True to her word, Caxeyla is off this afternoon. That doesn't mean she's not working anyway. She's seated at one of the tables nearest food and maintaining a conversation — she seems to have just finished up a letter while her sometimes-workmate is occupied restocking the lunch selection. Her ink-stained hands stretch above her head as she gives a hearty laugh, making obvious that the dress du jour is better tailored (if more worn) than the one Nick previously saw.

Task done, the other woman scurries off to her next assignment, leaving Caxeyla alone with her own project. She holds the hide up to the light. It's a fresh piece and her writing is neat, precise, and without mistake; satisfied with the results and that the ink is dry, she rolls it loosely and begins cleaning up her work area. Pen nib is rinsed in a mug she had set up for that purpose (in addition to the one for her klah, of course), ink bottle corked. The supplies are carefully packed back into a wherhide case and she toggles the metal latch closed.

—

And as before, Caxeyla is engrossed enough in her project that Nick — conspicuous yesterday by her absence all through the afternoon — is at hand before she sees her. There’s just a waft of the brownrider’s leathery, draconic scent, with strong undertones of sweetsand, and then her northern drawl gets right to the point. “I’ve got half a candlemark, if you have.”

—

Caxeyla looks up from the secured scribe's tools at the sound of Nick's voice, significantly less taken aback this time. "Brownrider Nick!" she greets with a smile. Instinctively she wipes her fingers on her apron secured around her lap. "Yes, it would be my pleasure. I'll exchange this, if you don't mind? Please, sit." She motions not across the table but to the side she's currently on, facing towards the rest of the room, as she stands. "Can I get you anything while I'm up?" she offers in a lightweight alto, gathering her case. "Klah? Wherry sandwich?"

—

The clamminess of the autumn weather has reawakened Nick’s distaste for long sleeves; she’s dressed casually and for comfort in one of her plain black tank tops, tucked into an even older pair of leather pants than the ones she was wearing the other day. Her square and muscular shoulders — the left tanned and healthy and the right boldly scored — are bare of insignia: well, where would one pin it on those straps, and isn’t the scarring mark enough of a dragonrider—? When Caxeyla stands, she sits as indicated and nods to the younger woman. “That’d be great, thanks,” she says after a moment. “Whatever’s going. I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

Unbeknownst to either of them, another woman of the lower caverns — someone longer acquainted with Nick, and more alert to her advent — is already loading up a plate…

—

Eyes skim but don't linger on the scarring, a piece of information filed away and then politely disregarded. Caxeyla nods her understanding, "I will be back in just a moment, brownrider." The case is tucked around the corner with the scroll, conveniently putting her right by the main source of klah. A mug is filled along with a plate — a meal fit for a hardworking dragonrider — and she heads back, almost bumping into another girl on the way. A plump redhead. Propriety requires her to redirect when it's obvious that Caxeyla is making a beeline for Nick.

The dishes are placed in front of the 'rider precisely, soundlessly, and with a small smile before she steps away again to grab her Go set. Meanwhile the redheaded girl looks over from two tables away where she’s serving, with markedly less eagerness, some other ‘rider.

Caxeyla returns with a small ransom's worth of gaming equipment, blissfully oblivious of the ongoing drama. Board is unpacked from a tailored, red velvet drawstring bag; the bowls of stones follow from their own similar, individually fitted bags. She peeks inside one lidded bowl; this she places on Nick's side and takes the other for herself. All of these bags are then tucked inside the brocade storage bag and she sits across from Nick. In the process of doing all of this, she answers the question yet unasked: "It was a gift from someone. When he passed."

—

Having been presented with fresh klah and approximately half a roast herdbeast, Nick is likewise oblivious to undercurrents — she’s just tucking in with her customary gusto, eating for fuel rather than for gastronomic delight, and on this occasion in particular determined to bolt as much of her lunch as possible before the game is ready to play. Wouldn’t do to get anything greasy on those shockingly expensive pure-white stones, or that board so finely carved from seasoned skybroom wood. “I learnt to play,” she murmurs to Caxeyla, “with lines drawn in a sand tray and a bunch of shelled nuts. What I captured, I et,” she explains deadpan.

Then, after a meditative moment: “I hope the memory’s a good one.”

—

"Is that so?" Caxeyla laughs warmly, cheeks dimpling as she smiles. "Sounds delicious." She wipes her fingers firmly on her apron several more times to ensure there isn't any more ink inclined to come off of them before she removes the lid from the bowl nearest her and sets it aside. "I learned from a Bitran traditionalist, myself; I've only been playing for a few Turns," she admits. As for the memory, her smile intensifies, "It is, thank you."

—

Nick considers as she chews. “Let’s say,” she suggests, raising an eyebrow at Caxeyla betwixt bites of roast beast, “that I’ve been playing for a few Turns now, too.” She takes another bite and then lays down her knife and wipes her fingers on the napkin her thoughtful servitor provided, before cautiously removing the lid from the bowl before her. Her opponent may note another, older patch of threadscore on her left forearm, and fainter lines that suggest differences settled with knives rather than the careful and measured placement of stones.

She gestures: black begins. “Let’s make this one good too, eh?” she suggests softly.

—

"Don't be too hard on me, if you please," Caxeyla deadpans, inclining her head respectfully to her opponent. She traces along a line on the interior of the grid, connecting three of the outermost hoshi points at a right angle. "Thirteen by thirteen." Thumb and forefinger select a stone and place it across the board with a small clink, near the upper-right corner of their defined playing field… Or lower left, by Nick's reckoning. Her meticulously groomed hands then return to the edge of the table as she watches the brownrider carefully.

—

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” answers Nick, blandly.

She does however eat another bite of her roast beast and wash it down with klah, before conscientiously wiping her fingers again and reaching for a white stone. She sets it at her chosen intersection as silently as before — and then it’s back to making inroads into a mountain of delectably spicy mashed tubers, not to mention that well-roasted beast…

Nick is a calm and an apparently casual player, who has no trouble alternating between sinking her teeth into her lunch and placing her white stones where she feels they ought to go. She doesn’t talk much; but then, she’s usually got her mouth full. She’s as conscientious about wiping her hands as she is about cleaning her plate, both habits no doubt raising her in the esteem of the holdgirl sitting opposite. Her eyes remain concealed by smoked glass lenses, her lips never seem to move except to chew, she gives nothing away… It’s just that sometimes, out of nowhere, she’s got you in an inextricably tight spot and there’s no breaking free.

—

The first few turns go — no pun intended — fairly quickly, each player sketching their desired territory. At that point, Caxeyla's combative strategy cools to something more calculated to match the brownrider's. Her face is unreadable as she considers her actions; Nick's garner more reaction, but not by much. A twitch of the brow, a tilt of a head, leaning to the side to see the board from a different angle. At some point her own cup of klah, abandoned earlier, is reclaimed so she can sip it between turns.

The companionable silence suits her but it soon becomes obvious she's outmatched. An aggressive encroach into Nick's territory ends in disaster and the young woman jokes as a good number of her stones are claimed, "I was hoping if you had something to eat first, you would be less inclined. Please do recall that those aren't edible." However, the poor choice sets her off-kilter and the next skirmish goes in the older woman's favour as well.

—

“Yeah, I suppose I used to be more— forward in play,” admits Nick. A grey eyebrow appears above the curve of a smoked glass lens, as she adds to the collection of black stones she’s already got lined up in neat ranks next to her dish of white ones. “The way you were to start. But now I usually just let people come to me.[1]” She shrugs. “I know what to do when they get here,” she explains, as once again she does it. The right move, in the right moment.

—

"I can see that," Caxeyla observes drily. Don't let that fool you, though; the sparkle in her eye and relaxed posture says she's thoroughly enjoying this. She lets slip a word more suited for Bitran mines than polite company in the Living Caverns as another group of stones are thwarted in their attempts to live.

In a few more turns it becomes obvious how her forwardness has caused the tables to turn, Nick's groups of stones surrounding hers at all sides until she's backed several corners, scrambling to save the ones she has left. She passes her turn by sliding a stone to Nick's side of the table, signaling that the game has reached its conclusion, and explicates sportingly, "Any more would be sacrificing stones to no benefit but my own ego."

—

Nick obligingly pinches a white stone from the bowl on her side and slides it across, mirroring Caxeyla’s gesture. Her remaining klah isn’t quite cold. She picks up her mug and takes a sip as she sits back in her chair, which was in its way her first captive today; mildly, she drawls, “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have liked it much if you thought I was letting you win.”

—

Caxeyla's klah has been gone for a while now, mug set aside and forgotten. She observes the aftermath of the game quietly. What went wrong and well, the moves that Nick countered versus the ones that went off without a hitch. "You are quite right," she responds cheerfully, eyes still on the board. She looks up with a winning smile despite the loss. Hopeful, she asks, "I hope that I provided at least a bit of fun, though? I know I’m not the most skillful opponent.

"I know you can't stay, so I'm glad to clean this up," Caxeyla appends after a moment, giving the older woman an excuse to linger or depart as her schedule and whims allow.

—

“It’s, ah,” and Nick exhales, and reaches up to pull her shades off her face and set them on the table next to the massed ranks of stones she’s captured. She regards Caxeyla with intelligent and gentle brown eyes, framed by creases that deepen even though her smile is faint. “It’s been a while,” she admits. “I used to play with friends, but I’m the only one of us left.”

—

Midway through pushing an initial batch of slate stones in the brownrider's direction, Caxeyla's delicate fingers pause. "Ah, I'm sorry." Moving again, she echoes the words spoken to her earlier in the conversation, "I hope the memory’s a good one."

—

Nick drinks down the last of her lukewarm klah, then with one hand sweeps the black ranks of her victims off the edge of the table into the cupped palm of her other hand.

“Yeah,” she allows quietly, nodding without looking up, “pretty good.” She reaches out to drop the stones in their dish on Caxeyla’s side of the table, then joins her in separating white from black upon the board, plucking a stone here and a stone there scarcely more loudly than she placed them as they played. “Maybe we can do this again sometime,” she offers, and the question inaudible in her voice is present in her warm brown eyes as they find Caxeyla’s.

—

"I'm glad," Caxeyla says simply, not pushing for any information not volunteered.

With the two sets of hands, they make quick work of the clean-up. Lids are replaced and the dark-stained bowls slid into their respective tailored bags. When Nick speaks again, Caxeyla glances up and their dark eyes meet. Under the scrutiny, she can't help the colour that rises to her cheeks and deepens the hue of her amber skin. "It would be my pleasure. It needn't be Go. If you know how to play chess, or mahjong, or…" She lists a few more classic games of wits and strategy where luck plays no part, finishing, "Just, please, anything but Dragonpoker…?"

—

The legs of Nick’s chair scrape softly across the floor as she pushes it back from the table. “Yeah,” she chuckles, “I play a few hands of Dragonpoker sometimes to be sociable but it’s just not as satisfying, is it? Like taking a lover of one sex when you’d rather have the other,” she drawls, as she stands up and reclaims her shades. She flicks them open and restores them to pride of place upon her nose. “I’ll see you,” she says with a nod to Caxeyla, and before the younger woman can come up with a riposte she turns and saunters away.

[1] This is exactly what she was saying to Katrya the other day.