Sides Chosen
Location: Issa and Oshisyth's Weyr
Time: Afternoon on Day 22, Month 5, Turn 2
Players: Issa, Roa, Tialith, Oshisyth
Scene: Roa approaches Issa just before the hatching, and new understandings are forged.
The light but firm touch introduces Tialith's consciousness to the green's. Roa would speak with your rider. Will she allow it?
There's a bit of a startled but not unwelcoming sensibility to Oshisyth's response as she says It is all right if you visit for a bit. She is busy oiling, but she can talk.
Oshisyth's Ledge
This massive ledge is oddly shaped, jutting out like a fat stone tongue from the wall. Its surface has been deeply scored by the passage of countless dragons over the turns. While it doesn't receive the sunlight that many of the ledges higher along the wall do, the walls of the bowl do keep the wind from raking over its surface.
It's a clear spring day and the air is fresh, and cool. The smell of damp earth, rich and ready for growing, is brought in by the slightest of breezes.
The recent spring sogginess has brought in its wake a surprisingly pleasant afternoon. Though puddles still linger in every available nook and the stiff breeze still holds a definite chill, the emergence of the sun from the recesses of the stormy clouds has a way of causing one to overlook that. Perhaps it's the new turn in the weather that causes such a bustle of activity in the Weyr, or perhaps, the more dismal undercurrents of the lower caverns have prompted more outlets for anxious energies. But whatever the reason, ledges are full of the comings and goings of dragons, the air above the bowl crowded with wings. Issa and Oshisyth's ledge is barren, however, the slick stone wanting for a draconic presence. The curtain is thrown open to let in the refreshing air, however, and reveals the reason for the desertion of the ledge, the exact reason imparted in the green's mental explanation. Issa sits in a haphazard position at the edge of Oshisyth's couch, crouched in the curve left by the green's forearm, too absorbed in the preparation of the oil to pay much attention to much else. That's Oshisyth's job. Whirling eyes expectantly hover over the expanse of the ledge, awaiting the promised arrival.
It is not so long in coming, this arrival. Golden hide catches the sunlight and mosaic wings are brandished in full glory and the long and lean Tialith wings her way in for a landing, talons scraping softly as pale paws settle. One elbow crooks and Roa slides down, lands with knees bent, straightens. She looks, for a moment, only at Tialith, settling her hand flat on that outstretched arm, but then she turns and steps into the ledge proper, finding Issa with no great difficulty. "It's a nice afternoon," the Telgari says by way of greeting as she steps into the dimmer inner weyr.
Oshisyth greets her new golden companion with an excited chirp, the high-pitched sound followed by a stifled stirring that's quieted by a pointed glance from her rider. Within the confines of the weyr itself, the scent of dragon oil hangs heavily, lightened only by a minty overtone. Issa remains in her impromptu seat, one hand holding a wide-lipped jar of oil, hovering over her lap, the other busied with a pestle, grinding diligently away at the bottom of that jar. Her hair, for all that it's carefully tied back into a small tail, still manages to escape in wavy tendrils that stick to her skin. As she looks up, she drags the back of her wrist across her forehead, moving the hair out of the way as her eyes land first on Roa then switch quickly to the sunny scene behind her. "So it is," she remarks, her hand leaving the pestle to grab a handful of the leafy herbs that lie at her feet and sifting them into the jar. Her gaze returns to the job at hand and she asks briefly, "Come to talk about the weather, Roa?"
Tialith has manners. Some of the time. When she feels like it. And today the queen seems so inclined, returning Oshisyth's chirp with a low and cordial rumble as she settles onto the ledge to wait. Her rider takes a few more steps closer. "In a manner of speaking. Though not the weather here." a few more paces and she stands before Issa, head tipping down to watch her mix. "May I sit?"
The clarification brings a slight lift to one of Issa's eyebrows as she stares into the churning oil, but nothing more in the way of a reaction finds her face. "Feel free," is the most invitation Roa is going to get it seems, an even and nonchalant answer. The greenrider, herself, however, stands, removing the pestle to the ground before she steps up onto the stone ledge of the couch, leaving it to the goldrider to find her own seat. Oil-dipped fingers then continue their task, finding the shiny front of previous efforts at the base of the green's neck and continuing upward in tiny, massaging circles. There's an appreciative croon from Oshisyth, but no other words issue from her rider, no hindrance or help contributed to the conversation.
The seat taken is the simplest one. The floor. Roa inches back far enough that she can continue to watch the greenrider as she sets about her task. Knees are drawn up and slender arms loosely drape around them. "She's going to need help, you know. Now."
"Help with what, exactly?" the greenrider asks, with an innocence that could just as easily be feigned as sincere. There's no question of who, however; she knows exactly to whom the goldrider refers. Issa's hands take up a ritual motion. Dip. Slather. Rub. Repeat interminably in silence, back turned to the visitor.
Roa snorts softly and shakes her head. She doesn't bother to answer, and the expression on her face suggests she simply doesn't believe Issa could *not* know. "You're asking the wrong question, Issa."
Dip. Slather. Pause. Rivulets of oil stream down, slicking across the vibrant green hide before her right hand recovers from its small falter and catches them, stroking upwards to the base of Oshisyth's neckridge. "Don't lecture me," she says, her voice stiffer. "I know the implication." From the snippet of her profile that's visible as she turns to cup more of the slick stuff into her hand, however, a reluctant hint of a grin can be seen lurking at the corner of her mouth. "Am I to believe that you now wish to provide this help you suggest?"
"I have never *not* wished that," Roa's knees pull in tighter, hands clasping around each other. "You only assumed. And I let you." Her head lowers, chin settling on her knees. "But I don't think we can afford that anymore, now. You know she's going to need support here. And unless you have another goldrider tucked away in your pocket, I'm the best offer you're going to get."
Issa only now turns to watch Roa, chin tilted to accommodate the extreme diagonal produced by her high post on the couch. Her hand drapes on the edge of the bowl, fingertips trailing in the oil listlessly as she considers for a moment before answering to the goldrider's assertion. "You'll excuse me if I don't jump at your offer, Roa. The Weyr seems a bit disenchanted with foreign golds at the moment. As am I." Though the reference might be biting, her voice has softened considerably, flowing away from the staccato intonations. Oshisyth's head turns slowly, half-lidded eyes widening again as they whirlingly seek Roa as the source of her rider's distraction. And now two pairs of eyes pin the slight goldrider sitting there. "I've found them indecisive and untrustworthy. Along with misleading, apparently. What did you gain, exactly, by allowing me to assume? I'm curious."
The little Telgari accepts the scrutiny, peering up at the green dragon and then over at her rider with equal and silent calm. "My pride, I suppose. I'm used to letting people think what they will of me and keeping my own counsel about the truth of rumors. I told you I'd picked a side. I told you it was more complicated than simply Diya or Yevide. But you heard something different and I..." shoulders lift and fall, "I suppose I thought that if she chose you and turned her back on me, then so be it. But." A small sigh. "She doesn't just represent herself anymore."
Issa listens placidly, her breathing the only motion until Roa has finished her piece. "Not really, no," she agrees, turning to resume her oiling, moving methodically down the stocky green's neck for a while, letting the repetition lull her into a distracted silence. The greenrider then suddenly exhales over the newly spread oil, shoulders dropping visibly. "I suppose the logical thing would be to put aside pride, then. Yes?" And she pivots again, twisting to let Roa see the thin little smile that's found its way into her expression. "There's a lot to be done."
"Yes. To both." Roa's head lowers again and she stares at the stone couch that is now on level with her vision. "I, uhm. I have an idea. I was hoping you'd hear it. And pass it along." There's a faint scuffling sound as feet shift a little on the floor.
Issa offers her profile to Roa once again, the matter of oiling just pressing enough to pose a mild distraction. The bulk of her attention remains on the conversation, though, ear tilted in the goldrider's direction as she responds tentatively, "Alright."
Fingers tap lightly, those of the left hand brushing the knuckles of the right. "Nabol," she says very softly, "still needs coverage." Her eyes lift, look up towards Issa's profile and then the little goldrider waits. To see if she needs say any more.
Issa's massaging motion doesn't stop this time, but her eyes flick away from the business at hand, flying first to the stone wall before they find their way, over her shoulder, to Roa, startlingly wide. No more need be said, apparently. "You and I both know how dangerous that could be." But her faded gaze shows she's considering it, hands working her dragons hide as she works over the possibility. "But to quiet the threat to the Weyr..." Unfinished thoughts are spoken, but their endings fail to find her voice.
"It could be, in many ways. But they must know falls by now, or there would be none of them left. And played correctly, it wouldn't be realized until after the event itself that they weren't sent by any weyr. It will set things humming, and is, to my mind, a topic better than smashed eggs and corpses. No matter what one may think about Igen." A soft huff and brows drawn down. Roa shakes her head slowly. "It's worth it, I think. Just pass the thought along is all I ask. Let her choose what to do with it."
Issa nods, once, very slowly. "It is. I'll make sure it gets to those who can find her," she says, quietly, with a distracted little smile. No more can be said, however, for there's an interruption in the way of a low grumble from Oshisyth. Turning back to her oiling, Issa finds the unfinished spot brought high out of reach by her dragon's new alertness. "Oshi-" But the dragons name lies unfinished like other thoughts before it, a realization intruding. "Eggs, Roa." That's all that should be needed, and Issa scrambles, setting down her oil pot with less care than it usually merits, Oshisyth shifting up from the couch.
Roa stiffens, eyes widening. "Oh shells. The patched one. I need...crackdust!" She pushes up, and makes for the ledge where Tialith sits, ramrod straight, a low thrum in her throat already beginning for the twice-foreign eggs on the sands. "Find me later!" she calls. "When you've heard!" Then she's scrambling up onto the gold who's launching herself in the air. Below, a very befuddled guard is trying to remain upright against a rush of people hurrying to the hatching grounds.
Oshisyth's grumble has turned to a hum that quite dampens every other sound in the cozy little weyr. So it's surprising that Issa can hear Roa's response and offer a quick nod for the goldrider before she slithers up to Oshisyth's neckridge, not bothering with straps. They take off soon after Tialith.
Time: Afternoon on Day 22, Month 5, Turn 2
Players: Issa, Roa, Tialith, Oshisyth
Scene: Roa approaches Issa just before the hatching, and new understandings are forged.
The light but firm touch introduces Tialith's consciousness to the green's. Roa would speak with your rider. Will she allow it?
There's a bit of a startled but not unwelcoming sensibility to Oshisyth's response as she says It is all right if you visit for a bit. She is busy oiling, but she can talk.
Oshisyth's Ledge
This massive ledge is oddly shaped, jutting out like a fat stone tongue from the wall. Its surface has been deeply scored by the passage of countless dragons over the turns. While it doesn't receive the sunlight that many of the ledges higher along the wall do, the walls of the bowl do keep the wind from raking over its surface.
It's a clear spring day and the air is fresh, and cool. The smell of damp earth, rich and ready for growing, is brought in by the slightest of breezes.
The recent spring sogginess has brought in its wake a surprisingly pleasant afternoon. Though puddles still linger in every available nook and the stiff breeze still holds a definite chill, the emergence of the sun from the recesses of the stormy clouds has a way of causing one to overlook that. Perhaps it's the new turn in the weather that causes such a bustle of activity in the Weyr, or perhaps, the more dismal undercurrents of the lower caverns have prompted more outlets for anxious energies. But whatever the reason, ledges are full of the comings and goings of dragons, the air above the bowl crowded with wings. Issa and Oshisyth's ledge is barren, however, the slick stone wanting for a draconic presence. The curtain is thrown open to let in the refreshing air, however, and reveals the reason for the desertion of the ledge, the exact reason imparted in the green's mental explanation. Issa sits in a haphazard position at the edge of Oshisyth's couch, crouched in the curve left by the green's forearm, too absorbed in the preparation of the oil to pay much attention to much else. That's Oshisyth's job. Whirling eyes expectantly hover over the expanse of the ledge, awaiting the promised arrival.
It is not so long in coming, this arrival. Golden hide catches the sunlight and mosaic wings are brandished in full glory and the long and lean Tialith wings her way in for a landing, talons scraping softly as pale paws settle. One elbow crooks and Roa slides down, lands with knees bent, straightens. She looks, for a moment, only at Tialith, settling her hand flat on that outstretched arm, but then she turns and steps into the ledge proper, finding Issa with no great difficulty. "It's a nice afternoon," the Telgari says by way of greeting as she steps into the dimmer inner weyr.
Oshisyth greets her new golden companion with an excited chirp, the high-pitched sound followed by a stifled stirring that's quieted by a pointed glance from her rider. Within the confines of the weyr itself, the scent of dragon oil hangs heavily, lightened only by a minty overtone. Issa remains in her impromptu seat, one hand holding a wide-lipped jar of oil, hovering over her lap, the other busied with a pestle, grinding diligently away at the bottom of that jar. Her hair, for all that it's carefully tied back into a small tail, still manages to escape in wavy tendrils that stick to her skin. As she looks up, she drags the back of her wrist across her forehead, moving the hair out of the way as her eyes land first on Roa then switch quickly to the sunny scene behind her. "So it is," she remarks, her hand leaving the pestle to grab a handful of the leafy herbs that lie at her feet and sifting them into the jar. Her gaze returns to the job at hand and she asks briefly, "Come to talk about the weather, Roa?"
Tialith has manners. Some of the time. When she feels like it. And today the queen seems so inclined, returning Oshisyth's chirp with a low and cordial rumble as she settles onto the ledge to wait. Her rider takes a few more steps closer. "In a manner of speaking. Though not the weather here." a few more paces and she stands before Issa, head tipping down to watch her mix. "May I sit?"
The clarification brings a slight lift to one of Issa's eyebrows as she stares into the churning oil, but nothing more in the way of a reaction finds her face. "Feel free," is the most invitation Roa is going to get it seems, an even and nonchalant answer. The greenrider, herself, however, stands, removing the pestle to the ground before she steps up onto the stone ledge of the couch, leaving it to the goldrider to find her own seat. Oil-dipped fingers then continue their task, finding the shiny front of previous efforts at the base of the green's neck and continuing upward in tiny, massaging circles. There's an appreciative croon from Oshisyth, but no other words issue from her rider, no hindrance or help contributed to the conversation.
The seat taken is the simplest one. The floor. Roa inches back far enough that she can continue to watch the greenrider as she sets about her task. Knees are drawn up and slender arms loosely drape around them. "She's going to need help, you know. Now."
"Help with what, exactly?" the greenrider asks, with an innocence that could just as easily be feigned as sincere. There's no question of who, however; she knows exactly to whom the goldrider refers. Issa's hands take up a ritual motion. Dip. Slather. Rub. Repeat interminably in silence, back turned to the visitor.
Roa snorts softly and shakes her head. She doesn't bother to answer, and the expression on her face suggests she simply doesn't believe Issa could *not* know. "You're asking the wrong question, Issa."
Dip. Slather. Pause. Rivulets of oil stream down, slicking across the vibrant green hide before her right hand recovers from its small falter and catches them, stroking upwards to the base of Oshisyth's neckridge. "Don't lecture me," she says, her voice stiffer. "I know the implication." From the snippet of her profile that's visible as she turns to cup more of the slick stuff into her hand, however, a reluctant hint of a grin can be seen lurking at the corner of her mouth. "Am I to believe that you now wish to provide this help you suggest?"
"I have never *not* wished that," Roa's knees pull in tighter, hands clasping around each other. "You only assumed. And I let you." Her head lowers, chin settling on her knees. "But I don't think we can afford that anymore, now. You know she's going to need support here. And unless you have another goldrider tucked away in your pocket, I'm the best offer you're going to get."
Issa only now turns to watch Roa, chin tilted to accommodate the extreme diagonal produced by her high post on the couch. Her hand drapes on the edge of the bowl, fingertips trailing in the oil listlessly as she considers for a moment before answering to the goldrider's assertion. "You'll excuse me if I don't jump at your offer, Roa. The Weyr seems a bit disenchanted with foreign golds at the moment. As am I." Though the reference might be biting, her voice has softened considerably, flowing away from the staccato intonations. Oshisyth's head turns slowly, half-lidded eyes widening again as they whirlingly seek Roa as the source of her rider's distraction. And now two pairs of eyes pin the slight goldrider sitting there. "I've found them indecisive and untrustworthy. Along with misleading, apparently. What did you gain, exactly, by allowing me to assume? I'm curious."
The little Telgari accepts the scrutiny, peering up at the green dragon and then over at her rider with equal and silent calm. "My pride, I suppose. I'm used to letting people think what they will of me and keeping my own counsel about the truth of rumors. I told you I'd picked a side. I told you it was more complicated than simply Diya or Yevide. But you heard something different and I..." shoulders lift and fall, "I suppose I thought that if she chose you and turned her back on me, then so be it. But." A small sigh. "She doesn't just represent herself anymore."
Issa listens placidly, her breathing the only motion until Roa has finished her piece. "Not really, no," she agrees, turning to resume her oiling, moving methodically down the stocky green's neck for a while, letting the repetition lull her into a distracted silence. The greenrider then suddenly exhales over the newly spread oil, shoulders dropping visibly. "I suppose the logical thing would be to put aside pride, then. Yes?" And she pivots again, twisting to let Roa see the thin little smile that's found its way into her expression. "There's a lot to be done."
"Yes. To both." Roa's head lowers again and she stares at the stone couch that is now on level with her vision. "I, uhm. I have an idea. I was hoping you'd hear it. And pass it along." There's a faint scuffling sound as feet shift a little on the floor.
Issa offers her profile to Roa once again, the matter of oiling just pressing enough to pose a mild distraction. The bulk of her attention remains on the conversation, though, ear tilted in the goldrider's direction as she responds tentatively, "Alright."
Fingers tap lightly, those of the left hand brushing the knuckles of the right. "Nabol," she says very softly, "still needs coverage." Her eyes lift, look up towards Issa's profile and then the little goldrider waits. To see if she needs say any more.
Issa's massaging motion doesn't stop this time, but her eyes flick away from the business at hand, flying first to the stone wall before they find their way, over her shoulder, to Roa, startlingly wide. No more need be said, apparently. "You and I both know how dangerous that could be." But her faded gaze shows she's considering it, hands working her dragons hide as she works over the possibility. "But to quiet the threat to the Weyr..." Unfinished thoughts are spoken, but their endings fail to find her voice.
"It could be, in many ways. But they must know falls by now, or there would be none of them left. And played correctly, it wouldn't be realized until after the event itself that they weren't sent by any weyr. It will set things humming, and is, to my mind, a topic better than smashed eggs and corpses. No matter what one may think about Igen." A soft huff and brows drawn down. Roa shakes her head slowly. "It's worth it, I think. Just pass the thought along is all I ask. Let her choose what to do with it."
Issa nods, once, very slowly. "It is. I'll make sure it gets to those who can find her," she says, quietly, with a distracted little smile. No more can be said, however, for there's an interruption in the way of a low grumble from Oshisyth. Turning back to her oiling, Issa finds the unfinished spot brought high out of reach by her dragon's new alertness. "Oshi-" But the dragons name lies unfinished like other thoughts before it, a realization intruding. "Eggs, Roa." That's all that should be needed, and Issa scrambles, setting down her oil pot with less care than it usually merits, Oshisyth shifting up from the couch.
Roa stiffens, eyes widening. "Oh shells. The patched one. I need...crackdust!" She pushes up, and makes for the ledge where Tialith sits, ramrod straight, a low thrum in her throat already beginning for the twice-foreign eggs on the sands. "Find me later!" she calls. "When you've heard!" Then she's scrambling up onto the gold who's launching herself in the air. Below, a very befuddled guard is trying to remain upright against a rush of people hurrying to the hatching grounds.
Oshisyth's grumble has turned to a hum that quite dampens every other sound in the cozy little weyr. So it's surprising that Issa can hear Roa's response and offer a quick nod for the goldrider before she slithers up to Oshisyth's neckridge, not bothering with straps. They take off soon after Tialith.