Log: In which Taikrin doesn't /mean/ to be a problem child...
(...she's just drawn that way!)
Date: Day 9, Month 8, Turn 22 of Interval 10
NorCon MUSH - 4/28/2010
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Mountain Meadow(#1636R)
A long, broad valley sandwiched between taller mountain peeks. The lush grasses stand at waist height and sway gently in the constant breeze. In spring, the meadow comes alive, turning the ocean of green into a sea of reds, blues, yellows and oranges as tiny flowers burst into bloom. At dawn and dusk, small herds of wild herbivores might be seen at the end of the valley as shadowy shapes who keep well away from visitors. Winding along the edge of the mountain base as it follows a downward slope, a small stream provides clear, fresh water from the snow capped peaks.
For the occasion, the meadow has been set out with long tables, brightly coloured blankets, and hte occasional sun canopy. The still-melting snow makes the ground squelchy underfoot - and there are some definite mud puddles for those thatway inclined - but otherwise, it could not be a more perfect spot. With the food set off to one side, there's plenty of open space for games and activities.
The air - still slightly chilly despite the warmth of the sun - has clear and fresh, out here; nonetheless, it's just about the most perfect spring day imaginable.
Available Commands: +tp/help
Contents:
Szadath(#1824ep$0)
Leova
Vrianth
Obvious exits:
Out
It is a summer dusk, 20:32 of day 9, month 8, turn 22 of Interval 10.
Taikrin has been subdued for the last sevenday or two, unusually quiet for the most part but prone to outbursts of temper. However, she's never been one to turn down an offer of a sparring bout, nor to deny Szadath the opportunity to fly somewhere new: thus here she is, swinging down from Vrianth's straps in the afternoon sunlight. The advent of flight has made the brown, on the other hand, into enough of an exuberantly excited creature that he radiates enjoyment enough for the both. The brown's landing is characteristically fast and aggressive, and though a patch of wildflowers gets flattened, he doesn't appear to hurt himself this time. "Not bad, Szad!" The ex-con keeps her back turned towards the weyrlingmaster pair, stretching her arms over her head as she wanders towards Szadath. "Gettin' th' hang of that'n."
"He is that," Leova says with amiable-enough appreciation once she too is down, and then busies herself with getting Vrianth's straps off, heaving them into a more-or-less-together bundle. The green, freed, rubs her wings together in an uncharacteristically fussy motion before eyeing the rest of the meadow and, within it, the half-her-size brown. "Need to stretch first? Or have you been."
For a moment, it appears as though Szadath will launch himself back into the air, so wistful is the expression he directs at the sky. Whether through silent conversation or an idea of his own, though, he instead flops gracelessly down on the ground, wings spread to catch the maximum of sunlight. "Ha! Yeah, s'right, it /is/ my turn." The fond smile Taikrin has for the brown fades when she finally turns to eye Leova with arms still over her head. "Reckon I'll warm up okay as we go. Warm enough out here anyways. D'you need to-- y'know? Do somethin'?"
"Should," Leova decides, and pushes her hands up her arms like pushing up sleeves, except hers got torn off long ago. "Been sitting on my arse too much of the day, helping file that hung toenail. You know." One of the bronzes. "Anyhow, don't reckon someone's going to give us time to warm up if we get jumped, but can't say as I want to pull anything today." As for Vrianth? She's got a glinting thought Szadath's way, a, << Coming? >> and /she/ launches in that sky he'd been looking at, as though to take his place.
Szadath has certainly had more than his fair share of chipped and damaged talons over the last few sevendays... perhaps he's no longer breaking them because most of them are already /broken/. No sooner does Vrianth send that comment, though, then he's scrambling to his feet and launching himself after her with /way/ more effort than strictly called for. << YEAH! >> At least he's moving up into the air quickly to make up for his lack of finesse. "Yeah. Well. Different story, out here." Taikrin's voice is gruff, despite the half-smile directed over her shoulder at the airborne Szadath. "Can wait, if y'want. Y'got any rules, like? Offlimits stuff, or whatever?"
Quickly is good. Quickly, Vrianth can tolerate. Quickly, means she promptly slices into a nice sharp turn. Possibly too sharp? At least it's away from Szadath, instead of towards him. Faster! Her rider coughs into her wrist, conveniently there what with the stretching she's started to do, more than just the reaching Taikrin had been doing: arms, legs, reaches and twists, quick and efficient. "Hm. Don't mind bruises, just as soon nothing worse. Shoulders down. Fair 'nough? Liked that one thing you did, the other day, want to learn it." The so-precisely-described thing.
"Fair enough. I'll try t'steer clear of th'face, like." Was that a hint of sarcasm in Taikrin's voice? She doesn't give the weyrlingmaster time to ponder it before she's moving to within two paces, bouncing on her toes while she does a full-body shake. "Ready whenever you are." Beat. "Which thing? I got so many." There's /definitely/ a cocky smile there, at least. Meanwhile, Szadath's lungs work like a bellows as he pushes to keep up, banking in a wider turn in an attempt to cut across Vrianth's line. << You're fast! I like fast. >> Despite the enormous effort he's outputting, raw delight has made his voice /very/ loud and /very/ swirlingly cold. << I want to be so fast! >>
Evidently Leova heard it whether there was or not, because she gives right back, "Got to stay all beautiful-like, for the Gathers, hm?" and fluffs long, invisible curls. Which turns into a step closer, longer than she maybe rightly should... and an easy punch towards the shoulder. Warmup-like. But fast. "Right you are. Maybe it'll come to me." It can't hurt her easy humor that the twice-longer-if-not-larger green's aiming to /let/ Szadath try to cut her off... and then slant her wings to steal his wind. Never mind that it's loud. Very loud. << You can /try/. >>
A quick "Hah!" is all Taikrin has time for before she's flowing backwards and to the side in a quick dodge. Though her hands are held up, loose-fisted, at chest level, she appears content to follow Leova's lead for the moment. She's in constant motion, light on her feet and weaving faintly from side to side. "I got lots of skills, me." There's an edge to her voice, though, that can't be wholly attributed to the natural tension that happens during a spar. << Woah! >> Szadath is startled by the oncoming green, backwinging clumsily and then sideslipping over. There's some altitude loss, which he's quick to compensate for with powerful downstrokes. << How'd you /know/?! >>
"Right you do," says Leova in much the same tone as before, giving her sparring partner a friendly sort of guff without the younger rider's edge. Might not even notice it. Certainly she doesn't commit herself to much right off, testing those quick reflexes of Taikrin's, though there's a would-be ankle-hook that breaks what's become a swift-paced rhythm. Vrianth, meanwhile, waits for Szadath to catch up, if also with a distinct sense of dialing down the volume. And since he puts such effort into making that catch-up-/soon/, she rewards it with a sense of /energy/, of /this/ way, of chances not quite so predictable as to be boring. Without words. Just, /there/. And then there's a glance sideways, as she makes her way higher towards those stronger winds her companion might like: does he need a translation?
Taikrin takes advantage of the weight-shift that comes with that ankle-hook, allowing her momentum to flow towards Leova... along with a solid punch from her opposite arm that's hastily redirected towards the older rider's shoulder area. Any mirth that might have been in her expression is pretty quickly draining into a stony sort of scowl. Szadath is certainly putting in as much effort as his young muscles can muster in his pursuit of Vrianth, even as his mind churns with the information dump. As his rhythm is re-established and altitude gained, he radiates a sort of wordless, echoey dull roar of excitement-- /winds/!
She hits, too, an audible thump of contact that sends the greenrider back a step... though Leova less falls back than takes it. Lets it half-turn her. And strikes for the brownrider's ribs. Her own expression's getting more serious, amber eyes narrowed, though more in concentration than displeasure. Vrianth's far more overt with the spark of approval sent Szadath's way: wings, indeed! << Show me, >> she says now in that gravelly voice of hers, underscoring it with a mental /reach/: show her how it feels, to be buffeted the way he is, to fly the way he does.
There's a wordless grunt at the impact of arm to shoulder, then another as she twists with a slippery sort of movement to mitigate the rib punch into a glancing blow. And then she's dancing away momentarily, attempting to put a pace or two of room between the two while flexing the arm on the impacted side. "Not bad," she allows, voice still gruff and edged. From Szadath there's a sudden burst of /feeling/, of fighting against unfamiliar wind currents with only instinct and raw force, of riding powerful muscles right on the redline, of making every movement into a battle and a triumph. He knows naught of finesse and skill -- those will come, eventually. For now it is only he, Szadath, fighting the wind.
Eventually. But it's Vrianth, and even as she rides the excitement of what he's sent as though it were wind itself, she can't let it go. Even as her own rider follows that movement, not too fast on the uneven footing, angled just a /little/ to try and get that sun behind her, Vrianth reaches back: so, and /so/, and she puts it into action. /So/. Angle that leading edge just a little more, can he feel it? Just a little more for starters, he can have more of a handle on it, can battle winds that are that much stronger than what he can have just now. This, when her rider says briefly, "Thanks." Advances. Doesn't move, just yet, to strike: just sees whether Taikrin will give ground.
Taikrin coils in on herself, still-and-yet-not as she watches Leova's advance. There's a flash of something on her face, a tell, and then she's pushing off her back foot to lunge at the greenrider in a rugby-style tackle, seeking to overpower her up and backwards with pure momentum. Wings twitch, Szadath's focus shifting momentarily from altitude-gaining to playing with the indicated movements. He purposefully overcompensates first one way then the other, tipping himself along a sort of rollercoaster dip as he plays with the fine-tuning. << This, and here? >> Excitement is muted behind sudden seriousness, an intent to study and absorb the strategy being offered.
Maybe it's an oof! and maybe it's a, "Nice!" and maybe it's something in between. Amber eyes widened at that warning, /she's/ trying to grab and twist and send Taikrin flying over her hip: momentum, redirected. It's enough to get Vrianth distracted, tuning Szadath out somewhat with a sudden impulse of careful-careful-/careful/. /Not/ directed at him. Exactly. She's gotten so she's circling over the pair of humans, down below. Still, when more of her focus returns, << There, >> she half-agrees, half-clarifies, because the wind's /moved/ since he's tried it last. And then there's that sudden surge of energy again: /better/. For now. Question is, is she being careful enough.
It is not, perhaps, Taikrin's finest moment, but as Leova's grabbing, so is she, seeking to wrap arms securely around the other woman's midsection. If Taikrin's going over? She's not going alone. The greenrider might also feel the poke of something blunt -- like a stick or a jabbed thumbtip -- over one of her kidneys. Not hard enough to do damage, but enough to be, well, noticed. Szadath is distracted by Vrianth's distraction; he hovers in a way he probably wouldn't (or couldn't) were he paying attention, peering down at the two women. Once he's not so intent on fighting the wind, he seems to have a much easier time simply /riding/ it. Abruptly, out of nowhere, comes the question, << What is this? >> along with an image of a weyrling knot threaded with silver.
<< That. >> Is unimportant just now, or maybe ever, Vrianth fixated on her rider's tumble with his and there's that poke and was that a rock that her knee's smacking into? and her Leova's breath has hissed out and she's /trying/ to do something with her elbow that wards off any future jab, except there's a distraction in the name of Vrianth arrowing down and, "/Stop/ it." Not for Taikrin. Except, for all that the rangy dragon spills at least some wind out from her wings in a fractional nod to slowing, it may not be exactly clear.
Taikrin is laid flat on back with another grunt, unable to roll with the momentum despite an attempted twist to do so. But then she's all scrabbling, twisty limbs as she tries to disentangle herself to get /up/ and /away/, crowing roughly in between gasped breaths, "I got ya, I could'a /killed/ you!" Perhaps not the most intelligent thing to say, as attention is drawn upwards towards the descending green. Szadath continues to trail behind Vrianth, a ghost of worry preceeding him in his clumsily controlled descent. << That...? >> Icy cool tendril reaches down towards the green. << We got you fair. No cheating. >>
Oh, she can get away. Leova's busy banging the back of her head against the ground, which probably isn't the most intelligent thing to /do/, but at least it's plain old dirt and weeds-excuse-me-/wildflowers/ instead of a rock there too. Along with it, she mutters something profane along the lines of kill-me-now. Except not. At least it's enough to stall Vrianth more than Szadath can hope to. Vrianth, who's radiating static enough to envelop that tendril if it comes too near, but at least she seems to have agreed to circle. For now. Briefly: << What? >>
It takes a moment for Taikrin to get her wildly gasping breaths back under control, though she remains tense and wary for Leova to strike at any moment. Surely she's miming injury. One hand idly rubs at the ribs that had been impacted earlier, while the other shakes out a bit of twig. "If I had a knife, like," she continues with another wary glance overhead, "Could'a killed you. Lettin' someone get close, s'too dangerous." And that lecture-y, smug note in her voice? Probably not very welcome. << Can't help in playfight, >> Szadath clarifies, though he maintains his careful distance otherwise from the green. He's content to cede the nearer ground to her in exchange for maintaining altitude. << It's cheating. Against the rules. >>
Don't think Vrianth hasn't noticed that upward look. Because /she's/ looking too, head snaked under her wing. Staring, even. It doesn't prevent her from replying, << She was not /play/ful. >> Possibly her Leova. Probably his rider. Though her projection's more controlled now, there's still a snap and crackle to it, if not precisely a pop. And it may not do the civilizing of Svadath any good, that distinct air of rebellion against those /other/ rules. Through which Leova says, "Yeah, well. You /had/ a knife, could've let her come down. /Distracting/." One last bang, and she winds up just setting her head down in favor of bring her knee up, gingerly, so she can rub it... with her far hand. "So what would you have done?" Big shot.
"What, after I stabbed you? Reckon would'a been a race, then." It's possibly a bit troubling, the thought Taikrin has apparently put into this. And /more/ troubling, the matter-of-fact way she recounts it. "Reckon I would'a stayed under you, 'till it weren't a problem no more. Y'nail a body in th'right spot, don't take too long." Eventually she relents, edging a bit nearer to Leova when it becomes apparent the other woman isn't going to spring at her. "Yer okay, yeah?" All this hovering is pretty exhausting, though Szadath won't admit it. Instead he spirals to the ground, casual-like, so he can stare /up/ at Vrianth instead of down. << Sure was. Not-playful is, >> A host of images flicker, most likely pulled from Taikrin's memory given the way they're dull, washed out: wild bar fights, consuming rage, dripping blood, and the icy burn of a real knife wound. << No rules then. Only for playfight. >>
"Before," the greenrider says to the sky. Her own breathing's still a little harsh. "And meant, if you were in /my/ shoes." She keeps rubbing her knee, not too hard, though also less gingerly now. Her breathing's gotten more like regular. And even with Taikrin getting nearer like that, there's no sudden grab to yank at her ankle. "See, Tai. Exercises're one thing, but this... not in pattern. You surprised me. Hanging on like that. S'/good/. But Vrianth... Got in trouble for it. When it was us who were weyrlings." That Vrianth, she's eyeing those memories of Svadath's, gliding, gliding. She could stay up there forever. And the way those memories are dulled, their significance is harder to pick out. Except for the money shot. << Your woman must not do that with /mine/. >>
Taikrin lingers just barely within arm's reach of Leova, tilting her head from one side to the other in a rather unsuccesful attempt to relieve the tension cording the muscles there. "Oh, well. See someone come chargin' at me like that? Would'a got out of th'way, like. 'Least try t'contain their hands, y'know? Was a guy, would'a gone for th'nuts." Her glance upwards mirrors Szadath's at talk of the dragon, then. "In trouble f'r what now?" The brown himself is all cool confidence, born of familiarity with this sort of thing. << Well, no. Not for /real/. This is practice. For after. >> He pauses, then adds curiously, << What about Rhabarith's? Can she with him? >>
"Contain their hands... suppose I should've done that." Leova says it more dourly than strictly necessary, her low voice lightening as she goes on. "Reckoned I had mass on you, hm? And sometimes... get tired of staying out of the way." She takes another breath, one that starts out tight and gradually, purposefully slackens. << Riders are not to attack riders, >> says Vrianth, /believes/ Vrianth. Especially not hers, Svadath should keep in mind. There's a low-running intensity running through her still, an invisible current that does not approach light. "Well. Y'know how Ti... the Weyrwoman was teaching some people, early on. For me it was the Weyrleader, as he was then. You know N'thei? Glacier." She says it like Taikrin /should/.
There's tension in the air, and Taikrin seems to feed off of it. She bounces back a pace, arms folding defensively across her chest and expression settling into stony lines. "Can't take chances in a fight. Get yerself killed that way," she repeats, rather sourly. "But-- yeah. I guess. Whatever. N'thei, right. What'd he do, anyways?" Szadath spreads tired wings, sunlight reflecting off silvered spars, and ponders this concept. << But what if he comes for mine first? We will protect ourselves. >> He adds, confidently, << Mine is sure that he will. Because of that thing. >> A flash, again, of the knot he was so confused about earlier.
"Maybe that's the difference between a fight and a workout." Taikrin's stepped back, but Leova doesn't follow her, not even with her eyes. She does move on to flexing her knee, though, measured motions: taking it slowly, right at first. N'thei: big man, a fighter's scars, and larger than life. "Went after me. Didn't know much at all about defense, back then. Vrianth... she's pretty protective," and that's pretty much an understatement. She sits up, bracing her hands on the ground, flexing her back: there's solid muscle, there on her shoulders and upper arms, where her clothes can't hide her physique. << He had /better/ not. And if he tries, and is caught, /we/ will see to him. >> Isath's rider, more likely, but with Vrianth, such things tend to be personal. About that silver strand, though: << Why would that matter? >>
"Yeah, well... never know when one's gonna turn into th'other. Can't take chances." There's a distinct lack of trust in Taikrin's voice, and the way her gaze darts from Szadath to Vrianth and back to Leova speaks of wariness to boot. "What'd she do? Stick up for you, yeah? Seems okay t'me. Someone comin' after me for real, shardin' well /hope/ I got Szadath t'back me up." Szadath's touch attenuates, though not before shading cooly with confusion. When he returns, it's with a sense of him repeating something he's been told. << Because he thinks he has authority and... backing? Is that what it means? >> He's really not too clear on the details, but he's trying. << They like him. He dislikes us. So they must dislike us also? >> He's /also/ not too clear on the 'they' part.
"Went after him," Leova confirms, her tone conflicted even now, though there's a low warmth there that's all for her dragon. "Thing is, though. Certain things, got to be able to /take/ them, not ramp up. Handle them, not fly off the handle. /Control/." As for the now full-grown dragon in question, she's continuing to circle, but now it's with lazy adjustments so minimal that she might as well float. And there's new interest, taking these concepts of Szadath's, turning them over. Shaking them out. << We had one of those, >> Vrianth points out offhandedly. << My Leova keeps it, though she does not often look at it. He should have a great deal to do, should be too /tired/ to bother you, >> and here her source is likely rider-recollection... though certain /associations/ with particular objects don't ever really leave.
Taikrin's expression darkens notably after Szadath's exchange with Vrianth, arms tightening convulsively across her chest as she dances back another few paces. "/That/ why y'brought us out here, then? So's y'can tell me I gotta control my temper, like?" This is apparently a sore subject, because she's building up quite a head of steam. "'Taikrin, why you gotta be so rough?'" Her voice slips into a mocking falsetto. "'Taikrin, why can't y'act like a civilized person?' 'Taikrin, why can't y'be more like F'reln 'cause he's so good an' perfect an' everybody loves him.'" Szadath's full attention shifts from Vrianth, finally, and with a low rumble he circles around and behind his rider.There's a bit of a chilly sting to his wordless sending, though, as he picks up on his rider's growing agitation. "Well I ain't done /nothin'/ t'any of you an' I don't /need/ nobody an' their special learnin'! Me an' Szad'll get along just fine on our own!"
Is it irritating, the way Leova leans back on her elbows like that, not doing anything to protect her delicate ribs or, really, anything at all? It's like she's just soaking up the sun, that's all, at least when Vrianth's not blotting it out in her ceaseless passes. "/Reckon/ I brought you out because I thought your dragon'd like to stretch his wings... and because it's somewhere that's not in those stone walls." Her tone is calm, even, like she's back working with a nervy filly. Except a runner wouldn't get the humor in her dry, "'Sides, I wanted to get out too." Even Vrianth can project equanimity, though there's a certain residual impatience to get on with it, already.
It's a talent, really, the ability to work herself up into a self-righteous froth as Taikrin has done with so little external prompting. "Yeah, sure." There's suspicion there in spades, and the only reason she doesn't withdraw further is because Szadath has appeared at her back, nose hovering carefully over one shoulder. "An' it ain't t'warn me I gotta be a good girl an' mind my place else someone's dragon's gonna eat me or somethin'. Or yer gonna just stick us /both/ back in a work camp." Szadath returns, briefly, though not without that biting cold to his voice. << Why is Rhabarith's so special anyways? I think he cheats. Mine is sure he does. >>
"Nah, not a work camp. Though K'del's got this thing about plowing..." though just /maybe/ that's also not great to dwell on, just now. Leova's got a one-shouldered shrug. "Anyhow. If you had a drink, every time someone said something like that to you, just how drunk would you get? These days. This last sevenday, say." Supplements Vrianth, not shying away from the /cold/ if only because she's willful that way, << If she had one of those, she could /watch/ him. And look for /evidence/. >> Proof!
"More'n you people think I oughta have, that's f'r shardin' sure," Taikrin shoots back quickly. "'Specially from that asshole F'reln an' th'ones he's got in his pocket. Were okay, a few of 'em, a'fore he got--" At that her jaw clamps shut again, gaze shooting down and /away/ in frustration. "An' anyways everyone said it enough they don't even need t'say it no more. Y'all just got a /look/." Szadath ever so carefully lowers his bulk behind Taikrin to stretch out as a bulwark at her back, and only once she's protected from behind does he allow his gaze to follow the circling Vrianth. << Could she? Is that how it works? Like a special pass so she can follow /him/ instead of him following us? >>
Polarity shifts back and forth, back and forth, yes and no. << She could do that. >> But. << She would have /work/. >> First. "Sounds like I better not ask you how many drinks it would be, one for each look," Leova all but drawls, still reposed. "Anyhow. Thought about what happens when you get out of weyrlinghood? What you want to do. What you want it to be like."
"I--- when I what?" Taikrin is jolted out of the snit she's got herself into by the unexpected question, stony grimace transforming into a thoughtful frown before she can remember that she's young and angry and full of rage. "After? I-- I dunno." Her head tilts back, glancing at Szadath with furrowed brows. "He likes drillin'. An-- this greenrider, she was talkin' 'bout explorin' places. At th'ocean. Just flyin' for as long as they can." There's vulnerability, a flash of it, there for just a moment before it's masked by suspicion again. "Anyways, I just want Szadath treated like he deserves. Nobody lookin' down on him or nothin' just 'cause of what I might'a did, before." The tip of the brown's tail twitches, rather like a feline, as he ponders. << Work. We like to work. We work /hard/. >> Biting cold fades into a mere chilly swirl, accompanied with flashes of sweat and effort and firestone sacks and sprints and drills.
<< Easy work, >> Vrianth doesn't so much dismiss as accept: of course he and his rider would work hard at that, of course they would be good at it due to that very effort. << It would be harder for her to hold her tongue. >> There's no moral judgement there. It could equally be an evaluation of the color of a particular rock. Too hard? That might be up to them. "Some of the wings still drill plenty," Leova mentions. "Mine isn't one of 'em, but it leaves time for other things. Infirmary shifts. Exploring, apparently. Anyhow. Chances you'll wind up in the same wing as F'reln? Pretty small. Chances the wingleaders'll hear what everyone's like as a weyrling, when they go to pick teams? Pretty big."
Ever so slowly Taikrin relaxes enough to lean back against Szadath's comforting bulk, and though her arms remain folded, some of the tension has dissipated. "What's that s'pposed t'mean?" Wary caution there, but not the kind that speaks of readiness to trigger fight-or-flight. "They're all gonna have it in f'r me, then? Well, fuck 'em. I ain't gonna crawl on my belly just t'make someone feel better, an' Szad ain't gonna, neither. He's /good/ an' anyone who don't see it's stupid." Pride there, in her lifemate if not in herself. << Hold it? Hold it for what? Why? >> Blunt-minded Szadath has probably less comprehension of this than even Taikrin. << Why not tell people things? Being sneaky is kind of like cheating. >>
<< There is telling, and then there is how it is told, >> Vrianth points out in a glitter of energy, << She need not crawl, but also not bristle. >> It's right when Leova's saying, quite mildly, "Who said anything about crawling? Crawling just calls 'em over to step on you." Speaking of which: Vrianth's drifting into a gradual descent, but it's a wide sort of spiral that should mean all /she/ steps on is more of the weeds. "Reckon folks figure, weyrlinghood's for learning. Lots of people change, a lot. Some of 'em figure what they want to keep. Question is, are they going to think of what's ahead, aim for /that/, or just play around like this is all there is."
<< When I want someone to know something, I just tell them. Then they know. Then we go and hunt or chase or sometimes they get tired of playing and have a nap. >> Subtlety is truly lost on Szadath. Right on the tail of that, though, he's admitting in a quiet rumor-y sort of way, << Sometimes she gets very angry, though. >> Because /that's/ a big surprise. "Yeah, well, s'why I won't do it. Did enough crawlin', when I had to. Ain't gonna do it no more." Taikrin scuffs the toe of her boot into the ground, studying the action as if it were of paramount importance. "We're learnin' all kinds of stuff. Y'can ask th'harper if we ain't. We don't need fancy words t'work out th'flight diagrams an' th'fall charts. Learn whatever we have to. Need to." When her gaze returns to Leova, it's got a fierce sort of drive to it. "Have t'be th'best. Szad deserves it. He /is/."
Vrianth doesn't even try to sound surprised. She does oblige Szadath by giving him a hush-hush sort of whisper, but that's the extent of it: << /Do/ you think people do not notice? >> This, as she lands, more or less equidistant between him and her rider. Closer, it must be said, to her rider. Who says, mildly still, "Can see you're working hard, got no doubt there. So you know why people /would/ pick you for an ace wing. And if you also know why they mightn't... s'up to you to work on that too, or let it slide. Easier to let it slide."
"What, they think what they think. Ain't nothin' I can do 'bout that." Taikrin is more resigned to this fact than anything else. "I ain't stabbed nobody or beat 'em up or stole their stuff, but whatever, y'know? I might. Dangerous, me." Vrianth's landing is studied by a gaze lidded ostentibly against the dust she kicks up. "Can't do nothin' else." The brown too watches the landing, though with more of an academic interest -- he's still working out the kinks from his. << Well, sometimes they do. And usually they deserve it. Sometimes we're very small and quiet. >>
Small and quiet? << Why? >> inquires the green, who's poured herself across the grass in a long curve that maximizes the amount of sun she can soak up with those re-extended wingsails. "Think you can," Leova says in that same matter-of-fact tone as before. "Like I said, it's more what you do now that matters." She leans over to rub Vrianth's jaw, sending the dragon's inner lids half-closed with pleasure. "But that's only if you want."
<< Because. We're not supposed to realfight with our clutchmates. Only playfight. >> Cue exagerated image of Taikrin and Szadath off in an isolated corner of the bowl, working out aggression by, well, working out. Taikrin remains oblivious to the dragons' conversation; her focus is fixed on Leova, now, and she strains forward as far as she can without leaving the comfort of Szadath's bulk. "/How/?" Less plaintivly, she adds, "Don't know what else I'm s'pposed t'be doin', here. Doin' what we're told t'do, an' we ain't beatin' on people, an' it ain't /enough/."
There's silence from Vrianth, but energy's flowing, /something/ going on. Her rider doesn't overtly remark upon Taikrin's shift in posture, but she does give the younger woman a half-smile, and a sideways half-smile at that. "Afraid," she says like it's a confession, "If we get to talking, you'll bug out or get pissed." Like maybe it would be Leova's fault, somehow. And somewhere in there is when Vrianth finally responds, << Szadath. There can be challenge without fighting. >> He does know this too, yes? << You do not need to be small. >> And there's also humor: Szadath /can't/, increasingly, be small.
"What d'you /mean/ I'm gonna--" It's to her credit that Taikrin manages to catch herself /before/ the insulted rant gets off the ground, and forcibly modulates her tone to something a bit more reasonable. "I just-- don't know what y'want. Or expect. From me. If y'say somethin' that makes me mad, I'm gonna get mad. I ain't gonna hit you or nothin'." It's apparently meant to be reassuring, this promose of passivity. "'Less you ask me to or somethin', I guess." And look, even a weak spot of humor. << We are careful, sometimes. Better not to fight. Or: >> Cold, dark, cramped, no sky-- the image of a mine, filtered through the brain of a dragon, complete with a very real shiver of apprehension. << Don't want to go there. >>
There's a lurking smile right when Taikrin catches herself ranting, but Leova keeps a lid on it, at least until she's called upon to chuckle. Which she does. "What I /want/," she says then, only to pause. Maybe it's for Vrianth and her telling Szadath, << /You/ would not fit. >> At least, when he's bigger. But the implication's worse: that his rider, without him, /would/. "What I want is, if I say something that you don't like, you hear me out anyway. Bonus points if you don't get mad, or don't act like it. Don't want a yes-ma'am anything-you-say-ma'am either, at least not when we're talking like this. Save it for drills. And when I've had my say? You tell me what you think of it. You still don't like it? Try'n make me come around to your side, with words, with the way you hold yourself. You get a turn, so take it."
Taikrin is flat-out confused; the way she stares at Leova, it's as if the older woman is speaking a different language altogether. "Y'just want me to... what?" She turns to look up at Szadath again, and the brown once more withdraws from contact with Vrianth to engage in rapid-fire consultation. Finally: "T'just... listen? An'... yer not gonna get mad at me, neither, if I don't know somethin' or I say somethin' wrong or whatever, yeah?" There's a feel there of laying out the conditions, striking a bargain. << No. And I would not stay, anyways. Nobody can make me. >> There's defiance, finally, and a spark of spirit that he's been otherwise keeping in check. << We would not stay. I would not leave mine to that. >>
"If you get pissy, I might get pissy," Leova admits for that bargain. "Going to /try/ not to, anyhow. Sort of the point, hm?" She scrubs her knuckles over her cheekbone, glances skyward. Mutters, "Not much light left. /Any/how. Listen. Hear. Think that maybe I've got a reason for saying something, even if you don't know it right off. And I'll listen to what you got to say. We mess up, we try'n get past it. Bet not even Meara got everything right the first try, hm?" not that the weyrlingmaster's exhibited herself as a model of perfection, but wouldn't it be a picture if she did? This, while Vrianth's sending energy straight for that spark, like she'd spike it higher if she could: << Yes. >> This. << Best, if they don't even want to send her. Best, they know what you can /do/. >> Back to him, those flashes of sweat and effort and drills and, thanks to Vrianth, /speed/.
Mention of oncoming dark also spurs Taikrin's gaze upwards, registering surprise at how quickly the sun has trended behind the mountains. "I-- guess. Can do that. Can try, at least." In a sudden flurry of movement, Taikrin is pushing away from the brown's side to slapping his shoulder and berate, "Up, lazy! Lookit you, loungin' around here when yer s'pposed t'be flyin' around enjoyin' yerself! Up! Git!" And as she's backing towards Leova and Vrianth, giving Szadath room to spread his wings with mock-annoyed rumble, she glances over her shoulder once more. "I got lots of stuff t'say, y'know. Might want t'be careful what yer promisin'." Preparations complete, Szadath throws himself into the air with the same lack of grace previously demonstrated -- and the same burst of ice-cold enthusiasm. << /We/ are the best. >>
Date: Day 9, Month 8, Turn 22 of Interval 10
NorCon MUSH - 4/28/2010
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Mountain Meadow(#1636R)
A long, broad valley sandwiched between taller mountain peeks. The lush grasses stand at waist height and sway gently in the constant breeze. In spring, the meadow comes alive, turning the ocean of green into a sea of reds, blues, yellows and oranges as tiny flowers burst into bloom. At dawn and dusk, small herds of wild herbivores might be seen at the end of the valley as shadowy shapes who keep well away from visitors. Winding along the edge of the mountain base as it follows a downward slope, a small stream provides clear, fresh water from the snow capped peaks.
For the occasion, the meadow has been set out with long tables, brightly coloured blankets, and hte occasional sun canopy. The still-melting snow makes the ground squelchy underfoot - and there are some definite mud puddles for those thatway inclined - but otherwise, it could not be a more perfect spot. With the food set off to one side, there's plenty of open space for games and activities.
The air - still slightly chilly despite the warmth of the sun - has clear and fresh, out here; nonetheless, it's just about the most perfect spring day imaginable.
Available Commands: +tp/help
Contents:
Szadath(#1824ep$0)
Leova
Vrianth
Obvious exits:
Out
It is a summer dusk, 20:32 of day 9, month 8, turn 22 of Interval 10.
Taikrin has been subdued for the last sevenday or two, unusually quiet for the most part but prone to outbursts of temper. However, she's never been one to turn down an offer of a sparring bout, nor to deny Szadath the opportunity to fly somewhere new: thus here she is, swinging down from Vrianth's straps in the afternoon sunlight. The advent of flight has made the brown, on the other hand, into enough of an exuberantly excited creature that he radiates enjoyment enough for the both. The brown's landing is characteristically fast and aggressive, and though a patch of wildflowers gets flattened, he doesn't appear to hurt himself this time. "Not bad, Szad!" The ex-con keeps her back turned towards the weyrlingmaster pair, stretching her arms over her head as she wanders towards Szadath. "Gettin' th' hang of that'n."
"He is that," Leova says with amiable-enough appreciation once she too is down, and then busies herself with getting Vrianth's straps off, heaving them into a more-or-less-together bundle. The green, freed, rubs her wings together in an uncharacteristically fussy motion before eyeing the rest of the meadow and, within it, the half-her-size brown. "Need to stretch first? Or have you been."
For a moment, it appears as though Szadath will launch himself back into the air, so wistful is the expression he directs at the sky. Whether through silent conversation or an idea of his own, though, he instead flops gracelessly down on the ground, wings spread to catch the maximum of sunlight. "Ha! Yeah, s'right, it /is/ my turn." The fond smile Taikrin has for the brown fades when she finally turns to eye Leova with arms still over her head. "Reckon I'll warm up okay as we go. Warm enough out here anyways. D'you need to-- y'know? Do somethin'?"
"Should," Leova decides, and pushes her hands up her arms like pushing up sleeves, except hers got torn off long ago. "Been sitting on my arse too much of the day, helping file that hung toenail. You know." One of the bronzes. "Anyhow, don't reckon someone's going to give us time to warm up if we get jumped, but can't say as I want to pull anything today." As for Vrianth? She's got a glinting thought Szadath's way, a, << Coming? >> and /she/ launches in that sky he'd been looking at, as though to take his place.
Szadath has certainly had more than his fair share of chipped and damaged talons over the last few sevendays... perhaps he's no longer breaking them because most of them are already /broken/. No sooner does Vrianth send that comment, though, then he's scrambling to his feet and launching himself after her with /way/ more effort than strictly called for. << YEAH! >> At least he's moving up into the air quickly to make up for his lack of finesse. "Yeah. Well. Different story, out here." Taikrin's voice is gruff, despite the half-smile directed over her shoulder at the airborne Szadath. "Can wait, if y'want. Y'got any rules, like? Offlimits stuff, or whatever?"
Quickly is good. Quickly, Vrianth can tolerate. Quickly, means she promptly slices into a nice sharp turn. Possibly too sharp? At least it's away from Szadath, instead of towards him. Faster! Her rider coughs into her wrist, conveniently there what with the stretching she's started to do, more than just the reaching Taikrin had been doing: arms, legs, reaches and twists, quick and efficient. "Hm. Don't mind bruises, just as soon nothing worse. Shoulders down. Fair 'nough? Liked that one thing you did, the other day, want to learn it." The so-precisely-described thing.
"Fair enough. I'll try t'steer clear of th'face, like." Was that a hint of sarcasm in Taikrin's voice? She doesn't give the weyrlingmaster time to ponder it before she's moving to within two paces, bouncing on her toes while she does a full-body shake. "Ready whenever you are." Beat. "Which thing? I got so many." There's /definitely/ a cocky smile there, at least. Meanwhile, Szadath's lungs work like a bellows as he pushes to keep up, banking in a wider turn in an attempt to cut across Vrianth's line. << You're fast! I like fast. >> Despite the enormous effort he's outputting, raw delight has made his voice /very/ loud and /very/ swirlingly cold. << I want to be so fast! >>
Evidently Leova heard it whether there was or not, because she gives right back, "Got to stay all beautiful-like, for the Gathers, hm?" and fluffs long, invisible curls. Which turns into a step closer, longer than she maybe rightly should... and an easy punch towards the shoulder. Warmup-like. But fast. "Right you are. Maybe it'll come to me." It can't hurt her easy humor that the twice-longer-if-not-larger green's aiming to /let/ Szadath try to cut her off... and then slant her wings to steal his wind. Never mind that it's loud. Very loud. << You can /try/. >>
A quick "Hah!" is all Taikrin has time for before she's flowing backwards and to the side in a quick dodge. Though her hands are held up, loose-fisted, at chest level, she appears content to follow Leova's lead for the moment. She's in constant motion, light on her feet and weaving faintly from side to side. "I got lots of skills, me." There's an edge to her voice, though, that can't be wholly attributed to the natural tension that happens during a spar. << Woah! >> Szadath is startled by the oncoming green, backwinging clumsily and then sideslipping over. There's some altitude loss, which he's quick to compensate for with powerful downstrokes. << How'd you /know/?! >>
"Right you do," says Leova in much the same tone as before, giving her sparring partner a friendly sort of guff without the younger rider's edge. Might not even notice it. Certainly she doesn't commit herself to much right off, testing those quick reflexes of Taikrin's, though there's a would-be ankle-hook that breaks what's become a swift-paced rhythm. Vrianth, meanwhile, waits for Szadath to catch up, if also with a distinct sense of dialing down the volume. And since he puts such effort into making that catch-up-/soon/, she rewards it with a sense of /energy/, of /this/ way, of chances not quite so predictable as to be boring. Without words. Just, /there/. And then there's a glance sideways, as she makes her way higher towards those stronger winds her companion might like: does he need a translation?
Taikrin takes advantage of the weight-shift that comes with that ankle-hook, allowing her momentum to flow towards Leova... along with a solid punch from her opposite arm that's hastily redirected towards the older rider's shoulder area. Any mirth that might have been in her expression is pretty quickly draining into a stony sort of scowl. Szadath is certainly putting in as much effort as his young muscles can muster in his pursuit of Vrianth, even as his mind churns with the information dump. As his rhythm is re-established and altitude gained, he radiates a sort of wordless, echoey dull roar of excitement-- /winds/!
She hits, too, an audible thump of contact that sends the greenrider back a step... though Leova less falls back than takes it. Lets it half-turn her. And strikes for the brownrider's ribs. Her own expression's getting more serious, amber eyes narrowed, though more in concentration than displeasure. Vrianth's far more overt with the spark of approval sent Szadath's way: wings, indeed! << Show me, >> she says now in that gravelly voice of hers, underscoring it with a mental /reach/: show her how it feels, to be buffeted the way he is, to fly the way he does.
There's a wordless grunt at the impact of arm to shoulder, then another as she twists with a slippery sort of movement to mitigate the rib punch into a glancing blow. And then she's dancing away momentarily, attempting to put a pace or two of room between the two while flexing the arm on the impacted side. "Not bad," she allows, voice still gruff and edged. From Szadath there's a sudden burst of /feeling/, of fighting against unfamiliar wind currents with only instinct and raw force, of riding powerful muscles right on the redline, of making every movement into a battle and a triumph. He knows naught of finesse and skill -- those will come, eventually. For now it is only he, Szadath, fighting the wind.
Eventually. But it's Vrianth, and even as she rides the excitement of what he's sent as though it were wind itself, she can't let it go. Even as her own rider follows that movement, not too fast on the uneven footing, angled just a /little/ to try and get that sun behind her, Vrianth reaches back: so, and /so/, and she puts it into action. /So/. Angle that leading edge just a little more, can he feel it? Just a little more for starters, he can have more of a handle on it, can battle winds that are that much stronger than what he can have just now. This, when her rider says briefly, "Thanks." Advances. Doesn't move, just yet, to strike: just sees whether Taikrin will give ground.
Taikrin coils in on herself, still-and-yet-not as she watches Leova's advance. There's a flash of something on her face, a tell, and then she's pushing off her back foot to lunge at the greenrider in a rugby-style tackle, seeking to overpower her up and backwards with pure momentum. Wings twitch, Szadath's focus shifting momentarily from altitude-gaining to playing with the indicated movements. He purposefully overcompensates first one way then the other, tipping himself along a sort of rollercoaster dip as he plays with the fine-tuning. << This, and here? >> Excitement is muted behind sudden seriousness, an intent to study and absorb the strategy being offered.
Maybe it's an oof! and maybe it's a, "Nice!" and maybe it's something in between. Amber eyes widened at that warning, /she's/ trying to grab and twist and send Taikrin flying over her hip: momentum, redirected. It's enough to get Vrianth distracted, tuning Szadath out somewhat with a sudden impulse of careful-careful-/careful/. /Not/ directed at him. Exactly. She's gotten so she's circling over the pair of humans, down below. Still, when more of her focus returns, << There, >> she half-agrees, half-clarifies, because the wind's /moved/ since he's tried it last. And then there's that sudden surge of energy again: /better/. For now. Question is, is she being careful enough.
It is not, perhaps, Taikrin's finest moment, but as Leova's grabbing, so is she, seeking to wrap arms securely around the other woman's midsection. If Taikrin's going over? She's not going alone. The greenrider might also feel the poke of something blunt -- like a stick or a jabbed thumbtip -- over one of her kidneys. Not hard enough to do damage, but enough to be, well, noticed. Szadath is distracted by Vrianth's distraction; he hovers in a way he probably wouldn't (or couldn't) were he paying attention, peering down at the two women. Once he's not so intent on fighting the wind, he seems to have a much easier time simply /riding/ it. Abruptly, out of nowhere, comes the question, << What is this? >> along with an image of a weyrling knot threaded with silver.
<< That. >> Is unimportant just now, or maybe ever, Vrianth fixated on her rider's tumble with his and there's that poke and was that a rock that her knee's smacking into? and her Leova's breath has hissed out and she's /trying/ to do something with her elbow that wards off any future jab, except there's a distraction in the name of Vrianth arrowing down and, "/Stop/ it." Not for Taikrin. Except, for all that the rangy dragon spills at least some wind out from her wings in a fractional nod to slowing, it may not be exactly clear.
Taikrin is laid flat on back with another grunt, unable to roll with the momentum despite an attempted twist to do so. But then she's all scrabbling, twisty limbs as she tries to disentangle herself to get /up/ and /away/, crowing roughly in between gasped breaths, "I got ya, I could'a /killed/ you!" Perhaps not the most intelligent thing to say, as attention is drawn upwards towards the descending green. Szadath continues to trail behind Vrianth, a ghost of worry preceeding him in his clumsily controlled descent. << That...? >> Icy cool tendril reaches down towards the green. << We got you fair. No cheating. >>
Oh, she can get away. Leova's busy banging the back of her head against the ground, which probably isn't the most intelligent thing to /do/, but at least it's plain old dirt and weeds-excuse-me-/wildflowers/ instead of a rock there too. Along with it, she mutters something profane along the lines of kill-me-now. Except not. At least it's enough to stall Vrianth more than Szadath can hope to. Vrianth, who's radiating static enough to envelop that tendril if it comes too near, but at least she seems to have agreed to circle. For now. Briefly: << What? >>
It takes a moment for Taikrin to get her wildly gasping breaths back under control, though she remains tense and wary for Leova to strike at any moment. Surely she's miming injury. One hand idly rubs at the ribs that had been impacted earlier, while the other shakes out a bit of twig. "If I had a knife, like," she continues with another wary glance overhead, "Could'a killed you. Lettin' someone get close, s'too dangerous." And that lecture-y, smug note in her voice? Probably not very welcome. << Can't help in playfight, >> Szadath clarifies, though he maintains his careful distance otherwise from the green. He's content to cede the nearer ground to her in exchange for maintaining altitude. << It's cheating. Against the rules. >>
Don't think Vrianth hasn't noticed that upward look. Because /she's/ looking too, head snaked under her wing. Staring, even. It doesn't prevent her from replying, << She was not /play/ful. >> Possibly her Leova. Probably his rider. Though her projection's more controlled now, there's still a snap and crackle to it, if not precisely a pop. And it may not do the civilizing of Svadath any good, that distinct air of rebellion against those /other/ rules. Through which Leova says, "Yeah, well. You /had/ a knife, could've let her come down. /Distracting/." One last bang, and she winds up just setting her head down in favor of bring her knee up, gingerly, so she can rub it... with her far hand. "So what would you have done?" Big shot.
"What, after I stabbed you? Reckon would'a been a race, then." It's possibly a bit troubling, the thought Taikrin has apparently put into this. And /more/ troubling, the matter-of-fact way she recounts it. "Reckon I would'a stayed under you, 'till it weren't a problem no more. Y'nail a body in th'right spot, don't take too long." Eventually she relents, edging a bit nearer to Leova when it becomes apparent the other woman isn't going to spring at her. "Yer okay, yeah?" All this hovering is pretty exhausting, though Szadath won't admit it. Instead he spirals to the ground, casual-like, so he can stare /up/ at Vrianth instead of down. << Sure was. Not-playful is, >> A host of images flicker, most likely pulled from Taikrin's memory given the way they're dull, washed out: wild bar fights, consuming rage, dripping blood, and the icy burn of a real knife wound. << No rules then. Only for playfight. >>
"Before," the greenrider says to the sky. Her own breathing's still a little harsh. "And meant, if you were in /my/ shoes." She keeps rubbing her knee, not too hard, though also less gingerly now. Her breathing's gotten more like regular. And even with Taikrin getting nearer like that, there's no sudden grab to yank at her ankle. "See, Tai. Exercises're one thing, but this... not in pattern. You surprised me. Hanging on like that. S'/good/. But Vrianth... Got in trouble for it. When it was us who were weyrlings." That Vrianth, she's eyeing those memories of Svadath's, gliding, gliding. She could stay up there forever. And the way those memories are dulled, their significance is harder to pick out. Except for the money shot. << Your woman must not do that with /mine/. >>
Taikrin lingers just barely within arm's reach of Leova, tilting her head from one side to the other in a rather unsuccesful attempt to relieve the tension cording the muscles there. "Oh, well. See someone come chargin' at me like that? Would'a got out of th'way, like. 'Least try t'contain their hands, y'know? Was a guy, would'a gone for th'nuts." Her glance upwards mirrors Szadath's at talk of the dragon, then. "In trouble f'r what now?" The brown himself is all cool confidence, born of familiarity with this sort of thing. << Well, no. Not for /real/. This is practice. For after. >> He pauses, then adds curiously, << What about Rhabarith's? Can she with him? >>
"Contain their hands... suppose I should've done that." Leova says it more dourly than strictly necessary, her low voice lightening as she goes on. "Reckoned I had mass on you, hm? And sometimes... get tired of staying out of the way." She takes another breath, one that starts out tight and gradually, purposefully slackens. << Riders are not to attack riders, >> says Vrianth, /believes/ Vrianth. Especially not hers, Svadath should keep in mind. There's a low-running intensity running through her still, an invisible current that does not approach light. "Well. Y'know how Ti... the Weyrwoman was teaching some people, early on. For me it was the Weyrleader, as he was then. You know N'thei? Glacier." She says it like Taikrin /should/.
There's tension in the air, and Taikrin seems to feed off of it. She bounces back a pace, arms folding defensively across her chest and expression settling into stony lines. "Can't take chances in a fight. Get yerself killed that way," she repeats, rather sourly. "But-- yeah. I guess. Whatever. N'thei, right. What'd he do, anyways?" Szadath spreads tired wings, sunlight reflecting off silvered spars, and ponders this concept. << But what if he comes for mine first? We will protect ourselves. >> He adds, confidently, << Mine is sure that he will. Because of that thing. >> A flash, again, of the knot he was so confused about earlier.
"Maybe that's the difference between a fight and a workout." Taikrin's stepped back, but Leova doesn't follow her, not even with her eyes. She does move on to flexing her knee, though, measured motions: taking it slowly, right at first. N'thei: big man, a fighter's scars, and larger than life. "Went after me. Didn't know much at all about defense, back then. Vrianth... she's pretty protective," and that's pretty much an understatement. She sits up, bracing her hands on the ground, flexing her back: there's solid muscle, there on her shoulders and upper arms, where her clothes can't hide her physique. << He had /better/ not. And if he tries, and is caught, /we/ will see to him. >> Isath's rider, more likely, but with Vrianth, such things tend to be personal. About that silver strand, though: << Why would that matter? >>
"Yeah, well... never know when one's gonna turn into th'other. Can't take chances." There's a distinct lack of trust in Taikrin's voice, and the way her gaze darts from Szadath to Vrianth and back to Leova speaks of wariness to boot. "What'd she do? Stick up for you, yeah? Seems okay t'me. Someone comin' after me for real, shardin' well /hope/ I got Szadath t'back me up." Szadath's touch attenuates, though not before shading cooly with confusion. When he returns, it's with a sense of him repeating something he's been told. << Because he thinks he has authority and... backing? Is that what it means? >> He's really not too clear on the details, but he's trying. << They like him. He dislikes us. So they must dislike us also? >> He's /also/ not too clear on the 'they' part.
"Went after him," Leova confirms, her tone conflicted even now, though there's a low warmth there that's all for her dragon. "Thing is, though. Certain things, got to be able to /take/ them, not ramp up. Handle them, not fly off the handle. /Control/." As for the now full-grown dragon in question, she's continuing to circle, but now it's with lazy adjustments so minimal that she might as well float. And there's new interest, taking these concepts of Szadath's, turning them over. Shaking them out. << We had one of those, >> Vrianth points out offhandedly. << My Leova keeps it, though she does not often look at it. He should have a great deal to do, should be too /tired/ to bother you, >> and here her source is likely rider-recollection... though certain /associations/ with particular objects don't ever really leave.
Taikrin's expression darkens notably after Szadath's exchange with Vrianth, arms tightening convulsively across her chest as she dances back another few paces. "/That/ why y'brought us out here, then? So's y'can tell me I gotta control my temper, like?" This is apparently a sore subject, because she's building up quite a head of steam. "'Taikrin, why you gotta be so rough?'" Her voice slips into a mocking falsetto. "'Taikrin, why can't y'act like a civilized person?' 'Taikrin, why can't y'be more like F'reln 'cause he's so good an' perfect an' everybody loves him.'" Szadath's full attention shifts from Vrianth, finally, and with a low rumble he circles around and behind his rider.There's a bit of a chilly sting to his wordless sending, though, as he picks up on his rider's growing agitation. "Well I ain't done /nothin'/ t'any of you an' I don't /need/ nobody an' their special learnin'! Me an' Szad'll get along just fine on our own!"
Is it irritating, the way Leova leans back on her elbows like that, not doing anything to protect her delicate ribs or, really, anything at all? It's like she's just soaking up the sun, that's all, at least when Vrianth's not blotting it out in her ceaseless passes. "/Reckon/ I brought you out because I thought your dragon'd like to stretch his wings... and because it's somewhere that's not in those stone walls." Her tone is calm, even, like she's back working with a nervy filly. Except a runner wouldn't get the humor in her dry, "'Sides, I wanted to get out too." Even Vrianth can project equanimity, though there's a certain residual impatience to get on with it, already.
It's a talent, really, the ability to work herself up into a self-righteous froth as Taikrin has done with so little external prompting. "Yeah, sure." There's suspicion there in spades, and the only reason she doesn't withdraw further is because Szadath has appeared at her back, nose hovering carefully over one shoulder. "An' it ain't t'warn me I gotta be a good girl an' mind my place else someone's dragon's gonna eat me or somethin'. Or yer gonna just stick us /both/ back in a work camp." Szadath returns, briefly, though not without that biting cold to his voice. << Why is Rhabarith's so special anyways? I think he cheats. Mine is sure he does. >>
"Nah, not a work camp. Though K'del's got this thing about plowing..." though just /maybe/ that's also not great to dwell on, just now. Leova's got a one-shouldered shrug. "Anyhow. If you had a drink, every time someone said something like that to you, just how drunk would you get? These days. This last sevenday, say." Supplements Vrianth, not shying away from the /cold/ if only because she's willful that way, << If she had one of those, she could /watch/ him. And look for /evidence/. >> Proof!
"More'n you people think I oughta have, that's f'r shardin' sure," Taikrin shoots back quickly. "'Specially from that asshole F'reln an' th'ones he's got in his pocket. Were okay, a few of 'em, a'fore he got--" At that her jaw clamps shut again, gaze shooting down and /away/ in frustration. "An' anyways everyone said it enough they don't even need t'say it no more. Y'all just got a /look/." Szadath ever so carefully lowers his bulk behind Taikrin to stretch out as a bulwark at her back, and only once she's protected from behind does he allow his gaze to follow the circling Vrianth. << Could she? Is that how it works? Like a special pass so she can follow /him/ instead of him following us? >>
Polarity shifts back and forth, back and forth, yes and no. << She could do that. >> But. << She would have /work/. >> First. "Sounds like I better not ask you how many drinks it would be, one for each look," Leova all but drawls, still reposed. "Anyhow. Thought about what happens when you get out of weyrlinghood? What you want to do. What you want it to be like."
"I--- when I what?" Taikrin is jolted out of the snit she's got herself into by the unexpected question, stony grimace transforming into a thoughtful frown before she can remember that she's young and angry and full of rage. "After? I-- I dunno." Her head tilts back, glancing at Szadath with furrowed brows. "He likes drillin'. An-- this greenrider, she was talkin' 'bout explorin' places. At th'ocean. Just flyin' for as long as they can." There's vulnerability, a flash of it, there for just a moment before it's masked by suspicion again. "Anyways, I just want Szadath treated like he deserves. Nobody lookin' down on him or nothin' just 'cause of what I might'a did, before." The tip of the brown's tail twitches, rather like a feline, as he ponders. << Work. We like to work. We work /hard/. >> Biting cold fades into a mere chilly swirl, accompanied with flashes of sweat and effort and firestone sacks and sprints and drills.
<< Easy work, >> Vrianth doesn't so much dismiss as accept: of course he and his rider would work hard at that, of course they would be good at it due to that very effort. << It would be harder for her to hold her tongue. >> There's no moral judgement there. It could equally be an evaluation of the color of a particular rock. Too hard? That might be up to them. "Some of the wings still drill plenty," Leova mentions. "Mine isn't one of 'em, but it leaves time for other things. Infirmary shifts. Exploring, apparently. Anyhow. Chances you'll wind up in the same wing as F'reln? Pretty small. Chances the wingleaders'll hear what everyone's like as a weyrling, when they go to pick teams? Pretty big."
Ever so slowly Taikrin relaxes enough to lean back against Szadath's comforting bulk, and though her arms remain folded, some of the tension has dissipated. "What's that s'pposed t'mean?" Wary caution there, but not the kind that speaks of readiness to trigger fight-or-flight. "They're all gonna have it in f'r me, then? Well, fuck 'em. I ain't gonna crawl on my belly just t'make someone feel better, an' Szad ain't gonna, neither. He's /good/ an' anyone who don't see it's stupid." Pride there, in her lifemate if not in herself. << Hold it? Hold it for what? Why? >> Blunt-minded Szadath has probably less comprehension of this than even Taikrin. << Why not tell people things? Being sneaky is kind of like cheating. >>
<< There is telling, and then there is how it is told, >> Vrianth points out in a glitter of energy, << She need not crawl, but also not bristle. >> It's right when Leova's saying, quite mildly, "Who said anything about crawling? Crawling just calls 'em over to step on you." Speaking of which: Vrianth's drifting into a gradual descent, but it's a wide sort of spiral that should mean all /she/ steps on is more of the weeds. "Reckon folks figure, weyrlinghood's for learning. Lots of people change, a lot. Some of 'em figure what they want to keep. Question is, are they going to think of what's ahead, aim for /that/, or just play around like this is all there is."
<< When I want someone to know something, I just tell them. Then they know. Then we go and hunt or chase or sometimes they get tired of playing and have a nap. >> Subtlety is truly lost on Szadath. Right on the tail of that, though, he's admitting in a quiet rumor-y sort of way, << Sometimes she gets very angry, though. >> Because /that's/ a big surprise. "Yeah, well, s'why I won't do it. Did enough crawlin', when I had to. Ain't gonna do it no more." Taikrin scuffs the toe of her boot into the ground, studying the action as if it were of paramount importance. "We're learnin' all kinds of stuff. Y'can ask th'harper if we ain't. We don't need fancy words t'work out th'flight diagrams an' th'fall charts. Learn whatever we have to. Need to." When her gaze returns to Leova, it's got a fierce sort of drive to it. "Have t'be th'best. Szad deserves it. He /is/."
Vrianth doesn't even try to sound surprised. She does oblige Szadath by giving him a hush-hush sort of whisper, but that's the extent of it: << /Do/ you think people do not notice? >> This, as she lands, more or less equidistant between him and her rider. Closer, it must be said, to her rider. Who says, mildly still, "Can see you're working hard, got no doubt there. So you know why people /would/ pick you for an ace wing. And if you also know why they mightn't... s'up to you to work on that too, or let it slide. Easier to let it slide."
"What, they think what they think. Ain't nothin' I can do 'bout that." Taikrin is more resigned to this fact than anything else. "I ain't stabbed nobody or beat 'em up or stole their stuff, but whatever, y'know? I might. Dangerous, me." Vrianth's landing is studied by a gaze lidded ostentibly against the dust she kicks up. "Can't do nothin' else." The brown too watches the landing, though with more of an academic interest -- he's still working out the kinks from his. << Well, sometimes they do. And usually they deserve it. Sometimes we're very small and quiet. >>
Small and quiet? << Why? >> inquires the green, who's poured herself across the grass in a long curve that maximizes the amount of sun she can soak up with those re-extended wingsails. "Think you can," Leova says in that same matter-of-fact tone as before. "Like I said, it's more what you do now that matters." She leans over to rub Vrianth's jaw, sending the dragon's inner lids half-closed with pleasure. "But that's only if you want."
<< Because. We're not supposed to realfight with our clutchmates. Only playfight. >> Cue exagerated image of Taikrin and Szadath off in an isolated corner of the bowl, working out aggression by, well, working out. Taikrin remains oblivious to the dragons' conversation; her focus is fixed on Leova, now, and she strains forward as far as she can without leaving the comfort of Szadath's bulk. "/How/?" Less plaintivly, she adds, "Don't know what else I'm s'pposed t'be doin', here. Doin' what we're told t'do, an' we ain't beatin' on people, an' it ain't /enough/."
There's silence from Vrianth, but energy's flowing, /something/ going on. Her rider doesn't overtly remark upon Taikrin's shift in posture, but she does give the younger woman a half-smile, and a sideways half-smile at that. "Afraid," she says like it's a confession, "If we get to talking, you'll bug out or get pissed." Like maybe it would be Leova's fault, somehow. And somewhere in there is when Vrianth finally responds, << Szadath. There can be challenge without fighting. >> He does know this too, yes? << You do not need to be small. >> And there's also humor: Szadath /can't/, increasingly, be small.
"What d'you /mean/ I'm gonna--" It's to her credit that Taikrin manages to catch herself /before/ the insulted rant gets off the ground, and forcibly modulates her tone to something a bit more reasonable. "I just-- don't know what y'want. Or expect. From me. If y'say somethin' that makes me mad, I'm gonna get mad. I ain't gonna hit you or nothin'." It's apparently meant to be reassuring, this promose of passivity. "'Less you ask me to or somethin', I guess." And look, even a weak spot of humor. << We are careful, sometimes. Better not to fight. Or: >> Cold, dark, cramped, no sky-- the image of a mine, filtered through the brain of a dragon, complete with a very real shiver of apprehension. << Don't want to go there. >>
There's a lurking smile right when Taikrin catches herself ranting, but Leova keeps a lid on it, at least until she's called upon to chuckle. Which she does. "What I /want/," she says then, only to pause. Maybe it's for Vrianth and her telling Szadath, << /You/ would not fit. >> At least, when he's bigger. But the implication's worse: that his rider, without him, /would/. "What I want is, if I say something that you don't like, you hear me out anyway. Bonus points if you don't get mad, or don't act like it. Don't want a yes-ma'am anything-you-say-ma'am either, at least not when we're talking like this. Save it for drills. And when I've had my say? You tell me what you think of it. You still don't like it? Try'n make me come around to your side, with words, with the way you hold yourself. You get a turn, so take it."
Taikrin is flat-out confused; the way she stares at Leova, it's as if the older woman is speaking a different language altogether. "Y'just want me to... what?" She turns to look up at Szadath again, and the brown once more withdraws from contact with Vrianth to engage in rapid-fire consultation. Finally: "T'just... listen? An'... yer not gonna get mad at me, neither, if I don't know somethin' or I say somethin' wrong or whatever, yeah?" There's a feel there of laying out the conditions, striking a bargain. << No. And I would not stay, anyways. Nobody can make me. >> There's defiance, finally, and a spark of spirit that he's been otherwise keeping in check. << We would not stay. I would not leave mine to that. >>
"If you get pissy, I might get pissy," Leova admits for that bargain. "Going to /try/ not to, anyhow. Sort of the point, hm?" She scrubs her knuckles over her cheekbone, glances skyward. Mutters, "Not much light left. /Any/how. Listen. Hear. Think that maybe I've got a reason for saying something, even if you don't know it right off. And I'll listen to what you got to say. We mess up, we try'n get past it. Bet not even Meara got everything right the first try, hm?" not that the weyrlingmaster's exhibited herself as a model of perfection, but wouldn't it be a picture if she did? This, while Vrianth's sending energy straight for that spark, like she'd spike it higher if she could: << Yes. >> This. << Best, if they don't even want to send her. Best, they know what you can /do/. >> Back to him, those flashes of sweat and effort and drills and, thanks to Vrianth, /speed/.
Mention of oncoming dark also spurs Taikrin's gaze upwards, registering surprise at how quickly the sun has trended behind the mountains. "I-- guess. Can do that. Can try, at least." In a sudden flurry of movement, Taikrin is pushing away from the brown's side to slapping his shoulder and berate, "Up, lazy! Lookit you, loungin' around here when yer s'pposed t'be flyin' around enjoyin' yerself! Up! Git!" And as she's backing towards Leova and Vrianth, giving Szadath room to spread his wings with mock-annoyed rumble, she glances over her shoulder once more. "I got lots of stuff t'say, y'know. Might want t'be careful what yer promisin'." Preparations complete, Szadath throws himself into the air with the same lack of grace previously demonstrated -- and the same burst of ice-cold enthusiasm. << /We/ are the best. >>