LOG: Storms
Date: Day 4, Month 12, Turn 20
Location: Cadejoth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Yyth comes to visit, amidst a storm.
Dragon> It's perfect out. Can he feel it? With Timor full between a break in the clouds and the snow falling in patches and the thunder and lightning, it's just perfect. << Do you want to cuddle, Cadejoth? >> (Yyth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> Can he feel it? Oh yes, and see it to, if the way his mind is washed in the cold and the moonlight and the juts of brilliant electricity that scatter off of his chains in such glorious melodies. Oh yes, this is a night Cadejoth is enjoying. << Of course I would, >> he enthuses, like a crush of thunder. << Shall I come to you? Or will you come here? >> (Cadejoth to Yyth)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth is at the lake, but she can come. Her mind buzzes with the electricity in the night, very in tune with him in this sort of mood. Her darkness is lit brightly in flashes that show only the fierce whiteness of landscape beneath. There's liftoff, and a sense that not air but lightning carries her arcing through the low airspace of the bowl, herself the bolt, perhaps, to crash triumphantly down to his ledge with a satisfying KABOOM! in her mind.
Dragon> KABOOM! Cadejoth takes far too much glee in the sense of that, the snow already flying on his ledge from the weight of his tail bounding enthusiastically against it. But Yyth's arrival draws his neck to curve towards her, his wing outstretched. His ledge may not be /high/, but the view is still a spectacular one, on a night like this. (Cadejoth to Yyth)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth takes energy from his excitement, folding herself properly and wedging up under his wing with a distinctly content sigh. Neck twined and tail looped loosely around his so she doesn't keep it from thumping, only making contact, a content swirl of suggestion lurks in one of those flashes. Hers. << Is everything well with you? >> she asks idly, lifting her head just enough to take in the Bowl.
Dragon> << Everything is well, >> agrees Cadejoth, with the unspoken addendum: especially now that you're here with me. He draws her in close, even his tail lessening the range of motion now that he's got a companion to share the night with. Theirs. << And with you? >> (Cadejoth to Yyth)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth is glad he is well. She rumbles and brushes her cheek against his neck and turns one swirling eye to the sky above again, the other trained on him. << Well enough. I have an itch. I will make mine oil it later. >> If she remembers, if it still itches. Instead she settles for stretching her wing out and rubbing it against the stone.
Dragon> To Yyth, Cadejoth uses his tail to sweep a little bit of light, recently fallen snow at Yyth, a note of something resembling laughter evident in his mental touch as he does so. << You should. I'm sure he'll be happy to oil it! Sometimes I get the little ones in the bowl to scratch and it's wooooondeerful. But K'del thinks it's embarrassing. >> Cadejoth, for the record? Does not care.
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth scoops it up in her open maw and spits the snow back out at him, but of course it's more slush after being in mouth so really she might as well drool on him. Oh well. It's not often the green has a thought outside herself, and she doesn't like children anyway, but apparently her happiness at being with Cadejoth overrides a few of her more selfish instincts. << Do you think yours will have children? >>
Dragon> Drool. Lovely. But Cadejoth only seems to find that endearing, and huffs warm air in her direction happily. So sweet. The question draws a pause from the bronze, followed by a hazy image of a number of small children, surrounding him with wide eyes staring up. << Yes, >> is his answer, then, as that image is pushed away. << He will. He pretends not to like his clutchmates' little ones, but he does. >> (Cadejoth to Yyth)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth figured he'd like her anyway. She's lucky like that. She lips at his jaw, careful not to catch him with her teeth, just being playful. << I do not like children. Neither does mine. He tells me he cannot get men pregnant though, so he doesn't need to worry. >> Smug. She won't have to eat them if he never has any, after all.
Dragon> To Yyth, Cadejoth, of course, likes /almost everyone/, but that's not going to come up with her, of course. He huffs another breath at her, twitches some more snow, and sighs. << Children are wonderful fun. Not the little tiny ones, but the bigger ones! They scratch and play and jump and climb... /My/ children grew up beautifully, too. >>
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth is special though, right? Hmph. << They did. But they are not you. >> A thoughtful comparison of Isforaith, Zhikath, Cadejoth. Really, no comparison. And their riders keep hurting hers, so that just makes them doubly inferior to Cadejoth! She wiggles closer, mind slick and slippery like oil, passing more snow back to him.
Dragon> Of course she is. Of course. << No, they are not me. But they are /from/ me. >> He must be looking at K'del's memories for this. << Me and Iovniath. We made wonderful dragons. >> Ah, Iovniath. It always comes back to Iovniath. He drapes his wing more tightly about her, tipping back his head to examining the storm-filled sky, utterly content. (Cadejoth to Yyth)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth falls silent. Iovniath. The darkness gets deeper but she lets him pull her in closer, hide warm against his, thoughts as jumbled as the snowflakes caught in the wind and swirling restlessly out there where they sprinkle. She lays her head down on her paws and sighs, letting the first eyelid drift shut.
Dragon> To Yyth, Cadejoth - happy, cheerful Cadejoth - seems utterly oblivious to what his reference to Iovniath has done to Yyth, for he merely rests his head down upon his forelimbs and nudges his tail eagerly against hers, and there they lay. For as long as she likes.
Dragon> Typical man, so oblivious. She won't, can't, ask him to come back to her, but a tiny seed that probably is all P'ax's doing lurks in the darkness, and it knows that it doesn't matter how much she may care for him, he for her, he may never be all of hers again. Still, she'd never leave if it were possible, if neither of them had to, if P'ax didn't eventually have to go..anywhere, really. Thunder rumbles on, and not all of it is from the weather. (Yyth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> There's no such seed in Cadejoth's mind, where Yyth is part of his pack, and part of him, and why shouldn't he have room for more than one? Such a man. He's reluctant, when she does have to go, and wistful, eyes a whirling beacon that watches all the way up to her ledge, or wherever it ends up being that she needs to go. Such a storm! (Cadejoth to Yyth)
Location: Cadejoth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Yyth comes to visit, amidst a storm.
Dragon> It's perfect out. Can he feel it? With Timor full between a break in the clouds and the snow falling in patches and the thunder and lightning, it's just perfect. << Do you want to cuddle, Cadejoth? >> (Yyth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> Can he feel it? Oh yes, and see it to, if the way his mind is washed in the cold and the moonlight and the juts of brilliant electricity that scatter off of his chains in such glorious melodies. Oh yes, this is a night Cadejoth is enjoying. << Of course I would, >> he enthuses, like a crush of thunder. << Shall I come to you? Or will you come here? >> (Cadejoth to Yyth)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth is at the lake, but she can come. Her mind buzzes with the electricity in the night, very in tune with him in this sort of mood. Her darkness is lit brightly in flashes that show only the fierce whiteness of landscape beneath. There's liftoff, and a sense that not air but lightning carries her arcing through the low airspace of the bowl, herself the bolt, perhaps, to crash triumphantly down to his ledge with a satisfying KABOOM! in her mind.
Dragon> KABOOM! Cadejoth takes far too much glee in the sense of that, the snow already flying on his ledge from the weight of his tail bounding enthusiastically against it. But Yyth's arrival draws his neck to curve towards her, his wing outstretched. His ledge may not be /high/, but the view is still a spectacular one, on a night like this. (Cadejoth to Yyth)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth takes energy from his excitement, folding herself properly and wedging up under his wing with a distinctly content sigh. Neck twined and tail looped loosely around his so she doesn't keep it from thumping, only making contact, a content swirl of suggestion lurks in one of those flashes. Hers. << Is everything well with you? >> she asks idly, lifting her head just enough to take in the Bowl.
Dragon> << Everything is well, >> agrees Cadejoth, with the unspoken addendum: especially now that you're here with me. He draws her in close, even his tail lessening the range of motion now that he's got a companion to share the night with. Theirs. << And with you? >> (Cadejoth to Yyth)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth is glad he is well. She rumbles and brushes her cheek against his neck and turns one swirling eye to the sky above again, the other trained on him. << Well enough. I have an itch. I will make mine oil it later. >> If she remembers, if it still itches. Instead she settles for stretching her wing out and rubbing it against the stone.
Dragon> To Yyth, Cadejoth uses his tail to sweep a little bit of light, recently fallen snow at Yyth, a note of something resembling laughter evident in his mental touch as he does so. << You should. I'm sure he'll be happy to oil it! Sometimes I get the little ones in the bowl to scratch and it's wooooondeerful. But K'del thinks it's embarrassing. >> Cadejoth, for the record? Does not care.
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth scoops it up in her open maw and spits the snow back out at him, but of course it's more slush after being in mouth so really she might as well drool on him. Oh well. It's not often the green has a thought outside herself, and she doesn't like children anyway, but apparently her happiness at being with Cadejoth overrides a few of her more selfish instincts. << Do you think yours will have children? >>
Dragon> Drool. Lovely. But Cadejoth only seems to find that endearing, and huffs warm air in her direction happily. So sweet. The question draws a pause from the bronze, followed by a hazy image of a number of small children, surrounding him with wide eyes staring up. << Yes, >> is his answer, then, as that image is pushed away. << He will. He pretends not to like his clutchmates' little ones, but he does. >> (Cadejoth to Yyth)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth figured he'd like her anyway. She's lucky like that. She lips at his jaw, careful not to catch him with her teeth, just being playful. << I do not like children. Neither does mine. He tells me he cannot get men pregnant though, so he doesn't need to worry. >> Smug. She won't have to eat them if he never has any, after all.
Dragon> To Yyth, Cadejoth, of course, likes /almost everyone/, but that's not going to come up with her, of course. He huffs another breath at her, twitches some more snow, and sighs. << Children are wonderful fun. Not the little tiny ones, but the bigger ones! They scratch and play and jump and climb... /My/ children grew up beautifully, too. >>
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth is special though, right? Hmph. << They did. But they are not you. >> A thoughtful comparison of Isforaith, Zhikath, Cadejoth. Really, no comparison. And their riders keep hurting hers, so that just makes them doubly inferior to Cadejoth! She wiggles closer, mind slick and slippery like oil, passing more snow back to him.
Dragon> Of course she is. Of course. << No, they are not me. But they are /from/ me. >> He must be looking at K'del's memories for this. << Me and Iovniath. We made wonderful dragons. >> Ah, Iovniath. It always comes back to Iovniath. He drapes his wing more tightly about her, tipping back his head to examining the storm-filled sky, utterly content. (Cadejoth to Yyth)
Dragon> To Cadejoth, Yyth falls silent. Iovniath. The darkness gets deeper but she lets him pull her in closer, hide warm against his, thoughts as jumbled as the snowflakes caught in the wind and swirling restlessly out there where they sprinkle. She lays her head down on her paws and sighs, letting the first eyelid drift shut.
Dragon> To Yyth, Cadejoth - happy, cheerful Cadejoth - seems utterly oblivious to what his reference to Iovniath has done to Yyth, for he merely rests his head down upon his forelimbs and nudges his tail eagerly against hers, and there they lay. For as long as she likes.
Dragon> Typical man, so oblivious. She won't, can't, ask him to come back to her, but a tiny seed that probably is all P'ax's doing lurks in the darkness, and it knows that it doesn't matter how much she may care for him, he for her, he may never be all of hers again. Still, she'd never leave if it were possible, if neither of them had to, if P'ax didn't eventually have to go..anywhere, really. Thunder rumbles on, and not all of it is from the weather. (Yyth to Cadejoth)
Dragon> There's no such seed in Cadejoth's mind, where Yyth is part of his pack, and part of him, and why shouldn't he have room for more than one? Such a man. He's reluctant, when she does have to go, and wistful, eyes a whirling beacon that watches all the way up to her ledge, or wherever it ends up being that she needs to go. Such a storm! (Cadejoth to Yyth)