[Vignette] - B'haal: Of Failure and Flying
In which B'haal and Mephixath discuss the failed flight at Igen Weyr.
<< She denied me. >>
B'haal didn't dignify the complaint with a response. He didn't need to. The flight at Igen was just another in a long string of flight losses and the rider was plenty accustomed to the sensation of failure.
It had taken a monumental effort to get Mephixath calmed - and even more to get him to return home. Once within his domain, however, the bronze cooled.
Mostly.
He stalked along the beach, tail thrashing and wings snapping open and shut with restless energy. B'haal sat in a chair nearby, a book open in his lap.
<< You must record it. >> The bronze wheeled around to stare at his rider with a single, glaring eye. << You must. >>
The blond looked up from his work and grunted. "Have I failed to? Ever?"
Mephixath's "lips" skinned back from his teeth and he uttered a guttural sound. It was the closest to a smile and chuckle that the serpentine beast could manage. << Never. But you would not do so if I did not remind you. >>
He resumed his aimless stalking and B'haal glanced down at the book. It was old, battered, and leather-bound; the pages were starting to go brittle. A mental note was made to get a new one; a note that didn't go unnoticed.
<< Make sure it looks like that one. Make sure to record everything. >>
B'haal grunted again and pushed up from his seat. "I'll commission something from the Scribes. I'll get a few, just in case."
<< Yes. Yes, this is good. New pens. New ink. It must be so. >>
"Mmhm." The rider glanced at the book again, his mouth pulled to a side. He closed it and tucked it under an arm - and waited.
He didn't need to wait long.
<< Recite to me the numbers. >>
Deep down, he was grateful the beast didn't want the names. Aloud, he recounted, "As of today, one thousand seven hundred and thirty nine flights in total. One hundred and four gold flights with no catches." He winced at the bronze's mental peal of anguish. "One thousand six hundred and thirty five green flights with two hundred fifteen catches."
Displeasure resonated deeply in Mephixath's mind. His psyche was a torrent of boiling ichor and bones; of sulfur and bitterness. << You are a father now. >>
"Probably many times over," B'haal conceded with a roll of his shoulder. "I just know about the one - and I'm... I'm hardly a -father-. I just made the kid." He still hadn't written the letter he intended to, either; it was a curious thought, but one he had no time to pursue.
The bronze gnashed his jaws and turned to face his rider anew.
<< I will be different. >>
"One day."
<< Soon. >>
"You say that every time."
<< Yes. >>
B'haal pinched the bridge of his nose and released a long-suffering sigh.
<< Do not mock my desire for a legacy, B'haal. >> The roiling nightmare of draconic thought finally calmed; instead, words were being scripted neatly on parchment in the shared space between minds. << It is what is best for you - and for me. Your legacy is not yet secure. It falls on my shoulders to carry that burden - but it is made difficult when you resist. >>
"I don't resist." Yet, B'haal's shoulders tensed, his jaw tightened, and his posture shifted. Awareness came a moment too late and the urge to laugh was quelled only by the knowledge that the bronze was right.
As always.
<< You do. I feel it during every flight. >> The beast started to return to his wallow, his motions calculated; methodical. << Release the chains for once. Just once. >> His head lifted and he craned a look over his shoulder.
<< And you will see me -fly-. >>
<< She denied me. >>
B'haal didn't dignify the complaint with a response. He didn't need to. The flight at Igen was just another in a long string of flight losses and the rider was plenty accustomed to the sensation of failure.
It had taken a monumental effort to get Mephixath calmed - and even more to get him to return home. Once within his domain, however, the bronze cooled.
Mostly.
He stalked along the beach, tail thrashing and wings snapping open and shut with restless energy. B'haal sat in a chair nearby, a book open in his lap.
<< You must record it. >> The bronze wheeled around to stare at his rider with a single, glaring eye. << You must. >>
The blond looked up from his work and grunted. "Have I failed to? Ever?"
Mephixath's "lips" skinned back from his teeth and he uttered a guttural sound. It was the closest to a smile and chuckle that the serpentine beast could manage. << Never. But you would not do so if I did not remind you. >>
He resumed his aimless stalking and B'haal glanced down at the book. It was old, battered, and leather-bound; the pages were starting to go brittle. A mental note was made to get a new one; a note that didn't go unnoticed.
<< Make sure it looks like that one. Make sure to record everything. >>
B'haal grunted again and pushed up from his seat. "I'll commission something from the Scribes. I'll get a few, just in case."
<< Yes. Yes, this is good. New pens. New ink. It must be so. >>
"Mmhm." The rider glanced at the book again, his mouth pulled to a side. He closed it and tucked it under an arm - and waited.
He didn't need to wait long.
<< Recite to me the numbers. >>
Deep down, he was grateful the beast didn't want the names. Aloud, he recounted, "As of today, one thousand seven hundred and thirty nine flights in total. One hundred and four gold flights with no catches." He winced at the bronze's mental peal of anguish. "One thousand six hundred and thirty five green flights with two hundred fifteen catches."
Displeasure resonated deeply in Mephixath's mind. His psyche was a torrent of boiling ichor and bones; of sulfur and bitterness. << You are a father now. >>
"Probably many times over," B'haal conceded with a roll of his shoulder. "I just know about the one - and I'm... I'm hardly a -father-. I just made the kid." He still hadn't written the letter he intended to, either; it was a curious thought, but one he had no time to pursue.
The bronze gnashed his jaws and turned to face his rider anew.
<< I will be different. >>
"One day."
<< Soon. >>
"You say that every time."
<< Yes. >>
B'haal pinched the bridge of his nose and released a long-suffering sigh.
<< Do not mock my desire for a legacy, B'haal. >> The roiling nightmare of draconic thought finally calmed; instead, words were being scripted neatly on parchment in the shared space between minds. << It is what is best for you - and for me. Your legacy is not yet secure. It falls on my shoulders to carry that burden - but it is made difficult when you resist. >>
"I don't resist." Yet, B'haal's shoulders tensed, his jaw tightened, and his posture shifted. Awareness came a moment too late and the urge to laugh was quelled only by the knowledge that the bronze was right.
As always.
<< You do. I feel it during every flight. >> The beast started to return to his wallow, his motions calculated; methodical. << Release the chains for once. Just once. >> His head lifted and he craned a look over his shoulder.
<< And you will see me -fly-. >>