Logs:Good Advice and Bad
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| RL Date: 19 June, 2009 |
| Who: Vrianth, Zhikath, Wyaeth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 22, Month 13, Turn 19 (Interval 10) |
| To Vrianth and Zhikath, Wyaeth, like a shotgun blast to the face for Zhikath, more like getting pinged by ricochet for Vrianth, « The hell's this about, you thinkin' you rider's gonna 'turn away from you?' » Thick as the derision in that drawl is, he makes sure to splatter on some extra in the face-slap thoughts that accompany those words. « That don't even make sense. » To Wyaeth and Vrianth, Zhikath is long moments in silence after that--this unfamiliar assault. Upset? Perhaps? No hint of it when the response comes back: « I apologize, » he says, tone utterly even now. « I have let feelings get in the way that should not. » And then it wavers, just the tiniest bit, because he's still so young, none of the confidence of experience. « He... clearly has his reasons for such concealment. » To Vrianth and Zhikath, Wyaeth projects, « The hell's concealment? » He pauses, withdraws while he runs this off for some clarification, then enlightenment-- « Does it matter if there's parts as you don't need to know about? Man's gotta right to keep some things to himself. » Are we sure Vrianth brought this to the right dragon for the job? « Don't make him any less yours if he's still his own. » To Zhikath and Wyaeth, Vrianth exhales a long and gusty breath: Zhikath. Apologizing. For his rider. Like that. The little one needs some backbone, where that rider's concerned, and maybe that makes these the right dragons after all. « And you get to have your feelings. » To Zhikath alone, as his addition had been, « His place is with you. He must know that. In /your/ territory. » To Vrianth and Wyaeth, Zhikath must consider this as well. Privately. Responds slowly, to maintain that tight-held control. « He is upset. » That's a struggle to say without anything bleeding through, but although there's a vague sense of that, there is no feeling otherwise. « He is often upset. But he will not say why. Will not let me see. I should not allow myself to be distressed by it, but it... does, at times. » The threads of conversation then joined at last, perhaps because it could be relevant: « I will fly. Someday soon. And then we could be elsewhere. » A moment's projection only, a borrowed and heavily idealized vision of green meadow and vague, fluffy sheep. Patience. Patience, Wyaeth. « He's gonna be upset plenty more times. » There's a long-hard-struggle behind those words, and not all of it's ancient history, some still awfully raw. « All you gotta do is be there, 'cause-- sooner or later-- he'll figure out that he's yours whether he likes it or not. » A sidebar, not completely detached, he lobs a questioning thought toward the the green; any idea what's up with the sheep, sweetheart? (Wyaeth to Vrianth and Zhikath) /Sheep/. Meat on four legs, made anything but vague under Vrianth's sudden, hungry attention, the more so with Wyaeth's reminder. Speaking of flying. Though she does manage to get out, « It should be /fixed/. » His rider should be less upset? His rider should, at the least, share? He himself might... not care less, but channel it a different way? Mostly to Zhikath: « Wyaeth is to be listened to in such things: he knows of this... separateness, sometimes. » And back to Wyaeth, mostly, Wyaeth and sheep: that lick of hunger again, so close to raw. « Somewhere that is not here. » Which, clear enough, no green meadows amid all this snow... and yet. (Vrianth to Wyaeth and Zhikath) To Vrianth and Wyaeth, Zhikath is quick to repond, defensive, to Wyaeth's first count: « He should not have to be upset. » And then the second, more measured: « It is not me he dislikes, but... this. » A pause, an uncertain, « I think. I hope. » All of those hidden thoughts. But his agreement comes to Vrianth's assertion. « It should be fixed. He should be well. I am patient, but others are not patient. » Although, honestly, who can blame them. « It becomes worse. » To Vrianth and Zhikath, Wyaeth's still stuck on the sheep, sorry. His thoughts swirl in the background, hazy and inconcrete and heavy with the thought of lovely-tasty-sheep. And not a little of lovely-tasty-Vrianth, but-- well. There's weyrlings listening. So; « Why's it botherin' you so much? If it ain't you he's upset at and it'll get better sooner or later... » « Weyrling humans, » Vrianth recovers enough however-dubious sense to add, even if a promise of lovely-tasty-sheep-blood does thread through /her/ thoughts, « Do not usually like /this/. They must learn and change and do different things, and they like to do what /they/ want to do, not what others say. But it is something to be learned, to want to learn, if only to get it over with. Perhaps when he learns this, it will get better also. » There's a flick-flick-flick of memories, even if they're mostly rider-borrowed, of those new weyrlings complaining in Vrianth-manufactured silence. One of them strongly resembles a sheep on two legs. One of them happens to be Zhikath's sire's lifemate, even skinnier than he is now, with white-topped volcanoes on his face. Vrianth might be exaggerating. A /little/. (Vrianth to Zhikath and Wyaeth) To Vrianth and Wyaeth, Zhikath has long since left the thought of sheep behind; he is not currently hungry, therefore they are unimportant. « It becomes *worse*, » he repeats, with more emphasis, as though that should be answer enough for the elder bronze's question. « The others adapt. They help each other. I have seen it. He holds himself separate. But I do not know if it is him, or them. They are not patient with him, but... » Reluctant. « He is not kind to them, either. » « You're patient with him, ain't ya? There for him, ain't ya? » Sheep thoughts on the back-burner for now, he'll get back around to Vrianth later. « Maybe he won't ever change, maybe he'll be apart from 'em forever. Does it matter so much? » There's something /important/ that Wyaeth's trying to convey, something... not quite experience, 'cause ain't no dragon gonna know what another one's going through, but something like enough to it. « All's you gotta do is be there. Sooner or later, that's all that's gonna matter. » (Wyaeth to Vrianth and Zhikath) Footsteps, in the fog, likely inaudible to all but Zhikath, and a sudden shift of current as her rider brings her close: Vrianth listens in, even as polarity pulls her away, leaving them with a coil of restless energy. Because /that's/ gonna really help. (Vrianth to Zhikath and Wyaeth) It takes time to mull that over, after Vrianth's more urgent inquiry as faded away, after his rider has finally had to go acquire something in the way of a lunch, all of those ordinary things. But eventually, Zhikath does reply. « I am patient. I am there. I do not want him to have to be apart forever. It does not seem good, for him to be apart. They are meant to be social creatures. As we are. » (Zhikath to Wyaeth) To Zhikath, Wyaeth's still coping with this terminal fog, with his inability to keep a watchful eye on all the comings-and-goings of his Weyr. Yes, his. So the delay doesn't seem to sink in so much. « Not all of 'em. And... well... you can't change who he is, can ya? And would ya want to? » Big Questions. Big questions indeed. « I do not want to change who he is. » Zhikath pauses after that, then adds, « But I do not want him to be unhappy. If being alone would make him happy... perhaps it wouldn't be bad. But if he were better off apart, would he complain so much of it? » Imagine how much W'chek complains in person. And then imagine having to be privy to a large part of his internal workings. Poor Zhikath. (Zhikath to Wyaeth) To Zhikath, Wyaeth would... rather not. Imagine that. Even a fragment of it. Not that he's got room to talk, paired with Mr. Personality here, but hey. He's made peace with it. « If he weren't better off apart, wouldn't he do something about it instead of just complainin'? » That's the absolute limit of his logical abilities, by the way. So much for sage advice from the elders. Zhikath reflects on this and then replies, dubiously, « Per...haps? Unless he did not know what to do. Or what needed to be done was not possible. Or he was not entirely rational, which--he is not. » W'chek, irrational. Shock. « Is yours? They seem to be often not. But perhaps it is only the weyrling riders, and they grow out of it? » (Zhikath to Wyaeth) In case it wasn't obvious by the whole roll-with-it philosphy; « N'thei is N'thei. » Resolute, unchanging, impossible, unyielding. « W'chek is W'chek. If he's irrational, then guess that's what you gotta learn to deal with. N'thei just says he ain't come to terms with the fact that this is his life. » /This./ Dragons. High Reaches. Hierarchy. All of it. (Wyaeth to Zhikath) « No, » Zhikath agrees, and then long silence. « And if he does not come to terms with it? What then? Vrianth says I belong here, and that he belongs with me. But perhaps he belongs elsewhere, and I belong with him. It must be one or the other, but I cannot work out which one is right. » This idea that other dragons might talk to their riders about these problems--well. Perhaps it just does occur to Zhikath that his rider would have a problem with it. Or perhaps it's all in service to a good cause. (Zhikath to Wyaeth) To Zhikath, Wyaeth, confident, not just the cocky swagger, « He will. » Hazy memories, not so unlike Vrianth's, tumble through his thoughts. An uphill battle, an old struggle, a man who was /not/ happy to be talked to like a little boy. But, in the end; « W'chek's a rider now. He can fuss about it till his teeth grow back-- » So, yeah, this is not all just Wyaeth-philosophy. He's getting some coaching here. « --but it don't change what he is. He'll square with it, all you gotta do is be there. » Sense the trend already! The thing is, Zhikath is all of two months old, really, and there are some things that still come with basically being a small child. He should be taking this as reassurance. And maybe he is. But the part he seizes on, the part that catches his attention is: « So his teeth *are* going to grow back. Vrianth said they were, and W'chek insisted they would not. And I looked, and he did not seem to be growing any new teeth. Is it likely to take a very long time? » (Zhikath to Wyaeth) Remember, /Vrianth/ is the one that started this conversation. « Oh, hell yeah, they'll grow back. Whyn't you fuss at him about that instead of all this other crap as you can't change? More you keep on him, sooner he'll start cuttin' them teeth again. » (Wyaeth to Zhikath) To Wyaeth, Zhikath, fascinated. Utterly. « I was afraid it might be a... » Digging for the phrase. « Watched pot never boils kind of thing? Do you think I just need to look more often? I do not know if I want him to have as many teeth as Vrianth suggested, but he could certainly use more than he has now. » To Zhikath, Wyaeth, a bad influence. Utterly. « Nah, you oughta check 'em every half-hour or so. Make sure they're growin' straight and all. » « Then, » concludes Zhikath, and funny how earlier distress didn't seep through as much as the excitement now does into his thoughts, « I am overdue to check! Thank you for your assistance. I would have never known. » (Zhikath to Wyaeth) To Zhikath, Wyaeth practically flourishes, executes the mental equivalent of a gentlemanly bow. « Any time. » Kids these days. |
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