Mayte, Nasrin


Nasrin goes to visit a certain goldrider she remembered…


It is the fifty-second day of Spring and 93 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.



OOC Date 05 Jan 2018 05:00


mayte_default.jpg 11111.png rhiscorath_default.jpg rajakhelath_default.jpg

[OOC:] Mayte says "Because it would be horribly rude, even for Mayte, to say 'omg, I can see your face! What's up with that!!'



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.

Upon learning of her plans to travel to Southern, greenrider N'rist suggested she not wear leather— something about chafing. Nasrin, having never ventured so far in the southern hemisphere, packed light. Rajakhelath, Igen's fire-bearer, blazes through the sharp sun, having betweened just outside of the Weyr caldera. She is in the earliest stages of breeding, impressionable by those who can discern her habits— and calendars for that matter. They walk to the area where weyrwoman Mayte was purported to be, having decided not to use the network of dragons.

It's a sunny day in beautiful Southern, and you know the best part? It's not Benden. Mayte is dressed in a pair of light pants but sweltering a little under a light leather jacket as she waits for the evening to turn humidity cool. It's got her Junior knot on it and everyone who doesn't give Mayte at least a medium berth gets brushed somewhat rudely against. She's from Igen, what up? Rhiscorath is on the beaches, as far away from the water as she can be, pondering the water until Rajakhelath comes in overhead. Mayte pauses a moment in her tracks, finding a harper stall who trades in various scroll and even a coupe of saucily-illustrated books.

It isn't typical of Nasrin to do surprise visits, having been bred for improved etiquettes. But sometimes the thrill of the hunt is just too sweet to pass up. Tracking the weyrwoman down manually as its price of satisfaction, as Rajakhelath's throat column resonates with gratification upon catching sight of the known figure— well, known most through Nasrin's memory of her. The young gold creates a rolling rumble to Rhiscorath, identifying the larger queen as her dam. Nasrin, robed in red-etched white linen and soft shoes, dismounts after prying a small package from some straps. "We came to compare sand characteristics!" The junior calls out before she's quite near. "Our respects, weyrwoman." A semi-transparent veil doesn't quite obscure the eager smile on Nasrin's face.

The hint of a rumble has the library opening up in welcome, the vast hatching logs Rajakhelath didn't ask for being played out proudly as a scroll that… well, it goes back pretty far. An assistant librarian coming home, perhaps. Mayte whirls at Nasrin's voice, cutting through what crowd is left and Mayte moves away from the disappointed harper. "Nasrin!" she says, "Faranth, I'm happy to see you! Haven't made it to Igen yet but," a slight grunt, "Acting Weyrwoman, really. Gotta train Amani up and maybe she'll get it." Those are Mayt's feelings on the subject but: "Yeah, the sand," Rhiscorath burrows herself a little, "is really weird here. You on vacation?" she asks, nodding to Nasrin's less formal clothing.

Approximately three Turns have lapsed since Nasrin last saw Mayte, and under the white veil, she's gathering the other woman's image, matching memory to reality. Rajakhelath, either through her rider's influence or some genetic propensity, is a devotee of history and bloodlines. This reunion of golds should go rather well, so long as Raja can withhold her sparks around Rhiscorath's telepathic library. That could be… unhandy. "Amani, of the Zingari," having watched the hatching, Nasrin takes a moment to relive the details she can recall. "See, you couldn't quite escape Igen even if you wanted," extending an arm while looking down at her garb, "just a tarriance," truthfully, she's yet to indulge in a vacation. "But I did want to give you this spiced brandy from the Corks and Works and a couple trifles from the bazaar," some rose hip jelly and incense in the parcel she gives over. "It's… a different heat here." She'll thank N'rist later for his clothing advice.

Even daughters' sparks are welcome, though kept away from the heavier manuscripts. "Amani," Mayte grins at Nasrin, "of Zymuraith. We share an ancestor. No," she continues with a wider grin, "We'll never be quite done with Igen," and it's like a promise. "Corks sends brandy?" that's nearly a purr from the older goldrider, eyes on the package. "Definitely different," she agrees about the heat, looking up at Nasrin after a moment. "Great in the warmth but the cold… Ugh, there's no escaping it." Faint shiver in protest but Mayte straightens as if suddenly remembering her manners: "How rude of me: Are you here long? Do you have time for tea or wine?" Three turns is three turns and who knows, "I can't remember if you take wine or not. How awful of me."

Rajakhelath explores halls and staircases, high heat in her wake, but not quite enough for ignition. The visiting queen tucks her legs and lounges in the light coming from a different direction than where she'd left. "Yes, that's more accurate," Nasrin stands corrected in phrasing Amani's title, just as she is a Steen less in prominence. "Truly?" Awed that Amani and Mayte share a background, however small, despite their place of origins. "That's a story." As the sun bears down, the junior is glad she didn't wear kohl— it would have traveled and spread over each eye. "There's a new journeyman posted at the Corks, well I say new, from Keroon, and he's brought quite an impressive recipe ledger with him. Brandy's are one of two of his specialties, and I won't tell you the second, so you'll have to visit to find out." As the question of beverage presents, "I am very picky with wines. The driest ones I feel like should be better used for pickling. But tea, well, you know of my upbringing." A smile curls again under her sun protection as she hasn't met much tea she hasn't liked.

Mayte's face blinks for a moment, both because, "Well, more accurate, but I bet we haven't met another Amani." One of a kind, that girl. As for Zymuraith, she continues blithely as Rhiscorath demonstrates by draconic powerpoint: "Yeah, Rhiscorath's dam was Elicheritath, whose dam was a direct descendant of Dhiammarath. Zymuraith was her last, here." Oh, she's talking about dragons. As for who's taken over Corks and Works, there's a brief gleam in Mayte's eye: "A new vintner, hmm?" This can only bold interestingly for this vintner, but Mayte just smiles a bit at Nasrin, a little melancholic, "I'll have to come visit. How are you and Rajakhelath doing lately?" It's open ended, her expression unassuming.

Nasrin stands enlightened as the ancestor in question is dragon-connected. "So it is! And that means she and Rajakhelath share some lineage as well. I'll have to research that more thoroughly…" and she will, hands down. As they start to walk in the direction of whatever tea-producing vendor the boardwalk showcases, Nasrin happily adjusts to the patches of shade the larger stalls and canopies provide. "We're well: reassembling the workload after the transfer of our other junior, and bracing for another flight within the month, likely less than that." A few other tidbits are shared of their basic states. "…I've always wanted to see if this marketplace holds a candle to the bazaar," she's openly browsing, but not breaking stride. "And that leg of yours…" she heard the tale. They'll enjoy a while more of company, with Nasrin promising a return, before the Igen pair must decamp and start back for home.

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