Logs:Dragons Are Impossible
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| RL Date: 19 January, 2012 |
| Who: Riorde, Sforzath, Evali, Yanijath |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Evali and Riorde chat; Sforzath and Yanijath do more than that. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Weather: A layer of patch clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today. |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, Emme/Mentions, Kiami/Mentions |
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| It's a nice quiet night for Evali, turning into quite the ideal; she's got a perch on a bench, a good view, a glass of wine, and a book. The book may not have much of anything /in/ it, and she is taking advantage of the parts of the iron bench that aren't occupied by other people to use it as a table. Setting the wine down, she picks up a piece of charcoal and starts to sketch the overhang's climber. Occasionally, she's been speaking aloud to Yanijath, who is visible down in the bowl, coloring hard to miss especially on an otherwise grey backdrop. "No, you cannot have wine. Still. It has not changed in the past ten minutes. Dragons do not drink alcohol. Yes, I do mean that." "Sforzath tried it." Riorde's troublemaking remark issues from behind, where she's stolen up to greet Evali with a cheeky grin. "Boo." The brunette's just stepped out from the Snowasis, carrying her own drink with her -- a mug though, not a glass, with steam rising from the contents therein. The light off the glows placed outside for the evening colors her cheeks strangely where color's risen: the mixed contribution of the change in temperature, inside-to-out; the flush from hot alcoholic drinks. "Did I get you? Did you hear me?" This seems important to Ri. "Yes," Evali replies, a mixture of startled surprise and welcoming good cheer all at once. "You win; you probably also want to sit?" Riorde does not apparently need to answer the question, though; Evali has already put the charcoal behind her ear (where a few strands of blonde hair are now more grey), picked up her glass and cleared off enough space for another person to fit. Yanijath, down in the bowl, flexes her wings. Maybe they'll let her come up there and taste it? What's that? Sforzath already did? How unfair! To Sforzath, Yanijath bubbles up and bubbles over in the brown's mind, curiosity overflowing in a mug resembling Evali's view of Riorde's, fuzz and staticky shapes where steam belongs. « What does it taste like? » she pries, firm and nosy and unashamed about her invasive, pushy questions. From up on his ledge, Sforzath's smoke and incense drift out, shifting in accordance to Yanijath's question. He picks out a remembrance of wine from Riorde's mind (he's forgotten) and offers it up for the green's delectation: dark and heady, velvet-smooth, a burgundy that touches on blood-red. The iron, metallic tang of blood's there, too, Sforzath's little addition. It matches the color after all. « There. Do you like it? » (Sforzath to Yanijath) "Good. I haven't lost it." Riorde smiles her satisfaction and, as soon as the space is cleared, drops into the seat alongside Evali. It occurs to her, "Unless you've lost it too." She sighs gustily, a reflection on that possibility, then leans in with little attention to personal space. She's angling for a view of the drawing, putting one arm over the back of the iron bench. "What've you got?" It's a fairly decent drawing, if also fairly boring; Evali certainly isn't attempting to hide it. "A spicy wine whose name I've forgotten; it pays to be friends with the vintner," she begins to explain, with a tiny smile, entirely tuning out Yanijath's commentary. "Unless you meant the notebook, in which case it is herbalry -- I figured you meant the drink. Speaking of, just how intoxicated are you?" It's not a judgemental statement; it's offered up with a head tilt and a light, friendly expression. She just wants to know. There is still nothing but good cheer and excitement in Yanijath -- but perhaps unfortunately for Sforzath, it has multiplied sevenfold. Everything. Is /wonderful/. Isn't it exciting? Because: « That was /amazing/, » she gushes, near vibrating with enthusiasm. She flickers out mental images of dancing and flying as if she's confused about how the two are meant to intertwine, if they are at all, but they, too, are things that are amazing, so shouldn't she share? « You get to taste all the good things. Evvy doesn't let me have her drinks. » (Yanijath to Sforzath) "I meant the drawing, but the wine's more interesting." Riorde's unapologetic and blunt, bordering on rude but without the intonation that would mark it as intentional. Her chin comes up quickly, and then the brownrider leans back and away from Evali, from her question, looking a bit startled -- if embarrassed. "I'm not. Not very, anyway. I don't think." How much of a judge she is for that, though-- well. "Sorry." "No need!" Evali is quick to offer reassurance -- and, if anything can be taken from her expression, guilt. "You are not bothering me; I was just wondering. I am /sure/ the wine is more interesting, there is not much going for the drawing. Some of the others are better --" Rather than continuing to speak, she offers out the notebook, switching her headtilt to the other direction. Eventually, she finishes, "If you wanted. There are some grapes, it may count for both." To Yanijath, Sforzath commiserates because, well, it's Yanijath, partner in crime, and even if he can't remember the specifics there's still the feeling of it. Co-conspiracy, a sly sort of pulse at the edge of perception. But /she/ feels it, surely. « Poor you. » A tease sung out, vowels stretched into sing-song. Yes, poor Yanijath indeed: she plays right into it, though it is obvious she's playing, hamming up the idea of her terrible suffering. « I only get to eat old herdbeasts, I have to sleep outside, » which is, of course, not true, and surely Sforzath knows it, « she does not put colors on my talons like she does on hers! I am miserable. It is so hard to be me! » (Yanijath to Sforzath) When Riorde settles back, taking the notebook, there's a studied way in which she doesn't impinge on Evali's territory and get /too/ close, an unspoken over-consciousness normally absent. She puts the mug between her thighs so there's both hands free to flip the pages, even if it's only out of politeness. "You're good. These are good." She pauses on a picture of some delicately leafy plant that she doesn't recognise, and looks sidelong at her clutchmate, sheepish. "I might be a little drunk. It's Glacier -- they never stop." Unable to help herself, Evali giggles at that confession -- and then immediately looks half-embarrassed, half-guilty again for her reaction. "Trying to break you in?" she asks, moving fallen hair from her face for the thousandth time that day. "Or is it a wing requirement? To always be drunk. Snowdrift likes that I garden," she adds, as if sitting there and sketching with a glass of wine is doing wing duty. "And I -- suppose? I have a lot of time to practice, now. Not so many chores." And so unlike home, where there was always washing for her, goes unsaid. The beat quickens: a drum, a heart, the throb of blood in the veins. « Poor you. What are you going to do about it? » The challenge is subtle, lingering around the edges, couched in what sounds like an honest question. (Sforzath to Yanijath) "A bit of both, I think. It's like that anyway, but there's the whole new girl thing. Does Snowdrift have that?" Riorde balances the notebook on her knee, still on the same picture, and picks up her mug once more. Getting caught out as being not-quite-sober apparently hasn't cowed her enough to forgo the mulled wine. "Yeah," she agrees, head tilting away as she subjects Evali to a thoughtful look. "It's different now. Funny not seeing you lot as much anymore, you know." To Sforzath, Yanijath is mystified; she's caught in Sforzath's rhythm, but has no complaints. « I can do something about it? » is her first answer, bold statement not considering the fact he is taking her to task. « I complain. And I talk and talk and talk and talk and talk while she works! It gets me oiled, when I do that. » "At least nobody lives too far away." Evali's voice is distant for a moment; likely, she's thinking of her brother, and how long it's been since she slept with her head in his lap. It's a memory that never fades, and Yanijath so often asks to meet him -- but she forces it away, and doesn't speak of it. "If you like the drawings, you are always welcome to see the garden. On my ledge. It changes often enough it is really worth multiple visits." There was a question there, and after another sip of wine Evali remembers to answer it. "There is some. Discomfort with new people, discomfort with islanders. But Mielline likes me all right, and I have Emme with me during drills." « Sure. » Sforzath's breezy answer sweetens his incense to the point that it's almost, almost cloying, leavened with a hint of sandalwood. « You can't just talk. You have to Do. » No specificity to this ideal of action, just an impulse of motion. Flight's there in the stirring of wind over and under the wings, and again his take on the taste of wine, all thick and hot. « If she doesn't let you, you should take it. » (Sforzath to Yanijath) To Sforzath, Yanijath is clearly thinking about it; the shared mental image is that of her joining the humans on the ledge, pushing her muzzle into Evali's glass, dipping her tongue in. Inside Yanijath's mind, there is plenty of space for her there, and she should have no trouble drinking from that glass. « You are very wise, Sforzath. I would think you were older than me if I didn't know better! » They've been too close, these exiles, not to be attuned to each other's moods. Studying Evali in that moment brings a shadow to Riorde's expression, and she looks away, out to the darkness gathering in the Bowl. "That's good," she says, distant herself before forcing out a smile. "Sure, I'd like that sometime. I saw it when we were all looking, but it's all a blur now, you know? And I bet it's different now that you live there anyway." Evali nods, gesturing at the picture Riorde's had open. "It looks like that, now? I mean. Not just the one plant. But that is mine." Some of the sadness passes; she's got to smile, what with her pride for the plants, and it almost makes her forget how much she misses Devaki, and how not too long ago she lost a sister. Yanijath, of course, helps, forcing those thoughts out and replacing them with the idea that Evali wants to give her wine. "And dragons are impossible," she adds, with an affectionate sigh. "Is it?" Riorde looks down at the notebook again with the abstracted air of having nearly forgotten about it. She passes it back, still open with her thumb marking the place. "What?" Her gaze narrows with sudden suspicion and a frown, that despite being turned on Evali with the way Riorde faces, isn't actually directed at her. "Sforzath." The name comes out as a warning, aloud for Evali's sake, as she pays heed to the consciousness she's learned to push to the back of her mind. "He's doing-- something. To Yanijath. Sorry," she apologises a second time; her turn to look guilty. "Weyrlingmasters had a reason to keep them apart, didn't they." To Yanijath, Sforzath quickens with delight, though there's also a small sense of disappointment in the way that the honeyed sweetness falls away. « I know. » No false modesty. « I have good ideas. » "For the safety of the other weyrlings," is Evali's conclusion, there; she's still smiling, and repeats, "No need. To be sorry. She asks for it, and you cannot mind every move he makes or you would go insane." While she seems exasperated, it is only that, and only with Yanijath. "He isn't bothering us; she is only being herself. And she likes him, so she'll be easily influenced. She is just as much trouble on her own, I promise." In the bowl, Yanijath seems to be considering taking off. Stops. Flaps her wings. Stops. "I think she is also figuring out she cannot comfortably fit here." « Yes. » Yanijath has her own discordant harmony to add to the beat, though it is tempered with the irritation of finding that there is really no way to steal Evali's glass without getting tangled up in furniture. What a pristine disappointment that is. She is grasping at metaphorical threads for a good idea (though, if offered, would happily tug on real ones) and seems to come up with one out of nowhere: « I do too! Like -- we should race. » Right now. And buzz Evali and Riorde. (Yanijath to Sforzath) The guilt eases, and she grins back at Evali, though wariness hasn't abated from her expression. "Guess you're right." Riorde takes the out offered, but still looks up in the direction her weyr and Sforzath's ledge lies, playing with the end of a piece of her hair. In the dark and the shadowed glowlight, maybe Evali will miss how she flushes for a second time. "Not without knocking over the tables. Guess it depends on how destructive she's feeling." "Thankfully," says Evali, after a brief assessment of Yanijath's generally unclear mental state, "not very, at the moment. She seems more interested in flying." There's an awkward beat, as Evali pauses and rephrases, "I mean literally. Not euphemistically. Although I suppose it is not a euphemism so much as simplification, and part of me wishes she /would/ get on with it." While always bright as a dragon can be, Yanijath has still shown no signs of glowing. Now who's flushing? That would be Evali, if not them both. This, Sforzath latches onto with whole-hearted enthusiasm (or nearly; there's still the faintest of disgruntlements lingering on, sulphuric). On his ledge overlooking the queens' weyrs, he spreads his wings and pushes off, dropping quickly before leveling out to soar, and then to pick up speed, and then: « Quick: now! » A picture of the heights forms the rest of his suggestion. (Sforzath to Yanijath) "Well, when she's ready," Riorde says diplomatically -- or noncommittally. Her shoulders relax however, and she leans back, resuming the stance she'd settled into when she first sat down on the bench, except that this time it's the other elbow that's propped up on the back, to the far side. "Yeah. The waiting'll get to you. Sforzath hasn't chased anything, except for the time with Rielsath, but that was only because all the others were. Didn't want to be left out. He looks, though, so I keep thinking he'll go up after some green -- and then he doesn't." Evali opens her mouth -- and that is as far as Evali gets, as Yanijath is definitely meeting Sforzath's challenge. Finished with talking about it, she shoots up from the bowl, circles, and buzzes just as close to over the riders' heads as she can possibly do without crashing into anything. Which, of course, startles Evali right out of being able to speak ... and into spilling the wine she'd just taken a sip of down the front of her white blouse. "/Yanijath!/" she hisses, noisily, but the dragon is already gone before she can even hear her rider's admonition -- shooting like a dart after Sforzath. She'll talk later, she has to catch up! "Well," Evali sighs. "I think I have to go change." Riorde flinches, ducking her head and looking up as Yanijath passes close overhead. Her drink sloshes too, but it's back between her knees and her trousers are already stained from oil. "Shit. /Sforzath!/" She's louder than Evali was, blaming her own dragon even though he's left the buzzing to the green and is instead intending on a flight that cuts close around and through the Spires, testing them both. "Yeah. Okay. See you later, yeah?" "Come by sometime, see the plants," Evali offers, despite having no clue of Riorde's actual interest in plants -- she just likes having company. "Hopefully we won't end up with another surprise race, or at least it'll be a little less dangerous." Despite the situation, Evali does seem amused by the dragons' antics. A little. She stands, giving Riorde another smile and a tiny wave, and then it's off into the bar to hand over the empty glass and to the greenhouse where she's left an extra jacket. Someday, Yanijath might even come back to take her to their weyr. |
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