Logs:Wait and See
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| RL Date: 26 September, 2015 |
| Who: Faryn, Z'kiel |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Egg watching and future theorizing. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions |
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| It's unlikely the fifteen eggs on the sands are without observers in the galleries for any extended period of time. They're new and people want to see them, so even now, when most people are taking breakfast, the galleries are hushed but not silent with the presence of all those who decided to skip the morning meal, or bring it along with them before they are summarily forced into the duties of the day. Faryn's there among them, in the lowest seat she can get with her breakfast still wrapped in a cloth. It doesn't seem to be her priority, at any rate. That honor goes to counting those eggs again, her eyes flicking through them with an unreadable expression. New eggs. Of course Z'kiel's there, but more likely as a set of eyes on the inside for Ahtzudaeth's purposes. It's a rare rest day for the bronzerider and he, too, doesn't seem to have eaten his breakfast yet; but, if he's not careful, the bronze firelizard hanging on his shoulder might, for all that he's peering at the cloth-wrapped bundle in one of the man's hands. His stride is quiet, measured, and slow; his expression is unreadable and purposefully so. It doesn't take too long for him to spot Faryn among the others scattered in the galleries and he picks his way along to find a seat just behind and to the right of her, only to settle in without a word. Faryn's glance over her shoulder is perfunctory, and closer maybe her expression is readable after all. Unsure. Cautious. A little stand-offish, though that last bit flies away quickly enough when she spots exactly who has settled so closely - firelizard included. Then it's back to the eggs. Her silence never lasts so long at any rate, even if it's early enough that she's not exactly talkative. "Morning." The grunt is pure Z'kiel. The following, "Morning," is probably at a further prompting. He pulls open the cloth parcel and removes a few scraps of jerky to feed to the firelizard, while his own food is ignored for the time being. "Fifteen," is a curious utterance, paired with a pinching of his eyebrows and a slight pull at his mouth. "Not long until there's more." Statements of facts, both, and yet. A sucking of teeth. A shapeless sound. Then: "Picked up a knot yet?" "Fifteen," confirmed, and troubled. "Lots of people thought there wouldn't be so many. She flew badly. Or briefly. It's almost the same thing, isn't it." It's not a question, as she turns again to watch the little bronze have at his meal. "Crybaby," she says with a smile for him and that little tearshape near his eye. "If Roszadyth flew twice as far," starts what sounds like a Harper's class question, "does it stand to reason she'll have thirty or more?" Faryn's smile twitches a tiny bit, and though she worries her own breakfast parcel she doesn't open it. "Not yet." Hnnnh. Z'kiel rolls forward after setting his breakfast - more jerky, some sausage, a few slices of ham, apparently - to a side. The firelizard follows the food, naturally, but the man's clearly unconcerned. "Brazen," isn't quite a correction, a cock of his head angled toward the not-at-all-sneak-thief-'lizard. "Zen. Both, so says Ahtzudaeth." But that's boring stuff, in the end, and he turns his attention to the eggs and the other, which elicits a thoughtful sound. "Maybe. Not sure that's how it works, though. Could be only twenty." A beat. "Could be forty and Thread falls on us a half turn later." Optimism: he has it. Her last answer prompts: "Waiting until Roszadyth clutches?" Faryn's laugh is just loud enough to disturb those a few feet down the bench, but she offers them no apologies, her eyes following him. "That he is. But he looks like a Crybaby." She touches the corner of her eye with a knuckle, like she's wiping away a tear. But, "Of course Ahtzudaeth named him," sounds amused, and she seems content to follow along. "Brazen. Zen. You, Zen, will always be Crybaby in my heart." And that's the last of it, because she's succumbed to a shudder at the mention of thread and wrinkles her face at him in displeasure. "Don't joke like that. It already happened once, with that comet. If she has forty, we'll lose most of them between. Candidates are a hot commodity." She shakes her head, though. No. "What difference is it if I get it yesterday, today, or three sevens from now?" "Call him what you want," is Z'kiel's attempt at compromise. Successful or not, it doesn't matter; the Brazen Zen Crybaby bronze is trying to make off with a strip of ham that's as big as he is. The Igenite reaches over to plant a finger on the meat, which prevents the pilfering - for now. "I'm not joking," is intoned, deadpan. "It says something that both of them went so closely together," though his tone isn't entirely conspiratorial. "Something else that a short flight made that many. If the long flight makes as many," a shoulder rises, falls, and he leaves it where it is. "Better to get it early on. Settle in. Get prepared." He raps his temple with a knuckle. "I waited for the dragons. Didn't always work out well at Igen." Faryn sobers, watching Zen at work before she finally turns back to the sands, leaning forward and clasping her hands between her knees with the fingers laced, where they'll jitter against the backs of her hands absently. "That seems unlikely," is all she can muster, "but I guess we'll see soon enough, won't we? Roszadyth will show off any day now, maybe even show up her dam." A dam who gets a curious look all her own, entirely different from the curiosity that Faryn has for the eggs. "That's because you didn't know you were waiting for a dragon in the Reaches, is all. I'll get it, soon enough." Z'kiel is, in contrast, much more still. His earlier verbosity is reduced to a slight dip of his chin and a low, deep-throated sound that isn't quite a grunt - but does just as well at voicing his agreement. Wait and see; that's the name of the game, now. "She might." And might not, but he doesn't dwell on it, his eyes glossed over for a little while. When his gaze clears: "Maybe. Maybe not. Still an Igen-bred dragon," he replies with a lift of his chin to Niahvth and her brood. "For all that he was born here." He'll let the talk of the knot drop, but only to remark, "Should eat something. Keep your hands busy." "Fair enough," concedes Faryn lightly after a period of silence, her studying of Niahvth complete. It could be for any of it: the waiting, the bloodline, all the possibilities floating in the air while everyone waits for Roszadyth to lay her eggs. Her eyes float to her wrapped breakfast at his prompting, then her fingers extend in a flick that general direction. "In a bit. Not hungry enough. Body's still waking up. We can't all eat twice our body weight right in the morning." She is, of course, talking about Zen, but her movements undermine her as she reaches for the cloth to pull it closer. The silence is mutual and lingering - broken only when she speaks. Z'kiel watches the betrayal of her fingers - a betrayal that's met with a thin ghost of a smile from the bronzerider. He reaches to put a hand on her shoulder - then rises to his feet a moment later. "Need klah. Be back." The firelizard and meat bundle is packed up in a hand and he departs - but he will return some time later with two mugs of klah, and plenty of thoughtful silence to spare for a little more egg-watching until one or the other need to depart. |
Comments
Tela (10:44, 27 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
Waiting for the dragons didn't work out at Benden either. D:
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