Logs:Accident
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| RL Date: 7 April, 2015 |
| Who: Liesanth, Taikrin, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After Hraedhyth and Azaylia die, Liesanth helps Solith from afar; Taikrin doesn't recognize Telavi, again. |
| Where: Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 6, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Issedi/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Teris/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Specific candidate names weren't in Mentions only because I didn't want to assume! |
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| Solith's awful, an every-which-way gust that's chilled, cold despite the summer's dusk. There are no drums. No drums. No Hraedhyth. « She left, Liesanth. » She's gone. (To Liesanth from Solith) Liesanth is clearly flying somewhere; his thoughts are touched with height and wind, wind to match the zephyr of his mindvoice, though Solith's comment earns surprise, and immediately after, concern. « What happened? » (To Solith from Liesanth) « There was fire-- » but isn't there always, around Hraedhyth? Only this was different. « The fire ate her. Not her fire, the other fire, » that wasn't supposed to be there? (To Liesanth from Solith) Perhaps Liesanth doesn't quite understand what Solith means -- what the fire was, /who/ the fire was -- but he knows his friend is upset. And those winds turn to a caress, trying to lend comfort and reassurance. « What will happen next? » (To Solith from Liesanth) « I don't know, » Solith says miserably, leaning into those winds for the touch of him, buoyed that little bit more; « Telavi is... » well, Telavi might not find it the most complimentary of visions, this image of Solith's rider very like a herding canine, nipping shocked young men and women towards the candidate quarters, but for Solith it's not at all negative, « ...putting them away. The ones for the eggs. » But it's all such a mess, physically and figuratively. The air smells of it, the ash, the death. (To Liesanth from Solith) Those winds now carry Solith upwards, lifting. Carrying her away from the worries. « Can we help? Can I help? » Presumably Liesanth means the Fort dragons when he says 'we'. (To Solith from Liesanth) « I... » she's uncertain, but the clearer air helps, the atltitude, the visiblity. She can breathe that little bit better now. « I don't know? I don't know what anyone can do. They can't bring her back, can they? » It's different from when the other queens died, though Solith at least must not remember: less intimate than Iesaryth, less disturbed than Iskiveth whose rider somehow stayed, but so very shaken. This is their senior queen. (To Liesanth from Solith) Liesanth is many things, some bad -- egotistical, boastful, impulsive -- and some good, like his loyalty and concern for his friends. But one thing he is not, unfortunately, is foolish enough to think the loss of a senior queen can be made /right/, not in any meaningful way. « I don't think so. » (To Solith from Liesanth) She exhales, a quiet breath. « No. » Even the Bowl, risen as a ghost about her sending, is messy... but that isn't for dragons to clean. (To Liesanth from Solith) Finally, eventually, somehow, Taikrin ran out of riders to chase. With Glacier dismissed to mourn in private, the brownrider has been left alone with Szadath. She's inspecting their make-shift water tarp -- now much the worse for the wear -- while the brown oversees. Perhaps planning for next time? Or just keeping busy? Her eyes are still red-rimmed, but now they've gone dry and stony. Eventually, finally, Telavi emerges from her hunt-and-fetch; it was something to do, after all, even if she might not have caught everyone. She blinks her way into the falling night, and looks around, but it's still... messy. So she keeps walking, and if her path eventually veers towards Szadath, it may be less conscious than a gravitational pull. Silent comfort and reassurance, as empty as it is, is all that Liesanth can offer, save one other thing: « Should I come? » (To Solith from Liesanth) Or maybe an attraction to the brownrider's increasingly strident tones? "If it had a harness, we wouldn't be able to get it off you if it caught fire or something. You got to hold it." Apparently Taikrin and Szadath disagree about the length of rope caught up in the brownrider's hands. "Might be a wood loop? Wood and leather?" The brown blinks deliberately, disinterestedly, his attention steadily drifting back to the weyrleaders weyrs. "Hey-- hey!" The first is to the dragon, the second to Telavi as she casts about for something to retain interest. Squinting in the dusk, she gestures to the other rider. "Did you get a good look at the rig from the ground? Reckon I need an opinion." It doesn't seem all that likely she recognized Telavi. Again. "What?" It's blank verging on snippy, as though Telavi doesn't expect to be buttonholed. But, despite herself or else old habit or else welcoming a distraction, "Rig? What rig?" There's still ash in her hair, though at least her face is cleaner, a long oval made pale in reflection of Belior. She shouldn't ask, and yet-- and yet, « Would you? » There's a faint image of a borrowed ledge not far above the lake, where the fire can't get at her should it return, and a reflection of her rider further off. (To Liesanth from Solith) It isn't long before Liesanth sends a wordless touch of apology; he cannot reach the Weyr, with it having been locked down. (To Solith from Liesanth) What? « You can't-- » she doesn't recognize the feeling, right at first, but if he can't-- (To Liesanth from Solith) "The rig," Taikrin repeats impatiently while shaking the piece of rope at Telavi. "For dumping water. Did you see 'em in action? I need someone who-- oh. It's you." She frowns, momentarily confused. "Weren't you doing a thing?" "No-o?" She was distracted? She was something. Telavi fusses with the edge of her blouse, where the ash itches, eyeing the rope nervily as though it were a tunnelsnake about to eat her for dinner or, perhaps worse, the other way around. "I was." Doing a thing. "That was before. Did it work, the dumping?" Work well? « When it is allowed, I will come, » the bronze assures his friend. « For now, guard your little ones. » An image of the eggs, of those meant for the eggs. (To Solith from Liesanth) « I will, » Solith is glad to agree even if Telavi has moved on, something about water and a tunnelsnake-- no, a rope, shaking. Perhaps it should distress her that Liesanth cannot come, and by implication perhaps she cannot leave; just now it's half a comfort-- if even one as Trustworthy as he cannot, no worse can find them either. (To Liesanth from Solith) "Not so great," Taikrin admits off-hand. She's still frowning at Telavi, still confused. "What was it? I keep thinking it was important but bu-- uh, crack me if I can remember." Szadath's attention is lost, now, to a thousand-yard stare at the place where a gold once lived. The younger woman still has an uneasy look to her under all that frowning, on top of everything else; she's poised nearly on her toes, ready to sidestep and go. "I was... the candidates, tracking them down," Telavi says. Tracking them down. "There are some in the infirmary now." Or at least one. "Did you hear-- was anyone else?" Dead. Taikrin's eyes go big and round. "Oh. Ohh. Good." Her attention strays briefly towards Szadath while she talks, too fast. "Glad you were on it. I heard there was one not so great. I didn't seem 'im? You got that one, right?" Gotta catch 'em all. Did she? "That one, right," Telavi says with an upwelling of confidence more than mimicry, whether she really had that particular candidate or not. She steps forward a careful step. Perhaps it's Taikrin's big eyes. "...Did they tell you? Dragons can't get in right now?" "Dragons can't get into what?" Clearly not. Taikrin looks back down at the rope in her hands, squinting at it like a puzzle to be solved. "Don't know why we ain't more prepared for this sort of thing. Dragons flame." A non-sequitor? "The Weyr," Telavi tells her, her voice hushed like it's a secret, if it's not that she's just hoarse. "And--" she changes to a different tack when Taikrin does, quickly, "She couldn't flame, but it was flame that got her." A breath later, "Isn't that awful? Especially awful?" "She liked Szadath to flame for her," Taikrin admits softly. Slowly. Then frowns. "Or was it her? They both did." Szadath lets out a low whine, and all at once the brownrider jumps as if starting awake. "Uh. Uh-- did you say-- lockdown? Who ordered a lockdown?" "'Her'?" This time it's more like copying, questioning. "Which her?" Except then there's the lockdown and, "I don't know? It's just L-- a friend was going to visit only then he couldn't," Telavi explains. Maybe Taikrin doesn't know which 'her'. She certainly ignores the question; only a twitch of the eyes gives way that she even heard it. "Must be the other queen, I guess. Weird I ain't heard about it." She turns to Szadath, as if the force of her questioning gaze might stir him out of his funk. "Only reasonable, I guess. I would have done." Giving the brown up for the moment as a bad job, she looks back at Telavi once more. "They said anything directly? K'del? I don't reckon I've seen him around." Since. Tela's turn to go wide-eyed if not twitchy-eyed, after her quick nod for the other queen and Taikrin's questions; she doesn't ask about 'her' again. She does shake her head, fervently enough that a bit of ash flies free. "Not that I've heard or seen. I mean, not him himself," briefly glancing away as though flashing on rumors. "I'm surprised he's making himself scarce," Taikrin retorts in a dark half-mutter. "Not like it's the first time. Man's got a curse on him, scorch me if he don't." A younger Taikrin might have ranted on to the younger rider, but Wingleader Taikrin only snorts. "We'll keep on. Candidates are in order? No more panicking?" Tela flushes, patches of coral-pink in her otherwise still-pale cheeks; defensively, defendingly, "I'm sure he's doing something important," she says. Whatever it is. She keeps her chin up. "They weren't panicking that I saw. But it's hard to panic when someone's got your arm and hurrying you along, not more than you are already." "Probably," Taikrin allows about K'del. "He usually is. Would have been nice if he was here doing something important, but. That's why we got wingleaders. And weyrling staff," she adds sharply with a look to Telavi. "To keep people from panicking." Szadath is still like a statue, silhouetted against the evening sky. "Yes sir," Telavi says without any facetiousness at all, quick to sharp. "Did you find out... it wasn't done on purpose, was it? Like Lady High Reaches?" Somehow, this has not occured to Taikrin: she looks genuinely startled by the question. "On purpose?" Szadath blinks once, again, then swivels his head to fix Telavi with a red-white-yellow-purple stare. Telavi's looking up to the slightly-shorter woman, and if she shivers once-- the cooling air? Szadath's stare?-- she replies even so, "I want it to be an accident. Everyone wants it to be an accident." Her tone is almost, almost certain. "It was an accident." There's echoes of Szadath's chill in Taikrin's voice. "You're better'n spreading rumors like that. Especially with the candidates," she says flatly. However much she might deny it, though, the shards of red are more pronounced when Szadath returns to his vigilant stare. "That's why I'm checking with you, not them. You're the wingleader." If Telavi can't check with Taikrin and her ilk, with whom can she? "Good," she begrudges. "It's-- it's enough, for one day. Ain't it?" Taikrin slows, attention flitting towards a rising moon. "Just one day?" A pause, then, abruptly: "Bath." "It has to be." That Tela can be convinced about; that and, for all that she touches her hair for the first time and finds it lacking, "Drink." "Yes. I got a bottle. Hey." The latter is to Szadath, who doesn't twitch. "HEY." Except for when Taikrin steps on his tail. He doesn't start, but he does level a look at his rider. "Five minutes?" Tela's brows go up, diverted, though there's no dimple to her cheek; "Of course," she says, with only a bare flicker of uncertainty as to what. "Good. See you there. I feel--" Taikrin flicks a hand through her own short-cropped hair. It's stiff with salt and sweat and filth. "Yes." Szadath, meanwhile, unceremoniously gathers up his make-shift bucket, presumably to take back to his weyr. "I'll bring two bottles," the brownrider amends as she goes to mount. Telavi's, ordinarily long and luxuriant, can't be much better-- is arguably worse given its length. She waves to the brownrider, acceptance as much as her, "See you there." She moves past the brown, into the shadows, into the caverns. Time to try, try to get clean. |
Comments
Alida (20:56, 8 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
I feel like the lyrics of an Eagles song... Some (things) never come clean...
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