Logs:Purification, Poison, Plans...and Pyrite
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| RL Date: 30 July, 2015 |
| Who: Alida, Z'kiel |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Weyrling and rider cross paths in baths; clicks and cleansing are had. |
| Where: Bathing Pools, HRW |
| When: Day 28, Month 5, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Variable clouds, cool. |
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| It's been a bad day. Not that Z'kiel's expression betrays any more than the characteristic grimness that suffuses his being, of course. But, the heap of bloodied and muddied clothing at the edge of the pool says plenty. He's in the furthest back pool, which is perhaps for the best, and might well have just gotten in for the state of him. The weyrling has yet to let his hair grow out - and, in fact, it's still being shaved regularly to leave his scalp smooth - but that leaves the scars of his back free to be seen without obstruction. He's obliquely positioned, just so, to keep an eye on the entrance while he scrubs away at both the dirt and the blood that covers him. Bloody is more what finally gets Alida's attention than muddy, the entering woman already half-shed of her clothes, which are tucked neatly away into a large satchel hanging from one shoulder. Z'kiel can see her occasionally through the ever-present mists as she nears, the blonde finally setting down her burden on a stone bench near the closest wall, then divesting herself of and tucking away the rest of her clothing before nabbing up a baggie of sweetsand. If she notices the weyrling this whole time, the bluerider says nothing, instead stepping down into the warm waters with a sigh, and then ducking under the water for long moments to get her long hair thoroughly wetted. Bloop! Back up she comes, and not soon after, a gold firelizard pops into being above the pool from chilly Between, a pleasant set of tones coming from her throat as she lands upon aforementioned water, and stars to splash herself. The silence is mutual. Z'kiel tilts his head just a little when Alida comes into his peripheral vision, but he doesn't seem to track her movements. Not overtly, at any rate. He's plenty busy with scrubbing out the shallow scrapes gashes that lace his forearms and make a milder appearance further up his arms as well. A few cuts criss-cross his chest and a bite - decidedly not human - can be spotted at one shoulder. It's the manifestation of the firelizard that finally pulls his attention, though perhaps not for the better. There's a narrowing of eyes and a pulling of his mouth to one side until the beast settles in the water. A low hnnnh escapes him when the creature starts to splash, but that's the extent of his vocalization for the time being. She's good at noticing things - damned guards - and all those marks that litter Z'kiel's body, new and old, are reason for Alida to keep flicking her vert gaze over his form, though not overtly. That's not nice, in the baths. Still, the bluie holds her silence, even as she starts to lather and scrub up the long skeins of her hair...until that rather nasal sound is emited from the bronzer. "She buggin' ya'?" is inquired flatly, in Alida's usual speedy alto, even as the wee gold chirrups and paddles closer to her mistress. There's plenty to see; for all his two decades of life, Z'kiel's accrued a full lifetime and a half's worth of marks and injuries - not the least of which are the burns on his arms that he earned in the incident that shall not be named. Curiously, it's while she's working with her hair that he finally cants a look askance to study her. It's a clinical sort of study, reptilian in its own right. He might well have continued in silence if it weren't for her breaking of it. "No," he finally grates out. "Just wary." He sucks his teeth. "Small. Fast." A beat. "Splashy. Can't hurt to be cautious." The weyrling's own observation of Alida finds her form - at least from shoulders up - somewhat akin to his own, with various smaller scars - punctures and a few slices - dotting her pale skin, along with ample hints of the upper half of a very detailed, lovely tattoo of a blue dragon between and over shoulderblades, wings outstretched. Apparently she's ignoring his own studying, the woman instead scooping up her firelizard to use a bit of soapsand from her own hair to apply to golden hide, and rub briskly. A low churr of pleasure eminates from the flit, who splays indolently upon 'lida's forearm to suck up the attention, even as the rider replies to Z'kiel, "And thus potentially dangerous." Beat. "Unlike somethin' similar ta her, but about 40 feet longer." This time, she *is* looking directly at him, and those fresh, dragon-'inspired' wounds. The bluerider doesn't look fazed, however. Just curious, cautious. There's an idle click of tongue against teeth, a sound without context. Survey complete, Z'kiel dunks his arms in the water to rinse them - and then to get a proper look at the injuries. Peripheral observation of the firelizard and bathing thereof is made, but it's her words that he ultimately replies to. "Small and fast is always dangerous, even if it doesn't mean to be." She looks; he looks back. Cool green eyes seek to lock onto her own, if only briefly. "The big ones are dangerous, too. Especially because they don't mean to be. A bad step. Too eager to fly - to go Between." He rolls a shoulder - notably, the one not occupied by an oozing bite - and grunts. "Don't have to worry about that with tunnelsnakes. They're beasts. Predictably dangerous - if you see them before you rile them." His sounds are somewhat interesting, Alida's head quirking just slightly as Z'kiel emits another of them, the background thrum of Pyrite's rhythmic churrs accompanying it, as do the sounds of other people splashing and quietly conversing about them. "*Anything's* potentially dangerous, no matter the speed 'r size," the woman comments in return, her own clear green eyes locking with the weyrling's for a longer moment before returning to her pet. Scrubba dub. Around her task comes a low rebuttal of, "Lucky enough ta take only bruises from Ilicaeth's juvenile excesses." Painful ones, if the wrinkle of her nose says anything. A small, if firm bob of head to word of tunnelsnakes is given, even as the little gold turns her quickly whirling, green gaze onto the bronzerider, chiples at him for a moment before returning to her crooning thrum. "Danger c'n come from bein' too predictable, too." He's full of them, if one listens long enough. For now, though, it's just another of those drawn out hnnnh noises and a silence that follows. A thoughtful sound, that. Z'kiel deems the injuries not terrible enough to need a healer and proceeds through the rest of the washing ritual - which does, if briefly, require a dunk under the water to soak down his bald head. "Haven't had problems with Ahtzudaeth," he observes. "Unless you count working hard." Maybe too hard, but he's not the one to say it; to admit to it. He pulls his thumb over the shallow punctures at his shoulder with a slight distortion of his features. For a moment, he looks at the firelizard - might even meet her whirling gaze and echo that chirp with another tongue-click - and then he's looking back to the rider. "Can," he agrees as he works the soapsand over the top of his head. "Usually the case, so it seems. Hunting is about that. Find the patterns. Exploit them." Exploit. Not a word of his own choosing, if the slight hesitation is to be believed. The young man's sounds draw further ones from the lazing firelizard, Pyrite first buzzing, then 'clicking' back at Z'kiel, while Alida ministers to the flit, and then finally sets her down back into the water. The woman look significantly at the weyrling's injuries when he speaks of not having 'problems' with his lifemate, and then shrugs her strong, shapely shoulders. It's not *her* call. It's back to scrubbing her own hair as he continues, 'lida finally commenting through growing suds around her head, "Mhm. Observation, patterns, formulation, implementation...exploitation." Is there something darker in the curious little half-smirk-half-smile that touches her mouth for a moment? Out of left field, "What's he like?" The firelizard will, in turn, be awarded with a rapid double-click - though that's the end of Z'kiel's firelizard-whispering for the moment. Another quick dunk to rinse and the scrubbing is resumed. One eyebrow tweaks skyward at that look. "Tunnelsnake," is all that needs to be said of it. And, yet: "Found a nest in his weyr when I was cleaning." A beat. Then: "Our weyr. Even if it's his. Mostly." He slows a little during the rest of the full body scrub down, his head tipped back thoughtfully at that question. It's one worthy of a curiously melodic hum-grunt, even. "He likes everyone. He wants to help everyone. Thinks there are great things out there. Better things." He sucks his teeth and levels his gaze - more or less - at Alida. "He's a good dragon, I think. But hard. Speaks in riddles a lot. Likes to laugh - but likes to push, too." Not the word he wants, but it's the word that'll have to do despite the grimace that follows. Clickety-click! It's now a game for the firelizard, Pyrite double clicking back at Z'kiel as she's settled back to the water's surface, the little gold with the once-more blue eyes now paddling her slightly pudgy form closer to the weyrling and his dunking himself. Someone's curious. Alida keeps a weather eye on her pet while working suds through to the ends of her hair, an expression of muted realization crossing her features for those further words of tunnelsnakes. "Lucky it wasn't one uv the poisonous ones, then..." she comments, then quieting to listen to Zak's words of his lifemate. "Got plans, then? If 'e remembers 'em at all..." A whiskied chortle touches the damp air, the blonde nodding once again, while the little gold suddenly trills at the new person. Beat that! He does a fine job of pretending not to keep an eye on the goldling in the water. Z'kiel's a canny one at that sort of thing. "Not so common here. The venomous ones. Had to deal with them in Igen a fair bit." He presses at the edge of the bite again, testing. "Could still be a slow-kill type." Matter-of-fact, that. Or he's just not worried. In either case: "I assume so. Seems to have a good memory on him." His brow furrows. "Not sure what his plans are, though. Can't be sure of anything, sometimes." There's a slight shake of his head. "How's yours?" Ah. And there goes that trilling. In the space between question and possible answer, he emits a throaty warble at Pyrite, sounding not unlike some species of avian. There's another silent dip of head from Alida at the uncommon nature of poisonous 'snakes in 'Reaches, the woman finally finishing up scrubbing her hair while commenting back, "Y'll find out in the next 24 hours. Always telltale signs somewhere in yer body if ya listen ta 'em." She takes a few moments to submerge and rinse out her locks thoroughly after, then. Back up for air, the bluie takes in the rest of what Z'kiel has to say, then noting quietly to him, "'S rarer, on a dragon. Think Aishani's Iesaryth had a long memory, too." Pause, scrub. "K'zin's Rasavyth, too." How bland she is while speaking those names. Still... Quietly noted: "You might be Weyrleader this next Flight." Again, from left field! This time, the blonde is subtly observing *him*. Of Ilicaeth: "He's pretty easy-goin'...until 'e finally gets irate." Woe be to all, then. "Canny. Rough-n-tumble lots uv times. Patient." Blink. It's not only Pyrite who's peering at the former Igenite at his bird-call sound, Alida finding her mouth smiling a hint, while the little queen rows right up to Z'kiel and responds with a deep hum that puffs her lungs and throat/chest out significantly. There's just a grunt of assent, a shallow duck of chin, and then he's on to rinsing himself off a second time. Up goes an eyebrow again, if subtly, for the next bit. Z'kiel says nothing of the first name, but the second elicits a mild, "Could be why he likes Rasavyth as he does. Makes sense." It's that quieter aside that seems to be the catalyst for his backwards step for the lip of the pool. He's not out yet - he's listening still - but there's an observable, if unreadable, shift. She speaks; he listens. There's a low sound of understanding, of thoughtfulness. "Patient. Probably one of the best traits to have. Sounds like a good dragon, too." He supposes, anyway. There might be more - perhaps there should be - but then there's a humming gold firelizard and he's not about to be outdone. He's not so good with the humming, but he can pull off a fairly deep growl that reverberates at the back of his throat. Canid, almost. Likes Rasavyth? There's no reaction to that announcement, Alida now working on scrubbing her neck and shoulders, arms, though her eyes remain mostly upon Z'kiel. His reactions evoke none in the woman, his lack of at least direct response to her 'Weyrleader' prompt also telling her something. Nod. "He is." Rock-sure. The man's growl for Pyrite has the gold emitting a chitter of surprise, then launching herself into the air so as to be able to retreat more speedily to her human's head, where she tries to perch, then scold the bronzerider with yellow-dotted blue eyes whirling. "Shoo..." the blonde notes blandly to her pet, waving the flit off until Pyrite settles in the water, again. "Wasn't gonna hurt'cha, silly." Eyeroll. And Z'kiel's up and out of the water as soon as the firelizard makes her escape. A towel is vigorously employed, silence allowed to spin itself out among the other noises of the bathing pool. It takes less than a minute and, in the next, the towel is wrapped around his waist purely as a means of keeping his hands free. "Remind me some time," he finally says when he's all but done, "and I'll get her some jerky. Good jerky." One corner of his mouth pulls a bit into unreadability. "Might reassure her. If she remembers." He's quiet for a few beats before adding: "Could get some for you, too. If you like it hot." Alida is good with silence, the woman scrubbing more of herself in the meantime, while Z'kiel dries off. His first words garner a flick of clear green eyes from the bluie, then a low, "She's got a decent memory." And, of jerky: "She loves it." Too much, might speak the quick look given to the slightly pudgy firelizard, who's now diving and surfacing. Sigh. "Just don' overfeed 'er, nor indulge 'er too often." Because, again: pudgy. It's the last remark that really earns the weyrling something rarer from this particular woman: a look of surprise. Blink. It takes her a couple of moments to recover, then finally grunt to the young man, "Nice as a change, sometimes. That richer stuff from the traders that visit Igen Weyr once a Turn's good." Smirk-grin. That look is followed and, in that moment, a corner of Z'kiel's mouth twists into what might be a betraying smile. Maybe. "I won't. Not mine to indulge," is his reasoning. "Don't want her thinking I'm made of treats." Also true. He drags his palms over his head, the act sufficing to squeegee any remaining water from the skin - real or imagined, as the case may be. "See what I can do about that," he says and it's as good as a promise. If he's surprised by her surprise - well. He's back to being grim again, no betrayals of mood to be found. He turns to take his leave - with the pile of laundry left for some unfortunate laundry-type to deal with - only to stop again. The Igenite cuts a glance over his shoulder, catching her just barely in his peripheral vision. "Left all to his own, he'd be Weyrleader. Don't doubt it." A breath. "But. He's not." Mild and matter-of-fact, followed up with a salute. Is that a knowing little shadow of a grin for that twist of Z'kiel's lips? It's gone so quickly into Alida's usual neutral mien that he likely can't be sure. "Exactly." the blonde comments. Unlike a certain brownriding weyrling. "Nice..." the bathing woman comments easily to the bronzer's words of doing what he can, allowing him to depart without any kind of farewell from either of them...until he notes that particular sentiment over his shoulder. "Can't blame ya," is murmured heartily, though with a caveat, "Time'll tell." Zak's salute earns him another kind of rarity from the often aloof woman: a snap of a full, nearly-perfect guard's salute in return before she almost blandly re-settles back into scouring her hide pink. |
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