Samshir, Naneska


…you here! Neither Samshir nor Naneska really have any business being in the Abandoned Caverns this particular evening. But no one can tell them how to live their lives…


It is evening of the fourth day of the first month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Abandoned Caverns, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 18 Jan 2018 11:00


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"Blink twice if ye need help escapin'."


Abandoned Caverns

A tragedy of 400 turns ago wasted this cavern system which was, at its demise, private living quarters. The 'door' barring the entrance is a combination of loose wood planks and lumps of rubble too bothersome to move and suitable to make entering an unattractive past time. Not that there's anything captivating of the interior remains; a legitimate cave in of the base rock obstructs most of the ground though the chamber expands past its original dimensions when the wall to an adjoining room also collapsed. Grit and fine chips of stone carpet the floor, shreds of a rug are visible from under the weight of boulders. There is one undamaged glow sconce, but the vermin calling this abandoned cavern home aren't disclosing its salvageability.

Technically speaking, he isn't 'supposed' to be here. His father didn't bring up any side-trips when he gave him his mission. However, there was no harm in making a quick visit to Igen Weyr on his way to Kurkar Hold. The weyrfolk certainly weren't going to tell a lordling that he couldn't visit. Furthermore, if he found himself, and the Hold by extension, in the good graces of some of the riders, it would only make him that much more successful. He didn't stop to think about how his little excursion might inconvenience his aide. Samshir is the Kilkum's heir after all, it's Baral's job to worry about him, not the other way around.

He didn't spend much time actually talking to anyone important before taking it upon himself to explore the Weyr. Now, he wanders down a hall with a playful smirk on his face. It is at odds with his aide's pursed lip. Fittingly, it is said aide speaking up that makes his expression falter. "My lord, I fear this may be a little-" Samshir cuts him off with an exaggerated groan. "Oh hush, Baral. I'm just having a look around. There's no law against that!" He increases his pace just to force him to walk faster to match it and make attempting to reply that much more difficult. That stride is what taken him to the 'door' barring the entrance to the abandoned caverns. The lordling stops gives it a thoughtful look while crossing his arms. After a moment, he gently kicks an old plank of wood. It shakes and he whistles, covering the sound of Baral's soft groan in the process. He gives it another gentle kick before shaking his head. "Faranth, what happened here?"

You know what greets the lordling when he kicks that poor defenseless door in? The scramble of many feet, large and small, moving across sand dusted stone in a most indecorous haste! However Baral may be somewhat horrified to hear that it appears one set of those mysterious footsteps in the darkness is approaching and not retreating. The slightly irregular scuffling comes cloooser, and cloooser…and eventually the glimmer of a well shuttered glow basket also makes itself known. Seeing as tunnelsnakes don't make regular use of lanterns, it can only be assumed that there is someone else within the ruins of the weyr that was. "A bloody comet." A feminine voice answers, the accent rich with Bitran Brogue. "Or well, an earthshake on account o' t' comets so I've bin told." Even as she speaks, she comes closer so that the glows reveal a rather blonde, rather statuesque female with a smudge of dust across the bridge of her nose. "I thought everyone knew that but. Are ye new?" There is an open, if mischievious charm in her expression, and an equally open appraising glint in her hazel eyes even as she comes even and stops. THIS is the perfect place to stop for a bit of a natter right?

Samshir maybe jumps a little when he hears that cascade of little vermin paws. Maybe. You have no proof. As the image of giant dirt-covered tunnelsnakes with great, infection-filled fang flashes though his mind, Hamon jumps out of between with an excited trill. The little bronze launches himself at the door and promptly squeezes himself through one of the larger holes in the barricade. Before Samshir can tell him not to interact with the disgusting things, there's a small ruckus before the footsteps are interrupted by the sound of tearing and crunching. One pair remains, but Samshir is too busy screwing his face up in disgust at the wave of contentment he's feeling from his pet to notice them. To his credit, he definitely doesn't jump when the newcomer speaks up. Amusement flickers across his face as he turns around to see that Baral has paled at the new arrival. He then looks down his nose at the Bitran and raises an eyebrow. "Yes, I know about the comet," he says. "I also know that it was generations ago. Has Igen really not finished repairs?" If this is the state the Weyr is kept in, perhaps looking into it isn't worth his time after all. "I'm…" he pauses, a smirk beginning to tug at his lips again. "…Someone who would like to know who he's talking to before answering any questions. What's a lady doing in a grimy hall like this?"

If it were appropriate, Baral would face-palm right now. Does he think he's being coy by not answering? He's wearing his knots. He's in the same sharding tunnel, getting into mischief, and he's wearing his knots!

Naneska watches this all with amusement glittering in her eyes. "He's keen!" Comes her observation as that expression crosses his face. "T' young ones usually are." Her wisdom is accompanied by a sage nod of her head before she extends a grubby hand. "Naneska o' t' Reika." She offers name and ties with the ease of someone well accustomed to these introductory matters. "N' never ye mind what I'm doing here!" Because if he requires names for simple questions, she'd probably require his first born for the answer to that. "T' rest o' t' weyr is jist fine. I figure this part is likely t' collapse at any minute." Those hazel eyes glimmer once more, taking in Lord and servant with that canny mischief that is all her own.

Samshir rolls his eyes. "Yes, well, he can be keen without romping around with the vermin." She was talking about Hamon, right? Because he refuses to acknowledge the possibility that someone just referred to him as 'young one'. The offered hand is eyed suspiciously for an uncomfortably long moment. He glances at Baral, who meets his eyes and gives a small nod, before reluctantly shaking it. "Samshir of Kilkum Hold, son of Lord Shiwar." His hand has been pulled back before he even finishes his greeting. It is awkwardly held to his side, as if some horrible infection may have been hidden among the dirt on Naneska's hand and transferred to his own by his touch. Another look at his aide sees him holding out his arm. He briskly wipes his hand on the other man's sleeve before turning his attention back to the conversation. "That just makes it sound like you're here to make it collapse," he points out. "It doesn't matter that the rest of the Weyr is 'just fine', leaving a portion of it in this state is sloppy. At least one Weyrleader should have thought to fix it over hundreds of turns." Kilkum would never be allowed to fall into such a state.

Naneska's hand is besmirched by nothing other than good honest dirt… but the haste in which he withdraws his hand is also noted and tucked away for future reference, as is the fact that he wipes it on the other mans sleeve. "Aye. 'Tis not like they've got better things t' do and all." It would sound like agreement, if her tone hadn't dropped into a deeper disbelief. "Is that one o' those wee desert holds?" Her voice brightens. "We're traders ye ken? Might be nice t' add a new place t' our routes. Those itty bitty rock-holds are always so happy t' see us." She'll let him untangle all of the implications there even as she offers one of her glowing smiles. Out of the corner of her mouth she addresses Baral. "Blink twice if ye need help escapin'." It's not a subtle life-line, but it is a life-line nonetheless.

Is she talking down to him!? That is completely out of line - never mind that he had been condescending to her only moments before. That was different. Samshir gives her a perfectly offended look followed by a haughty sniff. "Leaving it in this state is unprofessional and makes the entire Weyr look bad. Regardless of what other matters need attending, someone should have taken care of it. Prioritized it, even." He tilts his head up a little as his voice takes on a mild defensive tone. "Kilkum, which is not some 'rock-hold', is never left is such disarray. We're a coastal Hold specializing in the creation of oils and reed-based nets and baskets, as well as other sea-based products. If the Reika want to make a deal with us, I would like to speak to the caravanleader. And I can assure you, Baral is perfectly happy by my side!" He places a hand on his aide's shoulder as if to establish a hold on him in case Naneska tries to grab him and bolt. The degree of self-control that has been drilled into him keeps his voice from escalating into a yell, but beneath his attempt at a cool voice, there is a hint of bratty aggravation. How dare she question his entitlement to this other human being!

Naneska is just going to blink twice on Baral's behalf. "Oh so he's half-witted then?" She asks, her hazel eyes widening with innocent understanding. "And ye're so kind to take him about t' see t' sights and all!" Her commendation for Samshir's selflessness is breathless and admiring. "Oh. Well…" She leans a little closer. "Ye could always try speakin' wit them on high. I'm sure someone would be pleased t' hear what should be done about t' place. I'm jist a lowly trader after all." A trader inclined to leave well enough alone. But that doesn't mean she is above sharing Samshir with the high and mighty. As the laundry list of products grow, her eyes glaze slightly. "Is that all?" She enquires. "Fish oil n' nets? I don't think me uncle would bother. But ye can speak t' him too!"

As she leans closer to unapologetically invade his space, Samshir can't help but notice that, despite her mockery, Naneska is fairly attractive. If only she weren't so dirty, coarse, condescending, or a lowly trader. Essentially, this would have been a much more pleasant situation if she looked the same but was actually someone else entirely. His eyes linger on hers for a moment before he reminds himself that she does have all those unpleasant qualities and snaps out of it. He still looks flustered for a moment and takes some comfort in the knowledge that he never went past her eyes. He is a gentleman, even with rude dirt-traders. (Or does getting caught in her eyes like some sort of maiden make it worse?) All of that is viciously pushed aside and ignored as he forces himself to continue the conversation at hand. "One, He's not a half-wit," he says, just before Baral can answer for himself, "but he would be foolish to give up the opportunity he has with me. Two, I might just take you up on that suggestion and, if I do, I'll be sure to tell them who referred me." He knows that she's mocking him, but speaking with the leaders of Igen Weyr sounds like a good idea for multiple reasons. "Three, that is most definitely not all, but we cannot be beat in those categories. And four, I don't know what you're trying here, but… don't expect it to succeed!" Samshir took a step back and ran his hands over the front of his shirt. "I suggest you leave, or at least remember your place, before you find yourself facing unsavory consequences."

Naneska is oddly unperturbed by the long awkward silence, if a little confused as to why he isn't focusing on other, much more interesting features than her mischief filled eyes. "Be sure t' give H'rik my fondest regards. I've not… seen him in a while." There is a moue of regret quickly swallowed by the brightly (or dimly, depending on perspective) pleasant expression that settles across her features once more. "H'rik's one o' those feckless Weyrleaders ye spoke off." She clues him in sotto voce. "Oh ye got me! I wiggled me way in here in the wee small hours o' dawn jist hoping t' catch me a lordling and his halfwit." There is a slightly apologetic grimace to the obviously long suffering Baral, even as a glimmer of gold appears above her head. No, it's no halo, just the rather golden form of her own little pet. "Promises, promises." She chides with a chuckle, as the threat of 'unsavory consequences' gets aired. "Ye're a sweet wee thing." And with that the trader lass continues her way out, limp, lizard and all, without really explaining what she was doing here in the first place.

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