==== November 14th, 2013
==== N'cal, Sienna, Iolarth, Kehemath
==== Bluerider and greenrider meet and discover a point or two of commiseration - as do their dragons.

Who N'cal, Sienna, Iolarth, Kehemath
What Bluerider and greenrider meet and discover a point or two of commiseration - as do their dragons.
When Early evening. There are 8 months and 21 days until the 12th Pass.
Where Dustbowl Cantina, Igen Weyr



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.

N'cal is one of those people who seems able to concentrate in just about any amount of noise and bustle…and also does best at it with a glass of wine close at hand. As the Dustbowl's usual evening patrons begin to filter in, the tall, lean bluerider goes largely unfazed, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles beneath his corner table as he sits in apparently casual study of a set of formation charts, idly turning his wine glass by the stem upon the table and occasionally taking a sip. A Harper strikes up an easy, low-key melody near the hearth. No matter to him; it just helps him think all the more.

Sienna wanders in, draping her jacket over her arm as she wanders up to the bar and gets a glass of wine. Turning, she searches for a spot to sit, and meanders over towards N'cal. Because why not? "Why is it every man I try and strike up a conversation with is looking at formation charts? Is there nothing else to look at? I'd prefer dirty pictures at this point," she says with a little smirk, lifting her glass to her lips. "Mind if I sit?"

The bluerider is surprised to find himself suddenly addressed, though rather than flinching or jumping, he lets his blue-green gaze rise slowly from the charts to land on the face of the woman standing near him. "Perhaps it's an unwitting draw," he suggests, smirking in turn. "A subconscious desire to get those men to stop doing so? Though it might be fun to turn the formations into dirty pictures, I suppose." With a chuckle, he waves the notion off. "The diversion is welcome…" His eyes search for her knot, and the smirk becomes a smile. "…Assistant Weyrlingmaster. I don't mind at all; please." He salutes and rises, pulling out the nearest chair. "N'cal. Blue Iolarth's."

Sienna chuckles. "Maybe," she admits as she returns the salute and sits, accepting his offered seat with a nod of thanks. "It got me to come over." That and the empty chair. "Sienna, green Kehemath's. Well met, N'cal."

Iolarth is curious, a warm wind whistling lightly through sunlit pines with a scent of cedar, a bird of prey circling lazily in careful distance above - not hunting, but watching, surveying. Taking in. « Greetings, » a deep voice ripples through the wind, all-around, but gentle.

Kehemath responds with a shifting of her mind, skirting away with a short but swift hop, vanishing into the shadows of those pines. Though the bird of prey does earn a slight shift of attention. She says nothing, his answer a small tendril of sage smoke drifting through the trees.

"Indeed it did," N'cal returns, grin wide as he sits down. "Well met. These are for Arroyo's drills tomorrow, but," he flips the folio containing the charts shut with a sigh, "I think they're about as ingrained as they're going to get for the day." He pulls himself into a less space-consuming posture, scooting his chair back in and folding his arms on the table. "My compliments to your Kehemath. Iolarth seems…intrigued. Forests familiar to them both, it seems," he observes thoughtfully, a light chuckle following. "I've not been here more than a few months. How long have you been Assistant Weyrlingmaster here?"

Sienna smiles, sipping from her wine again. "There is a point where the mind just can not absorb any more," she agrees. Then she chuckles, her expression fond and just a touch wry. "Is he? And she is very adaptive. If his mindscape had been a desert, the plains, even the sky itself, she'd be at home there. And…shards, the time goes so swiftly. More than a few months I'd guess. Where are you from?"

Iolarth only finds himself more intrigued by the scent of sage caught up lightly with the cedar, the smoke carried easily on the breeze, and the raptor drifts lower, weaving among the treetops to perhaps better spy the retiring green. There is a sudden clearing, grass peeking through a thick carpet of pine needles surrounding a mossy boulder singled out by the sunlight, and here he lands, breeze whispering round about as broad wings fan and tuck to his back. « A quiet one. » The deep voice filters up from the roots of the trees themselves with a hint of amusement. « Iolarth is my name. » Friendly. Patient. And he waits upon his perch, wondering if she might volunteer as much, herself. »

Kehemath watches from the brush. Really? A bird to her coyote? A Road Runner to her Wile E.? She creeps along the edges of the clearing, peering at him and sniffing, but she is not yet visible other than a pair of golden, gleaming eyes.

"Hmmm," is the start of N'cal's answer around his own mouthful of wine, and then a small smile curves his lips. "Fort, originally," he replies, "though I traveled with a trader caravan for a time. Came back around to Fort, found myself Searched…then found myself Impressed." The smile grows to a grin, and he shakes his head. "And then I…couldn't keep my mouth shut to Fort's liking, apparently, and found myself here." Now he considers Sienna for a moment over his glass. "And you? From the past, yes? If you don't mind my asking."

Sienna lifts a brow at the bluerider. "What did you say?" she asks, ever curious and nosy. Though her smile softens somewhat. "I spent some time with traders before I was Searched. It was a gloriously freeing life. And yes, oldtime Ista," she says, her smile shifting to something a bit more reflective and a touch sad.

Iolarth may be a bird to her coyote, but there will be no running from him, thank you. He takes wing again, slowly and skimming the ground, gentle breeze picking up slightly as he flaps along between the trees, not coming too close to the golden eyes that watch. « If I haven't frightened you off by now, » that amused baritone echoes along the breeze, « I must be doing something right, I hope. » A mouse catches his eye, and he rolls sideways to pluck it up before it can disappear into the pine needles; success! Yes?

Kehemath shifts in the brush, and when the bird dives to catch that mouse, she springs. Her form is that of a canine-esque creature. Large ears, bushy tail, pointed snout. Shades of tan adorn her fur as she leaps, pounces with a stiff-legged spring and hop.

N'cal nods, chuckling lightly at Sienna's curiosity. He'd be more guarded, except traders seem to be a point of commiseration, so he doesn't feel the need to withhold that part. "The Vandor caravan. Freeing…yes, in its way. I went to them to get away from my parents. They wouldn't let me be a Starcrafter in peace, and I didn't want to hold the cot once my father got too old, so. I left. Learned to be a businessman with the traders instead." He catches the hint of melancholy to Sienna's expression and blinks, contrite. "I apologize. I know you all gave up more than we tend to give you credit for." Eyes drift into his glass for a moment before he takes another drink. "Something many of us tend to forget in favor of other views, unfortunately," he murmurs, just loud enough to be heard.

Sienna grins, "I think part of why it was so freeing for me was that I did very little actual work. I wandered with them, helped with the animals, did things here and there, and danced in the evenings. Didn't last long. A Starcrafter, huh? You were the first born son, destined to take over?" Then she smiles, dipping her head in appreciation for his sentiment. "It's been difficult for everyone," she concludes.

Iolarth is a gust of wind stirring leaves and pine needles all around - a sudden burst of cool air in surprise, as his eagle shrieks in alarm at the pounce, buffeting air with wide wings at Kehemath's newly revealed form before winging up to a low branch, juuuust out of reach. He hopes. Rich laughter resounds over the treetops as the wind warms again, sunlight stretching golden fingers through the forest. « Quick! » The bird ruffles golden-brown feathers, tilting its head as he examines her. « A fellow hunter, then. Well met, indeed. »

Kehemath bolts forward to stand beneath the tree, peering up into the branches and panting in silent laughter, ears swiveling before she darts into the underbrush again. A mental touch of amusement and promises of more to come, before her presence vanishes in a puff of sage smoke.

"Precisely so," N'cal affirms. "Firstborn son, and entirely uninterested in all that that implied. The stars fascinated me. The intricacies of holding did not." He considers Sienna's reasons for being around the traders with amusement, grinning when she mentions dancing and attending to his wine again quickly thereafter with a clearing of his throat. Whatever that reaction may mean is anyone's guess at this point, though it passes as fleetingly as it appears. "What drove you to the traders, then?" he questions, looking back over at the AWLM as he swirls the remainder of his wine in his glass. "A similar tale? Or something different altogether?"

Not that kind of dancing. Though Sienna doesn't specify. "A desire for freedom," she says. "To get away, to see the world. It didn't last long, but…it was glorious while it lasted." Pushing to her feet, she finishes her wine and leaves the glass on the table. "If you'll excuse me. The Weyrlings require attention." One of them always needs something.

Nor would N'cal's mind have gone there! But with what goes unsaid, un-guessed, and unspecified, that will also go un-clarified - though the fact that Sienna answers his question indicates that he did not, at least, offend with that small slip of reaction. Or so he hopes. "Of course," he says with an inclination of his head, rising as she does and taking aside the glass she leaves. "It was a pleasure, Sienna. A good evening to you." And as she moves off, he finishes his wine, returns the glasses to the bartender, and sits down again, content to spend the rest of this particular candlemark listening to the Harper and thinking about nothing in particular. As much as Iolarth will let him, that is.

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