==== December 15, 2013
==== Cha'el, K'vvan
==== Cha'el comes to congratulate K'vvan with a drink (which other then grumbling goes over well), while Nadeeth tells a story to Sikorth.

Who Cha'el, K'vvan
What Cha'el comes to congratulate K'vvan with a drink, while Nadeeth tells a story to Sikorth.
When 5 months and 18 days until the 12th pass.
Where Nadeeth's Ledge and A Hole Called Home

kvvan4.jpg Cha%27el%203.png

Nadeeth's Ledge
Three dragon harnesses hang upon the wall nearest the weyr door, and a small table sits beneath them with various brushes, polishing cloths and other dragon-care equipment neatly organized in baskets. The harnesses are all hide, but vary in the decoration. One is a simple work harness with no decorations. The other two bespeak the vanity of the small green. One is decorated with hides that have been dyed red, and the other with small pieces of shiny rock made into beads. Each of the harnesses are cared for with a great deal of love an affection- though the two decorated ones show a great deal of less use hen the utilitarian one. A large pile of hides take up a majority of the floor. Near the middle/back of the weyr hides are piled almost two feet deep, with that depth extending about half way through the weyr. An indention in the center of the pile shows it is Nadeeth's favorite place to sleep. A small walking path is kept clear with a well used broom between the door.


A Hole Called Home
Crude carved walls line the edges of this small abode. One wall has a medium sized bed piled with soft furs laying neatly tucked
along each sides. The single pillow rests waiting for a head to be laid upon it. At the foot of the bed and running the length of a wall are wooden shelves sitting almost hip height. 5 medium sided baskets sit upon the shelf, each holding articles of clothing neatly folded within. An old worn rug adorns the floor between the bed and an exit out to the ledge. A small table rests beside the opening holding a tinder box and the remains of a candle in a worn holder. Tucked out of sight around an awkward corner is a small fireplace sheltered from the winds of the ledge by its corner.

What does a solitary brownrider do when he eventually grows tired of staring at his dragon's rocky butt? He goes a-visiting. Where usually he would observe proper protocols and call ahead via Sikorth, Cha'el's learned enough about the Chosen One to be bestowed with his company to know he'd probably be flat out refused. And so, he simply…shows up. The big mottled brown lending the tiny green in residence on that there ledge, a short whuff of greeting hovers a few moments before executing a perfecting perpendicular landing. No need to go overboard about it. In a smooth dismount, boots to ground, the former Istan adjusts his grip on the bottle in hand and tips a salute Nadeeth's way and then, raising his voice, hollers. "Yo, Prickles!! You decent?"

Nadeeth whistles a quiet greeting, picking herself up from her comfy pile to make just a little more room on her ledge. The thought that reaches outwards is one of utter welcome, Sikorth is always welcome here if he wants to come. K'vvan on the other hand, comes out glaring. What IS it with people randomly landing on his ledge lately? "What the hell do you want Cha'el?"

Not much of a conversationalist and often quite blunt when he does attempt to engage, Sikorth settles himself smartly and sends the pretty little green an awkwardly stiff return of thanks for her generosity of welcome. As for Cha’el, bearded features wrap about a grin, not in the least bit put off by the prickly one when K’vvan stalks out of his weyr. “You’re lonely. I came to fix that.” A snort from the stone-like brown. “And to bring you this. Coconut rum. Best way to celebrate.”

Nadeeth curls out a ribbon to twine about Sikorth's thoughts, her curiosity only peaked by his stiff greeting. « Come, lay? » is the quiet invitation, as she makes room upon her mound of hides, pushing some towards the brown. "I'm not sure who told you that heap of runner's s*t, but I'm not at all lonely." The rum is eyed, "What are we celebrating?"

The ribbon sent out is mentally eyed. What can it be used for? Will it twine with the Ancient Enemy and throttle it? Curiosity draws forth the slow thump of blades purring in the background, every ready for lift-off and Sikorth uncoils, stiffly steps sideways and then gingerly arranges himself in a sphinx-like pose. Faceted eyes sliiide over to Nadeeth. « To what purpose? » Because everything must have a purpose and cuddling is not a concept the contained brown is familiar with.

K’vvan’s grumble draws a deeper grin into place and Cha’el makes a show of trying to peer into the weyr beyond. “You got a lady in there?” It’s a possibility, right? As for the reason for his intrusion, he lifts the bottle, eyes the label (with PRIDE) and holds it out to the greenrider. “That fancy knot weighing your shoulder down.”

As Sikorth engages, Nadeeth's ribbon grows. Slowly the ribons lengthens, shifting slowly to become a wide swatch of velvet fabric. « Because. » is her simple answer. She turns once, like a cat, then settles with her particular attention to perfection, looking upwards at the brown.

K'vvan's gaze flicks sideways to the knot he wears on his shoulder. "Like hell I'd have a girl. Come in." As he turns on his heel to lead the way into the he reaches up and detaches that particular knot from his shoulder and tosses it over to the shelf on Nadeeth's ledge.

Watching the ribbon grow, Sikorth is intrigued, trying to fit various purposes to its existence. A sharp updraft from the whirring blades of his mind, puffs it upwards to see what it does. « Is not an answer. » He observes dryly though in an uncharacteristic move does lift a wing – propriety and all that – for Nadeeth to settle beneath should she wish to do so. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. Or so he’s been told. Intense blue eyes silvered by amusement follows the flick of K’vvan’s gaze though whether it’s for his newfound rank or his reply, is left undetermined.

A frown is quick to follow at the removal and toss of said shoulderknot. “Looks like I arrived just in time,” is the brownrider’s quiet remark as he follows the greenrider inward.

« Needs no purpose but to be pretty. » Nadeeth asserts calmly. Sikorth's wind causes the ribbon to flutter, ancored securly as it is to Nadeeth. Under that wing she settles, as danity as a lady settling down for an evening of conversation in her parlor. As the riders leave, there is curiosity. « Why does yours wish to come visit mine? » The unadorned black velvet that is K'vvan joins the bright ribbon.

"Didn't ask for it, didn't want it. At least this way I can keep an eye on her more easily. Nadeeth doesn't get visitors often. If she wasn't over the moon right now I'd kick you out of my place." K'vvan explains as he leads inwards. Inside the weyr there is little to see. At one point shelving lined the walls, but now, only the holes bored into the stone remain. The space is empty of well… anything but a line of baskets which hold K'vvan's clothing, and a small fireplace that is not lit with the heat. K'vvan crosses over to the basket and fishes out two slightly battered cups, which he shoves at Cha'el.

Pretty? Now there’s a foreign concept. Though maybe not. « That you are, my dear. » The compliment probably coming off as a little awkward from the stiff brown. Once Nadeeth settles, his drops his wing, a light brush of mottled brown across the green of her hide. « He is lonely. » Sikorth bluntly replies, the image he holds for a tiny island in a sea of storms.

Silence follows Cha’el as he ambles inward, keen gaze noting the Spartan air of the small weyr. “Like what you’ve done with the place,” he drawls sardonically, tucking the cups shoved at him under an arm so that he might pry the cork on the bottle free. “She seems to be doing okay, so far,” the brownrider eventually comments on Arroyo’s wingleader, a soft pop punctuating a grunt when the corks flies free and lands Faranth knows where. “Wouldn’t exactly call Sikorth a visitor,” he goes on to remark, “the big bugger’s a bit of a social idiot.”

"She hasn't F*ked up yet, but I'll be watching." K'vvan allows, less then gracefully. His eyes follow the popped lid as it skitters across the empty floor. Once it has stopped moving he goes after it, plucking it from his floor. "Tell him to keep away when she's proddy then, she'll chatter his ear off." The comment falls off his lips before K'vvan pauses, and sends a sharp glance at the ledge. He shakes his head against whatever thought had begun to creep up, and turns back to Cha'el. "Are you going to pour or what?"

Outside Nadeeth lays her head down onto the cool stone floor, quite relaxed beside the stiff brown. Her ribons play out, curling around the island. « He is as mine. » Together a faded brown ribbon joins, and twirls around the black velvet. « One hopes the sparks do not fly…» As the ribbon and velvet twine every closer, small bits of static sparkle against the back..

“Ain’t it your job as her ‘second to have her back when she does?” Cha’el quietly prods with an arch of dark brow. “You make it sound like you’re just waitin’ for her to do so. Like you win some kind of bet if she does.” A snort is next to follow on the matter of proddy greens. “He don’t chase green so I think you’re fairly safe there.” Keeping mum about the fact that his wily brown has surprised him once before. “Here, hold these.” K’vvan is given much choice as the brownrider shoves the cups back to him and starts to upend the bottle. Hold ‘em out or watch the floor get drunk.

It appears that relaxation might be contagious for while Sikorth doesn’t exactly go into a messy sprawl, several threads of tension do leave his large form though he maintains the posture of a monolith thrust upright in the middle of a meadow. « Mine only fights for sport » He returns, drawn to the brown ribbon that appears, stalking after it and puffing drafts of air to watch it flutter and twirl. Almost playful. To the comment of sparks there is stony silence wherein lingers an image of three silhouettes. One female, two male, fire raging about the trio and then snuffed out as suddenly as it had appeared.

"Screw that. My job," and there is a slight twist to the word, as if it is a slightly unpleasant taste K'vvan is trying to rid himself of, "is to make sure none of us die. This all chromatic wing is her brainchild she managed to con W'rin into. One of us- her, N'cal or I screw up, a whole pile of s*t could pile on." The cups are grabbed as they're shoved over, "Don't spill that on my ground- I only just got it cleaned up from the last idiot who decided to get drunk."

Nadeeth's ribbons flutter in the winds, and she allows them to float. More ribbons reach up to braid themselves into the picture, shifting and snaking slowly to create the beginnings of a woven tapestry.

Cha’el has thus far, kept his thoughts of having an all chromatic wing to himself and so it is that a little seen frown sketches between expressive brows. He’s quiet for a few moments, busying himself with the task of aiming the lip of the bottle at the cups K’vvan’s holding on to. The scent of coconuts lifts up as liquid splashes into each until they’re filled midway and the bottle is pulled away again. “We’re green and blue heavy,” Cha’el finally remarks, “or bronze and brown light. However you wanna look at it. Arroyo’s not gonna make a full Fall even changin’ out unless some of you stay grounded until you’re needed.” Thus putting a fair amount of strain on the few brown pairs tapped into the wing.

Out on the ledge beyond, Nadeeth has managed to achieve the impossible. Sikorth is engaged. Though from his point of view, its not play, its an arranging of available elements to create a tight web – a safety net of sorts – his unwavering presence offering a solid line of steel to soft ribbons.

K'vvan snorts. "No, we never thought about it. Browns and the bronzes who managed to get in will provide the structure, with half the wing in reserve for the second half of the fall. She wants to prove the smaller dragons have a place as much as the bronzes. Here," K'vvan shoves one of the cups back to the brown rider.

A slight murr of satisfaction escapes from the curled up green. Her tapestry continues to be woven, growing in size and complexity. The images contained therein are complex, almost seeming to shift. Some show peeks of dragons in flight, others the shifting Igen sands.

Taking the cup shoved back at him, he raises it to his lips, blue eyes fixing to K’vvan over its rim, as that first sampling sip is enjoyed. Is that approval or amusement that flickers in ocean’s depths? Unclear even once the cup is tilted back down, Cha’el’s expression unreadable. “We’ll be faster, more agile than most wings,” he agrees, casting his gaze about the odd emptiness of the weyr. “You just move in here or something?” The brownrider goes on to ask, not finding anywhere to even park his butt.

The more complex the tapestry becomes, the keener Sikorth’s interest, the usually reserved brown prowling in closer to get a better look, his mind a vast and ancient stillness. « Show me more. »

K'vvan brings his own cup to his lips, but doesn't drink right away. His gaze is fixed on the brown rider, as if trying to weigh him for some character defect that must be levered up by via stare. "Haven't had the time to fix it back up since my last visitor." He steps lightly around Cha'el so K'vvan's back is to the doorway to the ledge, rather then Cha'el's "If you wanted creature comforts you came to the wrong place."

Nadeeth takes great pleasure in Sikorth's request. The tapestry grows as fine threads replace the larger ribbons, allowing depth and complexity to become the rule. Tightly do the threads twine together beginning to show a story, one of small creatures playing trickster.

Dark brows hike upwards. “Your last visitor was a bandit?” Cha’el queries a tease woven across his baritone. For surely that must explain the disappearance of what once had been. On the matter of creature comforts, there’s a soft snort that echoes into the cup raised once again to beard-framed lips, gaze tracking K’vvan’s subtle shift in position. Is the greenrider giving himself an easy exit or trapping the brownrider inside? Cha’el is undecided. “If I wanted creature comforts, I woulda stayed at Ista. This sand is really starting to chafe my arse now.” Hopefully not literally.

When ribbons become fine threads, Sikorth’s concentration intensifies, the silence of his mental space magnifying then sucking back in on itself, in its place the faint sound of ancient voices murmuring low and mystical chants. Midnight falls across his mental landscape, clouds scudding across a pale moon, trying to illuminate and identify the tricksters at play. « Continue. »

K’vvan misses the teasing tone and shrugs slightly. “Drunk smith moaning about some b*ch that broke up with him. Just haven’t replaced what he broke yet.” Which… looking at the emptiness of the small weyr, looks like he broke just about everything. K’vvan finally brings the cup to his lips and tastes the liquid, a small frown bridging between his eyebrows.

Nadeeth weaves her picture, advancing the story. The tricksters side around a large creature- is it a dragon? Perhaps one of the southern felines? The picture is indistinct. Sudden shifting comes into tight focus, a bag slung over the tricksters shoulder. So detailed is the tapestry, that close inspection will show even the bright green of the tricksters eyes.

Something of the candid explanation provided by K’vvan draws a twitch of brows. Not quite a frown. More a very brief tightening of features and then its gone again, washed away by a healthy glug of that rum followed by a hiss for the burn all the way down his throat and into his belly. “He broke all your shit?” Just how pissed off was this smith!? “And Nadeeth didn’t flame his hide?”

Closer and closer Sikorth stalks so that if this were a show on TV, he’d be sitting with his nose smooshed up against the screen, so successful is the diminutive green with her enticing tale. « What is that one? » He breaks his silence to ask, using a shaft of pale moonlight to highlight the creature. « And this one? » The bright green of the tricksters eyes drawing him in, the bag given close study. « Is he yours? »

There is a particular dryness in K’vvan’s tone as he answers. “She was scared more than angry. Aaron’s big. And my stuff was s*t anyway, didn’t take much.” Quickly this conversation has stumbled onto territory that might actually qualify as ‘conversation’, which might be why K’vvan, after another sip- very, very small sip- then abruptly, “Why are you really here Cha’el?”

« Mine calls it a caprine. » Goat, « The large one hoards all of the land to himself, and makes it hard for them to feed. So the small one must take it back.» The caprine slips around behind darkest threads, escaping the moonlight to lay hidden again. « He steals the seed of life and will share. » Enraged, the larger creature, still shifting between dragonic and feline form, lets out an inaudible roar upon the tapestry looming upwards and over the small creature who is hidden in darkness.

Going back to nursing his drink – clearly Cha’el’s mission isn’t to get all-fall-down-drunk – he watches K’vvan taking that oh-so-careful sip and finds himself having to suppress the rise of amusement. Daww, so cute. Aaron. The name is filed away with a notation jotted in the column – never invite to weyr. Got it. A grin curls out. “Then maybe he did you a favor, eh?” His cup bearing hand sweeps about the forlornly empty area then stalls, the question sprung on him pulling a brief and strangely uncertain frown into place. Broad shoulders shift awkwardly and then that veneer of easygoing charm is pulled back into place. “Already told you. To congratulate you on the knot.” A glance through the exit that K’vvan blocks. “But it’s getting late and we’ve got drills in the morning so I’d better be going.”

At Nadeeth’s explanation, Sikorth pulls back to contemplate its meaning. He’s gone for several long moments, the blank where his mind had been filled with a susurration of breath that pulls through silence. When he returns, the steel that had bonded with her ribbons and threads is back, stronger, decided. « The larger one should be taken to task. » The statement peppered with the approaching beats of steady blades, louder, more sure they grow, rippling the air, sending moonlight into a shimmering cascade that distorts across the dark landscape pierced by an ancient arrangement of stone monoliths. « And the small one be allowed his portion of land to feed as he will. This…caprine. Is brave. » That his assessment.

K’vvan just snorts, and takes a bigger sip of the rum. It bites, but nothing like Aaron’s mango brew. He considers the brown rider before him, then shifts again, going back to the basket (though his back is never fully to Cha’el again), and pulls out a flask from the basket. “Try this if you like having your stomach lining eaten away. It’s from Southern.” The flask is thrown at Cha’el, hopefully he catches it.

Nadeeth’s tapestry falters as the strong structure of the steel frame Sikorth had supplied pulls away. The story swiftly unravels as threads tangle together in a mass of confusion. Nadeeth pulls it towards her, attempting to undo the damage, but fickle as threads are, they fight her attempts at order. The colors fade as her mood dips into melancholy, sad at the destruction. « Yes, brave. » Only for a moment though, as the mess begins to be pushed away in the strong winds. Soon the threads have all flown, leaving only the single ribbon which defies the wind to reach out towards the stone monoliths as it seeks to begin anew upon the new frames.

The island rum imbued with coconut, is smooth, its effects stealthier than that of say moonshine or whiskey. If Cha’el is aware that K’vvan never fully presents his back to him, he gives not hint of being so, merely hiking a brow and cocking a crooked grin at the comment made about the flask tossed at him. Catching it, he opens it and takes a sniff, jerking back as the pungent aroma strikes olfactory senses. And while it really should be enough of a deterrent, he’s never been one to back down from a challenge. The flask is lifted to his lips and Cha’el takes a sip. The punch is almost immediate, sucking the air out of his lungs and sending him into a coughing fit that has eyes watering and the brownrider pounding at his chest. “Fuck…” wheeze, cough, blink, “what the…” he tries to croak. “Are you tryna kill me!?”

The moment the intricate tapestry fails and tangles, Sikorth is repentant for having been the cause of its destruction. Ancient air thickens, closes in, monoliths standing silent and ready for delicate ribbons to find sturdy anchor about. The creation of another web is encouraged, the strong winds dying down to a gentle breeze that flirts and flutters about the stone structures. « The small one doesn’t trust. » Noted of the brave caprine before an image appears like a shimmering mist at the center of the circled monoliths – a small boat out on an enormous ocean being buffeted and battered by a storm with no safe harbor to shelter in. « Neither does this one. »

A smirk etches itself firmly upon K’vvan’s face as Cha’el has the predictable reaction to the swill Aaron concocts. A turn ago you would never have guessed that he said almost the exact same words when first tasting its older sibling. “While it would be a clever way to get you out of my weyr, Nadeeth might object to your body sitting here till we could get rid of it.” K’vvan leans against the wall, and folds his arms across his chest, the one still holding the cup of liquor.

Rather than continue her story with that ribbon, Nadeeth focuses on the boat bobbing through her thoughts. She watches it, then using the steel frame as her anchor she weaves a net to wrap around the boat, drawing it closer to the tall stones, seemingly heedless of the danger the tall stones present. « Why is it alone? »

Having managed to find his breath, Cha’el thrusts the flask back at the greenrider. Here have it, its awful! states features pulled about a grimace. He’ll stick with his rum evidenced when he uses a mouthful of it to try and wash away the taste of the other. “You drink that stuff?” The brownrider asks, looking somewhat impressed, a snort uttered for K’vvan’s statement of getting rid of him. Setting the slighter man with a long and unreadable look, lips twitch about an indefinable expression and draining the last of his drink, Cha’el bends and sets both the empty cup and the barely touched bottle of coconut rum on the floor beneath the few remaining baskets. “Its getting late,” the obvious stated, “I’ll see you at drills, aye?” He adds and begins to angle toward the exit.

One of the silent monolith’s begins to emit a soft winking blip of light, calling out to the little boat being drawn in by the net. At first there is no spoken reply. Instead, Sikorth extends his mind, three ships appearing in the mists. One resembles a tall-masted Spanish galleon, burnished bronze with sturdy sails, the other, a Trojan warship dusted with gold, while the third is a sturdy fishing vessel several times the size of the little boat. Slowly the Spanish galleon and the Trojan warship converge on the fishing vessel boat, enticing it further and further out toward the open sea and the shaft of sunlight flirting along the horizon. The tale pauses there. « It did not understand the game the others were playing. »

K'vvan twitches just slightly under Cha'el's gaze, pushing up again from the wall to balance upon his feet fully again. The flask is caught and tucked into his belt. "It does the job. Don't let me stop you, and feel free to not stop by again…." He pauses briefly, his gaze flickering to the ledge. Slowly, "Sikorth is welcome."

« Too small.» Nadeeth firmly declares as her ribbons thicken into hard sea worn rope. Doggedly she keeps her grip on the boat, attempting to pull it through the darkness towards the shore again. On the horizon a bright vessel sweeps into view, diving through the dark foam. « Stay near Valiuth. Safe.» There is a firm belief there that as long as that vessel crashes through the waves nearby, safety will follow. A ribbon twists out to the vessel and wraps it loosely around the mast. «He and his show the way.»

It does the job. That statement ensures that Cha’el’s attention remains trained on the greenrider that bit longer before falling away and slipping toward the darkened ledge beyond. There’s a quiet huff of sound. Possibly meant to be a snort but lacking any sort of amusement, wry or otherwise. Pausing in the archway, the brownrider turns his chin to shoulder to glance one last time K’vvan’s way, the irony of his socially inept brown being welcome where he is not, not lost on him. “You’re welcome to drop by any time you want to.” Cha’el counters and exits toward the ledge, a sharp mental call sent out to Sikorth.

Lending steely support to the ropes Nadeeth creates, Sikorth shows her one last image: The same fishing vessel, with sails torn and hull breached, listing to one side but firmly anchored to a large rock, the textures and colors of which resemble his own mottled hide. « It can be repaired. » Stout the assertion, the delicate ribbon wrapped so carefully about the mast given a warm puff of breath, « With time and patience. » As for Valiuth and his, that steady whump-whump of air being beaten into submission comes back into play, the low growl of a beast built for battle underscoring all else. « We are ready. » But then he’s getting the equivalent of a mental jab of elbow and with reluctance, Sikorth’s mind retreats leaving a sighing empty space where the circle of ancient monolith’s stood.

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