Logs:Fucking Bastards
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| RL Date: 6 October, 2009 |
| Who: K'del, W'chek |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Cadejoth and Zhikath feed, while their riders are somewhat less than friendly with each other. W'chek gets tapped into Avalanche, and recruited for the Crom project. |
| Where: Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 12, Turn 20 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'tal/Mentions |
| Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr Wedged between the lake and the rest of the vast bowl are the dusty feeding grounds. Here, the well-trampled ground is contained by a sturdy wooden fence, cutting right through one end of the lake to section it off into a muddy watering hole for the animals. Several gates allow people in and out, while at the back, large overhangs of rock provide the herd -- a mixed bag of herdbeasts, wing-clipped wherries, and fat porcines -- shelter from storms or the hot sun. What grass survives is usually bloodstained, but feeding troughs are stationed around the edges of the pen. Heavy rain in the middle of winter only means that the temperature is only a few degrees above freezing; it's more miserable for the soaking torrents. A cold rain fell for most of the morning, but it's cleared into a still chilly mid-afternoon, and probably that's why Cadejoth has chosen this moment to be indulging in a meal, tearing quite contentedly at the soft belly flesh of his kill. That K'del is joining him is probably explained by the collection of bathing gear, his lifemate's straps, and a towel, all of which is piled up against the fencepost at which he stands. The Weyrleader hunches over, as though he's hoping not to be seen, though his lifemate's enthusiastic rumbles and grunts carry a fair distance, more or less spoiling his chances. They are evidently not the only such pair with aspirations of getting feeding out of the way before the weather gets seriously unpleasant again. W'chek's reason for lingering is, well, what else is he supposed to be doing? Hanging around alone would just mean more stewing over the not-knowing by himself, so instead he's stewing over it with Zhikath, who at least appreciates the occasional critique of his technique through another set of eyes. That leaves W'chek to wander up to the fence as Zhikath starts staking out his target among the herd, and if that's relatively near the Weyrleader, well, so that might be. Perhaps the fact that he's ignoring the Weyrleader is simply a courtesy to the other's evident preference to stay unnoticed. Instead, he just leans forearms against the cold, damp wood of the fence, and peers after Zhikath's progress. When one's lifemate seems absolutely intent upon sharing his own personal delight at the messiness (not to mention tastiness) of his meal, and how's-yours-is-it-as-good-as-mine-so-tasty! (even if the other bronze hasn't yet taken his down), as Cadejoth is, it's a little harder to pretend, apparently, that you're not hre and never were. As Cadejoth wags his tail like an oversized puppy, K'del struggles to keep a smile of his face, and ultimately fails outright, at which point he gives in, and turns his head in W'chek's direction. That his companion is who he is seems to surprise the bronzerider, because he hesitates, and then, quietly, "Wish the weather would decide to stick to either snow or rain, instead of this awful mess." Beat. "Afternoon, W'chek." Hard as it might seem to pretend that, W'chek was really doing a very good job. Then, one might expect that. He could probably very handily behave as though up was down, water was dry, and the sky was a pleasant shade of lemony yellow with mauve paisley print. He does not, however, show any sign of being shocked by the greeting, just keeps leaning on the fence and looking out after Zhikath, who manages a sparse greeting for Cadejoth before taking down his choice, precise as ever. "Afternoon." Pause. "Guess it seems pretty usual. Leastways, it was pretty much the same last turn. Probably be pretty much the same next. Bet it buckles down to snow before long." That Zhikath's greeting in response to his was sparse doesn't seem to deter Cadejoth, but at least killing and eating takes up a good amount of his energy: getting blood everywhere is /fun/. K'del twists his fingers around the fencepost, an idle gesture that doesn't seem to mean anything, and shifts his feet away from the pile of things he's standing next to. "Guess so. Hate this time of turn. Miserable, and we don't even get consistent snow to make up for it. Still, doesn't last too long, I suppose. Happy to be graduated?" "Happy?" W'chek turns then, at that, changes his leaning to one elbow only. "Dunno. Doesn't change much, does it? He's bored, not that he'll say so." That shiny-ass bronze out there dismantling his herdbeast with surgical strokes. "Preferred drills and such. Dunno. Feel a bit at loose ends." He pauses, lips purse slightly as he looks back towards Zhikath. That seems somehow simpler than maintaining eye contact. "B'tal got his assignment at lunch. Hard to be too happy." Way, way easier to keep an eye on his dragon, even on the fence rail if need be. K'del doesn't seem too intent upon eye-contact himself, despite his overtures of conversation, and the way he nods along to what his fellow bronzerider has to say. "For him? How's he feel about it?" The bronzerider draws a foot up onto one of the lower rungs of the foot, holding himself up in a lazy gesture, as he keeps his gaze on Cadejoth. "Want to come drill with Avalanche, then? Keep him busy - we drill most days." His hand drops towards his pocket, though it doesn't emerge to offer anything so concrete as a knot and wing badge, as yet. "Keep him busy. Yeah. Sure." W'chek accepts before he says anything about the first count, then pulls back at the waist a bit, head ducking down towards where his hands are clasped on the rail. "You're all a bunch of fucking bastards to do that and you know it." Cool as that bit of a breeze going. "Don't see what right anybody's got to put another person into a situation like that who never did anything to deserve it." He takes a deep breath, lets it out, misty into the air. "But yeah. Whatever. Keep us all busy. Best we can hope for." K'del's hand might be on its way out of his pocket, but it stops, sharp, and the rest of him, at W'chek's accusation. His breath is taken in sharply, as he attempts, presumably, to formulate words in response. "Wing decisions are made for a reason," is what he does say, finally. "And not necessarily something visible to anyone external." If he sounds stiff? Well. It's entirely possible he's made a huge mistake over this one, so can you blame him for being defensive? Then, finally: "Here." Wing patch. Knot. "Drills in the morning." One more long breath, but W'chek nods without making eye contact again. "For a reason," like an echo in thin air. "Of course." He takes both, though, turning the patch over in his fingers, then closing them around that and the knot. "Be there with bells on." A pause. Then: "Sir." Like an afterthought, something that is just too easily forgotten. Zhikath has so far shown no sign of any distress whatsoever. Even gone back for a second herdbeast. Have to keep the energy up, for those drills, after all. "'K'del'," corrects the Weyrleader, as though encouraging W'chek to address him personally is going to make this any less awkward. Never mind that he's still standing so stiffly, or there his expression as he stares at Cadejoth is anything less than an eagerly hopeful one - maybe he'll be done soon. "It was more sheep that your family did, isn't it? Would like your assistance with the Crom fields, though, anyway, if you're up for it. Would appreciate it." The name gets only a noncommital noise in return. This is W'chek being good. This is W'chek not launching into a useless, childish screaming fit. He's trying. Trying very hard. "Sheep. Yes. Know a bit about the rest of it." He's also trying very hard not to sound interested, come to think of it. Lapses into a silence. Finally asks, after a bit, "What do they grow in Crom? Don't think I've ever been out there much. We looking at what, mostly cereal grains, that kind of thing? Potatoes, maybe, that kind of thing?" Maybe K'del is aware of how hard W'chek is trying. Maybe he's grateful for it. It doesn't show either way, though, except that despite how hard the other bronzerider is trying to sound disinterested, when he starts asking those questions, K'del looks enormously pleased. Even excited. Someone doesn't think he's absolutely insane! Maybe. "Think so?" The answer isn't all that sure, though. "Grains, at least. C'sel was suggesting fruit trees, but I think that's because he knows them, and his family can help... this is part of what we need to work out, I guess. What will grow. What's a good idea." Of course, now, /now/ that there's something more interesting to talk about, Cadejoth seems to decide that he's finished, taking a short leap over the fence, and over the riders. "Going to be putting together a working group, to really look at all this stuff. Bringing it up with the Wingleaders at our next meeting. Up for joining it? Officially?" He's already taken a step towards his lifemate, to gather up the straps and the rest, though he seems intent upon taking them with, rather than actually strapping the bronze up, ready to go as soon as he gets a reply. Or doesn't think he's insane for this particular reason, anyway. "Grains will be most useful. Potatoes. Squash. Stuff that stores well long-term. Fruit's less of a necessity, 'cept as to avert folks killing you midwinter when you've run out of ways to pretend parsnips are apples." Which is as good a way as anything to say it, but W'chek makes it proper anyhow: "Might as well." He almost smiles, then he frowns, like he's pretty sure he's still not *supposed* to be smiling, and then he turns his attention back to Zhikath, where he doesn't have to do either. K'del listens with interest, nodding intently throughout all of W'chek's words. /He/ at least does smile, noting with a laugh, just before they depart, "Better than the vines /I/ know how to grow, at least, all of that. Thanks, W'chek. Appreciate it. And congratulations - welcome to Avalanche." Then, he and Cadejoth depart, off over the weyr bowl towards the mountain hot spring to wash off all the blood and guts and gore. |
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