I'm cold, Rho
Who: Rhodya and Gedroth, T'rev and Mecaith
When: Evening on day 22, month 13, turn 19 of Interval 10.
Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
What: After dropping out of Vrianth's flight, Rhodya and T'rev chat by the lake. If by 'chat' you mean exchange brief words and then go their separate ways.
It's hard to see in this fog, but it's not all that hard to hear, and Rhodya's not keeping her voice down. "Well, try it, if you want it so bad, I don't know if it's clean but it might help although Faranth knows you deserve it, in somebody else's weyr, I mean for fuck's sake, Gedroth -- Sorry." She just got scolded for swearing, and it totally interrupted her mojo. She really /is/ sorry, having been caught, but it makes her grumbly; she stares moodily down at the ground. Gedroth, without an ounce of shame, is poking at the frozen surface of the lake. He slaps a paw down to see if he can break it.
As hard to see as it is, T'rev finds his way unerringly to Mecaith, who has also set down by the lake and holds his left wing a little awkwardly out from his body. Breath steams from the bronze dragon. By the time his rider arrives, he's wet in patches from slipping and stumbling his way over and his face is a mess of slow-leaking tears and chilled sweat. That burn mark has developed into a red crescent on his forehead and he's shaking and shivering, though silent. Once he's reached the bronze, a loving though unsteady hand passes over Mecaith's muzzle. "No, I love you, I always love you," he chatters out and leans into the bronze for a moment, then moves back to the pack that still clings to straps that were never pulled off. From within it comes numbweed and T'rev staggers over to Gedroth and Rhodya with it. "How b-b-b-ad?" And he's still crying, even as he holds out the pot towards her.
Slap! No? Punch! No? Drum forepaws wildly, like a monkey playing bongos! That does it. Gedroth crashes through the ice, his forelegs tipping into the freezing water, and he shivers with a wild coo of delight. Once the ice has weakened, it's much easier for him to push his way deeper in, big plates cracking off against the inexorable force of his chest. Rhodya looks up at T'rev, guilty at first - did he hear her swearing - and then abruptly embarassed when she realizes he's crying. Normally the empathetic sort, she just looks awkward about it right now, and pretends she hasn't noticed by quickly turning her attention to Gedroth. "Not as bad as it felt," she answers, staring at her dragon's back. The amount of ichor's hard to see from here, though, with this fog. "He can still move his wings okay, so nothing... nothing really damaged. It just /hurts/." Speaking as someone who's not entirely out of her dragon's head yet.
T'rev takes a step closer then and shoves the numbweed at her. "Take the fucking weed will you," he snaps out then bites at his lip, apologizes immediately. "Sorry. Sorry. I --" and his knees buckle, sending the bronzerider down into the snow, still shaking like a leaf. Voice raw: "They're too close." And if she didn't take that pot, it's left in a little cradle of snow as T'rev's hands lift to dig into eye sockets, trying to stem that floodtide of tears. Mecaith pads closer and drops his head downward, curling around his rider a little and whuffs into his hair, slowly haunches and forelimbs drop and the exhausted bronze rests his head down on crossed 'wrists'. T'rev leans then, into Mecaith's neck and just looks up at the sky. "I'm sorry Rho. I -- I knew she'd be going up soon. Just not ... not this soon." Quiet that and hoarse. And he's still shaking, though running his hand along Mecaith's side seems to help.
Rhodya didn't look at him long enough, before, to notice the pot of numbweed. Now she won't stop staring at him, aghast. Oh, sure, it's all right when /she/ swears - but when he violates this sacred principle, why, he's gone out of his mind. She tightens her jaw and takes the numbweed from him, tucking it under her arm. Gedroth doesn't want it yet; he wants freezing water laved all over his back, and that's exactly what he's doing right now. "It's not your fault," Rhodya answers, the words gentler than her voice, which is still brittle. "Not your fault she went up or that she chased. Don't worry about it."
Can't expect T'rev to remember any principles right now really, he's hanging on by too slender of a thread. Mecaith ... goes to sleep between one blink and the next and T'rev's eyes close too. "Too much," he drawls heavily, voice starting to sound more like he's head a heavy dose of fellis then just gone through a flight. "Won't pull him from /her/ again." Hazy. ANd then his eyes crack open and he makes himself focus on her. "You okay?" Trying to push to his feet which means two failures first and finally a lurching stagger her way, that steadies poorly, but does steady, one hand moving to touch lightly at her arm.
Rhodya flinches at the touch, pulling her eyelids closed and taking a deep breath of cold air. Her attitude is helping no one; with an effort, she relaxes it, and returns to T'rev with a faint, brave smile. "I'm all right." She throws a hand up into her hair, but hits the little pink hat instead. She's unthinkingly tender about her hat, petting it back into place while she talks. "I should have known he'd try something. Not /here/, but - he's been saying." She shakes her head.
T'rev draws his hand back at that flinch, swallows hard, looks away. At least those crazy strain-induced tears have stopped and he swipes at his face back-handed with a snow-damp sleeve. "Mm. Good to know. About him." And the bronzerider goes quiet, watching Gedroth in the lake, though he shivers pretty hard off and on. "Need a drink," he notes with renewed slurring of his words and he has to press a hand to his forehead, make his eyes go wide to stay focused. "Two steps forward ... one back," he notes almost philosophically and turns to look at Mecaith, whose breath is slowly melting some of the snow in front of his snout.
Rhodya crouches at his side, setting down the numbweed pot and scraping at the snow. It's already scuffed up where they're standing, but she manages to get a decent little ball together. She holds it up for T'rev. "Smack you in the face with it?" she offers. She looks up at him a moment later, drily amused. "I did it to myself, when I got out. Helps some." Gedroth sinks onto his stomach in the water, but so close to the shore, it only comes halfway up his shoulder. That's all right. He'll roll.
She offers him a snowball, he stares at it for a moment, then looks up at her and replies in that same hazed drawl: "I'm cold, Rho." Which might add up to no. "This ain't -- ain't the usual," he manages to get out and looks over towards the dim lights of the Snowasis. "Gotta -- go," he finally adds on and waves in that direction, vaguely. "Gonna be okay?" T'rev focuses back on her, with effort.
"Not saying it is," Rhodya replies, looking away again. She's got to do something with her snowball; she decides to hit Gedroth. It hits his belly and gets ignored. "Just saying it might help. I'll be all right." She brushes her snow-covered pants off on her leather, then springs upright. Motion! Energy! It's better than thought. "You wanna stay here the night, I'll find somebody else can show me how to get home. Won't be a problem. I'll just let you know." She tugs her thumb at Mecaith, which is how she'll be letting him know.
"Need to get warm," T'rev says clearly enough, no more energy left in him and he just blinks at Rhodya wearily, nods. "Don't know how long he'll sleep," the bronzerider adds with an apologetic look. Still unsteady on his feet, he heads back over to Mecaith nonetheless and pulls out that blanket he keeps in there. Dragons may be more resistant to cold and it's not going to cover /all/ of the bronze, but awkwardly given those shakes, T'rev draws it over Mecaith's neck and shoulders mostly, touches hide again. "If he reaches out, try L'vae's B-bremuth. He'll understand, treat you right. Or call Jantha. Might lecture, but you know." The bronzerider looks over towards the caverns again, takes a breath. "Watch me there. Make sure I don't -- don't pass out." His path over is far from straight or steady and he does go down a couple of times before the mouth of caverns, not the bar, swallows him up.
When: Evening on day 22, month 13, turn 19 of Interval 10.
Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
What: After dropping out of Vrianth's flight, Rhodya and T'rev chat by the lake. If by 'chat' you mean exchange brief words and then go their separate ways.
It's hard to see in this fog, but it's not all that hard to hear, and Rhodya's not keeping her voice down. "Well, try it, if you want it so bad, I don't know if it's clean but it might help although Faranth knows you deserve it, in somebody else's weyr, I mean for fuck's sake, Gedroth -- Sorry." She just got scolded for swearing, and it totally interrupted her mojo. She really /is/ sorry, having been caught, but it makes her grumbly; she stares moodily down at the ground. Gedroth, without an ounce of shame, is poking at the frozen surface of the lake. He slaps a paw down to see if he can break it.
As hard to see as it is, T'rev finds his way unerringly to Mecaith, who has also set down by the lake and holds his left wing a little awkwardly out from his body. Breath steams from the bronze dragon. By the time his rider arrives, he's wet in patches from slipping and stumbling his way over and his face is a mess of slow-leaking tears and chilled sweat. That burn mark has developed into a red crescent on his forehead and he's shaking and shivering, though silent. Once he's reached the bronze, a loving though unsteady hand passes over Mecaith's muzzle. "No, I love you, I always love you," he chatters out and leans into the bronze for a moment, then moves back to the pack that still clings to straps that were never pulled off. From within it comes numbweed and T'rev staggers over to Gedroth and Rhodya with it. "How b-b-b-ad?" And he's still crying, even as he holds out the pot towards her.
Slap! No? Punch! No? Drum forepaws wildly, like a monkey playing bongos! That does it. Gedroth crashes through the ice, his forelegs tipping into the freezing water, and he shivers with a wild coo of delight. Once the ice has weakened, it's much easier for him to push his way deeper in, big plates cracking off against the inexorable force of his chest. Rhodya looks up at T'rev, guilty at first - did he hear her swearing - and then abruptly embarassed when she realizes he's crying. Normally the empathetic sort, she just looks awkward about it right now, and pretends she hasn't noticed by quickly turning her attention to Gedroth. "Not as bad as it felt," she answers, staring at her dragon's back. The amount of ichor's hard to see from here, though, with this fog. "He can still move his wings okay, so nothing... nothing really damaged. It just /hurts/." Speaking as someone who's not entirely out of her dragon's head yet.
T'rev takes a step closer then and shoves the numbweed at her. "Take the fucking weed will you," he snaps out then bites at his lip, apologizes immediately. "Sorry. Sorry. I --" and his knees buckle, sending the bronzerider down into the snow, still shaking like a leaf. Voice raw: "They're too close." And if she didn't take that pot, it's left in a little cradle of snow as T'rev's hands lift to dig into eye sockets, trying to stem that floodtide of tears. Mecaith pads closer and drops his head downward, curling around his rider a little and whuffs into his hair, slowly haunches and forelimbs drop and the exhausted bronze rests his head down on crossed 'wrists'. T'rev leans then, into Mecaith's neck and just looks up at the sky. "I'm sorry Rho. I -- I knew she'd be going up soon. Just not ... not this soon." Quiet that and hoarse. And he's still shaking, though running his hand along Mecaith's side seems to help.
Rhodya didn't look at him long enough, before, to notice the pot of numbweed. Now she won't stop staring at him, aghast. Oh, sure, it's all right when /she/ swears - but when he violates this sacred principle, why, he's gone out of his mind. She tightens her jaw and takes the numbweed from him, tucking it under her arm. Gedroth doesn't want it yet; he wants freezing water laved all over his back, and that's exactly what he's doing right now. "It's not your fault," Rhodya answers, the words gentler than her voice, which is still brittle. "Not your fault she went up or that she chased. Don't worry about it."
Can't expect T'rev to remember any principles right now really, he's hanging on by too slender of a thread. Mecaith ... goes to sleep between one blink and the next and T'rev's eyes close too. "Too much," he drawls heavily, voice starting to sound more like he's head a heavy dose of fellis then just gone through a flight. "Won't pull him from /her/ again." Hazy. ANd then his eyes crack open and he makes himself focus on her. "You okay?" Trying to push to his feet which means two failures first and finally a lurching stagger her way, that steadies poorly, but does steady, one hand moving to touch lightly at her arm.
Rhodya flinches at the touch, pulling her eyelids closed and taking a deep breath of cold air. Her attitude is helping no one; with an effort, she relaxes it, and returns to T'rev with a faint, brave smile. "I'm all right." She throws a hand up into her hair, but hits the little pink hat instead. She's unthinkingly tender about her hat, petting it back into place while she talks. "I should have known he'd try something. Not /here/, but - he's been saying." She shakes her head.
T'rev draws his hand back at that flinch, swallows hard, looks away. At least those crazy strain-induced tears have stopped and he swipes at his face back-handed with a snow-damp sleeve. "Mm. Good to know. About him." And the bronzerider goes quiet, watching Gedroth in the lake, though he shivers pretty hard off and on. "Need a drink," he notes with renewed slurring of his words and he has to press a hand to his forehead, make his eyes go wide to stay focused. "Two steps forward ... one back," he notes almost philosophically and turns to look at Mecaith, whose breath is slowly melting some of the snow in front of his snout.
Rhodya crouches at his side, setting down the numbweed pot and scraping at the snow. It's already scuffed up where they're standing, but she manages to get a decent little ball together. She holds it up for T'rev. "Smack you in the face with it?" she offers. She looks up at him a moment later, drily amused. "I did it to myself, when I got out. Helps some." Gedroth sinks onto his stomach in the water, but so close to the shore, it only comes halfway up his shoulder. That's all right. He'll roll.
She offers him a snowball, he stares at it for a moment, then looks up at her and replies in that same hazed drawl: "I'm cold, Rho." Which might add up to no. "This ain't -- ain't the usual," he manages to get out and looks over towards the dim lights of the Snowasis. "Gotta -- go," he finally adds on and waves in that direction, vaguely. "Gonna be okay?" T'rev focuses back on her, with effort.
"Not saying it is," Rhodya replies, looking away again. She's got to do something with her snowball; she decides to hit Gedroth. It hits his belly and gets ignored. "Just saying it might help. I'll be all right." She brushes her snow-covered pants off on her leather, then springs upright. Motion! Energy! It's better than thought. "You wanna stay here the night, I'll find somebody else can show me how to get home. Won't be a problem. I'll just let you know." She tugs her thumb at Mecaith, which is how she'll be letting him know.
"Need to get warm," T'rev says clearly enough, no more energy left in him and he just blinks at Rhodya wearily, nods. "Don't know how long he'll sleep," the bronzerider adds with an apologetic look. Still unsteady on his feet, he heads back over to Mecaith nonetheless and pulls out that blanket he keeps in there. Dragons may be more resistant to cold and it's not going to cover /all/ of the bronze, but awkwardly given those shakes, T'rev draws it over Mecaith's neck and shoulders mostly, touches hide again. "If he reaches out, try L'vae's B-bremuth. He'll understand, treat you right. Or call Jantha. Might lecture, but you know." The bronzerider looks over towards the caverns again, takes a breath. "Watch me there. Make sure I don't -- don't pass out." His path over is far from straight or steady and he does go down a couple of times before the mouth of caverns, not the bar, swallows him up.