Who

M'tej, Veresch

What

Dragon gymnastics, rock climbing, offers to hook a brother up, snarling: the Standing Stones has it all.

When

It is noon of the seventh day of the first month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Standing Stones, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 30 Jan 2016 22:00

 

mtej_default.jpg veresch_default.jpg

Murphy is M'tej's constant companion.


igenstandingstones.jpg

Standing Stones

It is perhaps a pity that the Standing Stones lie in quiet isolation, half-forgotten in the Weyr's easternmost corner. Or perhaps it is inevitable: the grandiose beauty of these red rocks is ill-suited to Igen's coarse grit, and maybe only their loneliness allows them to survive unmarred. Whatever the reason, it cannot be denied that the Standing Stones, a lonely jumble of ancient boulders, have a glory about them. The tumbled field of pillars and arches has been shaped by eons of wind and water into strange shapes, twisted and rutted. The going is treacherous: only the Weyr's half-feral herd of caprines navigates the terrain with any ease. To the northwest, the lakeshore glimmers; to the east, rough-carved steps lead towards another ancient pile of rocks - though the Star Stones are less haphazardly placed than their Standing cousins.


Boulder rubble is framed in motionless freeze-frame, cascading in picturesque serenity over one another, with the oft-blowing sand pockets of captured sand creating the illusion of soil and curves in this landscape of angles and harsh shadows. Usually the playground of hardy caprines and nesting grounds in summer for firelizards, winter finds these areas devoid of much of even that scant life. When winds and bitter cold drives the rest of the Weyr to find solace in drink and by fire, a few of the Weyr's denizens are here, and they provide the only animation.
A tallish man, details obscured by distance, crouches atop one of the taller beacons of rock. Two lizards circle around, sweeping wide circles with glittering wings. Then there's action: From the fringe of the rock collective, where it meets flatter sand, erupts a very dark dragon, chromatic hue deepened in contrast to the golden-blue sky behind him that slants even through the thin membrane of briefly outstretched wings. Then he's gone, flashed *between*. Then the air above the man is rent with the seeming illusion of the same dragon manifesting from *between*. Wings sweep down aclarity, as the great brown orients, then he'll dip down on a downsweep, as the man leaps up, proffering a half-staff of sturdy wood between gloved hands. The dragon's claw sweeps down to grab the stick, and the man is hurled into kinetic motion with the upsweep of dragon's wings. Both firelizards arrow in, then zoom out, as if checking on the welfare of the fellow who, it appears, did briefly lose one hand-hold, that arm flailing around for seconds before it re-grips the staff.

There should be admiring crowds aplenty for the incredible acrobatics the man is displaying. Instead (and perhaps the aim) there is no one around to admire the prowess but the firelizards. So it stays for a long time before, from the very bottom of the rush-and-spill of rocks a strange figure can be seen wending its way up the steep side of the artful tumble. It's a woman, yes, but a young one, hair bound back into a ponytail and clothes that seem more fit to be her older brother's castoffs than anything else. Thin leather breaches well suited to Oldtimer mores, and a sleeveless shirt that is beginning to be spotted wet at the back with perspiration. Every so often her hands dart to a small pouch at her waist, and lithe muscle works clearly in visible arms and the slices of ankle and calf on display. Veresch, the impossible wretched wench that she is, seems to be climbing quite casually up an incline that would make goats blanch, yet another small brick in the wall of evidence that points to a misbehaved childhood. There's the occasional stop-start, of course, most notably at the dull thu-thump cracking of air as Temyrth jumps in and out of Between, but overall good progress.

Clearly, the two of M'tej's firelizards that is of more use, is the small female. And whatever folks say about greens and their intelligence, particularly when compared to bronzes, either doesn't apply in this instance, or over 25 Turns of dedicated training has increased little Mona's IQ such that she is, as usual, the first to alert M'tej of the presence of another human in the vicinity. Of course, her timing could be better - hanging mid-air from a wooden staff suspended in a dragon's clawed hand, while the frigid wind screams over his skin. And Temyrth eavesdrops on any and all conversation, so M'tej's journey is further disrupted by the fact that the big brown's head snaps over to spy this newcomer, and the motion reverberates through his entire frame, such that M'tej is treated to a shudder that seems to reach full resonance at his shoulder-joints.
While M'tej's bronze zips over to see if any female lizards accompany Veresch (it may be a point of the brownrider's private contemplation some nights, whether or not he influences Captain's girl-hungry existence, or if it's the other way around), M'tej loses grip with his other arm and Temyrth is called back abruptly to the business at hand. The brown loses altitude as smoothly as possible, but in an arc that brings him closer to where the interloper has arrived. M'tej's drop is not the graceful thing that he'd hoped but at least it's only about 8 feet down and onto one of the few strips of evidently open sand. Temyrth's momentum translates to M'tej's rolling about fifteen feet before he comes to rest at the base of one of the rocks. Covered. With. Sand. The half-staff lay about six feet behind M'tej and it is upon that, the green rests. Temyrth himself drops to an agile hind-feet-first landing that has him almost instantly curled upon the spire of a nearby rock that does not appear wide enough to support the beast that now straddles it. The brown flicks gaze from M'tej who, evidently, is breathing, to the newcomer. Glittering high-blue eyes match the sky at high-noon.

Veresch turns her head to cough away some of the sand that might gust over to her, clinging to the rock face for the moments it takes her to live through M'tej's… less than graceful landing. Honestly, if this were being retold by the bards of old she'd have expected at least three tumbles and a perfect on-point landing. Instead, as he tumbles dustily down to the base of the rocks she resumes her 'crawler-crawl up the side of the climb leading to the platform he went tumbling to. Behind her Luna shrills a warning at the bronze, pale-gold as a spring moon and just as intemperately distant at the moment — no interest from her, not when she can settle into a cranny to sun herself away from the snarling wind. In a motion that owes more to a chin-up than the last hurrah of dying breath, she makes it the last few inches and hops onto the flat piece, stepping over M'tej to scoop up the staff. It's flourished finely for Temyrth's approval, and its young wielder gives him an ironically charming bow, as if the brown is the audience she performed for and not…. well, not her own fitness. "Bright the day," she chirps happily. "My lord brown, and his able rider."

A mouthful of sand, every bloody muscle in him on fire, and the immediate arrival of this fiend of whom Mona warned him has M'tej a little less than at his level best. Without any audience, he likely would have lain there and cussed out both the lizard and the dragon, until the best of the 'ouch' subsided. However, there's a woman here, and M'tej's male pride, though significantly seasoned to a much mellower flavor over the turns, has him hauling himself up to undignified hands-and-knees, which evolves into a kneeling crouch. This, at least, lets him spit sand out, and gloves are shed so that M'tej's fingers can pull loose the hairtie that captures mid-back-length hair. With canine-efficiency, he shakes his head (don't mind the groan that originates from complaining shoulders), and runs fingers through his hair to encourage the fall of sand out of his mane. A few more spits later, the man leans back, haunches on heels, to send a glance to this woman, "Veresch. And a good day to you as well." His sonorous voice is not. And a finger comes up to swipe grit off his teeth, before M'tej starts feeling around for his canteen. "Really. The time before that looked perfect, ma'am." Never works when there's a pretty audience around. Murphy is M'tej's constant companion.
The brown dragon, for his part, howls a greeting at Veresch, for her trouble and her bow. His tail lashes and he'll even flare his wings at her. Quite the honor. Captain, not one to be easily fended off of a *gold*, settles at a short distance from the queen lizard, as if he'll guard her. There. See him? Guarding. This has to yield him points in the 'female mate selection' criteria, right?

Veresch plants the quarterstaff, spins around it in a little kick of exuberance, before she very prettily curtsies (in pants!) at the flaring of wings, letting the rider's ego recover before she spins on one heel to examine him. "Practising for the Weyr Games then, sir?" she inquires as if an imp of mischief sits on her shoulder. The staff goes back to its owner and she busies herself instead by stepping closer and assisting his hair to a cleaner stage before, with a few twists of her fingers and the theft of a leather tie, she binds it off in a neat braid. The girl is like a flame today, scooting around and crouching down in front of him to stare at the Turns-older man with hands hanging limp and knees bent in that fashion only teenagers can maintain for long time periods. She even ignores the hissy little trill Captain gets from Luna, and her fingers wiggle slightly as she watches M'tej put himself to rights. "Hey." Just look at that beaming smile. "I believe you. Can I try it too? If I do it just right, I might get Rev and R'xim's heads to pop off in series. How are you? How is the inestimable Temyrth?"

"No. If you don't do it right and end up getting killed, I will likely be banned from breathing, thank you very much, ma'am." M'tej had settled into absolute stillness, as she touched his hair; his eyes even closed for a moment at the braiding. That absolutely has an effect on him. But as the woman-girl perches back in front of him, his grin is only fleeting, and shifts into a head roll, to the audible sound of bones re-adjusting their alignment. M'tej addresses questions backwards, "And no. Practicing in case I need to be pulled out of whatever stupid I get myself into, in the Bazaar. Temyrth's too big to land in there, but he can pull me out, if necessary." It may or may not have filtered through the ranks of the unethical, that M'tej put out the word that he is looking for Dirk, now.
"And he," M'tej sends a mixed expression of exasperation and adoration toward the now statuesque brown. "He's posing for you." That, murmured, and it may be truth. At M'tej's words, the eavesdropping dragon tilts his muzzle just slightly; Veresch might see his eye more clearly. The bronze lizard eases just a tiny bit closer, and Mona alights just behind him, adopting a stalking pose. Oh yes. Now, Captain is distracted, and Mona is /so/ going to get him. Welcome, Veresch, to M'tej's private life. The man clears his throat, "And how are you? Taken on the legions of baddies at the Bazaar, recently? Leaving a wake of broken bodies in your passing?"

That wins a very fetching pout — well, it might have been fetching, if it didn't collapse into giggles moments later. Veresch Is Amused. "Trust me, they're used enough to my, um, approach to the delicacy of being a female. You wouldn't get much more than a comiserating whiskey or something." And it's an idea. A dragon gymnastics troupe needs to be found. "Seriously though, if you expect anyone to come near you when you're practising to have a dragon pluck you out of the alleys there, you're going to be the safest man in the bazaar. All the ladies will flock to you." Which, y'know, might be his aim. "I've not had time for much antics in the Bazaar, really; I've managed to get a spot on one of the away teams of groundcrew. You know? The ones that go out if the areas covered are too small to field proper teams of their own? Mostly my life has either been working or scrubbing off firestone ash." Her grin brightens. "And it looks as if you two came through the last 'fall without a score, which is good given how heavy it was. Well done!"

"For one," M'tej has indulged in chasing sand out of his mouth with a bit of water before he spits his own to the side. Another swallow and his voice returns more to the normal, mellifluous basso. M'tej offers the canteen over, rolls his shoulders back to readjust some of those bones, and rolls one shoulder gingerly after another twinge. "For one, no one knows I'm practicing. This place is a bit out of the way, which is why I'm practicing here. I think it's still only a popular rumor that I'm a dragonrider." M'tej's brows quirk up at the reference to females, and he'll laugh, "Merry! By all means, send those hordes of gals over. One of 'em might at least see something they'd like." At that, he'll finally take the proffered stick from Veresch, with a murmured 'thank you', and rise to his own booted feet. He seems fairly steady. "Now then, Temyrth has never been threadscored. Neither has his rider." M'tej winks. If she was older, he'd challenge her to discover if he spoke the truth. But she's not. Dammit.

She takes the canteen from M'tej and shakes it, listening to the sloshing inside before she sniffs at the neck. For all she knew he might be swilling tequila instead of water. Still, reassured, she takes a swig. No spitting from her, just a rather ladylike glug-glug-glug before she closes it. "It's great to know that Temyrth is so talented," she teases, thudding the back of her fist against M'tej's shoulder companionably before there's a belly-baring stretch that, luckily, on the bowl at large sees. "But really, if you want to meet a really classy lady, I can introduce you to a few. They run away from the bronzeriders, but perhaps they'll stay still for a brownrider, hm? Seriously, they're nice. And they even known how to be ladies. It's a pity that Kyara is taken… well, not a pity, I like N'thu, but. She's like me, only better at everything." When she's satisfied that M'tej is stable enough not to sway much, and didn't break something vital, she moseys closer to the spire the dark dragon is sitting on, looking up at that head-big blue eye before scanning pristine hide. Hmmm. "Or I could ask Willa to introduce you to a trader girl? Those Zingari are really something, especially when they dance. She's mischievous, she'll do it too, and I bet she knows someone." Pause. "Are you certain I can't try the stick trick? Please?"

"Only over the lake." And at subzero air temperatures, the lake's chill would be veritably warm. "And only if you were dressed to swim." M'tej again addresses the easy questions first. "Because too many clothes would log you down if you fell, and I'll not have you drowning, either." For an only child, M'tej pulls off 'Big brother' pretty well. He turns away at that stretch, shifting his attention to the distant sky and trying to determine, by sight, which dragon got stuck with Watchduty. Temyrth adroitly rebalances, such that he can swing his head down and inhale Veresch-scent, to trade in a moment for dragon-breath exhalation. "And I believe I'm back to swearing off women for a while. I think."
There's a flurry of motion by where Captain had hunkered near the queen. Mona had launched herself and sprang onto the much bigger lizard with claws and fangs out, and he, in turn, blasted straight off the sand to *Between*. Due to their shared contact, Mona also slipped there, but they are both out again in an instant and Captain momentarily forgets his quest to win the heart of the queen, in a determined rush of revenge upon the little green.

Wow, that is some powerful breath there, buddy-boy. Veresch laughs as much as she eeks at the exhalation, and for a moment excitement mounts to try the trick. The moment passes though, on the back of Big Brother, and she turns towards him with a frown. Moving with precision, she moves to stand at his side, though her attention is on the rider's profile rather than the dragon for the moment. "Slow down a second there… why?" Her brows furrow at the thought of M'tej, who is most convincing in a big brother role, going without female companionship. "That's no good. What happened? Did someone break your heart?" Oh, look at those brows furrow, and the pugilistic way she sets her jaw, ready to go and crack skulls. One hand flutters to dismiss the idea of changing into swimwear, and she rests it on his elbow instead. "Or do you like guys? I know some guys too… so long as you don't want to aim for any of the ones I like."

*Sigh*. "No guys. I don't go that way." Resignation mixes with humor before M'tej turns normally-black regard on the woman. The bright winter sky brings out the mahogany and metallic gold and copper flecks in his eyes. "Of course I had my heart broken." M'tej responds. "Long time ago, the first time. Before you were born, even if it wasn't Oldtime, good Veresch. It happens. You women, fickle creatures, masters of a mystery language only you understand, and somehow we are supposed to parse what you want, when you won't speak plainly and that's all we tend to do." He sends her another grin, at that, and shakes his head, "I think that fate is getting me back for my escapades in my youth, and it's my just due." Instinct draws his attention back to the ebon-clad brown, even as a full-out war escalates between the green and the bronze and there's ichor drawn now with tiny claws and screeches. Temyrth will shut that down soon.
"I think we owe you a ride, somewhere, sometime, yes? Temyrth and I, for a favor done?" M'tej's attempt to change the subject may or may not work. "Have you put thought into where you'd wish to go, ma'am?"

That black crow settled awfully quickly on M'tej's shoulder, with its descent only matched by the way that Veresch's brows snap down into a frown as she hears that. "Number one," she responds, one finger in the air, "I've had my heart broken too, so don't think that women are the only fickle creatures out there, alright? I'm sorry that you're feeling in a snit because you fell earlier, or I maybe reminded you of something bad, but I don't care whether you like guys or girls, okay? Like whatever you want. I was only trying to make you feel better. Number two?" Up goes another finger, both wiggling in the air. "I don't care what y'did in your past. You think anyone else here cares? News for you, most people here are so mixed up in their own troubles they could care less about whatever you might have done. Just live your new life without bringing in the clouds from your past. It's not like there aren't dark clouds aplenty here." She shoots a single look sideways at the claws and scratches, then ignores it with another frown. "I don't know yet. I'll ask for it when I need it. For the time being I'm just gonna go. You… practice your thing. Sir." She gives him a tight nod, and Temyrth only a slightly looser one, before she turns on one heel to go.

Point. Just. Made. What the hell was that about? M'tej just stares at Veresch for a long moment. Mentally, he reviews the situation: They were having a conversation. She asked a question. He answered that. Tried to keep it light, right? Yeah. Made light of it. She asked another question. He ducked that, right, and tried to change the conversation to something lighter. Yes, M'tej old man, she just proved your entire point, hands down, effortlessly, in under thirty seconds. Women are crazy.
"Were we having a fight?" M'tej finally puzzles. "Or do you randomly feel the need to shut people down? -Nevermind. Don't answer that." He holds up a hand - before reaching to scoop his gloves back up and, pinning the stick between ribs and arm, starts putting the gloves back on. In the presence of the cold without, and perhaps this mercurial woman, has M'tej abruptly changing his appetites. "Good day, Veresch. Clear skies." Dead-even tones, M'tej's version of 'guarded'.

Add a New Comment