Logs:Love Letters and Dastardly Plots
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| RL Date: 6 November, 2015 |
| Who: Lys, T'gar, Asaroth, Evyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lys and T'gar have an honest chat about love letters while their dragons... bond? plot? Both? |
| Where: Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 3, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today. |
| Mentions: H'vier/Mentions, Rissy/Mentions |
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>---< Diving Cliff, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------------------<
Thrusting out from the shadow of the mountain, this long and narrow
clifftop might once have been a ledge, but a pile of bramble-strewn,
graffiti-chiseled boulders where a weyr's mouth would have been suggests a
reason for its abandonment long ago. Though its views of the eastern bowl
are grand, particularly the lake itself and the yawning air entrance to
the hatching sands, its location makes the diving cliff unique: jutting
some ten or twelve feet above the deepest part of the cool, clear lake.
Especially in summertime, many climb up the narrow stairs to seek the
thrill of a swift fall into the water, but those who just want to enjoy
the view can take those same stairs back down: carved directly into the
bowl wall, worn and crumbling and slick from use, but enough for the
careful to get the job done.
A layer of gray clouds hangs oppressively around the spires. The air is
humid and cool, but there is no snowfall today.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Lys F 20 5'5" slender, blonde hair, blue-green eyes 0s
T'gar M 21 6'3" brawny, dark brown hair, blue eyes 51s With the weather being cool and without snow, many of the Weyr's residents are out and about this evening. Amongst the weyrlings out is T'gar, seated up on the cliff with his Asaroth easily seen down on the lake shore. He looks to be engaged in writing a letter, balancing it on his folded knee. "So you come up here to write love letters too, huh? I wouldn't have pegged you for the type." Lys' greeting comes. Her approach was unobtrusive, but not silent. She doesn't, however, this time insist T'gar leave, but rather moves to help herself to a seat next to him, pulling her wool coat closer around her as she settles. Evyth's approach of Asaroth is predictably bouncy. « Hi! » is bright greeting to the bronze. "Not love letters," T'gar is matter-of-fact as his writing stylus continues to move across the hide. He only looks her way momentariy when she moves to sit next to him, his focus for the moment on the hide before asking, "Ever collect your own up here before the Hatching?" Asaroth is near the edge of the lake when he catches the little green's approach. His silence to her greeting is a heavy one, blanketed by the smell of something cool and dank touching Evyth's senses. "It was just my name carved in the rock," Lys answers as her arms curl across her knees. "My love letter to my home." She rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "Writing home?" is a casual inquiry; this is Lys making an effort. Evyth's head shakes a little, as if she might clear the smell so easily. She's not much one for scents and images in her touch, but now she suffuses her mind with a tasty roast. Mmm. « Enjoying the lake? » comes the green's second attempt. "Not the way you were behaving that night," Rat seems to have good memory as he writes with a look going her way. "Your home. Home is where again? Not this place." Straightening up and finally pausing in his writing, "My father doesn't want to hear from me," he tells her in his Bitran accent. "I'm writing a girl. A woman. I'm still deciding if complimenting her perky breasts would make me look more attractive to her, or charming." Maybe he's joking. Nodding towards the lake now, as an afterthought, "Your green shouldn't get too close to him. He tends to nip," he gives in warning. "How are things going with her, anyway? With you?" Asaroth seems to find Evyth more interesting than the lake at the moment. The dank smell lingers, something tickling the back of one's throat added to it towards the end. Instead of words, there's the image of the lake being damned in from him and his glorious hide. Well, it appears that way in the image, anyway. It seems to be an answer for her. Lys' eyes roll. "So well on your way to becoming the best bronzerider you can be, then." She considers her clutchmate and sighs, "Most women would sooner slap you than sleep with you if you went and wrote a thing like that. No saying who would find it. What do you want from her? This woman." It might be an offer of help, or Lys might just be nosy. "Home is here. It's where I grew up, the place I know best." She looks down at the dragons by the lake, expression briefly distracted. "She'll keep her distance." At least physically. She doesn't draw any nearer, but she does turn the image over in her mind thoughtfully. « So you're going to be really big then, » she concludes, « That makes sense, of course, » Evyth could have this conversation by herself, really, « since you're a bronze and all, and some of those bronzes are really, really big, so I don't doubt that you're going to be big, big, big! » The giggle might be some part nerves, but the rest is just her effusive nature. "So you think I should leave that out," T'gar guesses, seeming to find it hard to keep that grin away as he looks Lys over. "What sort of letter do you prefer then?" he asks in a tease. "Flowery words that match the color of your eyes, the hue of your hair, the touch of your cheeks?" Snickering as he looks down at the letter, "I'm not looking to be any other bronzerider," he tells her. "I'm looking to be me. As for what I want from her, well..." brows lift at Lys meaningfully in the pause before he adds, "...Nothing I can have now. Still. Women like to know they're being thought about, if only briefly. What did your letter say about here?" Asaroth doesn't make any moves towards the green, which is probably a good thing. He stares her down as her mindvoice echoes the dank cave that is him, the image of the cave faint with the strong feeling of something (or someone) watching within the darkness. The smell still is there, but at least it hasn't gotten anymore unpleasant. "I probably wouldn't like any kind of letter," Lys answers with apparent candor, "but I'm not most girls. Leave it in if you like, I'm not one to give advice about getting laid." Not that she seems the least bit upset about that. Evidently his crassness doesn't bother her either, not in earnest. "It didn't say anything about here. It was-- look, it was just a thing I had to do. A promise to come back, by carving my name in the rock. I called it my love letter because I carved it because I love this place. I love the cold, the rock, the spires," she gestures vaguely to them. "I don't really do love for people. Men." Though there's a slight flinch for that statement and something doesn't ring completely true. She clears her throat. "Seems like you wouldn't be the sort that would have trouble finding a piece of ass when you want it. Is this one-" the one getting the letter, "-special?" Evyth glances at Asaroth askance. The scent of tasty food redoubles in her mind, and it's like a feast, one to which the unsettling bronze is invited (despite his dankness and silence). "Why is that?" Rat continues to question, eyes narrowing only slightly at Lys. "Love for people. Men. Why is that? Sounds to me as though People haven't been good to you." Her question about the woman in question earns a light shrug as he leans back on his elbows and look to the sky before answering. "Special, no. I prefer my women feisty and acting as if they're unobtainable for me. I write plenty of notes to plenty of women. Did so back in Bitra. Do so here. You can call it my personal touch." Beat. "Even if it only gives me a slap to the face," he harks back to something she said to him, his tone amused. As for Asaroth.....FOOD. Food is a language he does understand, the scent turning more acrid as the predatory hunter in him sniffs. Raspy, his voice whisper, « Where? » is sent to Evyth with an unnerving insistence. Lys's shoulders roll in a shrug of her own. "Are people who haven't had people be good to them less likely to love, do you think?" She looks out over the lake, "There aren't many men I've found attractive. Used to think I was just a late bloomer, but I'm twenty now and still don't have much interest that way. Women either," is added before the question can be asked. "Sounds like your personal touch becomes generic fast. Guess the girls you do it for don't talk much about their romantic intrigues." The question comes so idly it might be imagined that Lys doesn't really care about the answer, but she's asking, "Do you tell each one of them that they're special?" Evyth is... well, rather surprised by that strength of response from the bronze. « Well, » is buying her a moment to reorder suddenly flustered thoughts. « The barracks, » an image of the herdbeasts left to them to eviscerate this month, « or the living cavern, » an image pulled from her rider's mind of the tables spread with food, « though sometimes Lys brings me back things from her plate from there, » is added thoughtfully, but that leads back to the barracks. Regarding her idly, "Depends on them, I guess," Rat considers the question as he rereads what he's written down. "No interest. That's interesting. Maybe they have to have something in them to draw you. Something more than a smile and the sweet words most women like." As for generic touches, there's a wry, "Women I really like, I don't write them letters," he admits to her. "Not that I've had a record of relationships up to now. I tended to move around a lot. Even in Bitra. I don't tell them they're special. Not all of them. Some of them are smart enough to know what all I'm after." It's honesty given, even if it's asshole honesty. Asaroth in the meantime takes in Evyth's answer with heavy study, his image lingering on the herdbeasts. It's clear that's what he wants, perhaps alluding to the bronze being hungry. "Maybe. Could just be that I'm a product of my upbringing. One that twists and warps what love is and ought to be, and maybe I'm only now learning what that is, from her." Lys muses without much commitment to the ideas. "Sex is something else entirely. Maybe in that way I'm just part of the balance to all the people like you who have it so casually and freely. I'm the other side. Not saving myself, not thinking about it all the time, just-- not interested." She shrugs again looking down to the dragons frowning. "So when you've been in a relationship with a girl, what do you do for them that's different? If not letters." Evyth is attentive to the bronze's study. « Oh, well, we could go get them? We should get Lys and T'gar, so they can make sure we don't choke-- » So practical. Her head lifts in the direction of the to on the cliff. "Is that a Weyrbred upbringing you're meaning?" T'gar seems humored by the topic of talk as he carefully folds up the letter. "Well, I don't know much about love. Not something I have experience in myself. I love to eat. I don't know if that counts." As for her question on relationships, there's a pause before he looks her way and answers, "Well, the only one I've had was Rissy. Lived in the cothold with her for a time and everything. I did things for her. Made things for her. Brought her things. Protected her. Just, things." Asaroth is now considering both T'gar and Lys up above at Evyth's words, the bronze seeming to struggle to put things in words. Rather, it's images that she gets of them headbutting them in their backsides in order to get their attention. In a certain light, it could even be seen as humorous. "I doubt my experience is exclusive to a Weyr upbringing, but it was here I had it," is sardonic humor. "I'm not sure loving to eat and loving are the same, but for some, it might just be a matter of satisfying a hunger of one kind or another." Lys stares down at her green. "I had someone who did something like that for me once. Not because we were in a relationship-- actually, I think it was mostly because he wasn't in one and missed it-- her. I looked like her. He's dead now." She grimaces, but at least she doesn't look like she's going to cry. "What happened with her? Rissy?" Evidently the light in question is one Evyth can see because she gigglefits. « Maybe once we're big enough to fly, » she decides. It is an awful lot of stairs to get up to where their riders are. T'gar states on the first, "You know, the ones with stars in their eyes would tell you that the right one with kindness will come along and change all of that. Sorry about you losing your friend. I know what that's like. Losing someone that had your back like that." He watches her as he pockets the note and tucks the writing stylus above one ear. When Lys asks about Rissy, "She had wanted more than I was willing to give at the time," he answers, a touch dry. "She was looking for someone to marry. I'm not the marrying type. I think our dragons are up to something." Maybe so, since Asaroth finally moves, making slow and difficult work of trying to reach his lifemate up the cliff. He looks back at Evyth as if seeing if she was going to take up the challenge, too. "It's a good thing you're not starry eyed then," Lys tells the bronzerider, "or I'd have to flick you between the eyes and tell you not to be so foolish." She cracks a smile at him though, the real sort. "Evyth has my back now, always," is the remark that moves past he polite apology, even if the young woman's frame tenses. She deflects by asking, quite seriously, "Do you ever feel like your dragon is plotting against you, T'gar?" Evyth hesitates below taking steps to follow Asaroth, but not meaning to actually climb, but rather be the one to worry and pace below his efforts should he make the attempt in earnest. Laughing, "My father knocked that out of me long ago," T'gar says of being starry eyed. "Don't worry about that with me. Feels comforting, though, knowing you have a dragon at your back." But then, Lys has that question and he straightens up to his feet to peer down over the cliff to find Asaroth trying to climb and reach him. The sigh is resigned. "Every single day," is his answer, and kicks off to throw a look down at the bronze....which has the dragon stopping his climb. "He's hungry," He tells her, shaking his head. "It'd be useful if he could tell me that rather than....Nevermind. Has Evyth eaten? We could go down and get them a herdbeast each." Lys rises fluidly from her seat, reaching a hand to T'gar's shoulder to clasp then pat it. "Go with that feeling," she encourages what some might call justified paranoia. "Let's," answers the matter of Evyth's hunger as much as what action should be taken. Then she's moving to stand at the top of the stairs, smartly offering: "After you. He's your dragon." The one they have to get past on the stairs. Since Lys has agreed, T'gar leads the way down the cliff as he answers her with, "I'm sure he's plotting something. Crazy beast." It's not mean-spirited at least as the weyrlings head down - collecting Asaroth along the way - and leading their dragons back towards home where meat can be found. |
Comments
Alida (22:58, 6 November 2015 (PST)) said...
At least Asaroth tells his human (in some fashion) when he's hungry. Virisceth sets off to get food on her -own-, sometimes. >.< ^^
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