Who

Mayte, Rhiscorath, G'tan, Zinakoth

What

G'tan and Zinakoth drop in on Mayte and Rhiscorath's afternoon off at the Crater Lake.

Mild profanity

When

It is afternoon of the first day of the seventh month of the second Turn of the 12th Pass.

Where

Crater Lake, Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

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Crater Lake

Four centuries ago, a chunk of the very comet that drove some Oldtimers forward crashed to the desert near Igen Weyr, collapsing the original inner caverns and breaking through to a new spring that now feeds into Igen’s underground aquifer. The result? Beauty from destruction - a long, crystalline lake of brilliant sapphire blue. Sharp sandstone rings the water in jagged peaks, where sparse desert shrubs cling to steep, sandy slopes and reflect darkly on the pristine, mirror-like surface. Out in the midst of the lake, a small island pierces the glassy plane, umber from azure in a near-perfect cone. A startling break in the stark desert and savannah surrounding the Weyr, the crater lake sits like a jewel in the rough - a picturesque, inviting respite from the rough, dry terrain beyond.


In the intense afternoon heat of Igen, people are seeking to get cool any way they can. Mayte's favourite way is to go swimming, so she on the shore of the lake, towelling off and dropping a long chemise over wet hair, settling it around herself. All comfortable, she sits down and leans back, tipping her head back. Rhiscorath, however, is on the small island in the middle of the lake, watching the shore, her hide gleaming dark amber and filigreed gold in the light.

Naturally, an island boy knows a thing or two about swimming, and damned if it isn't hot enough to warrant wanting to right now. Zinakoth's lean length glints brightly overhead for a moment, arcing over the slightly more chill water of the Crater Lake and plunging into the crystal water with a tremendous splash…and where is his rider? Surfacing. G'tan being pinned to his lifemate's neck might have been missed, but there's no mistaking the fact that he was attached to it now as he breaks the top of the water and pulls his trunk-clad form across the surface a little way, whooping slightly at the cold. It'll pass soon. Once Zinakoth announces that Rhiscorath is nearby, the bronzerider starts looking about for the goldrider that goes with her, spotting Mayte on the shore and swimming that direction as Zinakoth heads out toward the island where the young queen is. "Hey!" G'tan calls once he's in hearing distance, grinning up at Mayte. "Guess you don't just come here when it's crazy!"

There goes the peace and quiet. Mayte will never admit later that she shrieked in surprise when Zinakoth hits the surface, sending water up. Rhiscorath's head whips around at the approaching bronze and glares at him as best she can, watching carefully… in case he does anything else noisy. You never know. Mayte's grinning though: "That was nuts!" she laughs out, applauding a little. It takes her a few minutes to stop breaking out into laughter. "How're you doing?" the junior asks when she's calmed down, waving over at Zinakoth and Rhis. Go have fun, kids.

"That?" G'tan makes a dismissive noise as he pulls himself out of the water to stand near Mayte, letting himself drip. No towel; apparently he was planning on air-drying, especially since that entrance means he didn't stop do drop anything off on the shore. But in this heat, it'll be surprising if he doesn't dry off pretty quickly! "Nah. Just something I got into the habit of doing at Ista. I thought about taking a dive off his neck instead, but…" Shrug, as if it's no big deal. Which it isn't, for him. "I'm doin' alright. Busy, tired, nothin' new. You?" He glances out to the middle of the lake. "I'm surprised she's out there; I thought you said she doesn't like water, really." Zinakoth approaches Rhiscorath with his usual quietude; no more noise from him, no sir! « Rhiscorath, » he greets with his normal tranquility, warm desert wind and light flowing through winding, ruin-laden canyons and venturing to rustle the pages of her mind gently. Noting her glare, he snorts lightly. « One cannot swim without making some noise. » That he didn't have to dive is beside the point. « I will not be doing it again; have no fear. »

That alternate idea has Mayte's eyes glowing, "Diving? From your dragon's neck?" Teeth nibble a little on her lower lip as she ponders the likelihood of getting in trouble for doing just that. The little curve of a grin indicates she may not care. "I'm doin' okay. Taking an afternoon to ourselves," and Mayte pats the ground next to her: "Sit! And she doesn't - but she'll sit there like she rules it, as long as it's dry." Rhiscorath huffs hot air at Zinakoth, the library still and mostly forboding. Quiet. We like that. More. « Zinakoth, » is scratched out. « Ergo, I do not swim. » Even if the library's windows are shuttered against cheerful sun, some dustmotes dance on cheeky, intrigued lights that peek through slats of wood.

"Yep!" In spite of the upbeat answer, G'tan gives Mayte a slightly puzzled look. "Doesn't anyone ever try doing that in the Lake? Or here, better yet?" He gestures at the sapphire expanse behind him. "You desert dwellers miss out on the fun shit, I swear…" It's with a wry tone that he states this, having to take on the title himself now, of course. "Note: teach Mayte how to dive from dragonback. We still have to go surfing, too." He hasn't forgotten. At her offer to sit, G'tan shakes his head and smacks a hand lightly against damp trunks. "Don't want a muddy ass, but thanks. I will do this, though." And he crouches instead, sitting easily on his heels. "If I didn't have some stuff to take care of in a little while, I'd offer to show you Ista now, since you've got the afternoon." He rolls his shoulders a bit, looking out at Rhiscorath. "Well, she kinda does rule it; I mean, look at 'er. I'm surprised she doesn't chase Zin off." Zinakoth slips up onto the island, not daring to shake himself off while near Rhiscorath and instead letting himself drip, much as his rider did. Except he does it respectfully well away from the queen. « But what do you do when you wish to cool off? » he questions, breezes lightly teasing at dust motes even if she keeps the sunlight at bay.

The wry look Mayte points at G'tan is still humorous: "Can you imagine if someone saw me doing that?" A pause, "W'rin'd probably have a heart-attack or something." Still, she's grinning mischievously, eyebrows bobbing once, "Which just means he won't catch me doing it. But yeah, I still wanna try that surfing too. And see all that sand you were talking about." Despite her recent accolades over G'tan's butt, Mayte averts her eyes to look over at Rhis and Zinakoth for a moment. "Nah, she won't do that," Mayte is full of confidence, "Unless he shakes water on her." Smart bronze that he is, Zinakoth doesn't, despite the evil eye the gold is giving him. When the wet doesn't fly, Rhiscorath relents a little; now she'll just be regal, thank you. « I sit in the //shade, »// is her response, while dustmotes whirl in luxurious circles over the backs of books and aged oak tables. « How fare you today? » It's proper, a little clipped and almost too polite - like Rhiscorath has to work a bit harder to stay so still.

G'tan grins as Mayte counters herself with the point he would have made, had she not said it. "It'll happen. Might be a bit yet, but I promise," he says of diving and surfing and introducing the gold pair to the intrigue of black sand. Then he chuckles a bit. "Zin's pretty good at filing away what a queen doesn't like. Shells, I think he's been allowed to win a few times because of that," he speculates with no small amount of pride. Zinakoth snorts again, settling down and becoming little more than shimmering boulder, as is his tendency while at rest. Well, a shimmering boulder that's still dripping a bit. Even though his head lays upon the sand, it's pointed at Rhiscorath, great green eyes trained watchfully on the young queen. « I fare well, » he answers, still curiously licking at the lingering dust motes and ruffling pages here and there with his breezes. « And you, Rhiscorath? Apart from my noise, of course, » is added with a quietly amused rumble.

A thoughtful 'mmm' as Mayte casts an eye over to Rhiscorath who shifts to sparkle slightly in the sun: "We'll see," is all she can promise there. As for Zinakoth's batting average, the weyrwoman grins cheekily, "I have the feeling that, regardless of how well he knows her, Rhis'd make Zinakoth stretch for every last wingbeat." A one-shoulder shrug, "The competition too." It reminds her of another thing: Mayte snorts and mutters something about 'low-hanging fruit'. And evidently Rhiscorath isn't giving anyone an easy time. « I am well , thank you. » She turns her head to eye Zinakoth. « The heat pleases me. » From her Sphynx-like pose, Rhiscorath stretches her wings out and settles them again. « And your noise has abated. » So the shutters start to creak open, letting more air and breeze through, catching the dustmotes and sending them flying. Acceptable.

"Oh, no illusions there," G'tan snorts about Zinakoth, holding up his hands a bit. "He prefers to work for it anyway. More worthwhile, he says." There's a pointed nod given over the matter of the potential competition. "Yeah…" There are many strong bronzes here, after all. He glances over at Mayte's muttering, a brow arching. "'Low-hanging' what now?" She can't just mutter something like that and not have him be curious. Meanwhile, Zinakoth rumbles, rolling onto his side a bit while maintaining his regard on Rhiscorath. « It pleases me as well. But it has come too soon, mine says. » A languid blink; breezes become a bit more searching, curious about her thoughts on the matter. « The storms are much harsher than the last time. They hurt rather often. »

Looking over at where Zinakoth is bouldering, Mayte hehs softly. She doesn't look embarrassed at being caught for her comment; instead it earns a wry grin, "Oh, that. I was scolding someone because he was saying his bronze wasn't much of a trier - said that Rhiscorath isn't interested in being 'low-hanging fruit'." And that's how Mayte remembers it. "Actually, he's Whirlwind too." Rhiscorath tilts her head and watches Zinakoth being…cute? « The sands are… harsher than my first Turn. » It seems Rhiscorath is nearly reluctant to admit it. « But it is never too soon for warm! »

G'tan chuckles a bit, his eyes dropping to the sand as he considers Mayte's answer. "Can't blame him if his dragon's too lazy to chase much. But she's right to have high standards." A pause. "R'xim and Shalnth, by any chance?" Zinakoth isn't trying to be cute; he's just sunning. One side, then the other. That's how he rolls. Literally. « I am inclined to agreed, » says the bronze, « but mine thinks it is odd. So do many others. » A pause. « Perhaps it has something to do with why we do not find prey where it should be, when we hunt in the mountains, » he speculates, even as G'tan downplays the idea. He likes his potential connections, thank you very much.

Mayte's shrug is eloquent: "If his dragon would insult Rhiscorath by not trying, then he shouldn't even bother showing up." Rhis' standards are exacting, given her precision in every other aspect of life, and her rider is rolling her shoulders a little until G'tan guesses right: "Huh. How did you guess that?" Her grin's a little sly, but one hand waves it away: "Anyways. Whatever; everyone's asking about him and his buddy. Enough about them." Across the water, Rhiscorath watches - a flick of the tail as she cares nothing for the nuances of Zinakoth's body language dictionary. Whatevs. A new page is flicked to so the gold can take this down. « They feed elsewhere? And they do not return? Fascinating… Do they taste of fear, when you do find them? Exhaustion? » Quill at the ready.

"Ouch," G'tan counters with a grinned grimace, though he's laughing a bit. He happens to agree. For her question about his guess, he looks over at Mayte with skewed brows, even as she waves it off. "I'm around him every day in drills. I sure hope I'm able to guess!" Finally tired of crouching, he stands back up. "Everyone, huh? Eh." He shrugs. "Leave it to Reaches riders to stir shit up." And that's all he's going to say on the matter for the time being. Zinakoth rolls over with a huff, letting his other side gleam in the sun for a little while. « We find them lower. But there is no fear to them. No exhaustion. But there are fewer of them. Perhaps they die sooner, not being where they ought. »

Ouch it may be, but Mayte still grins up at G'tan, watching as he stands up. "Dry enough to sit down now?" she asks, leaning back and bracing herself with both hands to languish in Rukbat's hot kiss. "My neck's gonna crick if you stay like that." She is eyeballing him from below, "So. What's new with you? Did…" Mayte frowns thoughtfully. "Did you get 'scored in that really bad Fall?" Her hand strays to her own left hip: "I'm pretty much all well again - the Healers have threatened me about getting hit again." Now Mayte's being a brat. « Lower, but unstressed… fascinating… » Rhiscorath is busy taking details down. « And they are just as delicious as ever? » For a moment, there's a faint, languorous tone in her writing, a fascination in the way ink spreads across the page, forming a stylistic 'tasty'.

G'tan drops his hands to his thighs, patting experimentally at the fabric that covers them. "Hmmm. Yeah, probably. Can't have me bein' a pain in your neck, after all," he teases with a wink before dropping into the sand to properly sit. At Mayte's question, he gives a rueful snort. "A little, yeah." He turns his back to her a bit, tapping a finger against the left of his lower back. There, a web of slightly paler scars sprawls from kidney to spine, broadening the closer it gets toward the dip cutting up the middle of his back. "Wasn't too bad. It didn't take too long to heal, either; it was just…sharding annoying," he comments, shifting to face her again and dropping his eyes to the young goldrider's hip. Frowning a bit, he blinks. "I meant to ask. How bad was it? Seems like a worse place to get hit." Meanwhile, Zinakoth is watching Rhiscorath curiously, plying breezes fluttering about quill and page and perhaps attempting to help dry the ink. « Yes, » he replies, his mind's laughter a low, rich tenor echoing subtly as if between stone walls. « Shall I show you where they are sometime? »

Mayte mmms quietly as she watches G'tan sit, then roll: "Ouch," she hisses sympathetically, "That's an awful place. Musta slept on your stomach a lot, hey?" Her hand is even reaching out to touch those scars, except she realizes and pulls back quickly. "Oh, mine? Ummm," she reaches to twitch her shift aside to reveal that scored hip, scars still prominent but not coloured: "It was bad enough that I couldn't swim for a good while," Mayte shrugs, but her voice is flat. "It sucked. A lot. But we got ::between:: fast enough that it didn't hit the bone or anything." Rhiscorath draws a few elegant lines under her notes for the breeze to work with. « I think that will be excellent. If there is something amiss, it must be researched. » And then a single serif question mark. « And the Black Sands of Ista. »

"Yeah, but I'm all over the place when I sleep normally, so," G'tan answers with a shrug. "Didn't bother me too much. PT and flying sucked, though. Gettin' sweat in that shit stings." He shakes his head, still chagrined that it even happened and listening to Mayte somberly. "Damn wind. We were doing our best to make sure it didn't get down to you and Mosaic… Hopefully you'll never have to deal with that again. I'm sorry." Zinakoth's breezes lick softly at those extra lines drawn, pleased with her answer. As for the mention of the Sands, they gust a little in something like a sigh, and the bronze rumbles softly. « We will go. But it may be some time yet. Once mine is done watching, he wishes to go. »

If there's a little smirk on Mayte's face, it probably disappears quickly. "Don't apologize. It was rogue, and a lot of shit was going on. You couldn't have controlled the green that nearly flew into us either." She looks over and shrugs, "Shitty things are gonna happen. It could happen at any time, and even if it's not supposed to hit us, sometimes it will." Mayte goes quiet for a moment, then says, "I'm glad I got hit." Before G'tan can interject, "I'm glad, because now I can look other riders who've been scored in the face. And know how it feels." Her lips are tightly pressed. Rhiscorath would raise an eyebrow if she had them. « Watching? » The vanity of a gold. « My time is limited. » Her golden head turns to observe Mayte, but then looks back at Zinakoth. « If we must… » But her tone is not sorrowful or put off - more dismissive.

G'tan suddenly shoots a very pointed look in Zinakoth's direction for a good, solid few seconds before relaxing again, though he winces a little when Mayte brings up the mishap with the green. He is indeed about to interject at Mayte's statement, brows coming together in a frown before she speaks further. Her reasoning stops G'tan's words, and while the thought of a goldrider getting scored appalls him, the courage he senses in Mayte's words has him regarding her with a certain admiration. He nods slowly. "That's…definitely one way to look at it," he concedes, his brows unknitting and a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "I've gotta say…that's not something I've heard from many goldriders." She'd have made a good fighting rider too, in his opinion. Zinakoth goes quiet for a moment, picking up something from his rider, and then grumbles. « He watches over someone he cares for. I am not to say anything further. » He isn't upset about not being able to go to Ista over it, but he doesn't like not being able to speak of the reason. Rhiscorath's statement about her time is met with a small tilt of his head. « There is much that demands you attention, » he agrees. « But there will be time yet for this. It will be worth the wait. »

The shrug Mayte gives falls into tight shoulders, and she's definitely staring across the water with tight eyes. "I could never understand it, when I'd help tend to riders afterwards," This is no light topic for the girl, "but I wanted to at least get an idea, right?" A pause that begins to shatter her tight shoulders into sagging, "And now I do. At least a little. I can understand why Linny asked not to fly ever again." Is that shocking? Not to Mayte, perhaps, "But even if I understand… I don't think I'd ever ask for that. I just…can't not fight." Oh hello, tangent, nice to see you here. Across the water, Rhiscorath turns deceptively slow whirling eyes on Zinakoth. Her schedule up in the air? Rhis doesn't like that much at all. « No. I will wait until I wish not to anymore. » Her Sphynx's pose begins to slowly unravel, starting with the wings that rustle as if to shake off dust and a tail that coils almost sensually back and forth.

G'tan notes the effect the topic has on Mayte, listening quietly and reaching out to rest a hand on one dropped shoulder - comfort, commiseration, whatever she wants it to be (including gone, if she indicates it; he's ready to retract it, too). "I get it," he says, nearly murmuring. "Took me some time to understand why weyrwomen would want to fly at all, but…I know it's not really so much about the hide as much as the person. Linny hates it and wants to stay out of it; you hate it and want to kill it." He shrugs a little. "To each their own way, aye?" A pause, and he pulls his hand away, looking out at the lake. "Doesn't mean I don't wish you hadn't gotten scored, though." Even if she gleaned something important from it. Zinakoth is a bit perplexed by Rhiscorath's counter to his statement, rolling back to his stomach and then sitting up on his haunches, watching her curiously. « There will be no stopping you, of course, » he concedes with a rumble. « But how will you know where to go if you finish waiting before we are free to go? » As if he is the only one who might have the answer to that.

For a long moment, Mayte's shoulder actually doesn't move from under G'tan's hand. Instead, she's concentrating hard on the far water: "We're dragonriders, no matter what colour the hide." G'tan takes his handaway before she can remember to shrug it off, though, and she looks up at him with an open look of mixed emotion, "Yeah, to each but now Mirage is down a dragon with flame." Finally though, Mayte returns to herself and offers a short grin, "Thanks. I'd rather you don't get scored either too, huh? Don't do it again." The last is cheeky and teasing. Rhiscorath is proud: « I have maps. I know Ista, to visit my granddam. » A flash of another gaudier gold hide and a family tree is laid out to Talicanitath. « Two seven-days. » Rhiscorath muses aloud. « Until mine has no one to meet with. Yes. » Secretaries can be ruthless.

G'tan nods, his brow furrowed at the mention of Mirage being down a rider. "Things'll work out," he says, though it sounds a bit lame to his ears. "We've been alright since then, and we'll have new crops of riders coming up…" Though that doesn't solve the issue of being down a queen with a flamethrower, if that's what Mayte means. To the sentiment about not getting scored, G'tan shrugs, though he's smirking. "I'll do my best!" he returns with a wink. "Though I dunno; some people think scars are kinda sexy…" His turn to tease! « Yes, but do you know where the black sand is? » Zinakoth wants to know, examining the family tree that sprawls out from Rhiscorath's mind anyway. He was told about this. He just forgot.

Mayte lets out a long breath before nodding, "There'll be more dragons and riders. More golds, too." She shifts so she can wave out to where Rhiscorath reflects shinily, "I don't expect her to have a gold egg first off, right?" Even if Mayte's tone is a little smug: maybe she hopes, "But there'll be more." The comment on scars has Mayte looking over again, a little smirk of her own, "Depends on where they're placed…" Craning her neck around, she declares, "That one's not bad. I can imagine sexier…" Burn? Score? Mayte's still grinning cheerfully. Rhiscorath silently huffs, sending dustmotes flying into action, revealing the many different maps of Ista. « I will find it. » Flipping through, there are detailed notations in her Atlas but none of black sands. « And Ista is small. I will find it. » Rhis seems entirely unruffled that it might take a bit more effort. « The research will be worthwhile. »

G'tan arches a brow, smirking at what Mayte doesn't expect from Rhiscorath at the outset, and shrugs. "You never know…" Though the odds are against it. He thinks. He really doesn't know. Then it's back to scars, and he laughs outright. "Well, I'm sure you'll have fun trackin' down what you imagine," the bronzerider returns with a waggle of his brows, and he stands up once more, stretching. "Alright, I'm burning up again. I'm headed back out there." He gestures at the lake. "You done, or you wanna come?" Zinakoth rises, shaking subtly to rid himself of some sand. « You are stubborn, » he notes, but his is not a disapproving tone. It's factual, respectful, perhaps being a bit admiring. « I am off to swim again. Good day to you, Rhiscorath. » And the lanky bronze slips into the water - no diving and splashing this time. He knows what's good for him.

A mere, slightly egotistical shrug, but Mayte laughs a little at what G'tan's suggesting, "Oh, the tracking's half the fun of it." Pause. Scandalized look, until the bronzerider waves towards the lake. It takes a moment of consideration before she too is up, shedding her dry shift like another skin to reveal her own swimsuit beneath: "I'm good. Can probably beat you in one lap around the island," is her teasing taunt, not waiting for G'tan to agree or not before she's racing to the lake. Rhiscorath is not moving towards water thank you. « I am steadfast. And dependable. » Words bigger than gold for one of her calibur. « And good day to you . » A silent sigh across pages as she sees her lifemate racing towards water again, but she stands to take to the air again, moving to a higher vantage point for the afternoon sun.

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