Logs:Predatory Respect
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| RL Date: 27 August, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, Z'kiel |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo meets Z'kiel. Conversation happens. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 8, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Evening. Pleasant. |
| Mentions: Alida/Mentions, Edyis/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions |
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>---< Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr(#634RJ) >------------------------<
Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the
weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just
plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have
let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that:
two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in
particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the
most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.
Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to
hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being
trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of
flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall
off.
An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former
weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.
The weather today is very pleasant. A few clouds chase each other across
the mostly clear skies, and a soft breeze picks up in the afternoon to
make for a fine day.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Jo F 34 5'8" wiry, black hair, brown eyes 1m
Z'kiel M 21 6'3" lean, black hair, green eyes 0s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Snowasis Bowl
>-------------------------------------< 26D 8M 38T I10, summer afternoon >---< It's turning out to be a decent evening in the Reaches. The Snowasis is packed with those wings returning from their duties and with residents as well. Outside the bar, it's people lounging at tables and watching the dragons as they land and take off at will. Jo is here at one of the tables, a mug of something amber-colored on the table while she chats up one of the lower cavern workers nearby. She's in her usual black leathers and would look menacing in the light if not for the fact that she's grinning. And along comes an Igenite. Grim-faced as ever, Z'kiel doesn't look like a man who's been done with his duties for some time - but his clothes betray as much. A plain, unlaced leather vest is paired with loose-fitting trousers and a sash in cool colors. Despite the boots, he moves quietly - and, in this case, he's moving toward the bench without making a stop for food or drink. Instead, he seems intent on watching for something, but only Rukbat knows what. The others in the Snowasis and on the ledge are duly noted in a peripheral sense; marked, surely, for his reference, but there is no immediate acknowledgement. Something the cavern worker says earns loud laughter from Jo. She brings the mug to her mouth, only then noticing Z'kiel's silent arrival. It's the arms that draw her marked gaze as she drinks, and it's a piercing gaze that she's not failing to hide. Even though her attention is drawn, she still manages to joke appropriately at something else said before the man is up from his seat and slapping her on the back. Snorting loudly, "Take it easy, darlin'," is her farewell to him, her study having already returned to the newly minted dragonrider. When it looks like he's in search for something, "Hope whatever it was isn' valuable," she calls out, the mug still on her hand as she leans back against the table. "It's likely gone'n sold by now for a pitiful price." A sidelong look is angled in Jo's direction and a low, oddly melodic hum-grunt escapes him. Z'kiel lifts his chin in the direction of the bowl - and beyond - and intones, "Doubt anyone could run off with what I'm looking for." If the rest of him didn't scream "Igen", the accent does; that it sounds like it's been run over a cheesegrater is only fitting, considering the rest of him. He snares a seat on the bench and rolls forward in a sinuous movement elbows on knees and a fine thread of tension coiling through him. Another grunt and the intense weight of his gaze slides away from the bowl to land squarely on Jo. His scrutiny is reptilian - cool and analytical. Distant. "Just too early to find it." Eyes narrowing at the accent, Jo watches Z'kiel with predatory grace as he does her. She sets the mug down, only to pick it up again. In a comment, "Home never really leaves us as long as we're away from it, does it?" she asks, nodding towards himself. "Yer accent." Nevermind that she has one herself. "What're ya lookin' for, darlin'?" she asks now, head tilting a little to the side. "Perhaps two heads'll be better than one." There's a faint, double-click of Z'kiel's tongue, then a slight shake of his head. "Can't get it out of the throat." Nor does he seem inclined to be bothered to try, for that matter. "Not home now; the blood's long dried up out there." A shoulder rises and falls with ambivalence at the offer. "Not a what," he finally clarifies. "A who." He sucks his teeth, gaze gone distant for a heartbeat or two. "Too early still." But, he's already sitting and waiting - and doing both of those things in a very, very still fashion once he's settled. "Would'ja want to?" Jo asks, her interest clearly piqued. "I wouldn' want to. Kinda makes ya who ya are, y'know? Like those-" and she nods towards his arms where the burns and scarring can be seen. Sipping at her ale, "Gotta a few of those myself," she downplays her own with just a tad bit of a smirk playing on her lips. When he clarifies what he's looking for, "Who, then?" she is nosy. "A drinkin' partner? A lover?" She takes in his stiff posture then. "No," bears a note of finality. "Took the best parts of Igen with me. Only parts worth remembering." Still, Z'kiel glances down at his arms and his brows furrow. "Except these." The burn scars, that is; one set is rubbed absently with a thumb. "These are from here." A glance askance follows that, one eyebrow quirked skyward. "Don't figure a lot of folks escape without picking up a few." Grunt. The nosiness is the cause of that one, of course, and there might even be a hint of disgust in that sound. Neither of those things, it would seem: "An old friend from Igen." "Sounds to me like ya had a shit time in Igen," Jo is civillized company for only so long, it seems, the woman shaking her head. Eyes on his arms, "Got'em here, huh? What, weyrlin'hood was rougher than expected? Wish I could say the same for me." She straightens up long enough to pull down one black leather shoulder, exposing her own scarring to his eyes before she says, "Got'em before I came to this place. Not for any noble cause." Letting go of her jacket, "Name's Jo," she gives now with a lifting nod. "I've heard of ya. Z'kiel, right?" There's a dry snort for that and Z'kiel sits up and back, allowing him to plant his palms on his knees and square his shoulders up. "Only turned to shit after I came here," he replies. Bitter? Sure. He's not about to try to hide that. "Better now. Here, that is. But, for a while, it wasn't good." The burns are regarded and ultimately shrugged at. "The big fire, the one that killed Azaylia. Saved a couple people." Fingers flex; tighten. The introduction is neatly handled and there's a tilting of his shaved head in her direction. "Bronze Ahtzudaeth's," is the addition to go with it. "With Alpine." A beat. "Well met." Getting origins and stories, Jo is nodding and staring at Z'kiel as if she's trying to place him. "Hope ya got revenge," she makes a guess. "In either case, well met. Heard a bit 'bout ya. I think we have mutual friends. Was told yer an alright sort. I'm from Glacier," she goes on to say. "Seems like, bit surprised ya didn' get tapped with us. How ya likin' Alpine so far?" "No time to." Yet. That word will just hang there, unspoken, in the grim glint in Z'kiel's eyes. To the rest, a low hnnnh and an eventual, "Must've been Edyis telling you that." Still nothing in the bowl - nothing beyond the usual stirrings of dragons and people. He's keeping an eye out there, but he must have been especially early. A slow nod, then: "Not surprised by much. Only thing I knew was that I wasn't getting tagged for Savannah." Not that he sounds disappointed by that. "Alpine's good, so far. Gives us something to do - to get better at. Ahtzudaeth likes it." That revenge is the name of this game, the glint that enters Jo's eyes is one of mutual understanding. She nurses her drink as she says, "The best revenge is the one that isn' rushed into. I've been waitin' over ten turns for mine." When Edyis is brought up, there's a more genuine smile and nod. "She swears by ya," is all she says like it's a fact. On wings, "I see Glacier more than Savannah," she muses, "but it's good yer dragon is likin' Alpine. That doesn' always happen, darlin'. Didn' fancy yerself in the Weyrleader's wing, then?" It's not a pointed question, but one could almost taste that it could be. To which there's a shallow duck of his chin and a hard setting of his jaw. Z'kiel grates out a low, "Gets sweeter the longer it sits." And there it is, only for that dark mood to be glossed over - if not washed away entirely - by talk of Edyis. "She's one of a few that would. The rest-" aren't even worthy of a word. He'll let that trail out for now, a thread to be picked up later. Until then, "He's going to hold H'kon to his words." There's a ghost of a pull at the corner of his mouth for that thought. Until the last bit. The thread is pulled up again with a twisting of his mouth into unreadability. "Pretty sure they still think I'm going to fly out of here one day. Fair enough. I don't trust them. They shouldn't trust me." "That's what I'm hopin'," Jo agrees, her gaze a dark one as she rakes out her approval of his outloud. "Ya've lived a hard life, sounds like," she observes. She looks to add more, but then on Edyis, some of that darkness ebbs long enough for that lopsided grin to peek through as she says, "She's a good girl. Likes to see the good in everyone. Even when there ain' anythin' good left in some of us. Hard not to hang 'round that, wishin' for a moment that ya were as she thinks ya to be." She matches his ghost of a grin then, and that last gets a short chuckle and a "No shit? They think ya'll run'n those same folks'll think I'll slit their soft throats while they lay in their beds." Assessing Z'kiel anew now, "Yer right not to trust," she agrees with him pointedly, her approval tangible. "A man that knows he can't be trusted is of interest to me. What did'ja do in Igen? Holdbred?" A low, throaty grunt of confirmation - for the hard life, for Edyis, for all of it. Z'kiel shifts his attention momentarily to the bowl proper when a brown lands, but it's clearly not the right one; his gaze cuts right back to Jo, as keen and intense as before. "Ahtzudaeth's like that. Hard not to want to be what they think you should be. What you can be." He's dubious, but can anyone blame him? And it's moving right along, with another snort - wry as it is. "Once they get something in their heads," he muses, "it sets roots and doesn't let go. Tried to uproot those thoughts once. Not worth it to try again. Better to let them think it and do what needs to be done." There's a slight arching of his back in a feline-like stretch. Joints pop audibly at the apex of that sharp arching, only for him to straighten up again. "Weyrbred. Hunter. Planned on going back after the Hatching. Ahtzudaeth had other plans." "Tacuseth's learned," Jo related on her dragon with an incline of her head. "I'd wager, he'd known the sort of creature I was'n yet me chose me anyway. We've come to compromise." Something Z'kiel says sets rather wry, "Well aren' you darkly delicious?" It's an observation and it's one she lingers on before she says with less sass, "I know a thing or two 'bout lettin' folks see what they wanna see. It's how I survived here for over ten turns. Folks're gonna think what they wanna 'bout a girl that came from the mines," and she gestures at herself. "Even if some of it is true. Hunter. I can believe that. What all did'ja hunt? Just animals?" It's a valid question, considering, even if there's a rather dark tint to the casual question. From the slight contortion of Z'kiel's expression, it might seem compromise is still light years away for him and his. It passes quickly. "It's easy enough when they don't expect much," he notes. "When they don't expect to see much. Can see how that'd make it easy to manage here for that long." And from that origin, but he's not one to comment on that. Instead: "Prefer to see what's really there. Sometimes it takes a while." But he's patient, maybe to a fault, when it comes to that. Another dragon catches his eye briefly and he pauses. It's not what he thinks, though, and he looks back at Jo in time for that question. The answer is a grunt - at first. "Everything I hunt is an animal," and that word is bent, just so. "Tunnelsnakes. Small game. Birds. But- I was better with larger game." "It takes some folks turns to learn what ya just said there," Jo notes on expectation, the bluerider shaking her head. "It's true. I find that those that are willin' to see true natures make the better leaders." It's casually spoken as she drains her mug before she tacks on, "I prefer to see what's really there," in an echo. "Who are ya really, Z'kiel of Igen?" It's posed as a question, but it's not one, the woman perhaps not expecting an answer. "I doubt," she is sober in noting, "that anyone will be able to answer that in regards to me." Pause. "Animal." She catches that bent. She's staring right into his eyes. It's abrupt that she doesn't elaborate on his words but offers him, "Lemme buy ya a drink sometime. Not here," she's quick to say. "Somewhere else." "It was a hard thing to learn. Worth it now." Z'kiel sucks his teeth and all that talk of better leaders and who he really is are left without response, without answers. His eyes will meet hers without hesitation, though; cold and green and predatory by their very nature. That bit, that animal bit, just elicits a barely perceptible curling of his upper lip. "And if you were," he remarks with a rasp, "I wouldn't hunt you." Another dragon. The washed out brown - so pale he might as well be white in the right light - lands some distance off. It's that one that finally compels Z'kiel to his feet. "I don't drink," he says as he prepares to go. "But. Call and I'll answer." That Z'kiel meets her gaze at all, and for this long, that elicits some sort of promise in that barely perceptible smile from Jo. His words on hunting draws a "Which means yer wise." The last is heavy with meaning, like one sort of hunter recognizing another. He might even detect that underlying layer of respect hidden there. When he gets up, she remains seated, only her sharp gaze to follow him as he prepares to go. She will finish her drink. "I'll call," that promise is made with a brief incline of her head. "'Till then, hope ya find what yer lookin' for, Z'kiel." This time, 'Igen' is omitted. Wise? Maybe. Capable of recognizing a fellow predator? Definitely. Z'kiel, once on his feet, is able to snap off a crisp salute to Jo. "Good. Clear skies." And that's all the farewell that's needed - or given. He moves on and out with his characteristic grace and speed. But where he meets his friend will remain a mystery, because the Igenite brownrider has clearly moved elsewhere and the brown is soon gone as well. |
Comments
Edyis (13:10, 30 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
Oh, hush, all you badasses are marshmallows on the inside. Deadly marshmallows, but marshmallows just the same.
Also, this looks like the start of a very interesting relationship.
Alida (20:25, 30 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
Oh, come ON now, Ed. We might have little bits of marshmallow fluff floating around inside of us...but most of the rest is a morass of revenge/hate/anger/ and chill darkness. If you hang around us long enough, you too shall likely find at least part of you steeped in darkness, as well. ;)
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