Who

Rhoswyn, Ulrika

What

Rhoswyn's practice at the boardwalk earns her a meal, courtesy of Ulrika.

When

It is midmorning of the tenth day of the ninth month of the nineteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Boardwalk, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 31 Mar 2020 04:00

 

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"I never… Dragonriders are so important to the whole of Pern, I never thought to ask for a ride home."


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Boardwalk

Ancient-cut stone stretches broad, smoothed by the wind and the weather and the rain to create a boisterous center of commerce. Wood overlays stone in places, patterned and pretty, to attract the eye of those traversing the strip to particular vendors. Though not the size of the tremendous markets of the North, the boardwalk's offerings show the knowledge of ageless crafters: Smith contraptions, Herder-certified animals, Starcraft maps and Weaver textiles are only some of the things that may be purchased, among the spicy scents of beach food and the contrast of bright shells and dark stones from the shoreline.


Spring has sprung: Rukbat's light spills like liquid gold, accentuating motes of dust drifting lazily through the cool morning air. White fluffy clouds inch across the skies, casting soft shadows across the world as they move. Music strums like a gentle soul against the boardwalk's usual cacophony, originating from a girl with a stringed instrument caught beneath her chin, held in place at the neck with her right hand while her left strums magic across the strings. Red hair blows across her cheeks, though her eyes remain close. Impromptu is her little concert, though her face twitches slightly in a disappointed wince every few notes. Frustration heightens the color of her cheeks, but still, she plays.

Were it not for the knot, Ulrika might just be another guard on patrol - not just in bearing, but attire as well. She is not the type to stroll so much as stride, purpose in every step. But, the mask of neutrality she wears so often is, for the day, put away; a faint smile pulls at the corners of her mouth as she traverses the boardwalk, eyes periodically hazing in communion with a gold that's not physically there, but still manages to always be present. The sound of music cutting across the usual din is enough to pull her attention accordingly and her course shifts, bringing her inexorably closer to the young woman that winces from time to time. She's quiet while she listens, grey eyes keen in those moments when she's fully present.

"Shardit," Rhoswyn mutters, brow drawing down into a frown just before her eyes open and she pulls the instrument away from her chin. It's only as she's swinging the instrument around gently towards the case at her feet that she notices someone standing there. "Oh!" Cobalt blue eyes blink in sudden embarrassment or shame or something else entirely. "I'm sorry, I…" The sweet nature of her voice lends to whispers of potential singing quality, and shifted so, goes hand-in-hand with her harper's knot. "Ma'am," Rhoswyn bobs her head in courtesty and jumps her feet, her right hand still clasped around the neck of her violin. "I didn't mean… I was practicing…" Breath traverses her lips in gasps, as if unsure she did something wrong.

A low chuckle follows the Harper's curse, good-natured for all that it's low and soft and brief. "Aye, no need to apologize," Ulrika drawls. Istan by birth and breeding, the accent is still strong. "You were playing just fine, as far as I could tell." She remains stoic-still in the face of the young woman's seeming surprise and dismay. "Keep on, as you like. No need to stop now," she adds, though a hand drops to her pocket, digging a bit. "Unless you're looking for something to eat or drink. Here." An offering is made - a quarter mark - balanced on the palm of one callused hand. "The name's Ulrika. Theidith's." A tip of her head to the knot for clarification of color, but no other acknowledgement of it is made.

Fort's influence is strong within Rhoswyn's words: clipped, yet somehow musical. "I was screwing up the piece," the note of forlorn longing is unmistakeable within her tone, but she manages a smile, "But thank you all the same." Slowly, she settles the instrument in it's case. "I was just — " Halting, she looks from the mark to the weyrwoman, a considering depth within dark, cobalt blue eyes. "I was just practicing. I'm to be tested in a fortnight on my finger work and originality." Hesitantly, she slowly reaches out and takes the quarter mark while holding Ulrika's gaze. "Rhoswyn. Harper Journeyman, well junior." Hence the testing. "Well met," she adds with a soft smile, pocketing the mark.

"Aye, well, it didn't sound off to me." But, then, the goldrider's no Harper. The exchange of the quarter mark thusly made, the older woman's grey gaze holds easily on cobalt; unblinking and inscrutable in their study of the crafter. There's a thoughtful suck of teeth for that and, eventually, a soft grunt and tip of her head. Ulrika starts to move, again with purpose - always with purpose - to start checking some of teh stalls. "Well met, Harper Rhoswyn. Reckon they have something decent up this way. I remember there was a good stall with seaweed- and rivergrain wrapped fish, if that's something as you like." If not, there are a ton of other foods to be found, too. "Was that the piece as you'll be tested on?"

"You're kind, but, my Senior Journeyman professor is rather," Rhoswyn tips her hand back and forth, wincing as she does so, "exacting. Precise, shall way say?" In other words, a perfectionist who expects nothing less of his pupils. Closing the lid of her instrument with a soft click, she watches Ulrika move about as she slings the case across her back. "Seaweed-and-rivergrain wrapped fish?" Her tone indicates interest. "I've not had it. I'm still, truthfully, getting used to Southern. I've been here a handful of months now." Shifting her weight, she nods her head slowly. "Yes. One of them. I have five pieces I will be tested on and my hope is to earn high marks on all of them, but…" She hesitates and shrugs, "We will see."

There's a faint sound for that, a thoughtful exhalation through her nose. "Aye, well. I'm sure you'll get it sorted by then," the goldrider responds. It might not be praise, precisely, but a certainty as far as she's concerned. "Keep practicing and, aye, you'll get 'er." There's another nod for the confirmation of the food, the taller woman leading the way with an ease of movement that's made a bit easier by those who are quick to get out of the way. "Aye? And how are you finding Southern, these months in?" A curious quirk of brow follows and they pass a few stands serving fritters or sweets, neither of which get even a sidelong look. "Five?" A low whistle follows. "Seems as your professor is a thorough one."

"I do hope so," Rhoswyn's gentle voice is bright with hope, expression lifting as she follows the weyrwoman away from her little nest of practice and out into the wide world of boardwalk stalls. "That is my plan, and hopefully, I nail the execution," she adds with a laugh. But for all her intensity in her music, Rhoswyn is content to let the topic of her passing grades slide when the topic shifts a little. "I like it. Hot, I suppose, and kind of muggy, but the scenery is gorgeous. It's so green here, and in contrast, the Southern Barrier Hold is so, well, cold." A light chuckle for that unintended pun. "If I manage to get through them, then I will be halfway through the requirements to promotion to full journeyman." Hesitating, she adds, "But we'll see. Never know what life has to offer, do we?"

Grey eyes briefly cut askance to Rhoswyn but, as they approach the stall in question, Ulrika's regard angles to the man that's currently cutting up fresh fish that's being held on precious beds of ice. Another is deftly rolling up cones of dried, salted seaweed, filled with sticky rice and chunks of the red-fleshed fish meat. "They have some cooked spiderclaw," is mentioned as an aside, chin lifting to indicate some of the other offerings. With grade talk slipping away, she focuses on Southern - and appropriately so, given givens. "The whold of the continent is a play in contrasts, aye. Not many other places as you could go for a dip in hot springs, surrounded by snow, then go to the beach for some basking." She stands to a side, leaving Rhoswyn to order first; she's in no hurry, herself. "What else would you have to do after that? Composition? Singing?" Ulrika hazards a few guesses and adds, after a breath and that question, a chuckled, "No, I reckon not. Not always. Even the best plan can be scrapped in a heartbeat."

"I… " Rhoswyn looks at the spiderclaw with reserveration. "I think I'll try the fish," she adds with a rush. She's used to fish, and though it's a different variant, it's still familiar. She's not so used to spiderclaw. "Please," she adds to the proprietor of the stall before glancing at Ulrika. "Composition, and yes singing, though I am terrible at it. Not at the singing, part, but at the singing in front of other creatures that can have an opinion." Her musical voice holds humor, but also a wealthy dose of shyness. Red hair catches the light, sparkling as threads of gold are exposed before the wind curls them across her cheeks and into her mouth. Tugging them free, she adds, "Also, instrument cleaning and restringing, as well as other things. Like knowing how to care for records and archivist's work. One must be well rounded if one is to journey Pern." The last sounds like a quoted statement, oft repeated. "And you? Did your life end up as you thought it would?"

The gentleman in the stall tips his head at the request and collects two of the freshly-made fish cones, though a third is added when Ulrika gestures accordingly. Marks are exchanged accordingly and the goldrider takes hers deftly. The third (and an offered fourth, if Rhoswyn is so inclined!) is extended to the Harper. Ulrika doesn't hesitate with hers, taking a bite and chewing steadily while she listens. After a few moments, though, she wonders, "Have you ever sung for dragons, Rhoswyn?" It's a thought that's offered off-handedly, with no attached burden of plot or shenaniganery. A nod for the rest, the blonde with the braided bun briefly observing the fight with hair before she looks away again. "A lot of work ahead of you after all, aye. Diligence and duty will see you through," is likely a similarly quoted statement, offered with a faint quirk of her smile. Shoulders rise and fall in a shallow shrug, settling back into a squared position after. "No," is the truth and the flat, initial answer. "But, I can't say as that's a bad thing, either. I had dreams of being a guard captain when I was younger," she admits, gaze tipped skyward. Overhead, a golden shape carves across the sky, bright and joyous. "Now, I'm working with Southern's." A suck of teeth follows. "And you? How do you reckon your life holds up now to how you wanted it to be?"

Taking the offered fish cones, Rhoswyn delicately nips at the fish to taste the seasoned flesh along with the seaweed wrap it's bundled in. "It's good," she says slowly, chewing thoughtfully. "I like it," the harper proclaims with a smile, "Thank you for the suggestion." A beat, then. "And for the lunch, though you didn't have to." Rhoswyn's tones are breathy, but sincere all the same. "I… haven't," she answers slowly, after another bite. "Truthfully, I've not sung for anyone," she adds, lips pressing together. "Except for myself, I guess. An odd professor back in Fort Hold, but…" The fish wrap is enjoyed for another moment while she listens to Ulrika's initial dreams and aspirations. "On track, I suppose. My life has been uneventful, in truth. My family is back at the Hold, and I am here, exploring a part of the world I've never been. I miss them, my family, but I'm enjoying my time here."

There's a hint of vinegar tartness and a trace of sweet to balance out the savory; the seaweed is salted and the meat is succulent. There's a tiny bit of horseradish in there, too, but it's very mild. Ulrika makes steady progress through hers, though there's a brief pause in her devouring to lift her cones in a semi-salute to the Harper. "Aye, you're welcome. They do other things with the eggs and such, too. Always worth checking out in the spring and summer." Then it's silence again on her part, glances given from time to time as she listens. She swallows her latest bite, sucks her teeth as if to clean them, and mentions, "Well, if you're ever in need of a visit to your family, don't hesitate to ask a rider for a lift, aye? Or, if they give you trouble," unlikely, given that Southern riders tend to be a fairly friendly lot on the whole, "then find me." Further consideration follows, thoughtful. "Would it help," she wonders at length, "if you tried your singing for them instead? Or even a couple of firelizards? If you're any good, they'll sing along - or so I've heard."

"Thank you," Rhoswyn blinks, surprised. "I never… Dragonriders are so important to the whole of Pern, I never thought to ask for a ride home." It seems so … extra. But her smile is hesitant, friendly. "Thank you, Ulrika," again the shyness laces her voice and puts roses in her cheeks. "Maybe. Maybe I will try that…" Her voice warbles uncertainly, but then as she finishes her second fish wrap, she notices the placement of Rukbat. "Oh no! I'm late… he's going to kill me… I…! I'm so sorry," her sweet melodious voice is rushed, strained. "Please forgive me, but maybe sometime again, I can return your gracious hospitality." Flashing Ulrika a grin, the girl turns on her toes and bounds away like a graceful gazelle with red hair flying in almost comical anime-style escape.

Words of pragmatic encouragement threaten to rise, but Rhoswyn's abrupt turnabout is enough to shake only a mild, "Aye, clear skies, Rhoswyn." A salute is offered with her other fish cone, comical in its own right, and she watches the Harper depart. It's only when the other young woman is out of sight that the former guard returns to her patrol of the boardwalk - while Theidith, overhead, keeps vigil from the skies.

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