Who

Sabik, Divale

What

Divale learns that criminals may be of some salvation.

Part II

When

It is evening of the thirteenth day of the fifth month of the seventeenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Isle No. 4

OOC Date 27 Jun 2019 04:00

 

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"Full access for the price of your freedom then, is it?"


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Isle No. 4

The second largest land body of the island chain is made up of lots of rocks, plants that once came from the wind, and exiled criminals. This island has the best source of freshwater. Shrubs are sparse, any large trees probably Thread-chewed and there are several other islands able to be visited via low tide or shallow water. An old lighthouse is now a primary domicile and look-out for the very young. Those old enough are soon sick of looking at endless water.


Lukoith can no doubt spot a few of those 'allies' of Sabik, though his attention is more focused on the man. Staring, indeed! No comfort either is the marginally snarled like expression he gives, just a hint of teeth showing as he rumbles low; no threat, but a reminder that he could become one. Divale's gaze lowers briefly, turning aside just enough to hint that she is looking behind at the brown and privately conversing ? a reminder, undoubtedly, not to sow chaos just on a whim. "You are fortunate it was I and not the others who were alerted first." she remarks dryly, looking up at Sabik once more and smirking grimly. "Lukoith will not move from where he is, so long as no harm comes to me. We can talk." Gesturing with her hand, she'll indicate for him to lead on."

What form of fear is better, the storied forms in myth or the ones you can reach out and touch? It depends on how creatively demented one's imagination is. Dragonkind is enough to spark extreme wariness in the man of the desert. But he has lived a life that shows fear as weakness and besides, a quick death may be better than starvation or fever. "Which others would that be?" He starts the semi-steep ascent up the beach, pitted with loose rocks with sharp edges that readily shift underfoot. A path has somewhat been eked out and the people they pass offer a mostly wide berth. One brave soul quickly approaches to inform Sabik of at least two other riders stationed further along the island. Sabik nods twice but does not bloom in reaction. He would be hard pressed to come alone as well. The shorter man darts away. "I am Sabik but you know that. How is it you were part of the Underground? That is, your public story." Knowing that most everyone in that community had many masks. The ground levels out and there are bits of stale grasses that have not yet greened with spring. Their destination is a centuries old lighthouse no longer in service. The masonry is fair, was once better, with even a stained glass portal in deep sapphire to match the bay. Tattered canvas covers the main entry and the exile pushes it away to offer refuge within. It's at least ten degrees cooler and inhabited by several people by the status of pallets and accumulation of salvaged goods.

"Whirlwind riders. Ones lead by the Weyrsecond or Weyrleader himself." Divale explains, leaving it at that as though she expects that little else needs to be said. No mention of her Wing or where her alliances rests, though she'll assume Sabik knows some of the hierarchy of a rider. Cautiously she'll follow in his wake and when her focus isn't on the questionable footing and path, it will be on those other inhabitants, including the one who comes to inform him. It draws a mirthless half-smile to her features, before neutrality falls into place again. "I was a healer aide," she begins. "I'd come with my grandmother, though she passed not long after. My name is now as it was then: Divale." Masks are expected and she hides her relief well that Sabik isn't prying too deep. Curiosity surfaces as they approach that lighthouse, her dark eyes taking a lingering moment to observe the masonry and the age of the structure. Likewise, once they step inside, she immediate notes the pallets and salvaged goods. Depending on how much further he ventures inside, Divale may not be as inclined to step too far from the only exit known so far.

The space is house-like in simple design though with only two large rooms and the tower leading to the beacon itself. Three people shy away from within, two take to a corner and a third, waifish and quick as the lightning bugs Pern doesn't have, winds up a set of stairs to where the child may eavesdrop. Bits of sky can be seen from where mortar once was though fairly recently someone(s) had tried to put mud in its stead. They don't stray too far from the entrance to take advantage of the dying light. "I do not know the Weyrleader more than by his name of K'vre." Sabik draws out the last vowel as he looks to one figure in the corner, a soft look in his eye. "My wife Aolan. Could we have one of the teas? If we have any left of the surupa." She looks deer-like at Divale and is happy for a task that will temporarily draw her away. He sits first on the bare ground, motioning to the rider she may have the coarse blanket to herself. With sharp knees he folds his legs and looks at Divale for several seconds. "I think I recognize you, or I should, it wasn't so long ago. May have even mended some of the damage I took."

Divale's gaze darts to that movement of waifish size, eyes narrowing sharply as her mind reaches a logical assumption. Children? That draws a rather grim line of thought, which is quickly buried in favour of more pressing details and conversations. "… how did you come about that information? These islands…" Her hand gestures vaguely, in a dismissive flick. "Aren't exactly known." Aolan, named and thus spotted because of it, is met with an unreadable look by her. She would have turned down the offer of tea, but she does not take away the woman's chance to escape. The offer to sit is accepted reluctantly; notably, Divale arranges herself in such a way as to not have her back exposed ? a habit of one ingrained with not wanting to be snuck up upon and caught. "Perhaps? I mended many or tried, with what we had." Her head tilts subtly to the side, another shadow of a half-smile in place. "… but I believe we're not here to reminisce of times long past. Shall we discuss more important matters?"

Sabik's fingers dig into the head scarf and pull it down and off. Something sharp's been used to keep his hair somewhat short though it curls with abandon to his chagrin. He places it as far off his neck as he can. "Yes, forgive me, we do not entertain much." Aolan's return comes with cups of hot tea that will taste, like the whole island, substandard. "Rider." Aolan all but whispers as she offers it first to Divale. To Sabik, it's their best offering, and his face shows no distaste. "The deficit of firestone has reached us here, how, I will not yet tell you, it is currently not crucial. This island, and others nearby as worthless as they appear, have a lode of firestone. How much, I am no miner but you could look and maybe assess for yourself." He coughs to the side and a path of visible ribs are conspicuous. "You may tell your Weyrleader he can have free access with our help for the opportunity to leave this pit. Here," a sample no larger than a fist is offered from his pocket. "That one is C grade, there are better composites."

"Thank you." Divale murmurs in a voice that she wills herself to gentler tones for Aolan's sake. Not out of pity, but merely because she has no ill will to the woman and does not desire to sow fear with her. The presence of children, albeit hidden for now, also mark a difficult challenge. They are, to her, innocent even if their presence here dredges up numerous questions. Tea now in hand, she will indulge as far as to inhaling the scent of it but not yet taste. Not from entire lack of trust, but more from conversation. "I will allow that," she murmurs, in regards to him evading just how he's come upon recent events. He has offered something far more valuable of interest in turn! Nor is she wholly surprised by the deal he wishes to cut for such access. It draws a low throated chuckle from her, but there is not a single spark of amusement to the depths of her eyes. The same could be said for the wry smirk, more wolfish than charming. "Smart of you to bank on the Weyr's current weakness to secure a trade! Brazen, too." Sampling some of that tea first, if it's to her tastes, she doesn't remark on it. Rather, the cup is set aside in favour of leaning forwards to accept that offered stone. Once she has it in hand, she withdraws, examining all the while. "Full access for the price of your freedom then, is it?"

Sabik savors the small blossom of steam from the tea as freshwater is every bit as precious as firestone is. It does seem to quiet his cough too. "And our labor," he acknowledges this above all else, dark eyes sharp as flint chips. "We may need some good food to get us going but we know the land and every second stone. Edvin was here well before the Oldtimers. Kinvalen knows much about the Minecraft," he killed his mentor—allegedly. "You may take that with you, I know you have other obligations." He stands with purpose and maybe an old injury. "Thank you for the tea, my dear," Aolan smiles weakly, nervously or self-consciously brushing her hair with her fingers. "I will see you to the beach unless you want to see the closest of the deposits…"

Names are committed to memory, along with further details offered so readily by Sabik. Other details are noted too, small and trivial to most but marked as potential for use later. Divale will tuck that sample of stone securely in a large pocket; awkward though it may be, she needs to free her hand. Rising to her feet, she inclines her head to Aolan once more in silent thanks for her hospitality, for what little it may have been. To Sabik, her expression is a touch more grim and her nod brisk. "I would appreciate seeing this deposit and then I must return. An extended absence without a report will bring further inquiry." Again, she will wait upon him to lead onwards, before following behind. No doubt once they're out of earshot of his wife and others on their trek, she will speak up again. "I cannot offer you an immediate decision and it may be some time yet before… an agreement can be decided upon. In good faith, perhaps I can offer a small incentive?" Not to double cross, that is, should their flag have caught more than Igen's attention. "Is there anything pressing in materials or goods that you or your people need? You mentioned food, but I cannot yield that much." A pause and a hint of a sly grin though her features do not shift much. "Medicine, perhaps?"

Sabik has no idea if those on the island use their birth names or have changed them on whim or necessity. His at least Divale will know to be consistent, as with his wife. He parts the scrap of canvas and starts to head south at a good pace, dusk will make the walk treacherous. "Be careful on your feet. There is no path and we've no torches or glows." That their life lacks is a reality and if he's bitter, it has not visibly eaten at him. "Medicine is always welcome. Fevers are common. I don't think anything will help my cough, it's a piece of the desert I carry with me." And all of those fine inhaled pieces of sand. "Come!" And the pace quickens, he a wraith once more. The deposit is hard to discern in the dark but its garlic smell is unmistakable: phosphoric rock. In time, he'll lead Divale back to the beach, make farewell exchanges, and have expectations and dried fish for supper.

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