Logs:Dragon Tans
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| RL Date: 13 August, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, Yesia, Tacuseth, Aeaeth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo's attempts to convince Yesia that her green is glowing do not go especially well. |
| Where: Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 7, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Edyis/Mentions, Sybile/Mentions, Sabella/Mentions |
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>---< Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------< The far side of the lake gets much less foot traffic - there's less grass, due to the poorer soil, and the bed of the lake is muddy and not at all as nice to walk in. But a small stand of four willow trees with long branches hanging low and swinging in the breeze provides some relief from the sun during the heat of the day. A pair of small curved benches sit underneath the trees. The ground rises up sharply towards the northwest end of the lakeside, and the waterfall that feeds the lake thunders downwards there, foaming the water and creating a fine mist in the air that distorts the light. -----------------------------< Active Players >----------------------------- Jo F 34 5'8" wiry, black hair, brown eyes 3m Yesia F 18 5'5" hourglass, red hair, hazel eyes 0s It's a slow early evening out on the lake that finds one blue dragon on the shore while his rider lounges on the sheltered ledge. Jo's not really alone, however - she's standing where she can see the lake (and Tacuseth), in her black leathers that are loosened at the jacket and in the middle of a chat with one of the lower cavern workers. The burly-looking man is turned slightly towards her with a dirty rag over one shoulder as the bluerider might be heard telling him, "...I wouldn' worry 'bout all that, darlin'. A shame ya can't help out there, Dov. I did ask." - "Fresh air would've been good for me," the man called Dov could be heard saying, stepping away from her as if ending the meeting. "Been cooped up in this damn Weyr for turns now." Aeaeth is here always, it seems, day and night as a relentless, glowy presence in the center of the lake on one of the many island-y rocks she's claimed that jut from the bottom of the lake. Sometimes she swims. Mostly she sleeps. They've been dismissed since early afternoon, and the greenrider has been pacing around the lake for most of the time since in short-skirt and wispy shirt, things that people wear when they anticipate going in the water. Her path is without reason, up near the diving cliff, back down to cross the entire span of the shore, and sometimes into the shallow waters with a generally restless air to her and without ever really swimming, like she can't find pleasure in anything. It is easily her hundredth lap that brings her around the bend to the willows, and the sound of voices stops her; at least one is familiar, and she crosses her arms a distance away. It's impossible that she wouldn't hear, but she keeps her mouth shut for once. Which, in retrospect, makes it eavesdropping. Tacuseth, of course, seems to have chosen this time to hang near the lake - near Aeaeth and her glowing hide. « Awfully glowy in that water, » is his lazy greeting to the green as Jo clasps a hand to Dov's back as he turns to head out. "Name a place'n me'n Tac'll getcha there," she promises, trying to look him in the face. "No questions asked. We're fam-" but something catches her eye enough to have her stopping short, slapping his shoulder again and changing tactics as she says now, "Go on, darlin'. Ya know how to find me." It's a dismissal and Dov nods his head as he ambles off towards the bowl - passing by Yesia with no pause in his steps but a withering stare as he goes. Once he's out of earshot, "Didn' think spyin' was yer thing, lil' Red," she calls out, her back to Yesia as she looks out over the lake. It's a crap-shoot with Aeaeth's reactions in her waking hours, the odds about even that she'll bare her fangs and snap out at any incoming dragons or that she'll allow them to stay without threat of injury if they complement her enough. Tacuseth is one of the lucky latter as she cracks an eye to regard him, then closes it again and makes a low sound akin to a purr of pleasure. « I know, isn't it amazing? I'm so pretty. » If there were ever a battle of withering stares, Yesia is perhaps not the first person you'd want to engage. She meets Dov's gaze with a fire, whatever placidity or lack of direction she felt gone in a flash. "What's your problem?" she snaps at him, not uncrossing her arms and watching his back until he's well gone, that sneer firmly in place until Jo addresses her. "I was walking. If you're going to have private conversations, maybe don't do them where people might just walk, because they like willows." Lucky for Aeaeth, Tacuseth is staying right there on the lake shore, curled up with one eye right on her. « Yes, you are, » he readily agrees, the blue dragons shifting. « You seem to get prettier, sweets. When can we fly next? » When Yesia snaps at Dov, the man simply continues that withering stare with a muttered curse. Jo watches the exchage enough to address it first: "I'd not cross his path, were I you," in a slight warning. There's amusement there, too, though that seems to be more on the weyrling herself as she finallt turns to regard her. She eyes that sneer with casual ease, her comment returning a, "Enjoyed what ya heard, then? Preferred me to be talkin' 'bout you?" as she steps in her direction, looking her over without apology before meeting her gaze once more. "Folks walk in the willows, at this time of night." It's more a statement than a question. « Mmm, I don't know. Probably when Yesia would like to go back home. » There is a hint of a sigh, though it's only mental. She is as placid as can be. « But soon, I think, I will go for a long one. » She unfurls her wings experimentally, stretching them out like she might go right then, but they fold back down after a few moments. "If he's your family, he sucks. I see manners aren't your priorities." That is in response to the warning and everything, but now that he's gone and it's relatively-harmless Jo, Yesia will stride closer until she's under the willows herself, side-stepping the bluerider on the way. She'll settle eventually on one of those benches with a pointed look. "Only if you have nice things to say," she says, crossing her legs at the knees, arms still crossed over her chest. "People sit here, too. You should know it's not private. You're not stupid." « She's goin' home? » Tacuseth seems to find this interesting, or, perhaps his rider would. « We can fly with ya, » he offers after a lingering pause, seeming to speak on all flights. « I would like to fly with ya. She would like to fly with her. » "He's not family per se," Jo admits wryly, toeing the ground with her boot. "He's nice to me, anyway. Ya should meet my friends." When Yesia moves to sit, the convict rider is contemplative of her before moving to sit near her. "Dov'n Pracor....Canie's really sweet...Sabella's good with hairstylin', 'n then there's Sybile. She's just like you," she notes with a soft snort. "Most don' like her. Shit, y'all would pro'bly get along." To that pointed look, she adds with open innocence, "I haven' said anythin' mean to ya," she notes right back. "In fact...I've gotta secret 'bout 'cha if ya wanna hear." It's a little devious, that look. A wide, sharp-toothed yawn, and now Aeaeth is restless too. She stands on her rock, precariously balanced on the spit of rock as she spins counter-clockwise like a canine, settles back down, and then, « Nope, » stands back up to slink into the water and swim, though not towards anything in particular. Certainly not towards Tacuseth. « She missed her turnday with them. They sent a letter. They miss her. » On the rest she exudes indifference in the tuneless strum of a lute. « Maybe. I don't know if she would like to take yours home. » A perfect eyebrow arches at Jo as she speaks, goes slightly higher when she settles nearby. She laughs, humourless, almost bitter at the prospect. "I've seen your taste in friends. It's terrible, you're not tricking me." And for the last part, her head does that obnoxious teenage tilt of exasperated challenge, loose in the neck and complete with eye roll. "You can't know a secret about me that I don't know. It's about me. I would know." Perfectly sound logic. Tacuseth keeps watching her, keeping her in his sights despite him not moving an inch. Like a hunter, really. « A trip home would be good, then, sweets, » he agrees, maintaining his eye on her. « And that's fine, » he adds on them not visiting their home far too easily conceding. « We can just fly together instead. » Smooth, this one. "Ya've only seen one friend of mine," Jo notes to Yesia with a look. "Ya shouldn' make assumptions. If I made assumptions 'bout you, should I make the same assumptions 'bout your friends?" As for that teen challenge, there's laughter as she returns that challenge back at her with a lift of her chin. "Aeaeth's awfully glowy out there, darlin'," she notes far too idly. "Did'ja know that?" « I thought so too, » is the most obscure of blanket statements, and could apply to any or all of his own responses. But her, « You'd have to keep up with me first, » sounds like less overt challenge - or even full awareness of her current state - than it does a playful barb. « I bet I could go further and faster than anyone ever has. » "Two. You're friends with Edyis." Never say anything about how she may be getting on just fine with Edyis these days, that isn't the point here. But Jo's 'secret', as it is, turns the greenrider low, and her voice sounds almost dangerous when she intones, "Don't say that. She's not old enough for that. It's all that time in the sun, like when we get tans only...dragons." « I'm prety fast, sweets, » Tacuseth sends the trumpets of crowds before a fight, his amusement plain. « Bet I'm faster'n you, even. Ya haven' been in the skies with me yet. » The cockiness is familiar. "Neither of them are bad," Jo counters on her friends. "Canie'n Sabs ain' nothin' like either of them, either. They're practically sweethearts. As in, I have all manner of friends." Still, the convict rider seems far more sure and focused on the latter subject, sliding closer to Yesia with a roll of her shoulders and a sauntering, "Mmm. Dragons don' tan, baby. Aeaeth'll be the first in Pern if she did. Tac says she's glowin'. Tac doesn' lie 'bout such things. Ain' nothin' to be scared 'bout, really." There's wit, here. « But I learned the trickiest barrel rolls from a green in Icicle, » Aaeth replies testily. « You can be fast all you like, if you just want to win. I don't even care. » Yesia glances at the water as Aeaeth surfaces, if only to choose another rock that more suits her needs now that the sun has changed in the sky. Jo's friends might be categorized in the weyrling's head, but that isn't her focus. It's looking at her lifemate with a sort of resigned disappointment. She scoots away from Jo as the convict moves closer, the arms around her middle tightening, same as her mouth, her lips pressed flat. "I'm not scared," she says, "it's just not right We're graduating but she's still -- " not so much a baby, clearly, coiling herself in such a way as to be reminiscent of her own rider's primping. There's a flare of anger. "You'd better leave her alone." Tacuseth, presumably. « I'm sure they're the best, » Tacuseth is smooth in speaking on barrel rolls. « I'm good at diving. Up, down, doesn't matter. I don't just want to win, » he adds, his shadows testing and seeping close. Jo watches Yesia scoot away, but she doesn't pursue. Rather, her tilts slightly at her at something said. "Some greens start early," she says on them graduating. "It happens'n it's not somethin' ya can control. Best to learn what to do now so that the next time, it's easier. Tacuseth is fine," she adds, belatedly to the last - not seeming to notice nor care about the way the statement is made. "It's you I'm focused on." There's a note in her tone - something perhaps not easily recognized - but it's masked under that taste of suggestion in her voice. "Tac tells me yer goin' home." Finding silence from Aeaeth's quarter is rare, but there it is nonetheless. No music. Dissipating strands of Tacuseth's particular shade of blue but also the green she was talking about, a tricky bronze color, a fair amount of brown. She was hiding them, but if he's going to be mean, that will be his reward for testing. Jo's reward for testing is much the same, sullen silence, broken eventually by, "Not us. We haven't been first in anything since she hatched, and there's no use starting now. She's just happy to be in the sun, and close to graduating. Happy," Yesia emphasizes very strongly, and if there is any suspicion for Jo's tone, it's met with viciousness, not curiosity. She snaps, "You can focus on someone else now, Jo. Go find Edyis if you want to worry about a weyrling while there still are some. We're fine." Her plans, if there are any, are ignored as she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees and propping her chin in her hands, staring at Aeaeth intently. That Aeaeth is silent has Tacuseth musing as much as his rider would. Still, it seems he doesn't have the same hang-ups that his rider has since his shadows dissipate from those colors as he sends a mute, « Sorry, sweets. » His acquiecse. As for Jo, she merely lifts slight brows at Yesia's insistence on Aeaeth glowing. It's the tone she finally addresses, idly noting a simple, "Now who's bein' mean?" She shakes her head before she pulls out her flask, flicks up the lid and takes a quick drink. "Fine," she states, blithe in the end. "She's not glowin'. I'll say the same when she's bloodin' the beasts in the pens, too. She's just happy." More silence...almost. There's a consolatory sound - not musical, not much of anything really, and the note is too short for any proper identification - but it's something. Aeaeth doesn't hate him. She just doesn't like him right now, for perfectly valid reasons. Probably. "Shut up," Yesia says, mood-swingy and lacking the ferocity from literally seconds before. The pop of the flask garners a quick look, just a flicking of her eyes, but then she adjusts enough to hold her hand out expectantly. Gimme. Even as she says, "Why are you pushing it? Even if she was glowing, she might change her mind." Tacuseth hears the sound, as short as it is, and gives it his touch and nothing more. For now, the patient blue remains where he's curled up, his glowing eyes remaining firmly on the glowing green. Yesia mood earns her a look from Jo. It's only slightly warning-like, the look, but her flask is getting most of her attention. She eyes that expectant hand and she looks like she's not about to pass over anything. "I ain' pushin' shit," she answers, continuously blithe. "Didn' I just agree with ya? She's tanned. Ya'll probably be meaner if I let ya drink this." But, she passes the flask over to her anyway. "Anyway, yer meaner than normal, for you," she observes as she looks towards their dragons. "She must be close. Doubt she'll change her mind at this point. If she's so happy," she notes to Yesia, "then prove it." Yesia takes the flask as Aeaeth really settles in, but she's not sleeping, her eyes on the rider pair for some time before she cuts her gaze skyward, just in time to see a blue pop into existence near the star stones. "No, you didn't. You're mocking me," she says, with dawning realization. It sounds like she might not get meaner, she keeps going that path, and she takes the flask and takes a drink. A long one. It's considerably lighter when she passes it back. "How do you suppose I do that?" With Tacuseth focused only on Aeaeth - his silence as heavy as the shadows - "I'm not," Jo states on mocking Yesia, watching her with the flask. "Ya believe she's not glowin'. I'm sayin' prove it by bein' who yer normally am." Hand gesturing towards her flask that she takes back, "This shit's potent," she notes, shaking it to show how much she drained. "Ya hated this stuff before when I had put it in yer klah." She drinks some of it then. "Yer snappish," she continues, "when yer usually not. Aeaeth is actually quiet, according to my dragon. Yer behavin' differently. If ya wanna prove that it's all not cuz of yer green lightin' up that rock out there, then be the way yer normally." And yes, the bluerider waits for this transformation (likely to make a point, no doubt, as she does so) with her flask. A tranformation that is not forthcoming, obviously. Yesia shoots to her feet though, like someone's set the seat of her pants on fire, and turns on Jo. "You - you - ugh! I don't have to prove anything to you! She's my lifemate and I'd know if she wasn't happy, just like I'd know if she was going to pop up into the sky at any minute so she - and make me --" There are so many stunted sentences she may well be stuttering by the time she stops. She's gritting her teeth on something else, and then stamps her foot in a pique. "Ugh!" When she turns it's without any further comment than that disgusted sound, and she stomps her way out of the grove and onto the disused path, making a point of being loud with every step. With the transformation not forthcoming, it seems as though the outburst was expected since Jo merely leans back with her flask more comfortably as Yesia rages. She doesn't interrupt her, her dark eyes slightly narrowed as she watches the show. It's only once the weyrling stomps out of the ledge that she raises her flask to her wake like a toast, saying before she drinks, "Point made, darlin'. See ya 'round, real soon." |
Comments
Alida (01:04, 14 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
You haven't yet seen *another* one of Jo's friends, my dear Yesia. Not *yet*... *evil laughter* ;)
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