That's two, X'lar.
RL Date: 9/1/08
IC Date: 8/17/17
Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.
A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs.
X'lar heads in from the bowl.
X'lar has arrived.
Middle of the day, still hot enough, N'thei takes advantage of the last of summer at the lake shore. Wyaeth suns himself down by the feeding grounds, gleaming oily after a bath and a fresh coat, and his rider parks in the shade of one of the big boulders, bare-backed to the warm rock, barefooted in the sand. There aren't so many people out considering the fineness of the day, just a few youngsters splashing in the shallows and another pair down the beach a stretch finishing off their own baths. People tend to avoid the Weyrleader as a general rule, and it serves him well on a day like today, time to clean out beneath his fingernails and just relax.
Malsaeth jumps from between overhead. The watchdragon gets a rumble, some sort of greeting on the young bronze's part. Rather than take a leisurely flight downward, Malsaeth touches down by the feeding ground promptly, landing. X'lar himself scrambles downward and makes his way toward the lake shore. While X'lar takes his meandering stroll by the shore, Malsaeth looks warily to the older bronze. It doesn't take long for the Istan teen to take his boots and socks off and begin walking in the shallows, veering off at the sight of the kids. Ironically, he doesn't veer off when the Weyrleader is spotted. In fact, X'lar walks directly to him, albeit slowly enough to give the taller man some warning of his arrival. "Afternoon, N'thei," X'lar calls.
Wyaeth's << What're you doin' here? >> comes almost immediately after Malsaeth takes shape over Reaches airspace, the demand sent even before the watchdragon can sate his dutiful query. Eyes shaded, descent tracked, kid's progress followed to the shallows, N'thei must have put some kind of kibosh on his dragon's sternness, for Wyaeth lids his eyes with a snort of discontent and cuts himself off from the younger bronze, stonewalled before he can even get a reply. "So it is," he answers toward the water, scraping sand out from beneath his thumbnail with the point of his beltknife-- which he puts away after a second longer. "Water's warmer at Ista, or so I've always heard."
<< He came to see her. Or yours. He couldn't decide. >> Malsaeth answers. Prompt, even. Perhaps expecting the older bronze's question. << That alright with you? >> The question from Malsaeth almost appears tempered with his sly sense of humour. X'lar, on the other hand, ain't that sly. "Warmer, yeah," X'lar answers N'thei back. "I could always put it in a jar for you, but I doubt it'd stay that warm." The Istan rider takes a gander at that beltknife briefly. That couldn't be concern flashing quickly over the younger rider's face could it? "I like this place too, though."
Nothing. Apparently, N'thei's shut-up-Wyaeth worked, since all the bronze does is snore-- over-the-top, but he thinks he's making a point. "Lujayn seems happy." It's not easy to make such a potentially innocuous, even praising comment come out like X'lar's at fault for a great many ills in that respect, but the man pulls it off with bland finesse. "Congratulations." Don't worry, he puts the beltknife on the belt that's laying coiled up on top of his tunic and such; no one is going to get stabbed-- probably, presumably.
"She does," X'lar notes, "seem happy." Malsaeth, happy enough for the silence from the other bronze, stretches out as well, enjoying the sun. The over-the-top snoring isn't all that preposterous to the younger bronze, not that bothersome. "Is that what you're supposed to say?" he asks. It's a sudden bout of verbosity quickly making him ask additionally of the Reachian 'leader. "Congratulations?" Another pause, another look toward that beltknife. Then finally, directly to the other man now: "This is new to me."
"Don't know what to tell you about that." N'thei picks some larger pebbles out of the sand by his feet, shoots them off toward the water to get them off the beach. "Uncomfortable?" His brows lift, his eyes lit a touch hopefully; consider it X'lar's penance for victory.
"You an' Wyaeth have been through it more, thought you'd know," X'lar remarks. His face grows taut, his lips pressing into a tight smile at the one word question that's posed to him from N'thei. "Yeah," he answers in one word back to the other rider. "Probably not for the reasons you think," he adds.
N'thei puts on his really-now face, the one that parades out when someone needs to be reminded that they've said something idiotic. "Wasn't the same." The comparison between what he-and-Wyaeth have been through and what X'lar-and-Malsaeth are going through, that would be the part that earns the look. "What reasons do you think I think." Another pebble, running out of busy-work though.
X'lar actually rolls his eyes at N'thei's really-now face, seemingly annoyed with the parading of such a visage from the other man. "How was it not the same?" X'lar asks, practically exaggerating that first word in the question. "I think you think I'm uncomfortable because of you and the Weyrwoman." Big emphasis in that. /Weyrwoman/. As if he were more uncomfortable at the thought of Satiet than N'thei, even /with/ that beltknife included.
Nostrils flare. "Wasn't a little boy, didn't have feelings for her, and watch the eye-rolling." N'thei tacks on a smile, a very not-nice and warning smile, before he pushes his hands against the boulder so he can slide to his feet. Out of the shade, he squints again. "Are you saying that Satiet doesn't make you uncomfortable." Is that even possible?!
"Little boy," X'lar repeats dryly. "I'm young, but I'm no boy, N'thei." There's a deep breath from the Istan now, as if restraining himself from saying anything else on the matter, training his features. Forcing them if he has to. "Guess news travels fast," he finally replies. "On having feelings for her. Didn't know many people knew." He watches as the other man sliding to his feet, wary. "No," he answers the last question. "I'm not saying that." So is that him agreeing she does make him uncomfortable or that he's not going to say the words. "I'm more uncomfortable with the fact that there /are/ feelings involved," he answers, more verbose now. "Matters of the heart always trump matters of the.. whatever this is." He gestures between N'thei and himself. "If the heart gets involved, life gets complicated /fast/."
"Mostly a guess. Spent the night with her. You're here-- again." Someone's been counting Malsaeth's comings-and-goings. Right when X'lar insists he's not a boy, N'thei finds his height and straightens a crick in his neck and looks, oh-so-pointedly, down and across at the younger man. "How was it between you two afterward, when you came around and knew what had happened. What did she say to you, you to her."
"Why are my comings and goings that important?" X'lar asks him. He takes a few steps back, if only to not have his neck in a crick just to look at the taller man. At least he's not stepping on a rock to gain height. "Actually, scratch that question," he finally amends. "Would you feel any different had someone else won that flight?" A question for a question. But he'll answer N'thei's, too, albeit grudgingly, "We talked about how our dragons felt. Sort of affirmed that we were taking it slow, despite... what happened with the flight." There's a brief pause and X'lar admits, "I'd thought of staying. Before even the clutching. Talked about that too. But... ended up deciding to stay in Ista."
N'thei shakes his head at the question, hardly gives it the thought it takes to answer, "She's my junior queen, doesn't matter where the eggs come from as long as there are eggs." Still. His. "So you already care about this girl, got an excuse to f-- sleep with her. Why are you acting like this is some sort of tragedy." Which seems to be the root of what annoys him right-this-instant.
"I'm not saying it's a /tragedy/," X'lar remarks, squinting. "Just don't want to screw things up. With her. Or with Reaches." There's a pause there, perhaps to train himself to not look like he's angry. Not working. "I /know/ the position I'm in," he amends. "It's not like I don't realize that."
Fortunately for all parties, N'thei seems immune-- oblivious to X'lar's angry-face. Maybe it's just because he opts to bend and collect his tunic, shake the sand out of it, pull it around his shoulders. "Not forging a lifelong relationship with the Weyr, kid. At the end of the day, you go back to Ista, and that's about as far as you-and-the-Reaches go."
"Not," he says. Or maybe there was more that he was going to say. Thankfully X'lar's angry-face, or whatever attempted version of it he had, is gone. "Suppose it's Lu, not the Weyr." With his boots off, he looks even shorter than the taller man.
With unusual patience, N'thei says, "Known a lot of women." Should that be past tense, considering...? "Some of them can be pretty damn complicated. But Lujayn? You're making this harder than it has to be." Long detachment from his own adolescence probably leaves him forgetful of teenage drama, and the frown he spares for X'lar isn't particularly understanding of youth's caprice. "Let it ride, chances are you two will have a happily-ever-after." A little derision creeps in despite his best efforts.
Silent for once, X'lar stands there and listens to what N'thei has to say, taking it in. All of it, including even the other man's frown. It's uncharacteristic of him to take what the other person says and not reply back. Remarkably, he doesn't even look like he even /needs/ to say anything. But finally, three beats breadth from N'thei's last words and derision, he ultimately replies back: "Then I won't worry at it so much."
"Good." N'thei leans against the boulder, lessens the schism between his height and X'lar's, to pull on his socks and then his boots afterward. "Then I won't have to tell Lujayn that you're having second-thoughts about the two of you."
X'lar looks a little stunned by the last, replying back aghast: "Second thoughts? Are you insane?" He's venturing off into dangerous territory now, even with N'thei having lessened the schism between their heights. And he knows it. His voice grows somewhat quieter, asks him, "Why would not wanting to screw things up with her mean having second thoughts?" Still seemingly stunned, he remarks: "I think she's amazing, N'thei. I just don't want to mess things up by being an arse."
Is he insane? Depends on who's answering. Not N'thei, just a shrug while he laces up his boots. To answer the question, the why-would question, he smiles pleasantly; "It wouldn't, but that's what I'd tell her because you were getting on my nerves there. --Planning on being an ass to her? No? Then knock-it-off. You've got a sweet little love story, enjoy it."
"Jealous?" X'lar asks him of the 'sweet little love story'. The younger man quickly bites down with a quick wince at just how snide that may have sounded. "I'll knock it off," he finally replies.
Two fingers held up from his boots. "That's two, kid. You really want to find out when you hit number three?" For having come out of the sand just a few moments ago, N'thei looks well enough put-together that he could probably venture in for supper without getting a cross look from the caverns staff. "And I don't want him hanging around, eating our herd. And the bar staff has been instructed not to let you run up a tab." Sounds like don't-get-comfortable.
--find out what happens when--
X'lar's mouth tightens again, his jaws visibly clenching at N'thei's response. It might have been expected by the kid, but he's still apparently restraining himself from hitting number three in quick succession. Thankfully he says nothing more. Until: "Fine."
"And. Really. Congratulations. You should be--" N'thei looks for a word, hard to find quite the right one. "Proud." Doesn't sit very well. He pushes off his long-held rock, headed toward the caverns.
"Thanks," comes X'lar's response, clearly waiting until the other man's pushed off and headed in the opposite direction. Better to say it when N'thei's looking the other way. No matter how irrevalent his thanks might be to him. The younger man looks back to the water. Then leans against that same boulder N'thei'd been leaning against.
IC Date: 8/17/17
Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
The rest of the bowl may be barren, grass barely surviving at best, but here by the lake, it's brilliantly green in the warmer months: thickening and thriving in the silty, boulder-dotted soil just before it transitions to soft sand and thence to the cool, clear water itself.
A large freshwater lake fed by a low waterfall, it not only provides warm-weather bathing space for humans and dragons, but has one end fenced off as a watering hole for the livestock in the feeding grounds. The water there is often muddier than the rest of the clear lake, whose shallows drop off abruptly several yards out into deep water, and whose edge undulates against the coarse-hewn bowl wall: here close enough to just be bramble-covered rocks, there far enough away that a narrow land bridge divides the main lake from a smallish pond. Between are several rocky outcroppings that form excellent makeshift diving points, though only one -- across the bridge -- has a set of narrow, slippery, quite possibly tempting stairs.
X'lar heads in from the bowl.
X'lar has arrived.
Middle of the day, still hot enough, N'thei takes advantage of the last of summer at the lake shore. Wyaeth suns himself down by the feeding grounds, gleaming oily after a bath and a fresh coat, and his rider parks in the shade of one of the big boulders, bare-backed to the warm rock, barefooted in the sand. There aren't so many people out considering the fineness of the day, just a few youngsters splashing in the shallows and another pair down the beach a stretch finishing off their own baths. People tend to avoid the Weyrleader as a general rule, and it serves him well on a day like today, time to clean out beneath his fingernails and just relax.
Malsaeth jumps from between overhead. The watchdragon gets a rumble, some sort of greeting on the young bronze's part. Rather than take a leisurely flight downward, Malsaeth touches down by the feeding ground promptly, landing. X'lar himself scrambles downward and makes his way toward the lake shore. While X'lar takes his meandering stroll by the shore, Malsaeth looks warily to the older bronze. It doesn't take long for the Istan teen to take his boots and socks off and begin walking in the shallows, veering off at the sight of the kids. Ironically, he doesn't veer off when the Weyrleader is spotted. In fact, X'lar walks directly to him, albeit slowly enough to give the taller man some warning of his arrival. "Afternoon, N'thei," X'lar calls.
Wyaeth's << What're you doin' here? >> comes almost immediately after Malsaeth takes shape over Reaches airspace, the demand sent even before the watchdragon can sate his dutiful query. Eyes shaded, descent tracked, kid's progress followed to the shallows, N'thei must have put some kind of kibosh on his dragon's sternness, for Wyaeth lids his eyes with a snort of discontent and cuts himself off from the younger bronze, stonewalled before he can even get a reply. "So it is," he answers toward the water, scraping sand out from beneath his thumbnail with the point of his beltknife-- which he puts away after a second longer. "Water's warmer at Ista, or so I've always heard."
<< He came to see her. Or yours. He couldn't decide. >> Malsaeth answers. Prompt, even. Perhaps expecting the older bronze's question. << That alright with you? >> The question from Malsaeth almost appears tempered with his sly sense of humour. X'lar, on the other hand, ain't that sly. "Warmer, yeah," X'lar answers N'thei back. "I could always put it in a jar for you, but I doubt it'd stay that warm." The Istan rider takes a gander at that beltknife briefly. That couldn't be concern flashing quickly over the younger rider's face could it? "I like this place too, though."
Nothing. Apparently, N'thei's shut-up-Wyaeth worked, since all the bronze does is snore-- over-the-top, but he thinks he's making a point. "Lujayn seems happy." It's not easy to make such a potentially innocuous, even praising comment come out like X'lar's at fault for a great many ills in that respect, but the man pulls it off with bland finesse. "Congratulations." Don't worry, he puts the beltknife on the belt that's laying coiled up on top of his tunic and such; no one is going to get stabbed-- probably, presumably.
"She does," X'lar notes, "seem happy." Malsaeth, happy enough for the silence from the other bronze, stretches out as well, enjoying the sun. The over-the-top snoring isn't all that preposterous to the younger bronze, not that bothersome. "Is that what you're supposed to say?" he asks. It's a sudden bout of verbosity quickly making him ask additionally of the Reachian 'leader. "Congratulations?" Another pause, another look toward that beltknife. Then finally, directly to the other man now: "This is new to me."
"Don't know what to tell you about that." N'thei picks some larger pebbles out of the sand by his feet, shoots them off toward the water to get them off the beach. "Uncomfortable?" His brows lift, his eyes lit a touch hopefully; consider it X'lar's penance for victory.
"You an' Wyaeth have been through it more, thought you'd know," X'lar remarks. His face grows taut, his lips pressing into a tight smile at the one word question that's posed to him from N'thei. "Yeah," he answers in one word back to the other rider. "Probably not for the reasons you think," he adds.
N'thei puts on his really-now face, the one that parades out when someone needs to be reminded that they've said something idiotic. "Wasn't the same." The comparison between what he-and-Wyaeth have been through and what X'lar-and-Malsaeth are going through, that would be the part that earns the look. "What reasons do you think I think." Another pebble, running out of busy-work though.
X'lar actually rolls his eyes at N'thei's really-now face, seemingly annoyed with the parading of such a visage from the other man. "How was it not the same?" X'lar asks, practically exaggerating that first word in the question. "I think you think I'm uncomfortable because of you and the Weyrwoman." Big emphasis in that. /Weyrwoman/. As if he were more uncomfortable at the thought of Satiet than N'thei, even /with/ that beltknife included.
Nostrils flare. "Wasn't a little boy, didn't have feelings for her, and watch the eye-rolling." N'thei tacks on a smile, a very not-nice and warning smile, before he pushes his hands against the boulder so he can slide to his feet. Out of the shade, he squints again. "Are you saying that Satiet doesn't make you uncomfortable." Is that even possible?!
"Little boy," X'lar repeats dryly. "I'm young, but I'm no boy, N'thei." There's a deep breath from the Istan now, as if restraining himself from saying anything else on the matter, training his features. Forcing them if he has to. "Guess news travels fast," he finally replies. "On having feelings for her. Didn't know many people knew." He watches as the other man sliding to his feet, wary. "No," he answers the last question. "I'm not saying that." So is that him agreeing she does make him uncomfortable or that he's not going to say the words. "I'm more uncomfortable with the fact that there /are/ feelings involved," he answers, more verbose now. "Matters of the heart always trump matters of the.. whatever this is." He gestures between N'thei and himself. "If the heart gets involved, life gets complicated /fast/."
"Mostly a guess. Spent the night with her. You're here-- again." Someone's been counting Malsaeth's comings-and-goings. Right when X'lar insists he's not a boy, N'thei finds his height and straightens a crick in his neck and looks, oh-so-pointedly, down and across at the younger man. "How was it between you two afterward, when you came around and knew what had happened. What did she say to you, you to her."
"Why are my comings and goings that important?" X'lar asks him. He takes a few steps back, if only to not have his neck in a crick just to look at the taller man. At least he's not stepping on a rock to gain height. "Actually, scratch that question," he finally amends. "Would you feel any different had someone else won that flight?" A question for a question. But he'll answer N'thei's, too, albeit grudgingly, "We talked about how our dragons felt. Sort of affirmed that we were taking it slow, despite... what happened with the flight." There's a brief pause and X'lar admits, "I'd thought of staying. Before even the clutching. Talked about that too. But... ended up deciding to stay in Ista."
N'thei shakes his head at the question, hardly gives it the thought it takes to answer, "She's my junior queen, doesn't matter where the eggs come from as long as there are eggs." Still. His. "So you already care about this girl, got an excuse to f-- sleep with her. Why are you acting like this is some sort of tragedy." Which seems to be the root of what annoys him right-this-instant.
"I'm not saying it's a /tragedy/," X'lar remarks, squinting. "Just don't want to screw things up. With her. Or with Reaches." There's a pause there, perhaps to train himself to not look like he's angry. Not working. "I /know/ the position I'm in," he amends. "It's not like I don't realize that."
Fortunately for all parties, N'thei seems immune-- oblivious to X'lar's angry-face. Maybe it's just because he opts to bend and collect his tunic, shake the sand out of it, pull it around his shoulders. "Not forging a lifelong relationship with the Weyr, kid. At the end of the day, you go back to Ista, and that's about as far as you-and-the-Reaches go."
"Not," he says. Or maybe there was more that he was going to say. Thankfully X'lar's angry-face, or whatever attempted version of it he had, is gone. "Suppose it's Lu, not the Weyr." With his boots off, he looks even shorter than the taller man.
With unusual patience, N'thei says, "Known a lot of women." Should that be past tense, considering...? "Some of them can be pretty damn complicated. But Lujayn? You're making this harder than it has to be." Long detachment from his own adolescence probably leaves him forgetful of teenage drama, and the frown he spares for X'lar isn't particularly understanding of youth's caprice. "Let it ride, chances are you two will have a happily-ever-after." A little derision creeps in despite his best efforts.
Silent for once, X'lar stands there and listens to what N'thei has to say, taking it in. All of it, including even the other man's frown. It's uncharacteristic of him to take what the other person says and not reply back. Remarkably, he doesn't even look like he even /needs/ to say anything. But finally, three beats breadth from N'thei's last words and derision, he ultimately replies back: "Then I won't worry at it so much."
"Good." N'thei leans against the boulder, lessens the schism between his height and X'lar's, to pull on his socks and then his boots afterward. "Then I won't have to tell Lujayn that you're having second-thoughts about the two of you."
X'lar looks a little stunned by the last, replying back aghast: "Second thoughts? Are you insane?" He's venturing off into dangerous territory now, even with N'thei having lessened the schism between their heights. And he knows it. His voice grows somewhat quieter, asks him, "Why would not wanting to screw things up with her mean having second thoughts?" Still seemingly stunned, he remarks: "I think she's amazing, N'thei. I just don't want to mess things up by being an arse."
Is he insane? Depends on who's answering. Not N'thei, just a shrug while he laces up his boots. To answer the question, the why-would question, he smiles pleasantly; "It wouldn't, but that's what I'd tell her because you were getting on my nerves there. --Planning on being an ass to her? No? Then knock-it-off. You've got a sweet little love story, enjoy it."
"Jealous?" X'lar asks him of the 'sweet little love story'. The younger man quickly bites down with a quick wince at just how snide that may have sounded. "I'll knock it off," he finally replies.
Two fingers held up from his boots. "That's two, kid. You really want to find out when you hit number three?" For having come out of the sand just a few moments ago, N'thei looks well enough put-together that he could probably venture in for supper without getting a cross look from the caverns staff. "And I don't want him hanging around, eating our herd. And the bar staff has been instructed not to let you run up a tab." Sounds like don't-get-comfortable.
--find out what happens when--
X'lar's mouth tightens again, his jaws visibly clenching at N'thei's response. It might have been expected by the kid, but he's still apparently restraining himself from hitting number three in quick succession. Thankfully he says nothing more. Until: "Fine."
"And. Really. Congratulations. You should be--" N'thei looks for a word, hard to find quite the right one. "Proud." Doesn't sit very well. He pushes off his long-held rock, headed toward the caverns.
"Thanks," comes X'lar's response, clearly waiting until the other man's pushed off and headed in the opposite direction. Better to say it when N'thei's looking the other way. No matter how irrevalent his thanks might be to him. The younger man looks back to the water. Then leans against that same boulder N'thei'd been leaning against.