==== December 14th, 2013
==== Shea, N'cal
==== N'cal meets Shea…and sees another potential pair to be lured to Arroyo. Of course he does.

Who Shea, N'cal
What N'cal meets Shea…and sees another potential pair to be lured to Arroyo. Of course he does.
When Evening. There are 5 months and 20 days until the 12th Pass.
Where Lake Shore, Igen Weyr


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 ridiculously hot out. It is ridiculously hot out even for Igen, but for Shea, native of Fort then of High Reaches, it is really ridiculously hot out. She is therefore defying Nowtimer convention and probably turning a few passerby Nowtimer heads in the skimpy blue sundress she's chosen to wear (a shade of pale blue that nearly, but not quite, matches her lifemate's snowy blue-grey). Her hair, which she'd just started letting grow out from the short fingerwave curl, is pinned up to her head, and if at any point the bluerider had shoes they've been discarded somewhere else entirely. She's at the shore, soaking her feet; Cervilaevarth is nearby, enjoying the cool water but also clearly contemplating the sand, as if it holds the answers to life's mysteries.

Any native of Fort is likely going to think it's insanely hot, and N'cal is no exception. He and Iolarth can't get into the cool water of the Lake fast enough after the watch they've just sat baking in, it seems; the tall, lean bluerider is still on his lifemate's neck when they splash down out in the midst of the lake. Iolarth resurfaces sans rider after that, puffing a contented spray high into the air as he fans his wings in the water before he notices Cervilaevarth not far away and rumbles a greeting to the other blue. N'cal appears not long after, about half a dragonlength away, and strokes his way to the shallower water until he's more or less waist deep. Shoving short, dripping hair back behind his ears, the he glances about for whomever Iolarth is telling him is near and spots the woman on the shore nearby. "Evening," he greets with a flick of a salute. "Didn't notice you there. Sorry if we made waves your way." Since they did sort of make a big splash on arrival.

Did they? Yes; Shea's clearly wetter than she was before. Does she mind? Definitely not. Shea is in fact grinning as she returns the salute, tossing her head slightly before remembering that her hair is not going to move to displace water. "Don't be! Sorry, I mean — it was refreshing. Pretty sure I needed it to restart my brain a little, part of it might've cooked out here." Not that their weyr is all that much cooler. Cervilaevarth is only mildly less sociable than Shea at the moment, and provides a soft bugle in return. It's almost a laugh: nice landing.

"Ah. Glad to be of service, in that case," N'cal remarks with a grin of his own. And here he was, all set to be contrite upon seeing that they got her more wet than he realized. "I certainly know the feeling. It seems to be the one of the few ways for a westerner to combat brain-cooking in this bloody heat. A far cry from Fort, this." He ruffles his hair until it sticks up all spiky-like as he comes out further from the water, long, dark shorts dripping as he draws near enough to extend a hand to be shaken. "I don't believe we've met. N'cal, of Iolarth. Arroyo wing."

She stands up, smile remaining; it's rare that Shea is ever not eager to meet people. Even if sometimes she's not as friendly at first blush — it's apparently a good day. "Shea," she replies, as she offers a firm shake. "That's Cervilaevarth. Whirlwind. And I'm actually also from Fort, and Impressed at High Reaches, so I can genuinely sympathize with your plight. He's not too happy either." She shoots a quick grin over at her lifemate, who looks as if he's about to fall asleep. Too. Hot.

A somewhat drawn out "ah" sounds quietly in N'cal's throat as he follows Shea's glance toward her blue. "I thought there was something familiar in your accent," he comments, his gaze flicking to Iolarth as the sky-washed blue lolls over onto his back in the deeper water. Too. Hot. Indeed. "Well met, Shea." The water dries quickly on the bluerider's skin in this heat, creating an itch along his bare arms that he rubs at briskly as he returns his gaze to her. "You've been here longer than I, I'd guess. Any other ways to escape the furnace you've discovered, by chance? Or does this pretty much cover it?"

"I don't think it's ever been this hot before," Shea laments, and it is somewhat of a dramatic lamentation, too. (She might be acting. This might be her normal cadence.) "But the mirror caverns are nice, just, dragons won't really fit. And he was complaining something awful, so I gave in. I kind of want to sleep in the water, to be honest, might be the only way I'm getting any sleep at all." Cervilaevarth seems to like Iolarth's plan, as he rather disappears over sideways, lying in the water. His area's shallower, so one can still see bits and pieces of dragon sticking up, but he looks like he's just fallen asleep. He hasn't, but — he might.

That's the idea, buddy; Iolarth snorts water again and helpfully flips a wing to slosh water Cervilaevarth's way, momentarily submerging those parts that still stick out for a moment. "I've heard about the mirror cavern," N'cal remarks, stretching until a dull pop sounds in his back. "Another place for me to get acquainted with." He considers the woman for a good moment, blue-green eyes curious as he thinks over whom she flies with. He just can't help himself. "How long have you been flying with Whirlwind, then? You and Cervilaevarth must be quite the pair, to have been taken up into their ranks."

Oh, now it's time for the true pride to come out. Shea doesn't mask it, because it's pride in her dragon, here, and not in herself: "We were the first. I mean, we might not've been the first Oldtimers, I think we weren't, but we were the first Oldtime female ridden pair. And Whirlwind's second lady-rider pair entirely, I believe. Though the history — I'm not all that good on it." Cervilaevarth would normally be basking in Shea's attentive praise of his careful plans, but right now he's too busy being encouraged to roll — yes, roll — further into the depths and cool off. "He's just a genius with maneuvers and stuff. I'm not bad, but he's the cream of the crop."

N'cal watches the two blue dragons with a steadily widening smile of amusement as Cervilaevarth rolls deeper and Iolarth watches with amused rumblings of his own. Then the smaller blue disappears under the water completely again, only uncovering enough of his head to breathe when he comes back up and seemingly content to stay there afterward. "Oh, I think he and Iolarth ought to get along quite well, then," N'cal says, his grin going lopsided as he looks back at Shea. "There's nothing Ill loves so much as finding the best ways to move in the air. He'd live in the wind, if it were practical. You know," and he emphasizes the thought with a raised pointer finger, "if he and Iolarth would like to compare notes sometime - and if you're interested, of course - you might consider dropping in on an Arroyo drill at some point. See what we're doing, offer a thought or two. It might be interesting." He clasps his hands at his back and gives a slight inquiring tilt of his head, the nearly imperceptible upturn of a corner of his mouth the only hint that there's a larger idea at work in the former trader's mind.

Cervilaevarth surfaces again to make a delighted but somehow simultaneously accusatory little crooning sound in Shea's direction — why isn't she swimming? — before going back to completely ignoring her. Or seeming to; he's really keeping a metaphorical ear to the humans' conversation. Because that's always what he's doing. He's the dragon with the plans. "Scenic flying he's never been as much into, but he loves to drill and plot and plan and he's so happy we came forward to a Pass." Shea rolls her eyes. Evidently she's not, or else she just isn't really sure why anyone would be utterly thrilled about Thread: there's the sardonic drawl to her voice on that part to go with it, too. But the invitation to their drills has her looking thoughtful, and Cervilaevarth undoubtedly pushing from inside her mind. "Isn't Trek leading the wing, now? I'd love to see her at work, actually. If we're welcome we'd be happy to stop by, and who knows, maybe they," head jerk out to the lake, "work magically well together."

Shea's dragon would likely approve of the way N'cal's mind works, then; the Arroyo wingsecond nods happily at her willingness to come see what's what, and he is therefore calculating what might come of that, ever planning ahead. "She is indeed," he replies, "and managing quite admirably. You'd be quite welcome, I assure you. Since I have the authority to say so, I suppose." That last is said quite ruefully, though his smile counterbalances his tone. "I'm one of her 'seconds," he reveals in an aside-like manner, dramatic in his own turn. "Don't let on, hm?" Out in the water, Iolarth has perked up at the prospect of getting to fly around with someone new, surfacing fully again and shaking out his wings with an almost questioning warble.

"Is it a secret?" Shea asks curiously, tilting her head like a bird might and lifting her hand as if to twirl a curl around her finger before awkwardly pausing, realizing that yes, her hair is still pinned up and she cannot in fact fall into a normal habit. Her hand floats in the air for a moment, anyway. "‘Cause that's quite a funny secret, if so, but I certainly won't begrudge you it. I've kept my own funny secrets." Cervilaevarth is mimicking his rider's headtilt, but it's a coincidence; he sits back on his haunches and raises his proportionally-massive wings in response to Iolarth, flapping them a couple of times. And splashing the humans again in the process.

N'cal laughs quietly, his eyes idly following Shea's floating hand before he shakes his head a bit. "No. I've just never been much for being in such a position, that's all. I'm able, of course, and Iolarth keeps me honest…but I tire rather quickly of how constantly stiff some appear to be around those in authority. I like to be at ease when there's ease to be had, and I'd like those around me to follow suit. We've quite enough rigid discipline while drills are being flown-" Any further elaboration is cut off by a dragon drenching, and N'cal sputters, stripping water from his hair once more and rendering it spiky again. "Hmmm. Perhaps they're trying to tell us something?" he suggests, eyeing the dragons.

"A bluerider was never going to be a wingleader here, either," N'cal points out with a wink. But even he knows he's pushing it with that point, and he makes a bit of a dismissive gesture. "I do understand how that is, though. Iolarth would never let me get away with considering anything other than fighting." He looks back over at Iolarth, who is surveying his lifemate in as much an eagle-like manner as he can from the water. Get out here before I come get you. "Well, I seem to be a bet better attired to fill that request, at the moment," N'cal remarks with a grin, fingers brushing his bare chest as he glances down at his re-dampened shorts. "I'd best go swim with him a bit, anyway, seeing as we're supposed to go meet up with Trek and Kanyith again before too long. More drill review." He stretches once more, then gives Shea a small bow. "A pleasure, Shea. I hope to see you at one of our drills soon."

"Er, yes," Shea agrees, eyes sparkling a little at the suggestion; not that she's rank-happy, but, oh, her feminist soul does hate this place sometimes. Her feminist, anti-colorism soul. If she wasn't in on getting girls on the sands for Corelle's clutch, that would be a shocker. "I'm not quite prepared for it, though I guess I get a nice wet ride back up to my weyr — I'm sure," she continues, laughing delightedly — though quickly, a single laugh rather than much 'laughing,' — at the bow, "that I will see you both within a seven or so." Cervilaevarth, after a few moments, actually has to get out of the water in order to take her home, though, and there is no shortage of objections there.

N'cal only grins wider for Shea's reaction to his bow, and with a quick tap of a salute against his brow and an utterance of, "Clear skies," he wades back out into the Lake and then arcs his long form into the water, off toward a happily rumbling Iolarth as the sky continues to darken toward the end of another day.

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