Sir! Rea-ready for orders, Sir!
The Who: Talien, B'yan and Jaireth
The What: Svodriyth decides Talien needs to get out more, dubs it 'Survival training' and deposits her alongside B'yan. The two catch up on old news and new news, exchanging barbs and a few serious moments in between. Jaireth and Svodriyth bond. Kind of.
Svodriyth
Fashioned as if by turns of weathering and seeming to glisten with a lustrous briny-blue, the chiseled features that build the rugged form of this flinty hatchling are startling, and yet quite striking. Natural grace stems from a trim, well-proportioned frame and supple neck, while broad shoulders and powerful legs afford him a stance as solid and unyielding as a mountain. A delicate muzzle of hewn slate that tapers quite sharply from headkobs to narrow tip handsomely sets off a strong jaw line and softens his stony features. Craggy adornments of polished adamantine form his exquisite eye-ridges and a row of artful crests that run the length of his neck and tail. When extended, his wings with their rich, steely pinions and glacial sails appear well suited to aerial mastery.
At 2 Turns, 1 months, and 4 days old, Svodriyth is approximately 30 meters in length and 20 meters to his wing shoulders, with a wingspan of 50 meters.
Talien
Of a fair complexion, Talien's heritage is clearly 'Reachian. And despite the rosey, sunburned-esque tint surrounding her eyes or the unnatural, fixed dilation of her pupils, she's remarkably free of blemishes. Her most outstanding trait is the delicateness of her features; eyebrows shaped into a gentle curve over her large hazel eyes, a small nose and somewhat full lips framed within a round face. Despite the lack of bangs to cover her high forehead, Talien still has that girl next door look - an atractiveness which seems natural. Her thick, light brown hair is most always left unbound to fall to her lower back. Never quite managing to stay in a proper style, it instead falls into disarrayed curls which frame the sides of her cheeks. She'll never be tall and currently at 5'1", Talien carries herself with a long-legged awkwardness that suggests she wished she were. Her build is distinctly feminine; slender with a hint of curves and a lack of toned definition that arduous and constant labor might otherwise offer.
Beneath a bomber-style jacket (a size too big) she wears a steel blue shirt with three-quarter sleeves and a high collar that drops into a v-shaped neckline. Separate sections sewn into the shirt appear along her shoulders and elbows while also along the lower half of her sides. Her pants carry the same flattering impression of her shirt, fitting her well and ending in wide cuffs at her ankles. Her boots are a little scruffier and less impressive, but are for the most part, whole and functional. On good days, they're even polished.
Two pieces of jewelry are worn, the first is a braided cord about her right wrist. Thick though it is, the edge of a faded burn mark is visible from beneath it. The second is a wooden disc whittled to resemble a seashell which hangs from a simple cord draped about her neck.
Fishing Pond, High Reaches Weyr
This little finger of the Weyr lake is entirely frozen over; however, drudges have made holes in the hard ice near edge by judicious use of ice picks. The forms of underwater rocks are muted by the ice. The natural land bridge which divides this pond from the main lake is buried under a thick covering of snow. The Weyr mountain walls loom above in the crisp, bitingly cold air.
The early evening crystal clear as the sun sets over the western rim of the bowl. It is completely still, no winds blow and the winter air is warm enough, with only a slight chill.
With there being few out on the lake shore this evening, B'yan and Jaireth have taken to stargazing in the pond. The muddy bronze is settled behind his rider, large eyes more fixated on their surroundings rather than the sky. The wingsecond, however, is lounging lazily on a flat slab of rock jutting out over the pond with a bottle in hand.
B'yan
B'yan is a tall young man with smooth, dark skin. His eyes shine hazel and his short-cropped black curls are rakishly wild, flowing about like the waves of the sea. His eyes seem to smile at you...or mock you, depending on intent. As for his gentle lips, they curve into an endless smirk, as though he's about to get into some kind of trouble. He appears calm, but has a business-like air about him, which usually means there's more to him than meets the eye. He is about 26 Turns, 1 months, and 14 days old.
He is wearing a loose-fitting, off-white shirt with a collar and long sleeves. The dark-colored, wherhide pants are thick in fabric to keep out the chill of the cooler climates, adorned with two pockets on both sides and a tan-colored belt. There's a knot attached to his shirt with a bronze strand going through it to indicate his lifemate, and that he is a bronzerider at the High Reaches.
Jaireth
Burnished veining spreads across tarnished wingsails, turning them lighter and brighter than the weathered bronzen hide stretching across the rest of this dragon's solid frame. Well muscled, but without the added bulk which would make him truly muscle bound, he retains much of the maneuverability that escapes many dragons of his size. Still, even in his maturity, he moves with the fluid power and predatory grace of a developing hunter's stalk. An overabundance of confidence manifested in the edgy quality he possesses whether still, or moving with the explosive energy that matches his apparent temper. His chiseled features give him a strong face that is none the less expressive, perhaps helped by the indented places along his muzzle, eye ridges and head knobs that are more polished in hue, adding a certain depth to his image. A mantle of darkness spreads from streaks of mahogany, reaching down from the neck ridges that line the upper curve of his neck to stain his shoulders, with a dorsal strip darkening also the length of his spine to the restless tip of his whip thin tail. Close inspection showing scattered glints of brightness across the remainder of his irrevocably muddied hide.
At 4 Turns, 0 months, and 4 days, Jaireth is approximately 36.3 meters in length and 24 meters to his wing shoulders, with a wingspan of 60 meters.
From within that sky there soon comes a blocking of the stars -- not so much the sky, for that becomes a darker shade of blue against black, and eventually that blotch of blue defines itself into a dragon. Said blue dragon lands some feet from the pond after a rather straight and narrow descent. The gentlest of draconic whuffs echoes toward the bronze pair - not so much in greeting of them as it is in encouragement of another, for soon the blue takes off again, only this time it's without his passenger/rider. Said rider will be identified by the purely irate shout sent in his wake: "You son of a wherry! Get back here now!"
Jaireth is the first to react to the blue's sudden arrival, shifting his bulk forward to bump into B'yan as he rumbles a short greeting. With the blue taking off again and the bronzerider being jerked erect, the shout alone is what catch his attention now. He leans forward on the rock as if it would help to see the arrived better, then with a glance towards his bronze, "He has taken to abandonment already? Or is this his innate way of taking care of you?" The drawl could be distinct alone with just enough amusement injected to suggest his words were not meant to provoke.
"Don't encourage him." Talien responds, but only after a sizeable pause in which it's hard to discern whether she's even still there or just ignoring her greeter. There's another long pause - travel pause - as Talien makes her way up the slope to the pond and into view. The only sound from such is a soft tap-swish set before Talien's heavier tred. It's source becomes apparent when she comes into view, a slender white cane which Talien uses to guide her slow and awkward steps. "That lump of shi - you know what - couldn't take care of me if he tried." Beat. "And you can tell him I said as much 'cause I'm not talking to him."
B'yan keeps firm on his lean before Talien appears, his eyes deftly taking in her form and the white cane she uses. His pause is lengthy as well, choosing not to respond until she was close enough to lower his voice. With Jaireth's tip of his tail seeming to twitch to the rhythm of Talien's cane behind him, "Must be hard not talking to him with him stuck firmly in your head," he drawls to that, straightening his posture now that she was near. "I tried that with Jaireth once and he made it his personal game to talk my ears off until I got mad enough to yell." He first gestures with a nod towards the bowl, but then realizing she wouldn't be able to even see it, he slides off the rock to his feet and makes his way towards her. "What's he done now?" he asks, eyes briefly scanning the sky for the blue.
"Oh I've got plenty of practice ignoring all sorts of things going on inside my head," Talien's features twist with a less than sane expression, and she taps the side of her head to emphasize her point. At B'yan's movement, Talien stops and rests her cane against her stomach with the air of someone attempting casualness for the sake of pretending a third head were normal. "He's abandoned me. Says it's something like survival training... that I gotta make my own way. I guess you were the help he said was here, huh?"
With a quick grin that would be heard more than seen, "He considers dropping you in a random place 'survival training'?" B'yan echoes this as he approaches, then once he was close enough he tries to reach out to take ahold of her chin. To her last, "First I'm hearing of this," he muses, looking her face over with careful scrutiny. "Svodriyth seems to not like to inform folks' dragons of his plans before he decides. Thought I'd watch the sky and bit and drink some wine, so unless I'm helping you hold your liquor..." he trails, brows furrowing slightly as he continues to watch her.
"Yeah. I tried that one. Doesn't fly with him. Doesn't fly... you just wait, I'll get him back for this." Talien grinds the butt of her cane into the ground with a voracious twist of her fists; the movement stops, however, when her chin is caught. Stiffness slowly creeps into her posture and a bit of red into her otherwise blank face, "-he's a one-man band. What can I say?" Asked with the least amount of effort required to actually deliver the words, for all that he has hold of her chin. "Probably didn't know you'd be drinking 'cause he'd have found someone else."
With her chin caught in his hand, B'yan gently guides Talien's face a bit to the left and right as if examining her face. "Someone once told me," B'yan idly drawls while doing this, "That overprotecting cripples the one you're doing it to. Truth be told, Talien, you have quite a strange dragon to be dropping you around at all hours of the night." Smirk. With his study concluding, he finally lets go of her chin and nods. "I should drop by your place and see if he hasn't ruined it," he notes, taking one step back from her. "You're here, though, and your company I wouldn't turn down. I have Benden red with me and I'll offer help if you require it in order to sit."
The red of Talien's features remains even after he's released her chin, and as sure as he'd spoken some fine points meriting acknowledgement, Talien asks a self-titled fine point all her own. "Well?" Tone implying a hands-on-hips gesture which is not followed through on, though her hands remain locked in a white-knuckled grip about the handle of her cane.
Talien's stiff posture and pointed tone gets little reaction from B'yan, even if she speaks one word on his examination on her. Chin lifting slightly as he doesn't respond right away, "You don't look bad," he states rather matter-of-factly to her then. "Last time I saw you there was some swelling around the eyes." Chin dropping as he assumes a lopsided grin, "I embarrassed you or something?" he teases, the amusement heard in his voice.
"And you smell like shit." Talien's explicative is purely for shock-effect and not so much malice, because there's a half-humbled manner about the ducking of her head and quick follow through of sinking to the ground to sit cross-legged. Her cane is set out of sight and just behind her, "Got nothin' to be embarrassed about with you," she allows to his question, "S'not like I tried to set you up with me." Feigned innocence taints the allowance, and it's attempted to be a blase statement for she soon addresses the earlier ignored questions. "He's got it in order... somewhat. Says it wouldn't be fair to change it 'round now 'cause I'm use to how it was. Doesn't explain why I keep knocking into things that are someplace one day and then someplace else the next." A pop of her knuckle precedes, "You said you had wine, right?"
B'yan snorts at Talien's return explicative, then over his shoulder as he turns from her, "Atleast you still got that winning personality of yours intact, brat," he returns as he makes his way back to the rock to get his bottle. Returning to join her on the ground, his silence could be due to the fact that he's indulging in a drink or figuring out what next to say, for the bronzerider has the bottle halfway to his lips and is looking over at Talien in bemused pause when she answers him. When the bottle goes down, "Let me make sure your weyr's in order instead of that crazy blue of yours? I'm surprised you haven't fallen from the ledge yet, the way he runs things." Pause. "Set me up?" he pointedly brings right back, strategically placing the bottle right next to her knuckle as if in offering before pulling it right back in added prompt.
"Oh he's working his way up to that. I've fallen off that disaster of a bed of mine at least twice - practice, he says. Like it was funny the first time I heard it." Talien's head bobs with characteristic, bratty sarcasm. The scowl which is threatening to become permanent fades at his later question and the wine it brings, to which Talien offers, "Oh, right. I didn't tell you?" A sweet smile spans the pause between reaching for and being denied a drink from that offered bottle, "'s this girl and she says, well, I said to her - well, no. Wait, that's not it. How'd that go again?" One eye squints shut to emphasize just how hard she's trying to recall the event in question.
"I amend my previous statement on your dragon," B'yan drawls dryly, hunching alittle forward with both hands over the bottle of wine. "He's -insane-. He's suppose to be preventing you from falling off beds, not giving you pointers on it." He shakes his head a bit before pausing, adding a brisk, "On a real twisted level, I do see where he's coming from, though. Kinda like that time my brother punched me in the gut and was telling me he did it so that I would get used to what a punch to the gut felt like." He still holds the bottle off from her as she tried to recall, eyes narrowing at the innocent statement then he takes to rolling his eyes towards the end. "Spit it out, Talien," he states bluntly with a pointed look her way at her unseeing eyes.
"Oh, but see that's the smart part," Tapping her head again - and not helping her bid for sanity one bit - Talien says, "He figures if I keep falling /off/ it, I'll put the idea of getting someone onto it out of my head. Figures I don't want the embarrassment." Talien pulls a face, just sidestepping temptation to stick her tongue out as well. "Real kind of them, though, yeah? Punch in the gut just for the sake of kicking you, I'd say." Drawing a quick breath, Talien then says, "Oh fine, fine already. You're teasing a /cripple/ with promise of wine and not giving her any - that's what's unfair, let me tell you. She said she was with me on the whole 'bronzeriders suck' issue - I was mad at N'thei then, don't take it personally. One thing led to another and I said you were the friendly type. You know. The *friendly* type." Faranth help him, but Talien air-quotes friendly while delivering it with an overly dramatized wink. "Said she might look you up some time." A delicate pause, then, "Or maybe she said she'd run screaming at first sight of you. It's so hard to remember, honestly."
Scoffing, "You mean he's still trying to keep you from bedding?" B'yan returns on that, movement felt as he shakes his head. "Which speaking of, brat. Didn't want to come find you about the fact you sicced Shanlee on me just because you thought I was going to pull a 'Svodriyth' on your ability to choose a suitor." Taking a drink from the bottle then, "Yeah," he agrees as he wipes the wine from his mouth. "Real kind of them down to the last fall to the ground." Pause. Regarding Talien then, "Wait.....friendly? -Friendly-?" he echoes incredulously. "What the shards is that suppose to mean?" His tone turning stern despite the fact that it's a mockery of it, "And who is this girl anyway? You ever set up D'rian like this before?"
"Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you about that too. You know me, all absent minded and -- can I have a drink now, if you'd please?" Thrusting her hand out in a demanding way, Talien gives him a look of clear expectation, "I'll let you know the rest once you let me get good and... well, not quite drunk but a few sips won't hurt."
The bottle being held further out from beyond Talien's reach now, "Conveniently forgot that too, huh?" B'yan quips dryly, leaning his body away to compensate for moving the wine away. "Didn't realize losing your eyesight was connected to losing your memory." Tsking, "You've just painted yourself into a corner now, bluerider," he shifts to using her title now in the denying of the wine. "Here's survival training part one. Start talking first and the gift-of-nature-known-as-wine will supply itself to your hands." He moves her hand aside then in clear dismissal of it, his silence marking his wait for her answers. "Tell me one of the other first, and a few sips are yours."
"I, sir, do not barter." Talien quips, bold-faced to hide the hurt behind the brushing of her hand away and, more importantly, denial of that wine. "You can just go and drink all your wine and if I'm at all lucky, you'll choke on it. I can always claim I didn't /see/ you were in danger - a perfect crime, I'd say." Beat. "She thinks you're a loosey-goosey who rather fancies himself the Lord of the Gather... quite out of her league too, though I think that might've just convinced her to chance a meeting with you." Sliding her cane back into her lap, Talien toys with the carvings upon it as she continues with, "I was complimenting you, though. And no, D'rian didn't need my help. I figure if I hook up other girls then there's less chance they'll get with someone I want. Aren't I brilliant?"
B'yan's eyes pass through something unreadable, but it's the sort that is gone a brief second even if she could see it. "You seemed willing to barter for my secrets before," he notes in a more soothing tone, as if his apology was in this than in saying it. "And you'd cry if I choked. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself." With Talien's answer, the bronzerider blinks once then raises both brows at her. "All of that accounted for 'friendly'?" he returns now, amused, and quietly slips the wine bottle next to her hand. "I can see, in your way, you were complimenting me. Who is this stranger, anyway? You sure it was a girl?" He smirks briefly at the tease. Leaning back on an elbow, "And, -is- there someone you want? I'dyn, maybe?"
"I don't cry, remember?" Talien challenges of his assumption, "And the first thing I'd do is likely move into your weyr. I've heard it's quite nice." She continues fiddling with the cane, idle-work to keep her hands busy and double excuse to keep her head half bowed to it, as though she could actually watch what she was doing. When the wine is presented, though, she switches her efforts to it but only to take the smallest of sips before passing it back his way. "Izarit, and she assured me she had no snaggle tooth and wasn't ugly. A rider from... oh Ista, I think." To his later, there comes a suffering sigh and a threatening waggle of her finger. "If you weren't so close, I'd stick this cane somewhere highly unpleasant and likely unfortunate - I'dyn is likely to be a last resort, saying Svodriyth doesn't get to him first."
"You'd cry if I choke," B'yan repeats, this time with that familiar arrogant certainty. "You'd cry, but you're not getting my weyr. I'll do stuff to it that will make it unpleasant. You can visit, though. -Before- I choke." Once Talien takes a sip, he slips it back before him before a frown creeps up on his face at the name she presents him with. "Izarit? That trader girl?" He's slightly taken aback by this, lingering on perhaps her name or something else since he doesn't speak again right away. Her last does get a low chuckle from him he raises both unseen hands up. "I'd like to see you try," he returns on her sticking that cane anywhere near him. "You should practice using that cane properly, you know. Won't be much good if all you can hit is an arm or the ground."
"Hah!" Talien harumphs with gusto, "Anything beyond my place is liveable. Just you listen to me on that one." She narrows a challenging look that, all in all, is somewhat weird and not wholly of the effect she otherwise intended. "You asked why I kept him around, remember?" Svodriyth, presumably... even if B'yan hadn't, "And that's because he can do for me what I can't do for myself. Now wait-" Holding up a finger to stall response, she tacks on, "I figure Jaireth's a big sort of boy... but Svodriyth's not above fighting dirty. I think he can take him. So don't try and say Jaireth'll stop him because that's just foolish."
With a short breath of laughter, "I think you and I both know you're stuck with the beast even if you didn't want him around," B'yan quips to that with a lingering over towards a watching Jaireth. "It would amuse Jaireth and me to no end if that blue pulls something dirty. Jaireth tells me Svodriyth does talk big for someone so small." He slips the wine bottle close to Talien's hand again in offering, adding, "You don't have to wait til I choke to hang in my weyr, you know. You're one of the few that's always been welcome, so long's that dragon of yours behaves and you don't drink through my liquor supply or anything."
"He's not small!" Talien rises to her blue's defense by sitting up straighter and making an unintentionally amusing show of fumbling with her cane, "He's - he's big for even a blue! And he only talks big 'cause he can deliver. So just you watch yourself." Carrying more amicable undertones, the last sentence ends with another shake of Talien's finger near enough B'yan to serve as due warning. But there comes more wine, and with it another drink, and with that an aborted choke by Talien who hastily clamps a hand over her mouth while pushing the skin back toward B'yan.
Svodriyth> Jaireth senses that Svodriyth, all innocence and of the sort of sting in one's nose that comes from accidentally inhaling liquid: << Baby girl's chokin', >> By his ease and calm, it's not life threatening, << So I's gotta tell you what I told her. Don't think it's such a good idea, >> A drawl of amusement is rock-heavy and as thick, << Your boy tryin' to get her all drunk and lure her up to that place of yours. >>
With Talien making a show of bluster, and her fumbling with that cane of hers, B'yan braces back on one elbow with a smile. With a wry chuckle, "You've clearly forgotten what he looks like," he drawls easily, "Or Svodriyth's filling up your head with images toyed with." He looks about to tease her more save for the finger she waves his way, and he lets out a dramatic sigh. "He's rubbing off on you more, I see-" and stops once the bottle is pushed back at him abruptly with her hand to her mouth. Sitting up straighter, "Hey---" he begans as he slowly inches away a bit.
Dragon> Svodriyth senses that Jaireth's tone is all hard and rough, like a rock beating the ground. << You sent her our way, >> he returns, heavy. << If you didn't want her drunk, you should've sent her to Big Ear >> and an image of I'dyn promptly appears, vanishing just as quickly. After a pause towards the end, << Mine don't lure. What do you take us for? >>
Talien is having a time with catching her breath because, as it soon becomes apparent, she's also laughing. Hard enough that her face is a deep shade of red and a small stream of tears are leaking out of the corners of her eyes. When she at last gains her composure, it's to wipe her forearm across her face and hoarsely state, "Some hero you are. You don't have my blind defense - they'll string *you* up whole for letting a cripple."
Svodriyth> Jaireth senses that Svodriyth's paper to Jaireth's rock, then, in a companionable challenge. << Big Ear, >> I'dyn, with big ears and all, is imaged and shattered into billions of bits with Jaireth-the-rock, << Ain't got a chance with Baby Girl. >> A heavy pause intercepts one thought process from another before Svodriyth returns a jesting, << Ain't got no lure, that's why. >>
B'yan leans forward to see the tears leaking from her eyes and goes to nudge at her shoulder when sidles back close. With a close look at her face, "Hey, it looked like you were going to heave all over me," he states in his defense, the smile showing in his voice. "I -would- have saved you, onced I knew you weren't going to upchuck over my fine clothing." Snorting as he picks up the bottle, "Keep that up and I won't fulfill my promise of taking you out to a bar."
"Oh, well in that case, I still trust you completely and will remember that when we go out drinking." Talien affirms, mockingly sarcastic. "I'd hate for my untimely death to, oh, you know... ruin that shirt you have on." A very, very quick beat and punched-in-the-face expression later: "It's not... flowered, by any chance, is it?"
Dragon> Svodriyth senses that Jaireth sends an image of a knife to Svodriyth's paper, bluntly cutting through with << Then whoever. Not Big Ear. >> With lowered winds then, << Why he has to lure her? >> which sounds too much like << 'Should he care? >>.
Svodriyth> Jaireth senses that Svodriyth's got nothing to counter knife, and so he gushes blood. But not really blood so much as a tidlewave of water; endless, powerful, drowning you *now* water. It's reprimand or punishment for Jaireth's perceived stupidity. << Baby Girl. >> As in: /like, hello/.
"Your trust in me warms what's left of my heart," B'yan returns with equal sarcasm, waving an unseen hand to the response. "We'll go drinking soon, though. Somewhere that's not great on the eyes." Beat. Running a self-conscience hand over his shirt then, his lips thin at the question and he answers facetiously, "No, but it's embroidered nicely."
Dragon> Svodriyth senses that Jaireth returns a sense of reluctant amusement with the water, seeming shunt it below with the wind of flight. Then, << He ain't going to hurt her, >> he sends in a lower tone of seriousness. There's an confident reassurance to that, but nothing more.
"Ha-hah." Talien, not terribly amused, quips to his 'easy on the eyes' remark. There's a buffet of wind from somewhere behind her; the dark shape in the sky preceding it all too likely Svodriyth come to collect his errant Survivalee-in-training. Ignoring him for the time being, Talien says, "Ah. So you're wearing - how do - you're weird." Flatly decreed with a matching wrinkle of her nose, "Tack that one onto the list: I want a guy who doesn't know the difference between embroidered and not embroidered. Honestly!" Propping the butt of her cane into the ground, Talien hauls herself to her feet. A somber pause brings an even more serious, "-Shanlee got it for me. Svodriyth said I gotta use it for more than decoration-" There's more to the blue's suggestions, evidenced in the puffing of her cheeks and the scuff of a toe against the ground, "It's hardly noticeable, right?" Svodriyth comes into view then, his head tilted low and whirling eyes a'fixed upon B'yan. For Jaireth's sake, the blue has puffed himself up as much as he can... which is to say he's still David to Jaireth's Goliath.
Svodriyth> Jaireth senses that Svodriyth's tidlewave of water ends in a shower of steam and mist - cold and cool, a showing of acceptance; rarer still, trust. << Baby Girl don't always figure the angles. >> Svodriyth's explanation is as obscure as the mist that soon fades into nothing, and the right-hook that follows is an out of the blue forewarning. << Gotta shake the bag... she's gettin' lazy. >>
"As if you'd know whether or not I was wearing anything embroidered," B'yan returns with haughtiness at her declaration. Adjusting the collar of his shirt, "You're still a brat." The shift in wind does have him turning to find the blue returning for his charge, and Jaireth has straightened to move closer to the pair - or to him. The bronzerider getting to his feet when Talien does, offering his hand to the small of her back in case she wanted it, he pauses on the somber note her tone takes. "Yeah, it'll do," he agrees with a faint nod. "Barely noticeable." He looks to the dragons then before adding, "Looks like you better git, girl. That blue of yours is waiting."
Dragon> Svodriyth senses that Jaireth sends his own begrudging acceptance, tinged with respect that he doesn't have linger. What replaces it is bemusement for the words sent, his own being << She'll learn. >> After a pause, << Mine has much to learn, too. Bag? >> and an image of a carrysack definitely forms then.
"At last we know why I'm lower than I'dyn," Talien wryly remarks, "Brat is apparently less desirable than Big Eared and 'all kiss and tell'." She shrugs, haplessly and acceptably. The butt of Svodriyth's maw against her back - right at the spot B'yan himself assisted her with, is as much a reminder of his position to B'yan as it is of his presence to Talien. "Yeah, alright - hey, thanks. I'll see you around, or something. Bye Jaireth." Turning with Svodriyth's head countering her movements, Talien finds her way to his side and up into place. Her cane is tucked neatly away, and Svodriyth, with a croon of farewell to the bronze, ambles a few paces away before launching into the sky.
Svodriyth> Jaireth senses that Svodriyth's image is that of emptiness tainted with ignorance surrounding Talien, and both the ignorance and his baby girl collected in one neat little package. << Showin' her what's what - bag. >> He skips neatly to his last, a parting of his attention and presence to his girl and not the bronze of the man his girl calls friend.
Giving into a chuckle as he brushes the dirt from his pants, << Don't know where you get your news from," B'yan drawls wryly at that. "Big Ears if definitely the lowest. I can tolerate a brat." He removes his hand from the small of her back right when Svodriyth juts forward, stepping away with a flourishing bow towards the blue. "Clear skies, Talien, Svodriyth," he sends once he backs enough away, raising the bottle more for the blue's benefit than her own. Then with the pair in the sky, he turns to reclaim the flattened rock, his eyes tracing the pair as his gaze returns to the sky.
Dragon> Svodriyth senses that Jaireth sends brief understanding before abruptly withdrawing, allowing the blue's attention to fade as his own returns to that of his rider. There's a clear farewell, however brief, but there before he's gone.
The What: Svodriyth decides Talien needs to get out more, dubs it 'Survival training' and deposits her alongside B'yan. The two catch up on old news and new news, exchanging barbs and a few serious moments in between. Jaireth and Svodriyth bond. Kind of.
Svodriyth
Fashioned as if by turns of weathering and seeming to glisten with a lustrous briny-blue, the chiseled features that build the rugged form of this flinty hatchling are startling, and yet quite striking. Natural grace stems from a trim, well-proportioned frame and supple neck, while broad shoulders and powerful legs afford him a stance as solid and unyielding as a mountain. A delicate muzzle of hewn slate that tapers quite sharply from headkobs to narrow tip handsomely sets off a strong jaw line and softens his stony features. Craggy adornments of polished adamantine form his exquisite eye-ridges and a row of artful crests that run the length of his neck and tail. When extended, his wings with their rich, steely pinions and glacial sails appear well suited to aerial mastery.
At 2 Turns, 1 months, and 4 days old, Svodriyth is approximately 30 meters in length and 20 meters to his wing shoulders, with a wingspan of 50 meters.
Talien
Of a fair complexion, Talien's heritage is clearly 'Reachian. And despite the rosey, sunburned-esque tint surrounding her eyes or the unnatural, fixed dilation of her pupils, she's remarkably free of blemishes. Her most outstanding trait is the delicateness of her features; eyebrows shaped into a gentle curve over her large hazel eyes, a small nose and somewhat full lips framed within a round face. Despite the lack of bangs to cover her high forehead, Talien still has that girl next door look - an atractiveness which seems natural. Her thick, light brown hair is most always left unbound to fall to her lower back. Never quite managing to stay in a proper style, it instead falls into disarrayed curls which frame the sides of her cheeks. She'll never be tall and currently at 5'1", Talien carries herself with a long-legged awkwardness that suggests she wished she were. Her build is distinctly feminine; slender with a hint of curves and a lack of toned definition that arduous and constant labor might otherwise offer.
Beneath a bomber-style jacket (a size too big) she wears a steel blue shirt with three-quarter sleeves and a high collar that drops into a v-shaped neckline. Separate sections sewn into the shirt appear along her shoulders and elbows while also along the lower half of her sides. Her pants carry the same flattering impression of her shirt, fitting her well and ending in wide cuffs at her ankles. Her boots are a little scruffier and less impressive, but are for the most part, whole and functional. On good days, they're even polished.
Two pieces of jewelry are worn, the first is a braided cord about her right wrist. Thick though it is, the edge of a faded burn mark is visible from beneath it. The second is a wooden disc whittled to resemble a seashell which hangs from a simple cord draped about her neck.
Fishing Pond, High Reaches Weyr
This little finger of the Weyr lake is entirely frozen over; however, drudges have made holes in the hard ice near edge by judicious use of ice picks. The forms of underwater rocks are muted by the ice. The natural land bridge which divides this pond from the main lake is buried under a thick covering of snow. The Weyr mountain walls loom above in the crisp, bitingly cold air.
The early evening crystal clear as the sun sets over the western rim of the bowl. It is completely still, no winds blow and the winter air is warm enough, with only a slight chill.
With there being few out on the lake shore this evening, B'yan and Jaireth have taken to stargazing in the pond. The muddy bronze is settled behind his rider, large eyes more fixated on their surroundings rather than the sky. The wingsecond, however, is lounging lazily on a flat slab of rock jutting out over the pond with a bottle in hand.
B'yan
B'yan is a tall young man with smooth, dark skin. His eyes shine hazel and his short-cropped black curls are rakishly wild, flowing about like the waves of the sea. His eyes seem to smile at you...or mock you, depending on intent. As for his gentle lips, they curve into an endless smirk, as though he's about to get into some kind of trouble. He appears calm, but has a business-like air about him, which usually means there's more to him than meets the eye. He is about 26 Turns, 1 months, and 14 days old.
He is wearing a loose-fitting, off-white shirt with a collar and long sleeves. The dark-colored, wherhide pants are thick in fabric to keep out the chill of the cooler climates, adorned with two pockets on both sides and a tan-colored belt. There's a knot attached to his shirt with a bronze strand going through it to indicate his lifemate, and that he is a bronzerider at the High Reaches.
Jaireth
Burnished veining spreads across tarnished wingsails, turning them lighter and brighter than the weathered bronzen hide stretching across the rest of this dragon's solid frame. Well muscled, but without the added bulk which would make him truly muscle bound, he retains much of the maneuverability that escapes many dragons of his size. Still, even in his maturity, he moves with the fluid power and predatory grace of a developing hunter's stalk. An overabundance of confidence manifested in the edgy quality he possesses whether still, or moving with the explosive energy that matches his apparent temper. His chiseled features give him a strong face that is none the less expressive, perhaps helped by the indented places along his muzzle, eye ridges and head knobs that are more polished in hue, adding a certain depth to his image. A mantle of darkness spreads from streaks of mahogany, reaching down from the neck ridges that line the upper curve of his neck to stain his shoulders, with a dorsal strip darkening also the length of his spine to the restless tip of his whip thin tail. Close inspection showing scattered glints of brightness across the remainder of his irrevocably muddied hide.
At 4 Turns, 0 months, and 4 days, Jaireth is approximately 36.3 meters in length and 24 meters to his wing shoulders, with a wingspan of 60 meters.
From within that sky there soon comes a blocking of the stars -- not so much the sky, for that becomes a darker shade of blue against black, and eventually that blotch of blue defines itself into a dragon. Said blue dragon lands some feet from the pond after a rather straight and narrow descent. The gentlest of draconic whuffs echoes toward the bronze pair - not so much in greeting of them as it is in encouragement of another, for soon the blue takes off again, only this time it's without his passenger/rider. Said rider will be identified by the purely irate shout sent in his wake: "You son of a wherry! Get back here now!"
Jaireth is the first to react to the blue's sudden arrival, shifting his bulk forward to bump into B'yan as he rumbles a short greeting. With the blue taking off again and the bronzerider being jerked erect, the shout alone is what catch his attention now. He leans forward on the rock as if it would help to see the arrived better, then with a glance towards his bronze, "He has taken to abandonment already? Or is this his innate way of taking care of you?" The drawl could be distinct alone with just enough amusement injected to suggest his words were not meant to provoke.
"Don't encourage him." Talien responds, but only after a sizeable pause in which it's hard to discern whether she's even still there or just ignoring her greeter. There's another long pause - travel pause - as Talien makes her way up the slope to the pond and into view. The only sound from such is a soft tap-swish set before Talien's heavier tred. It's source becomes apparent when she comes into view, a slender white cane which Talien uses to guide her slow and awkward steps. "That lump of shi - you know what - couldn't take care of me if he tried." Beat. "And you can tell him I said as much 'cause I'm not talking to him."
B'yan keeps firm on his lean before Talien appears, his eyes deftly taking in her form and the white cane she uses. His pause is lengthy as well, choosing not to respond until she was close enough to lower his voice. With Jaireth's tip of his tail seeming to twitch to the rhythm of Talien's cane behind him, "Must be hard not talking to him with him stuck firmly in your head," he drawls to that, straightening his posture now that she was near. "I tried that with Jaireth once and he made it his personal game to talk my ears off until I got mad enough to yell." He first gestures with a nod towards the bowl, but then realizing she wouldn't be able to even see it, he slides off the rock to his feet and makes his way towards her. "What's he done now?" he asks, eyes briefly scanning the sky for the blue.
"Oh I've got plenty of practice ignoring all sorts of things going on inside my head," Talien's features twist with a less than sane expression, and she taps the side of her head to emphasize her point. At B'yan's movement, Talien stops and rests her cane against her stomach with the air of someone attempting casualness for the sake of pretending a third head were normal. "He's abandoned me. Says it's something like survival training... that I gotta make my own way. I guess you were the help he said was here, huh?"
With a quick grin that would be heard more than seen, "He considers dropping you in a random place 'survival training'?" B'yan echoes this as he approaches, then once he was close enough he tries to reach out to take ahold of her chin. To her last, "First I'm hearing of this," he muses, looking her face over with careful scrutiny. "Svodriyth seems to not like to inform folks' dragons of his plans before he decides. Thought I'd watch the sky and bit and drink some wine, so unless I'm helping you hold your liquor..." he trails, brows furrowing slightly as he continues to watch her.
"Yeah. I tried that one. Doesn't fly with him. Doesn't fly... you just wait, I'll get him back for this." Talien grinds the butt of her cane into the ground with a voracious twist of her fists; the movement stops, however, when her chin is caught. Stiffness slowly creeps into her posture and a bit of red into her otherwise blank face, "-he's a one-man band. What can I say?" Asked with the least amount of effort required to actually deliver the words, for all that he has hold of her chin. "Probably didn't know you'd be drinking 'cause he'd have found someone else."
With her chin caught in his hand, B'yan gently guides Talien's face a bit to the left and right as if examining her face. "Someone once told me," B'yan idly drawls while doing this, "That overprotecting cripples the one you're doing it to. Truth be told, Talien, you have quite a strange dragon to be dropping you around at all hours of the night." Smirk. With his study concluding, he finally lets go of her chin and nods. "I should drop by your place and see if he hasn't ruined it," he notes, taking one step back from her. "You're here, though, and your company I wouldn't turn down. I have Benden red with me and I'll offer help if you require it in order to sit."
The red of Talien's features remains even after he's released her chin, and as sure as he'd spoken some fine points meriting acknowledgement, Talien asks a self-titled fine point all her own. "Well?" Tone implying a hands-on-hips gesture which is not followed through on, though her hands remain locked in a white-knuckled grip about the handle of her cane.
Talien's stiff posture and pointed tone gets little reaction from B'yan, even if she speaks one word on his examination on her. Chin lifting slightly as he doesn't respond right away, "You don't look bad," he states rather matter-of-factly to her then. "Last time I saw you there was some swelling around the eyes." Chin dropping as he assumes a lopsided grin, "I embarrassed you or something?" he teases, the amusement heard in his voice.
"And you smell like shit." Talien's explicative is purely for shock-effect and not so much malice, because there's a half-humbled manner about the ducking of her head and quick follow through of sinking to the ground to sit cross-legged. Her cane is set out of sight and just behind her, "Got nothin' to be embarrassed about with you," she allows to his question, "S'not like I tried to set you up with me." Feigned innocence taints the allowance, and it's attempted to be a blase statement for she soon addresses the earlier ignored questions. "He's got it in order... somewhat. Says it wouldn't be fair to change it 'round now 'cause I'm use to how it was. Doesn't explain why I keep knocking into things that are someplace one day and then someplace else the next." A pop of her knuckle precedes, "You said you had wine, right?"
B'yan snorts at Talien's return explicative, then over his shoulder as he turns from her, "Atleast you still got that winning personality of yours intact, brat," he returns as he makes his way back to the rock to get his bottle. Returning to join her on the ground, his silence could be due to the fact that he's indulging in a drink or figuring out what next to say, for the bronzerider has the bottle halfway to his lips and is looking over at Talien in bemused pause when she answers him. When the bottle goes down, "Let me make sure your weyr's in order instead of that crazy blue of yours? I'm surprised you haven't fallen from the ledge yet, the way he runs things." Pause. "Set me up?" he pointedly brings right back, strategically placing the bottle right next to her knuckle as if in offering before pulling it right back in added prompt.
"Oh he's working his way up to that. I've fallen off that disaster of a bed of mine at least twice - practice, he says. Like it was funny the first time I heard it." Talien's head bobs with characteristic, bratty sarcasm. The scowl which is threatening to become permanent fades at his later question and the wine it brings, to which Talien offers, "Oh, right. I didn't tell you?" A sweet smile spans the pause between reaching for and being denied a drink from that offered bottle, "'s this girl and she says, well, I said to her - well, no. Wait, that's not it. How'd that go again?" One eye squints shut to emphasize just how hard she's trying to recall the event in question.
"I amend my previous statement on your dragon," B'yan drawls dryly, hunching alittle forward with both hands over the bottle of wine. "He's -insane-. He's suppose to be preventing you from falling off beds, not giving you pointers on it." He shakes his head a bit before pausing, adding a brisk, "On a real twisted level, I do see where he's coming from, though. Kinda like that time my brother punched me in the gut and was telling me he did it so that I would get used to what a punch to the gut felt like." He still holds the bottle off from her as she tried to recall, eyes narrowing at the innocent statement then he takes to rolling his eyes towards the end. "Spit it out, Talien," he states bluntly with a pointed look her way at her unseeing eyes.
"Oh, but see that's the smart part," Tapping her head again - and not helping her bid for sanity one bit - Talien says, "He figures if I keep falling /off/ it, I'll put the idea of getting someone onto it out of my head. Figures I don't want the embarrassment." Talien pulls a face, just sidestepping temptation to stick her tongue out as well. "Real kind of them, though, yeah? Punch in the gut just for the sake of kicking you, I'd say." Drawing a quick breath, Talien then says, "Oh fine, fine already. You're teasing a /cripple/ with promise of wine and not giving her any - that's what's unfair, let me tell you. She said she was with me on the whole 'bronzeriders suck' issue - I was mad at N'thei then, don't take it personally. One thing led to another and I said you were the friendly type. You know. The *friendly* type." Faranth help him, but Talien air-quotes friendly while delivering it with an overly dramatized wink. "Said she might look you up some time." A delicate pause, then, "Or maybe she said she'd run screaming at first sight of you. It's so hard to remember, honestly."
Scoffing, "You mean he's still trying to keep you from bedding?" B'yan returns on that, movement felt as he shakes his head. "Which speaking of, brat. Didn't want to come find you about the fact you sicced Shanlee on me just because you thought I was going to pull a 'Svodriyth' on your ability to choose a suitor." Taking a drink from the bottle then, "Yeah," he agrees as he wipes the wine from his mouth. "Real kind of them down to the last fall to the ground." Pause. Regarding Talien then, "Wait.....friendly? -Friendly-?" he echoes incredulously. "What the shards is that suppose to mean?" His tone turning stern despite the fact that it's a mockery of it, "And who is this girl anyway? You ever set up D'rian like this before?"
"Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you about that too. You know me, all absent minded and -- can I have a drink now, if you'd please?" Thrusting her hand out in a demanding way, Talien gives him a look of clear expectation, "I'll let you know the rest once you let me get good and... well, not quite drunk but a few sips won't hurt."
The bottle being held further out from beyond Talien's reach now, "Conveniently forgot that too, huh?" B'yan quips dryly, leaning his body away to compensate for moving the wine away. "Didn't realize losing your eyesight was connected to losing your memory." Tsking, "You've just painted yourself into a corner now, bluerider," he shifts to using her title now in the denying of the wine. "Here's survival training part one. Start talking first and the gift-of-nature-known-as-wine will supply itself to your hands." He moves her hand aside then in clear dismissal of it, his silence marking his wait for her answers. "Tell me one of the other first, and a few sips are yours."
"I, sir, do not barter." Talien quips, bold-faced to hide the hurt behind the brushing of her hand away and, more importantly, denial of that wine. "You can just go and drink all your wine and if I'm at all lucky, you'll choke on it. I can always claim I didn't /see/ you were in danger - a perfect crime, I'd say." Beat. "She thinks you're a loosey-goosey who rather fancies himself the Lord of the Gather... quite out of her league too, though I think that might've just convinced her to chance a meeting with you." Sliding her cane back into her lap, Talien toys with the carvings upon it as she continues with, "I was complimenting you, though. And no, D'rian didn't need my help. I figure if I hook up other girls then there's less chance they'll get with someone I want. Aren't I brilliant?"
B'yan's eyes pass through something unreadable, but it's the sort that is gone a brief second even if she could see it. "You seemed willing to barter for my secrets before," he notes in a more soothing tone, as if his apology was in this than in saying it. "And you'd cry if I choked. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself." With Talien's answer, the bronzerider blinks once then raises both brows at her. "All of that accounted for 'friendly'?" he returns now, amused, and quietly slips the wine bottle next to her hand. "I can see, in your way, you were complimenting me. Who is this stranger, anyway? You sure it was a girl?" He smirks briefly at the tease. Leaning back on an elbow, "And, -is- there someone you want? I'dyn, maybe?"
"I don't cry, remember?" Talien challenges of his assumption, "And the first thing I'd do is likely move into your weyr. I've heard it's quite nice." She continues fiddling with the cane, idle-work to keep her hands busy and double excuse to keep her head half bowed to it, as though she could actually watch what she was doing. When the wine is presented, though, she switches her efforts to it but only to take the smallest of sips before passing it back his way. "Izarit, and she assured me she had no snaggle tooth and wasn't ugly. A rider from... oh Ista, I think." To his later, there comes a suffering sigh and a threatening waggle of her finger. "If you weren't so close, I'd stick this cane somewhere highly unpleasant and likely unfortunate - I'dyn is likely to be a last resort, saying Svodriyth doesn't get to him first."
"You'd cry if I choke," B'yan repeats, this time with that familiar arrogant certainty. "You'd cry, but you're not getting my weyr. I'll do stuff to it that will make it unpleasant. You can visit, though. -Before- I choke." Once Talien takes a sip, he slips it back before him before a frown creeps up on his face at the name she presents him with. "Izarit? That trader girl?" He's slightly taken aback by this, lingering on perhaps her name or something else since he doesn't speak again right away. Her last does get a low chuckle from him he raises both unseen hands up. "I'd like to see you try," he returns on her sticking that cane anywhere near him. "You should practice using that cane properly, you know. Won't be much good if all you can hit is an arm or the ground."
"Hah!" Talien harumphs with gusto, "Anything beyond my place is liveable. Just you listen to me on that one." She narrows a challenging look that, all in all, is somewhat weird and not wholly of the effect she otherwise intended. "You asked why I kept him around, remember?" Svodriyth, presumably... even if B'yan hadn't, "And that's because he can do for me what I can't do for myself. Now wait-" Holding up a finger to stall response, she tacks on, "I figure Jaireth's a big sort of boy... but Svodriyth's not above fighting dirty. I think he can take him. So don't try and say Jaireth'll stop him because that's just foolish."
With a short breath of laughter, "I think you and I both know you're stuck with the beast even if you didn't want him around," B'yan quips to that with a lingering over towards a watching Jaireth. "It would amuse Jaireth and me to no end if that blue pulls something dirty. Jaireth tells me Svodriyth does talk big for someone so small." He slips the wine bottle close to Talien's hand again in offering, adding, "You don't have to wait til I choke to hang in my weyr, you know. You're one of the few that's always been welcome, so long's that dragon of yours behaves and you don't drink through my liquor supply or anything."
"He's not small!" Talien rises to her blue's defense by sitting up straighter and making an unintentionally amusing show of fumbling with her cane, "He's - he's big for even a blue! And he only talks big 'cause he can deliver. So just you watch yourself." Carrying more amicable undertones, the last sentence ends with another shake of Talien's finger near enough B'yan to serve as due warning. But there comes more wine, and with it another drink, and with that an aborted choke by Talien who hastily clamps a hand over her mouth while pushing the skin back toward B'yan.
Svodriyth> Jaireth senses that Svodriyth, all innocence and of the sort of sting in one's nose that comes from accidentally inhaling liquid: << Baby girl's chokin', >> By his ease and calm, it's not life threatening, << So I's gotta tell you what I told her. Don't think it's such a good idea, >> A drawl of amusement is rock-heavy and as thick, << Your boy tryin' to get her all drunk and lure her up to that place of yours. >>
With Talien making a show of bluster, and her fumbling with that cane of hers, B'yan braces back on one elbow with a smile. With a wry chuckle, "You've clearly forgotten what he looks like," he drawls easily, "Or Svodriyth's filling up your head with images toyed with." He looks about to tease her more save for the finger she waves his way, and he lets out a dramatic sigh. "He's rubbing off on you more, I see-" and stops once the bottle is pushed back at him abruptly with her hand to her mouth. Sitting up straighter, "Hey---" he begans as he slowly inches away a bit.
Dragon> Svodriyth senses that Jaireth's tone is all hard and rough, like a rock beating the ground. << You sent her our way, >> he returns, heavy. << If you didn't want her drunk, you should've sent her to Big Ear >> and an image of I'dyn promptly appears, vanishing just as quickly. After a pause towards the end, << Mine don't lure. What do you take us for? >>
Talien is having a time with catching her breath because, as it soon becomes apparent, she's also laughing. Hard enough that her face is a deep shade of red and a small stream of tears are leaking out of the corners of her eyes. When she at last gains her composure, it's to wipe her forearm across her face and hoarsely state, "Some hero you are. You don't have my blind defense - they'll string *you* up whole for letting a cripple."
Svodriyth> Jaireth senses that Svodriyth's paper to Jaireth's rock, then, in a companionable challenge. << Big Ear, >> I'dyn, with big ears and all, is imaged and shattered into billions of bits with Jaireth-the-rock, << Ain't got a chance with Baby Girl. >> A heavy pause intercepts one thought process from another before Svodriyth returns a jesting, << Ain't got no lure, that's why. >>
B'yan leans forward to see the tears leaking from her eyes and goes to nudge at her shoulder when sidles back close. With a close look at her face, "Hey, it looked like you were going to heave all over me," he states in his defense, the smile showing in his voice. "I -would- have saved you, onced I knew you weren't going to upchuck over my fine clothing." Snorting as he picks up the bottle, "Keep that up and I won't fulfill my promise of taking you out to a bar."
"Oh, well in that case, I still trust you completely and will remember that when we go out drinking." Talien affirms, mockingly sarcastic. "I'd hate for my untimely death to, oh, you know... ruin that shirt you have on." A very, very quick beat and punched-in-the-face expression later: "It's not... flowered, by any chance, is it?"
Dragon> Svodriyth senses that Jaireth sends an image of a knife to Svodriyth's paper, bluntly cutting through with << Then whoever. Not Big Ear. >> With lowered winds then, << Why he has to lure her? >> which sounds too much like << 'Should he care? >>.
Svodriyth> Jaireth senses that Svodriyth's got nothing to counter knife, and so he gushes blood. But not really blood so much as a tidlewave of water; endless, powerful, drowning you *now* water. It's reprimand or punishment for Jaireth's perceived stupidity. << Baby Girl. >> As in: /like, hello/.
"Your trust in me warms what's left of my heart," B'yan returns with equal sarcasm, waving an unseen hand to the response. "We'll go drinking soon, though. Somewhere that's not great on the eyes." Beat. Running a self-conscience hand over his shirt then, his lips thin at the question and he answers facetiously, "No, but it's embroidered nicely."
Dragon> Svodriyth senses that Jaireth returns a sense of reluctant amusement with the water, seeming shunt it below with the wind of flight. Then, << He ain't going to hurt her, >> he sends in a lower tone of seriousness. There's an confident reassurance to that, but nothing more.
"Ha-hah." Talien, not terribly amused, quips to his 'easy on the eyes' remark. There's a buffet of wind from somewhere behind her; the dark shape in the sky preceding it all too likely Svodriyth come to collect his errant Survivalee-in-training. Ignoring him for the time being, Talien says, "Ah. So you're wearing - how do - you're weird." Flatly decreed with a matching wrinkle of her nose, "Tack that one onto the list: I want a guy who doesn't know the difference between embroidered and not embroidered. Honestly!" Propping the butt of her cane into the ground, Talien hauls herself to her feet. A somber pause brings an even more serious, "-Shanlee got it for me. Svodriyth said I gotta use it for more than decoration-" There's more to the blue's suggestions, evidenced in the puffing of her cheeks and the scuff of a toe against the ground, "It's hardly noticeable, right?" Svodriyth comes into view then, his head tilted low and whirling eyes a'fixed upon B'yan. For Jaireth's sake, the blue has puffed himself up as much as he can... which is to say he's still David to Jaireth's Goliath.
Svodriyth> Jaireth senses that Svodriyth's tidlewave of water ends in a shower of steam and mist - cold and cool, a showing of acceptance; rarer still, trust. << Baby Girl don't always figure the angles. >> Svodriyth's explanation is as obscure as the mist that soon fades into nothing, and the right-hook that follows is an out of the blue forewarning. << Gotta shake the bag... she's gettin' lazy. >>
"As if you'd know whether or not I was wearing anything embroidered," B'yan returns with haughtiness at her declaration. Adjusting the collar of his shirt, "You're still a brat." The shift in wind does have him turning to find the blue returning for his charge, and Jaireth has straightened to move closer to the pair - or to him. The bronzerider getting to his feet when Talien does, offering his hand to the small of her back in case she wanted it, he pauses on the somber note her tone takes. "Yeah, it'll do," he agrees with a faint nod. "Barely noticeable." He looks to the dragons then before adding, "Looks like you better git, girl. That blue of yours is waiting."
Dragon> Svodriyth senses that Jaireth sends his own begrudging acceptance, tinged with respect that he doesn't have linger. What replaces it is bemusement for the words sent, his own being << She'll learn. >> After a pause, << Mine has much to learn, too. Bag? >> and an image of a carrysack definitely forms then.
"At last we know why I'm lower than I'dyn," Talien wryly remarks, "Brat is apparently less desirable than Big Eared and 'all kiss and tell'." She shrugs, haplessly and acceptably. The butt of Svodriyth's maw against her back - right at the spot B'yan himself assisted her with, is as much a reminder of his position to B'yan as it is of his presence to Talien. "Yeah, alright - hey, thanks. I'll see you around, or something. Bye Jaireth." Turning with Svodriyth's head countering her movements, Talien finds her way to his side and up into place. Her cane is tucked neatly away, and Svodriyth, with a croon of farewell to the bronze, ambles a few paces away before launching into the sky.
Svodriyth> Jaireth senses that Svodriyth's image is that of emptiness tainted with ignorance surrounding Talien, and both the ignorance and his baby girl collected in one neat little package. << Showin' her what's what - bag. >> He skips neatly to his last, a parting of his attention and presence to his girl and not the bronze of the man his girl calls friend.
Giving into a chuckle as he brushes the dirt from his pants, << Don't know where you get your news from," B'yan drawls wryly at that. "Big Ears if definitely the lowest. I can tolerate a brat." He removes his hand from the small of her back right when Svodriyth juts forward, stepping away with a flourishing bow towards the blue. "Clear skies, Talien, Svodriyth," he sends once he backs enough away, raising the bottle more for the blue's benefit than her own. Then with the pair in the sky, he turns to reclaim the flattened rock, his eyes tracing the pair as his gaze returns to the sky.
Dragon> Svodriyth senses that Jaireth sends brief understanding before abruptly withdrawing, allowing the blue's attention to fade as his own returns to that of his rider. There's a clear farewell, however brief, but there before he's gone.