| Who | Jiamoth, Esanth |
|---|---|
| What | Shortly after Jiamoth's injury, Esanth undertook to learn how to get along as a 3-legged dragon. The two discuss his findings. |
| When | There are 0 turns, 3 months and 17 days until the 12th pass. |
| Where | Southern Weyr |
Esanth hums « Miss Jiamoth, Brightest, » the berth set aside is welcoming as ever, warm and clean, much of the space given over to a dressing table bedecked with sparkling strands, plumes, masks and remembrances. Here, the scent of rose overpowers oil and heated metal. « When might I call on you? » Thrumming shivers through the hull, through the starscape, cold momentarily banished as the stars wheel and flow.
Jiamoth gives a fan-flicker of burgeoning amusement, a lick of lace amidst a stately waltz of jewel-tinted silks. « So formal, Esanth. You would think I were ensconced in Talicanitath's weyr, a place of honor, rather than a ground weyr off the infirmary. » The lightness of the tone she uses makes it more jest than scolding but beneath the champagne bubbles are darker notes: a whiff of astringency, of sour wine and fellis, of numbweed and redwort. The music turns to the beat of a deep, throbbing ache; she came down wrong on her stump guard earlier. « I would be poor company tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, » she goes on to say. « Why? Are you going to bring me presents? »
Esanth thrums, « When space is infinite, any point can be the center, ma'am. » Stars wheel and flow down, down into the canals, stirring stars into the murky depths. The deep cold of the void flows with the stars, seeking the darkened room of her pain, sweat-dank, sour and hot, to cool and soothe. Hovering close, the star-flocked mass hangs back, thrumming soft, « No, ma'am, no presents. Just company. An' information. » Still quiet, a whisper of thrusters, holding position carefully, « I don't wish to intrude on your solitudinounsness. »
Jiamoth reacts less to gestures of light and soothing than the prospect of information. Who says he doesn't have presents? She nudges him once, gently. « That is no proper word, you made it up. What information do you have for me? »
Esanth flows forward a sigh of cool air and starlight settling into the dark corners. He wagered that she'd want information, but, the stars flicker his uncertainty, « It's really just business, ma'am. » The scribbling of a pen across a manifest and a somewhat indelicate thump of crates settling to the parquet floor, utilitarian amist the rich drapery and crystal, however dimmed, « I've been going about on three legs, » The stars above wheel the passing of time, a month or more, « An' feel I have enough to share with you, now. »
Jiamoth allows cosmetic changes; she is, after all, the consummate hostess and gracious enough to admire the effect of starlight caught in webs of shadow. « Visits from you, Esanth, are never just business. There is pleasure as well, I will enjoy seeing you. You have been… going about on three legs? » Guess whose memory let slip the quest she'd charged him with? That's right. It leads to a puzzled study. « But whatever for? »
Esanth is a low steady thrum, « So I can show you the trick of it. When you're ready. » Where the throb of Jiamoth's pain overlays his own thrumming, the intensity seems to increase and Esanth goes silent, still, cold creeping in, to numb and soothe the raw heat of pain. If the musician's hands grew cold… they'd slow… yes? Esanth's next is distant, stationed high above, tinny over the comms, « I don't think it will be comfortable. »
Jiamoth slowly digests this explanation and when she's looked at it every which way, she finds herself touched. « An entire month spent on three feet, so you could show me the tricks? How very thoughtful of you, Esanth. You really are so sweet. » She'd wrap him in ribbons of she could but instead settles for a pulse of light and warmth. « None of it has been very comfortable, I never expected that stumping around would be a joy either. But there are worse things. »
Esanth's tiny brightness hanging defiant against the Void flares at Jiamoth's warmth. He is near again, the thrumming coming only with his thoughts, instead of the steady pulse of his presence, « Getting up and down is awkward-making. That's the hardest of it. Walking slowly, also troublesome. Not for you, so much, as yours. » Crates in the ballroom spill open, diagrams and charts. Constellations in the sky flow and change. « I am not hurting. I don't know if this helps you now. »
Jiamoth flutters lace at him, a puff of gratitude and amusement that's scented of roses. « Of course it helps. Cerise has yet to mount up again, which means I would not have thought that it could be uncomfortable for her, the way I sway and wobble. And I suppose I will need to find a better way to launch myself, and land as well, but…all things in due time, mm? » From someone else, that might sound resigned. From Jiamoth, it comes with a dismissive fan flick and an upswing of violins. All in its own time. « I still cannot believe you crippled yourself for a full month for my sake. Rare dedication, Esanth. »
Esanth's stars stir in the shadows and canals, thrumming deepening at the flutter of lace and waft of rose. « Launching is not affected overmuch. Mine rather enjoys the lope, after I worked out how to not rattle his bones. » The thrumming stutters, Esanth's chuckle, « I will show you any and all of it as you are ready, ma'am. » The thrumming rises, a brief shuddering roar with an intent whistling overtone, « You are my crew. » It is truth. Though perhaps incomplete. The roar subsides, and the whistling overtone winds down without entirely vanishing, a thread of intensity lingering, « Mine helped. Though many times I was certain he'd switched feet on me. » The thrumming rises uncertainly at the end, with a stutter of amusement.
Jiamoth will be amused right along with him, though her humor takes the form of soaring notes and the clink of multitudes of crystal rims, all against each other. « You must relay my thanks to him as well, then. He is a good man, your young fellow. The healers have me doing exercises to help me regain my strength and stamina, I think once there is no risk of my splitting the, ah…» Stump is such a coarse word for a lady to use, she flashes instead an image of the spot in question. « By coming down on it wrong, I will be ready to practice with you. »
Esanth's warm little star glitters high above, « End, ma'am. Splitting the 'end.' » the blue supplies. « He'll be glad of it, ma'am. He worries about yours, » the stars blur and fog, thrumming grows distorted, wobbly, distant… low creaking of a vessel drifting in darkness.
Jiamoth finds that word far more to her tastes and casts the corona of a hundred candles' glow out into those dark reaches in thanks. « End, yes. » But here is a subject she prefers to steer well clear of, and that haze of golden light is withdrawn as she makes a show of yawning, of stretching, of preparing to retreat to her boudoir. « He is very thoughtful but not as thoughtful as you, Esanth dear. I should rest now but let's get together soon? »
Esanth glows, pleased, under the light of a hundred candles. Merry shadows dance every which way across railings and crates. Information conveyed, and Jiamoth yawning, Esanth takes his leave. The web-caught clouds of flickering blue stars splash to the floor, celestial glitter spraying and twinkling as it fades. A coolness lingers in the airs and the scent of metal and oil. From the warm little star high above, tinny with distance, « We are ever at your disposal. Rest well, Miss Jiamoth. » The stars wheel and fade into Jiamoth's own configuration, save for a small, bright star that glitters brightly once and fades.