Staged very early in the day, this stock auction has people in attendance even before Rukbat’s provoked the desert. A local brownrider is one of them, and not a new face. Once in a while, Th’bek can convince R’bior or Kl’val to come with him, but the majority of the time his dragonrider colleagues don’t invest the same level interest for these events. But he’s never truly alone when he can conjure a conversation with almost anyone, especially with similar interests. As a herdbeast female and her calf are forced into the sandy arena, Th’bek switches which leg is relaxing on the low bench ahead of him. Until a familiar voice signals him. « H’rik calls you to him, rider. Show no fear. » Tavuqth bids, trusting Th’bek will conduct himself well in front of the Weyrleader.

Wendryth, having done the summoning for H’rik, decides he also wants to ask a question - maybe it’s H’rik’s deep thinking about Th’bek bleeding over into the bronze, making him overly curious about Tavuqth and his rider. « Where might H’rik find your rider, Tavuqth? Perhaps he could come to yours? I have tried many a time to have H’rik leave the council chambers - he is much distracted by a great many things. » Rather talkative, even by Wendy’s standards - could it be the bronze is bored thanks to his rider’s ongoing distraction? Certainly, there’s a hint of gratitude for having Tavuqth to talk to, even if it might be briefly to arrange this meeting.

A dragon of primitive character, Tavuqth has either no public mindscape to present, or one of casual decay, an abode of severe self-preservation. « He woke early to evaluate the flesh of beasts with others of and not of his kind, » human, but not other dragonriders. « A strange pastime, to watch and not eat. » An almost sub-sound for a mind voice, the brown’s composure deep as fossilization. A loose pathway to the bazaar flickers, but the imagery isn’t sustained for long. Th’bek, letting the dragons work out the details, places a bid on a heifer just to get the ball rolling. In a matter of seconds there’s a higher one.

« Most unusual! I should prefer a fine hunt, rather than to merely observe beasts! » A kindred spirit here is Wendryth, not understanding the allure of watching an auction rather than chasing down a fat bovine on which to feast. « We shall be not a moment! » H’rik doesn’t have any excuse to get lost on the way to the auction yard; once Wendy’s dropped him off in a clear space, he makes his way via the caravan grounds, saying a few hellos to people he recognises, trying not to be drawn into this conversation or that. The auction yard reached, he at least knows who he’s looking for, and with slight assistance from Wendryth’s mental imagery, Th’bek is found. Ambling up, H’rik stands beside the low bench, looking at the heifer currently the centre of a bidding war. “Haven’t been here for a while. I can’t say I missed the smell too much,” the man jokes softly.

« That is why he does not bring me. » The truth hurts. « Take your time, he is not going anywhere for a while. » Tavuqth’s sonorous telepathy dilates each word. A crunch of marrow-yielding bone and he grows silent. His rider extends a hip to get better ease of access to a canister on his belt. The contents smell slightly of vinegar and ginger as he drinks, catching a glimpse of H’rik with one eye. “Weyrleader,” a cough, “never knew you came at all to the auctions,” freeing his right hand, the brownrider stands and slicks off a salute. “I used to come all the time when I was, not when I had Tavuqth. Now maybe once a month I get here just to see what’s being bred and circulated.” As the heifer’s price stops at seven and 1/16 marks, Th’bek claps twice and sits back down. “The animals smell better than the audience most days,” droll, “though I shouldn’t talk, I’m a bit of a grub.” Scruffy and without today’s bath, Th’bek came from Arroyo’s drills.

« Alas, » Wendryth commiserates. « I regret that I have not been! One day, perhaps. » Ah, so wistful. The idea of tasty beasts to, er, look at. Sure. There’s a smile from H’rik at that connection with the brownrider. “Yeah, I used to come before I Impressed - not quite as often as you by the sounds of it, but usually on behalf of my father or…just to see who I met here.” He returns the salute casually, then lets himself get distracted for a moment as the heifer is sold. “Hah. You’d think with the number of stalls that sell nice-smelling things, people would take the hint.” The way he keeps his voice low and looks about him indicates he’s talking about the bazaar folk, and not making a comment on Th’bek’s current state. “So, I wanted to come talk to you about the letter you wrote me.” H’rik veers to a different topic, crossing his arms as he watches a pair of pigs being led out for the next auction.

If dragons ruled the world… or at least could be trusted around stock auctions. Th’bek is good at halving his attentions between the porcine pair and the bronzerider. “The auctions are a perfect way to waste perfectly good time,” the former stablehand communicates with a successful smile. “Now you’d think that, but accessibility doesn’t always mean a lick for some people. Good long loins on them, wonder if they’re Bwatu’s,” speaking about two different sort of pigs in the same comment. “Letter?” Th’bek’s head swings fully toward H’rik and he scratches at his upper lip. “Which one would that be?” He’s looking pensive, trying to dredge up the last time he wrote anything beyond sweep summaries.

“Sometimes you’ve got to waste time,” H’rik says thoughtfully. Wendryth may be feeling just a little smug that he’s got his rider out of his hole of hidework, and interacting with the real world. Which is, after all, still going on despite his preoccupations with weather stations and injured Wingleaders. The Weyrleader looks taken aback by Th’bek’s strange denial of his letter. Confused, but undeterred, H’rik ploughs on. “I didn’t realise you were interested in the position, so I was surprised myself when it came in. I suppose I expected a Whirlwind rider to come forward - not that I wouldn’t want someone from another Wing, it was just out of the blue.” The fact that Th’bek didn’t react as he expected has caught him completely off guard, and his rather rambling speech isn’t exactly what he’d prepared to say to the man.

Their large ears flapping in front of their vision, the porcines slowly gambol around the small holding area amid the chorus of incremental bids. Th’bek squints and contracts his lips while he thinks good and hard. “Unless I’m mistaken, and truly I’ve been three sheets to the wind and sometimes do things I don’t remember clearly, but sir, writing letters isn’t one of those drunken pastimes.” From puzzled to curious, “what position exactly did my name volunteer for? Not Weyrlingmaster I hope…” A query is issued to Tavuqth for information the brown may have, but comes up empty, Tavuqth off-handedly returning, « I recall no letters you did while intoxicated. »

The bidding goes on around him, the occasional noise from the animals on offer not even reaching H’rik’s ears - the tips of which have grown rather red in his confusion and embarrassment at this odd situation. At least Th’bek isn’t angry - if anything, he seems nearly as puzzled as H’rik by the whole situation. Sucking in a breath, H’rik tries not to ramble any further. “For - uh - for Weyrsecond. Which would also be Wingsecond for Whirlwind, so it’s rather a two in one role.” « Did your rider not want to be Weyrsecond of a fine Weyr, and stand side by side with my rider?! » Wendryth asks of Tavuqth, a distinct edge of disbelief causing the golden mists of his mindscape to roil as his emotions soar, picking up on H’rik’s confusion.

Th’bek’s reaction to absurdity is to declare a low laugh as he plants each hand on a knee and rocks a bit backward. The mystery letter is now subservient to the actual message it supposedly contained. Similarly sharing the Spotlight of Awkwardness, he seriously evaluates the role of Weyrsecond for some short seconds. If a doppelganger was going to ask for a rank, at least it wasn’t Weyrlingmaster. The bulk auction of sixteen ovines all crumpled in a tight flock for security commences. “Ahhhhh,” recovering his voice, “if someone’s making a fool outta us, at least I’m in good company.” As for H’rik, well…. “I’ll be honest as an axe handle, I do kind of yearn for leading. Not that I want to drive anyone out to get back in that chair, so to speak,” at this point there’s a piece of pause, maybe trying to convince himself too. “You’re here, and took the trouble to find me, I’m here talking myself out of buying a steer, and there is an empty Weyrsecond’s post.” Inspired, foolish, or a touch of both, the Arroyo rider commits. “Confusion aside, I- we- would serve Igen.” « It appears I have no choice in the matter…. » Tavuqth concludes with a dry rub of talon on bone, a macabre taste of joy. « For Igen! »

H’rik looks distinctly relieved that Th’bek is taking this mix-up so well, and a chuckle escapes the Weyrleader. “I’d looked up your records - your time in Arroyo, and leading, too. You’ve the experience and the dedication, as far as I see it.” The nervous baa-ing of the ovines isn’t the most grandiose background noise to his words, but one has to make do with the situation. “Shame about the injury, but Tavuqth’s made a full recovery, so the healers’ reports say.” Or maybe the animals’ noises, and the calls for the bids, soften the man’s more scripted little talk. He’s got back on track with what he’d planned to say! “The spot is open, so if you’ve got the interest, the position’s there…” He leaves the sentence hanging, watching Th’bek to see what response will come. Wendryth is in much better spirits now that things aren’t going the way he foresaw them; sunlight turns his mists golden, the splash of water-dwelling creatures heard but unseen. « FOR IGEN! » He bellows; his trumpet rings out across the bazaar, prompting an apologetic grin from H’rik given the deal between the riders isn’t quite completed yet.

A wave of dust off a breeze filters through the auction yard as the air pressure starts to churn further out in the desert. Th’bek turns a shoulder into it, though the event is short-lived. There’s a glance upward to a cloud-strewn sky, then it’s renewed on H’rik. Casual, with the support of firmer tradition, the brownrider retains his composure. “What time should we report to Whirlwind, sir?” Wendryth’s bellows of zeal are joined by an accelerating vibration between Tavuqth’s rib plates. The sound sent up a thick throat escapes his teeth and the resulting tremor is amplified by the Weyr’s walls. Triggered into responding, many of Igen’s dragons add the dynamic of their own calls. The descant makes the ovines scatter, with two flinging themselves between the gap in the fencing and escaping. A few members of the crowd scramble to catch them. The tone differing from a death keen, the spectators crane their heads in the direction of the Weyr to wonder about those circumstances. Th’bek lifts his head to the sound, a refreshing show of unity without melancholy.

H'rik turns his head from the dust, letting it shower his body and the back of his hair. “Our morning drill’s at 7am - but might be good to arrive just before, so I can run a few things by you beforehand.” A knot is slipped from his pocket (he's come prepared!) and held out to the brownrider with a smile, his actions far more subdued than Wendryth's. “Welcome, Weyrsecond.” The noise of two male dragons echoing around the Weyr; the escaping ovines; the scrambling bazaar folk: they've caused quite a bit of trouble here! H'rik eyes the auction master nervously, before giving Th’bek a grin that's verging in a grimace. “Actually, maybe we could go run by that stuff now. Over drinks in the council chamber?” And well away from any annoyed folk here, and the potential of this father finding out about this.

His upbringing has the brownrider facing H’rik while standing and enacting a smart salute. “I like drinks, and the council chamber isn’t half bad- I’ll follow, sir.” As the dragon din dies down, one of the ovines is returned to the lot and the current high bidder insists the other be found before he’ll follow through with his offered figure. Dusting his hands on the seat of his pants, Th’bek takes the knot from H’rik and keeps it safe. Starting at a distance, darkness takes wing and arrows a course of flight overhead, Tavuqth escorting from above.