Logs:Ysavaeth's Influence
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 21 April, 2012 |
| Who: Iolene, K'del |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Ysavaeth has plans, and Iolene is her pawn. So, in the end, are K'del and Cadejoth. |
| Where: Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Tiriana/Mentions |
  |
| High Reaches has produced a series of perfect summer days, and the Weyr has been making the most of them. Today's dreamy, sultry afternoon finds K'del sitting up on the diving cliff with his legs hanging off the edge, observing adults, children and dragons alike in the lake below. Surprisingly, he's quite alone, though whether that's because his presence has scared off any other potential cliff-jumpers, or if it's another reason entirely, it's difficult to know. Bare-chested, wearing his swimming shorts, the Weyrleader holds on to the cliff with both hands. Time and age haven't diminished the veneer of a child's joy and innocence that makes up so much of who Iolene appears to be. There's a shriek of laughter as a beat of golden wings overhead brings with it a breeze up towards the cliff, and then the patter of bare feet. She's a blur of uncovered limbs, a flash of turquoise about her torso, and golden hair as she rushes past the seated K'del and leaps, arms instantly wrapping about her knees for a splash-worthy cannonball. Indulgent, whether for the weather or other reasons, Ysavaeth's low flight skims over the Weyrleader's head before it angles towards a ledge on the otherside of the lake. K'del is caught up in his thoughts, it's true, but not so much that he doesn't turn his head to watch as Iolene blurs past - and again, to watch after Ysavaeth, after he's ducked, however needlessly, to avoid her low flight. It's Cadejoth that reaches out, distracting himself only partially from the climbing-and-jumping-structure he's made himself into for the children, and remarking, to the queen, « He says she seems happy. That's good! You look well. It's a beautiful day, isn't it? The sunshine-- » His mental chains gleam with it, jingling merrily as he shares his enthusiasm. K'del's attention turns back towards the water, the bronzerider seeking Iolene's resurface with thoughtful eyes. It takes a while for the young goldrider to fling herself out of the water again, thrown blonde hair scattering water beads over a group of more leisurely swimmers and garnering /looks/ that then melt away at more laughter from Iolene. Quick strokes take the young woman back to the shore, where she's quick to tweak a little boy's cheek and tug a little girl's pigtail before she's sauntering back to the windy path up the diving cliffs. « It's easy to be happy on days like this, » opines Ysavaeth in a youthful voice not quite hers, as if channeling her rider for the briefest of moments before the crystalline clarity of her touch returns. She, if not her rider, is quite grown up, thankyouverymuch. « I am always well, » in the half-beat of silence that follows, a lingering quality carries over -- a thought not quite finished -- that concludes momentarily with an arch, daring little, « Cadejoth, » as if by speaking his name, she might be overreaching her station. « Ysavaeth, » returns the bronze, tasting her name and, too, teasing her with it - though if it was an overreach, it's not one he's noticed or cared about. « Of course you are, » he continues, in full, ringing agreement and only a faint hint of that metallic mesh that binds them all together: she's part of what's his, and therefore she must be well. A smile plays on K'del's expression as he tracks Iolene's progress, most particularly for the tweaking and the tugging. By the time she's made it back up the cliff, however, he's turned, watching for her so that, once she's within range, he can say, "Iolene. Hey. Beautiful day, isn't it." She's still sauntering as she makes her approach, perhaps schooled by the sudden lift of Ysavaeth's head and regal set to her arced neck. Iolene's own chin lifts just a touch more and her shoulders roll backwards, a little awkward and uncomfortable, before reflexively rolling back. A smile creases her face as she lifts a hand to K'del. "Ysavaeth," of course, "Told me I just ran by you earlier and I should apologize, but I told her you probably didn't mind anyway that I was sure you weren't doing any heavy thinking up here on a day like this. Were you?" The threat of admonishment teases in her voice. And in Cadejoth's head, shared particularly with the bronze, exudes a little sigh; a sign of exasperated 'giving up' that does nothing to conceal the indulgent affection the dragon has for her rider. It's not in words, per se, but definitely shared in her lingering touch: What are we going to do about her? "Nothing too heavy, no," K'del assures Iolene with a smile that speaks rather more loudly of relaxation and casual contemplation than any serious thinking. "It's fine. Looked like you were - are, I guess - having fun." He's certainly not displaying any particularly Weyrleaderly traits right now, and nor, truthfully, is Cadejoth. « She is who she is, » is the bronze's opinion. « He enjoys that. Her. And she's young. They grow up more slowly than we do, but they do grow up. He did. » Some, of course, would argue that Cadejoth never did, but there's authority in his touch despite superficial playfulness that culminates in: « Life's too short not to enjoy it. » The silent link shifts from rhetoric to intrigued, as if a mental eyebrow were arcing at Cadejoth's acceptance and appraisal of who her rider is, but beyond that, the conveyance of his rider's opinion. "But you were thinking?" Iolene heaves a heavy, if comical, sigh and shakes her head. "Really, K'del? Really?" Lanky limbs fold onto the ground next to the bronzerider and her legs stretch out, hovering in the air and then falls to dangle alongside K'del's. Of course they swing, hitting heel against the rock wall. This is Iolene, after all. "A kiss for your thoughts." And that silence? It's still there, waiting and watchful for not just the dragon's reaction to this, but the rider's through dragon. Cadejoth is clearly unconcerned by Ysavaeth's reaction to his words, extending instead a wave of contentedness that mimics the wave he's sending through the lake through a happy wag of his tail. The yells of laughter from far below don't draw K'del's attention away from Iolene, not while he's shifting position to glance sidelong at her as she sits, his mouth twisting amusedly in response to her words. Cadejoth hovers, silently, as watchful as Ysavaeth is and, for once, holding his thoughts close. K'del takes a quiet, half-teasing approach: "Kisses as currency, now? Come on, then. Better make it worthwhile; not sure the thoughts are worth that much." A flush, the summer heat, touches Iolene's cheeks and she pulls back long enough for those dark blue eyes to seek out Ysavaeth. The young queen, on her perch across the lake, is a distant glimmer of gold to the unlinked eye, but for Iolene, the quizzical cast of her eyes stills, recedes, and returns to study K'del. A surreptitious hop of her bottom takes her one scoot away from the Weyrleader, but the affable set of her features returns. "I'll be the judge of whether your thoughts are worth a kiss. I'm a good kisser, I'll have you know." There's a note of bluster in the teenager's voice; that youthful pride inflating her skills. « So young, » is Ysavaeth's narrow bandwith observations to Cadejoth. But young isn't so bad, the wearied inflection of the equally young queen's voice at odds with a myriad flicker of images that pass from her to him: the curve of an inner thigh, the arc of a slim back, the hint of a desirous smile, and the sunlight haloing ever-golden hair. K'del is too cautious, after last time, to miss that flush - or that pulling back, and the glance to Ysavaeth. But he's not going anywhere, and when her gaze returns to him, his is there to meet hers with only the faintest raise of an eyebrow. "In that case," he says, his tone a study in cheerful laziness, "I was thinking about my boys, mostly. How lucky they are. How lucky I am, having them. Soppy, right? And not all that interesting. Worth that kiss, though?" He's shifted his upper body to face her, now, one hand in a fist on his bare knee, the other propping himself up on the cliff. It's likely that Cadejoth is sharing those images, given his exhale, and the bronze, too, sends a shiver through his chains to Ysavaeth alone. « Young, » he agrees, and no, he's not seeing it as a downside. That? That is not an answer a girl under the age of twenty really wants to hear and such disappointment is noted in the dubious set to Iolene's brows and the twitch of her nose. If that wasn't enough, it manifests further in her, "Oh," that is a co-mingling of wistful and resigned. She really did want that kiss after all, but frank is frank, and Io has to answer with a shake of her head, "Not really. We can try again some other time." The dragon half of the pair also exudes disappointment and healthy amount of sulkiness, as those sultry images blur by an increased sunlight backdrop, the kind that makes images hazy and hard to pick out. The smile disappears and golden hair blends in with that flash of sunlit brilliance. K'del, killer of fun, does seem genuinely apologetic - not to mention abashed. "Why don't I lie, and try again? What if I tell you I was ogling some of the girls down there; would that be better?" He doesn't wait for an answer, though, not when he can exhale lengthily and admit, "Guess I'm not really as much fun as I'd like to be, at the moment. Too much on my mind." Despite the pretty day. Cadejoth's reaction is to sad-puppy, his chains clanging to a halt and shivering in a far less sensual way, now: rather more like a downcast tail, drooping and confused. Despite that, he sends a spark down the length of it, zinging towards Ysavaeth in a way that suggests - well, even if my rider is a moron, I'm still fun. Is Iolene mollified? The downward cast of her gaze to watch wiggling toes has caused her long hair to curtain about her expression. And the twitch of a kinder, less relentlessly bright, sunlight might indicate such a slight change, or just be Ysavaeth's sole reaction to Cadejoth's sparks, for shortly, there's a responding clank of mimicking chains long disused that clang just beneath the softest melody of bells. The song that slowly grows in volume in the bronze's mind is followed by a beat of wings that lifts the young queen aloft, with pinions thrown wide as Ysavaeth's arced form embraces the sky. Io's chin lifts, her gaze training to her soaring dragon, and a hand reaches up to tuck back a lock of hair. "Is it very hard...? Being Weyrleader?" A quarter beat that's not even a breath long passes before an addition joins her words. "Being her Weyrleader?" Cadejoth's head rises out of the lake water to watch Ysavaeth, as she lifts off; now, his clanging gains a rattle, and that spark continues to dart around it, zinging from one end to another as it reaches out towards the queen-in-flight. Added to that percussive music between them is the thwack of his tail against the water, sending another shudder of glee through the assembled children. K'del, too, watches Ysavaeth, and then seeks out his own dragon below; focusing on them means he doesn't look at Iolene as she asks her question, though his sucked in breath is indicative of his response to come. "It can be," he confirms, quietly. "When things go wrong, or threaten to go wrong, it can be awfully hard. And Tiriana and I - we do things differently. It doesn't always work. Sure, it's hard. Just have to do our best, though." A hand gets put backwards, leaned on as Iolene turns her head so her chin rests ontop of some errant hairs and her bare shoulder. The slant of her body shifts towards K'del -- a K'del watching his dragon and the children below -- and the question Io poses is a mixture of her trademark naivety and something a little less so. There's a certain watchful patience in that low, directed voice of hers. "Some day, would you be my Weyrleader?" Above, the Reaches' youngest queen sweeps her angled body through the skies, her curved talons unsheathed in their pearlescent white gold. As the summer sun casts its light across her body, particular hints of the rosy aureate and touches of crimson seem heightened, almost pulsating with a life of their own and to the trained eye and the minds Ysavaeth chooses to brush against, there's a much more defined sense of just what that watchful patience of rider and dragon shields: primal desires. Body. Sensuality. Power. K'del has turned his attention back to Cadejoth too soon to really notice Ysavaeth - though the bronze himself has certainly missed nothing. Lifting his gaze, turning his head, K'del regards Iolene in a thoughtfully bemused kind of way, sucking in a breath before he answers. His words are quiet, but apparently genuine, when he says, "If that's the way events unfolded - of course." Below, Cadejoth emerges from the lake like a green-bronze kraken, rising up until water is streaming off of him and flooding over the playing children. Thankfully, they're all good swimmers; thankfully, the older ones are careful of the younger ones. A powerful push from back legs arching into the deeps sends him into the air, even as he's reaching out, mentally, for Ysavaeth once more: that spark is threatening to turn into more. "Cadejoth?" says K'del, surprised. "You could hel-," but her words cut off when Cadejoth lifts from the water and a sharper gleam casts her eyes upwards to Ysavaeth. Iolene dares, hand reaching across to set atop the Weyrleader's shoulder, fingers inching to curl about his neck. In response to his call to his dragon, the queen's rider utters, "K'del," at the same time Ysavaeth consents to that spark invading her thoughts. It's a welcome addition to her own warmth and her flight takes on a more prancing flavor, a dance that takes her to the other side of the bowl to wait, with swishing tail and backwardly curved neck: flirtatious, but controlled. "You could help. Help me. Help us." Iolene's fingers, taught something in the years of mainland Weyr living, caress promises along the back of K'del's neck and down his spine. The sun is warm, but Iolene's hand draws goosebumps down K'del's skin - a little shiver that is not entirely unlike that one that ran, not so long ago, through Cadejoth. It's enough to focus K'del's attention unwaveringly on Iolene, though his brows knit on receipt of her words. Above, Cadejoth's flight is neither focused and intent, nor truly indolent; he's following Ysavaeth, that much is certain, but seems content at the same time to enjoy the low winds of the afternoon, and to stretch out his wings and share the freedom of his flight. He's showing off, of course, in that and in the images he extends: the two of them, bronze-and-gold, sparks. "How?" K'del's question is quiet. A dam's ice is nowhere present in the summer air that permeates Ysavaeth's thoughts, that ripples over her physically and descends towards Cadejoth's low flight to bathe his mind in warmth and the lusty promise of something more delightful and long-lasting. She holds her pattern in the air above those low winds. "It's time to make me your Weyrwoman." It could totally be the lower case version of the word, the mere title rather than the rank, but something the offset beat and the emphasis placed into the word implies otherwise. With absolute faith, and those fingers that play at the waistband of K'del's swim shorts. "You could do it." "I could--" Oh K'del. Has it really been so long since he engaged in active flirtation that he's missed so much? Not that he jumps away from Iolene's hand. Not that he denies what she's said, and withdraws to make explanations, refusals, anything. Perhaps it's that Ysavaeth's promises have turned Cadejoth's mind to the hot-bed of a pre-storm heaviness, and that it has seeped through - because K'del, perhaps ignoring implications altogether, does nothing but lean in to kiss the goldrider. Above, Cadejoth has slowed his wingbeats to allow for an ongoing glide, reaching upwards towards the queen while maintaining carefully measured distance. For now. « You could, » floats the quietest bell-touched whisper on a humid summer breeze. You could... catch her. Make it all happen. Bask in the warm glow of affection and a loving sensuality all the time. Her mental touch might be feather light by this point, in spite of that radiant light, but Ysavaeth, queen of summer, gaps the distance between herself and Cadejoth with swift directness, sweeping downwards to feint being caught. Her limbs brush against his in her equally careful flight, dismissing his concern for measured distance with a tail that briefly entraps his before she's floating past him towards the ground. A startled, "Oh," is all that escapes Iolene before K'del's kiss claims her lips, after which she's all supple body, that presses in closer, and eager limbs, that wrap, trap, and tighten. Her second, "Oh," exhales longer and contains a miserable note. "Ysavaeth says later. Soon. Please?" Though it's questionable who that entreaty is for: her dragon to relent, or for K'del to ignore a dragon's control. Cadejoth could. And now - now, with Ysavaeth so warm and bright, and Iovniath's chill nowhere to be found, there's nothing to stand between him and his yearning. He'd probably try and prolong that contact between them, but she floats past, and for all he changes his course, he doesn't join her on the ground. « Ysavaeth, » is his whisper, almost non-verbal given the way he expresses it: Ysavaeth. It takes K'del a moment to respond to Iolene's words, for by then his fingers are in her hair and his body-- but he pulls back, escaping a breath long before he can say: "Why should she-- Iolene." Because he suddenly looks more concerned, for all that his untangling hand seeks to push hair away from her face, and linger on her skin. "Is it Ysavaeth, Iolene? Or you? Or both." For her dragon, Iolene can't speak. For herself, his questions only elicit a flutter of lashes and then closed eyes as her face falls to rest into his hands in her hair and her body relaxes limp into his frame. "You're so stupid," is the mumble into his shoulder. "If you don't know the answer to that." Or at least part of that. Ysavaeth alights onto her ledge, dropping her wings about her body and looking up to where she's left Cadejoth in flight. And somewhere, wherever her dam might be, there's the faintest trickle of a playful sunbeam, warm and steadfast, dancing atop Iovniath's ice. In lieu of an immediate verbal answer, K'del presses a kiss to Iolene's head, his arms wrapped tight around her. "I know," he murmurs into her hair, the words muffled but not incomprehensible. "I'm sorry." Blue eyes lift, staring out over the lake below, and now, his expression is both desperate and concerned - and just maybe, around the edges, a little bit resigned. Ysavaeth's ploy has worked, and while saner minds may recognise pitfalls, the bronzerider - the Weyrleader - is going nowhere. Above, Cadejoth turns away from the young queen, seeking out higher altitudes and stiffer breezes; alone. And still warm.
CommentsEvali (Evali) left a comment on Sun, 22 Apr 2012 18:22:09 GMT.
|
Comments
Evali (Evali) left a comment on Sun, 22 Apr 2012 18:22:09 GMT.
This. was. amazing.
Evali (Evali) left a comment on Sun, 22 Apr 2012 18:22:12 GMT.
This. was. amazing.
Leave A Comment