A long distance call from dad
Who: Chadamalith and Mikhuth
What: Mikhuth checks in on one of his sons. It is a philosophical discussing on being and self.
Dragon> Interest whirls close as though suddenly reminded; the stamp and champing of runners, the low murmur of voices, the tinkle of bangles and the clank of pot and pans against wood caravan. << So, yer mine then, eh? Chadamalith, >> Mikhuth draws out the name, not unlovingly. (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> In return are images that breeze past almost as fast. A tinge of sleepiness may prevent them from going too quickly. The distant scent of the ocean accompanies music almost too far away to make out, but with a familiar melody none the less. << Yours? Am I not my own? >> gets returned in a puzzled tone. (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> The twist of campfire smoke drifts to meet the salt of the sea, coil around that lilting tune and bind it up with the merry flute and tambourine. << P'haps. Are ye? >> More laughter: happy children, reaching with dirty hands for Chadamalith's mind. << Gave ye life, din I, aft'r all? >> (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> To the music gets added the crash of waves and heat rising off black sand. << It is a question I ponder. I am my own. Yet am I not also then hers? >> Dirty hands are greeted with an imagine of more dirty hands, dirty feet, a flash of his rider with her black braids and grin. << And if you gave me life was it so I might be yours? Or so I might be my own? >> The smell of fruit accompanies this question along with a more cheeky melody joining the song. (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> << Mine as /family/, >> Mikhuth clarifies, and his mind draws forward and upward as a dragon launching into the air and the view spans beneath them - a ring of caravans, around a black-smoked fire, the swirl of colourful skirts and the glinting hoop of earrings. The glint of yellowed teeth in a wide, beaming smile. The sensation flickers, all-important: familycaringlineage. Kinship. << Sure, hers by love. Mine by blood. Yerself - gotta /earn/ that. >> (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> Cue blue screen. The images and words are met with a softly citrus scented blue covering everything. Chadamalith's mind is one big calm pond and it almost seems like he is done until he speaks again. << Family. Yes. >> But his agreement seems distant. On the edge of the color and smoke rather than joining in it. << I would say I have earned myself by being. After all if one is are they not themself? Do we not exist to be? >> (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> To Chadamalith, Mikhuth turns this over in his mind, those many thickly accented voices dropping to discuss among themselves, thoughtful, slow. It's an old woman, now, who looks up as her wrinkled hands shuffling through a deck of cards, laying them flat against a stained wooden table. << That's how ye figure it, then? >> Flick, flick. Now a Lady on the table, now a Lord. << Ain't worth nothin' 'less ye've got family t'care fer, t'care fer you, too. >> But that could be anyone: images cycle past on the faces of those cards: Lieryth, himself. Javeri.
Dragon> The words are listened to as the blue slowly fades and is replaced with imagines of others. Clutchmates and their riders blur with the weyrling staff and others. << These are apart from me. >> The words are simple, but the music behind them more firm. << I would not have the others. They are different. Distant. Not mine. >> Chadamalith allows a moment to pass before he speaks again. << Distant and different. You are not me. You are not here. What do you do then for me? >> (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> The old woman leans back with a rasp, grinning quite widely, rattling those cards left in her withered hands back and forth. << Made ye what y'are, then, what? Without me - >> that series of images puff out like a flame under a breath, one by one. << - ye wouldn't be who y'are. Diff'ent sire, diff'ent you. Did that, then. >> And that seems enough for the bronze, and the old woman, who draws her thin shawl around her shoulders and collects her deck of cards. (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> More blue, more citrus, more silence from the blue at Ista. When the music stirs again Chadamalith asks << How is that? That you have made me and yet I am me. How am I not the same if you did not make me? What would I be without your contribution then? >> The questions are sent rapidly accompanying images of what must surely be random things. A herdbeast, a tree, the ocean, a rock all get sent along with the questions. << What decides who is what? >> (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> Those questions rattle around, echoed by muttered voices, bouncing around in the dark nearness of a shadowed tent. << Dunno, mate, >> Mikhuth finally pronounces after some time, a shrug tossed back and forth and back and forth and accompanied by the uplifted palms of a dark-haired man. << Y'd be somethin' else, sure, but I cannae tell y'what. Y'are what y'are 'cause of where y'came from, /that's/ what I know. >> (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> There is something that is not quite curious in Chadamalith's tone. Not quite but there are more random images this time of people and beasts and combinations of the two that are odd and amusing at the same time. << But how do you know? >> comes with the images. << Tell me how you are aware of this. >> (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> To Chadamalith, Mikhuth casts about for some explanation, and finally retreats for a heartbeat - and is back again, armed with the thoughts drawn and plucked from his rider's own mind. << Here. >> He tosses them all at Chadamalith's feet; evidence, and they scatter about like cards freely thrown to the floor, images of smiling men and women, blond and tall all of them. << M'boy. His brothers. Sisters. Same ma 'n da - but ev'n then, diff'rnt, each one of 'em. Wouldn't - shouldn't they be t'same, if'n...? >> He's uncertain, hesitant. The bronze doesn't know, either.
Dragon> << So you do not know. >> Chadamalith draws comfort from this and the images slow down to form into actual people, creatures, items. Fruit trees are the last. << These are not us. Not the same as us. The others are not the same as me. But what makes us different? Why am I from you, but myself? >> (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> Laughter comes in the delighted voices of sun-dappled children shrieking as they play under those fruit trees; << 'Cause we'd just be talkin' t'ourselves, then, wouldn't we? If'n we were all t'same. Don' think I am. M'boy doesn't think I am. D'you? >> (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> The blue seeps around the edges of the scene and the trees wave in a breeze that carries the scent of the ocean. << Then I could be talking to myself and not you? >> Chadamalith asks with a trilling humor in his tone. The music in the humor takes on sharper tones and speeds up. << So, we are not alike. So, we are different. So, even if you created me I am still me. Without you. >> Now there is a wee bit of smugness in his voice. (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> << M'be, >> But there's laughter there, too, if concealed behind a swirl of acrid smoke, << But - I don' think so. 'm here, >> and /here/ is - some distance away, in the slush of not-winter and not-spring, Fort, watching weyrlings that are not-Chadamalith, << Yer there. >> /There/. Warmth. Black sliding sands. Lieryth. Ista. << N'ver said y'aint. Just that - >> whatever it was it said, back some time ago. Yes. That. (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> << Then I am me. And you used to be a part of me. >> Chadamalith seems content with this and the smoke gets blown away by a warm ocean breeze. << I am here. Perhaps when I am older I will be there as well. >> This nebulous future is offered like some sort of olive branch. He may not agree to being shaped by anyone, but he will visit the one who is not him. << And we shall see if that is true. That you are part me. >> Not the other way around, of course. (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> Mikhuth - Mikhuth-who-is-not-Chadamalith, no matter what the blue might say, who is quite distinct even for the shape and /feel/ of their minds, by that drift of smoke out to sea and that sharp tang of citrus - accepts the offer with a gracious dip. << Happy to, >> and the feeling that follows this is warm, son-of-mine, as the bronze, with a low muttering and the retreating bustle and clank of a train on the move, retreats from the blue's mind. (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
What: Mikhuth checks in on one of his sons. It is a philosophical discussing on being and self.
Dragon> Interest whirls close as though suddenly reminded; the stamp and champing of runners, the low murmur of voices, the tinkle of bangles and the clank of pot and pans against wood caravan. << So, yer mine then, eh? Chadamalith, >> Mikhuth draws out the name, not unlovingly. (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> In return are images that breeze past almost as fast. A tinge of sleepiness may prevent them from going too quickly. The distant scent of the ocean accompanies music almost too far away to make out, but with a familiar melody none the less. << Yours? Am I not my own? >> gets returned in a puzzled tone. (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> The twist of campfire smoke drifts to meet the salt of the sea, coil around that lilting tune and bind it up with the merry flute and tambourine. << P'haps. Are ye? >> More laughter: happy children, reaching with dirty hands for Chadamalith's mind. << Gave ye life, din I, aft'r all? >> (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> To the music gets added the crash of waves and heat rising off black sand. << It is a question I ponder. I am my own. Yet am I not also then hers? >> Dirty hands are greeted with an imagine of more dirty hands, dirty feet, a flash of his rider with her black braids and grin. << And if you gave me life was it so I might be yours? Or so I might be my own? >> The smell of fruit accompanies this question along with a more cheeky melody joining the song. (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> << Mine as /family/, >> Mikhuth clarifies, and his mind draws forward and upward as a dragon launching into the air and the view spans beneath them - a ring of caravans, around a black-smoked fire, the swirl of colourful skirts and the glinting hoop of earrings. The glint of yellowed teeth in a wide, beaming smile. The sensation flickers, all-important: familycaringlineage. Kinship. << Sure, hers by love. Mine by blood. Yerself - gotta /earn/ that. >> (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> Cue blue screen. The images and words are met with a softly citrus scented blue covering everything. Chadamalith's mind is one big calm pond and it almost seems like he is done until he speaks again. << Family. Yes. >> But his agreement seems distant. On the edge of the color and smoke rather than joining in it. << I would say I have earned myself by being. After all if one is are they not themself? Do we not exist to be? >> (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> To Chadamalith, Mikhuth turns this over in his mind, those many thickly accented voices dropping to discuss among themselves, thoughtful, slow. It's an old woman, now, who looks up as her wrinkled hands shuffling through a deck of cards, laying them flat against a stained wooden table. << That's how ye figure it, then? >> Flick, flick. Now a Lady on the table, now a Lord. << Ain't worth nothin' 'less ye've got family t'care fer, t'care fer you, too. >> But that could be anyone: images cycle past on the faces of those cards: Lieryth, himself. Javeri.
Dragon> The words are listened to as the blue slowly fades and is replaced with imagines of others. Clutchmates and their riders blur with the weyrling staff and others. << These are apart from me. >> The words are simple, but the music behind them more firm. << I would not have the others. They are different. Distant. Not mine. >> Chadamalith allows a moment to pass before he speaks again. << Distant and different. You are not me. You are not here. What do you do then for me? >> (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> The old woman leans back with a rasp, grinning quite widely, rattling those cards left in her withered hands back and forth. << Made ye what y'are, then, what? Without me - >> that series of images puff out like a flame under a breath, one by one. << - ye wouldn't be who y'are. Diff'ent sire, diff'ent you. Did that, then. >> And that seems enough for the bronze, and the old woman, who draws her thin shawl around her shoulders and collects her deck of cards. (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> More blue, more citrus, more silence from the blue at Ista. When the music stirs again Chadamalith asks << How is that? That you have made me and yet I am me. How am I not the same if you did not make me? What would I be without your contribution then? >> The questions are sent rapidly accompanying images of what must surely be random things. A herdbeast, a tree, the ocean, a rock all get sent along with the questions. << What decides who is what? >> (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> Those questions rattle around, echoed by muttered voices, bouncing around in the dark nearness of a shadowed tent. << Dunno, mate, >> Mikhuth finally pronounces after some time, a shrug tossed back and forth and back and forth and accompanied by the uplifted palms of a dark-haired man. << Y'd be somethin' else, sure, but I cannae tell y'what. Y'are what y'are 'cause of where y'came from, /that's/ what I know. >> (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> There is something that is not quite curious in Chadamalith's tone. Not quite but there are more random images this time of people and beasts and combinations of the two that are odd and amusing at the same time. << But how do you know? >> comes with the images. << Tell me how you are aware of this. >> (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> To Chadamalith, Mikhuth casts about for some explanation, and finally retreats for a heartbeat - and is back again, armed with the thoughts drawn and plucked from his rider's own mind. << Here. >> He tosses them all at Chadamalith's feet; evidence, and they scatter about like cards freely thrown to the floor, images of smiling men and women, blond and tall all of them. << M'boy. His brothers. Sisters. Same ma 'n da - but ev'n then, diff'rnt, each one of 'em. Wouldn't - shouldn't they be t'same, if'n...? >> He's uncertain, hesitant. The bronze doesn't know, either.
Dragon> << So you do not know. >> Chadamalith draws comfort from this and the images slow down to form into actual people, creatures, items. Fruit trees are the last. << These are not us. Not the same as us. The others are not the same as me. But what makes us different? Why am I from you, but myself? >> (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> Laughter comes in the delighted voices of sun-dappled children shrieking as they play under those fruit trees; << 'Cause we'd just be talkin' t'ourselves, then, wouldn't we? If'n we were all t'same. Don' think I am. M'boy doesn't think I am. D'you? >> (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> The blue seeps around the edges of the scene and the trees wave in a breeze that carries the scent of the ocean. << Then I could be talking to myself and not you? >> Chadamalith asks with a trilling humor in his tone. The music in the humor takes on sharper tones and speeds up. << So, we are not alike. So, we are different. So, even if you created me I am still me. Without you. >> Now there is a wee bit of smugness in his voice. (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> << M'be, >> But there's laughter there, too, if concealed behind a swirl of acrid smoke, << But - I don' think so. 'm here, >> and /here/ is - some distance away, in the slush of not-winter and not-spring, Fort, watching weyrlings that are not-Chadamalith, << Yer there. >> /There/. Warmth. Black sliding sands. Lieryth. Ista. << N'ver said y'aint. Just that - >> whatever it was it said, back some time ago. Yes. That. (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)
Dragon> << Then I am me. And you used to be a part of me. >> Chadamalith seems content with this and the smoke gets blown away by a warm ocean breeze. << I am here. Perhaps when I am older I will be there as well. >> This nebulous future is offered like some sort of olive branch. He may not agree to being shaped by anyone, but he will visit the one who is not him. << And we shall see if that is true. That you are part me. >> Not the other way around, of course. (Chadamalith to Mikhuth)
Dragon> Mikhuth - Mikhuth-who-is-not-Chadamalith, no matter what the blue might say, who is quite distinct even for the shape and /feel/ of their minds, by that drift of smoke out to sea and that sharp tang of citrus - accepts the offer with a gracious dip. << Happy to, >> and the feeling that follows this is warm, son-of-mine, as the bronze, with a low muttering and the retreating bustle and clank of a train on the move, retreats from the blue's mind. (Mikhuth to Chadamalith)