Onari, N'tael


It's late night in the bazaar, and N'tael's looking worse for the wear.


It is late night of the seventh day of the third month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass.


Central Bazaar

OOC Date 21 Feb 2016 07:00


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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-shingled buildings act as an amplifier for the salesmens' bawled enticements, and are held up by the chipped swirls of marble pillars.

It's not exactly the best time to be out and about in the Bazaar. While not strictly a safe place even on the best days, nighttime is shade less savory. The ominous whistling of furtive desert winds curling about the corners of buildings and down alleys combined with the distant rolls of thunder from an encroaching storm doesn't bode well for anyone hoping to hang about outside for long. Onari knows it's coming and glances at the darkly blank sky overhead as she slips out from the shadowed doorway of a closed merchant' shop, a large and weighty bundle of leather tired with sturdy cords slung over one shoulder by a strap. She's more concerned about the storm and not any potential harm she might come to along the now very familiar paths of the Bazaar. Indeed, the steps she turns toward the caravan grounds are confident in their set as she starts back home. She may not have been raised here, but it is clearly home to her - as much as a trader can call any one place home.

Little does Onari know that she has very little to fear from the bazaar, unless, of course, Jhael's enemies decides to connect the dots between him and Onari. THAT TO ONE SIDE, it's not Jhael that slinks about the bazaar tonight. In fact, there's very little slinking going on altogether. It's more like staggering, with one hand holding onto the buildings as N'tael makes his slow way though the area. There's a limp to his step, and bright bread of blood across his shirt. There's a complete determined set to his shoulders, N'tael will make it out from the maze of shops one way or another!!

To see a man staggering about at this time of night is not unusual, though those ones are usually drunk, in Onari's experience. A bottle in hand is usually the tell, there. The one Onari sees now, however, is not carrying a bottle…and is injured, which immediately grabs her attention. Frowning, she diverts his way, trying unsuccessfully to make out his face. The lack of knot makes it even harder to place him, though she feels like he's someone she's glimpsed around here before. "Sir?" she calls once she's close enough not to shout, still crossing toward him. "Do you need some help to the Healers? You're hurt." No offer to tend to his wounds herself - yet. She can't see how badly he's injured, so simply assumes it's the Healers he'll be headed for.

"Course it'd be a pretty lady what see me all lookin' like raw meat." See, N'tael, no matter how bloodied up, is still trying to joke. He stops working his way forward and lifts his gaze up to Onari. He's got a shiner of a black eye building, and his face will probably show bruises for a while. Plus that nose of his? Yeah, it's likely broken. For all the lightness of his words there's a sense of pure seriousness about the young man. "Aye, well, ain't nothin' f'r it. Can't say I'd be objectin' t' a hand once I'm gettin' t' 'e edge've 'e bazaar. Got some'un waitin' for me."

Onari's only response to the attempt at jocularity the man employs at first is a lifted eyebrow, though it isn't scornful. Close enough to make out his features now, she leans down just a touch to better see that black eye in the brazier-light. Her gaze is immediately drawn to the skew of his nose, however, and she visibly winces. "Waiting to patch you up?" she asks, adjusting the strap on her shoulder so that she can carry her load without needing one hand to support it. "I hope the other man looks worse. I can at least reset your nose, if you like; it looks like a clean break." Taking note of the way he'd been traveling, she asks, "Are you from the Weyr itself, then?"

N'tael's hand lays flat against the wall as he examines Onari from tip to bottom. Little is missed in his examination, especially not Onari's not. "Reika, aye?" Not really a question though N'tael allows his tone to raise at the end. Another hand comes up to touch his nose and he winces. "Aye, well, I wouldn't mind avoidin' 'e healers if'n 's possible t' be doin' so." So, yes, Nate wouldn't mind her help with his nose. "Aye, m' dragon's waitin'. Jus' a li'l too big t' be gettin' in."

"Aye," Onari affirms as the man identifies her knot. "I'm Onari, sir, and I wish I could say well met, but…" He's sort of in a bad way at the moment. When he mentions a dragon, her eyes dart to his shoulder again as though his own knot might materialize out of thin air after that. "Well, as I said, I can set your nose, and you can find some ice to pack in cloth and put on that eye - or your whole face, I suppose. But if you need fellis, I don't think I can help you just now. Would you stand straight and face me, please?" A quick glance to the side has her briefly assessing the size of the Bazaar road and guessing at the size of the man's lifemate. "Where is your knot, dragonrider? I can't tell whether yours is bronze or brown, to be too big to fit in here."

"Ye're F'in's sister." Again, not a question. N'tael's just going to take that leap in logic (maybe he heard her name or something somewhere), "Ye don't have t' be worryin' about 'e ice tho, I can be gettin' it easy enough f'rm 'e weyr." They've totally got a cold closet, and the LEAST N'tael could do was make sure that his Southern Barrier Hold connections got a fresh supply delivered OFTEN. Pushing himself upright fully N'tael meets Onari's gaze squarely. "It'd be best f'r us all if'n we jus' leave ye question alone. I'd be obliged if'n ye'd set m'nose, and then I can be gettin' back."

Again, Onari replies in the positive to the dragonrider's words, though his last has her pressing her lips into a thin line. Dragonrider he may be, and therefore worthy of respect no matter what his rank - if indeed he has one beyond wingrider - but he is also displaying typical stubborn male behavior on a few counts. That part, at least, she isn't impressed by. "Alright then, though I wouldn't wonder if wearing it might've kept you from a beating. Then again, this is the Bazaar." Dragonrider knots haven't stopped people before. She gingerly arranges her fingers to either side of his nose, carefully feeling out where would be best to anchor her efforts. "May I have the name of the man whose nose I'm fixing, at least?"

"No, ma'am," N'tael will slip into old habits, his voice gentle. "'s m' knot what got me 'e beatin'." It's not TOO hard to figure out who N'tael is. There aren't that many short pure blonds around that have an easy affection for one pale bronze dragon that still somehow seems both perfectly comfortable and out of place in Igen. (Plus the accent is a dead give away. N'tael should be more careful with it.) "Call me Nate f'r now. Close enough t' be bein' truth." He sets himself against the pain that Onari will cause when she fixes his nose. Stoic man. STOIC.

Considering Onari hasn't yet had occasion to go to the Weyrleader with any Reika gifts or business, and with how much the caravan has been on the road, it isn't as easy as it could be for Onari to identify N'tael right away, especially with his face bruised up as it as. Yet as soon as he names his knot as the reason for his state, she realizes the truth of things, and momentarily shuts her eyes and stills to let it sink in a moment. "Of course," she murmurs, but whether it's in response to him or something in her mind is unclear. "I think I'll stick with calling you Sir, because…" Her hands twitch into motion, and with a few rather crunches and a prominent pop, his nose if back in place. "…The name seems a bit familiar, and I might be tempted to scold you at that rate." Her expression takes on a wry edge as she lowers her hands, cheekiness infusing the quirk of her lips. Yet she bobs a curtsey to him, the show of respect in earnest if a bit quick given where they are. "At your service, sir. That should do well enough to keep you from the Healers, if you're of a mind to out-stubborn the pain."

"Shells." That hiss of pain is the only indication N'tael will give when his nose gets set. Eyes closed N'tael will ride the pain back to the moment. When his eyes open there's no hint of his sky blue, they're dark gray. But maybe taht's just because of the darkness? "M'thanks f'r ye help." N'tael moves past but pauses after just a step. "Ahh, ye'd proly be well put t' no' be sayin' nothin' 'bout helpin' me. Just t' be bein' safe." A half smile doesn't carry any joy in it before N'tael makes his way towards the edge of the bazaar and Tlazotezath beyond. It's been a while since Tlazotezath had that particular fierce whirling shade of orange in his eyes - but with N'tael's current state, can anything else be expected?

Onari watches N'tael move off toward his dragon with an air of curious consternation in her gaze. It's any easy enough thing to stay quiet, but that doesn't help her exasperation with the situation. Or maybe it's just exasperation with the way of some things in the Bazaar. Either way, she turns with a sigh, resettling her bundle upon her shoulder and putting a bit more speed in her steps as another peal of thunder grumbles through the Weyr, closer now. Just another eventful evening in Igen's Bazaar.

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