Logs:Welcome to Alpine. Population: One More
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| RL Date: 25 August, 2015 |
| Who: H'kon, Z'kiel |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Wing tapping. |
| Where: Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 8, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Y'rel/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: No, I couldn't think of a good log title. |
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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.
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. The graduation came. The graduation went. Z'kiel's role in it all was stoic, grim-faced - and obligatory. Leave it to Ahtzudaeth to be puffed up with pride - and not just for himself and his, but for all of them. His glory was radiant; his satisfaction a scintillating array of lights scattered on the mirrors of his mind. Indeed, the ceremony was so terribly important to the bronze that he endured a great and terrible hunger for some time before, at long last - and long after the partying was over - he finally declared for his rider's benefit, « I am going to see if there is anything left in the feeding grounds. Would you care to join me? » The answering grunt was enough. And, so, that's where they are now: Ahtzudaeth stalking from the skies, while Z'kiel, dressed down in casual clothing - a plain, unlaced leather vest, loose-fitting trousers, a sash (notably in 'Reachian hues), and boots - perches on the fence. He hunkers forward and passes a palm over his shaved scalp, his expression unreadable while his skybound beast finally arrows down to make a swift, efficient kill. If conversation is had, it's had in grunts; from man and beast alike. H'kon, it goes without saying, is not a casually social man. But this was a large event, an event of some importance, which might explain his appearing along the walls, offering congratulations to many of the newly-graduated. Notably absent from his list would have been Z'kiel, though eye contact may at one point have been made with the bronzerider before H'kon left. Arekoth was notably absent from the bowl as well, for a time. H'kon's changed his clothes, however, and is as presentable as he can be, when they take flight from their low-lying family weyr. When Arekoth lands near the pens, and the rider dismounts, his cowlick is more cowlicked than its usual, but that may could just be the wind. « Ahtzudaeth, » greets Arekoth, while his rider tugs at the bottom of his jacket, and squares his shoulders, and focuses those cool green eyes of his. Preparing. Pride lingers in Ahtzudaeth's voice, bright and warm and redolent of pipe smoke. « Ah! Arekoth! It is a pleasure to see you. Would you care to join me for a late dinner? It appears there are a few good ones left. » Z'kiel's mouth pulls slightly to one side at something or another; a moment later and he's sliding a look askance to catch sight of both brown and rider. A faint hnnnh escapes him and he swings around to dismount the fence, which puts him in a prime position to properly salute the man. Habit, that; of the weyrlings, he might be one of - if not the - most formal of the lot. Green eyes will inexorably seek green, the Igenite's jaw set at its usual, hard angle. And he waits. « I've eaten today already, » answers Arekoth. « I'll watch your hunt, though. » And the older dragon settles, his wings flicking a few times before finding a restful position on his back, and that intense stare that he does so well settling firmly on the young bronze. « No pressure. » Naturally. H'kon is accustomed to salutes, and returns Z'kiel's with a crisp efficiency. Z'kiel goes on to be his target, those short legs moving with a purpose toward the no-longer-weyrling. And as he draws within speaking distance: "I did not extend my congratulations to you at the graudation party." A statement of fact, not an apology. « Ah, a pity, » yet, good-natured as Ahtuzdaeth is, it doesn't bear the weight of pity. « All the same, » he continues while digging neatly into the viscera of his chosen herdbeast, « I am pleased that you are here to observe. » Pressure? It doesn't seem to exist as a concept for him. He is, if nothing else, very clean about his kills and his eating. When he's done with that portion of his meal, he takes to the sky again to suss out a second. Z'kiel starts to fold his arms, then stops; a canted look to the skyward bronze suggests more than enough. He settles on folding his hands behind his back, his posture stiff - and, unfortunately, highlighting the height disparity that all but requires him to look down at the ranking rider in the situation. A duck of the chin is a mute acknowledgement of the statement, a faint grunt follows in case that wasn't sufficient, but there is nothing further to say. H'kon is used to it. It changes nothing. "I wished to do so when I would next have a change to speak with you privately." His eyebrows lift, only slightly, and he glances quickly, still efficient, but also telling, to their surroundings. The time is now. But it's not congratulations he offers. It's a shift of his stance, making it wider, a lift of his chin as he looks up and down the bronzerider, a slight clasp of his hands behind his back. A firm nod to wrap it all off. "Alpine will take you." « Both. » Arekoth assumes, of course, that Ahtzudaeth is listening. "Understood," Z'kiel grates out. Still. H'kon's survey of the area is noted with only a faint pull at one corner of the weyrling's mouth. Like as not, he's already checked and is aware, but still. It's only when the other man mirrors his stance that one eyebrow tweaks upward. In that same motion, Ahtzudaeth is descending, swift and neat, to cleanly dispatch another herdbeast. His maw gapes in a tremendous smile, with a bright bugle following after; pride, again. It's all there, in every facet of that bronze's being. His rider, for his part, remains grim-faced and solid. A nod to echo H'kon's own. Then: "Thank you, sir. We will do our best." « No, » comes the luminous correction and, with it, the distinct sense of a figure leaning forward and peering over the top rims of spectacles, « we will do the best for Alpine. For you, Arekoth, and yours, and all the rest. » H'kon nods, a gruff, short thing, to Z'kiel. "We will make your best better," has nothing of uncertainty in it, nor, for that matter, pride. It's a simple confidence. H'kon knows his wing. « Good, » says Arekoth. « 'Cause otherwise, you're out. » It's jovial, and yet. "Y'rel will hand you your knot properly. Still, we'll expect to see you at Alpine's table for common meals. Which tend to precede or follow drills, you may remember. We've a rest day tomorrow, but I would suggest you meet with me nonetheless, and we can go over your place in the sweep schedule. Drills are the day after." "Good." Satisfaction might be perceived. Z'kiel nods to each point that's made, with a grunt or hnnnh following each. "Of course, sir. We look forward to it." All of it, probably; for all of his earlier - if natural - tension, something seems to have been released to lend him some sense of relief. Faint, but it's there. "Where and when would you like to meet tomorrow?" And of the bronze? Ahtzudaeth lapses into uncharacteristic silence while he listens in - and eats, of course. Hunger waits for no man - or dragon, for that matter. Arekoth's words don't go without acknowledgement, though; it's wordless, but the weight of reassurance sits there, like a hand on the proverbial shoulder. They will not disappoint, or so says that gesture. A word is ready on his lips, but dies unspoken. H'kon's mouth presses closed, and for a moment, that furrow in his brow deepens. Then, normalises. "Best it be two hours before the afternoon meal. You can meet me in the council chambers, provided they are not suddenly required. Arekoth will reach out to Ahtzudaeth if anything should change, of course." His head tilts, just a little. Any more questions? A nod and an intoned, "We'll be there," seals the deal. And, in truth, he'll be there a half hour earlier, if not more. Z'kiel meets that unspoken query with an equally unspoken answer; a slight shake of his head and a straightening of his posture. Whatever passed across H'kon's features is either unnoticed - or, more likely, left alone without comment. In the feeding area, Ahtzudaeth's consumption is slowing; his interest in the whole thing remains there, faint but perceptible - retreating only when things seem to be settled or nearly so. Nearly. H'kon's nod, this time, is final. His hands unclasp from behind his back, and tug once more at the base of his jacket. "Congratulations on your graduation, Z'kiel." And, with a nod and glance to the bronze, "Ahtzudaeth." Taking a slight step back: "You were not sought out so soon by accident." It's like a goodbye. At any rate, H'kon turns to go. Arekoth seems ready to stay, but then. That is one of the perks of weyrs with ground access. "Thank you, again, sir." Another nod - this time, one from each of them. Z'kiel's posture remains stiff, but his hands unwind from behind him and, while H'kon moves to leave, he's doing likewise. A sidelong look to Ahtzudaeth yields but a low rumble from the beast. As soon as his last kill is finished, the bronze moves to make that short hop over the fence. « Be well, Arekoth. You and yours, both. » The warmth lingers, amiable without being oppressive, until they're gone. |
Comments
Alida (22:14, 26 August 2015 (PDT)) said...
I really enjoyed reading this. No extraneous, over-the-top words or gestures. Just...honesty and solid presence. ALida would approve...not that anyone needs her approval. ;)
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