Who

Oz'keyn, Myziri

What

Oz'keyn seeks out one of the wingseconds and finds Myziri for a bit of a let's get to know one another session.

When

It is afternoon of the twenty-eighth day of the fifth month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass. It is the fifty-eighth day of Autumn and 90 degrees. It is sunny and bright. In the distance clouds gather on the horizon.

Where

Archives Library, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 18 Mar 2016 07:00

 

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"Oz'keyn, right?"


archives_library.jpg

Archives Library

Where once books reigned supreme, this open space is now dominated by a stalwart skybroom reaching to the sky through a broken ceiling. What was once evidence of collapse is now ornately carved with engraved ivy, matched by a clever contraption of stone that allows the gap to be closed in inclement weather. A small garden occupies the space around the tree-trunk, all manicured bushes and flowering shrubbery enclosed by a grated gutter. The walls are lined with bookcases, while a spiral staircase leans on the western wall to wind upwards to the second level. Tucked in the corners and scattered in the main areas are tables and chairs, cafe-style, and comfortably worn overstuffed armchairs. It is the perfect place for individuals to gather, to enjoy the offerings of the food-cart or a spirited conversation.


For the past three sevens, Oz'keyn has lived up to the reputation of the Reaches: serious, grim, and efficient. It's as though a harper's book has fallen open on the pages of the weyr's duty, him the likely composite of a fighting dragon's rider. He wakes early for drill, runs alone or with T'ral, and keeps to himself outside duty. As for the dragon, she does not take her kills at the pen, and she vanishes into the jungle when the practice straps are off. The two of them seem satisfied with the long lonely sweeps over uncharted territory. This afternoon, Oz'keyn passes through the weyr in search of a wingsecond. He's out of the heaviest of his gear, but still looks ready, and his boots knock a slow dull thud as he walks. This may be the first time he has entered the archives, for the unexpected beauty of the place stops him short. The singular wonder of the massive skybroom is what arrests his attention.

There is a wingsecond resident in the archives at present, though she's seen the beauty of it many times and so doesn't seem inclined to gaze in wonder; rather, she's frowning down at hidework in her lap, which she seems to be reading and making notes on. There's klah by her side, and a plate holding nothing but crumbs to suggest she's been here for a while. Her arm is also in a sling, with a bandage wrapped around the forearm. Her mood doesn't seem to be the best, and she doesn't seem to welcome attention - she's tucked away in one of the comfy chairs in a corner, not easily seen, although querying an archivist would likely lead a person looking for Myziri in that direction, although with a pitying look for their ability to survive the encounter.

As he walks further in, Oz'keyn watches the slow buzz and crawl of insects about the flowers at the skybroom's base, the little garden tended there. His eyes move up to look out the aperture in the ceiling, through which that mighty tree has grown to pass, and then his attention snaps back to focus on a nearby archivist. He asks his question in a low rumble. It's only a moment's pause, and he is directed toward that remote corner.

Whether her name is heard or not, and whether Myziri suspects anyone is looking for her, footsteps on stone are never quiet - as they come closer, she looks up at the intruder with a mingled expression of both suspicion and trepidation, which melts away when Oz'keyn is identified - well, as soon as narrow-eyed gaze brings recognition to her brain. This takes a few seconds because the greenrider is as good as Rocio or Sashlyn at keeping to himself, and obviously much better than Myziri. But then, she's trapped by her stupid arm at the moment. "Oz'keyn, right?" Yes, your wingsecond knows your name! It could be an episode of Cheers…If this were a bar, that is.

"Yes ma'am." Oz'keyn nods, just a notch of his chin. His eyes sweep over her, perhaps the first time he has seen her up close or off dragonback. If there's a momentary surprise at her youth, it's mostly kept to himself. "Moment of your time?"

Myziri knows she's young - not like she hasn't heard it before. She also knows why she's wingsecond, and it's not all what anyone thinks. But Sahizath and she have proven themselves in threadfall time and again, with no injuries at all in that particular regard, so perhaps there's some merit to the promotion. Regardless, she does wince a bit at the 'ma'am' and waves it off "Myziri's fine. Can I call you Oz?" Because she's going to whether he likes it or not. She then gives a brief huff of laughter, though there's not much amusement in it "Not much I've got, but time I have in plenty." Which would account for her sour disposition - threadfall due soon, and she's grounded. Fucking Pulk and his stupid dirty knife. "What can I do for you?"

"More of what I could do for you," he replies, folding his arms. "We're all settled in, me and Hirikoth. 'm ready for more. What do you have needed doin'?"

"Glad to hear it. That you're settled in. Does that mean you'll join us for a drink once in a while?" She's noticed his absence from any offtime gatherings, indeed (they do have some, assumedly). Head settles back against the comfy chair's back; Myziri looks tired, drawn, but it's likely residual from her fever and the continued pain in her arm. "And glad you want to do more. What did you have in mind? Other than threadfall, sweeps, PT and wing drills. I mean, I'm not sure I'm the one to ask for anything else. T'ral handles the small teams drills." She regards the older rider for a moment. "How are you liking the new wing formation? The outriding position?" Or has he not been here long enough for that?

"Bit different than how we did it at Reaches, but if it works, it works. Hirikoth will be happy to fight." Oz'keyn pulls a chair up beneath him and sits down with a rattle. "Lookin' to be more involved, now that we're set. You have something you need, you tell me. Even a drink." He snorts, not unfriendly— there's a slow smirk pulling at his mouth. "Now my little ones are settled in and lovin' life, I wouldn't mind that a'tall."

"Little ones? You've got kids?" Myziri looks interested in this new factoid learned about her new wingmate. "Glad to hear they're settled. And that Hirikoth's willing to fight." Slight smile at that "You're in the wrong wing, if that's not the case. Unfortunately, the drink will have to wait until this…" she headtilts toward the sling "Comes off. Healers' orders. Delays the healing process, or some shit like that." Whatever. She stares at the rider for a moment, and she looks slightly confused "I don't think I need anything. At least, not anything you can help with." She's obviously not sure what he's driving at. "I'm not sure how much more involved you can get. I mean, beyond all the wing stuff?" Which he's already involved in, surely.

"Just making sure nothing needs doing that I should be doing." Oz'keyn seems satisfied with her confusion, as though it were evidence he has been living up to his role. "I've three children, eldest not yet thirteen. They have much of my time outside the flight." He nods along to her arm. "That's annoying as all hell, ain't it. When will the healers take that off for you?"

"Oh. Well, that's good. That they're settling in, I mean." Myziri says. "And their mother?" Because she's not the kind to be polite and not ask. "Seems to me, you've got enough on your plate between the kids and your duties, but I suppose if you want extra work…well. I could see if T'ral has anything in mind for you." Move the request on up the ladder, as it were. "What skills do you have, that we might make use of?" is wondered, before she grimaces, glares at her arm. "At least half a seven, if I'm very good and don't use it." Which is half a seven too long, in her estimation. "I'm to rest and get better. How they think I'm going to accomplish that," especially without booze, "Is beyond me." Myz is more the restless type.

"The younger two, their mother's still in the wings at High Reaches. A good friend. I think this would be a better place for her, but she's got her mind set and there's no changing it easy." A timbre of admiration colors his tone. He leans back, looking her injury over, then. "I was a wandering trader before the search. Made it a point to keep my skills sharp— archery, hunting, tracking, and the like. How to end a fight, if you can't help getting out of one."

"Well, we all have to do what we think is best." Somehow, Myziri doesn't see letting your young children go off without a mother is one of those things, but she'll keep that opinion to herself, for some reason. Instead, she brightens. "Then maybe you can help me. Obviously, I need a bit more practice in fighting an armed opponent, else I wouldn't have gotten this." She indicates the arm ruefully "I used it to block a knife. It was a stupid move, since I was only wearing leather and the knife was sharp." But better her arm then where the knife was originally aimed.

"Well. You're still alive, so it worked." Oz'keyn shrugs, more with a pull of his face than his shoulders. "Knife fight's a sorry business, no matter what." He scratches his beard with his thumb, right there at the chin. "Be my pleasure to help, when you're better."

"Wonderful. I've been looking for a sparring partner." Myziri positively beams. "I need to learn how to take down a big man with more mass than I have, and muscle, without a knife as well. And I don't suppose you know how to fight with two knives?" See, there's all sorts of stuff he can teach her. "And we could practice bow and arrow together - Rocio was teaching me, but she's away a lot." Where? She couldn't tell him. Doing what? That either, well, likely scouting. "It'll give me something to look forward to, when I am able to get rid of this thing. Because nothing says one is healthy than trying to beat the shit out of someone else, right? She frowns suddenly cocks her head "You'd better go, Oz. Threadfall." She reminds - because she always knows when that is, Sahizath reminds her. Her expression is regretful "Flame a few clumps for me, huh?" is said with an attempt at a smile - she really, really hates missing the fight.

Oz'keyn smirks lightly at her enthusiasm, but there's no judgment in it. If he can help, he will help. "Yes, ma'am," he says as he lurches to his feet. "We'll have you in fighting condition, ready for bets. Good to meet you."

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