Logs:The Only Goldrider Who Doesn't Want to Kill Him
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| RL Date: 30 November, 2008 |
| Who: Lujayn, N'thei |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 7, Month 5, Turn 18 (Interval 10) |
| Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr Wedged between the lake and the rest of the vast bowl are the dusty feeding grounds. Here, the well-trampled ground is contained by a sturdy wooden fence, cutting right through one end of the lake to section it off into a muddy watering hole for the animals. Several gates allow people in and out, while at the back, large overhangs of rock provide the herd -- a mixed bag of herdbeasts, wing-clipped wherries, and fat porcines -- shelter from storms or the hot sun. What grass survives is usually bloodstained, but feeding troughs are stationed around the edges of the pen. Lovely spring day. The air is sweet and tinged with warmth, the skies are bright blue and dotted with perfect little clouds, and the feeding grounds are full of screaming and terrified herdbeasts stampeding in wild-eyed terror while Wyaeth tears recklessly through them, swiping and clawing and running happily amuck. N'thei, for lack of anything more useful to do around noontime, hangs out at the fence and watches the chaos with passive interest; his foot stays hitched on the lowest rail, his elbows resting on the highest, his eyes moving to follow the carnage. Terror and chaos? Rielsath wouldn't mind getting in on some of the fun. For the moment she bides her time circling above, watching Wyaeth's rampage with keen interest. Lujayn isn't far behind the appearance of her lifemate, enjoying the mild warmth of spring with slow strides. It's only a few seconds to the fence, where she leans and looks over at N'thei. "Looks like someone's having a good time." Eyes tilted upward, N'thei watches the circling queen with a less decisive interest than that paid by Wyaeth-- stopped dead in his tracks, a paw outstretched mid-swipe, slowly lowered to his haunches. But it turns out not to be his particular queen, though he favors Rielsath with a gruff snort of greeting before he resumes his wanton bloodbath, leaves N'thei to turn so Lujayn comes into his field of vision. Good time? "Killing for killing's sake. Are you a very busy person?" "Killing time, or actually killing?" Lujayn turns her back on the feeding grounds when Rielsath dives, driving a smaller portion of the herd away from Wyaeth's path of destruction. There's a merry pursuit, but she's too hungry to play around for long. Down goes dinner. "Depends on how long she takes to stuff herself," The rider replies with a shrug, "Are you?" Irritated, Wyaeth gripes vocally at Rielsath interrupting his meticulous planning and, when one of her detoured herd goes screaming by him, he swipes to foul the creature's legs and send it tumbling head-over-ass. Then it's a satisfied snort toward the queen before he moves to stamp violently on the downed buck. No reaction from N'thei to all that, just part of life nowadays. "Try to be. But that's not relevant. Asked because it seems like I hardly see you, and I'm wondering if I should take it personally." He even raises his eyebrows, trying to make a normal-ish conversation. --It's no easy task for him. Rielsath only looks up at Wyaeth when she's good and finished with the first beast, and then it's only to look regretfully at the wasted meal under the bronze's paws before she takes to the air again. Her search is longer this time, dives and playful swipes aimed directly for Wyaeth's future victims. "You've discovered my plan of never seeing you again and ruined it in the same moment," Lu grins even as she rolls her eyes. "Don't worry about it. I should take more time to just relax and hang out. Let the Weyrleader know I'm still around." Laughter, a rare thing, leaves N'thei momentarily while he answers, "You would not be the first person hellbent on never seeing me again, my dear girl. But you would be among the first to surprise me by it, as I think I've always been tolerable toward you." Not true for everyone. "He'll get mad in a minute," he adds, nods toward where Wyaeth chastises Rielsath with a harsh grunt and goes swaggering off in the direction of her diving, dragging the corpse that's still tangled up amid his talons. "Doing Satiet's bidding keeps you busy, or is it something of your own device?" "A bit of both," Lujayn admits, turning to watch the feeding pens and N'thei at the same time. Rielsath snarls right back at the irritated bronze, petulant, even encouraged by his disapproval. "He's not mad now?" Or maybe that's just regular Wyaeth-grumpy. Dragons aside, Lu nods. "Tolerable, I can put up with that. I'd rather get on your case for pissing me off than hiding from you, though." "Mmn," is N'thei's answer. Not mad now. But then-- with a big roar, Wyaeth throws down the carcass from his talons into the dirt in front of Rielsath, a big puff of blood and grit, and takes off with bits of fur still clinging to his paws. All spitfire and piss, he lands violently on the Star Stones, harasses the watchdragon, and settles down to brood and look hatefully down at the gold that spoiled all his-- ahem-- harmless fun. Again, unfettered; "Do you want me to piss you off then? It's a particular specialty of mine, happy to oblige." "I'd be happier if you avoided doing that." Because on purpose is the only way to do such a thing? Lujayn bites back a smile at Wyaeth's huffy departure, but laughs when Rielsath leaves off chasing herdbeasts to devour the trampled buck left behind in his wake. "Unless you're trying to put everyone on your bad side. No one likes to be left out." N'thei sniffs, a reaction of distaste while he watches Rielsath eat the much-abused carcass; watching Wyaeth torment and murder had no affect on him, but watching the queen eat a bloody and dirty mess doesn't sit so well. To Lujayn-- "Do like to keep all my little ducks in a row, so it would make sense if I was hard to you and you stormed off in a huff. But there's time yet to get to that. Do you imbibe?" A touch of merriment brightens his eyes at having to ask that particular question to anyone living at High Reaches Weyr; isn't it a universal fact that they all do? It all tastes the same, stomped or not, and Rielsath doesn't look the least bit guilty as she raises her head from the carnage and takes a look around - feeding grounds, uneasy beasts, chatting riders much more at ease than anything that's gone down in the last few minutes on her particlar side of the fence. They get a sidelong glance for that particular incongruity. "Socially," Lujayn looks up at merry N'thei with less amusement. "You?" Might as well ask, just to be a pain. Socially. The same tone, "Unrelentingly." N'thei's flask tips toward Lujayn in silent offering, only just removed from the pocket of his light jacket, unscrewed in a short, deft twist of his fingers. "How is it with you three, I wonder." "Who?" Lujayn shakes her head at the offer, brought back into conversational spirits by her curiosity. Rielsath decides she's just that hungry, or doesn't feel like leaving while her rider is still hanging out, making lazy circles in the sky again. "Rielsath and me and someone else?" Is her best guess, unless N'thei is thinking of other social drinkers - and she can't think of any at High Reaches herself. Social drinkers, none of them: "Satiet and Tiriana and you." N'thei holds the flask, catches the sunlight on the polished surface, shines it this way and that until it finds the reflection of Rielsath's circles. A questioning look essays to the goldrider, curious as to why the queen is still here if she's done eating? Or curious why the goldrider is still here? Both? "As well as can be expected. No major problems," Lujayn muses. "Unless I haven't heard something that would raise that question." The same questioning look on her own face: Wyaeth gone, his rider killing time in the dragon's place? "I get the feeling they're like you, always been tolerable towards me." N'thei shakes his head to answer, finally sets the flask to his lips for a drink that does him more good than harm, thankfully. Another chuckle, short-lived; "If there were anything to hear of goldriders, my dear, I'd be the last to have heard it. You have the questionable honor of being the only one to have been in my presence recently without the possibility of violence erupting. You sure you won't have a drink? A toast to your tolerance?" "I've got plans." Lujayn shakes her head again, watching as Rielsath decides against having a third (no matter how much fun it is to chase them around) and veers off towards the main bowl. "Shouldn't do the whole /between/ thing on whatever strong stuff you've got in there." Because there's no way N'thei would carry around a flask of weak ale. "Hey, any time you want a violence-free conversation, I'd be glad to oblige." "No?" Like the fact that alcohol and *between* don't mix is news to him, N'thei eyes the flask then the queen jetting off then the goldrider, all in questioning succession. "Generally speaking, placidity and I are not good friends. Speaking of which-- did you quit that little bastard from Ista yet?" From some people, asking about a girl's lovelife might seem gossipy or prying; from him, the businesslike quality of the question lends to the idea that he's not so much concerned with who shares Lujayn's furs as much as who's troubling the Weyr with his presence. "That's where I'm headed," If anyone's bold enough to ask, Lu is generally game to answer. She pauses, a little edgy to get on with it now that Rielsath's decided to leave. "If that gives you a clue." Not eager to sit around and justify her choices, especially not with N'thei, she smirks. "I'll have Rielsath warn Wyaeth if they show up for dinner, how about that?" As long as she's being so compliant, N'thei allows himself a slow-spread grin after her offer of warning. And he answers it with that particular quality of menace that he's distilled down to a special hardness in the eyes that catch on Lujayn's; "Do that, my dear. I would really enjoy seeing him again." Then a raise of his forehead, chin tossed toward the bowl, "Don't let me keep you." Lujayn is smiling, maybe a little uneasily, but smiling nonetheless. "I'll pass it along." She doesn't need telling twice in order to walk away from the feeding grounds, menacing looks, stomped carcasses, and all. |
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