Who

F'mond, Miel

What

Miel crosses F'mond's path when the two of them are looking for a few drinks and idle conversation…

Slightly belated posting…

When

It is early evening of the twenty-fifth day of the eighth month of the fifteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Oasis Inn, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 02 Dec 2018 05:00

 

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Oasis Inn

Tucked into a small fold of foothills along the road leading from the Weyr to the Central Pass, this inn truly is just what its name implies - an oasis for travelers coming from either direction. Stabling and board are available - though the boarding comes at a price, since there isn't much of it. The most well known part of the Inn is the tavern - a rustic bar built of solid skybroom and furnished in dark, oiled wood, leather, metal, and glass. Though well used and sometimes abused, the furniture is also well cared for and maintained, and the food and drink draw many a rider in alongside the travelers. The decor is eclectic, consisting in hangings, rugs, carvings, and other things from every region of Pern, bestowed upon the owner in barter for lodging. The atmosphere isn't one of a dive; it's cozier than that, though there is just a touch of harmless shady to be found - particularly in the evenings.


Summer days have a way of stretching on and on, but even in Igen Rukbat has to retire eventually although the heat still lingers. Either the heat or the relatively early hour has kept the crowd at the Oasis relatively tame for now, but patrons are beginning to trickle in faster. Outside there is a rather loud THUD followed by a string of curses and a sigh and before too long, a bronzerider comes through the door, rubbing at his temples. F'mond's destination is straight to the bar and he wastes no time with his order. "Darkest beer you got."

Outside rests a naturally bright green, somewhat removed from the main throughways and trafficked areas around the Oasis Inn. That won’t keep Ivaenth from observing Travith’s less than exemplary landing and though she doesn’t outwardly mentally snicker, it’s probably felt just from the way the green has lifted her head up a bit. Inside, Miel is already at the bar, nursing a drink that looks to be laced with some sort of fruit puree. A little taste of home from the Istan islands, maybe? Or as close as she can get here in the desert. “Must’ve been a rough day if you’re angling for their darkest.” she muses in an aside to F’mond. She spares him a quick side glance, but doesn’t otherwise turn fully to greet him quite yet.

The dirt that Travith stirred up with his oh so graceful landing seems to have seeped into his mind as well, clouds of red dust roll across his mental landscape as the small bronze grumbles and settles into a slightly more dignified position. Even when the dust settles, there's still the defensive thorns of vegetation waiting any onlookers that may have witnessed Travith's misfortune, which is mainly Ivaenth. « What are ya looking at? » The bartender might not have anything super dark, but whatever he passes over seems to meet F'mond's expectations as he'll quickly take a big gulp of it. There's a snort for the other rider's observation. "Nah. If it was that rough, I'd be going for the liquor."

« Am I not supposed to? » Ivaenth’s mindscape is cool metal and neon lights, though those are dimmed under the glare of sun and perhaps masked by the ‘dust’ of Travith’s mind while the green entertains him. Miel will quietly watch as the bartender serves the older bronzerider, but her attention soon focuses back on him. She chuckles heartily for the answer and tips her glass up as if to salute that statement. “Guess it’s me with the bad day then? Or does half and half count?” Her drink is cut, after all. Wouldn’t do for the Assistant Weyrlingmaster to get drunk off her butt, right?

The whirling of Travith's eyes slow as he contemplates that question, before eventually he gives a snort very similar to that his rider was just giving inside. « Don't think I can stop you. » And with that he returns to stretching out, giving special favor to his left wing. It doesn't take bright lights to see the the marks of a not to distant threadscore that might be 'healed', but hasn't had time to fade much yet. F'mond quirks an eyebrow at Miel. "Your day was half bad and half good? Cause I don't think you can count on me to have a good day either…" At most it was alright. The rough landing certainly didn't do him any favors in the good department, but at least they're out and about and not stuck in the infirmary! "Miel, innit?" He'll return her salute with a lift of his own glass. "F'mond. Might want to warn your's that Travith's mostly bark with little bite."

Oh, now that just amuses Ivaenth all the more! « Nope! » It’s said with utmost sarcastic cheerfulness and an implied wicked grin. She’s going to stare all she wants, though realistically she isn’t; she noted how the wing was favoured and were she reaching her proddy state, she would’ve invaded his personal space. Luckily for all, she doesn’t seem anywhere near her time and lowers her head with a heavy sigh, content to return to dozing in the last of the sunlight. “Yeah, that about summarizes it. Classic life of any weyrlingmaster!” Miel admits with a smirk, shoulders shrugging as she lifts her drink up and nurses a small sip of it. She nods to confirm F’mond’s guess on her name. “Well met,” she muses with a faint grin. “And don’t worry about Ivaenth. She’s tougher than she looks and can handle it!” Turning back to an earlier comment, her head tilts and now she turns a bit in her seat to give him a more thorough look over. “So what’s got your day going towards bad?”

The rusty bronze turns his eyes towards the heavens and would roll his eyes if he could at that cheerfulness, but his continued garumping might be more reflex than anything else. At least those prickly cacti have the starts of tiny little blooms on them now. Silence is golden and so Travith will join Ivaenth in the dozing, content in his own little bubble. "And just as this batch is about out your hands, you got another one coming in right on their tails. Or will be." F'mond has been keeping track enough to know that there was a gold flight, even if they were just watching it from the ground. Eggs, well eggs gotta follow eventually. Circle of life and all that jazz. As for what turned his day sour, F'mond has just a single word, "Re-ha-bil-i-tat-ion." He drags it out like each sylable personally pains him and follows it up with another gulp of his beer. "The distance hasn't been a problem… landing however.." He shrugs. And Ivaenth can probably fill her rider in on exactly how that went if Miel doesn't remember the dragon-sized thud from not to long ago.

“That’s how it usually is and would be more hectic and back-to-back if Igen had more queens,” Miel remarks and not unkindly. That they have Zsaviranth and Rajakhelath is a boon, given that both golds produce clutches so frequently! “And I don’t mind it. Kind of softens the blow a bit. This latches bunch were good, though some presented some unusual cases. It’s always hard, near the end.” For the very obvious reasons that she figures F’mond is seasoned enough to understand. She grimaces at that word, quite familiar with it to judge from the click of her tongue in sympathy. “Ah, yeah… I know that one too well. So it was Travith, then?” Ivaenth certainly has, though she’ll still respect much of his privacy and not exactly blurt it all out for the few patrons here to overhear. “Ivaenth’s been spared much of the serious stuff. I’ve not been as fortunate… last bad ‘Fall took me out for a good stretch of time.” Leaning back a bit in her seat, she taps her hand against her one hip. Nothing like getting broadsided!

F'mond gives an understanding nod. "Could be like a couple turns ago when we had that double clutch. Don't know how y'all manage with that many all at once." The man gives a shudder. He can wrangle many things, but the chaos and confusion of itty bitty dragon babies isn't something he's keen on repeating, even on the chaperoning side instead of the OMGHUNGERANDSLEEPANDITCHYANDWHATISTHIS???!!!??? of new impression. F'mond gives another grimace and nod for the talk of injures. "Yup. Nasty wing score." Most wing scores are nasty, but this one in particular. "Got my thigh too, but he took the brunt of it. Been a while, but we're at least in the air again, even if not yet back in the wings. Wouldn't wish a wingscore on my worst enemy."

Miel only chuckles and finishes the last of her drink, shaking her head to the bartender when he signals if she’d like a refill. “I was here for that and fresh from Ista. Vosji had asked if I’d agree to transfer to help…” And the rest is history! “Never regret the choice but that was quite the introduction to the Weyr.” She grins a bit, before her expression sobers under the grimmer topics. “You two are very lucky, if he’s back in the air now! Good sign, if he can manage flight.” Landings? Another matter but that’ll come in time too. “Neither would I. I’ve seen some good pairs taken out too soon for just pure bad luck on how ‘scoring hit.”

While Miel might be declining another refill, F'mond has no qualms about flagging the bartender down for another now that his drink is nearly finished off. He lets out a sharp whistle at the thought of being dumped right into a new weyr and THAT craziness. “Faranth. Heard about tossing babies into the river to see if they could swim. Seems like Vosji dunked you into the sharding ocean!" But the amazement is mostly good natured and only a little exaggerated. As for his own luck, he grimaces but nods. "Don't feel very lucky, but could always be worse." And the likelihood of a pair being able to fly an ENTIRE Pass, F'mond knows is too damn low. "We'll be back courting danger in no time."

“Well that’s one way to put it!” Miel is laughing now, light and carefree and with a grin to match it. “Vosji and I go a long way though. I might’ve reconsidered, if it had been anyone else come calling to poach me.” There’s a nod for his reflection on how it could ‘always be worse’, quiet agreement to that and no argument there. She may not have the Turns of experience as some riders, but she’s aware of the risks and potential short-lived lives they all face. “You make it sound like you both almost miss it?” she ventures to boldly assume.

F'mond may usually be a man of few words, but he can have a way with them sometimes! There is a nod as Miel explains her previous relationship with Vosji, and while he's listening, he also flags down the bartender for an order of spiced nuts. Once the little bowl arrives, he nudges it slightly towards the other rider, an unspoken but clear enough offer. "Shards, have you ever met a pair that didn't want to get back into the wings? Almost like the 'healers keep adding more and more restrictions to try and encourage folks to want to get away from them."

Miel will take that offer up from F’mond, reaching to pluck a few of the spiced nuts from the bowl. There’s a little note of surprise from her, mostly just from the rise of her brows as the spice hits. She’s never really had a palate for it, despite living where she does. There’s a lopsided smile, at least for his observations. “You have to wonder, hmm? If it isn’t all some subtle plan to get us back on our feet and out of the Infirmary! I’ve not personally met a pair who didn’t want to go back but I’ve heard of it. Dragons don’t ever seem to change, but I’ve heard that some riders can lose the spark. Not that I blame them.” Thread fighting takes it’s toll and not just in physical wounds!

In a well practiced maneuver, F'mond flips one of the nuts up and catch it with his mouth. CHOMP. Followed by a wink in response for the raised brow from Miel when the spice hits her. At least they weren't the ones so spicy as to be a challenge. Just a pleasant little kick. For most anyways. But the grin gets wiped off his phase as conversation turns back to injuries. "The ones that lose the spark well… normally they don't seem to make it back. And if they do well… there's plenty of watchrider positions. Don't really want to stick any youngun right out of weyrlinghood in those spots." So stick the old geezers there instead.

Miel smirks for F’mond’s little display and has no shame it uttering a bemused: “Show off.” There’s not that much of an age gap between them (okay, so fifteen and some odd, but still!) and she feels she can needle the bronzerider just a teeny bit. Now that she’s aware of the level of spice, she’ll help herself to a little more but in small dosages and well spaced apart. “Mhm. That is true,” she admits, not so much faze by that grim reality. “And I’d never think to put a weyrling or new rider right into Watchrider. That’d…” Her brows furrow, as she mulls over various situations. “I’m not sure what kind of scenario would warrant such a thing. Crippling injury? That’d just be a shame.” And a waste. “Been a few weyrlings not ready before. Usually the youngest ones… holding them back is for everyone’s benefit.” No sense sending children off to battle!

F’mond smirks right on back. "Not the first time I've heard that!" And it won't be the last. He's not that old yet and as long as he can physically do it, he will probably continue showing off SOMETHING. He does also give a somber nod. "Cruel to the weyrling and as good as they might be… their attention is bound to wander. Watchriding is booooring. I've been doing enough of it lately." Although his has more been at the Weyr itself which at least has a constant stream of comings and goings to keep track of. "Yeah, there were a couple kids barely teens that Impressed with me. Good thing that was still turns before the Pass but…" He shrugs. Those same riders may or may not still be among the ranks, even if they did have some time to mature.

“Which is why we don’t use it. Not even for punishment,” Miel’s grin is back and there may have been a slight wink thrown in there for good measure. She is either enjoying the company too or those spiced nuts are catching up to her, because she flags the bartender to refill her drink after all. “It likely still posed a challenge for them?” she adds, when he ends his comment with a shrug. Reaching for her drink when it’s brought over, she’ll frown thoughtfully. “We seem to be good with getting a good rounded group of ages when the Candidates come in. Last bunch swayed a little more to older, than younger.” Lifting the glass, she takes a slow sip of the contents before turning her attention back to the older bronzerider. “So you’re from Igen, then? Even before?”

F'mond has slowed to a pace right about nursing for his beer number two, so no need for a refill yet even if he is eating just as many of the spicy nuts. "Yeah. No more of the super young ones though, although some of 'em still look like babies." Anybody under 30 or without their own baby equals BABY in his head. "But old ones get stuck in their habits, ya know?" As for his origins, he nods. "Yeah, well… Keroon originally. Just got my journeyman's knot before I got Travith."

Miel is no baby then as she fits both criteria! Lucky her? She grimaces in silent agreement though to F’mond once more. She chuckles for habits, “Is this where I say you can teach an old canine new tricks?” More teasing! It’s just her nature, when she doesn’t have to be Proper and Professional. Even if she has a reputation of being the “gentler” one of the weyrlingmaster staff. “Keroon, huh? Must have been a bit of a shock still to leave all that green for, well… sand?” She looks subtly impressed when he mentions having been a Journeyman, even if it was for a hot minute. “Which Craft?”

"Who here was the herder?" F'mond gives another wink at that. "Although that probably made me the old canine…." And going to continue being, although what tricks he might learn is yet to be determined. "Herder craft, mostly worked with bovines… and porcines… and basically whatever you could eat." He left the fancy runners to the fancy folks from Ruatha. "I was more excited to leave behind a lot of the mucking to worry about the greenery but that didn't last toooo long."

Miel just grins for F’mond’s retort on her previous teasing commentary and says nothing more on it. She nods, as if approving of his past Craft. “Quite the extensive list of study!” she muses, enjoying a little more of her drink before exhaling softly. “Never could get into the Crafts myself. For obvious reasons and less obvious.” Being a woman didn’t help her chances for some of them! “That and I was rather, ah… foolish in my younger Turns. Don’t regret much and I was living comfortably.” Which is as vague as anything but she merely smiles with an air of innocence. How does one describe being the Pernese equivalent of a high-class escort? Simple! You don’t. Finishing her drink, she rises to her feet with more grace then she ought too (and seemingly unfazed by the alcohol). “I should be going. Thanks for sharing some of your time, F’mond and best of luck to you and Travith.” she murmurs, smiling all too sweetly as she fixes her headscarf back into place. Her paler skin, freckles and all, do not do well in Igen’s climate!

F'mond is pretty sure he can figure out the obvious reasons (cause woman, even in Ista), but wheels start to turn as he tries to figure out less obvious ones. Then Miel's on the move and he shakes any ponderings off and gives a salute. "Thanks, and clear skies to you and your's." But as for him, he'll let Travith sleep off that hard landing a little more before they give it another attempt back to the Weyr. And maybe F'mond will get himself another beer.

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