==== December 17, 2013
==== Cha'el, Kyara
==== Having been out of Weyr due to ferrying people up to Keroon, Cha'el returns post goldflight and encounters a singing greenrider at the Oasis when he stops in for a drink.

Who Cha'el, Kyara
What Having been out of Weyr due to ferrying people up to Keroon, Cha'el returns post goldflight and encounters a singing greenrider at the Oasis when he stops in for a drink.
When There are 0 turns, 5 months and 12 days until the 12th pass.
Where Oasis Inn, Igen Weyr

Chael1.png Kyara1.jpg


Oasis Inn

Tucked into a small fold of foothills along the road leading from the Weyr to the Central Pass, this inn truly is just what its name implies - an oasis for travelers coming from either direction. Stabling and board are available - though the boarding comes at a price, since there isn't much of it. The most well known part of the Inn is the tavern - a rustic bar built of solid skybroom and furnished in dark, oiled wood, leather, metal, and glass. Though well used and sometimes abused, the furniture is also well cared for and maintained, and the food and drink draw many a rider in alongside the travelers. The decor is eclectic, consisting in hangings, rugs, carvings, and other things from every region of Pern, bestowed upon the owner in barter for lodging. The atmosphere isn't one of a dive; it's cozier than that, though there is just a touch of harmless shady to be found - particularly in the evenings.

It is the forty-eighth day of Summer and 84 degrees. The night is clear. Stars twinkle merrily.

Kyara is here.
Obvious exits:
Weyr Pass Road

Is it safe? Well, truly, it's been safe to come back for a while, now, in terms of the mating flight that just happened and all that goes along with that. Kyara wasn't around for it this time, and doesn't feel at all sheepish for it, in truth. However, she isn't sure she wants to head back just yet, and has come around to the Oasis Inn again for a quiet drink or two as the day winds down. She's got full reports from Liareth, of course, and will get back there. In a bit. There's nothing wrong with wanting a little distance from the drama, is there? Particularly with certain other drama in her life still being dealt with? Not apathy, at all; this is just desire for a moment of peace. Again.

Cha’el is another who had managed to escape the drama of the goldflight. Though not by choice for there had been an errand to run that while it had taken him to the site of the Keroon Gather, hadn’t kept him there. Thanks to Sikorth’s moping and griping, he is however, all too painfully aware of the flight that has raised Sadaiya to the rank of Senior and ensured W’rin’s continued reign as Weyrleader. A drink is what’s needed. Much easier to ignore the brooding bastard with a few in him. Thus it is, that the tall brownrider strides into the Oasis, keen blue gaze sweeping his new surroundings with interest.

It's the flicker of movement at the door to the Inn that draws Kyara from her stare out the nearby window. She's not all that far from the door, her table left of where the newly-arrived brownrider is standing, and her amber gaze quickly surveys the tall man before she notes how he's looking around the place and lightly smirks. Someone who's never been here? She flicks a salute off her brow, though doesn't shift much from her somewhat indolent posture. "Good evening, brownrider," she greets, not having to speak up too much at this distance. "Come for a break from the chaos, too?"

Cha’el misses the salute but not the greeting spoken from just off to his left. Lips quirk about a wry line within the neat frame of beard. “Evening, greenrider,” his path angles a step or two in Kyara’s direction, more to remove himself from the path of any coming or going than to simply shove his company on the young woman. There’s a dry snort of amusement to her last, a hand lifting to sweep through dark hair starting to curl at the ends as it grows out from its last cut. “If by break you mean coming to attempt to drown out Sikorth’s whining and grumbling because he didn’t get to chase the golden tail, then aye.” Drown being the operative word, the brownrider himself seeming otherwise unaffected by the whole affair.

Kyara chuckles a bit. "Good thing he'll forget it pretty soon, yeah? Or does he tend to cling to things like that?" She shoves a bit of burnished hair back behind her ear before gesturing to the chair across from her. "You're welcome to join me, if you like. You have the air of someone who hasn't been here before…unless you have, and I'm not as good at reading someone's manner as I thought." Her lips quirk over in a lopsided smile. "I'm Kyara, by the way. Liareth's."

Pulling his gloves from his hands and tucking them into the waistband of his leathers, Cha’el offers the greenrider a crooked grin. “He doesn’t really chase green so he’ll whine about it for a day or two and then probably go back to plotting his tactics for the next gold that rises.” Broad shoulders lift and fall in a shrug, a silent gesture of ‘what can you do?’ The offer to join her, pulls a more genuine smile into place and the brownrider extends a hand, “Well met. Cha’el, Sikorth’s unsympathetic rider.” Grin. Once greetings are exchanged, he’ll fold his tall frame into a chair opposite Kyara and utter a low chuckle. “I stick out like a sore thumb, huh?” The fact that he hasn’t yet swapped his attire for the more traditional desert garb not helping his situation much in that area.

Returning Cha'el's handshake, Kyara utters a stretched "ah" that rises and falls in amused comprehension. "Your Sikorth loves a challenge, hm?" she questions, watching the brownrider sit. Her own smile widens to a grin in an unconscious echo of his, even as her eyes go slightly vague in order to see Sikorth through Lia's eyes. The pretty green is half dozing, though she's surveying the brown through one half-lidded eye and not really deigning to flirt even slightly right now. Her greeting to Sikorth is a quiet, pleasant rumble, but nothing more. She's tired. Dozing off again, thanks. The greenrider chuckles, giving a small shake of her head. "Not a green chaser even sometimes? There are a few at Igen that don't, I've learned. Interesting, those exceptions to what I thought was a rule." As for Cha'el sticking out, she shrugs a little. "Well, you seem newer, anyway. The drinks here are better than the Dustbowl, I think, thought you have to pay a little more, of course." She sips at the ice-filled amber liquid in her own glass. "How long have you been at Igen?"

Expressive blue eyes roll at Kyara’s quip. “His whole life is a challenge according to him,” Cha’el returns lifting a hand to beckon a server over. Out in the bowl, Sikorth is an immobile statue of GRUMPY. Sitting upright, long tail wrapped about his forepaws, he resembles a silent monolith, moonlight dappling eerie shadows across his mottled brown hide. The sleepy rumble of greeting from the pretty green is afforded a short chuff in response. He doesn’t feel like talking right now. Not, that he’s a great conversationalist. More an orator to stir the troops than anything else. When the server arrives, Cha’el places an order for rum, no ice, no mixer and turns to the greenrider’s question with wry amusement patterning across his features. “He’s caught me out once or twice,” he admits on greenflights, “Never gives a reason though.” There’s a short laugh, rich like the drink he’s just ordered for her last. “Not long,” Cha’el reveals, “transferred in from Ista a month or so back. Still trying to find my way around although Sikorth suggests I ask for a map.” Apparently someone is terrible with getting around on land. “Never been here before but he saw your Liareth from the air and decided here was as good a place as any to sulk.” Smirk.

"Too bad she's so tired right now," Kyara says of her lifemate, also smirking as her amber eyes give a subtle, knowing spark. Liareth does tend to draw gazes. "She'd do her best to orate him right out of his sulking, if she didn't think a nap was a better idea right now." She might also try to be more awake if she thought Sikorth was nicer to look at. The brat. "Well, I know my way around pretty well, if you ever see me around and need to ask," she offers. Then she finally takes note of his drink and raises her eyebrows, gesturing with a finger at the glass. "You…have nice taste in drinks. Rum is my go-to, also." After a sip and a slightly reminiscing look, she continues. "It was always my father's favorite, though it got to be mine after I took my posting at Ista, in the Oldtime. What brought you out to the desert, then?"

Sikorth probably doesn’t care whether the females of his species view him as pretty to look at or not. Blunt and often found to be offensive with his direct observations, his sole purpose of existence is the ancient enemy that draws closer with every passing day, stirring winds that howl and moan through a grouping of age-old monoliths. Amusement deepens, twinkling in blue eyes the color of the ocean’s depths at Kyara’s quip. “She’d be talking to a rocky wall if he’s in one of his moods,” Cha’el returns, drawing the glass deposited by the server closer to himself. Lifting it, lips turn about a crooked line and brows hike with interest, hand hovering mid-air before taking that first sip. “Seacrafter?” He queries, narrowing a closer look on the greenrider when she reveals herself to be one of the Oldtimers. As to what brought him to the desert, bearded features tighten and rather than reply, the brownrider busies himself with that first sampling taste of the rum the Oasis has to offer.

Kyara laughs, a somewhat husky sound light yet full, as she considers what Liareth's reaction to Sikorth might be. "She likely wouldn't care, to a point. She does love to talk. Sometimes she doesn't realize she's being tuned out." The subtle quirks of his expression - the narrowing of eyes, the tension entering his features - aren't lost on the greenrider, who is content not to press the question of his presence after that. She watches his eyes for a second longer before shaking her head a bit. "Harper," she replies, "though I probably would've been, if I hadn't been musically inclined. My father and two of my brothers ended up Seacrafters, though." She grins again, a bit more subtly. "I inherited the drink tolerance and the love of sea songs, though." Except she actually sing those in tune!

"He's not rude, per say," Cha'el quickly defends his brown, "Just socially inept." Fond the grin that pulls his mouth to one side. "When we were weyrlings I spent my life apologizing and trying to explain. Eventually, I just gave up. He is what he is." Strong, silent, immoveable once his mind is set to a purpose. Harper? Dark brows hike once again and a wide smile appears. "Seacraft born and bred," the brownrider reveals with a touch of pride and tilts his glass toward Kyara's in silent toast of her kin. "Don't s'pose I could entice you into singing for me, hmm?" A wistful note edged into his baritone for while he's making an attempt at calling Igen home, the salty tang of Ista will forever be in his blood.

Her expression understanding, Kyara gives a very slight tilt of her head to one side as she listens to Cha'el. "Yeah. I get that. Lia was always accidentally putting me to sleep - or close to it, questioning everything, meddling…just who she was. And is. And that makes them amazing." At the brownrider's revelation of his background, she grins. "Not surprisin'," she lilts, letting her Big Bay accent out past the Harper schooling for a moment, "seein' that yer built like one 'f 'em." She returns the toast and takes a drink to wash the accent back into hiding. The request makes her eyebrows climb, and she rubs her neck a bit. "Oh, wow. It feels like ages since someone's requested me to sing for them. I suppose it would depend on how you intend to entice me." It's slightly teasing, though she inwardly winces as she realizes how her words could be taken. Still, her expression is genuinely thoughtful, her gaze lifting briefly ceiling-ward. "Hmm. What do I know that'd still be sung in Ista these days?" she murmurs. Then she looks back down at the brownrider. "Tell you what. Order me another drink, and I'll repay it with a song. Does that work?"

Mutual understanding smoothes a warm line to bearded features, Cha’el listening with easy amusement as the greenrider goes on to share the quirks of her lifemate. Again, his glass is lifted in silent toast and another drink taken, a sigh of pleasure exhaled through the rich burn. Settling further into his seating, long legs extend beneath the table. Although careful not to knock his boots against Kyara’s there might be an accidental nudge or two. The fact that her accent appears and then disappears, has him setting her with an intent look, the comment made about his size doing little but to pull lips slightly to one side. “Why do you hide it?” He quietly asks, in his thick islander accent. It’s who he is and where he’s from and as much a part of him as his brooding brown. The question is left there for her to take up or leave, blue eyes glinting with a reflection of something unspoken when she speaks of enticements. But he says nothing, waiting instead for Kyara to put a suggestion forward, taking the time that her gaze is lifted to permit himself closer study of the younger woman. “A drink, eh?” There’s that easygoing smile again, “Sounds fair to me.” Without missing a beat the server is once again being called over. “Another of one of these,” his glass lifted, “And whatever the lady’s having.” Either he really wants that song or he’s simply enjoying the company and the brief respite from Grumble Guts outside.

Kyara feels something under the table, once, and idly shifts her feet underneath her chair as she considers his question. "I don't really hide it," she explains. "It just got…written over by my training. Every day since I turned eight, listening to that ever-so-proper Fortian lilt." Which she mimics perfectly upon those last few words. "I just sort've settled somewhere in between, I guess. It's kind of fun to throw people off by going more toward one accent or the other sometimes." Then the drink arrives - hers also being rum, but of a lighter variety - and she tilts it in thanks to the brownrider, taking a drink as her mind settles on a song. "Alright, then. This one's a little…mushy, I guess, but maybe you'll like it." She takes a breath and starts the verse - slow, minor, and a bit melancholy, but clearly from sea-folk nonetheless.

"Should the winds of time and weather
Wear the mountains to the sea
And the dawn upon the heather
Fade to darkness, still I'll be
Ever waiting at the meeting
Of the sand and water, greeting
Ev'ry morning with the promise that I'll see
That I'll see
Sunlit sails that bear you finally back to me."

She lets the last note fade into the air and gives a gentle smile, blocking it behind her drink a bit and then quirking her eyebrow at the brownrider in slight query. To his liking?

“My mother was the same,” Cha’el responds on the matter of accents, his gaze dropping to the drinks when they arrive, then lifting again once the server has left. “Though she was Fortian first and Istan second.” Finishing off the rum in the first glass, he reaches for the other deposited, the alcohol sending a pleasant hum through his veins. There’s a short chuckle for Kyara declaring the song she’s to sing, to be mushy and the brownrider waggles his hand in silent gesture for her to proceed. However, when she begins to sing, blue eyes take on a faraway expression, the words washing through him and pulling at old memories with a painful twang until eventually, Cha’el clears his throat and draws upright in his seating, a frown pushing dark brows toward one another. He’s no longer looking at Kyara or anywhere else for that matter. Instead, he’s finished that second glass of rum in two rather unhealthy swigs. Silence stretches out long after the last soft strains of her voice have faded onto the air, and still he says nothing. Finally, at a nudge from Sikorth, his gaze snaps upward, oddly thickened with moisture and the brownrider starts to gather long legs beneath him. “That was my mother’s favorite song,” he comments quietly, a sad sort of little smile getting lost within the neat groom of his beard. “She was also a harper before she met my da.” Swallowing hard again, he sets a hand to the table top and starts to rise. “You have a lovely voice. Thank you.”

That Cha'el mentions his mother in the past tense has Kyara going a bit still, studying the brownrider's face, and her brows draw together slightly in concern. When he downs the alcohol like he does, she blinks, and then she spies the wet sheen across his eyes, and her lips part slightly as if she's about to say something. That song had been just a few decades old, when she'd learned it. "It's always been one of mine," she comments softly, watching as he moves to get up. "You're welcome." Reflexively, she reaches out to touch his hand in a comforting sort of gesture, though her fingers barely brush it before she stops herself, worried that it might not be welcome. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…dig something up for you."

Unlike his dragon, Cha’el isn’t one to shy away from physical contact, the brown pair being almost exact opposites of one another. Slender fingers are caught with those that are scarred about the knuckles and Kyara’s hand is given a light squeeze. “Its fine,” he assures releasing her hand as he stands, the smile that appears edged with quiet introspection. “It served to remind me of simpler times.” Before life had torn a gaping hole not once but twice in his sails and then smashed a hole in his hull that’s now under slow repair. “It was nice meeting you, Kyara. But I should get going, we’ve drills in the morning and then are flying escort to some folk heading up to the Gather.”

Giving a slow nod, Kyara gives a small smile as she retracts her hand to curl around her glass once more. "Simpler times," she echoes, her tone commiserating as a slight sadness at memories of her own clouds the otherwise still-bright amber of her eyes. It's quickly gone, and then she's sighing in another sort of commiseration. "Same here," she says. "Though I think I'll take a little more time here before I head back. Good to meet you, too, Cha'el. Clear skies." She sends one more smile his way before sitting back, the table hers once again as the brownrider takes his leave.

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