A'lory, Kaliya, D'kan


Kaliya relays an embarrassing tidbit to D'kan and A'lory.


It is the eighty-second day of Autumn and 80 degrees. The small dark
cloud has grown rapidly over night, covering the blue sky. It blows a
furious rush of stirring wind. In a moment, the daylight is gone as
visibility plummets. The clouds of stinging sand mercilessly flog all living
things as the air itself turns against you. Every living thing chokes on
sand and dust before escaping inside.


Central Bazaar, near a clothseller's stall.

OOC Date


Central Bazaar

All roads in the Weyr ultimately lead here, to this center of commerce. Canvas awnings jut out over time worn, sandy cobblestone, sheltering customers and wares alike from the majority of Igen's elements, and funnel scents both mouthwatering and vomit inducing through the thin streets. Almost all store fronts are open air, delineated by sandstone arches with intricately carved facades. The insides of these stone-shingle buildings act as an amplifier for the salesmens' bawled enticements, and are held up by the chipped swirls of marble pillars.

Windy it might be and there may be dust going everywhere but at least it's no as bad here in the bazaar. With that being the case, it happens to be the PERFECT place for a Harper to be when she's either not engaged in study or avoiding it altogether. This may be why Kaliya is here, because she's chatting with one of the salespeople and doesn't appear to be arguing price. In fact, she's grinning and pointing toward something outside the immediate area. Yep. Working hard!

So, the Bazaar: full of hustle, bustle, and the break from more strenuous flight patterns over the endless Igen desert, squinting into the wind to dredge up those ghostly raiders whose depradations are getting embarrassing. Instead, A'lory is content to stroll, wrapped against the sandy wind, down the byways of the Bazaar, casting a curious eye over the wares being sold — and completely unaware that he's nearly upon Kaliya and her merchant. A mental prod from his small, scolding firelizard, however, brings him up short ere he does the embarassing thing. Oh, hay, Kaliya, there's a Grunkle in your area.

One of the Weyr's browns rides that wind down from the heights, circling as best he can. Once he's reached something of a lee side, the descent becomes far more controlled, allowing a soft touch-down, by draconic standards. While Kazavoth preens in his self-appointed limelight, D'kan unclips from the brown's shoulders and drops to the ground. He removes his goggles and helmet but leaves the rest in place, scarf covering his mouth against gusts of sand and wind as he enters the bazaar-proper, dark eyes casting about for whatever it is he seeks. Kazavoth hunkers down near some of the other dragons, the better to see down the main thoroughfare, if it can be called that. Eventually, the rider's path takes him near where Kaliya chats with a salesperson and A'lory grunks, though D'kan does not interrupt. Just browsing the items for sale and barter.

Look, when a dragon lands in your general area, you notice it. Unfortunately, Kaliya only pays attention for so long before she nods back to the shopkeeper. "But then he fell down the hill and took a sappling to eggs, so… Ohboy. Um…" Why does someone who could get her in trouble always around when she gets to the funny parts?! "Well, he's still singin' the high parts, if you know what I mean." The last is said in a stage whisper to the saleswoman before she gives a small wave. "Better find that belt. These trousers get any looser an there'll be another moon hangin' out here."

Raising his eyebrows, A'lory eyes the apprentice askance. "Is that really how that story ends?" His tone suggests wry amusement, and a rather hopeful expression brightens his eyes. "Because I do so love a good story, you know." Absently, he props his lanky self up against some convenient vertical surface, settling in for the real answer. Meanwhile, D'kan's presence is given the traditional masculine gesture: the dip of a chin in the upward direction. Sup.

D'kan returns A'lory's greeting with a smaller version of the chin nod, then a salute just to be safe. He does not salute Kaliya, though. Body position and posture say that well enough. Instead, he gives her a studious, curious look, a silent assessment. He, too, will stick around to see if there is a better story ending.

Impossible though it might seem, Kaliya manages to pale a little more at A'lory's question. "Er… Well, the rest of it consisted of him walkin' like a knock-kneed wherry and rollin' down the rest of the hill into the brownwater from the pasture and carryin' that stink for three days. His voice didn't drop back down for a seven." She puts on a somewhat guilty expression. "Da put him in a dress for lettin' a girl put him in that position." But she regrets it, see?!

A'lory smirks. "You were the instigator of this comical little play?" Somehow, A'lory seems even more amused — and even thrilled — at this idea, leaning forward a little. "Do, please tell me you were. And who was the target?" One would hope a certain greasy Harper. "If so, I commend your interesting problem solving skills." D'kan is eyed askance; who's he saluting, there. Certainly not this lanky old rider, one hopes. minutes.

D'kan eyes the askance eyeing with an odd look of his own, apparently unsure the reason for it. Instead, he turns his attention to the storyteller. "Have you considered turning that into a song?" he asks Kaliya smoothly, though fighting back what is likely a smile by the tensing of the muscles of his face. "Sounds like it could be quite the hit in the Cantina."

Kaliya couldn't possibly look more like she'd like to sink into the stones. "It wasn't /really/ my fault," she explains. "My older brother's the one who started it. He tried to pants me and started sayin' I wanted to be a boy. It's not like I /meant/ for him to go rollin' down the hill, I just wanted to give him a black eye." D'kan is given the most mournful look ever. "I did. I had to promise I'd never sing it again and I haven't. …in public. I get in trouble for that sort of thing enough, anyway. No one wants to hear a song about their giblets gettin' parted by a tree or have one sung."

"Maybe not," D'kan agrees, "though people love hearing about other people's misfortunes." It's said with a smooth, serious tone, though his expression continues to border the amused. "And you're clearly telling the story around here anyway. Why not the song? Change the names to protect the…" Innocent doesn't work. "Soprano in the story."

"Oh, he deserved it. He always deserved it, but stories don't travel like songs do. That tune makes its way around 'Reaches again and my da will come here himself and snatch me up to drag me back home." Kaliya looks mildly guilty at the mention of her telling the story. "I… kinda get a little taken off the cost sometimes if I tell a good one. I used to sing those songs the boys always do about girls and their knickers or their skirts flyin' up but that got me snatched on punishment so I just tell stories now." Because she's learned her lesson, obviously.

"That would be a waste of your talents." A'lory objects, mourning the potential loss of someone who creates such great stories. Meanwhile, he's going to lever himself up off that wall and amble closer to that roving drink seller — you know, over there — and get himself a little seale jug of water. Standing in the sand's thirsty work. Once that's done, he's back to leaning and listening. "So, which of our illustrious Harpers are you attached to, kid?"

This time, D'kan turns his assessing look from Kaliya to the salesperson. Whatever he thinks of their arrangement, though, he keeps to himself. He nods in reply to A'lory, possibly simply deferring to the bronzerider's decision that the brother deserved it. "I think," he begins, then pauses with another glance to the harper and salesperson, "I will move on. Good day," he wishes them all before hiking up his scarf again against the wind and sand. Then he steps out into the brunt of it, searching for a different shop.

"Officially? I'm still assisting the Journeyman who brought me here. His name's Stilis, but I heard a few people callin' him Stilts cause he's so tall. I'm bein' left here, though, so I guess it's whoever decides they want to put up with me." Kaliya shrugs, but doesn't look quite repentant. "He said I wasn't supposed to sing those either, but the tunes are catchy so I still do. I mean, I put other words to them sometimes so I can't get into trouble but Stilis gives me the eye." Which she mimics.

Oh, the fish eye. How well A'lory remembers from his time as an apprentice. And a weyrling. "Hmmph. There is such a lack of humor in this time." His face becomes mournful for a moment before regaining its gentle good humor. "Might I suggest," And here, A'lory looks conspiratorial. "You attach yourself to Sr. Journeywoman Sara — she's got more patience for youthfulness than you might expect."

"I don't think Stilis knows what humor is." Kaliya nods at the suggestion, but doesn't look entirely convinced. "Hope she's got patience for the-" hereshe puts on a tone that suggests she's imitating an adult. "-lack of respect for tradition and for her elders. I respect my elders, just not the really stuffy dumb ones." And once the words are out of her mouth she appears to regret them. "I shouldn't say that sorta thing."

A'lory chortles. "Oh, I think you'll do, kid." Far from being insulted by her impertinence, he leans at his ease, grinning at her. "After all, she puts up with me often enough. I think she'll manage, if she's in the market for an apprentice." One would hope, anyway. And he takes a healthy swig of his drink before squint-eyeing the blowing sand out beyond the stall. "Well," he sighs, reluctant. "It's time I take my turn hunting the unfindable." Wrapping himself in his scarf, he begins to head out. "Just try to keep the mayhem to a minimum, lass." Smirk.

Kaliya gives a grin that boarders on smirk but then puts on her most innocent expression. "Promise," she agrees and then nods. "I'm still huntin' for skirt material." See how thrilled she is? But I think I'm a 'Reaches song away from gettin' the stuff I wanted." She raises a hand in a wave before settling near the saleswoman again and, after a swig of water, takes up a tune that's as backwoodsy as a song can get.

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