Logs:Protecting Iesaryth
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| RL Date: 3 July, 2012 |
| Who: Aishani, N'rov |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Iesaryth eavesdrops on Fortian happenings, and hears about Hraedhyth's little possession issues. |
| Where: Minds of Dragons |
| When: Day 20, Month 2, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Thundersnow |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Meara/Mentions |
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| It starts out as a faint trickle; the kind of sneaky little stream that can go unnoticed long enough to weaken rock, break foundations. But it's not Vhaeryth that salt-stream Iesaryth is evading, but her own rider, busy worrying over things that the gold has already gone over repeatedly, boring. Instead, she'll spill over the feeling of gliding, wind under strengthening, lengthening wings. Closer. The skies above light eerily with flashes in the dark clouds, snow coming down. Always. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) For all that it's not the bronze that she seeks to seep past, she finds him unaware even so, stretching his wings into the sensation of stretching hers beneath clear cold skies. He's sharper at it, though, short clipped cuts that won't graze the stone still beneath his talons, his neck cresting as he turns for a look at the thunder and lightning within: a gruff man yelling, a woman stalking out with cheeks aflame... while a man that's practically a boy dances lightheartedly even as another that might be his twin jumps up, falls down, scrambles to right himself over and over again. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Not meaning to eavesdrop, now that Iesaryth has managed to do so, it's difficult to stop herself; from settling herself into the feeling of rock that is less cold and icy than that she finds under her own talons every day. If she had any of Brieli's patience, she wouldn't need her, nor would she covet Vhaeryth's wingspan - without context, bright, quick thoughts have little to fix on but for the sense of drama. Trickle to stream; river to ocean tide, salty-sharp and curious. « Is there a lot of yelling? » (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) Distraction (more feminine storming in the distance, this time with the taste of dragon) yields to recognition and thence to pleased welcome, for Iesaryth hasn't drama just yet, has she? « So much yelling, » he agrees, the metal of his mind shifting this way and that until it bcomes a funnel for the tide: come, this way. Look and see. It's plain as day without snow, then: just one boy now, tearing up, attempting to yank a coveted piece of parchment out of the larger than life Weyrleader's hands... while, now, an older woman steps in to protect him. Something white floats in the foreground, out of focus: a plate, perhaps? Or the moon? (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Always so interested, quick to follow thoughts, Iesaryth distracts herself with Vhaeryth's welcome, because why follow up on some other girl's ranting? Dryly, in regards to drama, « There was the hair. » Beyond that, she has not yet had much; not much outside her own partnership. All too pleased to follow and splash along, noting the Fortian Weyrleader for later, the attempted destruction. There's something about torn bits of paper that tweaks a memory - not hers, clearly stolen - of old, similar shreds, hidden, but that passes. « They are all like Hraedhyth. It's not necessary to be so loud ALL the time. » Not that she minds the other gold, but. The white thing is puzzling; it takes her attention for some time. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) Hair: Vhaeryth's dismissive even as it amuses him, pointing out, « The hair was not yours. » Not her fault. Although... that amusement clarifies with a glimpse of skating dragonet, with long flowing locks emerging where she should have neckridges and blowing in the breeze, more scraps of paper blowing in her wake. « Even so, » and still there's that humor there, saving it from condescension with something like affection, even as the plate comes into focus all decorated with tiny brownish balls. « So very loud. She wanted to protect you too, » did Iesaryth know? (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) « No, but there was drama. » Iesaryth can share an image of the standoff, such as it was; a reasonable and pleasant-looking Weyrlingmaster, a cowering and silent Azaylia, a resolute and mouthy Brieli, arms crossed, nearly immovable. Nearly. Vhaeryth's image is entertaining enough that she won't take his dismissiveness seriously; indeed, is there anything she takes seriously? Affection or something like it, perhaps - it warms ocean's swells with sunlight, glinting off the waves. Bemused by the plate as a weapon or shield, she agrees, « Always. And she does, sometimes. She is a warrior. From you? » Iesaryth is not worried about Vhaeryth, or taking care of herself. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) It does look dramatic, as Iesaryth depicts it, though perhaps it wouldn't hurt for Vhaeryth to also give the trio great dark shadows more or less attached to their feet? « From me, » he agrees with what might be a very human roll of his eyes if they weren't spinning slowly already, but then he adds more slyly, « But will you protect me from her? She is very loud. I think she wanted to eat me, » chomp chomp chomp. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Long shadows... if only there were dramatically appropriate music Iesaryth knew of! There's a spray of seafoam at the idea of needing protection, or perhaps needing protection from Vhaeryth, dismissive. « What would you do? She worries too much over 'ours' and 'hers' and 'mine'. We are tied to too many places to be so... » Territorial. Perhaps the roar of the ocean can rise over the beat of the drums? The rhythm lifts experimentally, as she tells him, « Of course I will. They say I will be bigger. And I think I will be faster. » She thinks. Loftily, « She won't eat anyone I ask her not to. » There is the sense of warning; maybe the other gold does not eat, but will bite. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) As the seafoam trickles away, it reveals a gigantic satiny (dry) cushion with a little tiny (also dry) Iesaryth perched atop: that, to the issue of protection. Not that Vhaeryth isn't bemused at all this selfless, so-foreign sharing. A little louder, that he might be heard over the ocean still, « Fast is good. » Though there's something else, something he can't quite articulate, something about wanting it more. Whatever it is. It's not so distracting, though, that he can't be felt to sweep his tail in around him with extra drama, as though he might be bitten or at least gnawed upon right there given Iesaryth's warning. « I, » he decides with a great deal of gravity, « shall count on it. » But his tail's in safekeeping anyway. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth) Iesaryth is touched enough to be transparent in her pleasure at that image, despite the fact that she is tiny when clearly, one day soon, she will be much, much bigger. Perhaps bigger than some dragons, who knows about faster. « The others fly now. I will soon. » Whether anyone likes it or not. Vhaeryth's something else is interesting, enough to examine, to perhaps concede? before, « You should - but you are wise to keep your tail about you. » There's the sense of tugging, tide ebbing away as her attention is being pulled away, elsewhere; disappointed, « My presence is requested. I hope there is less shouting soon. » With a final splash to let salty drops streak metal, « I will tell you when there is less snow. » Since she's still trapped. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth) |
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