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… What's happening?!
Over twenty turns of Thread has fallen in 12th Pass over a conservative Pern peppered liberally (pun intended) with progressive Oldtimers from 10th interval, in Harper's Tale's current iteration. The conflict of ideology between the traditionalist Nowtimers and the Oldtimers - liberal survivors of apocalyptic comets from 10th Interval that both destroyed Crom Hold and changed the face of Pern as any remembered it to be - makes life, as they say, interesting.
More than Thread challenges those that walk the many roads available in HT's setting. From dirty trader politics in Igen Weyr's in-house and eccentric bazaar, icy antics of the indigenous wildlings in Southern Barrier Hold, and the struggles of both weyrs (Igen and Southern) that rise to defend all of the above, there's a little taste for any plotline that a player may be interested in delving into. Log in and check us out for more information!
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You'll want to get caught up! Log in and see what interests you most: bringing your character forward or "reskinning" your existing character into a future character/rider at one of the new areas ({New} Southern Weyr / Igen Weyr). A lot of options are open to returning players — even if you've not connected in a long time!
Check out our areas: Igen & Southern!
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Title | OOC Date | Summary |
Previous announcements can be found here.
2020's Threadfall Dates!
Want to see our Threadfall history? Head on over to HT's Thread Schedule! Below are the Threadfall dates for the next quarter! The Thread Schedule can also be found from the top nav: Pern -> Thread Schedule!
Title | OOC Date | Summary |
2021 Q1 Threadfall (Jan - Mar) | March 1st 2021 | Threadfall Summary - January-March 2021 |
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Curious as to what's been going on lately? Check out a snapshot of our recent scenes!
There have been 8 scenes in the last two days.
Title | Cast | Summary | ||||||||||
Spare a Tune, Harper? Spare a Tune, Harper?
![]() ![]() ![]() "Being a brownrider hasn't hindered you? Conservatives still abound in Igen." ![]() Last Call From the bleak treachery of the wide ledge outside, the bar's interior is a veritable paradise. Nothing here matches: there's five shades of brown found just in the leather of the random scattered chairs, and all the tables are painted different mottled shades of earthen tones. Nothing symmetrical to be found here, no order, just a long bar along the far-edge of the weyr-converted, nestled into the nook that would normally be a private weyr's bedspace. The bottles that gleam behind that reclaimed counter of scarred and burned skybroom are rare and precious, with most of the joviality in the air coming from the tapped keg standing in the middle place of honor behind the bar. The decorations are sparse, entertainments few: dragonpoker and darts and fellow patrons provide the typical bar atmosphere, while a niche in the corner stands ready with stool and gitar-rack for the stolen Harper or musically-inclined rider. A weatherbeaten shingle hung precisely over the middle of the bar declares the house rules. Getting over the anxiety of landing a very big dragon on a very small ledge is part of the charm of living in Igen Weyr, and the rider of every large dragon has had to go through this rite of passage. Some dragons are better at it than others out of simple necessity. Some are… a lot better than they look like they should be, such as the vast sweep of brown Odskovith's wings, faded to white at the ends of their spars. His rider drops down off his neck to give one of the dragon's forearms a fond pat, before turning to saunter inside. Ah, this is the life. Finished with duties for the time being, and enough time to sidle over to the gitar rack, looking over the offerings before selecting a dusty but serviceable lute, and climbing onto the stool. From then, the sound of music fills the Last Call – rough and unpolished, as though more ideas being fleshed out on the fly than a finished composition. Despite her dusty leathers and the faintest hint of sunburn, Zetali looks approachable enough, vivid sea-green eyes keeping tabs on the rest of the room. Later, there will be cheap wine, but for now this is a good way to shake off the dust of the day. Iandeleoth, though an amalgam of imported and native dragonblood, is compact salience. Lines and reach are slighter than even Odskovith but he does reduce his shape when the brown comes in to land the ledge. Within, Ze'ran's standing and speaking with one of Arroyo's blueriders regarding his narrative on a sweep circuit Ze'ran passed the day prior. It's dry stuff about geography and the angle of light in the sky, but when both parties are engrossed in dull conversation, the good ones have a way to make it interesting. "So the slope you said was like this but you're sure it wasn't that way the last time you flew over?" Ze'ran's flat hand is tipped in front of him. When Zetali enters, she almost seems to bring the heat with her and both males look up. Neither happen to be share her wing, but they don't appear miffed at the intrusion of hand puppetry. It's been a long while since she has set foot in this high up haunt. The sound of music greets Agertha's ears as she dismounts and shoo's her dragon off to an empty ledge to make room for others. The greenrider emerges into the Last Call with a bundle of hides tucked under her arm. Oh look. People. The urge to duck out pops up, and is squashed just as quickly. The hidework is settled again (not that it needed to be), and Agertha makes her way the rest of the way into the weyr turned lounge. Once there she parks herself at a table that is mostly free with a smile to whoever may be seated there and a nod to a former wingmate. "Don't stop on my account." The former Harper half-smiles from the stool with the languid nonchalance of a feline. Neither do her fingers stop over the frets to speak, completely unconcerned with having to listen, talk, and play the lute at the same time. "Seismic activity? Or could the angle of the light have been off? Sun and stone can play tricks on a 'rider." It's not pointed out with any particular malicious intent; merely an off-the-cuff suggestion as her fingers continue over the strings. Chords weave their way through the room; first bright and optimistic, now smoky and mysterious, partly muted by long fingers, strings left to buzz only faintly in controlled dissonance. "Zetali. Brown Odskovith's. Sirocco wing," she offers, by way of introduction for herself. As before, she doesn't so much as foul a note to do so, speaking clearly. Agertha's entrance catches her, though, and sea-green eyes flit over to the door. Zetali raises her head and inclines it, since her hands are too busy to wave. Ze'ran hasn't made it a point to mingle with a variety of riders outside of Parhelion so the brownrider, though she might have a familiar face, he couldn't pull her from a line-up. Feel free to do something criminal, Zetali. Not prepared for the conversation to gain another person, the bronzerider at first stiffens, territorial. "That's what we were trying to determine: if our visits were at the same or different times of days. The odds are that they were different." His initial speech is Igen in origin, but not Weyr-centric. A tenor too, but nothing so polished as to win over crowds. Sounding instead as if he might need to sometimes clear his throat. As Agertha also makes an entrance, both riders seem to see if she'll interlope with her own experience. "Ze'ran, of Parhelion. You might have passed Iandeleoth on the ledge." The Arroyo bluerider drops his own details, "S'chen. You wouldn't have seen Etengath." His smile is shy. "He's entrenched at the lake." Agertha settles the stack of hides in front of her, then looks up at the mention of names, "Agertha, green Kestrath," though like S'chen's blue, her own green has lifted herself off to some place else. The aforementioned blue has been seen many times by the lake, "He's a handsome blue," so says her own bond, and leaves it at that. That feline nonchalance never really lets up. If Zetali is bothered by Ze'ran sudden caginess, she doesn't let it show. Her fingers go right on strumming those strings, one leg drawn up to prop her boot on the stool's lowermost rung. "Sounds like it might have been different after all." Her own voice stamps her as a native of Keroon Hold, or close by, although the quirks of Igen have begun to creep into her inflections. "Fallen out of touch with most of Parhelion's riders," she admits, sea-green eyes slanting down to negotiate the strings for a moment. "Flew it for a little while, though. Good riders." S'chen is eyed a moment, and her mouth twitches, almost a smile. "Day like this, Oddy likes to camp out in the lake, too. Damned miserable out there, really, but that's life in the desert." She looks Agertha over with interest. There are always new faces at the weyr, but sometimes she goes a while without seeing them. Zetali's reputation is pretty simple: 'Workaholic.' "Well met," she offers, to all three riders, and Agetha's observation has the brownrider grinning. "Well. We all think that of our own lifemates, don't we?" Ze'ran makes a slow reach to some sketches on many-times reused hides. They're suffering from high temps as much as the living things, the skins drying out and flaking in places. What little can be seen are landscapes and marginal notes, things Ze'ran neatly crams into an outside pocket once they're folded in old creases. S'chen, who was in Arroyo with Agertha at one stage, favors her with a smile he can put his heart in, being more comfortable around her than either of the Z-people. "I know there are calculations to measure the height of Rukbat, a Siroccon might know." S'chen looks to Zetali with doe-like eyes. "Ahh, the weather chasers. They could help." Ze'ran also pins a look to Zetali, except his has a challenge to it, a flinty sort of 'amaze us now or later.' "Kestrath, Th'bek likes her." Coining his older half-brother though they looks assimilar. Agertha chuckles, "He likes her agility, and fool hearty risks." Ah Th'bek, that's one she's been dodging. Back to Arroyo? Agertha isn't sure she's ready for that move. The shifting planes of the sand has been a facination to the greenrider for some time, "Could be shifting in the sands?" is suggested, she's seen that happen many times over the Turns she's been at Igen. The former Harper almost winces when those parchments are unceremoniously stuffed into an exterior pocket. Although part of her wants to comment on treating them more carefully, at least until they can be transcribed, it isn't important enough to call out. The question seems to take her off her guard a little. Oh, so they're not the Geek Wing when someone actually needs their information! Zetali tilts her head and considers. "Can't say I picked that trick up as handily as the rest of the wing, though… I was Harpercraft, not Starcraft." She does raise a slow brow at Ze'ran's intense stare, apparently not concerned by the edge of challenge in the least. "No reason I can't give it a try, though." Zetali inclines her head to Agertha. "Could be shifting sand, too. Wind's always playing tricks out over the dunes, yeah?" Had Ze'ran a drink imbedded in hand, he'd lift it to Agertha as she separates from their small pack. But he does not and so the young rider merely watches her emigration to a table further up with wordless regard. S'chen, watching his one tiny anchor in a sea of strangers splinter off the group, turns more inward. "I hope you find what you want." He's done, peace out, peace be with you, rest in peaces. Ze'ran's hands collect behind him in standing rest, waiting Zetali out while he can admire the rockcutter's work hewing this place out untold ages ago. "I have hide if you need it," separating one out and setting it on a tabletop with a piece of charcoal with a good tip. "Just flip it over, the back's less full." Fingers strum a final bright chord, flicking the strings with a short nail to really make them ring. Once it fades, Zetali twists to stow the lute back into its rack, hopping off the stool and gesturing somewhat impatiently for the supplies. Agertha is given a wave once the greenrider files off. Once Zetali's handed hide and charcoal, she collects both and brushes past Ze'ran, plunking down at a table and spreading the back of the hide out. Those sea-green eyes turn down in laser-focus to sketch out a few marks, frowning thoughtfully. She follows it up with another series of marks, working through it at a fast but methodical clip, but she doesn't look too certain about it. When she finally straightens, drawing back to eye it and check it over, she sighs and slides the hide over to Ze'ran with two fingers. "Short answer; I have no idea if that's correct or not, and you're probably going to get a straighter answer out of the Starcrafters." She pauses, rubbing at her jaw and ignoring the smudge of charcoal it leaves. "Mmmn. Maybe. My bet is 'sand,' though." It's easy enough to blame for everything else, right? As the barest of breezes drifts over his face from Zetali's brusque passing, he wasn't sure if she'd actually drop her original purpose to perform formulae on a dime. Or square of hide, as it were. There's no decision to cast shade behind her shoulder, he makes it look like a meandering walk when it's really a survey at a distance. At her response to social pressure. "I have no idea either but I'll figure it out." Planting a finger on the hide, he slides it over where he might return it to his pocket after a quick glance at the math to it. "Could be." He'll join the chorus without singing much more on the subject. "Did you come to play?" Referencing the lute and what Zetali's original function here might have been. "I wouldn't put too much stock in it." Zetali kicks back in her chair, folding her arms behind her head. "Consider it an amateur's work." Did she come here to play? "No. Well, not just," she corrects herself, leaning back in her chair. "I came here for the wine, actually, but the fact that they keep a few spare lutes around is fine by me. It beats having to go fetch mine. The more attention I draw to mine, the more Oddy wants to try and play it, and that's an awkward conversation I've been putting off for a lot of Turns." One she'll keep putting off, by her tone of voice. "I was a senior apprentice. Harper. Luthier, actually, but nobody really pays much attention to the finer details. Doesn't much matter, anyway." She reaches up, raking fingers through clean but sun-bleached brown hair, pulled into an equally messy braid. "Threadfighting is my trade, now." Unlike some who would have saw the equation and burnt it, numbers are like puzzle pieces for Ze'ran to assemble back together. No savant, more a bear trap mind. As this work-related pursuit was the last in today's daily grind, Ze'ran assumes to be the occupant of the plank of bench across from Zetali but just a fraction diagonal so he can better see the entrance and who comes and who goes. "You seem like you're from the area. Katz Field or…" He'll take a stab at her origins via what accent he can track and trace. "How long have you been a rider, Zetali?" In lower volume, casual conversation, the quality of his voice improves, sheds some of its tarnish. "Keroon Hold. Close enough not to matter, anyway," Zetali offers, shrugging. It doesn't take her long to get the wine she came here for; a minor interruption at best. "My father has a small hold. Herders by trade, the rest of my family, but that wasn't for me. I trained as a Harper." The former Harper settles more comfortably into her chair. The last question actually seems to take her off her guard, and she squints slowly into her wine, thinking. "You fall into a routine. Especially when the Thread's raining down. Seven Turns, for me. And here I'd expected to go right back to walking the tables after failing to Impress…" She snorts, amused. "Wouldn't trade it for the world, though. I think I'm better with this than I ever was at the luthier's trade." Ze'ran rubs at the column of his throat where sunburn got to it yesterday. Another couple days and it'll look like lizard skin. Indentation of his prints are white before the general fade back to red. That his general area of placement was right doesn't stoke his ego, he remains staring at a wall fissure, more a visual defect than anything, before redirecting a slow gaze graze to Zetali. "I haven't heard you play, but I'd have to agree." He also leans back, some level of comfort attained though he looks up to the bar and wills his spirit with those spirits there. After four, five full blinks, he makes the attempt to walk by several Arroyo riders in their chief hangout. Whatever's open and available becomes his choice, no looting the good stuff as a sort of transient. The cracked glass is raised to the Arroyans with a firebrand grin. "Being a brownrider hasn't hindered you? Conservatives still abound in Igen." His last two words are affected by the shift of him folding to sit. "Oh, that I can still do." Zetali flicks the fingers of her left hand, illustratively. "I still make sure to play the lute. I just don't know that I could trust my memory to build one, after seven Turns of riding that big loveable idiot into Threadfall. Got to let go of the old to accommodate the new." She tilts her head, tapping at a temple with a long finger. "And in this case, the new is a lot more important." She pauses, watching him raise his glass to the Arroyo riders and shrugging one shoulder cheerfully. There's a bit of mirth in those sea-green eyes. "Seems to me they don't have much of a leg to stand on when the dragons are choosing the girls, and the girls are fighting Thread with the best of the boys." A sip of cheap wine, and she shrugs again. "I welcome them to try. I work as hard as any bronzerider in this Weyr, and I don't mind saying it." She tilts her head, studying Ze'ran thoughtfully. "Sounds to me like you're not any more of a native to this desert than I am. Where are you from, bronzerider?" Ze'ran silently marvels at this cracked glass in hand that isn't leaking. The glazer had to have been a wizard. "I bet he feels the same way." Ducking his head only slightly to draw a distant rider into focus. Older, Impressed during Interval, a meat and potatoes sort of bias. His glares to Zetali have been furtive but growing less. Ze'ran must be drinking the same label wine as Zetali and it lacks a certain impression. "I was born here though neither parent was from Igen." Sensing a wetness, he wipes some wine from the side of his mouth. Maybe the crack isn't so benign. "And I was fostered with traders. At my sixteenth turn," a legal adult, "I came here to Impress." Frank, concise. "But I worked with the guard a few months while waiting for eggs. Iandeleoth's three." Pause. He looks restive. "But if you aren't going to play, I'm going to leave." Leaning forward, Zetali rests her elbows on the table, plopping her chin into her hands and regarding the bronzerider through lidded sea-green eyes. No particular emotion, there; simply an unconcerned study. Unperturbed as a feline, this woman brownrider. If she's experienced the pointy end of conservative views in Igen Weyr, she doesn't much show it. "Hmmmmm." It's a thoughtful sound, just this side of amusement, but not quite open about it. In fact, she's about to open her mouth to make some kind of wise observation (or feline jest) when her eyes abruptly slide out of focus. The tried and true sign of someone talking to their lifemate, or vice-versa. After a few seconds of mental back-and-forth, Zetali blinks back into focus, frowning. "As much as I'd like to stay and regale you, I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut this short. Look me up again sometime; I'll owe you a song. Ask after me. I spend some time here in the Last Call… Oddy likes the challenge of squashing onto the ledge." Her glass is raised and drained before she grins, sidling away. "Clear skies, bronzerider." With that, if she isn't stopped, she'll melt away into the crowd – as much as those eyes can be lost in a crowd – and out the door. Spare a Tune, Harper? has 0 comments. |
Zetali drops into the Last Call for a bit of relaxing Harpering, joined by Ze'ran and Agertha. |
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New faces and new chances New faces and new chances
![]() ![]() ![]() Kitchens Renowned, the culinary prowress of Southern, and suitable her kitchens to the task. A broad and airy sweep of room, it cannot help the sweat-drenching heat — though hearths are cleverly set within the ground itself to maximize efficiency. Big copper pots gleam along long tables, cooks hustling to and fro to prepare the necessary meals. There is never a candlemark the kitchens are left unstaffed: even in the wee hours of the night, bakers can be seen shaping loaves and mixing biscuits. For those who miss meals, a sideboard brims with leftovers that are easily transformed into portable potables, complete with sweet herbal tea and a large wheel of a soft, white, crumbly cheese. There's so little time within the day that kitchens aren't bustling with activity. There are, however, very brief lulls in which nothing is actively being cooked though last minute planning and preparation may be going. It's preparation that the newest worker within the kitchens is doing. It's also a great way to stay warm when the outside is so dreary and overcast. Valeiza sits cross legged in a kitchen chair with a large bowl of unpeeled tubers to her left and a large, partially filled bowl of peeled tubers to her left. Guess what she's working on? Tuber sculpture? Tuber printing on fabric? Both very worthwhile options, you know! However, R'zel has never heard of either, so when he sees Valeiza with unpeeled tubers on one side and peeled ones on the other, he will assume that she is engaged in tuber peeling. He arrives carrying one of the nighthearth stewpots, which is sadly empty, thus depriving him of his usual resort when he misses lunch - which seems to be happening with monotonous regularity at present. He is sadly distractable by hidework. He glances round looking for familiar faces, and the first one he spots is Valeiza, so he heads her way. "Do you mind if I interrupt you? I'm on the scrounge, I'm afraid." Peeeeeeeel….Valeiza does a long thin strip around the entire top half of one spud. "Hey…nice…Oh!" the interruption looks to be much appreciated. "Scrounging for." a pause. "Lemme guess. Food?" it's a good guess based on her knowledge of her brother's work habits or simply because they are in the kitchen. "Food," R'zel confirms. "If I miss lunch I usually raid the nighthearth for stew, but…" With an exaggerated look of sadness, he tips the empty pot for Valeiza to see its sorry state. "Is there any more? Or could I ask for something else?" He purses his lips for a moment. "Actually, something I could pack and take with me would be good. Verokanth's doing his duty on the Sands this afternoon and he wants me there, so I'm going to take some hidework with me." Valeiza says, "Well sadly the stew is gone." Valeiza is sad to report as she stands. The now nekkid tuber goes with all his other nekkid friends as she stands. A moment is taken to stretch out her back with several muffled pops rifling along her spine. "Ugh…been standing too long." weaving through the kitchen as she chats she starts grabbing things for the poor starved and most likely overworked 'leader. "Work is never done hmm?" she comments. "Why does he want you on the Sands though?" is questioned. "Oh do pass on my congratulations. From the eggs I could see from the stands they all look very healthy and colorful." not that she would know an unhealthy egg. "What was the final total? 40 something wasn't it?"" "Forty-two." R'zel gives a fond chuckle. "Oh, well, fair's fair. I expect his support in my duties, or at least the ones he's capable of. And I do need to talk to Amani sometimes, anyway. Besides, he wants to brag: he's very pleased with himself - and rightly so: that's a good sized clutch. Though actually, this one's smaller than the first two, which were huge. But there is a gold egg." Which puts a little thought in his mind, and he wonders aloud, "Have you ever Stood? I know Telgar's not keen on women Standing unless there's a gold, but…" And he can't recall a gold egg there recently. Slowly but surely various foods is getting stacked up on one of the counters. Various fruits first because one must stay healthy! Glancing up briefly as she cuts up some cooked but cold meats she blinks at the question. "Nope. Never been asked. Never Stood." not surprising really. "A gold egg hmm? Wow. Good for him. Serious bragging rights there." the cut up cold meats gets shoved into several partially hollowed out rolls. "Three of these enough?" a sideways glance is cast over at R'zel briefly. "Don't think Telgar's had a gold recently." going back to the first subject. "Didn't Search too far outside the weyr last hatching, if I recall right." "No, well, they're not exactly short of them there, and they tend to pop up when they're needed." So much for Telgar and its golds: R'zel's rather more interested in food right now. After leaving the stewpan near the people doing washing up, he watches his sister work. "That looks great. Yes, three will be plenty. Thank you, that's just the thing." He frowns. "When M'kel was Weyrleader he tried to force that on us, the no women thing. It didn't go down well. We had girls disguised as boys, women jumping down from the galleries, you name it." Valeiza looks around for something to stash the now completed pile of grab and go food for R'zel. "Never fully understood at Telgar why girls only when there's a Gold egg." stretching to her tip toes she attempts to grab a small basket just out of reach on a taller than her shelf. "Dragons bond with whom they like, I'd imagine." at the mention of disguised girls or woman jumping into the sands she gives a quiet chuckle. "That would have made for a very interesting hatching I imagine. Especially if some large brown went and impressed to the 'boy' who turned out to be a girl actually." "Yes, they do," R'zel says firmly, and reaches up for the basket, his much greater height allowing him to reach it easily and present it to Valeiza. "Oh, there were several girls that did that. Some riders brought in more than one. Of course, they were at a bit of a disadvantage because they hadn't had a chance to touch the eggs. But at least one of them Impressed a blue, and I think one of the browns got one too." He pauses a moment, considering Valeiza. "You never had the urge…?" "Thanks!" she's used to taller people coming to her aid. Said basket gets a quick inspection to ensure it's empty and clean. Next step….food in basket. "Hmmm?" one brow arches up at the question as she turns now to fully face R'zel. "Had the urge? Oh well sure. When I was younger I always envisioned some beautiful green marching up to me in the Stands and claiming me as her own." a hand lifts briefly. "Never happened though." clearly. R'zel nods thoughtfully, understanding the constraints at Telgar. "That doesn't seem to happen much here - I suppose because the people who ought to be on the Sands can be - but I've met one or two women from Telgar who Impressed that way." He frowns slightly. "Did Saebanth ever show any of that sort of interest in you? I don't think he's that keen on Searching, from what Father's said, but you were around him a lot more than I ever was." Valeiza taps a fingertip thoughtfully against her chin. "Saebanth?" frowning in concentration she eventually shakes her head. "Not that I recall?" to the bet of her knowledge. " I mean he's always been friendly with me. But never mentioned me Standing. But he did tell me I give the best scritches." a grin. "Your food's packed. Why all the questions? I'm too old to Stand." a pause. "Aren't I? "I… don't think so." If R'zel sounds unsure, it's because he's not keen to reveal that he doesn't know exactly how old his half-sister is. "You can Stand until you've twenty-five turns. You aren't that old, are you?" He gives a chuckle. "If it's any comfort, Saebanth never showed the slightest interest in me, either, and neither did any of the dragons Fort sent to the Harper Hall." Valeiza flashes a look of pretend hurt with a gasp. "I'm not /that/ old!" she teases. "So then who did show interest in you then when you Stood?" she asks, curious. "Southern sent searchdragons to Southern Barrier Hold, a few days after I got posted there. One of them picked me out." R'zel gives a rather sardonic grin. "Father, of course, said he always knew I would - which was the first time I'd heard of it. And I'm pretty sure Mother heaved a sigh of relief. But I'd totally given up on escaping the harpers that way, until it happened. I mean, Fort really do sent dragons to the Hall every time there's a clutch, and there wasn't a sniff of interest from any of them." Valeiza leans casually against the counter crossing her arms over her chest. "Obviously they missed something in you. Or else it was a giant plan for you to work just a little longer with the harpers." she teases lightly. "I think it's safe to bet you're doing better as a bronzerider than a crafter." R'zel gives a slightly embarrassed grin. "I reckon they were just waiting for Verokanth to be on the Sands." He might even believe that. "But you're right; I'm much better at this. I do keep up with my music, as much as I can, but it's so much more fun when I'm not facing a life riding round the back of beyond and churning out teaching ballads to groups of children." He leans back on the edge of the counter behind him. "So what about you? What do you see yourself doing?" His eyes drift towards the task that she was doing before he interrupted her. "I mean, peeling tubers is useful, but as a long term thing?" Valeiza says, "I'd like to think eventually I'll get off those kind of tasks and into something…more productive." Valeiza says with a hint of dryness to her tone. "But…well.." a hand waves aimlessly in the air. "Nothing I've done yet has really stuck, ya know? So at the moment I guess being here at Southern is like a fresh start. Mostly new faces and new chances."" R'zel nods along with all that. "New chances are good. And it's good that you want to find the thing that's right for you, and not settle for something that isn't. Maybe you could work towards a slot as one of the Headwoman's assistants." He happens to know one of those rather well! "I can't really tell you a lot about that, but I know who could. Or." He rubs the thumb of one hand over the fingers of the other, then adds, "Or, what about the eggs?" Valeiza hmms faintly. "Assistant…that's not a bad idea." something to ponder anyways. "The eggs?" she considers with a head tilt. "Oh sure, that'd be an option. If a dragon showed interest in me." "Well, I can ask Verokanth to see what he thinks of you, if you like," R'zel offers. There's a reason for his apparent diffidence, though. "But now you're living at the Weyr, we mostly just ask likely-looking people if they'd like to Stand. You know what it's all about, and with a father and a brother who are dragonriders, it's in your blood; that must make you a reasonable prospect, I'd say. If you're still interested, of course." He pauses, apparently listening to some silent voice, then smiles a little, eyes twinkling. "Vero says, if you want a beautiful green, you need to know that he always sires beautiful hatchlings. Which is true, if you like hatchlings, even though he says it himself!" Despite living in Telgar for most of her life, Valeiza clearly has little to no clue on how the search process works. After all she's never been too involved in that part of the weyr-life. So her head tilts into her normal listening/thinking pose as she considers everything. "I certainly know what is involved." or at least the basics without actually having a lifemate of her own. "So, just be asked hmm…." she muses in a quiet tone mostly intended just for her own self. Plenty of thoughts flash through her mind in mere seconds but it's a couple minutes before she finally replies. "I never truly gave up on the idea of that beautiful green so….yes, I'm still interested. Who knows what will happen." a slash of a smile across her expression. "And if Vero says he sires gorgeous hatchlings then I can't say no then." R'zel gives a slow smile at that, his attention split between Valeiza and Verokanth. "He thinks that's a very proper attitude." He reaches into his pocket, and - what a surprise - he just happens to have a white knot in there. "I've got my instructions," he chuckles. "I'm to find absolutely the best best people for his offspring." He straightens out the twists in the cord, then holds it out to Valeiza. "Will you do us the honour?" What else does he have in his pockets? Hmm? A question for another day. This day though the question must be answered. Taking the pro-offered knot she formally accepts. "Yes." "Excellent!" R'zel sounds genuinely pleased. "We'd better get you moved over to the Candidate Barracks, then. I can show you where to go now, then you can pick your stuff up and move in properly afterwards. And, if I might have that basket, please?" He's still going to want his lunch at some point! New faces and new chances has 0 comments. |
Valeiza has come to Southern in search of new chances. R'zel offers one in the form of a white knot. |
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The Bladesmith and the Dragon-Hound The Bladesmith and the Dragon-Hound
![]() ![]() "Though it's gonna take ages t'scrub him down after this no no no do NOT ROLL…" FLOOMPH. ![]() River Cliffs Towering cliffs topped with the verdant growth of brilliant greenery hover over the churning, steel-grey river far down below. The winding Black Rock River crashes against the base of the cliffs, churning as speed is slowly picked up over the rapids as it spills quickly towards the Caspian Lake, seen as a glimmering jewel in the distance. When the chilly grip of ghostly fog rolls in, it clings to the jungle that grows right to the very edge, giving the whole length of the river's cliffs an eerie sense of danger. In the distance, a feline's yowl may sometimes be heard. Dotting the towering cliffs are ledges; this is one of the best spots for those who seek a view in Southern. Nature is NOISY today: the roar of churning river waters, the incessant patter of rain on greenery, the wind just strong enough to set cave openings to quietly hhhoooooo at every breath. It is dismal and wet. What a PERFECT day for an old woman to take a walk. Jesha's edging her way down the path, her hood pulled tight around her face, leaning heavily on a walking stick and being not-so-subtly shadowed by her equally creaky lifemate. Her expression that of concentration, she cranes her neck to look up at the ledges, then down over the cliff, ticking something off on her fingers and mumbling quiet calculations to herself. The loudness of nature is sometimes inspiring to those people who also have very loud jobs, and that brings out the young gentleman normally known to keep to his crypt of a forge. Since coming to Southern Weyr, Mhalyen has been 90% work and 10% being annoyed by all of the family that think it is a novelty that they, and he, are both present — that has mostly been those of his own age or younger, and he has been doing his best to avoid it. The various women attached to browns of older generations have seen more of him, and so it isn't the first he's met up with Jesha since his arrival about a month ago, but that doesn't mean he doesn't look surprised to see her … here. Where he came to watch water smash against rocks for inspiration in re: metal smashing against metal. "Sevareth," he says, diverting his walk toward the loud fall to meet brown-and-rider in their path, "You're a dragon." Implied in the eyebrows: so why are you walking, you should be flying. "Lookit you, up for some air today!" Jesha teases, mopping her clammy brow with the back of her hand and going distant-eyed for a moment. "He says it's 'more funner 'cause there's no puddles when you fly.' HUH! Days like this there almost are, though it's not hardly so chewy as it gets in a few months. Just wait until summer gets here. 'Least forges tend to be a dry heat. So what's got you out here lurkin' around instead of being nose deep in producin' the weyr's finest pointy shit?" Mhalyen cannot help but look up. Because it is wet in the sky, which is kind of like puddles, and then rain lands directly in his eyes, and that was the unanticipated and unpleasant consequence. Eurgh. :( Coat-sleeve to face to wipe that off right away. "Fresh wet air, actually," he's willing to confess. "My eyeballs were desiccating. I forgot it was going to be cold." So it's not that cold, but he does have to wear multiple layers, and he usually likes his dry heat. If he can't have the dry heat, he'll take the damp heat, and instead he got WET COLD. Jesha sniggers to herself, leaning in to bump a bony shoulder against Mhalyen's bicep. "It's better'n the 'Reaches 'cause at least there's variety, but not so good as Ista was. Spent a bit of time in Igen the other day and THAT was the WORST, good FARANTH! Had t'pick up some candidates for the Zymuraithlings that dropped and no wonder so many folks there resorted to crime. The heat made me want to do a murder, though Sev' over there loved it." He loves the wet, too, apparently, having found a rather large puddle to delight in dipping one oversized forepaw into repeatedly with a SMACK against the surface. "Oh, while I got ya here, maybe you can answer a question I've been dealin' with. I'm thinkin' of movin' weyrs - we're gettin' on in age, duh an' all, an' I'm tryin' to figure out which sets have the most clearance for descent. Thinkin' ahead and all that. You think those over there are high up enough in case we start needin' more room to get to flyin' in the next however many Turns?" Casual contact from some people is acceptable to Mhalyen's otherwise stoic wall; family always gets away with it, and so he doesn't do anything but grin through hair that's fallen over his eyes. "Igen's not too bad. I mean, the weather's shit. People're fine for the most part." Those people, they like blades, and he's rarely even there so he's very popular! "It is better than the 'Reaches. But …" Mhalyen's brain has reached one of those impasses, and while he's still walking, he's also actually giving her a quirked eyebrow. One that, after a pause to ponder, comes with words attached: "Yeah, based on physics I'd say so, just I keep thinking that older riders would want to be closer to the ground, I hadn't actually considered, uh. Dragon joints." Because dragons age, too! "Complete paradigm shift on that front, right here. How many candidates did you get?" Is he holding a fist up in the direction of Sevareth's head for a snoot-bump? Maybe. Bump accepted with a practiced *donk* of Sevareth's dorky and gigantic sniffer. Jesha just shakes her head with a fond grin. "See, half of flyin' is gliding, really, and while you're young you can kinda spring up with yer hind legs and get your air. As we get on, though, we kinda rely on falling and swooping up on air drafts. Less joint involvement that way, and you want to give your dragon a big berth when he goes between. We almost crash-landed by the lake in Igen the other day. Fortunately we didn't bury our candidate - picked up about seven? I'd say?" She looks to Sev for confirmation, but he's gone back to plapping his toesies against the puddle. "But especially there, jumping up was SO difficult on the sand, like tryin' to wrestle with, idunno, pudding or somethin'. Here it's mud, and we try to avoid that as much as we can. Like here, with the cliff, he could get enough space to get speed to kinda swoop down towards the river's surface, then spread out an' arc upwards, and hopefully the air that comes up off the water can catch his sails enough." "Oh, please don't crashland and die in Igen, that would be a disaster," Mhalyen says helpfully, for all that the statement is at most sounding like mild amusement tracing through his voice. It's a very, very serious remark, thank you. "I do see the point, though. That one's awful long, I wonder if anyone lives there and wants to trade." He's pointing toward a ledge that looks like a wide diving board, even coming to a point at the end (though it looks pointier at a distance than it would close up). "If they don't, just, ah, move in and pretend you've been there all along." What are records, anyway? "I think I've seen weyrlings sliding about in mud. It's a … sadder image when it's adult dragons who can't get traction." Except his face is trying desperately not to laugh, because it is actually just really funny except when adding the idea of suffering back in. SPLASH! The gentle paws have become a mighty tools of destruction as, after several minutes of testing, Sevareth has decided to take the plunge and drop both into the puddle as hard as he can, sending up a geyster that nails Jesha head to toe. She blinks, face a perfect :I with lips pushed together hard enough to go colorless, mud dripping down her consternated expression. Silence falls as she gives her lifemate a long, even glare. "AS WE WERE SAYING," she grates, crossing her arms over her befouled chest, "There's a lotta things t'consider. If y'want, we can go take a peek-see up there at some point. Handy thing about bein' able to talk over distance with his brain is that we can find out if it's empty ahead of time or if they mind visitors or if it's someone who I can just drop in on. That's a good one though if y'got lots of visitors, you're right. Kinda perilous but dragons know if it's safe. They even LIKE sliding around in th'mud, as you can see, since most of 'em don't really got a concept of dignity. Riders gotta do that thinking for 'em at times. So you just kinda memorize where it's safest to land and take off and keep those spots envisioned strongly when y'going from here to there." Well. There was no escaping that. Mhalyen, too, is kind of muddy: he is less muddy beause he wasn't the target, but he was still standing there, and his hair has certainly seen better, cleaner days. His expression is a deadpan line of flat acceptance that he is now wet and mud-dappled. Perhaps it's a good look for him at some level. "Vazirynath is the dignity the others do not have and then some," he says of his father's dragon, resisting any urge to talk about the mud on him, or about myriad other topics. "A real nightmare if one ever forgets something, I think." Sevareth is definitely not dignified. Smug is more like it, and he's taken to wallowing his whole tum in the squishy mud, eyes spinning with perfect contentment. They pause noticeably, though, and he does a curious head-tip, turning his head thisway and that like a dog triangulating on a rabbit. If he had ears, they'd be perking. "Oh it's definitely one o' those things you spend your life turning into habit. Most of us could tell ya where all the doors are on all the holds, what direction they face, where they keep the wagons. I'm sure you do the same with melted up metals, like… like you can look at it and just know at a glance without even bein' aware if it's ready for a pour or how much more heat you need or the purity." Mention of I'yn has Jesha snickering even as she picks chunks of gravel off of her oversized sweatshirt. "I love that girl, I truly do. Her mind is just a joy to listen to. Once we were up in Igen when she got proddy - got out of there before THAT had a chance of happening - and she wouldn't even let Sev' sniff at her. Speaking of, sorry about him. He's all giddy about the mud, I think. He's bein' accidentally cryptic." "He's fine. He's hilarious," is actually what Mhalyen thinks of that positioning, watching Sevareth's hunting point. He's going to just KEEP not laughing, though. "Because he is not actually a giant dog, but seems to be attempting an impression. And, yes, I see your point." Betweening is always going to be molten edge to him, from now on, though it is far from Mhalyen to be sure if he could ever remember little details like that, with the lack of photographic memory he's pretty sure he's working with. As for I'yn's dragon, all he can say, though at least he is saying anything at all, is, "Ziry's a snob, but she's a decent one." He shrugs both shoulders up into his ears, lets out a soft chuff. Does not realize how possible it is that Sevareth is actually attuning to a giant feline that is going to leap out and eat them both, because he heard about how his aunt Sin and Iqiazath died, but … that isn't what really happened, right? "He might's well be. Though I mean, I wanted a hound real, real bad when I was little and look! I got the biggest one of all!" Jesha gestures broadly, dislodging grimy droplets to flick back towards the brown. "Though it's gonna take ages t'scrub him down after this no no no do NOT ROLL…" FLOOMPH. Sevareth's on his side, his tail curling and unfurling gleefully, wings pinned close to his body. "Ugh, all those little wing parts got the damndest crannies. Yes, darling, Mhal's VERY IMPRESSED with… ohhhhh." There's the magic word, and a lightbulb pops up over Jesha's head. Sev's tail makes a particularly enthusiastic waggle. "So, uh, hypothetic'ly speakin', you're not too tied up with work'n all that, like you're not tryin' to get a big old smith knot of some kind or got a commission or somethin' coming up that you can't, y'know, put offfff." Normally stoic Mhalyen has completely left that behind at this point, because when the dragon being compared to a canine decides to just roll in the mud, there is nothing he can do but dissolve into midlly-wheezing laughter. What is air? What is things that are not funny? What is having a rep for not cracking up even when the moment is funny? In any other situation, he might've just had bright eyes and raised eyebrows. In this one he is having to remind himself to inhale. "Hm? Oh, not at the moment, I've only just gotten promoted and I haven't got established well enough in the area for," hang on, he has to laugh a little more, "commissions past a meat cleaver for the kitchens, did you need something?" Jesha's lips purse, though not so tightly as to cover up the grin that twitches the corners upwards. "Well, y'know. It's Sevareth mostly been eyeballing you and trying to get you to call him a good boy, which is 'bout normal, but he's REALLY bein' insistent. You come from a long line of us, kid. Look at that guy." Another gesture Sev-wards, and she holds her arm out palm-up to gesture at the brown that gazes so appealingly at the Smith. "I know you're real established in your craft so I wanted to be sure you weren't busy before I," A pause, then she rolls her eyes, "WE - my bad, Sev," And he drops his tail against the ground hard enough to shake the water from the broad-leaf plants that cover the sides of the road, "WE asked you to come stand for Amani's clutch. You'd think he'd just get to it after alla this time, but noo, he's gotta put on a show. Least he didn't shove you down." Perk! goes the dragon's expression, his skull lifting off the ground and his legs flailing a bit as he attempts to excitedly right himself, though thankfully age has slowed him enough. "NO NO NOT A SUGGESTION! Shardit! Gotta watch y'mouth around a lifemate, as you're prolly aware, or will be. So, y'know, if yer not busy and all thaaaat." She shrugs so hard her shoulders bump against her ears. "… Not too terribly." Mhalyen is always kind of busy, but that's the life of a crafter who actually likes his job. On the other hand, he's not well established in this posting. He's not particularly approaching a promotion since it hasn't been so long since he'd gotten one. And if he had giant dragon-appropriate treats, he'd be throwing one for Sevareth regardless of the reasoning. "If I were acting in my best interests I'd say, maybe wait until they're about to hatch and ask again so I don't waste away in the candidate barracks, an exhausted pile of be-chored misery, but instead I am acting in his," with a head nod toward Sevareth, "so I'll just say, sure, all right." At least until he can't stand it anymore and quits, which has at least a 50% chance of happening the same way as anything where Mhalyen is given a choice has 50/50 odds of going in either direction. "Oh EXCELLENT! Oh, hon, y'come from a line of some of the best riders I've ever had th'pleasure of knowin', and not just 'cause it criss-crosses with mine in a few places. Though we're not bad for our age an' all that." Sevareth responds by rolling around in blithe glee, making sure to coat every inch of his idiotic hide with gunge that will definitely be impossible to discern from proper brown hide. Jesha facepalms, then wipes at her face to get rid of whatever mud is left. "Though we're very dirty now - thanks, Sev - so I might just have to run and get us cleaned up. Ugh, scrubbing dragonhide in the chill is one of my least favorite activities. Once we get y'settled we might wing it southwest where it might be at least tolerable. Between like this is the surest way to get yourself all kinds of sick, so don't do it if or when you end up with one of your own." 'If or when' covers all the bases, and Mhalyen, too, gets a bath before his new knot gets pinned on.. The Bladesmith and the Dragon-Hound has 0 comments. |
Inspirations and weyr hunting and technical demotions, but mostly: mud. |
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One More Time! One More Time!
![]() ![]() "No worries" ![]() Nighthearth (#25147): A comfortable nook, this natural extension of the living room is cozily attired with overstuffed chairs and a couple of well-worn loveseats. All have been covered in various shades of green, giving the very incongruous appeal of a miniature forest hidden away inside… a grove of man-made proportion. Fish stews and spicy white-wherry chili are often kept hot on the minor hearths east and west of the main, for those whose hours defy when meals are kept. Ornate, the largest hearth towers high, rich with carving and utilitarian in fashion: it holds court by providing the weyr with rich klah, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon wafting. With the living caverns a buzzing with the breakfast rush, a pair of crafty twin tots have managed to slip away from their mom while she was busy with gathering up meals for three. To the Nighthearth they have absconded, the little girl leading the little boy right into mischief, as they find extra clever places to hide, their occasional giggling the only thing that gives them away. Not a couple minutes later, a rather irate looking Xanthee marches up to the nighthearth with a tray heaped with breakfast in her hands, her emerald eyes flitting about. "You think you're clever, but you forget that mommy has many eyes." She says out loud as she moves to the table to set down her tray before one hand finds the now obvious bump under her loose shirt. "You're gonna be the good one, right?" She speaks to the baby she's still cooking. Generally, Phaedra makes it to her own quarters before falling asleep. Generally. This morning, she passed out right after a very early breakfast and is currently snuggled up and fast asleep in one of the oversized, stuffed chairs in the nighthearth. There's a cold cup of klah on the table next to her and her head is in very real danger of slipping off her hand. Not that this matters when children come invading and hiding and giggling. Though, instead of being irate, Phaedra is merely amused. The laughter of children is not a horrible thing to wake up to. She manages to see where the twin trouble makers slip into, so when Xanthee arrives, and Phae is mid-stretch, she grins and uses a finger to point out the little buggers. Hopefully mom notices without Phae having to say anything. Though, it's semi-hard not to laugh when Xanthee asks her in-utero baby if it will be the good one. She's heard this more times than she can count from expecting mothers. Catching sight of Phaedra's helpful finger, Xanthee offers a smile in thanks to the healer as she heads over to one of the couches that is almost pressed up against one of the walls, leaning over to look behind it. "Ok, enough of this. You two need to eat breakfast so I can get you to the playroom." She says, utilizing her mommy-voice, which causes much whining from the pair of Lexi and Thane as they crawl out from behind the couch and drag their feet over to the table to climb into a chair each while Xan puts a small plate of breakfast in front of each of them with fruits, some scrambled eggs and a piece of buttered bread each. When that's done, the greenrider finds herself a seat in a nearby upholstered chair with a sigh. "Sorry for interupting your sleep, Journeyman." She offers with a wane smile in Phaedra's direction. Phaedra rubs the sleep from her eyes and stands for another stretch as Xanthee gets her brood in line. SHe didn't mind helping! Honest! She then collects her mug and exchanges old cold klah for fresh and hot before sinking back into her chair with a smile. "It's quite alright, I'll just wake myself up enough here to head home and crash back out anyways. It's probably a good thing you all came in and made noise because I would have been miserably stiff and sore if I'd slept that way for long. So I suppose I should be thanking the three of you." She looks Xanthee over and smiles. "How's the gestation going?" Xanthee glances back over her shoulder to see that the littles are still behaving and eating their breakfast with as little fuss as possible before turning her attention back to the Healer. "You were on the night shift then?" She deduces from all the clues as she lets one hand come to rest on her baby bump. "Oh fantastic! It's like night and day from when I had the twins, except for the fact that I look like I've eaten a few too many of Ardstelle's baked goods, I wouldn't even know I was expecting. I'm about half-way there now, and can still do most things. Wasn't like this with the twins." Phaedra nods at Xanthee's first. "I take them when I can, the night shifts are quiet, and generally run smoothly." Generally. Phaedra sips at her klah and tucks her feet up underneath her. No worries cleaning staff! Phae's boots are tucked under her chair. She's not scuffing up or dirtying the furniture! "Good. I'm glad to hear it… and I'm sure someone has mentioned that no two pregnancies are ever the same? Right?" It's an innocent enough question, she's not Xanthee's midwife, so she doens't know what's been said or not. "It's good you aren't too overburdened by it, specially with those two spirited young ones. I have to give it to the mothers with twins and triplets, must be hard. Specially as a dragonrider mom." She may be sifting for information for her notes. Maybe. "Actually, I think you mentioned it when I saw you wanting to confirm it in the first place." Xanthee points out with a bit of a chuckle. "I'm almost glad I got the harder pregnancy done the first time, I am certainly not complaining." Mention of the twins has Xan peering over again just in time to see Lexi aiming a piece of banana at Thane's ear. "Hey!" She says sharply, the little girl's head swiveling in her mom's direction with a start before she cleverly pops the piece of fruit in her mouth as if that's what she was going to do all along. The greenrider just gives her a look and then turns her attention back on Phaedra. "Twins are not for the faint-hearted… but it's not like I chose to have two at once, so you take what life throws at you." She adds with a bit of a shrug. Phaedra mmms. "Indeed. I guess you have a point there. But when you have the option of fostering and nannies, I have to give it to the dragonrider parents that parent and take their duties seriously at the same time. It's a lot of work and should be admired." And that really is how she feels about it. Riders don't have to take care of their spawn if they don't want to, so those that do have some high esteem in Phae's books. "I don't know that I could handle twins. Two at once on everything… you really are a power to be reckoned with." Phae winks in Xan's direction and tries to hide a yawn behind her hand before sipping at her klah. "Oh, I make good use of the nannies, and our kids spend plenty of time in the lower caverns with all the other brats." Xanthee will fully admit without any shame. "But no, I couldn't foster. My mother didn't with me, and she was a single mom when the Pass started, and I was about 4. She was injured bad in one of the first Falls and died soon after." She can say this now without getting too choked up, over two decades have passed since. "So I'm doing what she couldn't. And If Thread should ever get me, well… I know they will have Mal to tell them all about me." A bit morbid maybe for this early in the morning, and so Xan shakes herself out of it with a sigh. "I swear, pregnancy brain makes me say the weirdest things." She offers by way of apology. Phaedra shakes her head. "Don't worry about it. I think we all have those sort of thoughts now and again, and specially when we're changing." She can't speak to pregnancy brain, she's never had it. So she can't comment on weird preggo thoughts very much. She sips at her klah a bit more, thoroughly amused when Lexi gets caught trying to plug her brother's ear. It's cute, despite the bad behavior side of things. Phaedra shakes her head, looking sympathetic to Xan's story about her mom. Losing a parent must be hard no matter how long ago it happened. "Don't worry about it. I think we all have those sort of thoughts now and again, and specially when we're changing." She can't speak to pregnancy brain, she's never had it. So she can't comment on weird preggo thoughts very much. She sips at her klah a bit more, thoroughly amused when Lexi gets caught trying to plug her brother's ear. It's cute, despite the bad behavior side of things. (Fix) "I suppose so." Xanthee replies with a shrug. "It's not like knowing the risks stopped me from taking up the white knot four times before Liowyth finally found me on the sands. It's all I wanted to be. A rider like my mom. So why not be realistic about these things? You only have one live to live, make each day count is what I always say." She adds with a smile before getting up to move over to the table to wipe down sticky fingers and offer small amounts of juice in kid friendly cups to the twins to finish off breakfast. Phaedra nods. "You've the right of it there for sure. Life is short, do what you can, when you can." Phae drinks up a good portion of her klah, but still looks super tired around the edges and keeps having to hide yawns behind her hand. She really SHOULD go to bed. But this has been an interesting morning interlude and as she doesn't socialize much, it's been nice. She watches Xanthee begin clean up and sighs. "Did you even get to eat? I can help if you want to scarf down your breakfast." She might not know what she's doing with kids much, but cleaning them up can't be that hard, right? "It's fine, really… I need to get them to the playroom, and then I can come back and finish my own in peace." Xanthee looks almost giddy at this prospect as she sticks a napkin into a handy glass of water and wipes down sticky mouths and fingers most efficiently. Her emerald eyes do unfocus just a touch in the universal body language of a rider talking to one's dragon. "Y'know… if you're too tired to make to it your room in the crafter's complex, I'm sure a cot could be found for you, much closer. But you'd have to put one of these on to get access to it." She says matter-of-factly, turning from the table with a fresh whtie knot danging from her fingers. "Liowyth just reminded me that I have a pocketfull of these to give out, and if you're a journeywoman, you should be about the right age I'm hoping." Phaedra nods at Xanthee's first. "Alright then, just thought I'd offer." She finishes off her klah and is in the middle of putting her boots back on when Xanthee speaks up. She almost misses what the greenrider says, she's so focused and sleepy. But when it finally does sink in, her gaze flicks up to Xanthee's, kind of wild and bright as if checking to see if the woman is joking. She hasn't been asked to stand for a clutch in awhile now and had thought that perhaps she'd missed her chance at ever finding a lifemate on the sands. But, her gaze lands on that white knot and for a second, Phae has to fight the shock. Another dragon thinking she's good for the sands. How about that? Swallowing, she stands and moves closer to Xanthee in order to accept. "I'd be honored, though I will need to report to the craft to pack and let them know." As if she's sleeping now! "Can I have the day before I have to report?" Chuckling softly with a shake of her head when the penny finally drops for Phaedra, Xanthee tosses the knot in the healer's direction when she's close enough to not likely miss it even in her sleepy state. "Whatever you need, I suppose. Don't wait too long though, you don't want to be left with no choice of cots in the barracks. That's the worst. Just report in at the barracks whenever, and there'll be someone to get you sorted." Xan smiles a touch nostalgically. "I need to pass this pair off to the nannies then I'm having a quiet breakfast and a long bath. Just me and the littlest one." She adds as she takes her twins in hands and heads towards the inner caverns. Phaedra nods. "Oh I know, this isn't my first time at this… but thank you for the extra time anyhow. ANd thank you for the offer, give yours my thanks as well." She listens to Xanthee's plans for the morning as she gathers the rest of her things, tucking the precious white knot into one of her pockets for the time being. She'll need to change before pinning it to her shoulders. "I guess I'll be seeing you around rider, thank you again!" There's excitement welling up now, an excitement Phae hasn't dared feel in a long time. Beaming, she skitters out of the hearth and into the living caverns and beyond. She has things to do! People to see! "No worries Candidate!" Xanthee calls, looking over her shoulder. "Liowyth and I will be looking for you on the Sands." And the greenrider is off. One More Time! has 0 comments. |
Phaedra is sleeping in the nighthearth when Xanthee and her twins come in for an early breakfast. |
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Gallery gabbing Gallery gabbing
![]() ![]() "I don't imagine it to be very different than Igen, yeah? Ye do your chores, salute th' riders, keep yer nose clean." ![]() Galleries Stone benches rise up.. and up.. and up: grooves upon grooves show marks of their hand-hewn origins, small chips and uneven textures to tell the tale of humble beginnings in a place which looks upon the black-and-white Sands of Southern, a place of greater beginnings indeed. The Galleries take up roughly a third of the perimeter of the Sands: to the west are flat, staggered entranceways, ledges for dragons interested in watching the proceedings. Below and just easterly, a stitched-hide curtain covers the entrance to the bowl, keeping the wind away from the precious cargo often housed upon the Sands. It cannot help the shrieking of the wind above: though it is muted in this hollow, the intermittent sighs and moans of the thermals shrieking through the viewing-ledges above can be unsettling. It has been a long day for the Igenese trader- assistant currently basking in the reflective warmth generated by the Hatching Sands, and while she is not napping, Naneska does have the half-hooded eyes of someone who isn't that far off, just after dinner is far too early for her to seek her cot. But still, there is a hint of contentment lingering in the soft smile on her face, even as she pulls the edges of her jacket closer together and rests booted feet on the back of the chair in front, causing a small mountain to be made with her long leather-clad legs. Her hazel eyes turned speculatively upon the still soft clutch. "I'd wager that 'un's a blue." She points out Sail On Egg with a jerk of her chin to the group of younger teens to her left. Clearly she's not shy! Freed from her day's works, Ryott's knot was off the moment she cleared her office door. Dressed in her oilcloth trenchcoat, she wanders into the galleries just in time to hear Naneska's wager on one of the eggs. "Why? Because it's blue? That's never an indicator." She scoffs dryly as she finds herself a seat a few rows back from the Candidate, leaning back to let her arm rest on the back of the bench as her legs stretch out before her, crossing at the ankles. Naneska shoots a quick wink towards the newcomer to the discussion from the side that isn't facing the teens. "Nah, it's cos o' th' dimples." She nods sagely, morphing the gesture of wisdom to one of greeting, the wink clearly doesn't count. "Ye kin see th' dimples yeah?" Are there dimples on the egg? Or is Naneska just twitting those who don't know any better? It remains to be seen, because at about that point, the teens are herded out by one of the lower caverns women with the promise that "The weyrs dishes will not wash themselves!" If Ryott sees dimples or not, is not readily apparent, since her expression doesn't change one bit from that slightly bored look on her face. Reaching into her coat, she retrieves a breadroll from one side and a little pad of butter in a piece of waxed hide from the other. Without any kind of utensil, she merely dips the warm bread in the butter and then brings it to her mouth for a thoughtful chew. "They've all go dimples when there this new though. When they harden up those dimples disappear." She deadpans before doing another dip then bite of her bread. Now that Ryott is the only person close enough to focus upon, Naneska does just that. "No need t' tell craft secrets if ye don't have too." That hint of foxy mischief lingers about her befringed features before dropping slightly with thought. "Is draagonridin' a craft or more a…" Here words fail her for the moment, even as she watches the consumption of bread and butter. "…way o' life?" She decides eventually. "There is certainly life in those." Her attention is dragged back to the eggs, which hold as much fascination for her as they did for the dearly departed teens, for all that she's hiding it better. "Ye've been here before yeah?" Perhaps she's assuming that Ryott is nothing more than herself, another older wiser candidate to add to the pool. "Well…." Ryott drawls, considering the question for a moment as she tilts her head to one side thoughtfully before tearing another mouthful of bread off the whole. "Considering that you can presumably quit a craft, but you can't say the same about drgonriding, I would say the latter." She finally concludes as she licks melted butter off her fingertips. To her last, she dips her head. "Aye, been here a few turns already, long enough to see my share of hatchings up close." Which is true, but vague enough not to contradict the idea that she could very well be another lucky white-knotted person. Naneska wrinkles her nose in sympathy. "I've not done this often, but ye're a brave one t' keep at it." Yep, that assumption is well and truely cemented even as she offers her admiration for what she assumes is Ryotts persistance. "I don't imagine it to be very different than Igen, yeah? Ye do your chores, salute th' riders, keep yer nose clean." Just as she finishes speaking a draft makes its way from the viewing ledges above and she draws her jacket tighter. "Okay, that's very different!" She laughs. "Tis hot enough to cook on stone back in Igen!" It's not a complaint, she seems to be relishing the occasional chill in the lambent warmth. "Nah, I'm just stubborn." Ryott replies easily as she pops the last of her buttered breadroll into her mouth. "Yep, that's about the gist of it. Though, if a rider ever tells ya not to salute them, you better remember. Some of them take serious offense to be being saluted when they've told you not to. Just a little tip from me to a newcommer." She offers with a sober dip of her head in Naneska's direction. "Yeah, you got bad luck getting snatched during our winter. Though we seem to get an awful lot of clutches at this time of turn, no idea why." One the bread is done with, she sticks her hands into her pockets as she burrows a bit into the collar of her coat. "You get used to it…. people will tell you. But I'm not, and it's been Turns." Naneska nods thoughtfully as Ryott offers her advice. "I kin admire stubborness." She admits with another bright smile. "It's how I learned t' shoe runners." And various other adventures that will be shared anon. "I'm Bitran back mountain bred, the clime here is…pleasant cool wit'out havin' t' wade through dragonlengths o' snow." She admits. "I might miss th' sun though. But the wet and the green!" She exhales. "That's something!" There is always a silver lining if you look close enough, and Nan is always looking. "Ye think o' any riders like that off th' top o' ye head, jist so's I don't put me feet in it." The longer the pair of them converse, the longer Naneska seems to relax into the easy ways of a trader. The corner of Ryott's lips twitch just a moment when she mentions where she hails from originally. "Bitran, huh?" She says with no indication of judgement one way or another for her heritage. "Wet and green it is here, just wait though till the place starts trying to kill you. With storms the like you've never scene, and earth tremors. Even heard tell of some volcanos too. And that's not to mention the wildlings and all the stuff in the jungle designed to kill ya." She adds informatively before canting her head to the other side, scoffing softly under her breath. "Nah, you're not going to get more than that tip from me. That way I don't ruin the fun for you figuring out who to salute and who not." Naneska listens carefully to the lists of Southern's hazards. "Aye, either Igen nor Southern are bonny Ista fer sure." She agrees, although there is a snort for the storms. "Ye ever seen a sandstorm? Flail the skin off ye jist like that." She snaps her tanned fingers. She, too, lives with danger! Or something. There is certainly a twinkle in her eyes while she spins tales of deadly Igenese sandstorms. "And here I was thinkin' we were on our way t' friendship. Ye do me cruel!" The protestation is given in the same amused vein as the description of Igen's dangers. At least Naneska is having fun! "I'm Naneska by the by, formerly assistant to Hannah…" She pauses to cock her head. "And I do believe Dhiammarath is th' granddam o' the clutch down there. Funny how these things work out." Apparently she hadn't considered that before. "Aye, I have." Ryott replies simply over the sandstorm query. "I've been a bit all over before I came here." She adds with a shrug. Talk of being friends brings a lightly derisive snort from the young woman. "Don't blame me if you got the wrong idea. I just offered a tip, is all." She adds with another shrug and as even a tone as ever. When her name and former position is given, she lifts a brow with about as much interest as she's had yet so far in this conversation. "Is that so? Funny indeed…" With that, and a groan, Ryott gets to her feet once more. "Funnier still that we haven't crossed paths before." A shadow blanks out the moons for a moment before something large comes to rest on the ledges above, her rose-gold masked face silently slipping out of the shadow to regard her rider on the galleries with an annoyed trill. "Yep, I'm coming…" the junior weyrwoman says with stoney resignation. "Nice meeting ya Naneska. I'm sure I'll catch ya round." Naneska would reply in kind, but the appearance of the golden face, and the clear summons just has her muttering "Oh…shit!" Under her breath. But she's not had the life she's lived for nothing so instead of a salute there is a wave and a slightly shaky. "Aye, catch you 'round." SOMEONE has some homework to do, which probably explains why Nan's running down the stairs once the pair have departed. Gallery gabbing has 0 comments. |
Just a quick meeting one evening in the galleries, Naneska and Ryott discuss dimples on eggs and stubborness. |
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An Opening - Maybe An Opening - Maybe
![]() ![]() ![]() Galleries Stone benches rise up.. and up.. and up: grooves upon grooves show marks of their hand-hewn origins, small chips and uneven textures to tell the tale of humble beginnings in a place which looks upon the black-and-white Sands of Southern, a place of greater beginnings indeed. The Galleries take up roughly a third of the perimeter of the Sands: to the west are flat, staggered entranceways, ledges for dragons interested in watching the proceedings. Below and just easterly, a stitched-hide curtain covers the entrance to the bowl, keeping the wind away from the precious cargo often housed upon the Sands. It cannot help the shrieking of the wind above: though it is muted in this hollow, the intermittent sighs and moans of the thermals shrieking through the viewing-ledges above can be unsettling. One of the warmer cosier locations when Southern is in the hold of a dreary winters day is the Galleries. Usually they are a refuge of quiet and contemplation. BUT not today, today the place is stuffed to the rathers at gawkers and hangers-on, loudly exclaiming about the latest clutch upon the sands (and more than a few wagers). Tucked up as close as she can to the ledges and her stardusted green, is Vani. Her dark eyes assessing the eggs and the crowds with the same slightly sardonic narrowed expression. Every so often though she snorts and grins at her lifemate leering down from above. All in all the greenrider and her green are a dark little corner of quiet in the crowded chaos of the galleries. Oh, and the place is so full, that the only free seats in the after lunch rush, just so happen to those that surround her. Here's another come for a peek at the clutch. Ginger by now has an almost automatic tendency to tread quietly when in the vicinity of eggs, and gives little warning of her approach as she climbs the stairs. She surveyes the crowd of gawkers with displeasure, and the rowdy ones with even more displeasure, before she identifies the loudest group, who happen to be a bunch of teenaged boys, and pads over to them. Appearing as from nowhere, she stands and looms. After a few seconds, they notice that someone's there, and start to glance at her - and then they all fall silent in turn as they realise that it's the Weyrlingmaster, with whom most are hoping for a closer acquaintance in the coming turn. "Shut up, or leave," she says, then starts to make her way towards one of the few unoccupied parts of the benches. Behind her, the rowdies troop out. When she finally finds enough space, it's close to where Vani's sitting, and she drops onto the bench, finally allowing the amusement to show on her face. Funnily enough, the noise level has dropped. Vani watches all of this with vast amusement. She'd have said something, but that isn't her way. "Oh that was very well done." She commends the Weyrlingmaster with a subtly ironic salute. Turns of dragonriding have not really changed Vani's peculiarities at all. Rank is rank is rank, or something. "Oh, blessed Faranth! That is much better." She exhales and seems to expand slightly into the small space she was occupying, the set of her shoulders relaxing from unconcious tension. "It looks like you're going to have your hands full this clutch Weyrlingmaster." The twinkle of her dark eyes as she jerks her chin towards the nascent clutch, and the departing rowdies giving hint to her dual meaning. Ginger is already seated when Vani salutes, and her return is a somewhat casual affair. "Yeah. Forty-two of the little darlings." There might just be a hint of irony there, too. "And half the girl candidates going totally loopy over the gold egg, I expect." She glances along the benches, making sure that that particular bunch of youngsters have totally departed. "And I'm blowed if I want Zymuraith all annoyed and angry with everyone when we get as far as egg touchings. Luckily, I have a big stick to wield at this stage of things, I've discovered. Or they think I have, which is just as good." She's keeping her own voice low. Vani cranes her neck slightly to look past the younger, but slightly taller woman, to regard a gaggle of said girl candidates. She's never resembled those creatures so a thick eye brow shoots up derisively before she slumps back into her relaxed position. "Give me a green any day! I'd rather go fast." Of course the fact she is extremely biased after her turns with Caelisth isnt part of her preferences at all. "Luckily I already got one." She winks, apparently in a good mood today. "I vaguely remember." She wiffles a hand a little bit. "I swear that they just get more…" Another wave of her hand. "… adolescent-y the older I get." She's not quite ready to chase them off her lawn… yet! "Oh, absolutely," Ginger agrees with feeling, as she turns her gaze on the same bunch of girls. "Or in my case, a brown. And I don't think I ever giggled like that. Ancient relic that I am." She's less than ten turns older than the girls in question. "I'm just thanking the Egg that I won't have any more siblings coming through for a few turns - and that the last lot had already been tapped into wings before this lot were clutched. Means we get a decent break between classes to get ready for next time, with only the bits of stuff we do with the candidates to worry about." Vani nods thoughtfully. "Like I said, I vaguely remember. I did a stint as an assistant weyrlingmaster… oooh about ten turns ago or so now." It is perhaps telling that she skipped straight back into the wings as soon as she was able. "It's good you get a break though. It's punishing work." Not just the adolescents, but the deliquent riders as well! "Browns are lovely." Vani agrees, this time her smile is softer for a second. "But slow! So. Slow." There is another wink to take the sting of her teasing retort, meant more to amuse herself at the expense of her loved ones rather than a dig at Ginger. "So other than waving your big stick around, what brings you to the galleries this fine winter afternoon?" If they're going to talk, Vani is more than prepared to settle into the long haul. Ginger nods towards the eggs on the Sands. "Just wanted to get a look at them before the Weyr fills up with candidates. There's still something special about a clutch, however many I see." She listens for a moment, then grins. "And Shokravanth would like you to know that he is perfectly streamlined and really quite nippy." She takes a breath, then admits, "He is faster than most browns, in fact, and more manoeuvrable too, but he's never going to twist and turn like a green. Much as he'd like to." She tilts her head curiously. "When were you Assistant Weyrlingmaster? It must have been before I Impressed." Vani gives a wry grin. "Oof, funnily enough I think it was Zymuraith's class, actually." She may be off by a turn or two, but you never quite forget a weyrling class with a goldrider. "You're in for a fun ride." Her voice drips with irony as the conversation dredges forth more sharper memories of her time. And then she snorts. "I'd repeat what Caelisth said verbatim, but it's not fit for polite company." Which Vani is totally okay with being excluded from. "But essentially the gist is next time she rises, he's welcome to prove it to her. His failure would be… amusing." Given that Vani is passing such a flirtatious challenge aloud, may be indicator that the flight might be sooner rather than later. "I of course, have nothing but respect for the role brown dragons play. To be able to last a full fall…" She sighs. There are pros and cons to ALL colours right? Ginger chuckles. "No need to encourage him, now! He doesn't put me through that too often, I'm glad to say, but he does like a challenge." She's presumably talking about flights rather than Threadfall. "Every class is a fun ride, one way or other. The one with ninety-two weyrlings and two golds probably took the bubbly, but the one with two of my siblings in it ran a close second. And just when I start thinking I've seen every variety of trouble a weyrling dragon or human can get into, someone thinks of something else. Never a dull moment!" It may be rather obvious that she loves her job! "People are gunna people." Vani states, it's a motto she probably has embroidered on a throw pillow back in her shipweyr. "And I guess, newly impressed trying to adjust to another persons thoughts in their head are going to people harder. Then her expression turns just slightly wicked as she looks beyond to the giggling girls. "And some, may have to adjust to having thoughts at all." The implication is clear right? Not particularly forgiving, but Vani doesn't forgive easily. "Even less dull moments than a typical rider huh?" Because, they're in the wrong line of work to have an easy breezy life. "Well, I don't get to risk my neck quite so often," she says with some regret. "Which Shokravanth misses." Her eyes rest on the girls for a few seconds. "Yeah, see what you mean. And they bring their pasts with them, too. Like… oh, a couple of classes ago, we had one brown who was forever overeating. Turned out, his rider had grown up somewhere there simply wasn't enough food, and hadn't got past the thought that you should eat when you could because you didn't know when the next meal would come. Dragon picked it up, and I've never seen one need so many purges from the dragonhealers. She glances back towards Vani and asks oh-so-casually, "You only did the one class, then? Did you not fancy doing another one?" Vani nods with surprising understanding. "Been there, done that. Seems you either never eat enough or you start gorging. Never thought it could transfer." She turns thoughtful but with her still to slender frame, Vani is clearly of the former. "All I had to worry about was a very young Caelisth sharing dreams about…" She coughs and blushes, EVEN AFTER ALL THESE TURNS. "…A'hali's…thing." She still can't say the word after all these turns as well. There is an embarrassed chuckle however, she can see the funny side of it…now. The pensive question expression remains as she considers the final questions Ginger has asked. "Only the one class. Back then K'vvan was wingleader, and he asked me to help him out." She also has wingseconding experience, albeit a fair few turns ago now. Her dark eyes turn to the eggs on the sand as she falls silent and continues to think. Ginger looks blank at the subject of Caelisth's dreams, then splutters as realisation dawns, and has to try hard not to laugh aloud - which would not be the model of peace in the vicinity of eggs that she wishes to display! "Oh boy. Explaining that must've been fun. I'm so glad that one didn't happen to me." She settles herself by returning to Vani's history of rank-holding. "Oh, yes, you were wingsecond of Ocelot for a bit." Ginger's getting a speculative gleam in her eye. "How long did you do that for?" Ginger can laugh! Vani is again as she takes her attention from the eggs, though for the most part hers is a quiet throaty thing. "I'm still mortified." Well not really, she's a greenrider, she's seen LOTS more 'things' since then. "Yeah, again, it just kind of… happened." Young Vani was kind of a punk about it too. "A turn or three? It seems like forever ago. Kinda learned that the big knots weren't really worth it after that." She admits her lack of ambition since those illustrious highs in position. "Although…the babies weren't too bad." She admits with a shrug Ginger gives a thoughtful nod. "Baby dragons make up for a lot. It's a nice thing to do for a bit, but I know it's not for everyone. I've noticed, though, there are people who do it for a bit and even enjoy it, but really they want to be back in the wings so they don't stay long, and then, there are people who are happy to be in for the long haul." She gives a shrug. "I mean, I don't suppose I'll do it forever, but I'm not ready to quit yet. And you do need to keep up the Threadfighting." She turns her attention back to the eggs, so that she's not looking at Vani as she asks, "Ever think of giving it another go?" Vani looks up at her Caelisth, now as serene and lovely as her stardusted hide, and no longer the star-spangled wet dream she was when she emerged from her egg all those turns ago. "They are lucky they are cute." She agrees absently. Cocking her head, even as Caelisth swings her high-boned face to return the regard. It is a testament to their long partnership that Vani can hold two conversations at once. "Sometimes." She admits eventually, in a monosyllabic habit picked up from her weyrmate. "Sometimes…" With a lightening quick frown whatever consultation the pair were engaged with is over and the dragon returns to her egg speculation, and Vani back to the person to person conversation before her. "Why?" Because Vani has always, and will always be a lot little suspicious. "Well… there's them coming along." Ginger nods towards the eggs. "And there's me, and S'nar, who can't do any of the flying bits, and Maisy, whose joints have been killing her since it turned cold. Right now, she can't actually grip anything, and she's thinking she might have to retire. If she does, or she isn't better when that lot Hatch, I'm going to need another pair of hands. And if I could find someone with experience, that would be really good." She gives a quirky half-smile. "So, maybe there's an opening there, if someone wanted to take it." Vani actually snorts. "S'nar's still kicking around? At least tell me he's got a new canine…" Because his old one would be about a zillion years old in dog years. Her dark eyes narrow, and her expression turns speculative, as Ginger continues. "Hmmm. No one with an actively rising green either huh?" Because with code-name SHINY down there and the average clutch being on average 50% greens, that is a consideration as well (and not just because that time of the turn is fast approaching… although it is flavoring her thoughts in that direction. Eventually, her expression settles. "Look, right now? Ocelot is a bit… disorganised as you can imagine." Even though Ocelot has been through the loss of R'zel before. "Can I get back to you?" Ginger gives a dry laugh. "Maisy may have joint problems, but she's pretty spry otherwise. And Leath is as lively as a spring wherry, and still rises on a regular cycle. And the dog must be about twenty. He's training a puppy." She rolls her eyes. "Never had much to do with canines, but give me firelizards any day." Then she gives a nod, turning to the more serious topic. "Of course, have a think about it. Not sure if Maisy's definitely quitting anyway, and it's a while until the eggs hatch. How's Ve'rak doing? He'd been wingsecond for a while when the flight happened, hadn't he? And I know he'd been in Ocelot, like, forever, before then." Vani rolls her eyes and kind of groans. "Oh the leaders that are stepping up are fine, but they're leaving empty positions. And there are all kinds of young and enthusiastic riders trying to prove that they are the very best of the best, sir!" She salutes with abrupt irony. "And of course, all that wrangling is kind of under the surface. It's just… ugh." Vani doesn't understand it, she just wants to keep her nose down, fight Thread, fly sweeps and play hooky when responsibilities and opportunities allow. "I'm just not in the mood for it. But when they're young." Another jerk of her chin eggwards. "It'd mean time away…" And still, her decisions are made with A'hali in mind. "Eww. That gets old pretty quickly," Ginger agrees. "I mean, we see a bit of it with the weyrlings, when they realise there are knots to be given out, but we don't let it get too obnoxious. Besides, that also the time when they're all having it drummed into their heads that they mustn't let their dragons overdo it. That probably helps with avoiding the worst." She gets reluctantly to her feet. "I need to see Sara about what I'm doing with Lynx, and then R'zel's expecting me." He's probably expecting her to tell him how desperately she's going to need at least one fully functional assistant, but she doesn't mention that! "But have a think, and let's talk again, all right?" Vani just rolls her eyes. "Some gentlemen never quite get the message." But that's definitely not Vani's circus, so she doesn't deal with those monkeys! "It was nice talking to you Ginger. I promise I will think it over. I know where to find you." She winks, she is familiar with the Weyrling Barracks after all. "Clear skies!" And with that farewell, Vani and Caelisth continue to ponder the eggs, and the new direction they seem to promise. An Opening - Maybe has 0 comments. |
Watching the Eggs, Ginger and Vani discuss a possible vacancy. |
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That Time of the Month That Time of the Month
![]() ![]() "I can't touch your napkin dress, can't ask about the babysitter.. I feel this is going to be a flat supper." ![]() Dustbowl Cantina To enter the Dustbowl Cantina is to descend: the heart of the ancient tavern lies half underground, at the foot of ancient steps, insulated from summer heat and winter cold by the volcanic rock surrounding it. A windowless place well-lit by glows, it is homey, even cozy, with a certain bijou charm - but for the deep gouges worn in wooden table and solid stone, some clearly lingering evidence of boisterous brawling. The wall behind the well-polished bar, though, remains free from scars or graffiti, as does the door into the small kitchen, and the stairwell up into the owner's quarters: the barkeep and his staff reign, and they guard their territory well. After all, only a fool angers the source of the booze. Th'bek almost dives into the Cantina, not so sure if he'd actually reach it. Two Oasis riders had his ear en route and only barely let it go. Since yesterday, his hair's trimmed and combed back away from his forehead. He has the hairline for it. In civilian clothing, it feels quite strange to feel so lightweight in cotton. Not to mention to squeaky leather noise to match each step. His riding boots are in place though, he'll die in those. Iscah is loosely packed on one shoulder while his brown firelizard is absent. Not certain if he's preceded Sofia or not, Rev rubs at a smooth jaw and picks a table with chairs not as high as some others. It's always nice having an excuse once a month to get all dressed up. Sure, it's for her brother, but Sofia wouldn't want to embarrass the bronzerider by having him sit at a table with scrubby woman. It's why she's a little late for their monthly dinner date, breezing in in a light and gauzy linen dress, but she at least has the good graces to look properly abashed as she hurries towards the table and the waiting Th'bek. A stop table-side and she makes sure to at least salute him before relaxing and tiptoeing up to kiss him on the cheek. "Sorry, couldn't decide what to wear. You been waiting long?" Sofia will find Th'bek wincing when they happen to lock eyes but she'll be happy to know it's for the teeny little firelizard nails tensing into his skin. Their ruthless little grip only intensifies when he stands to herald his dinner date. "I didn't grow that much of a beard while I waited," sauvely grinning. "That dress is a new one," flip-flopping topics. "Is it made from napkins?" He attempts to pinch some sleeve material between his fingers. Glow light is bright and there's only a half-rowdy group of three playing at darts. Sofia smacks his hand away from pinching her dress, trying to give him a scolding look but not necessarily succeeding while she pulls a chair out for herself and situating herself in it. "That's because it is new. It is also very hot outside." Hence the thin material, though thankfully not see-through. The group playing darts is eyed before attention goes back to her brother, flashing him a bright smile. "I think I'll have some wine tonight." Instead of sticking to her usual go-to: water. "So. How was your day? Exceptionally exciting?" "Alright, alright," her brother retreats with a good nature about it, sliding back onto the chair and it creaks from sudden pressure. "But I make no promises if I eat finger foods." And after a parting hug, she may just walk away with a big handprint on the back of the dress. "Wine?" He heard that right, hazel eyes flipping up. "That's for babies. And holders. What makes your tastes curb that way? I didn't think you liked that twang." He knows he doesn't, but sometimes drinks it anyway. "Babies?" she echoes, attempting to sound offended but more than anything she's amused. Sofia shrugs a shoulder, hands absentmindedly smoothing the linen dress of wrinkles. "I don't know. I've gone so long without feeling the need to drink or wanting to drink, but maybe it's time to grow up and drink the stuff?" A bit flustered, dark eyes flick up to Th'bek, expectant. "If wine is for babies and holders, then what should I order? I leave it in your hands." Since surely he has much more experience in that department than her. "Babies." Th'bek repeats with ambivalent clarity as he tries to read what names of special items were made for today. "I mean, you might find you like it, plenty of people do." A thin fellow approaches with his arms folded, clearly he has better places to be like angrily reading poetry by the lake. "One Dragon's Draught, one stout and a decent red if you have it." The brownrider seems to take longer on food. "Is Rydol pacing the dirt outside?" Or Rydon. "Oh, don't start with that. You sound like Poppa R'lar." Who thoroughly enjoys getting people's names wrong when he doesn't particularly care for them. It just so happens that it typically tends to be the names of men who are seeing his girls. "And no. I assume he's in his wagon waiting for you to safely deliver me to him." There's a cheeky grin there sent towards her brother. Sure, Sofia has a bodyguard who could do that, but when you have brothers, who needs a bodyguard? She seems to have the awfully good luck to be surrounded by a bunch of them. Brothers, not bodyguards. "I can't touch your napkin dress, can't ask about the babysitter.. I feel this is going to be a flat supper. I said two stouts, right?" Chin lifting to towards the bar, there's greater volume to his last few words. "If you're hungry, the curry they make isn't too heavy. I especially like the hardboiled egg on the side." Forearms roll back to make room for the three drinks. "The fourth is coming." Sullen Server says, as if Th'bek is handling all of them himself. "Now this," pushing the dragon's draught forward. "Has ginger and citron, among other things." Think flatter moscow mule, sort of sweet. "Do you ever explain to me how long you needed a bodyguard for?" There's a look sent over to her brother, a rather droll one, but Sofia refrains from commenting on how their time together will go. Thankfully, she relaxes once their drinks arrive, and she eyes the one Th'bek speaks of and steals it for a sip. "Oh, you know, just for the rest of my life." Fun story. Such a fun story that she takes another drink before setting it back down. "After I was kidnapped, my mom set up a bodyguard for me, and then…" Obviously, Linny met her demise. Sofia's expression turns somber then, clearing her throat as she glances around. "I realized today it's been sixteen Turns since she died. Missed the anniversary a few days back." "You can have that one, unless you don't like it in which case I guess it'll be mine." To go with the collection. "Oh! And try this red, it-" he reaches down to try it first, nearly sloshing it over the brim. After a taste it gets routed back to the table. "It isn't ale but maybe you'll like it, here.." And Sofia can have one drink for each hand, like a family tradition! "Must have been right about my Turnday." He leans back, some hair now freed from the slick. "I must have been a weyrling when she," choosing a careful term, "was lost." Double fisting most certainly runs in their blood, and Sofia doesn't yet know the perils of mixing liquors, so this could be a sloppy evening. She goes in for the wine next taking a sip that causes her face to pucker up. "After that one, this is…" A shudder is her answer. Bitter. Not nearly as sweet. But she's willing to give it another drink or two to be sure. Especially with the conversation about her mother. Thankfully, she has an out, reaching a hand over to give her brother a very sisterly swat on the arm. "Oh yeah, that's right. Happy Turnday, by the way. Sorry, my life's been upside down lately, so your present will be a little late this Turn." Since she hasn't even bought it yet. Whoops. Th'bek is sure how to broach the subject of a mother Sofia never knew. It's a sort of hole one figures is supposed to be there. "If you just want to drink about it, instead of talk about it, I make good company for either." His vessel of stout is gently knocked against the red wine. "After twenty-five, I stopped counting but last Turn's cheese basket was still a good choice." He drinks, mulls. "I still think you had help with that one." In short order, Th'bek's going to order something probably fried in oil so Sofia can go home with her clothes smelling like grease. Rydon should truly be all over her. That Time of the Month has 0 comments. |
It's the time of the month when Th'bek and Sofia meet for dinner, duh. |
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Hot and Cold. Young and Old. Sly and Bold! Hot and Cold. Young and Old. Sly and Bold!
![]() ![]() 'Something suddenly came up. brb.' ![]() Lake Shore Sprawled out beyond the Weyr proper's hustling activity and ambling roads, the cool, blue paradise of the Weyr lake promises escape from the oppressive hammer of Igen summer's cruel climes; the asymmetrical, sandy white shores hook delicately around the deceptively still waters running deep and sure, greedy peninsulas reaching white fingers stretching in crooked lines towards its center. A sturdy shack, weather-beaten and brown as cured leather, resides in isolated splendor upon one such finger, screened shelving offering a variety of brushes and fragrant oils housed in colorful tureens. Out beyond a small and dusty paddock ringed by a white fence, a long rocky pier stabs out into the lake, providing a panoramic view of the Weyr itself, while the southern shores provide varied shrubs and grassed for the massed herds in their pens. It is the sixty-fourth day of Summer and 109 degrees. It is hot. Hot, hot, hot. Rukbat bakes the desert. Temperatures soar. This weather? It sucks. Rukbat has little in the line of atmosphere to block the harsh midsummer rays. What DOES block it, though, is the oversized body of an ancient brown (and, to a lesser extent, the translucent sails of his wings) circling over the area. The descent is brief and ends in a spectacular rooster's tail of sand as he lands through what once was a dune. The dust clouds settle and reveal Sevareth and Jesha! Surprise! Unbuckling, she slides rather sedately down her dragon's side, making her own contrastingly gentle landing, and pops open a parasol over her head. If there's no shade, bring your own. Jesha and Sevareth do not have the monopoly on gently dramatic enterances, as Naneska emerges from the morning gilded lake waters like some Pernese Bond girl. Excuse her pulling waterweed from her hair. But it is probably the fact that she is just emerging from a mid-morning swim that she missed the initial sand flailing, and instead is presented with ancient dragon and a little old lady with a parasol mid splashy stride. "Good mornin' fer it." She greets (loudly, just in case) complete with a cheerful water-wrinkled wave. Before continuing her way to the towel left on the shore and discovering it is now completely covered in sand. There is nothing worse! So she stands there dripping, sending a speculative frown towards the pair and asks. "Ye don't happen t' have a towel?" Because hers is NO GOOD! Squinting beneath a gnarled hand, Jesha peers out at the sun-kissed nymph that emerges from the seafoam, then drops her arm to cup around her mouth. "HOL' ON A SECOND, GIRLIE. JUST SO HAPPENS I DOOO!" There's a brief shuffling as she hauls herself up just enough to unhook a carisak that hangs from a clever caribiner attached to her riding straps, drops, and then picks her way over to Nan's side. "Sorry 'bout that. Hard to see with all the sun and whatnot. Got one in here and y'welcome to it. It is too fuckin' bright here. Too fuckin' sandy. Dunno how y'guys do it." A beat passes as she rifles through her bag. "Not that you're local, with THAT thick old accent. You live here or ya like me and just sorta doin' a how-are-ya?" Hers is more a swirling thing, difficult to place after a life lived a'back. Naneska's hazel eyes warm, and not just for the spare towel the well prepared older woman brings. "I thank ye most kindly." She returns in her brogue before considering the multitude of questions showered upon her. Of course even completely dripping wet, the towel is not needed for more than a quick pat, but she rummages through the carisak anyways. "Aye, from Bitra originally, before me da got notions of marryin' me off." Clearly that was NOT in Naneska's plan. "Came here when I was jist a wee mite. Been here more o' less since." Which is a shamefully abrupt precis of the actual story. "Ye adjust. Normally I'd be on th' road this time o' year." She shrugs and continues to let the desert bake the damp from her suit and skin. "Ye're doin' alright!" She gestures at the copious sand and sun and back at the brownrider. "I bet yer boy likes th' heat. All th' dragons do here." Hell yeah Sevareth does. He's fairly oozed into the sand he's so gracelessly descended his old bones into, digging his wingsails into the warm grains with a sigh of absolute bliss. "Yuuuup," Jesha drawls wryly, re-settling her umbrella back into her hand from the handy chin-rest that gave her both hands to dig in her massive Mary Poppins bag, settling that back against her hip to give free access to Naneska's perusing. Briefly, she glances over her shoulder, her gray eyes soft with a love that's spanned decades. "I'm Neratian divided by High Reaches Weyr minus Southern now. Guess'm not real made for regular old climates." She gives the back of the blonde head a considering look. "Marrying? You can't be but old enough to be doin' that now without it bein' such as a MASSIVE mistake. Need me to give that pa of yours a lil' sense?" Naneska grimaces slightly. "Ye'd need t' seek him beyond. He passed a few turns ago now." Time being relative, Nanesaka considers that long ago threat ancient history, even if Jesha might call it 'yesterday'. "No fear, even at sixteen I figured I weren't th' type t' settle down." Finally finding the towel she was looking for Naneska starts to dab at the few drips remaining in a half-hearted fashion, with the heat as it is even at this time of the day, she's in no hurry to undo the good of her swim. "Oh! Ye're one o' those Oldtimers?" She asks, before her mind catches up. "Ye know one from th' olden days." Her clarification doesn't really help. "Ye came forward yeah?" That's sliiiightly better! AWK-WAARD! "Oh, shitbuckets, I'm sorry. Didn't mean t'threaten bodily harm to a…dead…guy." The rider's mouth pulls back in a grimace, but look! On the horizon! A topic change! She seizes it eagerly. "We surely are!" Jesha's face sprouts more wrinkles as she beams, going so far as to give her parasol a joyful little spin on her shoulder. Be hypnotized by the distraaaction. Sev must be, since he's lifted his head enough to turn his skull for People Watching, and those facets - as clear as a young dragon's even after all this time - are INTENTLY focused. "Wasn't gonna give up the opportunity to give a lil what-for again. Had a few more Turns in us, though we're mostly in one o' them positions of advisement now." The umbrella bobs as she shrugs. "Hi, by th'way, we're Jesha and Sevareth. Sorry 'bout your towel, dear." Press F to pay respects. Naneska flaps her hand, dismissing the apology. "I think it's safe t' assume me and me Da weren't bestest bosom companions." Jesha can totally go dig up Nan's dead dad for a whuppin! "Don't worry ye self. 'Bout th' towel, or me da." There is a friendly foxy smile showing that perhaps, despite the age difference there isn't much different between the women at all. "Oh!" Right! You'd think she'd tell a person her name before telling them about her dead dad, but that's not really Naneska's way! "I'm Naneska, formerly o' th' Reika, 'n now assistant t' Hannah. Also an oldtimer." They all know each other right? Once her spoken introduction is done, she holds out a clammy hand to complete the ritual of greeting. Jesha barks out only the heartiest of HA!s, clapping her hand into the young woman's as her grin widens to maniacal proportions. With sparkling eyes and perfect sincerity, she manages to school her expression enough to deadpan some info: "Oh yeah, me'n Hans grew up together." Sevareth has no such control, and his eyes, as blue as the horizon, take up an urgent and amused whirling. The wheezy rumble that shakes his long throat ends in a mighty *whuff* that displaces even yet still more sand. Now Jesha's towel is slightly damp and very sandy. But Naneska is just going to ignore that out of politeness and return it to its rightful owner. "Ye did?" If Naneska sounds incredulous, it is because Hannah does not at all match the vision of decreptitude before her. "Must o' been one shell o' a ride!" The mysteries of time and space are obviously not for the likes of her, and she'll happily shrug off that paradox. "D'ye need any assistance?" She asks instead. "Somethin' must o' brought ye here. I kin even see if Hannah is up t' visiting. That'd be nice wont it?" Because Naneska may have adjusted to Igen, but she is beginning to suspect that Sevareth's antics have more to do with Jesha's potential distress in the sun and sand of the desert. "Yup. She disappeared when we were fairly young'n such an' we all figured it was tragic. Then POOF! Rider brings her back to my then instead of our then and it was this WHOLE thing." Jesha's bubbling explanation falls short of the epic tale of time travel, but why rehash details when the two work in such close tandem. Speaking of close, Sevareth edges ever so much closer, pulling his bulk slowly across the sands, snakelike, flattening a few hummocks. Holding up a finger, the old lady gets that telltale distant look in her eyes as a silent conversation takes place with the slithering brown dork and his complete failure to be subtle. "Aaaactually I may just hafta swing in t'see one of my oldest friends when we go get yer shit. I mean, barring you're interested in such like more world travel and maybe a slightly less devastating climate." Indeed, she's begun to wilt like a flower despite her portable shade, though she's still vibrating with several flavors of amusement. "Feel like I should ask her permission and all if we steal you. I mean, we're hear on Search, bla-de-bloo, and you've prolly seen all this before what with workin' so close to Hannah'n all that." She makes a great show of looking back and forth and leans in to stage whisper, "He wants to keep ya." One of the unfortunate facts of life in a desert, is the amazing swiftness in which the sun works to dry such things as regret bangs. Into a fine example of this feminine peculiarity Naneska is currently hiding her brows in, as she looks from deceptively innocent looking little old lady, back to the not-so-sneaky brown doofus and back, letting the tangle of of words tumble as they will through her thoughts. "Huh!" It's a cheerful huh, for all that it is filler noise. However, Naneska NEVER says no to an opportunity, and isn't likely to start now. "Awww." Because she has a big old soft spot for browns! "Ye kin steal me anytime ye big lump!" Is that a yes? "I'd be honored t' stand fer ye Jesha. 'Tis th' first time anyone has asked me rather than the other way round!" And Hannah won't mind, probably. "It won't take me long…" Her gaze turns speculative. "Shame he's not big enough to take me wagon." But the deal is as good as done! And a trader always travels light! Who likes being admired? Sev likes being admired, and he's quick to close the distance with his giant and empty skull, digging his snoot into the ground before Naneska's feet with a final and satisfied grunt. "Excellent, because fuckin' Faranth I'm gonna turn t'more of a withered husk'n I already am. Plus I got so much sand'n my unmentionable places that there's gonna be pearls if I don't get into some kinda bath. Sadly, y'can't bring your wagon but y'might be able to work somethin' out with Zingari if there's any sorta loose ends what need tyin' up in a pinch." Jesha winks broadly and steps back to gesture at the handily lowered back of her lifemate. "We won't tell if'n you won't. And we'll give ya a ride back to boot." Naneska looks down at the dried expanse of her skin, the interesting bits modestly protected by a two piece suit. "I don't really think I'm dressed fer it." She points out, but does reach out a hand to skritch the faceparts closest to her. Undoubtedly Hannah's just going to get a note along the lines of 'Something suddenly came up. brb.' But there is a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. "Give me a moment!" She decides with all the alacrity with which she accepted the new adventure offered, and she returns not long after the required moment, dressed with her own jacket and everything (and a magical carisak of her own). "Right, let’s get ye outta all this hot." Because even during this short conversation, the air has gone from unpleasant to oven-like. Sevareth's provided a wing to roost underneath, and Jesha's patience involves huddling beneath and fanning herself with a broad leaf nicked from a plant. Everything's so narratively convenient today! "Ah! There y'are. I was just gonna straight wing it to wherever it is y'stay, but it's time for ya to get really used to what we do. So climb on up, settle in, and give me some basic directions 'cause I am going to do some SERIOUS showin' off here." Which likely involves some quick blinking transfers far too close to the ground and probably more than a little hotwinging it which, in future episodes, the candidates will all get to experience. "Feel the wind in our hair! Get th'free cooling system that's between!" Brochures available upon request. Naneska is a strong independent woman, who don't need flight. But SWEET BABY FARANTH it is fun! Particularly when there is the potential to crash and burn upon the desert sands like Rukbat is currently doing. "Yeee haw!" Forget the brochure, Nan's signing up for the prospectus! Of course the wet chill of Southern's winter at the end of the ride, is probably more of a shock to her system. Hot and Cold. Young and Old. Sly and Bold! has 0 comments. |
Naneska is trying to escape the mid-morning heat, when Jesha and Sevareth descend from above to (eventually, these ladies can natter!) offer a winter escape complete with white knot! swearing |
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