Logs:Vrianth's Second Flight: Musical Chairs
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| RL Date: 21 June, 2008 |
| Who: Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Leova discovers the perils of counting sheep when Vrianth goes up for her second flight in the middle of the night, resulting in very strange dreams. |
| Where: HRW |
| When: Day 28, Month 10, Turn 16 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'yan/Mentions, W'jar/Mentions, Big Foot/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: This vignette, planned with L'vae, sets the stage for Sh'dor's Idriloth becoming Vrianth's "frequent flier"... and, with it, IC problems because Sh'dor and L'vae have been having a Thing. Big Foot makes a cameo, as do at least two people who go unnamed. Chairs courtesy of "Taking Seats." |
| She'd tucked herself in alone that night. Vrianth was out on their ledge, head tucked under one wing, enjoying the last of the autumn warmth or maybe just too stubborn to move. But if she was happy, Leova was happy. She just couldn't sleep. She'd tried lying on her side, hugging one pillow with another for her head. She'd tried lying on her back, a pillow under her raised knees. She'd tried no pillows at all. She couldn't help but wonder how many more days it would be. Three, four? Whether it would feel like forever, like last time. Waiting. How much longer Vrianth would put them through. She'd just realized that morning, had told B'yan, had apologized because one of the other greens was out already. He'd been understanding enough. Just said to get back with the wing as soon as she could. And she knew it wasn't supposed to make any difference within the wing, not being able to count on their green dragons as they cycled through the Turn. It was just a few days each time. Everyone understood, that's what they said. Didn't mean she didn't wonder. Didn't mean she didn't want to thump W'jar when he made that crack about rest days. Now she tried tucking the sheet under her feet instead of letting them stick out into the cool cavern air. Tried rolling over onto her side again, tugging down the long nightshirt where it wanted to bunch up around her legs, bending her knees so she could capture its hem between her toes. Would Vrianth get her way this time? What did she even want? Time to count ovines. It never worked, so this time it might. One. Two. She tried to make them sharp enough to between to. Curly brown wool, long faces. Horns. She made one of them baa. Tomorrow she'd spend the morning giving Vrianth a bath. And then an oiling. And then some sunning, and she'd sit on the ledge outside the Snowasis while Vrianth was up by the Star Stones, and she'd sand down the hook she was making. It was skybroom, hard to work but worth it, strong enough to wedge into the stone wall and not break under the weight of a dragon's straps. And beautiful. Maybe she should start over. One ovine, perfect down to the hooves, with horns made out of skybroom and wool just the shade of... Maybe just blurry ovines. They were making her hungry, she could feel the gnawing beginning in her gut. But she could be stubborn too. She wasn't going anywhere. So hungry. The ovines pranced, taunting her. And then sleep swallowed her all at once.
In the dark she could let herself dance. Really dance. She loved the game. Loved the beat. Loved the steps everyone knew, more powerful when they all danced together. And loved the steps and spins and twists that surprised them. Tonight, the music kept stopping. And people wanted to take her chairs. She wasn't going to let them. She wasn't sure who, not in the glowlight, but she knew. Her chairs didn't match but they were just right, they fit the people who sat in them, they were exactly what she wanted. They couldn't have them. She was saving them. They weren't theirs. But the music went around and around and the drums were rasping the beat and every time the music stopped, they took another chair and then there were only two left. Her chairs. She was saving them. But they weren't there. Her hands hung onto the wood and she wasn't going to let go, wasn't ever going to let go, her hands were bleeding ichor and still she hung on. Let go, they were saying. But she wouldn't. She couldn't. They were shouting at her now. If she let go she would fall. So far. She didn't know how far, she couldn't see. So she didn't let go.
It didn't matter. And then he said her name. Vrianth, he said, and he took her instead of the chair and he couldn't have the chair but he could have her and so she let go.
Sore. Satisfied. So she stretched into the pillows, stretched into the aches. Luxuriating. Only that's when he said her name. Leova, he said. Just behind her. Sh'dor. She shivered. |
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