Who

Doji, Ko'an

What

Inquiries are made, most answers are not had, when distractions make two Whirlwind riders cross atypical paths in the Bowl.

When

It is late evening of the fourth day of the eleventh month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

North Bowl, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 30 Dec 2017 05:00

 

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"Perhaps you should give it some thought, in case such a thing were to go missing?"


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North Bowl

In the quieter spaces of the Northern Bowl, there is less activity; all is kept serene for young, forming draconic bonds. Beneath the sweep of skies' ever-changing colors, this round little panorama hosts the short distances between the Hatching Cavern and the weyrlings' ultimate destination: the barracks and training grounds. More packed dirt and tiny little hillocks than clean white sand, the floor is an uneven thing, a startling trap for the unwary and the clumsy. Further onward, the Ground Weyrs beckon, a haven for those who may seek medical attention.


Around the Weyr as the sun sets, activity starts to wind down many places, but the Northern bowl is not one of them. There's a flurry of activity from the side nearest the Weyrling grounds as Igen's newest dragons are starting to test their limits. Coordination seems to be the biggest challenge at the moment as there's more tumbling than walking. Inching ever so closer to the babies is a behemoth of a brown as Raktraeth peers down intently at the little ones, until Doji comes running over. "Trae!" Hands on hip is all it takes for the dragon to hunker down and take a few steps back. Somebody's been doing something he's been told repeatedly not to.

With a plate full, the last thing Ko'an would be found doing is interacting with weyrlings- not directly, anyway. He is enough of a pain in the ass when they graduate into the wingsand he finds multiple means in which to make their first few fortnights plentifully…. entertaining. For himself. The man clad in black flight jacket and tight leather pants, with black hair perpetually tusseled would be as a shadow himself as he moves across the far end of the North Bowl, aside from the fact that the manner in which his strides boast his arrogance speaks loudly of his presence. He's ghosted by the Ghost Ship itself, the behemoth but skeletal, ghastly bronze pausing to watch Raktraeth's interaction with the younger ones. In mind does he become more prominent. Skies darken, fog roils and rolls over black water. Within that fog, something comes, but far away does it remain. It, He, watches. A tickle of the ominous crawls up the spine, hair rising in knowledge that a wraithe does come. Ko'an is almost at the entrance to the ground weyrs before he too is slowed, turning to look over his shoulder. Sea blue eyes, darker as some oceanic storm overcomes the horizon, fall on Doji, the edge of his lips upturned in a cool, uneven smirk.

The towering coniferous giants await on shore if the Ghost Ship wants to draw nearer. Even in this near twilight hour, there is golden sunlight still reaching out towards the coastal mists. A clear divide there, but something that can possibly coexist peacefully, even if the woodland animals might already be hunkering down, suspicious of an impending storm. Raktraeth's love for little things isn't just in his mind as he may have been encouraging that one tiny green and her only slightly larger blue brother to race to try and climb on his own behemoth bulk. The blue quickly lost his footing and slide down and the green tumbles down on top of him with an 'ooof'. Doji winces and steps forward to check on weyrling dragons and their riders. Doesn't take long to ensure everything's alright (young creatures can be like rubber) and then she turns around herself. Any attempt to go elsewhere is momentarily paused when she eyes a somewhat familiar face in a not so familiar location. "Evening, Ko'an." The redhead gives a somewhat informal salute to her older wingmate. "Evening stroll?"

There is a stark absence of life within the mist. And beyond it? That whistle within the winds may be more than a falling medallion, blood money be true, but rather the mourning howls of lost souls. A figment is present to those of the woodlands should they peek beyond the giants which bid them haven. That Ship, darkness, born o'er World's End. Sails riddled of cannon holes, a lone lantern a'sway. It isn't all so foreign, of course, though perhaps is more direct now than in the tangental brush of wingmate cooperation. The bronze himself remains unmoving, aside from the faintest tilt of haunted figurehead and unkind faceted eye turned vaguely towards the fallen blue before ignoring it once more. « A waste of time when they are so young. » The rush of the River itself comes, slow-crawling, unhurried burbling of that which separates this life from the next. « Or do they serve as your entertainment. » "Doji." Ko'an responds after a prolonged, intentional moment. It sounds lazy, callously humored, as if whatever served to draw him to the lower caverns, no longer bids his attention. "Something of the sort. There are far more interesting places to stroll, but for now-" He trails off, his wrapped left hand lifted dismissively. "And you…" His question wanders, feigning the search for his thoughts, "Bored?" For one must be, to frustrate themselves among the weyrlings, surely.

« And you have so many more important things you could be doing at this hour…? » Raktraeth languidly turns his gaze from the retreating young ones and all their energetic antics towards the haunted (or haunting) bronze. The message is unhurried in it's own way, carried on leaves upon a wind with no real desire to reach it's target at any particular time besides when it gets there. And as for the forest, life goes on. Young have to be seen to, no matter the hour (or weather conditions). Doji raises an eyebrow slightly as the bronzerider draws out his own answer, but smiles and shakes her head as for the guess. "I was just headed home." Her head tilts back towards those quiet weyrs above the Northern Bowl. "But somebody got distracted on his way to pick me up." There's a bit of an eyeroll as she pats the brown behind her. But that is one of the hazards of home only being accessible by dragonwing.

A sinister laughter, nigh maniacal, arrises from within the River, watery and distant, masked by the cacophony of those lost souls. « Aye. » Zodaiyath is no beautiful creature, the gnarled mask of his haunted face draws rough lips back slightly over uneven, prodigious fang. And as if he has come ashore, his skeletal frame sets down upon bowl grounds. Ship wreck be he, awash of ethereal grime, verdigris swept, lets keel run a'ground until his mood bids to shift. Ko'an is distracted for another breath, though his gaze doesn't leave the younger Whirlwind rider. "And were you in a rush to get home to something more.. enjoyable," His meaning is not appropriate, the inclination of his accented voice promoting it fully, "Or just to bed in anticipation of our next surprise disaster?"

As much as the two dragons minds are examples in contrast, so too are their behemoth forms. Raktraeth is rooted to his spot, his legs much like the trunks of those forest titans, tawny wings spread out idly, reaching wide as the forest canopy. Let the ship come aground if it wishes. The forest has weathers storms before and will weather them again. Doji bristles slightly at that accent, but stands her own ground, almost as planted as her dragon is. "I mean, normally this bowl isn't used much for loitering." It's a quiet place here. Used more as a means of getting from point a to point b than a destination in and of itself.

Bold, unwavering, drippingly arrogant- descriptors of both man and dragon. The cold grin has pulled against more of the scruff of his face, leaving a callous smirk in its place. Amusement seems to be drawn from somewhere, much like foul tides coming in. If he has ever been alone with Doji before, it's been awhile, and for these stolen minutes that fade away with the light of twilight, Ko'an studies her. Lapses of silence seem full of something else, occupied despite absence. "Aye, true. I cannot imagine who would wish to loiter among the chaos of that-" That wrapped hand, known to most of his wingmates as the one he injured so badly in a Threadfall and never reveals, extends by a few degrees in the direction of the barracks. The time comes where their curfew will call and leave none behind. "But you didn't quite answer my question. Do you have someone waiting in your bed, begging you return home instead of out to a drink? As for meself-" Suddenly open to sharing, is he? Brows raise as if this is true, thoughtful, considering, though his gravel-touched and serpent's tones don't quite contribute to that cause, "I was to collect something borrowed awhile ago." Was. As if it no longer matters this particular evening.

It seems nearly a lifetime ago, but Doji was once one who did see the injury that lurks underneath the wrappings back when she was just an apprentice assisting after Threadfall. Her gaze does follow the hand as it extends back towards the barracks and she shrugs. "It doesn't seem that chaotic, really…" Weyrlinghood might be fresher in her own mind seeing as she's not that far out from it. "At least it's not two clutches all on top of each other." Literally all on top of each other in the case of many nights in their double-clutches' early weyrlinghood days. As for the question that she's not answered, she'll continue to not answer even as he states it again and causes her to turn nearly as red as her hair. Whatever she was going to say, is completely inaudible aside from a few halfhearted attempts at "I… uh…" And she just cuts off and drifts a step backwards towards the steady pillar that is Raktraeth. Desperately seeking a change of topic, she'll grasp onto the last thing said. "Borrowed, huh?"

It seems forever ago to the bronzerider, whose time in the barracks was an experience he'd never again wish to relive, not even in memory. Ko'an retracts the hand, scratching idly at the base of his earring'd ear. "You've a more forgiving eye than me own, then, love." A dry, unhumored sound comes as a huffed breath through his nose. "An… admirable trait." The compliment is anything but, curled in honey'd words. "So you do. It's nothing to be ashamed about. What better way is there to unwind at the end of the days you have? None other, if I do say so meself." And he does. "A lucky lad… or lass is it?" Shameless, relentless, there's a cruelty about his stance that is none so friendly in the couple languid steps he's taken forwards to make speaking at a lower, more intimate volume easier. "Aye, borrowed. And long overdue for return. Tell me, how might you handle the matter if they were none too keen on granting you back what's yours?"

Would Doji want to go through weyrlinghood again? Not really. She was pretty reluctant to do it the first time. But it wasn't until senior weyrlinghood where things got difficult for her, but leadership does that. Hence why she's been keeping a bit of a low profile since graduation. The unease is building in the girl with every word that Ko'an says. The barbs beneath the honeyed tongue don't sit well with her, or Raktraeth either. Considering his rider is standing right against his side, he'll nudge at his own lifemate reassuringly while peering at the bronzerider. The forest has eyes on you, Ko'an. Doji furrows her brow a little bit at the question about belongings. "That's never really come up. I don't really have much." All the books she has really are borrowed from the archives. And she wouldn't loan those out without making sure proper steps are taken with the archivists.

There's no fear here, no concern that a massive forest looms with eyes upon him. For what is there to fear when darkness consumes. When the underworld is where one's soul resides- for all eternity, the captain or captive upon the psychopomp's blackened decks. The nudge of brown to brownrider is not missed, however, by either the man of the sea nor the Black Pearl'd beast who looms as phantasmal wreckage beyond him. "Everyone has something in their possession of value. Different values, for certain, but not all treasure is made of precious metal. Perhaps you should give it some thought, in case such a thing were to go missing?" He shifts as if to straighten, as if he'd been looming all the same. The smirk wanes, though it lingers in the faint lines hidden amidst the shadow of his rugged scruff. "But I'd rather this.. particular task not consume another night of mine." He hasn't the patience or the time to deal with it any longer than it has taken, "Good evening to you, brownrider. And to your bedmate." There's a wink for her as he takes another step back, watching her, then turns finally with intent to vanish into the lower caverns. The Ghost Ship's skeletal, massive frame rises with unearthly ease, fragments of a ship that should not be whole drawing into a frightful thing once more. Black, tattered wings spread, and with a harsh buffeting wave of the sand that had been freshly lain from the storms earlier in the day, he surges into the sea of the darkening sky.

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