==== January 10, 2014
==== Nathanael, Bailey
==== Nathanael finds some jewels to give away to ladies, starting with Bailey.

Who Nathanael, Bailey
What Nathanael finds some jewels to give away to ladies, starting with Bailey.
When There are 0 turns, 3 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
Where Beach

nathanael5.jpg bailey_10.png


An eerie mirror, the glass-quiet Sea of Azov: the clear waters stretch along the dark-pebbled shores, and along this narrow beach. Here the faintest lap of waves belies the calm beyond; here the rocks have been ground down into finest, softest sand - those observant would mark upon the similarity between it and the sands of the hatching grounds. The soft sand soaks up summer sunlight as a sponge; painfully hot during the warmer months, it is only truly pleasant at wintertime. Rocks rise to east and west, lichen-limned and green against the abyssal darkness of stone.
It is the thirtieth day of Spring and 70 degrees. It is a clear night.
You find yourself standing in soft sand, with a gusty breeze whipping around you. The deep blue of the inland sea sparkles.

Evening walks are good for the soul — Bailey has one of those, right? Despite any questioning in regards to the color of her hair. Khalyssrielth should be proof of that. Or maybe proof of her lack, come to think. Regardless of all of that, Bailey meanders barefoot through the moonlight on the rocky sand, a pair of sandals dangling from one hand.

Whatever lack the goldrider might have, the teen seacrafter who is collecting shells where the waves kiss the land knows nothing of it. He already has a goodly amount clinking in a canvas bag off to the side. As he picks up one particularly shiny shell his eyes lift upwards to catch sight of the weyrwoman. A bright smile lights his face and he waves, "A'lo ma'am weyrwoman!" he calls out.

"Bailey, Nathanael," the goldrider returns, with a curl of her lips and a cant of a gaze over towards the seacrafter. "It's just Bailey." There's no knot! She's as innocent as a lamb and about as dangerous as one. Or. Something. "Having fun?"

"Aye!" Nathanael bends down to pick up another shiny shell from the surf as it winks up at him. As he rights himself with the shell between his fingers he holds it up to the light. "Lookin' t' mayhap make a gift f'r a friend. What do ye think?" The shell, with its slightly purple sheen, is held out to the goldrider, if she should happen to want to look at it. "Ye think a girl might like 'em?"

Bailey deftly palms the shell with fleet fingers, shifting it in the moonlight to admire the iridescence of the hue. "I think just-perhaps. If you do it right." She offers the shell back, and wanders a little closer to the waterlogged sand by the shoreline. "You have a particular admirer, 'thanael?" One ruddy eyebrow lofts in quiet inquiry, concealing a hidden, soft amusement.

"Nah, 's jus' a friend. Mayhap Yules, 'r Cerise." Nathanael pauses and thinks for a moment "'r Prymelia." Nathanael takes the shell back and tucks it into his sack where it clicks against the others already inside. "Dunno' what I'll be doin' with 't 'zactly, but… somethin'." Nathanael trails a bit in Bailey's wake, his eyes on the sands again to see if any other shimmers of colour catch his eye. "'s a good night t' be walkin."

Bailey reaches down, a graceful swoop of limb and torso, returning upright with another shell, this one faintly blue-green and lovely, gleaming pearlescent under the moonlight. She puffs a breath over it to clear off any clinging sand, admires it a moment and then extends it out to Nathanael. "It's a night made for a walk," she concurs. Her eyes shift upwards, lips twitch in a smile: "Or perhaps a flight."

"No' too hot 'n no' too cold," Nathanael agrees with the rider. The shell is taken from her fingers and he looks at every angle before it disappears into his bag. Curiosity colours his next remark, as he tilts his head to look upwards as he draws up right next to the goldrider. "Does it get cold up 'n 'e sky when ye're flyin'? S'yn le' me fly with 'im 'n Iaxryth 'bout month past, 'n it didno' seem colder."

\"It can," Bailey replies, her voice a bit distant. "But I don't notice cold anymore… not really. Not for a decade, now." It's an amibiguous comment enough for someone not well-acquainted. "Depends on a thermals," she returns to the question. "Some can take you by surprise — the warm ones."

Very curious, "Ye dono' notice cold?" But then a flicker of brightness catches the eye before a wave covers it up and Nathanael almost skips towards it; the bounce in his step causing the water to splash around his foot as he fishes out a shiny red bit of shell. Holding it up Nathanael turns to show it towards the rider. The red tinge to her hair matches the red of the shell and causes Nathanael to smile. "This 'un's f'r ye ma'am Bailey. 's jus' like ye'r hair."

"It's a long story," Bailey, half-distracted, replies. "Or a very short one," she muses, cryptic. Her enigma doesn't last long, gaze turning over to Nathanael, and occluded thoughts are exchanged for a surprised, reactive smile. "Well, gracious wings," she drawls. "That will look just smashing on my clothespress. Thank you, Nathanael." She has hardly said the words before a darklit rose-gold has landed nearby, a coil of exotic patterning writ with the lines of impatience. "Ah. Duty calls." She shifts the boy another smile, rueful this time.

Impulsively, "If'n I find a green 'un, mayhap it could be f'r ye too. 'cuz green 'n red go t'gether." Nathanael grins upwards to the woman and bows just a little towards the gold awaiting just far enough away. "Be safe ma'am" to Bailey "'n ma'am!" to the gold.

Bailey resists the urge to ruffle his hair - just barely - and turns towards her lifemate with long steps. It would take one paying devoted attention to hear her, '.. someday figure .. boy out' as it wafts back, a few broken words at a time. She gives one last wave before ascending the gilded neck of her lifemate, and then with a few beats of leathery wings they are lost in the dark clear sky.

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