former hunter comes a-prowling - but, perhaps, not for her. Hard to say. He has a glass of something in hand and a small plate with bits of fruit and vegetables, but naught else. He pauses just at the entrance of the ledge proper, his gaze trained on Farideh for a long moment before he scuffs a callused foot on the stone to make a faint sound of announcement. One of the riders on the ledge, a baby-faced bluerider, shakes his head sadly, "pregnant.. y'heard? Sad, that." Whatever the topic it, it's interesting enough to bring Farideh's green-brown eyes around to them, marking each before the scuff intrudes and she lifts her gaze to Zadkiel. Her mouth curves into a winsome smile. "Zadkiel, come, sit," as she pats the space next to her with a spare hand. "Let me see your arms. Tell me how you're feeling. It's been-- crazy, hasn't it? Fast. It's coming-- they're coming, soon." She scoots over a bit to make room for the much-larger Igenite, but otherwise keeps her focus centered on him, his strange apparel and braided hair not fazing her in the least. "I will sit," he intones with a ghost of a smile coiling at the corner of his mouth, "but only if you eat some of this." The plate is offered once he's close enough to offer it properly and, presuming it's taken, he casually descends into full kneel beside her. Once close enough, she'll be better able to spot the curious bits woven into his braid - charms of metal and bone, no doubt - though their particulars may yet be elusive. The glass is set aside and he offers up an arm for her examination, the skin strange and shiny - but healing. Also: liberally coated in some kind of Healer gunk that isn't wholly unpleasant-smelling. "Yes, he finally says to her questions. "But it always comes quickly at the end. This is nothing new." A shoulder rises. Falls. She is caught in his peripheral vision, his head tilted - just so - to keep her there. "The Hatching will feel as if it lasts an eternity - and, yet, it will be over in the blink of an eye." "Some of--" Farideh's eyes fall on the plate, skimming the selections, before her fingers do the same; she plucks up a roll of some sort and takes a bite without hesitation. It's around a cheek full of food that she mumbles, using her hand to shield her lips, "Have you stood before, then? At Igen? Did the dragons find you well?" She licks at the corners of her mouth before taking another bite, and turning the roll all around in a speculative sort of way. "Aren't you scared? Worried? I'm caught between excitement and anxiety. It will be my first time Standing, but-- the dragons, they say, can be mindless of what injury they do in their haste. Laine says we won't be mauled, and still--" Her straight posture slumps some and she squints towards the lake. There's plenty of finger-foods to pick from, at least. Zadkiel will take some kind of vegetable skewer and munches on it thoughtfully while she speaks. His answer, thus, is timed to fall between bites and chewing: "Since I was old enough to Stand, the dragons have called for me to do so. I have Stood at every clutch at Igen since." Another bite. More chewing. There's a faint hum-grunt - melodic in that odd way of his - for her concerns. At least it's not a dismissive sound. Merely contemplative. "No," he finally says. "I have done this knowing that it is out of my hands. Why should I worry about what I cannot control? The excitement, the anxiety-" he clicks his tongue. "It will not pass for a few days after. Remember to breathe." Finally, he turns to look properly at her, to fix her with that intensely green stare of his. "I have seen one or two mauled, but-" and, here, he reaches with a hand to press a palm to her shoulder. "The Candidates were careless. They did not pay attention. There will be many hatchlings and there are many of us. Just watch - and do not be afraid to step aside if a dragon comes running. If it seeks you, it will stop; else, it will keep going." "Really?" Farideh looks surprised by his words. "Have you stood for Niahvth's clutches before, then?" She looks contemplative after, listening to the other candidate silently, while she chews and mulls it over. "I'll try, but I can't promise that. Just have them cart me off the sands if I faint, though that would be an untimely setting to have the vapors," as she wrinkles her nose in distaste. She polishes off the rest of the roll and waves her hand holding the small cup of flavored ice. "It seems like it would be harder to do-- side-stepping a hungry, careless dragon." Her eyes flick to Zadkiel, reflective again, then back to the lake. "If you don't Impress, will you go back to Igen?" "I have." And that, punctuated by a long drink from his glass - water, it looks like - is that. Zadkiel grunts less-melodically this time. "You will be fine," is less a reassurance and more of a directive. "Else I'll leave you for them to snack from while they seek theirs." A joke? Surely it must be, since he looks away when he says it in an effort to mask the quirking of his mouth. "It would seem so," is a not-so-seamless transition to answering her not-quite-question about dodging hatchlings. "But it is easy enough. They aren't looking at you, usually. They're looking past you. They will not turn and bite like a tunnelsnake would." His attention momentarily slides to her again, only to move back - across the lake, as if tracking what she's looking at. "I will be returning to Igen regardless." Tension threads through his voice. "Regardless of what she has said about the deal." "That makes sense," is Farideh's quiet, distracted answer. To what is unsure, since she waits until he's finished speaking to say anything at all. "Will you? That's sad news, but I'm sure you'll be happier there, right? You'll have your feet in the sand and the sun overhead and--" She frowns, half-turning her face to eye him askance. "I don't know. It's hard to be a rider under Nimae and F'rain, I hear, though certainly F'rain's traditionalist values are to be commended." Her shoulders lift in an unknowing shrug, and she reverts to nibbling off the top of her red ice snack. "It will be odd, not having you around," she notes, at last. She's left to care for the plate. Zadkiel uncoils and rises to his feet, his glass held in the fingertips of one hand. "My family is there, Farideh. My blood is there. I've no quarrel with Nimae or F'rain - but I know that I am in the minority." One corner of his mouth twists, contorted by unreadable emotion. But, what words are there are replaced with something else. Her note is taken and responded to thus: "Will it." It's barely a question, simply left to hang there - to be answered or not, as she sees fit. There's a quick up-and-down glance, as he leaves her with the plate, but all Farideh does it shield her eyes with her free hand and stare upwards at the impossibly tall Zadkiel. "You're not the only one, but sometimes you have to make your own way in the world. Break from tradition. Break from-- and haven't you enjoyed your time? Haven't you enjoyed us?" That, too, is left to hang there, however he will, if he will, because she's just staring at him with eyes squinted against the light. It may well hang forever if he's left to it. Zadkiel says nothing more on the subject, his gaze hooded and dark. Yet, his eyes remain as intense as ever, fixed on her for a long, unblinking moment before, in the end, he releases a breath in a slow, near-soundless hiss. "Enjoy the rest of your day," is genuine, at least. And then he's off, ghosting his way to the Snowasis as only a hunter-turned-Candidate can. |
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