Kodi, Mayte


Mayte escapes to Southern for a break, and Kodi awkwardly tries to help.


It is evening of the tenth day of the third month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.


Beach, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 13 Oct 2017 06:00


kodi-thinker.jpg mayte_default.jpg

"There was a fancy dinner going on. It ended suddenly."



An eerie mirror, the glass-quiet Sea of Azov: the clear waters stretch along the dark-pebbled shores, and along this narrow beach. Here the faintest lap of waves belies the calm beyond; here the rocks have been ground down into finest, softest sand - those observant would mark upon the similarity between it and the sands of the hatching grounds. The soft sand soaks up summer sunlight as a sponge; painfully hot during the warmer months, it is only truly pleasant at wintertime. Rocks rise to east and west, lichen-limned and green against the abyssal darkness of stone.

It is the tenth day of Autumn and 78 degrees. The autumn rain drums the weyr pleasantly throughout the night.

Given that it's just late enough that the beach is starting to empty, and just early enough that there's still a reasonable amount of light in the sky, there is only the one riding pair at the moment, gathered on the border between wet sand and dry. In the light of dusk, it's not immediately clear what colour the dragon is, though there's a fineness to the bone structure that gives her away upon closer inspection. The rider is a little easier, since her hair is pulled back in a bandana, and her sleeveless shirt allows for further cues. Her soft singing voice is also decidedly female. She has clearly just finished a fresh oil job on her lifemate, who gleams softly from stem to stern. Kodi is in the final stages of cleaning up, with a freshly corked jar set off to the side, and a few rags and towels that are most definitely laundry-bound.

Empty beach is the best time for a gold to come sailing down, dark and ambered and silent; a stranger gold alights on sand that’s teetering towards DRY THANK YOU. From the gold’s neck slowly drops a woman in a fine gown. The latest in fashion. And according to how the skirt of it is hitched up and tied around her waist, an utter annoyance. Don’t worry, there are a pair of flying britches under that. “Fuck,” is clearly heard, while the gold looks over at the green and makes a strange ‘hoo’ noise in greeting. The rider’s voice comes after: “Hi? Sorry, just… getting away for a little.” Dark hair comes out from under a helmet, untwisting into a mussed shoulder-length bob (OH MY GOD THEY CUT MAYTE’S HAIR THOSE BASTARDS) as Mayte finally turns to look over at Kodi.

Risielth shifts as the gold comes in to land, the drier sand scattering. The green's movements are perhaps a little prim, a little peeved, as she tries to keep her freshly oiled hide out of danger of becoming sandpaper. Kodi murmurs something to the dark and slender green, then turns to regard the be-gowned rider. There is a fleeting expression of recognition, though it's that vague sort reserved for celebrities and scoundrels. After all, there are only a few dozen goldriders on the planet. Mayte would likely be familiar by description, if nothing else, for those who pay attention. "Getting away a little," Kodi replies, her accent eventually placing her from Telgar, though it's Southern's knot that hangs from the shoulder of her riding jacket, discarded just to the side. "In that?" she adds, nodding with her chin toward Mayte and her getup. "Is there some fancy dinner going on or something?"

Look, Rhis is big and she tries but collateral damage happens sometimes with sand. It gets everywhere. Still, she hides behind Mayte a little because everyone knows you have to watch for the short ones, particularly if they’re green. “Yeah.” Mayte’s tone has a faint lilt of challenge because is someone really calling out a goldrider, even though she’s grinning a little. “There was a fancy dinner going on.” Somehow, Mayte’s tone doesn’t quite mean she has probably poisoned someone. “It ended suddenly.” Not helping. “And then because we had a lot of time, I decided to come to Southern for a break.” Southern, where dead bodies are just another day at the morgue.

Especially when those small green ones seem a little too calm on the outside, while their mindvoice hums with activity, just below the surface. And Kodi was absolutely calling out a goldrider, even if she likely hasn't seen it that way. The challenging tone makes the greenrider tilt her head slightly, calculating as she listens to Mayte. Her mouth opens, likely to ask just why it ended suddenly, but instead, she throws her towel onto the pile of waiting laundry, then reaches for her jacket. "It's a good place for a break," she agrees, while Risielth continues to watch the visitors, eyes whirling slowly in a bright green. "Southern's different from anywhere else I've been," Kodi adds, tone making it sound like a definite plus.

Mayte does not seem the least bit disappointed that Kodi doesn’t rise to the bait. Not at all. Except for the part where her shoulders sag minutely. “I like that it’s warm here, and it’s so… disorganized.” Which is not what goldriders usually say but hey. “Way better than most places.” And then because Rhiscorath is peering over at Risielth curiously, head cocking and tipping to see, Mayte adds, “I’m Mayte. From Benden.” Rhiscorath can introduce herself. “You get to live here, then, or just visiting?” Now Mayte’s taking the time to tighten the skirts she’s tied into a rough bow at her waist, somewhat careless of the fabric she’s manhandling. Rhiscorath will take the time to greet Risielth, a hallowed library of calm that resides in the mountainous area of Benden these days.

A tiny hitch of a smile gives away Kodi's amusement at the word "disorganized". Her head dips forward briefly in a nod of agreement, dark eyes twinkling a little in what dim light remains. After Mayte introduces herself, the Southern rider replies first with a short answer, "Yes." Which makes no sense, but there you go. Confirming that Mayte is who she says she is, perhaps. To the other rider's question, Kodi answers a little more directly, stating, "We fly with Serval Wing," as she tugs her jacket snug against her shoulders. "About four Turns now." She lean down to start returning her dragon oiling supplies to a canvas knapsack, putting the towels on top before slinging the bag over her shoulder. "Good place to live. Good place to visit." Meanwhile, Risielth has absorbed some of that library of calm and shared a little of her own, where sounds travel far along undisturbed corridors, where tall windows illuminate in dust-moted streaks of light. « My rider is Kodi, » she offers, her mindvoice dry and crisp, to the point. She clearly assumes the gold already knows Risielth's name, in that way dragons have. "What's Benden like these days?" Kodi says on the tail end of her dragon's "words". "Want to get a drink or something?" A beat of silence as her eyes narrow in thought. "You're the one who likes wine, right?" Making her sound a little infamous.

“Ugh,” Mayte groans in envy, “Sounds fabulous. Better than winters in the mountains.” Rhiscorath hums softly, following the motes for a moment before travelling where she is welcome in those corridors and past those windows, once trying to peek out. “Kodi, huh? Well met. Benden is doing well, thank you,” Mayte’s voice slows a little, sounds more practiced and less herself, “Rhiscorath has organized their hides to her satisfaction finally.” Take that, Manora. “And yes, I am the one who likes wine. Benden’s a good fit for me, that way. I’d love a glass of something. As long as it’s plentiful and not Tillekian red.” Mayte smirks a little at that; infamous is not the worst she could be called.

Kodi's eyes narrow again when Mayte's voice changes, though she does not otherwise react except to nod slowly in reply, acknowledgement, encouragement, agreement. Something. "They must have been really out of order, for it to take that long," she comments, selling the knapsack's strap more comfortably. Revealing she knows about the other rider's transfer to Benden, of course. Kodi nods toward the Weyr, asking, "Tipsy Kitten?" before she starts moving in that direction, boots sifting through the dry sand.

Risielth seems content to remain where she is, settling down on that sand to soak up the last of the day's heat while the oil soaks in, wings held slightly unfurled. The corridors in her mind remain empty and dry, the windows revealing blurred ideas of images rather than anything concrete. She does nothing to stop the gold's mind from wandering, as if she could, but she also does not willingly open those doors. Her dry, clipped voice does resurface, however, to state, « I also prefer order to chaos. Though in chaos, much is learned. »

You know what’s more fun than talking about office politics? Almost everything. “The Kitten sounds good. Though…” Mayte looks down at herself and grimaces, “I don’t suppose you have a shirt or something I could borrow? I’ve got an undershirt,” and now she’s reaching around to start untying the laces in the back, looped a little more loosely than most fine women, “I’ve got an undershirt, sure but Faranth I hate wearing my riding jacket inside.” It’s an older looking purple jacket slung over a golden neckridge. Rhiscorath, a very expensive hanger.

Rhiscorath is not a hanger, but she also doesn’t insist on going where Risielth doesn’t welcome her. She’s silent gliding through those halls, mapping and exploring as she goes. In her own library, a book unfolds to a fresh page, welcoming and new. « From chaos comes order, though it takes time and effort. And bookshelves. » the last is tacked on absently, a glowlight shining over one shelf before dancing down the corridor lined with rows of books until it disappears into the darkness.

Kodi looks back at Mayte as her steps halt, turning on a heel to regard the goldrider. "Not handy," she admits, frowning with a muddled expression. Whatever drives it, it's earned a look from Risielth that is given both riders, though to Rhiscorath, the green's mindvoice is only a hasty blur of sound behind those closed doors before the commotion dies down again. A beat later, Kodi speaks up again. "Could be no one will notice you're just in an undershirt. It's certainly warm enough for it." She does not resume her path toward the Weyr, her demeanour that of one traditionally deferring to the decisions of a superior with calm patience, though her dark eyes are a little too intent to be truly calm.

« Bookshelves, » Risielth repeats in a dry voice, while the duller echo of the earlier flare up of chatter continues in the deep background. Agreement? Curiosity? Rhiscorath may have opened a book, but it's not Risielth. Not voluntarily. That doesn't stop the green from taking a peek of her own at the gold's bookshelves, though she does not follow down any corridors, preferring to retreat back to the quiet of her own halls. The earlier echoes fade until the green's voice returns, just as dry as before. « It is true. Chaos is constant. Order requires vigilance, thought, and care. These are not common, are they. » It is clearly not a question.

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