| Who | Jhael, Taryn |
|---|---|
| What | Attempted murder in the high desert! |
| When | There are 0 turns, 9 months and 3 days until the 12th pass. |
| Where | Standing Stones, Igen Weyr |
Standing Stones
It is perhaps a pity that the Standing Stones lie in quiet isolation, half-forgotten in the Weyr's easternmost corner. Or perhaps it is inevitable: the grandiose beauty of these red rocks is ill-suited to Igen's coarse grit, and maybe only their loneliness allows them to survive unmarred. Whatever the reason, it cannot be denied that the Standing Stones, a lonely jumble of ancient boulders, have a glory about them. The tumbled field of pillars and arches has been shaped by eons of wind and water into strange shapes, twisted and rutted. The going is treacherous: only the Weyr's half-feral herd of caprines navigates the terrain with any ease. To the northwest, the lakeshore glimmers; to the east, rough-carved steps lead towards another ancient pile of rocks - though the Star Stones are less haphazardly placed than their Standing cousins.
The high desert spring is still chilly, parched air cold against bare skin and too easily raw in the lungs. But at least midday offers warm respite in the bake of the unfiltered sun, and here the red stones seem to drink in the heat and radiate it back out as cozy as a hearth's embers. It is also rather glaring, which is probably why Taryn has her headscarf wrapped about her hair and face, even breaths billowing in the embroidered material. Aside from the starkly lovely view, perhaps her presence here can be eplained by her odd attire — she's stuffed away her skirts to stand in a man's leggings with her shirt knotted into a closer skim about her middle. There's a triple layer of thin, dusty rugs spread under her bare toes as she stretches fingertips into Igen's open blue skies.
It takes effort to climb up this high above the weyr, but Jhael, having decided to survey his new territory, is making the climb. With the energy and agility that only youth can give he clambers upwards, using hands and bare feet to give him the hold on the stones he needs. As he goes, the poor plants which get in his way find themselves ripped out of their poor existance and tossed backwards so he can watch them flutter to the ground below.
Perhaps she might take it as the clamor of one of the native caprines, this agile scrambling about the rocky steeps. At first there's no pause given to the measured flow of her movements, a static dance that folds her down to her mats. It leads Taryn, finally, to an upright seat upon her tucked heels as her palms come to rest upon folded thighs. From there she finally tugs a fold of cloth down from over her smile and shades kohl-rimed eyes to look out towards the young teen. "Hello," she calls brightly into the echoes of air between stately curves of rock.
Ugh, Adults. Jhael peers upwards towards the woman, then swiftly climbs the last few steps upwards to the stones. Here though, he does not cease his movement. A nearby stone jutting straight upwards into the sky becomes his aim and the dirty rat is up it in a blink of an eye. His hands and feet find footholds that only the small can discover. From atop his perch he looks downwards at the woman. "You're a healer."
It doesn't seem to faze the young woman, this upward scramble of his. If anything, it sets her smile wider as she tracks along with his climbing. "And I think you must be a caprine, out here grazing on the scraps of green." So she noticed the tossing. "I'm Taryn," is then introduced, the pleasant ring of laughter suggested in the warmth of her tones. "Do you have a name?" Like, as some wild creature of the desert, it might be a long shot.
"Ain't got a name to give you." Safely poised on his rock throne, Jhael peers downwards at the woman. "You're dressed like a gypsy but have all the bearing of one of them damned healers." Another rock is close by, and almost like the long forgotten monkeys from Earth, Jhael jumps to the second perch, all the while his eyes tracking the woman suspiciously below him.
Taryn's fine brows lift at his answer, though there's no particular upset to her smile. It skews wryly wider as a touch of sly slants at her gaze. "Well I must be something in between, then," she offers as a wily conclusion to his observations. "Are you a gypsy?" this leads her to wonder. Also: "You're very good at that."
Jhael stands upon his rock, pacing the few feet upon it that it allows, like the felines of southern when caged and facing their final moments. "Ain't nothing between. Either you're one of them, or one of us." It's about the only answer the woman will get from the filthy kid.
"Nothing?" Taryn may be sad to hear it, her mouth bunching regretfully to the side. "I guess I'm a healer then." It puts a more private smile back to play upon her lips as blue eyes drop. Her pose lists, a palm dropping to help guide the slip of her weight from balance over her heels to a more slanted cast upon one hip as her ankles slip out to the side. It lets her reach a rummage into the cloth bag slumped near her side. "Is the Weyr paying you for your help in clearing greenery?" she wonders with another upward flick of curiosity.
Pacing back and forth upon a single rock doesn't seem to fulfill whatever need for movement Jhael has, and he shifts his gaze away from the healer woman who is bending herself into awkward positions saying, "Weyr doesn't pay for s*it." to cast about for another rock. He measures the distance between himself and a shorter rock, evaluating if he can make the jump. Backwards he steps, then takes the short run to propel himself across the distance leaving him clinging to another of the large rocks.
Taryn answers with a sympathetic hum. Storm blue eyes follow his leap. Maybe she makes a poor healer, given that her mouth shapes interest instead of caution. Her rummaging yields a skin of water. She sits back with it to undo the stopper, pausing to sweep the folds of scarf a little more neatly about her face before drinking. "Do you want any," she thinks to lift in offer afterwards.
Any sound of her hum is lost in the scramble Jhael must make to clamber to the top of his newly claimed rock. On top of it, he crouches down, looking towards the woman again. A careful observer will note that his new perch allows him to see both the woman below and the path up to the stones. "You're stupid woman." He delivers this with a serious amount of disdain.
This does cool her smile. Her expression smooths, storm a little darker in her eyes, as Taryn lifts another leisurely sip to her lips. A shrug ripples upon her shoulders as she replaces the cork with a pop of her palm. "Maybe," she allows with a tighter curve of lips. There's more motion now — the drop of the skin back into her back, a rock back to the crouch of toes upon stone so she can start to flick her mats up into a neat roll for the scraps of cloth that will tie them.
"Ain't you heard that someone's using liquids around here to murder people? Got one of them goldriders too. Everyone heard that beast of hers take to the skys and disappear between. Ain't no one what's smart gonna offer a drink to someone till they figure if that crazed rider really done it." Jhael's lips have curved into a smile as he sees the gentle shift of someone slipping out of happiness into more wariness.
There's a slanted lift of blue eyes that attends briefly to the boy's explanation while Taryn ties up her slender blanket roll. It makes a strap of sorts, though she leaves it on the ground for the moment while she fishes shoes, skirt, and kirtle from the bag. Standing, the first step to slip back into the garb of Igen is loosening her short shift from its knot holding the hem at her waist. "I wouldn't be a very good murderer if I drank my own poison before offering it to you," she points out. "Besides," her chin lifts a curve of smile as she readies to step into her shoes. "It'd be easier to just shove you off a rock."
"You'd have to catch me first, 'n I'm betting I'm faster then you." Jhael crouches on his rock, looking downwards at the woman. "Mayhap it wouldn't be me sprawled down with a broken neck." Stillness simply doesn't seem possible as he stands again, pacing on his new rock back and forth, eyes fixed on Taryn. "nice shoes."
"How much would you bet?" Taryn bounces her eyebrows at the scrap of boy. She does seem rather fond of her shoes, bending to do the laces up quick. Her arm hooks into the straps of roll and bag as she rises, a hand fisting in the fabric at her waist to tug her skirt into a smoother fall. Not very ladylike, but it gets the job done. Her smile finds rest on his pacing animal motion as she finishes smoothing the lay of straps and scarf about her shoulders.
"Seeing as you'd first have to get up here, which'd give me plenty've time to get off, I'm thinking I'd make a pretty mark out of the deal." Jhael skips across his own rock, jumping a very short distance to another, slightly smaller though still taller then Taryn rock.
"Seeing as you probably don't have a mark to your non-existent name," Taryn dovetails sweetly, "that sounds like a terrible deal then, doesn't it?" Assembled, the blonde will offer one more flick of her smile before gathering her skirt in one hand and rippling down from her rock off of the jutting lever of her other palm. It's not youthful ascent like his, but for a girl in a skirt, it's a pretty capable scaling of the uneven terrain as she makes her sure-footed way back down to the path.
Laughter follows the woman as she steps along down the path, laughter which is followed by stones which can only come from one source. They are fist sized, and each is flung with careful precision towards the back of the healer. The first two go wide of the mark, falling harmlessly into the side of the path and disappearing into the desert landscape. More surely are coming.
A curse breathes under the young woman's breath as the second rock marks the skittering of stone as no accident. She's looking back when the third comes, able to fling up an arm to protect from a lob that probably wouldn't have caught her high anyway. It draws a hiss as it clips along her side. "You little…" is angrily grit as Taryn scoops for her own double handful of rock, the waterskin in her bag twisting its strap askew across her body as she winds back for her own throw. She has the moves of a guttersnipe, too, with about a decade's more travails layered on top. Maybe it's better, then, that after emptying her hands she's next angling to jog for the cover of the stone-towered terrain as she continues her way back to… civilization.
Perhaps Jhael didn't expect the healer woman to fight back, or perhaps he'd grown bored with the game. Either way he is skittering out of the way to another rock as her barrage reaches him and he disappears behind the rock. More laughter echos up from the star stones before silence reigns again.
In Jhael's defense, I'm not totally sure he was actually trying to kill her. He just doesn't like healers at the moment.