Who

Vassa & Skathistjarnath, Zsenzuuth

What

Vassa and Skathi are on the way to the beach when a living whirlpool drops in.

When

It is late afternoon of the twenty-fifth day of the eleventh month of the twenty-second turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Clearing, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 20 Apr 2021 04:00

 

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«My Vassa may be comfortable waiting but I say we do not wait for anyone.»


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Clearing

The rise from sea to Weyr is made serene by a charming road winding sand-trodden from beach below to stonecut entrance above. The path wanders among a surprisingly green valley where purple flowers bloom in charmingly unfettered profusion. The meadows themselves are often in high demand as picnic areas, for dragons are not allowed to land in the narrow valley itself. No trees nor cliff lies near to shadow the clearing, however, and the intensity of sun can be unbearable for those not familiar with the humid drench of Southern's summers.


It's late afternoon and while they had a really grueling PT morning, then lessons, among other things in between, the youngest queen of Southern and her rider are finally free to do a little bit of exploring/outdoor exercising. It may be the hottest time of the day, but it is not keeping them stuck with the other weyrlings; well, at least not Skathistjarnath. She is eager to get moving, now that she has enough energy to get even further! And her curiosity has stopped still shy of the beach she has not gone to, instead inspecting the clearing beside the winding road to the Weyr. Her platinum body hunkers down low in the field of purple flowers, as if mimicking a tunnelsnake as she slithers through them, interested in the sensations against her oiled hide. "Don't ya be going too far, love," Vassa calls fondly to her lifemate, not at all bothered by the warmth out, though her eyes are straying in the direction of the jungles.

The heat is not dire, but it is burdensome to some. Not so for Zsenzuuth, though; the haunt-visaged blue is winging his way to the not-so-distant beach when something arrests his sight. He circles and circles, twisting in the air a half-dozen times before corkscrewing down to the clearing with a peculiar kind of precision. His distance is deliberate. Blue-blue eyes whirl, fixed on Skathistjarnath in the flowers, his tail twisting knots in itself. His mind reaches, a cautious lapping of water at mental shores that carries with it offerings of nautilus shells and coiled kelp.

Since it does not seem that they will be going to the beach, Vassa takes her time to take a swig of water from the skin she's brought with her. Tipping her head back, she's the first to notice the dragon spiraling. Her curiosity is enough to have sparked Skathistjarnath's attention. The young queen is definitely enjoying her "swimming" in the flowers, but now she stills completely and raises her head up above them to watch. Vassa lowers the skin, eyes squinting, and a smile starts on her face as she recognizes the dragon finally. At the mental touch, Skathi makes sure that the water lapping at her mind starts to crystallize, frozen, as curious snowflakes start petaling down to land onto the offerings. She'll leave those there for now. It's all she offers, no words needing to be said as the blue lands. With hand half-raised, the weyrling finally realizes there's no rider present. She quickly starts to walk, closing the distance to her lifemate's shoulders and putting a protective hand on it. "That's Zsenzuuth," she answers the quiet question. "The one that wanted to steal ya away." Squint. Suspicious. "Hello Zsenzuuth."

Is it a good sign that he's being still? Well. Except for his twisty-thrashy tail, which never really seems to stop moving. He lowers his head, oh-so-slowly, until his chin touches the ground. Does he remember wanting to steal the little gold away? Hopefully not. A low burble of a rumble is offered, bubbly and attempting to be friendly. His chin shifts a little, pointing his snout at Vassa - then back to Skathistjarnath. His mind reaches again, water flowing over ice. It parts around the shells, leaving the snowflakes undisturbed. But, a breeze starts up, setting those flakes to spiral, twisting and turning in the alien 'scape of his mind. « I am Zsenzuuth, » is either introduction or confirmation, the words swimming up from a terrible depth. « You are small. » His tongue slicks out, the tip barely poking out of his maw.

Vassa seems to relax as the blue dragon lowers his head, giving her lifemate a pat as she watches cautiously for the moment. Skathistjarnath simply blinks at the noise the larger dragon makes and, unlike him, is holding absolutely still for the moment. While she is curious, she is also not one to readily make friends like some of her cluchmates might have. She is used to the touch of a watery dragon already, however, and seems to let Zsenzuuth do his thing, to observe the differences. His observation causes movement, a tilt of her head and another blink, her eyes lids remaining low. «I am growing, I will not be small for long,» she points out obviously, in a melodic voice that breezes through with a sharp chill. The water not only is frozen, but the snow suddenly multiplies, deepening, as her mindscape tries to take over, pale think birth trees crowding, allowing only glimpses between them. «And I am Skathistjarnath,» she finally introduces back.

The burbling continues, bubbling along in his throat. There's a sense of Zsenzuuth looking at Vassa, despite the limitations of faceted eyes; maybe it's just a tip of his head, just so. Slowly, his haunches lower and then, eventually, he's properly on the ground, curved like a crescent. He's being good. Look at how good he is! « You will be big, bigger, biggest, » comes in a spiraling rush, swirling across the mental ground and washing away the ice and snowflakes and offerings. Unperterbed by her sudden, sharp chill, the blue's breezes kick up, pushing that snow into icy dervishes that whirl and dance among the trees. Spirals carve themselves into the snow, the ground, the bark on the trees as his mental presence follows. « I know. I know, » he seems to sigh, sending snowflakes swirling higher. « He practiced the shape of your name. » His maw abruptly splits, opening into a grin. « Can you swim? It is not flying, but it is close »

Skathistjarnath is intrigued by all this spinning, spiraling spectacle. She is ready to match him with her own breeze, a whistle between trees- or is that a whisper? A child's giggle? Definitely a few unintellible whispers just at the edge of his mind in the darkest of shadows. «We shall see if biggest, but certainly bigger than you. I am reassuring mine that I am too big to carry by you even now.» Vassa definitely seemed concerned about that, but seeing that the two dragons were, well, being dragons, she finally steps away from the pallid queen's shoulder. Something shared between weyrling and gold makes her lip's twitch into a smile, "It is not difficult for me, but perhaps another it is." Or a Harper just wishes to say her name just the right way! Skathistjarnath never looks away from the blue even as she questioned her lifemate. She lowers her head, like him, but instead shows that she can move through the flowers. «The pool we use to bathe is not large enough to swim, and we have yet to go to the sea that my Vassa says is nearby. But I have no doubts that I can swim, or fly, and do it well.» Both, of course.

This seems to fascinate the blue intensely. Maybe a little too intensely, in truth, but Zsenzuuth's not yet fully ramped up into greedy, soul-sucking vortices. The snow seems to temper it, to give him something else to focus on. Those giggles, those whispers, those sighs are met with the whoosh and suck of water; a tremendous amount of it, pushed and pulled, howling and rumbling. Loud and quiet; a scream lost to the void. « I could carry you, » he thinks and there's even a flex of talons in soil before he settles. « But I will not. Mine says it is not safe. » Lamentable. He will survive. « You will swim soon. And then you will fly. Alone. Then together. Then together. » Spirals of thought persist, word circles translated to images: suddenly, there's color in the maelstrom, spirals of gold and bronze and brown and blue and green. « And you will do very well. He thinks so. You think so. Does yours think so? »

That push and pull suddenly makes the whispers pauce, and a deep intense focus as if something is staring from the woods. The trees close in even tighter around, the snow starts to fall faster, as if hoping to fill in that suck of water. Skathistjarnath may have been startled, but she does little to show it except for a pause and a twitch of her tail. She has moved closer to the blue, but not close enough to touch. In fact, she turns to circle him instead. «You can try to carry me, and you will fail,» she says matter of factly in that calm tone, though there is a sharper breeze that chills the air in their minds. She alludes to harm in trying. But the idea of swimming, flying, and with her Vassa makes her calm a fraction, head lifting over the blooms to regard the redhead. «We do not think it. We know we will. If they will give us the chance now, we could show them. But we must wait.» The weyrling, on the other hand, starts to meander the clearing, seeing that the dragons are being dragons, but does not wish to let the gold go too far. Her eyes keep darting to the road, as if expecting at any moment, someone will join them. Right? That's the hope.

There is no filling that vast, unquenchable, insatiable spiral; every last bit of snow is devoured without hesitation or thought. It's a taste. It's not enough. But something pulls hard in those depths, hard enough that the blue's head lifts and jerks abruptly to a side. Coincidentally, it's in the same direction that Vassa looks in. Skathistjarnath's questions go unanswered for a time, while his shifting whirlpools are forced into new configurations. « You will, you will, you will, » is sighed in triplicate. The gold will manage to get one good circle around him - all the way around, if that's her inclination - before he flows to his feet. Something new seems to have caught his greedy focus - and, fortunately, the gold is abruptly spared his fixation. « He is busy. He wants yours to know that. He is working with words and hides and inks. » Watery images of Y'kim, figuratively elbow-deep in restoring records, are offered. His tone is apologetic. His tail coils. « We must wait. » Echoed, dismayed; for his sake? His rider's? That connection is unclear and too tight to unwind.

Let him eat. Skathistjarnath would drop a blizzard down that unsatisfied hole, but instead she encloses it in her frozen woods, the branches iced solid and tinkling in an eerie music as they hit against each other as her breeze picks up, the trees are endless, not a speck of sky seen as they cross together in the canopy and cover the spiral. She'll encase it, study it, even as she judges the blue as a whole both inside and out. After looking back to her lifemate, she finishes off the full circle of the blue. She may have been spared but he has not, though she does her best to look unimpressed at the hungry blue. Her own thin tail, however, twitches in agitation as her wings unfurl, their thing elongated spars looking fiercely sharp in the late afternoon sun. She shares the news quietly with Vassa, who in turn frowns briefly before finally looking away from the road. «My Vassa may be comfortable waiting but I say we do not wait for anyone.» Perhaps she is unsure just what they are waiting on. But she is still determined to have a say.

She's allowed to trap that ravenous maw into places unspeakable - but only for a few moments. The sheer violence of the thing makes those branches rattle a little harder; the music is discordant. An eerie melody is transformed into something else, something unholy, but then his focus is shifted. And, just like that, the water's all gone, draining out and down and sucking the connection with it. All that's left is a hole in the earth, eerily shaped and sized just like her. Her own hole. Precious. Dear. Compelling. « He is glad to know that. » Zsenzuuth is forced to bury the hole a moment later, washing it over and out. « Waiting is necessary. » Unfortunate. « I do not like it. » The blue's tail kinks up on itself a final time before he eases back and away, his wings snapping wide in emulation of hers. Fortunately for him, he's large enough to use them. « I must go. Be good. Be patient. They must wait. We must wait. » Each thought a spiral; each spiral a shell.

The violence makes Skathistjarnath hiss out in displeasure, but it is brief until the water is gone, its hole examined. Interesting, different, then gone! An avalanche rolls through, trembling the landscape and overtaking the water yet again. "Wait, are we waiting now or is he talking about waiting for another time?" comes Vassa's innocent question as she seems to look between dragons, questioning the quietness with uncertainty. Skathistjarnath's eyes whirl a little faster as she looks between lifemate and blue dragon. «Anything can change, when one is waiting,» she informs him, her own mindscape already changed with the snowfall, falling erratically and leaving the shells untouched. While she is also dissatisfied with the waiting, she also is as uncertain as her lifemate. «He will have to find us, whenever he is ready; someday, or perhaps never.» And she turns away from the blue at last, leaving him to his spirals so as not to watch him depart, slinking her way through the flowers back to the Weyr's entrance. Vassa, confused, lifts her arms up and then drops them down. "Fine! Back to the barracks, then, before it gets dark." They'll have to go to the beach another day.

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