Logs:Apology Gifts and Exploding Wherries
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| RL Date: 13 August, 2015 |
| Who: Alida, Z'kiel, Ilicaeth, }Ahtzudaeth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Z'kiel keeps a promise to Alida (and Pyrite), while Ilicaeth and Ahtzudaeth trade stories (some about explosive animals). |
| Where: HRW: Rest & Relaxation Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 7, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: 76 F; Warm sunshine and cloudless skies make for a beautiful day and pleasantly warm evening. A breeze tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air. |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Kasdeja/Mentions, Laine/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, T'mic/Mentions |
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| « Ilicaeth, » is a bright greeting, motes of dust swirling in mirrored light. Ahtzudaeth's good nature shines through an enigmatic scrim of tobacco smoke, « May we visit? » It's only if the affirmative is given that the bronze will backwing to a neat landing on that ledge, leaving his rider to tend to the particulars of unbuckling and removing his helmet and all of that. He's a good rider; never without his riding leathers or straps, even for what might have been a short flight - save for the fact that there's still a fair bit of sand in the creases of his gear. This sand scatters itself on the ledge and is duly swept away by Ahtzudaeth once his rider's in the clear. As for Z'kiel, he removes a large bag from the carrying straps and shoulders it while he considers the entrance of the weyr. The blue's usual gritty, Igen sandswirl is muted, given he's just barely waking up from a post-dinner nap on his ledge, Ilicaeth indolently sunning himself on his broad ledge. Still, he's genial enough as his mind rubs away the Sandman from his mental eyes, a huge yawn followed quickly enough by his baritone-rasped rumble of, « Just a sec... » A pause of those requested, few seconds has him returning in a puff of mica, dust, and grit - tinged with easy humor - with « Yep... 'S long as ya' got somethin' interestin' ta tell me about. » Wink. It's almost purely jocular - he doesn't totally expect Ahtzudaeth to regale him with information or tales - but it'd be *nice*. When the young bronze and his rider arrive, there's easily enough room for not only a landing, but also for Ahtzu to flop down, as well, if he so wishes. It's so deliciously warm on the worn granite. Not many seconds later, Alida appears from farther inside their weyr, the woman likewise dressed in her riding leathers, though sans heavy boots, jacket, and helmet. Instead, her athletic form sports a wheat-colored tank-top, feet bare as they pat with nary a sound upon rock. Z'kiel's eyeing of the tunnel-like entrance is met with a small flash of green eyes, and a faintly-smirked, "I dun' bite. Much." A jerk of her chin towards the weyr indicates he should follow the blonde 'monster,' if he dares, even as Ilicaeth chuffs a draconic greeting to the former Igenite. « As it turns out, I did bear witness to a fascinating incident at Igen Weyr mere moments ago, » the bronze muses. But, of course, that tale will just have to wait until he's situated on the ledge in a polite posture - and Z'kiel's faced with the blonde's weyr. Ahtzudaeth gently prods between his rider's shoulders with the back of a talon, which earns the bronze a dark look from the man. What's worse is the shooing gesture that the bronze gives; it gets him an even more grim look, one that sets the bronze's maw to gaping in a grin. The gesture isn't necessary, but it does what it was intended to do: to get him in motion. "Not afraid of bites," is his reply, deadpan as it is. "Besides, what I've got should protect me plenty from that." He pats the bag with a gloved hand - then removes the gloves and works on loosening his jacket just to breathe a little. He presses on after Alida as she leads the way, leaving Ahtzudaeth to continue with a chortled, « Have you ever seen a wherry explode? » « *Do* tell... » Ilicaeth notes with interest and humor combined, his angular, granite-like body (aside from his twitching tail) remaining still even as his head and neck shift enough to allow him ample opportunity to view both man and bronze...and his own lifemate. There's a low rumble of humor as faceted green eyes spin up to a merry azure when Ahtzudaeth gape-grins...the expression calling up one much like it from Ilicaeth. The feeling he projects is all 'Duuuude!' in its fond intensity at finding (more like remembering) that there's *another* dragon who can and does 'grin' like he does...'caeth dropping his mouth open to show teeth in his own....just like Alida...who's now snorting at her 'partner.' That prodding of the bronze's to his rider's back earns a low blurt of easy laughter - not mocking, merely amused - from Alida, who merely nods at Z'kiel's response, then looking over her shoulder at him as he speaks up again while she leads the way inside. "Come ta pay yer respects ta Pyrite after scarin' 'er silly ass?" is quipped about a grin - toothy and bright, much like Ilicaeth's, if somewhat less innately terrifying. "Little twerp's off makin' snugs with 'er favorite boy." Inside her part of the weyr, the woman pads over on light, graceful feet towards the low-stoked hearth, mumbling in her clipped, fast alto, "Tea?" As for the blue dragon outside, *he's* suddenly showing Ahtzudaeth lots of mental images of what he's seen animals 'do' over the Turns: a wherry running around headless after some green bit it off; a brown who landed on a herdbeast with lots of forward motion, thusly making the poor beast 'squish' apart messily; a wild wher that he once had to 'squish' under foot down south to protect his rider. Ick. Heh. Oh ho! His gaped grin just gets wider for the sight of the blue's own. Delight! There is a palpable sense of pleasure about it, a radiant warmth that fizzes with an effervescence that permeates his words all the more. « Well, it was that brown's fault for taunting the green, » comes the partial explanation. « He really shouldn't have interrupted her blooding so. She flung the wherry right at him and- » Ahtzudaeth's mirrors reflect the visual in sharp detail, of a fat wherry exploding into feathers and gore when it hits a particularly dark brown dragon. The rest of the flight chaos is muted; disinterest made manifest. "Said I would," Z'kiel replies with a low, oddly musical grunt. He'll ignore the laughter - amused or otherwise - and presses on instead with his usual bullishness. "And I got you a few things while I was at it." He adjusts the hang of the bag and, once inside, he sets it on the nearest chair that he can. Hnnnh. "She fly well?" Seems he's heard - but, then, the rumor mill in Weyrs is pretty efficient, doubly so with a dragon like Ahtzudaeth. The offer of tea is considered and he nods, but only after a moment's hesitation. "I'll try it, sure." And, while that's dealt with, he'll start to unpack the bag. As for the dragon half? Oh, he's enthralled. Not for the gory nature of it, of course, but mostly because of the stories that are attached. Or, at least, the stories he's able to spin, if none are given. In either case, he listens, such as it is, and sends back images of his own, if less eventful, animal encounters. And at least one involving Z'kiel and tunnelsnakes - alas, with no squishing action. Lamentation. Ceeeeewl! That's Ilicaeth's sentiment as the bronze shows him the gorey wherry splatter incident, the blue apparently the warrior-type who tends to viscerally 'enjoy' such sights. « Got what 'e deserved... » is nodded to Ahtzudaeth, the blue lightly dipping into his lifemate's memories to see what he can find, and pulling up an Alida's-eye-view image of himself hurling the blood-drained carcass of a herdbeast at a fellow chaser as they were about ready to hurl themselves after a rising green. Sneaky bastard. And there's that huge Ilicaeth gape-grin again! Heh. Inside, there's a nod and a low grunt of her own to answer Z'kiel's grunted affirmation, the woman pouring out heated water as he continues speaking, then applying a little, spring-loaded device (a strainer) she fills with some fragrant peppermint tea leaves as the ceramic cup is allowed to steep. As the weyrling unpacks the satchel, Alida pads over to offer him the large mug, her curious green gaze seeking to get peeks at what the young man pulls from within his bag. On her way over is murmured, "Better'n 'er first. Interval, though, so she'll likely poot out a smaller amount of eggs." Shrug. Just like the dragons. Observing the sand on Z'kiel's leathers, the guard inquires casually, "Good bein' back in the desert?" Outside, if Ahtzudaeth enjoys stories, Ilicaeth's fully able to regail him with tales, the blue spinning out various things he's seen and done (that only Alida fully remembers, likely) over the Turns, even if the images and sensations shared are fragmented or abruptly stopped/started. Such is the transient nature of most draconic memory. One of his favorites is the first time they visited the heart of Igen's great desert, the flying pair scouring the skies for hours before randomly finding some rock outcroppings and a tiny oasis of water and plant life within their protective embrace. His pleasure in that discovery - and in being able to *see* the desert himself - was great. Scandal! Salaciousness! And, yet, all of that is met with a great, deep chortle - both physical and mental - as Ahtzudaeth settles in to listen/observe. There's a very peculiar sense to it all, not unlike the notion that, were he human, he'd be puffing away on a pipe and seated in a rocking chair of some sort. Very odd, very odd indeed. Within, Z'kiel finally removes four large, paper-wrapped parcels - each about the size of a thick book - and cinches the bag shut. Each parcel is labeled in what is surely someone else's handwriting; there's no way the bronzerider's figured out calligraphy. 'Dragonfire', 'Rukbat', 'Sticky', and 'Plain' are the options. "S'what I hear," he replies. "You sell 'em? I know the traders do that from time to time, if they have eggs." And then the question comes and he straightens, jaw flexing for a beat. "Good being there, yeah. Better being back, though. Better company." The packages are laid out for Alida to study at her leisure; opening them will yield four obviously different varieties of jerky, with fat grains of pepper for Dragonfire, streaks of some reddish sauce for the Rukbat, a slight gloss on the Sticky, and, well. Plain is just that. Boring old unflavored jerky. Outside again, Ahtzudaeth revels in all of it. He encourages it, even, gently prodding here and there for details if he suspects there might be more. It's the sight of the desert in all of its expansive glory that elicits the mental equivalent of a nod - and a reflection of the same, from his perspective. With some finagling, he's able to make it almost line up. « Ah, there! There. » It might be a different oasis and different rocks, but - it still works for him. The sense Ilicaeth gives off as he companionably chats and shares tales with Ahtzudaeth is rather like that of the adventursome hunter one might have seen on old Earth, or a safari guide through Africa. This is a *great* way to pass a rare and lazy early evening! Inside, those parcels Zak unveils bring a slow little grin to Alida's features as she takes note of the labels. "I do, if I like the people that're lookin' ta acquire one." Apparently, the hard woman can be rather choosey. "Smells *good*..." 'lida's alto then notes eagerly of the jerky, though her green gaze is on that twitch of jaw the weyrling emits. Into the pause in coversation her stomach emits a loud growl, the bluerider's vert eyes rolling ceiling-ward for a moment. "Ain't had dinner yet; gotta be careful." With a quick look at the young man to make sure he's ready for her to dive in, the woman reaches immediately for the 'Dragonfire,' opening it up and breaking a small strip of it off, nipping into a corner. She's brave...but not foolhardy enough to take a big bite. As she awaits the effects on her mouth, chewing briskly, the bluie nods just a hint at her guest's response. Unbidden: "True what they say: Ya can't ever go home." Is her mouth on fire yet? "Watch out; this damned place's got a way uv' holdin' on ta even the unwilling." Nose-wrinkle. On the ledge, Ilicaeth's mind takes that adaptation of the bronze's mind of the tiny oasis with a blurt of genial, « You should show us yers, if ya have good coordinates. » It's always nice to have hangouts when one wants to get away from others...even their own lifemates, sometimes. And then, rather suddenly, their 'game' of adding little flourishes to one anothers' images makes him remember someone else who he often did such with...and Ilicaeth tries to constrain a surge of loss and sadness that colors his once-blue eyes with large streaks of grey. He'll keep as much of it from the still-growing weyrling as he can, but its still bleeds through a little. There are few better ways to spend some spare time, that's for certain! On the talk of firelizard eggs, he manages only a thoughtful sound. "Thought about it once, turns ago. Wasn't sure what I'd want one for; still wouldn't have an idea. He might," but the ambivalence remains. Thoughtful, but still ambivalent. While Ahtzudaeth gets further settled in, Z'kiel cuts a glance to the tea with an unreadable expression. It can wait; the more important thing is gauging the bluerider's reaction. "Best jerky I can get. Kasdeja's cousin makes it. Has some kind of..." he pauses and gestures vaguely before continuing, "special caves or something that she makes it in." He makes no effort to stop her under the guise of saving her, so it can't be that hot - can it? Fortunately, the Dragonfire isn't quite as hot as the name implies. It's salty, savory, and very peppery, made with a mixture of pepper grains that complement each other nicely. There are curious, spiced undertones in the mix, traces of something exotic and flavorful that doesn't overwhelm. "Guess not," is his reply to that thought; the first, anyway. It's the latter that elicits a tightening of his features into something akin to a snarl. He pushes it down, but only after some effort. "Don't have much choice," he grates out. "Ahtzu's not going anywhere. Be surprised if he even gets it in his head to chase an out Weyr gold for fear of being stuck there." Snort. On the ledge, Ahtzudaeth's tail is set to swing in a slow motion, like a metronome - as if to keep his thoughts well-timed. « Oh, I'm certain I could. But, he has to be focused, » and he's not, obviously. « I will endeavor to remember later. » His thought fades a little at the end as the impact of that loss and mourning hits. It might be merely a trickle of what it truly is, but it cuts through - and the bronze is soon leaning over to touch his nose against the blue's shoulder if he'll allow it. « There is no need to bite back your suffering, Ilicaeth. Mourn, if you must. » He will not judge. The woman's pleased with how the 'Dragonfire' makes her palate tingle - how it puts the 'zing' on her tongue - and silently thanks Faranth that it doesn't seek to burn a hole in her mouth...another and more generous bite taken in tandem with a sound of pleasure. Yum! "Always good ta know yer mind about somethin' as important as takin' on any kind uv' pet; firelizards even more, 'cause uv' their emotional link with ya. Dogs ta a much lesser degree, too..." Alida muses at Z'kiel's hesitation. "I got most uv' 'em spoken for, already, but - if yer truly up ta it - I think I c'n find a home fer one more with ya." Beat. "Just don' wait too long." Smirk. "Thank you..." is noted somewhat warmly to Z'kiel for his gift, the sound of it coming from the blonde's lips perhaps odd for someone who's often cool and detached to others. Kasdeja? Her curiosity at the name shows in Alida's expression as she chews, the guard noting after she swallows her peppery treat, "A friend uv yers, 'r somethin'? Is she interested in selling any ta a rider who likes ta keep a small stash on'er in case uv' emergencies?" Smirk. That could-be snarl has the observant woman looking more intently at her guest, even as she wraps the 'Dragonfire' package back up, and settles it alongside of the other jerkies. "Pyrite's gonna *love* the plain, if *this* stuff's any indication." Beat. "Little pudge-ball." Snerk. Casually - as she first inquires, "Sweetener?" along with a dip of chin to the peppermint tea steeping in the weyrling's hand - is noted, "Yer bond's a two-way road. If yer miserable here while *he's* great" - cue a finger poke out at the ledge - "he's gotta give at least some." Only fair. And Ilicaeth? *He's* heaving a small sigh to the touch of bronze nose to his shoulder, the blue's head shaking a couple of times, much like a human who's trying to clear something from their mind. He's only a little gruff, more self-controlled and yet still sad, as his tempered baritone replies to Ahtzudaeth, « Ain't fair ta you kids, yet. » Sharing too much adult emotion. « I miss 'er. » Beat. « Both uv' 'em. » There's no names, but there are quick images and feelings, sensations that flicker ghost-like along the edges of the bronze's mind: heat and a golden sun and a jewel-dotted tower; pounding drums and massive bonfires and sweet musk. Eliyaveith and Hraedhyth. The offer is made and Z'kiel utters a low hum-grunt. There is just a little bit of a pause, one filled with some silent sucking of teeth, before some sort of conclusion is reached - a mutual one, going by the flicker of emotion that flashes across his features. "Couldn't hurt," he finally reasons, "to have one trained to root out tunnelsnakes." Emotional bond or not, a creature has to earn its keep, after all. He confirms it with a nod and a firmer, "If you're offering, I'll take it." One corner of his mouth twitches into a wry smile. With that settled, he gestures with a lift of his chin at the packet marked Rukbat. "That one'll burn your mouth something fierce. Milk helps." A beat. "Some." The thanks is a little jarring, but he does well enough to cover for it. Instead, there's a duck of his chin and a grunted, "You're welcome." And that'll have to do in lieu of fancier words - at least until that next and he utters a dry chuckle. "Kasdeja's family by more than blood. Her cousin, too. Don't think it'd take much convincing to get them to sell to you. Have Ilicaeth chat up Tephrasth." An Igenite brown, if any mental investigations are made. Just as hot and dry as the desert; just as pale as sun-bleached bones. Z'kiel takes a sip of the tea, then another, before he answers in the negative about the sweetener, "Good enough without. Not much for sweets, usually. Ah." His mouth pulls a little to one side. "Not exactly miserable here," he clarifies. "It's good here." Now. "But he'd give if I ask him to," and he probably makes that sound convincing - or close enough to it. The bronze in question, on the other hand, is occupied - his thoughts are keen and honed in on Ilicaeth, though not in a terribly oppressive way. It's just a sense of thereness. « My shoulders are large enough and my hearts strong enough. I cannot carry this burden for you, but I can try to help, » is his reply, along with a half-gaped grin that's fleeting. He absorbs the rest without another word, though he has a lack of familiarity with both queens - one gone before his time, the other unmet. Still, he's able to echo the sadness, that feeling of loss, if in a more abstracted sense. Alida finishes re-wrapping the package tightly, to keep it from as much air as possible, and simply switches her green gaze between the bundle in her hands and Z'kiel before it's cradled in her arm. In muted fashion, though still with her characteristic firmness, the blonde notes, "I give a caveat ta those who get one uv' Pyrite's babies: be decent to 'em. I ever catch any one abusin' her offspring..." There's no scowl or 'look' given, but the promise of retribution is nearly tangible behind Alida's words. Aaaaaannd onward without much pause, as if nothing darker was even spoken, "Trainin's key ta having a well-behaved flit, as well as one that c'n carry out tasks for ya." For all her foibles, Pyrite *is* a well-behaved and decently trained firelizard. "Alright; one egg's yers, though you gotta be ready ta getcher' ass over ta the nest quick when she start hummin': she's really protective. Won't lemme' take 'em out until they start shakin'." Like any devoted mother. There's a quick eye given to the package marked 'Rukbat' at the young man's warning, Alida finding herself grinning some before she notes with self-assurance, "*That's* the kind uv' treat I tend ta leave fer nights I'm out drinkin', an' I wanna' quick snack." Since her taste buds are already impaired by alcohol, anyway. There's mental note made of relationships and names when the weyrling speaks of the Igen brownpair, a faint head-cock observable for when Ilicaeth exchanges the critical points of this information with his rider after consulting Ahtzudaeth. A nod for the non-needed sweetener transitions into a low and thoughtful-sounding grunt to herself before 'lida replies, "Weyrlin'hood ain't easy by a long shot. Not on people like you...like me." There's a long and considering look for Z'kiel at his word of the bronze giving him some leeway if it was needed, and finally the woman shrugs. Not her baliwik. As for Ilicaeth, the blue rumble-croons his wordless thanks to the bronze for extending a 'hand' to him, one of his broad shoulders lightly butting the nearest part of Ahtzudaeth's now-larger frame, if accepted, before he swirls in his more usual, gritty fashion, « Even if I ferget... Alida remembers for us. » And, to try and move on from his quiet grief, Hraedhyth's blue son inquires, « You been South, yet? » That caveat earns a firm nod from Z'kiel and an especially grim expression that just underscores the, "Understood," that he gives for it. "I may ask for... help," and, oh, what a struggle it is to pull those words out, "in the training. I've done my share with canines, but." She'd already mentioned the difference and he'll not belabor it. "I'll be there." is as much of a promise as he ever makes. Perhaps more so, given the solemnity of it. Another long pull of tea follows, now that it's cooled just enough for his tastes. He listens - and pulls up short of his next drink at that. "S'not," he concurs with a twisting of his upper lip. "Be easier when I'm in a wing." Which will be a little while yet - maybe longer. He doesn't dwell on it beyond that, patience being more than merely a virtue, given the situation. Ahtzudaeth whuffs gently and the butting of shoulders is accepted with gratitude. As the topic transitions, so, too, does the bronze's thoughts; things are not put away so much as simply set aside for his own study later. Which leads into: « South! Briefly - and only to make sure that we had that visual down as precisely as it needed to be. We've not really explored there. » Headtilt; query: « Where would you suggest we visit? » There's a bit of approval he might be able to notice in Alida's eyes as Zak speaks frankly of his understanding, his background with canines...and especially with his limitations. She knows all too well what asking for help can feel like to a proud and independent person. "You'll get it," the blonde intones of the flit egg with her own brand of solemnity, like an understated promise, a look to his tea-consumption given before the woman offers the weyrling a small, knowing little half-smirk. "Heard ya made Cirrus 'second, with Laine." Beat. "T'mic seems ta have a knack." Gathering up the packages of various jerkies - sniffing above them like a canine - and sheparding them off to her tiny table, 'lida finda herself commenting, "Depends on the Wing." Nose-wrinkle. *She's* still stuck in Taiga, when her true home's obviously Glacier. "Hope ya get whatcha' want. S'always good ta hang out with, chat up the people in the Wings yer most interested in." As she returns towards Z'kiel - on the way, slipping on a pair of comfortable old sandals - the bluie raps off, "Ya might talk ta Taikrin, Jo...even Leova about Glacier. Seems like a decent fit for ya... from what I c'n tell, anyway." Shrug. Up to him. Outside, Ilicaeth's rasping, gritty mind swirls a quick bob of head. South! « It's huge! » With so much to explore! Images dance across the bronze's mind with such rapidity that they might almost seem half-baked...but each is of a real place, though enough of them need the dual focus of a pair-bonded mind to make them safe enough to jump Between to. Southern Weyr and Hold; Monaco « Be careful uv' *those* gits. They don' like us 'Reachians much. » ; and so many unpopulated places all over - inland and at the ocean's shores - that what can be found nearly boggles the mind. And almost always, *sunshine* and *warmth*. « Try 'em all! 'Cept fer Monaco Weyr. » Snert. Back inside, Alida's using her athletic form to give subtle cues to the young bronzerider that she's headed out to the ledge for "Dinnertime. You eat, yet?" Is that a muted request to join her? If it is, she's being very casual about it, if he so wishes to. And if the two wind up breaking their afternoon fast together, there are always wagging tongues in the caverns ready to potentially gossip that Alida has either found a (rather younger) bedmate, or perhaps another shady personality to hang out with (much like Jo). |
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