LOG: I'm so sorry.
Date: Day 17, Month 8, Turn 26
Location: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr (x2)
Synopsis: Ali visits, with unfortunate results. Meanwhile, Cadejoth and Isyath fly.
Dragon> Even before the watchrider challenges the newest arrival to the 'Reaches, you feel a presence make itself known. It's something cold and black, broken by the quick sweeps of stars flying past, a sense of speed and motion and /aliveness/. << Cadejoth. >> You don't know her, but in the way that all dragons do, you also do know Isyath, her mental tones as distinctive as her smaller figure is in the sky above. << Mine wishes to converse with yours. And I wish to fly in your skies. The air is different here. Colder. I like it. >> The business-like quality of the request lasts for very little time before the young, and joyful nature of the foreign queen becomes audible. (Isyath to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Isyath, Cadejoth's response is immediate: he keeps a close watch on his weyr and those who visit, and even without the watchrider's warning, he's instantly alerted to the new arrival. That sweep of stars attracts bright-eyed attention, marshalled by a jangling of metal upon metal - a drum-beat of greeting that intensifies with curiosity over time. << Isyath, >> he greets, his own enthusiasm unrestrained despite his own attempts at formal greeting. << Be welcome at High Reaches. Our skies are /wonderful/, and the spires-- you should fly through the spires. >> It's important. << K'del says he's at home, and yours could meet him there. Or-- somewhere else? If yours prefers? >>
Dragon> The sound of metal is considered, and there's an odd reflection of it in her returning thoughts, like she's absorbed a little part of it into her tones for the time being, though the sweeping of her stars aren't diminished in the slightest. << The spires? >> She's instantly on that thought, pulling at the bronze's images and thoughts and feelings around it, wanting to know all, /now/. << We should race, through the spires. Racing makes everything much more fun. >> The challenge is offered with an unrestrained delight that ignores all the social boundaries of dragons of their particular station. There just the slightest of pauses to consider the latter offer, then the Fortian queen is visible, banking steeply and circling sharply downwards even as the words follow: << We come. >> (Isyath to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Isyath, Cadejoth is a visible figure, out on his ledge: he's sitting up now, watching, and letting free an exuberant rumble for the young queen as she approaches. << /Through/ the spires? >> It's not a suggestion for caution: indeed, the bronze's mind seems to jangle like a set of warped bells for the thought, encouraging it with merry excitement. << Let's see what you can do! >> His last words are something of an afterthought; almost forgotten, but for that nagging mantle of responsibility. << He'll come and meet her, then. And /we/ will fly. >>
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath lands, not on the ledge - but in the bowl below, a gesture that is probably all her rider's influence, in deference to her visitor status, and none at all of Isyath's idea. The young queen's mental tones flow and ebb, her excitement at the prospect palpable, but held in check for a short time while her rider dismounts. And then - almost immediately - she's aloft again. << We play chase all the time. I am very good. >> Of course, half the time, the dragons of Fort /let/ her win, not that she knows that. The broad sweeps of her wings take her aloft again, undoubtedly attracting the eye of the watchdragon again, though she's oblivious to such nuances. << Which way? >>
Dragon> Silent, watching, Cadejoth stays where he is until Isyath is flight-bound once more, at which points he joins her, hurtling off the ground with a monumental push from skinny hindquarters. There's no doubt of his glee, once airborne: he spells it out in rumbles and in the jangling of metal and bone: a wild thrum of exhilaration. << Of course you are, >> he tells her, playfully. << But are you as good as /me/? >> Maybe. Maybe not. << Up! Up, up, up. And then? /Through/. >> There's a small amount of posessive pride as he aims for the spindles: his weyr. /His/ skies to fly in. Even if he /will/ share. (Cadejoth to Isyath)
Ali's pulled off her helmet, and is still pulling free her gloves as she walks - almost hesitantly - up the ledge to where Cadejoth is crouched. There's a half-curtsy that the Fortian woman executes in his direction, though her gaze, shortly thereafter, is pulled skywards, to where Isyath - rivalling the sizes of the smaller bronzes - is visible. With a sigh of resignation, she turns back, hesitating as she eyes the many entrances. With a chew of her lower lip, she takes a gamble and picks the one a bit lower than where Cadejoth was stationed, unaware that the weyr she's heading into is the Weyrleader's /former/ weyr.
Cadejoth has a cheerful rumble for Ali, though he's clearly distracted, and hurtles off skywards mere moments later. Meanwhile, it's probably more politeness than a realisation of the mistake that could happen that sends K'del wandering out to greet his visitor; he looks as though he's hastily pulled his boots on, the laces not completely tied, and his hair is damp and looks recently combed. He arrives outside probably only a few seconds after Ali heads into his old weyr, a quizzical expression forming when she's not in view. He pauses, biting at his lip in thoughtful consideration, and half turns-- before halting. Wide-eyed, he hurries down the steps to that other weyr, venturing hastily, "Ali?" Inside his old weyr? There's still plenty of furniture, and even a few piles of /things/, but it's clearly not in use - equally clear is the dark stain on the floor near the passage that leads further in, faded after much scrubbing, but still very much visible.
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath is appreciative of the delay, though in her mind it's only the deference due her, used to being indulged by many, indeed. A starburst of constellations appears in her thoughts, visible sparks of light appearing here and there in her own mental equivalent of excitement. << Of course I am. I always win. >> Which is easy when you change the rules halfway through the game, and tonight is no exception: she is just as quick to narrow in on the location once he draws attention there, swift wingbeats matching his, for now - although he has the advantage of knowing the intricacies of the wind, here. Her thoughts shadow his, closely, taking in the knowledge of his possessiveness with a curiosity and interest. << If I win, they will be my spires! >>
Yes, that's exactly where Ali is. Inside the old weyr. She'd gotten as far as pulling off her gloves, which are now lying, forgotten, on the floor beside her. In fact, she only made it a few steps into the entrance before her gaze was pulled - and now remains fixed - on the stain that darkens the floor. The Fortian woman looks pale, eyes wide, breath hitched as if on the verge of letting out a scream, but - perhaps mercifully - frozen in horror as she takes it in.
Dragon> << Always? >> Always and always? Cadejoth dismisses this with amusement, noting, << Winning isn't fun if you never lose. Because it makes winning less special. >> This philosophical remark is followed by a cheeky rattle, as he barrel-rolls - awkwardly, but not impossibly - through the currents, expressing, without words, that sometimes /flying/ is more interesting than /winning/. << If you win, I might let you share them for a little while, >> he decides. << But they're still mine. This is my weyr. But I don't mind. >> Roll finished, he soars up on towards the spires, picking his thermals carefully to carry him faster and higher but never out of reach. (Cadejoth to Isyath)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath is actually - amazingly - silent for once. Surprised. Stunned. Or perhaps a pale echo of her lifemate's emotions. The new spin on the concept of losing is definitely enough to rattle her. << But I like winning all the time! Maybe when I get tired of winning I will lose all the time for a while. >> Because it's that easy - deciding if she wants to win or lose, and others make it happen for her. Things just /happen/ how she wants them to. As Cadejoth rolls, she drops back a length, now directly behind him. She's changed the game, in her subtle way, and now she's chasing him. Only she doesn't tell him as much. She's not nearly as quick as him, since the Fortian queen finds herself struggling against the current and eddies of the winds here and there, but the fact that she slices directly in his wake keeps her easily apace, at least. << I only want them so I can fly around them, >> she finally concedes, though her thoughts are on winning, still.
Enter K'del, running. /He/ comes to a halt just a few steps behind Ali, his face frozen in awkward unhappiness, his words caught short-- a deep breath and then, with awful emphasis: "I'm so sorry. Didn't even-- come on." Away from here. Away from the stain that he can't even seem to bring himself to look at, for all that this must have been his home for quite some turns. "Shells."
Dragon> It seems to amuse Cadejoth, that this stuns Isyath so much. << Do you always get your way, Isyath? How boring! Life's more interesting when it /surprises/ you. >> If he's aware that she's chasing him, no, he doesn't show it: he's flying for the fun of it, now, attempting the kind of movements that a smaller dragon would be able to perform rather more successfully, though that doesn't seem to bother him whatsoever. << The greens can go round and round and round the spires, fast, fast, fast. I'm too big, but it's still fun. >> Like this: he demonstrates, sweeping around with his wings tucked close to carefully avoid the stone sentinels. << You don't have to /have/ them to fly around them. I'll let you. >> (Cadejoth to Isyath)
K'del can't look at it, and Ali can't look away. Does that make them star crossed? Either way it seems getting the Fortian goldrider out of the room isn't going to be nearly so easy as it seems; she sways for a moment, and there's another hitch of breath, and then she - barely - manages to stumble away before she can be heard retching behind one of the piles of his stuff. Former stuff, after this, most likely. Finally, she straightens, and still shaky, fixes horrified gaze on K'del, as the awkwardness of the situation outweighs the horror of the room. "Oh, shards. Oh- I'm- so sorry!"
Dragon> << Always, >> the queen agrees, unperturbed by the words that follow. << I like surprises too, but winning is the best. >> She says it in that matter of fact tone that people - and dragons get. The sky is blue. Isyath likes winning. The earth is brown. Isyath /always/ wins. Whatever the case, she's quick to keep up with the challenge that the 'Reachian bronze sets, mimicing every twist and turn, perhaps even adding a flourish that is all her own here and there, whipcord tail slicing through the air behind her as she closes the gap between them. She's slender, for a queen, so that helps, but she's still big and bulky and not nearly so quick on the sharper turns. During one such, when she almost catches him, there's a testing nip aimed at his tail, but she's not quite close enough yet. << This is fun, >> she says, surprise coloring her tone, like she didn't expect it. Or possibly didn't expect it from /here/, to be more accurate. (Isyath to Cadejoth)
As Ali sways, K'del reaches out as though he intends to steady her, though his hands don't actually connect: perhaps he's just readying himself in case she actually faints. The retching, though? That makes him blanche, drawing back hesitantly while he waits for her to finish. "Oh, no-- no, no. It's my fault. I didn't /think/. And-- uhm, I've got some water, back in--" You know, his /current/ weyr. "Why don't you come through and sit down? I'm so sorry about this. Please."
Ali's looking thoroughly mortified at this stage, not to mention still pale and unsteady. But, like a horrific accident, her eyes are drawn back towards that spot on the floor, and she pales further, if possible. Mutely now, she nods in agreement with K'del's suggestion - anything to get her out of the sight of /that/ - and follows wherever he suggests, biting her lower lip as if to keep from another unfortunate incident.
Dragon> << How peculiar, >> is Cadejoth's considered opinion, as he whips around another corner, reaching higher and higher so that he can fan his wings out again and soar merrily through the thermals - each greeted like an old friend. His tail twitches as she nips at it, but he's /just/ out of reach: that seems to amuse him, too, and he sends it twitching more and more: even more fun to chase! << Why wouldn't it be fun? >> he wonders, not glancing back though there's definite interest in his tone - surprise, too. << There's lots that is fun about my weyr. And me. >> (Cadejoth to Isyath)
If she'll let him, K'del will put his hand on Ali's arm, all the better to lead her away from the unfortunate, abandoned weyr, and back down to the ledge - and from there, up to the more distant, less prestigous weyr that he's /currently/ using. It's in a state of disarray, too: boxes, half unpacked, a variety of posessions piled up here and there. But there are no blood stains, and the couch he gestures towards is at least clear enough to sit on. "I'll get you some water," he says, sounding apologetic. "I'm /so/ sorry about this. Please don't tell your Weyrleaders I let that happen."
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath feels like she's a touch confused by Cadejoth's remark, though she doesn't pursue it. Instead she focuses on the flight, using the bronze's knowledge to gain her own understanding of the Weyr's vagaries. By the time they make their third circle of the spires, she's much, much quicker, cutting corners and creeping closer, a delighted, joyful spill of color in her mental tones as she gets closer. As for that question? << When Ali thinks of High Reaches Weyr, she thinks- >> Isyath pauses, and there's a flood of images. White powder drifting from the sky, people bundled up in thick jackets looking fat, a brief flash of a group of unscrupulous looking people in ragged clothing (exiles, the association comes afterwards), and violent dragons to be afraid of. She doesn't remember the hatching, but there's images from there, too.
If anything, Ali seems to appreciate the support, even though there's no verbal indication of it - her step is still unsteady though, and she looks grateful as she sinks down onto the couch. Her eyes pass this-way-and-that in the weyr, in that kind of quick, self assurance of location, before she folds hands into her lap and exhales slowly. "I- I won't. I promise," she says, her voice a little uneven. "If I did, I probably wouldn't be allowed back, ever." So there's a selfish reason behind that promise, too, but she feels obligated to tell him. "Oh. Sir," she adds, as if the fact that she hasn't properly greeted him is now the most unfortunate incident of the evening, hastily rising and executing a less-than-perfect curtsy. "Duties to you and your queens."
Dragon> To Isyath, Cadejoth speeds up, as Isyath gets faster, though there's only so much he can: now, now is the time for being /wily/, for changing this up as much as he can to confuse-- to keep what advantage he can. It only works so well, however, but perhaps that is at least partially by design. Perhaps it's even more fun that way. He encourages her, waving jangling chains that spark and jingle as they touch each other, electricity buzzing through his touch. Of her images, his initial remark is a simple: << Oh. >> It's followed, a moment later by, << It's not all like that. It's /summer/, now, but in the winter, the little dragons will be able to walk on the ice! >> A pause. << Though maybe they'll be too big by then. K'del remembers when /I/ could. No one will hurt you here, though. I promise. >>
There's a certain amount of bemusement to K'del's expression, as Ali executes that curtsy, though he manages to incline his head forward into a grave nod, echoing, "And the same to Fort's, of course. Cadejoth says Isyath flies well." He leaves off answering the rest as he pours a glass of water, presenting it carefully to the weyrling before he settles into one of the opposite seats, hands folded into his lap. "Rather not be part of the reason you're not allowed back. I really am sorry, though. Try not to make a habit of upsetting visitors-- like that. Uh." He glances around, awkward, and hastily follows his words up with: "Cadejoth said you wanted to talk to me. Was there-- something specific?"
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath projects, << It's summer at Fort, too, and so she adjusts the images, but the snow is still there, since she doesn't necessarily associate it with the weather so much as the location. << We played on ice when we were little, too! It was good fun. We slide everywhere - sliding is fun! I can teach your little ones how to slide. >> Isyath isn't familiar with wily - but she's a quick learner when it comes to the skies. Each little trick he does or turn he takes is noted and taken advantage of the next time around, urged on by her burning desire to win and the encouragement she receives from the bronze, too. Finally, on one of the turns, she cuts a corner so fine she's probably lucky she doesn't clip a wing, but it gets her close enough that she can make a playful grab for his tail with her teeth. >>
Ali takes the glass with a wordless nod of thanks, taking little, tentative sips as if uncertain whether she'll keep it down, curving hands around the glass. Only when K'del seats himself does the raven-haired woman, too, and she seems to relax marginally now that the formalities are done, if belatedly. "I-" she takes a breath, as if composing her thoughts, though of course her original intention for visiting has been neatly derailed by the, "That's- that's where it happened, isn't it? That... exile?" The way she phrases that term is... delicate. Like there's a hint of uncertainty or even trepidation, rather than any distaste.
Dragon> Amusement tinges Cadejoth's tone again as he says, << I liked sliding. K'del won't let me do it anymore - he says I might break the ice and ruin it for everyone. >> It could be sad, but it isn't, because he adds, hastily, << But earlier, I played in the lake, and the little ones climbed over me! >> But the little ones he means are human children, not dragons: he shares an image of it, too, and seems genuinely delighted. There's only so much he can do to evade the queen, and this time, as she grabs for his tail, she connects, earning a cheerful, excitable squealing sound from the bronze. << You got me! >> Isyath wins. (Cadejoth to Isyath)
If K'del had hoped that the conversation would now move away from that unfortunate incident, it doesn't show in his expression; he's serious, though, and hesitates before he nods. "Er, yes. That's-- where it happened. We decided we couldn't live with seeing it, all the time. Even if you cover it up with rugs... hate thinking about it."
Dragon> There's a flash of something, briefly, some memory of a memory of something to do with breaking ice. But it's gone pretty swiftly under the weight of her overbearing joy as she manages to catch him. She's thrilled, and it's visible in the almost painfully bright sparkings of her mental tones. << I told you I would win! I am very fast. >> Nope, no modesty here, but a beat later, << But you are very quick too. And- you can slide on mud. Then you won't break anything. I will go sliding with you in the mud! >> The idea is delightful, and enough to distract her from the current play that she gives up on the current game and settles back in to trying to overtake him, now. (Isyath to Cadejoth)
"That must be- awful for you," Ali breathes, her gaze fixing on the condensation on her glass rather than on him. "Do you- they say he hasn't been caught yet." She, of course, assumes it's a he, just as she assumes 'they' are right. Her shoulders twitch, like the very idea makes her uncomfortable, and indeed, she fidgets in place, reaching out to smooth out an invisible crease in her pants, and then wiggling around uncomfortable in her flight jacket until she's forced to unbutton it. All of which, finally, leads to the question she perhaps came here to ask, given her gaze finally settles on him, "Do you think they are dangerous?"
Dragon> To Isyath, Cadejoth reflects that sparkling brightness back on the gold, perfectly content to have 'lost' this particular round. << You are, indeed, very fast. One day, you'll almost outfly everyone! >> But not quite. Changing the subject, without much thought to it, he adds, << Mud? >> he considers it; he seems pleased. << Yes, I like sliding in the mud, too. Does your rider roll her eyes the way K'del does, when I get all dirty like that? >> He's careful in this new game not to physically push her out of the way should she get too close (that would be dangerous), but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a few tricks as they go round and round and round: still, if she manages to duck around and get in front, well, he's not going to argue with that.
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath is unaware of the significance of that statement. She's content to simply accept it as praise due to her. << Yes, she does! She says that it just means she has to scrub it all off later. But I think it's worth it. >> Since all she has to do is watch while someone else does all the work. There's quite a few failed tries where she can't quite reach the turn fast enough, and so he gets the inside track and edges her out. It's all good practice, and while she's extremely competitive, she doesn't seem to be as fixated on winning this particular challenge, since there's no specific ending. Instead, just as she almost manages to edge in front, she veers sharply left, rather than right - and a moment later has positioned herself to fly the /opposite/ way around the spires, quietly pleased with the innovation of this new game.
"It's--" but K'del doesn't answer that; instead, he frowns, hesitating visibly as he struggles to come up with something else to say. "No, we're not-- sure. What happened. Yet. But we're working on it. There are a lot of theories, and everyone is on their guard, but it seems as though-- whatever the point was, it's been made." That doesn't seem to make complete sense, not even to K'del, he frowns even more. He meets her gaze squarely, however, as she asks that last question. "The exiles? I think... Look, it's complicated. Most of them, no, absolutely not. Are some of them unhappy? Yes. But we wouldn't have let them near our eggs if we thought they were dangerous, really dangerous." Says the man who let conviced criminals near his eggs.
Dragon> << Riders! It's only /mud/. >> But Cadejoth must have more of a sense of the work involved, because it's fond amusement, not exasperation that he shares with the younger dragon. Her success with that veer draws even more amusement from the bronze, his chains clanging in what could be described as a peculiar form of applause. << Nicely done, >> he tells her, shifting his own path to match hers, with a certain amount of paternal pride audible in his words. Somehow. (Cadejoth to Isyath)
Ali appears uncertain, despite K'del's reassurances, taking another sip of her water before gaze drops and she fidgets, one handed, with the cuffs on her jacket. "At the gather, you asked if- if I could come and talk with your new goldrider. But- she's an... exile." There's a hesitation in her manner, undoubtedly so that she can carefully pick the words that follow, "Weyrwoman Hattie didn't like the idea. She I- I could only do it, if it was unofficial." It's obvious from the Fortian's expression that she's torn by that wish, to obey her Weyrwoman, against the sentiment that follows, "But I think if I- if I had had someone to talk to, in the same situation, maybe it would've been easier for me."
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath, now, is in front. Which was probably part of her plan all along. << I like the winds here. They are like- like the herdbeasts. Placid, mostly, but they scatter and leap whimsically when they see a dragon. >> It's an odd kind of praise, but it's praise all the same. But still, there's that sense of internal pride she can't help but to let free, << But the winds over Fort Weyr are still my favorite. >>
K'del's frown darkens at mention of Hattie's reaction to it, as though despite any reservations /he/ might have, he's taking it as a quiet insult to his weyr, his new weyrwoman. If that's what he's thinking, however, he's careful to keep it from his tone, which remains even. "If you'd like to - unofficially - reckon we'd appreciate it. She'd appreciate it. If everything was new and strange to you... can you imagine what it will be like for Iolene? But. Only if you want to." His hands flick idly at invisible pieces of lint on his trousers before he adds, "She's a nice girl. Asks way too many questions, but-- at least it means she's trying to understand. Trying to make sense of everything. But please: don't feel obligated. It's-- awkward. I get that."
Dragon> Like the herdbeasts. Cadejoth seems to find that mental image amusing: he shares it, the winds mooing and bowing like herdbeasts, scattered here and there as he and Isyath soar through. << You're allowed to like your own winds best. I like the ones here best. And the ones over the higher mountains. But I like all the winds. I like flying /everywhere/. >> She may be leading, for now-- but he's willing to change that again (maybe): he soars away from the spires, performing another barrel roll as he sweeps around towards the star stones. (Cadejoth to Isyath)
There's a slight, but noticeable wince from Ali as she takes in K'del's reaction, and she chews her lower lip for a moment as if hesitant, though when she speaks a moment later there's an odd kind of certainty in her voice, "About this? I'm certain." She exhales as if releasing more than just her breath, and there's, again, a marginal air of relaxing. "I won't say that I'm not- not nervous about them," them being the exiles, undoubtedly, especially as her gaze flickers in the direction of that weyr, "But I- I would like to help." She smiles, somewhat tremulously, but it's there all the same. "Truthfully, from all the rumors I've heard of late, it sounds like you've had a difficult time, sir."
Whatever he thinks about anything else, there's no hiding the fact that K'del is pleased by Ali's words: he smiles at her, nodding, hands pausing their restless lint-picking as he says, "Really glad to hear that, to be honest. /Really/ glad." That doesn't mean he doesn't need to suck in a breath before answering her last remark, his smile turned rueful; "It-- hasn't been easy, no. Few things are, in the end, though. When you're a leader. Imagine your Weyrleaders would say the same. It's hard, and there's always /something/ else going on, something interrupting what ought to be easy. But. You deal."
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath, too, picks up on the theme, and in her head, the cows fly like them, requiring much greater aerial agility in order to catch them than on the ground. There's even the mimicked snap of her jaws as she nears one of the imaginary beasts, satisfying in her head even if there's little substance in actuality. She's delighted with the thought, though, and it's pretty much distracted her from the game, such that when Cadejoth rises up towards the star stones, she's content to follow with easy, broad sweeps of her wings. << I like flying everywhere, too. But we have yet to go /everywhere/. One day we will - when we have more time. So Ali says. One day, we will fly up and catch a star, too. >>
Ali nods slowly at that, and admits, "Weyrwoman Hattie and Weyrleader T'rev have had a difficult time, what with the plague, and Preita-" she hesitates at mentioning the former junior's name, and rushes on, "So I guess you're right. If there's anything else I can do to help-" she hesitates a moment as if trying to come up with some possible scenario where that might occur, then failing that, adds somewhat lamely, "I won't- take up any more of your time. You've been very kind, sir. Thank you for the- water." But not for the other welcome, her expression telegraphs in her sudden unease as she rises. Her gaze goes distant, a moment, then something warm and amused creeps into her demeanor as a delighted laughter escapes her. "Issy's enjoying herself. Did he let her win? She seems to have an odd habit of getting her way in that regard."
Dragon> To Isyath, Cadejoth seems more interested in sending the imaginary herds rioting than actually snapping his mental jaws at them: he seems to take great pleasure in making them rampage in all different directions. << We've been a lot of places, but I don't think even we have been /everywhere/. That's fine: that means we have more places to visit! When we have time. >> Sadly, there isn't enough of it - or so he implies without saying it outright. << Will you really catch a star? We haven't done that, either. >>
"There's always something," agrees K'del, solemn, but not unhappy about it. "No-- thank you, Ali. Perhaps next time we see each other we can talk less... business. Thank you for coming, though. And for agreeing to help." He rises as she does, awkward for the unspoken reference to that earlier event, but not completely discomforted. Anyway, he, too, smiles about the dragons, allowing, "Cadejoth, too. Not sure about /let/ win. But maybe. Not sure he particularly cares: win or lose. He wishes we had more time to just... fly. So it's good, when he can let out all that energy with someone else. He says she's lovely; he likes her a lot."
Dragon> << We really will. One day. But not today. >> Which is the phrase you tell a dragon to distract them long enough that they will, hopefully, forget for the time being. << But, next time we go /somewhere/, you should come. It's the only way to get everywhere. >> The Fortian queen, too, is delighted with the notion of making the herd scatter in a way that she isn't able to indulge when actually feeding. However, soon enough, her thoughts turn to Fort, fuelled by her rider's wishes. << We are headed home. >> But that, too, is joyful for her, and prompts another game; a headlong dive downwards, wings folded against her side, with no rider on her back to be wary for. << First one down wins! >> (Isyath to Cadejoth)
Dragon> Gently tingly amusement marks Cadejoth's response to most of what Isyath has to say - and he delays his dive just long enough to give her a good head start to that final race. Call him a gentleman, perhaps. Or just an indulgent uncle. Still: << Go, go, go! >> (Cadejoth to Isyath)
Ali carefully sets aside the glass after politely finishing off the water, as if that's something that's expected. She begins to shrug into her jacket, but that warmth that the discussion of her dragon prompts still lingers in the easy smile that follows, "That would be- I'd like that," she agrees, laughing at the comment that follows. "I'll try not to let Issy hear that. If she does, she'd be dragging me out here every second day to race your Cadejoth." She steps towards the ledge, gaze rising unbidden and fixing unerringly on the pair of dragons as they drop from the sky, holding her breath. Not really so much anxiousness as it is restrained joy.
Dragon> The wind whistles past them, like roaring headbeasts. They race amongst the pack, scattering them like a bull run, and Isyath's mental tones are furiously bright, a delight in the freedom of movement that is, finally and reluctantly, curtailed with the snap of spreading wings to slow her descent to the ground, winging towards the ledge. There's the pleasure of the win, of course, but more than that, just the pure joy of the air beneath her wings and a companion to share that with for a time. (Isyath to Cadejoth)
"Good," says K'del, following Ali towards the ledge, his own gaze matching hers: he can't help but smile as he watches them, a low sigh escaping with what can only be described as contentment. "Won't let him breathe a word, either, then. It was-- nice to see you again, Ali." He'll follow to see them off, waiting outside until they're out of sight before he heads back to the weyr - back to the work that no doubt is waiting for him, despite the gloriousness of this late summer day.
Location: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr (x2)
Synopsis: Ali visits, with unfortunate results. Meanwhile, Cadejoth and Isyath fly.
Dragon> Even before the watchrider challenges the newest arrival to the 'Reaches, you feel a presence make itself known. It's something cold and black, broken by the quick sweeps of stars flying past, a sense of speed and motion and /aliveness/. << Cadejoth. >> You don't know her, but in the way that all dragons do, you also do know Isyath, her mental tones as distinctive as her smaller figure is in the sky above. << Mine wishes to converse with yours. And I wish to fly in your skies. The air is different here. Colder. I like it. >> The business-like quality of the request lasts for very little time before the young, and joyful nature of the foreign queen becomes audible. (Isyath to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Isyath, Cadejoth's response is immediate: he keeps a close watch on his weyr and those who visit, and even without the watchrider's warning, he's instantly alerted to the new arrival. That sweep of stars attracts bright-eyed attention, marshalled by a jangling of metal upon metal - a drum-beat of greeting that intensifies with curiosity over time. << Isyath, >> he greets, his own enthusiasm unrestrained despite his own attempts at formal greeting. << Be welcome at High Reaches. Our skies are /wonderful/, and the spires-- you should fly through the spires. >> It's important. << K'del says he's at home, and yours could meet him there. Or-- somewhere else? If yours prefers? >>
Dragon> The sound of metal is considered, and there's an odd reflection of it in her returning thoughts, like she's absorbed a little part of it into her tones for the time being, though the sweeping of her stars aren't diminished in the slightest. << The spires? >> She's instantly on that thought, pulling at the bronze's images and thoughts and feelings around it, wanting to know all, /now/. << We should race, through the spires. Racing makes everything much more fun. >> The challenge is offered with an unrestrained delight that ignores all the social boundaries of dragons of their particular station. There just the slightest of pauses to consider the latter offer, then the Fortian queen is visible, banking steeply and circling sharply downwards even as the words follow: << We come. >> (Isyath to Cadejoth)
Dragon> To Isyath, Cadejoth is a visible figure, out on his ledge: he's sitting up now, watching, and letting free an exuberant rumble for the young queen as she approaches. << /Through/ the spires? >> It's not a suggestion for caution: indeed, the bronze's mind seems to jangle like a set of warped bells for the thought, encouraging it with merry excitement. << Let's see what you can do! >> His last words are something of an afterthought; almost forgotten, but for that nagging mantle of responsibility. << He'll come and meet her, then. And /we/ will fly. >>
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath lands, not on the ledge - but in the bowl below, a gesture that is probably all her rider's influence, in deference to her visitor status, and none at all of Isyath's idea. The young queen's mental tones flow and ebb, her excitement at the prospect palpable, but held in check for a short time while her rider dismounts. And then - almost immediately - she's aloft again. << We play chase all the time. I am very good. >> Of course, half the time, the dragons of Fort /let/ her win, not that she knows that. The broad sweeps of her wings take her aloft again, undoubtedly attracting the eye of the watchdragon again, though she's oblivious to such nuances. << Which way? >>
Dragon> Silent, watching, Cadejoth stays where he is until Isyath is flight-bound once more, at which points he joins her, hurtling off the ground with a monumental push from skinny hindquarters. There's no doubt of his glee, once airborne: he spells it out in rumbles and in the jangling of metal and bone: a wild thrum of exhilaration. << Of course you are, >> he tells her, playfully. << But are you as good as /me/? >> Maybe. Maybe not. << Up! Up, up, up. And then? /Through/. >> There's a small amount of posessive pride as he aims for the spindles: his weyr. /His/ skies to fly in. Even if he /will/ share. (Cadejoth to Isyath)
Ali's pulled off her helmet, and is still pulling free her gloves as she walks - almost hesitantly - up the ledge to where Cadejoth is crouched. There's a half-curtsy that the Fortian woman executes in his direction, though her gaze, shortly thereafter, is pulled skywards, to where Isyath - rivalling the sizes of the smaller bronzes - is visible. With a sigh of resignation, she turns back, hesitating as she eyes the many entrances. With a chew of her lower lip, she takes a gamble and picks the one a bit lower than where Cadejoth was stationed, unaware that the weyr she's heading into is the Weyrleader's /former/ weyr.
Cadejoth has a cheerful rumble for Ali, though he's clearly distracted, and hurtles off skywards mere moments later. Meanwhile, it's probably more politeness than a realisation of the mistake that could happen that sends K'del wandering out to greet his visitor; he looks as though he's hastily pulled his boots on, the laces not completely tied, and his hair is damp and looks recently combed. He arrives outside probably only a few seconds after Ali heads into his old weyr, a quizzical expression forming when she's not in view. He pauses, biting at his lip in thoughtful consideration, and half turns-- before halting. Wide-eyed, he hurries down the steps to that other weyr, venturing hastily, "Ali?" Inside his old weyr? There's still plenty of furniture, and even a few piles of /things/, but it's clearly not in use - equally clear is the dark stain on the floor near the passage that leads further in, faded after much scrubbing, but still very much visible.
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath is appreciative of the delay, though in her mind it's only the deference due her, used to being indulged by many, indeed. A starburst of constellations appears in her thoughts, visible sparks of light appearing here and there in her own mental equivalent of excitement. << Of course I am. I always win. >> Which is easy when you change the rules halfway through the game, and tonight is no exception: she is just as quick to narrow in on the location once he draws attention there, swift wingbeats matching his, for now - although he has the advantage of knowing the intricacies of the wind, here. Her thoughts shadow his, closely, taking in the knowledge of his possessiveness with a curiosity and interest. << If I win, they will be my spires! >>
Yes, that's exactly where Ali is. Inside the old weyr. She'd gotten as far as pulling off her gloves, which are now lying, forgotten, on the floor beside her. In fact, she only made it a few steps into the entrance before her gaze was pulled - and now remains fixed - on the stain that darkens the floor. The Fortian woman looks pale, eyes wide, breath hitched as if on the verge of letting out a scream, but - perhaps mercifully - frozen in horror as she takes it in.
Dragon> << Always? >> Always and always? Cadejoth dismisses this with amusement, noting, << Winning isn't fun if you never lose. Because it makes winning less special. >> This philosophical remark is followed by a cheeky rattle, as he barrel-rolls - awkwardly, but not impossibly - through the currents, expressing, without words, that sometimes /flying/ is more interesting than /winning/. << If you win, I might let you share them for a little while, >> he decides. << But they're still mine. This is my weyr. But I don't mind. >> Roll finished, he soars up on towards the spires, picking his thermals carefully to carry him faster and higher but never out of reach. (Cadejoth to Isyath)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath is actually - amazingly - silent for once. Surprised. Stunned. Or perhaps a pale echo of her lifemate's emotions. The new spin on the concept of losing is definitely enough to rattle her. << But I like winning all the time! Maybe when I get tired of winning I will lose all the time for a while. >> Because it's that easy - deciding if she wants to win or lose, and others make it happen for her. Things just /happen/ how she wants them to. As Cadejoth rolls, she drops back a length, now directly behind him. She's changed the game, in her subtle way, and now she's chasing him. Only she doesn't tell him as much. She's not nearly as quick as him, since the Fortian queen finds herself struggling against the current and eddies of the winds here and there, but the fact that she slices directly in his wake keeps her easily apace, at least. << I only want them so I can fly around them, >> she finally concedes, though her thoughts are on winning, still.
Enter K'del, running. /He/ comes to a halt just a few steps behind Ali, his face frozen in awkward unhappiness, his words caught short-- a deep breath and then, with awful emphasis: "I'm so sorry. Didn't even-- come on." Away from here. Away from the stain that he can't even seem to bring himself to look at, for all that this must have been his home for quite some turns. "Shells."
Dragon> It seems to amuse Cadejoth, that this stuns Isyath so much. << Do you always get your way, Isyath? How boring! Life's more interesting when it /surprises/ you. >> If he's aware that she's chasing him, no, he doesn't show it: he's flying for the fun of it, now, attempting the kind of movements that a smaller dragon would be able to perform rather more successfully, though that doesn't seem to bother him whatsoever. << The greens can go round and round and round the spires, fast, fast, fast. I'm too big, but it's still fun. >> Like this: he demonstrates, sweeping around with his wings tucked close to carefully avoid the stone sentinels. << You don't have to /have/ them to fly around them. I'll let you. >> (Cadejoth to Isyath)
K'del can't look at it, and Ali can't look away. Does that make them star crossed? Either way it seems getting the Fortian goldrider out of the room isn't going to be nearly so easy as it seems; she sways for a moment, and there's another hitch of breath, and then she - barely - manages to stumble away before she can be heard retching behind one of the piles of his stuff. Former stuff, after this, most likely. Finally, she straightens, and still shaky, fixes horrified gaze on K'del, as the awkwardness of the situation outweighs the horror of the room. "Oh, shards. Oh- I'm- so sorry!"
Dragon> << Always, >> the queen agrees, unperturbed by the words that follow. << I like surprises too, but winning is the best. >> She says it in that matter of fact tone that people - and dragons get. The sky is blue. Isyath likes winning. The earth is brown. Isyath /always/ wins. Whatever the case, she's quick to keep up with the challenge that the 'Reachian bronze sets, mimicing every twist and turn, perhaps even adding a flourish that is all her own here and there, whipcord tail slicing through the air behind her as she closes the gap between them. She's slender, for a queen, so that helps, but she's still big and bulky and not nearly so quick on the sharper turns. During one such, when she almost catches him, there's a testing nip aimed at his tail, but she's not quite close enough yet. << This is fun, >> she says, surprise coloring her tone, like she didn't expect it. Or possibly didn't expect it from /here/, to be more accurate. (Isyath to Cadejoth)
As Ali sways, K'del reaches out as though he intends to steady her, though his hands don't actually connect: perhaps he's just readying himself in case she actually faints. The retching, though? That makes him blanche, drawing back hesitantly while he waits for her to finish. "Oh, no-- no, no. It's my fault. I didn't /think/. And-- uhm, I've got some water, back in--" You know, his /current/ weyr. "Why don't you come through and sit down? I'm so sorry about this. Please."
Ali's looking thoroughly mortified at this stage, not to mention still pale and unsteady. But, like a horrific accident, her eyes are drawn back towards that spot on the floor, and she pales further, if possible. Mutely now, she nods in agreement with K'del's suggestion - anything to get her out of the sight of /that/ - and follows wherever he suggests, biting her lower lip as if to keep from another unfortunate incident.
Dragon> << How peculiar, >> is Cadejoth's considered opinion, as he whips around another corner, reaching higher and higher so that he can fan his wings out again and soar merrily through the thermals - each greeted like an old friend. His tail twitches as she nips at it, but he's /just/ out of reach: that seems to amuse him, too, and he sends it twitching more and more: even more fun to chase! << Why wouldn't it be fun? >> he wonders, not glancing back though there's definite interest in his tone - surprise, too. << There's lots that is fun about my weyr. And me. >> (Cadejoth to Isyath)
If she'll let him, K'del will put his hand on Ali's arm, all the better to lead her away from the unfortunate, abandoned weyr, and back down to the ledge - and from there, up to the more distant, less prestigous weyr that he's /currently/ using. It's in a state of disarray, too: boxes, half unpacked, a variety of posessions piled up here and there. But there are no blood stains, and the couch he gestures towards is at least clear enough to sit on. "I'll get you some water," he says, sounding apologetic. "I'm /so/ sorry about this. Please don't tell your Weyrleaders I let that happen."
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath feels like she's a touch confused by Cadejoth's remark, though she doesn't pursue it. Instead she focuses on the flight, using the bronze's knowledge to gain her own understanding of the Weyr's vagaries. By the time they make their third circle of the spires, she's much, much quicker, cutting corners and creeping closer, a delighted, joyful spill of color in her mental tones as she gets closer. As for that question? << When Ali thinks of High Reaches Weyr, she thinks- >> Isyath pauses, and there's a flood of images. White powder drifting from the sky, people bundled up in thick jackets looking fat, a brief flash of a group of unscrupulous looking people in ragged clothing (exiles, the association comes afterwards), and violent dragons to be afraid of. She doesn't remember the hatching, but there's images from there, too.
If anything, Ali seems to appreciate the support, even though there's no verbal indication of it - her step is still unsteady though, and she looks grateful as she sinks down onto the couch. Her eyes pass this-way-and-that in the weyr, in that kind of quick, self assurance of location, before she folds hands into her lap and exhales slowly. "I- I won't. I promise," she says, her voice a little uneven. "If I did, I probably wouldn't be allowed back, ever." So there's a selfish reason behind that promise, too, but she feels obligated to tell him. "Oh. Sir," she adds, as if the fact that she hasn't properly greeted him is now the most unfortunate incident of the evening, hastily rising and executing a less-than-perfect curtsy. "Duties to you and your queens."
Dragon> To Isyath, Cadejoth speeds up, as Isyath gets faster, though there's only so much he can: now, now is the time for being /wily/, for changing this up as much as he can to confuse-- to keep what advantage he can. It only works so well, however, but perhaps that is at least partially by design. Perhaps it's even more fun that way. He encourages her, waving jangling chains that spark and jingle as they touch each other, electricity buzzing through his touch. Of her images, his initial remark is a simple: << Oh. >> It's followed, a moment later by, << It's not all like that. It's /summer/, now, but in the winter, the little dragons will be able to walk on the ice! >> A pause. << Though maybe they'll be too big by then. K'del remembers when /I/ could. No one will hurt you here, though. I promise. >>
There's a certain amount of bemusement to K'del's expression, as Ali executes that curtsy, though he manages to incline his head forward into a grave nod, echoing, "And the same to Fort's, of course. Cadejoth says Isyath flies well." He leaves off answering the rest as he pours a glass of water, presenting it carefully to the weyrling before he settles into one of the opposite seats, hands folded into his lap. "Rather not be part of the reason you're not allowed back. I really am sorry, though. Try not to make a habit of upsetting visitors-- like that. Uh." He glances around, awkward, and hastily follows his words up with: "Cadejoth said you wanted to talk to me. Was there-- something specific?"
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath projects, << It's summer at Fort, too, and so she adjusts the images, but the snow is still there, since she doesn't necessarily associate it with the weather so much as the location. << We played on ice when we were little, too! It was good fun. We slide everywhere - sliding is fun! I can teach your little ones how to slide. >> Isyath isn't familiar with wily - but she's a quick learner when it comes to the skies. Each little trick he does or turn he takes is noted and taken advantage of the next time around, urged on by her burning desire to win and the encouragement she receives from the bronze, too. Finally, on one of the turns, she cuts a corner so fine she's probably lucky she doesn't clip a wing, but it gets her close enough that she can make a playful grab for his tail with her teeth. >>
Ali takes the glass with a wordless nod of thanks, taking little, tentative sips as if uncertain whether she'll keep it down, curving hands around the glass. Only when K'del seats himself does the raven-haired woman, too, and she seems to relax marginally now that the formalities are done, if belatedly. "I-" she takes a breath, as if composing her thoughts, though of course her original intention for visiting has been neatly derailed by the, "That's- that's where it happened, isn't it? That... exile?" The way she phrases that term is... delicate. Like there's a hint of uncertainty or even trepidation, rather than any distaste.
Dragon> Amusement tinges Cadejoth's tone again as he says, << I liked sliding. K'del won't let me do it anymore - he says I might break the ice and ruin it for everyone. >> It could be sad, but it isn't, because he adds, hastily, << But earlier, I played in the lake, and the little ones climbed over me! >> But the little ones he means are human children, not dragons: he shares an image of it, too, and seems genuinely delighted. There's only so much he can do to evade the queen, and this time, as she grabs for his tail, she connects, earning a cheerful, excitable squealing sound from the bronze. << You got me! >> Isyath wins. (Cadejoth to Isyath)
If K'del had hoped that the conversation would now move away from that unfortunate incident, it doesn't show in his expression; he's serious, though, and hesitates before he nods. "Er, yes. That's-- where it happened. We decided we couldn't live with seeing it, all the time. Even if you cover it up with rugs... hate thinking about it."
Dragon> There's a flash of something, briefly, some memory of a memory of something to do with breaking ice. But it's gone pretty swiftly under the weight of her overbearing joy as she manages to catch him. She's thrilled, and it's visible in the almost painfully bright sparkings of her mental tones. << I told you I would win! I am very fast. >> Nope, no modesty here, but a beat later, << But you are very quick too. And- you can slide on mud. Then you won't break anything. I will go sliding with you in the mud! >> The idea is delightful, and enough to distract her from the current play that she gives up on the current game and settles back in to trying to overtake him, now. (Isyath to Cadejoth)
"That must be- awful for you," Ali breathes, her gaze fixing on the condensation on her glass rather than on him. "Do you- they say he hasn't been caught yet." She, of course, assumes it's a he, just as she assumes 'they' are right. Her shoulders twitch, like the very idea makes her uncomfortable, and indeed, she fidgets in place, reaching out to smooth out an invisible crease in her pants, and then wiggling around uncomfortable in her flight jacket until she's forced to unbutton it. All of which, finally, leads to the question she perhaps came here to ask, given her gaze finally settles on him, "Do you think they are dangerous?"
Dragon> To Isyath, Cadejoth reflects that sparkling brightness back on the gold, perfectly content to have 'lost' this particular round. << You are, indeed, very fast. One day, you'll almost outfly everyone! >> But not quite. Changing the subject, without much thought to it, he adds, << Mud? >> he considers it; he seems pleased. << Yes, I like sliding in the mud, too. Does your rider roll her eyes the way K'del does, when I get all dirty like that? >> He's careful in this new game not to physically push her out of the way should she get too close (that would be dangerous), but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a few tricks as they go round and round and round: still, if she manages to duck around and get in front, well, he's not going to argue with that.
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath is unaware of the significance of that statement. She's content to simply accept it as praise due to her. << Yes, she does! She says that it just means she has to scrub it all off later. But I think it's worth it. >> Since all she has to do is watch while someone else does all the work. There's quite a few failed tries where she can't quite reach the turn fast enough, and so he gets the inside track and edges her out. It's all good practice, and while she's extremely competitive, she doesn't seem to be as fixated on winning this particular challenge, since there's no specific ending. Instead, just as she almost manages to edge in front, she veers sharply left, rather than right - and a moment later has positioned herself to fly the /opposite/ way around the spires, quietly pleased with the innovation of this new game.
"It's--" but K'del doesn't answer that; instead, he frowns, hesitating visibly as he struggles to come up with something else to say. "No, we're not-- sure. What happened. Yet. But we're working on it. There are a lot of theories, and everyone is on their guard, but it seems as though-- whatever the point was, it's been made." That doesn't seem to make complete sense, not even to K'del, he frowns even more. He meets her gaze squarely, however, as she asks that last question. "The exiles? I think... Look, it's complicated. Most of them, no, absolutely not. Are some of them unhappy? Yes. But we wouldn't have let them near our eggs if we thought they were dangerous, really dangerous." Says the man who let conviced criminals near his eggs.
Dragon> << Riders! It's only /mud/. >> But Cadejoth must have more of a sense of the work involved, because it's fond amusement, not exasperation that he shares with the younger dragon. Her success with that veer draws even more amusement from the bronze, his chains clanging in what could be described as a peculiar form of applause. << Nicely done, >> he tells her, shifting his own path to match hers, with a certain amount of paternal pride audible in his words. Somehow. (Cadejoth to Isyath)
Ali appears uncertain, despite K'del's reassurances, taking another sip of her water before gaze drops and she fidgets, one handed, with the cuffs on her jacket. "At the gather, you asked if- if I could come and talk with your new goldrider. But- she's an... exile." There's a hesitation in her manner, undoubtedly so that she can carefully pick the words that follow, "Weyrwoman Hattie didn't like the idea. She I- I could only do it, if it was unofficial." It's obvious from the Fortian's expression that she's torn by that wish, to obey her Weyrwoman, against the sentiment that follows, "But I think if I- if I had had someone to talk to, in the same situation, maybe it would've been easier for me."
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath, now, is in front. Which was probably part of her plan all along. << I like the winds here. They are like- like the herdbeasts. Placid, mostly, but they scatter and leap whimsically when they see a dragon. >> It's an odd kind of praise, but it's praise all the same. But still, there's that sense of internal pride she can't help but to let free, << But the winds over Fort Weyr are still my favorite. >>
K'del's frown darkens at mention of Hattie's reaction to it, as though despite any reservations /he/ might have, he's taking it as a quiet insult to his weyr, his new weyrwoman. If that's what he's thinking, however, he's careful to keep it from his tone, which remains even. "If you'd like to - unofficially - reckon we'd appreciate it. She'd appreciate it. If everything was new and strange to you... can you imagine what it will be like for Iolene? But. Only if you want to." His hands flick idly at invisible pieces of lint on his trousers before he adds, "She's a nice girl. Asks way too many questions, but-- at least it means she's trying to understand. Trying to make sense of everything. But please: don't feel obligated. It's-- awkward. I get that."
Dragon> Like the herdbeasts. Cadejoth seems to find that mental image amusing: he shares it, the winds mooing and bowing like herdbeasts, scattered here and there as he and Isyath soar through. << You're allowed to like your own winds best. I like the ones here best. And the ones over the higher mountains. But I like all the winds. I like flying /everywhere/. >> She may be leading, for now-- but he's willing to change that again (maybe): he soars away from the spires, performing another barrel roll as he sweeps around towards the star stones. (Cadejoth to Isyath)
There's a slight, but noticeable wince from Ali as she takes in K'del's reaction, and she chews her lower lip for a moment as if hesitant, though when she speaks a moment later there's an odd kind of certainty in her voice, "About this? I'm certain." She exhales as if releasing more than just her breath, and there's, again, a marginal air of relaxing. "I won't say that I'm not- not nervous about them," them being the exiles, undoubtedly, especially as her gaze flickers in the direction of that weyr, "But I- I would like to help." She smiles, somewhat tremulously, but it's there all the same. "Truthfully, from all the rumors I've heard of late, it sounds like you've had a difficult time, sir."
Whatever he thinks about anything else, there's no hiding the fact that K'del is pleased by Ali's words: he smiles at her, nodding, hands pausing their restless lint-picking as he says, "Really glad to hear that, to be honest. /Really/ glad." That doesn't mean he doesn't need to suck in a breath before answering her last remark, his smile turned rueful; "It-- hasn't been easy, no. Few things are, in the end, though. When you're a leader. Imagine your Weyrleaders would say the same. It's hard, and there's always /something/ else going on, something interrupting what ought to be easy. But. You deal."
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Isyath, too, picks up on the theme, and in her head, the cows fly like them, requiring much greater aerial agility in order to catch them than on the ground. There's even the mimicked snap of her jaws as she nears one of the imaginary beasts, satisfying in her head even if there's little substance in actuality. She's delighted with the thought, though, and it's pretty much distracted her from the game, such that when Cadejoth rises up towards the star stones, she's content to follow with easy, broad sweeps of her wings. << I like flying everywhere, too. But we have yet to go /everywhere/. One day we will - when we have more time. So Ali says. One day, we will fly up and catch a star, too. >>
Ali nods slowly at that, and admits, "Weyrwoman Hattie and Weyrleader T'rev have had a difficult time, what with the plague, and Preita-" she hesitates at mentioning the former junior's name, and rushes on, "So I guess you're right. If there's anything else I can do to help-" she hesitates a moment as if trying to come up with some possible scenario where that might occur, then failing that, adds somewhat lamely, "I won't- take up any more of your time. You've been very kind, sir. Thank you for the- water." But not for the other welcome, her expression telegraphs in her sudden unease as she rises. Her gaze goes distant, a moment, then something warm and amused creeps into her demeanor as a delighted laughter escapes her. "Issy's enjoying herself. Did he let her win? She seems to have an odd habit of getting her way in that regard."
Dragon> To Isyath, Cadejoth seems more interested in sending the imaginary herds rioting than actually snapping his mental jaws at them: he seems to take great pleasure in making them rampage in all different directions. << We've been a lot of places, but I don't think even we have been /everywhere/. That's fine: that means we have more places to visit! When we have time. >> Sadly, there isn't enough of it - or so he implies without saying it outright. << Will you really catch a star? We haven't done that, either. >>
"There's always something," agrees K'del, solemn, but not unhappy about it. "No-- thank you, Ali. Perhaps next time we see each other we can talk less... business. Thank you for coming, though. And for agreeing to help." He rises as she does, awkward for the unspoken reference to that earlier event, but not completely discomforted. Anyway, he, too, smiles about the dragons, allowing, "Cadejoth, too. Not sure about /let/ win. But maybe. Not sure he particularly cares: win or lose. He wishes we had more time to just... fly. So it's good, when he can let out all that energy with someone else. He says she's lovely; he likes her a lot."
Dragon> << We really will. One day. But not today. >> Which is the phrase you tell a dragon to distract them long enough that they will, hopefully, forget for the time being. << But, next time we go /somewhere/, you should come. It's the only way to get everywhere. >> The Fortian queen, too, is delighted with the notion of making the herd scatter in a way that she isn't able to indulge when actually feeding. However, soon enough, her thoughts turn to Fort, fuelled by her rider's wishes. << We are headed home. >> But that, too, is joyful for her, and prompts another game; a headlong dive downwards, wings folded against her side, with no rider on her back to be wary for. << First one down wins! >> (Isyath to Cadejoth)
Dragon> Gently tingly amusement marks Cadejoth's response to most of what Isyath has to say - and he delays his dive just long enough to give her a good head start to that final race. Call him a gentleman, perhaps. Or just an indulgent uncle. Still: << Go, go, go! >> (Cadejoth to Isyath)
Ali carefully sets aside the glass after politely finishing off the water, as if that's something that's expected. She begins to shrug into her jacket, but that warmth that the discussion of her dragon prompts still lingers in the easy smile that follows, "That would be- I'd like that," she agrees, laughing at the comment that follows. "I'll try not to let Issy hear that. If she does, she'd be dragging me out here every second day to race your Cadejoth." She steps towards the ledge, gaze rising unbidden and fixing unerringly on the pair of dragons as they drop from the sky, holding her breath. Not really so much anxiousness as it is restrained joy.
Dragon> The wind whistles past them, like roaring headbeasts. They race amongst the pack, scattering them like a bull run, and Isyath's mental tones are furiously bright, a delight in the freedom of movement that is, finally and reluctantly, curtailed with the snap of spreading wings to slow her descent to the ground, winging towards the ledge. There's the pleasure of the win, of course, but more than that, just the pure joy of the air beneath her wings and a companion to share that with for a time. (Isyath to Cadejoth)
"Good," says K'del, following Ali towards the ledge, his own gaze matching hers: he can't help but smile as he watches them, a low sigh escaping with what can only be described as contentment. "Won't let him breathe a word, either, then. It was-- nice to see you again, Ali." He'll follow to see them off, waiting outside until they're out of sight before he heads back to the weyr - back to the work that no doubt is waiting for him, despite the gloriousness of this late summer day.