Logs:Mudslide
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| RL Date: 29 September, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, N'rov |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Iesaryth hears about the mudslide and related chaos near Fort from Vhaeryth. |
| Where: Minds of Dragons |
| When: Day 4, Month 12, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
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| There's a shiver of distaste, a metallic film of /distance/ between him and something-or-someone else nearby... but it's not for Iesaryth, not when he seeks out her sparkle of sun-on-waves, whether it's truly that or still a ghost within the gloom. They are not unwell. (And, perhaps, they are also somewhat prideful: a quarry caught.) (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) That distaste and distance doesn't quite get swept away immediately by waves that don't quite sparkle just yet; there's still an overcast sky and an unsettled quality to her usual ease. But she's curious, as always - and that's perhaps what allows Iesaryth, despite whatever makes her waters still dark, to examine both sensations, before breezes tug them away. She's glad they're well, with her own sense of distance - though that pride also sparks interest, for all she's not going to make a big deal about it. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) It might take a little balancing: his rocking up and down upon the waves like a thin-shelled boat, endeavoring to hold still enough that she might see some of it, at least... the slide of mud, the wagons overturned, the collared beasts freed, the men running from it all. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) The ocean might calm a little, if only for the benefit of her own entertainment, not to make things easier for /him/. There's less interesting things to be seen from her ledge, despite the buzz of gossip that lingers. Watching the chaos, she can't connect /that/ and the idea of catching something-or-someone, but she's considering. Perhaps passing it along. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) Abruptly, if also after the cold of /between/, after he's landed, after he's made his deliveries, after he's been made to wait... there's a sense of finely polished mirror-lens, set to magnify, trained on her. And in so many words, « What is it, Iesaryth? » (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Surprised by the the immediacy, made uncomfortable by such focus, she seeks to spray seafoam across the polished glass surface - obscuring her waters from scrutiny. Whatever it is, she can't seem to bring it into words or images or anything else - or isn't willing to. So, helpfully, evasively, « It's nothing. » (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) Is it rewarding, the way that seafoam splatters, much the way sweetsand-suds might obscure a mirror at which his rider were shaving? It drips. /Driiiip./ Through it, somehow bemused, « 'Nothing.' » She really expects him to believe that? (Especially now?) (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) It might be. It might be just a little, just enough to lighten skies and brighten calming waves. It's not in Iesaryth's nature to be all that morose, or to stay that way - even if borrowing a bit of determination from her rider. And maybe she didn't expect him to really believe that, but there was a bit of hope; sulky - and entirely aware of it: « I don't like not having your attention. » Not that she blames him, especially given her memories of the graduation night are already fuzzy. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) He replies simply, with some of that bemusement still, « You have my attention. » Now. Was there ever any other time? (The drips, they're starting to look a little squiggly.) (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Waves rise up to wash the dripping foam away, perhaps displeased with the way it's clinging - not entirely what she had in mind. Still uneasy, « Yes. » That's true. Now. Not inclined to go digging to make a point, the water is still restless, but skies are clearing. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) That's better, or at least clearer, anyway: still not quite /clean/, not quite /clear/, and are those little specks of seaweed here and there? (Hopefully not a fish bone.) But clean/er/. Enough to reflect that much more sky. « There are many humans, » Vhaeryth mentions not quite on topic, but perhaps distractingly, « that are very muddy. » Look at them! Two by two, their arms stretched out, walking golems. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) There's always something floating in the water, bits of seaweed certainly, dead fish bits not so much. But there's a shine on the surf, mottled sunlight coming through the clouds. The image is distracting enough to amuse Iesaryth - there's the thought of washing them off by dipping them, perhaps in the lake, though maybe it's too cold. Enough to remind her, « What did you catch? » (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) It's not that he was /told/ not to tell anyone, and certainly it was very obvious (also, dramatic), but amid Vhaeryth's hesitation there's a perceptible sense that perhaps this is somehow /private/. Which translates into /Iesaryth/ getting to know, and her rider surely, but he'd like to trust that she'd keep it to themselves. For a time. « Humans. » And not the fun Search way. « They did /wrong/ things. » And he's ambivalent about it by now, though the seaweed bits aren't, drawn as though magnetized to the edges of the mirror to make a whispery frame. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) The bronze has certainly been respectful enough of /her/ secrets, or his rider has been of the things that hers hides - so it's not much for Iesaryth to take that sense seriously, to be reassuring. Why would she tell? And Shan - she's secrets that aren't even really hers, still locked up tight. It all piques her interest, though the definition of /wrong/ has a certain ambivalence of her own. « Wrong to who? » has all the hallmarks of Aishani, though her next is hers alone. « Does it make the others feel better? » The other humans. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) Why? It's not, in this context, a question that he recognizes, though the concept of it being /rhetorical/ isn't one he spends time with. And the mirror isn't clear, and perhaps it's even backwards, but the gist of his actual answer should be clear enough: wagons, traveling... and then the sudden slid of mud and earth, grumbling and growling, to swallow half of it up and to mire the rest. Wrong to those within those wagons, then, if no one else. « We would know /why/. » Who. Such destruction, such ruination, and of human cause. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Focused on the seaweed-wreathed mirror, however distorted the images might be, there's a sense of alarm at the earth shifting and sliding over people and wagons as if they'd never existed. The need to know /why/, she understands that - with a flash of fish beneath the waves, there's the sense of explanations Iesaryth somehow finds; water washing away the stability of earth, and on and on. But it's quick before she grasps, « On purpose. » Impressed, if only at the feat. If she can help - or hers, whether Aishani is aware of the offer or not - they will. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) « On purpose, » Vhaeryth confirms. And there are afterimages, flashes of them, those rescued. Those given succor. Even a blurred hint of the beasts that drew the wagons, freed, and not even snacked upon. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Not even snacked upon. Iesaryth can allow herself to be impressed by that, so kind of Vhaeryth. But confirmation of the purposeful nature of such a disaster has her thinking /how/ it could be done and timed properly, though it doesn't distract her /too/ much. « It is good you were there. » (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) They have surely thought about it, the specifics, but what's more significant to Vhaeryth just now is a mirror-ripple of ichor-deep awareness: the ability to recognize an opportunity, and then to /act/. Someone who knows, and does. « Yes. » (And if his rider's dreams pay some kind of price, he won't know /that/ until later.) (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Pleased to be some part of that realization, Iesaryth considers that, tries not to consider who else that might describe, even if there's no mudslide planning /she's/ aware of. But she agrees, certainly enough, though the specifics are still considered, in some deeper part of the ocean. Unable to offer much more than her presence at the moment, she's closer to the soothing rush of waves that are her custom, lingering around the edges of his consciousness. Maybe that will take the edge off any dreams. Maybe not. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) He'll learn, later, and whether he's aware of the cause then, he is now: aware enough to send her a mirror-gleam back, and the warmer if mineral sense of the hot springs in which he now soaks. It's not an ocean, but how many of those does he need? (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) There might be a break in the clouds, enough to let light play on the waves and warm them for a time. It's not quite the flash of the mirror, but it's not likely to take that much longer. She'll try not to be too envious of the soaking, though she's content enough where she is - warm, dry, unmuddied, and most importantly, not moving. For now. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) |
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