[Log] We Still Talking about N'thei?
Who: I'daur, Leova
When: Day 11, Month 2, Turn 16
Where: Star Stones, High Reaches Weyr
What: One last chat as master and apprentice.
Star Stones, High Reaches Weyr
The Star Stones stand as a silent testament to the dangers Pern faces, as well as a call to action for the protectors of the planet: dragons and their riders. Erected in a time long past, the Star Stones fulfill their purpose only once every two-hundred turns: to pinpoint the start of Threadfall.
The stones themselves seem rather plain: as you look across the plateau your eyes automatically focus on the largest of the stones: Finger Rock. On dawn of the winter solstice, Rukbat will appear to balance on the tip of Finger Rock. Almost a full two dragonlengths away from that rock is the Star Stone itself, an unimpressive piece of work: on it are two engraved arrows. One points east, to the Finger Rock, while the other points a little north of east, to the Eye Rock. When you see the Red Star shining through the Eye, another Pass has started.
A lone pair, rider and dragon, stand watch over the comings and goings at the weyr this cold winter morning.
Contents:
Zunaeth
Leova
Vrianth
Brown Llanarth and H'am
Obvious exits:
Sky
With drills just finished for the morning, it's a good time to catch a break. A good place, too, up high with the sky mostly clear. "You know," Leova says into the open air, leaning against Vrianth and looking out over the Bowl, "Got to be a pain, watch duty when the weather turns sour."
Out for the rare flight on their own, I'daur and Zunaeth are about to head in when Zunaeth spots the familiar shape of Vrianth on the star stones. The bronze, of course, curves his flight that way, heading toward a landing there with a heavy thump. I'daur is frowning for the detour, even as he sets to unbuckling himself, glancing over the ledge with a nod for the watchrider and a longer look for the still-weyrlings.
Whatever her dragon's reply might be, it's enough to leave Leova laughing, and it's also enough warning that she straightens up even before Vrianth flows over to greet Zunaeth. All raspy-clawed, firestone-stinky, twenty-four meters of her. << Did you put him in the sky, Zunaeth? >> That bright, fair blue. Leova doesn't follow her, yet. Just looks. She's crossed her arms, maybe against the wind, but her smile's just a little deeper for it.
The greeting he receives, Zunaeth returns with a rumble of his own as he sprawls his injured wing out and settles on the edge of the stones. << Sorta, >> he answers, thoughtful warmth reaching out to the other dragon. << Not like I want. >> I'daur, meanwhile, slides down from the bronze, shifting his weight as he finds his feet first, then steps a little away from the dragon. "Afternoon," he greets the other rider.
<< How do you want? >> Of course Vrianth would ask. And that warmth polishes her thoughts, shining gravelly bits just shy of sparks. She moves around his rider and closer now, but carefully, her own wings swept along the line of her back. Just the curve of her tail trails: serpentine in a way that says she could try to trip the man up, if she chose. She could. But she doesn't. And Leova's giving her the eye has nothing to do with it. "Afternoon," Leova returns. She looks back over the Bowl for a moment or two before, why not, slowly heading that way.
<< Different, >> answers Zunaeth; maybe even he doesn't really know. Still, it's a question that leaves him just a touch wistful as he looks out over the bowl, studying it and the dragons scattered about in and above it. I'daur halts at the edge himself, glancing out and then back to Leova. "You like hangin' out up here," he wonders. "Kinda boring, ain't it?"
"Not so much." Leova taps her head, tilts it to Vrianth after: enough going on, there. "Don't always need to be running around. Talking. You know?" That Vrianth, she's not looking out, now. Just in. Instead of answering with a question, her thoughts roam through Zunaeth's, flight after flight. Flying to somewhere, a desired destination. Flying, just because. Flying how they used to fly, only for Vrianth it's how they used to be wobblier, to the extent she allows that in her memory at all. Flying in drills, flying in 'Fall, though that last is secondhand still. Flying in hail, like the other day. Flying, just flying, up into the big blue.
"Didn't figure you kids thought like that," I'daur remarks with a lift of his shoulders. Laboriously, he moves to sit down on the stone, letting his legs trail off the side there. "Thought it was just us old people." Beat. "Then, not much of a kid, are you," amends the old man, with a quirk of his mouth for Leova.
She laughs down at him. "Old people. Pull the other one." Then Leova looks past him, off and away, and after some little while winds up talking anyhow. "When you actually were a kid? Early teens, maybe. Did you have it together back then too, or were you the kid everyone stomped on?"
"Me?" repeats I'daur. He shrugs. "Hell if I know. Can't say as I was real sociable back then, either, but I got on. Didn't bother people 'n' they didn't bother me. Why?"
"Was thinking. Not so much time till tappings. Talked about N'thei once, you and me, better finish it up before that." Leova's turn to lift her shoulders, but then she says, "Was going to sit anyway." And does. Vrianth's a quiet curving arc behind them, close enough that she can curl the tip of her tail into Leova's lap and still stay by Zunaeth on the other side. "So sometimes, a big man like him, like you, maybe he's got people taking him on just to prove they can."
I'daur's brows lift when Leova mentions N'thei, and he slants a look up at her as she sits down. "Yeah? Think I'm that kinda man?" he queries in return. "Maybe men like us, we piss people off enough they don't care they can't take us. Why?"
And now Leova's got this grin, looking right back at him. "See, that's part of it. Someone who looks like he ought to be able to handle things, people expect him to. Got to be hard if you can't yet, got to bluff. Someone like teeny E'dro, easier for him to slip by. And what makes the most convincing sort of bluff?"
I'daur takes in all Leova's words in apparent absent fashion while he digs in a jacket pocket until he finds the flash he wants for a drink. "You tell me," he returns. "Guess I don't do a lot of that. Doubt N'thei does, either. Why you thinking about that, anyway?"
"Not lumping you both in the same boat," Leova says, lower. Her elbows slump to her knees, hands curling around Vrianth's tail. "Just thinking, back then. Somebody not so far out from being a weyrling. A job like that. Can't really get away with much else than muscling through it, maybe."
"Don't think you can bluff Thread," I'daur remarks after a moment, offering his flask to Leova. "Get lucky, maybe. 'Bout all you can do is the best you got, and hope s'good enough. For Thread and everybody else, too. Bluffing--it's a waste of time. Might be able to pull it off, but how you actually going to /get/ better?"
"Not Thread." Leova takes his flask in her hands, rubs a thumb across the metal before she drinks. If she dropped it, it would fall and fall and fall. She doesn't. When the burn subsides, she hands it back and asks absently, "How long you had this, anyway?" And back to, "The people who know it already. Make 'em believe, not that he knew everything. But he knew who to talk to, that he was going to pick it up, was going to get the job done. Not be stupid." It could almost be a quote.
"While," I'daur answers, with a shrug. He takes it back and holds onto it, not drinking anymore, but not putting it away, either. "We still talkin' about N'thei?" he wonders finally.
She nods. Then glances sideways. "Thought we were. But. Maybe not." Her gaze slips down and further down, and she's tilting a little even, but with Vrianth she's safe enough. "Sorry it wasn't a more exciting theory. Probably won't be Glacier anyway."
"Wouldn't know why not," drawls I'daur, with a snort for the mention of Glacier. "Think he'd veto that, I suggested it? You got a preference, anyway?" An idle question, though; he doesn't seem much concerned with the answer. Instead: "S'interesting theory, at any rate."
"Or might not. For reasons I wouldn't much like." Leova hesitates but adds anyway, "Icicle. Maybe. Not pushing, though." Another sidelong look. "What you got?" Theories. Whatever.
"Yeah?" says I'daur. "Think you could keep up with, oh, what's his face--F'der and them." He casts a glance from Leova to Vrianth and back, then toys his flask open and up to his mouth again. "Me? Don't think about it that much--not good at 'em, anyway. Your theories, about kinds of men or whatever."
Which means, as long as he's looked down to drink, Vrianth lifts her head on that long neck of hers up up up and curves it over and then under so she's looking upside down at him. Hello. "Think there's anyone we can't keep up with?" and Leova is mostly teasing, anyway. Vrianth? Maybe not. She gives Zunaeth a bonus picture of his upside-down rider, too. "What do you think about?"
I'daur eyes the green, snorting at her, shaking his head before he looks back at Leova. "Maybe not," he agrees with her latter point. The latter one, though? That one earns several long seconds of silence in response; it's a pretty personal question, after all. I'daur even takes another slow drink, his mouth curves into a frown. Finally, "Drink so I don't have to."
Vrianth has lovely firestone breath, it must be noted. Vrianth also manages to look amused even upside down. Though looking away from her does work, for she relents and uncurls her head and neck so nobody's upside down any longer, and reaches over to Zunaeth for somewhere to prop her chin. On that wing, maybe. Or a neckridge. She's not picky today. Her rider, though: "Mm." It's got a questioning angle to it, though not interrogative.
Not that sort of demonstrative, Zunaeth rattles his wing to dissuade Vrianth from propping there, but anywhere else she might like to rest her head, he'll acquiescence to, albeit with a questioning tendril of fire for her still. I'daur, for his part, just takes another swig, and answers Leova in kind: a vague sort of "Mmhmm."
Wing-rattling gets a nice warm breath from Vrianth, a don't-worry-already that could have been a snort but isn't quite, and she settles for between two of his neckridges and blinking bright bluegreen eyes out at the world. Why? Because it's comfortable. Isn't it? Is her head heavy? Certainly she radiates happy-happy-happy Vrianth right down that fiery tendril and through the rest of her, too, and sees what that does to the flames. And Leova may be unable to avoid relaxing some with her, too, but she's preoccupied. "So," she guesses. "Someone asks things. Makes you want to drink more."
"Most things," notes I'daur, tilting the upraised flask slightly toward Leova to prove his point, "make me wanna drink more." Like this new theory of hers, for example: it earns a quick tip of the whiskey down his throat before he adds. "Don't make it mean nothing special." Zunaeth, in the background, is at least a very still dragon, the kind who does make a good headrest, and if Vrianth is going to give him all that happiness, he'll settle in himself--not minding, certainly, but not really understanding, either.
"What doesn't?" Leova promptly asks, with a sideways tug to her mouth that doesn't quite escape into a smile. And she holds her hand out, too. Her dragon, having already gotten what she wanted, blinks shut her innermost lids and continues radiating a low-level version of that same pleasure as before. Sun. Wind. Good company. Warm, warm, happy warm. What's to understand?
That takes a lot of considering, that first question, and finally I'daur just settles for another of those eloquent shrugs. "Hell if I know," he admits. "Let you know, I find out."
And I'daur doesn't answer, content to glance out over the bowl himself, watch everything going on down below while Zunaeth provides that prop for Vrianth.