[Log] << Just Usually? >>
Who: Iovniath, Zaiventh
When: Day 26, Month 11, Turn 16
What: Iovniath and Zaiventh have a midnight discussion.
Dragon> Iovniath senses that Zaiventh's darkness filters in like a shadow only to be lit with a play of green and pink lights like an aurora draconis. << He asks after her, my little queen. >>
Dragon> Those lights, Iovniath may let flash in on her mind, aurora over snow, but the darkness she keeps at a greater distance, holding the black at bay. << She is well, >> the gold answers. << As well as ever. And yours, how does he fare tonight? >> (Iovniath to Zaiventh)
Dragon> Iovniath senses that Zaiventh shares the image of R'uen, though he too seems oddly lit, neon highlight about him as he sits at the table in his weyr flicking the corner of a piece of paper back and forth and back and forth. << He is trying to write to her but failing. >> Beat. << He's well but for the failing. >> There's a wry twist to that, a jocular humor.
Iovniath> Zaiventh senses that Iovniath seems amused by the image, too, with a puff of white snow swirling up from her mind. << And what is it he tries to write her? >> she wonders. Then, an afterthought, << He works so hard to do so. Does he think she cares so much, just what he writes her? >>
Dragon> Zaiventh bespoke Iovniath with << Well he doesn't know what he's trying to write, >> Zaiventh returns. << I think that's his problem. Mostly, he just wants to see her, I think. >> But that bronze will muse on that last point, star-like twinkles of violet blinking amid his amorphous colors as he confers with his rider. << I suppose not. But he doesn't seem to think that makes it any easier. >>
Dragon> << No easier at all? >> Again, Iovniath is amused, but more subtly so, with a shimmer of gleaming white rippling across her thoughts. << Perhaps he may see her again, someday, >> she concedes a moment later. << We will fly soon, though I expect we will only be busier then. We have already been making plans, after all. >> (Iovniath to Zaiventh)
Dragon> Iovniath senses that Zaiventh inserts a sheen of blue across every colorless ripple. << Perhaps? I would say it is certain, wouldn't you? That he'd see her again?. >> And, never one to let a chance for flattery pass him by unexploited, << I'm sure you will look brilliant in the air, against the sky. >>
Iovniath> I bespoke Zaiventh with << I suppose. >> Being called on her hedging does little to dim the pure white of her mind, though she indulges Zaiventh by reflecting back his blue, a cool shade of it flickering through fog. << You flatter me, >> she'll call him on that in turn, though it just makes her glint more with glasslike flecks. << Though we will. Riuth's seemed to think so, when he asked us to fly with him at Ista. >>
Dragon> Zaiventh bespoke Iovniath with << It -is- certain. >> He's completely sure. And when she calls him on his flattery he only brightens his colors, letting peaches and lemon-yellow shades join that blue. However, he is a creature of impulse and the flattering and luring of other males on a pair that surely belongs to him and his rider has a beam of laser red cutting briefly across the fog. << You'll fly with us first. >>
Dragon> A brush of fur, white as everything else, slips out of that fog and, for an instant, around Zaiventh's mind before it's gone again, trailed by Iovniath's muffled, snowy laughter. << Must we? Is that an order, Zaiventh? >> (Iovniath to Zaiventh)
Dragon> Zaiventh bespoke Iovniath with << Of course you must. I would fly with you now, >> he points out. And there's even a moment's distance as he argues this with R'uen. << But he's being all stodgy and says you should wait for the weyrlingmasters. >> That rider of his is no fun at all. << But when you can fly, you'll fly with us. >> Not an order, just a fact as far as this jovial, cocky bronze is concerned. << Why would you want otherwise? >>
Iovniath> Zaiventh senses that Iovniath defers, << I must practice first, >> more than wait on the weyrlingmasters. << Though she would agree with you. >> And for Zaiventh and R'uen both, she projects onto one of her sheets of ice an image of Tiriana, in all her foot-tapping, scowling, never-satisfied impatience. But a beat later, a lady bestowing a favor on her champion, Iovniath concedes, << We will fly with you first. --Perhaps by then, yours will have grown tired of his failures writing and will come see us instead. >>
Dragon> Zaiventh bespoke Iovniath with << Oh, you could fly now. Spread your wings and master the air. >> Zaiventh is hardly one to get bogged down by rules and restrictions and practice. Why hesitate? << Of course, it would be a waste for you to fly against the night sky without light on your hide. Unless you flew with me. Then it would be our secret. We should fly now. >> As in this very moment. And again he difts away to fight with R'uen on this note. Of course, the rider doesn't give in. << Is that what she wants? To see him? >>
Iovniath> I bespoke Zaiventh with << But I will be better, when I've practiced. >> She's emphatic on that point, snow compressing until it's glass and diamonds refracting light from within themselves. But then she lets them begin to melt again, into sparkling little rivulets that trickle down toward Zaiventh. << I should hate to fly poorly with you. But soon we won't have to keep secrets, will we? I look forward to it. >> As for Tiriana? Her response is deliberately casual, an offhand, << She usually does. >> >>
Dragon> Zaiventh bespoke Iovniath with << As if my little queen could put a wingtip wrong. I'm sure your mistakes are merely undiscovered genius at the least. What you might call a fumble I see only as a regal flourish >> He lays it on thickly, but he's already forgotten the thrilling notion of sneaking off with her for an illicit midnight flight. He's entertained by the extra casual tone. And a little skeptical. And cocky of course. << Just usually? >>
Iovniath> Zaiventh senses that Iovniath, flattered again, responds with a creeping mist, settling down around Zaiventh, glossing over shimmers of light with uniform white, much as Zaiventh erases her own flaws. << Perhaps, >> agrees the young gold. << But I will still know otherwise. >> A pause, and then, tendrils of mist weaving about, she tells him, << Sometimes she has other things to occupy her. >> Like Iovniath, who appears gleamingly just for an instant past swirls of fog.
Dragon> Zaiventh bespoke Iovniath with << So forget. No one else will recall it either. They'll recall only your lovely wings and pretty hide. >> But his lights have changed again, always changing, and now scarlet and carmine errupts in soft puffs of color. << She wore a red dress once. I remember that. >>
Dragon> Just like that, a cold breeze sweeps in, brushes away those thoughts of flying into the fog, letting snow settle across it as Iovniath puts the idea away. Instead, she allows that scarlet to wash over her mind, condensing it into ruby gems more like her dam's than her usual crystalline white. Then those too vanish under the encroaching ice. << I've seen it, >> stored away near the bottom of a trunk, as she shows Zaiventh now. << You would like to see it again? --She does have other dresses. >> An innocuous reminder, too unconcered. (Iovniath to Zaiventh)
Dragon> Zaiventh bespoke Iovniath with << The red dress is the one I remember. He remembers other things. >> And he shares with her the flask of R'uen's mind, the image of that expensive necklace hanging low on her chest. The glimpse of lace at her hip. The lay of fur and blankets across her bare shoulder. Notably, to much of this is clothes. << I know she has other things. She doesn't wear the dress very often. >>
Iovniath> Zaiventh senses that Iovniath observes, << You've a good memory, then. >> But her focus on the images he shares is rather intense, glass tilting until it can focus the light of her mind on each one in turn. << Yours remembers many things. As does she, though--she does not like to share them so freely. >>
Dragon> Zaiventh bespoke Iovniath with << Between us, it is hardly a secret. >> Not that he doesn't murmur such things, or let that velvety darkness creep closer. << They know one another anyway. >>
Iovniath> Without really agreeing, Iovniath agrees, << No, it's not. >> But as that darkness presses closer against her mind, she withdraws with a demure, << It's late; I should sleep, or I will be too tired to fly later. With you. >>