Logs:Getting Away
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 26 August, 2015 |
| Who: Roszadyth, Farideh, A'rist, Lythronath |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Ierne Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh checks in on A'rist. |
| Where: Ierne Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 8, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Tiriana/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
    |
| Once it wasn't present, but now it is: that effervescent, bubbly feeling, like a sparkling champagne; all at once bright and heady, with a burst of sparkling sunlight and the barely-there notes of a harper's song. It's familiar, it's High Reaches. Roszadyth reaches out to Lythronath, light and unobtrusive at first, and then there, waiting, with genteel amusement, for his recognition and acknowledgement. « Lythronath. » Ever ladylike. (To Lythronath from Roszadyth) It is familiar. Familiar in a way that Lythronath cannot place, but that nonetheless makes his head lift from his ledge, a way that makes him scent at the air, first, and then snap his teeth to scatter a green from his side. That green's young rider is promptly out of the guest weyr that has been grisly since their first evening, and he and his lifemate depart quickly. « Roszadyth. » It's a beacon, fierce and impossible not to trace, and Lythronath goes to the edge of his ledge, balancing on his hind legs, waiting. A'rist is by his side no sooner than the Ierne dragon has left. (To Roszadyth from Lythronath) Roszadyth's mind touch is warm with her approval, but it doesn't linger as they wing down from the sky over Ierne. It takes the gold pair a short time to find the right place, and then they're landing on the ledge with practiced ease. "A'rist," is Farideh's pleasant greeting when her boots hit the ledge. "I hope you are well. I didn't think to warn you ahead of time-- I needed to head this way and I figured, while we were out, we might as well see how you were adjusting." She gives the bronzerider a smile, tucking her gloves into the waist of her pants. She is permitted to land, even seemingly welcome... but Lythronath does not move entirely aside, and there's a hard press against Roszadyth's mind that is not the relieved sense of homecoming one might expect from other dragons. Lythronath challenges, searches. His head swings nearer the gold's hide, teeth not fully bared, but mouth open slightly. His wings flatten against his back. His tail swings out behind him, if notably not in a way that might risk knocking Farideh. "Weyrwoman," is not without puzzlement. A'rist nods to her explanation, but doesn't seem wholly satisfied. He has no tail to give any twitch of indication, though. "We've been adjusting for a while now, you know." The bronze's press and challenge is met without resistance; whatever he seeks, Roszadyth is patient and tolerant enough to give him room to do so, within reason. She's the picture of calm repose, however smooshed on the ledge she is, next to Lythronath. « Lythronath, » she says, again, with the forbearance of a saint, her cultured tones soft and sweet. "You have, and how do you like it?" Farideh ignores the obvious bemusement, and takes a step closer to the entrance into the weyr. "How has Ierne's leadership welcomed you? Isn't the weather nice?" Nothing weird to see here. Lythronath remains, thus, firmly in Roszadyth's space. It's a wall of attention at first, but it becomes more pointed, probing here, testing. Trying to remember. Trying to place. Trying to see what's beneath all that soft and sweet. It brings his head closer, closer until his muzzle touches, with no clear intention of pulling away. Who are you? « Roszadyth. » A'rist Farideh's step, that one step, keeping next to her. "The leadership's been good. We've been settled. Kept busy." Peering at her. A less sensible dragon might be agitated by the nearness, or pull away from the invasion on her space, but Roszadyth merely tucks in her wings and settles her wide-eyed gaze on their riders. Her presence in his mind, in response, is there, but gentle and politely amused. « We arrived to see you, » she informs him, needlessly. "I hear Tiriana has a temper, or to hear K'del say it," Farideh says, making polite conversation as she makes a couple more steps in. "I haven't met her, myself, face-to-face. I am intrigued, but I don't think I have the time, today." Lythronath does little to acknowledge Roszadyth's words. He presses a bit more firmly, muzzle becoming the top of his head, pointed eyeridges and all. And then, when he pulls back - and he does, because this isn't about forcing someone off his ledge - his answer is more a declaration. « Different. » Talons click-click against the stone of the ledge. "You don't think she'll want to see you, when you've come into her Weyr?" muses the bronzerider. A few more steps, but he doesn't lunge to block her. "Although I guess this watchrider's pretty... thorough." It twists a strange smile onto his face. That intrigues Roszadyth, whose sunlight becomes dappled and dazzling, through the warped pane of a window. « Each of us is different, Lythronath. » She's puzzled by the bronze, and presses her own insistence, even if it's still a gentle one. "Not every time is occasion for a political meeting, but if the Weyrwoman wanted to meet me-- of course, I would have to oblige. Let's hope she's otherwise involved," Farideh replies, her smile widening. "Have you spoken to K'del lately or Cadejoth?" as she steadily keeps moving, since he's not refusing. Lythronath's groan is an audible one, one that makes A'rist look over his shoulder to the dragon, whose tail swings behind him once more, whose teeth snap at nothing, but definitely not at Roszadyth. He knows her, even if... It's a steely look on his face when A'rist turns back to Farideh. "No. Hardly been speaking to anyone from home." There's a hardness on that last word, a permanency. He doesn't continue to move with her, but he does watch her, keenly. "Unless they come here." The bronze's antics don't have any outward effect on Roszadyth, or how she's perched daintily next to Lythronath on his borrowed ledge. She is content. "No? Why not? Do you plan to stay here? Forever?" Now, Farideh stops and turns, to stare with surprise expression at the young bronzerider. The frustration can't - and doesn't - last forever. This time, when his head swings in closer, Lythronath is sniffing. Sniffing carefully. "No. But part of it," says A'rist, "was to get away. And K'del and Cadejoth," Lythronath sniffs harder, "both know how to find us if they need. I'm here for this Weyr now. That was the deal." « Lythronath, » comes with a ripple of sensation, of not-quite-annoyance; steel underlying sensibility. It's a subtle shift in mood, and quite easily lost amongst the still present shades of sunshine that come with Farideh's mental presence. "What are you getting away from?" Farideh doesn't move towards the weyr anymore, but stands quite resolutely, her fingers pressed together at her waist. "Is that what you want? Do you prefer it?" « Home. » It's a demand, there, waited out, timed perfectly, if accidentally, with A'rist's firm, "No," that answers Farideh's question. Questions. Those wide-set eyes of Roszadyth's are keen, and train on Lythronath when her head turns towards the bronze. Her vision of snowy peaks and the familiar, homey aerial view of High Reaches is undeniably in rebuttal of his issue; home is High Reaches. "Why do you stay?" Farideh pushes back, unyielding. "You've been here for-- months. You've gleaned all that you can, or need, I imagine." It's that landscape that seems to settle him. Lythronath doesn't give her room, per se. But he shifts and eases until he is resting, watching the southern Weyr from the ledge that they've provided him, that he's painted to be as much like his own as he can. "Because," says A'rist, who's not looking at Farideh anymore, but at his lifemate. "I've been checking something." Roszadyth sunlight plays over the white-topped mountains in her imagery, until, with his settling, they seem to melt away and nothing's left but a feeling of comfort. Despite A'rist not looking at her, Farideh's still staring at A'rist. "Like an experiment? Great Faranth, I thought only the smiths had designs like that," the goldrider says, her disapproval plain on her face. "And? What did you find?" A'rist blinks past the mention of the smiths, still looking at Lythronath, that fierce bronze settled - or at least waiting, for the time being. It's only at the question that he looks back to High Reaches' weyrwoman, and shrugs, and smiles a little, but not really. "Nothing." "Hm," is the sound Farideh makes in response. "It would seem fruitless, then?" Distracted from her original course, she takes the few steps to return her to her starting point, beside Roszadyth and closer to A'rist. "I'm sorry if we intruded, but I thought that we should. Temporarily or not, you're one of High Reaches'. Plenty of things changes, but they tell me, many stay the same," she says, a bit cryptically. "Weren't really intruding. Not on us, anyway." A'rist shrugs, and his hands find his pockets. "You can look inside if you want," with a nod toward the weyr, "but the bed's not made, and there might be some dirty dishes." Lythronath's leg muscles twitch. Farideh appears to consider the offer, studying the bronzerider's face with rapt attention. "I would, but, as you said, we wouldn't want to overstay. I'm not dressed for a surprise diplomatic visit," she says, rueful smile and all. "Once you've done all that you came to do," is spoken, carefully, "you should put considerable thought into returning. High Reaches is in such a place that-- she needs all of her people." It's a serious turn, but pleasantly said. "It's a lovely ledge Lythronath has," deflects. "We're going to," answers A'rist, thoughtful, quiet. "Come back," he adds, the idea of thinking on it dismissed with a wave of his hand. A sidelong look to the dragons, then. "You must be about graduated, hmm? Babies," smiled more or less to himself, though his dragon snorts, and gets to his feet. "We're glad to hear it," Farideh says, satisfied. "We are all graduated now. We graduated about a month ago, now. It's been a-- change." His last comment earns a strange stare, still paired with a polite smile. "I hope there's no more babies for a while. Another turn at the least, two if we're lucky and they both stay down." The shakeo of his head, the smile, are A'rist's ways of trying to convince Farideh not to worry too much about babies. About his comment about babies. And then, about the shriek-screech of Lythronath's talons against the ledge, retribution. "Like I said, should be home soon. Tell people if you want," he shrugs, "but don't feel like you've got to actually do anything about it. 'Kay?" "Do?" Again, Farideh wears that bewildered expression. "I didn't come here to do anything. I already told you that we were in the area. It seemed appropriate." Conflicting messages and all, she takes a step back, and then another. "We should go," she adds. "But Roszadyth doesn't mind talking to Lythronath if you-- he-- has a need." "It's not talking," says A'rist with a shake of his head. But there's a formality starting to press on him, that takes his hands out of his pockets and makes him stand straighter. "Clear skies, weyrwoman." Lythronath, he issues one throat-click for Roszadyth as farewell. Well, that, and the image of High Reaches' mountaintops, thrown back at her. « Home. » And just before she turns and takes the straps, there's a moment when Farideh's diplomatic mask slips and she stares at him, completely frustrated; it's gone as soon as it's come. Her nod is succinct, her following, "for now, A'rist," polite. Little time is spared in climbing and getting strapped in, and then, when they're poised to lift off, Roszadyth sends the bronze one final image: of the weyrbowl and its myriad weyrs dotting the walls, of the seven spires and the gently sloping earth within their curve. Home. |
Leave A Comment