The weather up north is certainly much better on this particular afternoon! Yet it’s not clear skies and dry ground (very dry ground) that have drawn one Southern bronze riding pair so far away from home. Va’os may wish that the reason behind his visit was something so innocently causal! What could possibly be misread from a casual desire for a change of scenery? Alas, what brings him here to Igen’s territory is a rather unusual request. There’d been notice sent ahead; he won’t be as brazen to just show up unannounced regardless of his past good relationship with H’rik. Tsiroth hastily broadcasts his musically inclined greeting even before he’s finished gliding to land. The bronze puffs himself up a little when curious gazes turn his way, enough that Va’os rolls his eyes and thumps the bronze’s side. “Quit it and save that posturing for another day back in Southern, alright? Don’t embarrass me.” The last is stage whispered under his breath to the bronze before he’s off at a steady pace, false confidence squaring his shoulders as he makes a line… right for the leadership ledges? An odd spot, but maybe there’s half a plan to his madness. Probably at least 11%.

Nasrin stirs outside her ledge, rummaging through the outbuilding assigned to her and Rajakhelath. Two-thirds of her ledge is still encapsulated with vivid desert sun, only spring-strong but already a force to be reckoned with. Combining three partially-filled oil containers into two is the junior's immediate task, curly hair not previously straightened with almond oil as it usually is. With Tsiroth's advance notice of his arrival having, Nasrin assumed, been acknowledged by those above her. And rightly it likely had, with Rajakhelath roiling some white insouciant smoke. When Southen's Weyrleader makes landfall, the goldrider takes note. Igen's junior queen is holding court on the Weyr heights with several other dragons. She trails Tsiroth's wake with visual vigilance and slides a tight bugle slick as petroleum on water. Within a functioning light-weight robe, Nasrin passes a fifty-percent to scale depiction of a dragon mid-flame and walks to the lip of the ledges. "Good tidings, Weyrleader, and welcome to the desert. Are you early?" She thinks he is and could be completely wrong.

Tsiroth has been left to his own devices, but for now the bronze ‘behaves’ himself. Sensing Rajakhelath’s presence, as well as the others no doubt chiming in now that his presence is known, he focuses foremost on her. A few bars of music are sent in response to that smoke and private answer to petroleum slickness; string instruments, something as low in timbre but alluring in tempo to draw attention. Va’os’ path comes to a gradual end once Nasrin speaks and he smirks crookedly, though his voice is bemused. “Am I? I could be. Never could get the whole time conversion thing… y’know. Exact.” He could be white-lying to cover the fact that he IS early and perhaps committed a faux pas but… too late! He’s here now! “Good afternoon, weyrwoman, ah, Nasrin, is it? I don’t know if I’ve had the pleasure yet of speaking to you.” At least, not this direct. Still, Va’os grins a roguish grin and dips his head respectfully. “Am I intruding?” he asks, genuinely, as he straightens.

One can catch Nasrin off-guard and not truly catch her flat-footed. Though not dressed or styled for an immediate meeting of this caliber, kohl highlights both eyes and turquoise hangs as beads around her belt. This is no one who rolls out of bed in the morning without some thought spared for appearance. She eyes the door she knew she'd shut to the outbuilding and releases its latch is amiss. "Nasrin, yes," not sparing any grief for an earlier parlay. "Rajakhelath is there, and she consigns her greetings as well." Not standoffish but a proud animal, Igen's firebird gold admits Tsiroth into her circle with a flourished spray of white hot sparks and reduced tinder. "I saw you once by the Tipsy Kitten, I was at a distance and you," were preparing to drink part of the night away? "were too far away to properly address." Fiddling only a little with the pin of the latch, the Steen woman otherwise tries to donate her full attention, glances growing longer. "I can see both Weyrsecond dragons by the living cavern and will hazard the Weyrleaders are temporarily detained by might of their combined subordinates, but if you'd like some shade?" One hand calmly gestures to a teak table just inside the lip of Nasrin's weyr, just barely out of reach of the sun.

“Tsiroth sends his, uh… regards too.” Va’os is floundering a bit already, unaccustomed to being too strictly formal. Brows furrow as he digs through the recess of his memories, but can only shake his head ruefully in the end. “I don’t quite remember that. Sorry. I must’ve been caught up in the event!” Or he was successful in drinking the night away and it’s self explanatory why there are gaps in his recall of the night. He clears his throat, “Funny thing, that. Must’ve turned left when I should’ve gone right?” he remarks, only to smirk. “Or are you saying it’s probably a good thing I didn’t just barge in on their meeting?” Faranth forbid he gate crash that “party”! Poor Nasrin’s stuck with him instead. The offer is met with an agreeable nod as he steps inside and to the teak table. He’ll gesture for her to sit first, though his eyes are not-so subtly scanning the immediate surroundings. “This is quite the lovely setup.” he compliments, while still hedging around the true nature of his business. That will wait until they’ve both settled themselves. “I’m just going to go right out there,” Blunt, as always. “And assume you and the Weyrleaders know why I’m here?”

Formal thy name is Nasrin. Where life is a ceremony, Igen's junior does seat herself first— especially so she can move her collection of notes and half-written correspondance over… somewhere else! "I wouldn't have expected you to remember," she says with a gentle sway of words, the easy breeze her features don't quite relax enough to convey. "I only knew you because Mayte pointed you out. So, nice to meet you in closer study." Not that she is. Obtusely. "No…" she eyes wander to the bowl where Eguth and Tavuqth still wait. "I think it's important enough to keep you waiting," Hold affairs perhaps. "I still regularly marvel at it all." It's almost a confession to the Weyrleader at the tributes of carvings and murals. As business settles like a new tablecloth, she makes no further attempts to find a distant mirror to judge her appearance. "The notice said your fighting wings need some shoring." And she yields no more, letting Va'os have the floor.

She has no worries on him sneaking a look at her private correspondences! Va’os may be more hands on in other regards but even he draws a line somewhere. There’s nothing for him to be snooping in the affairs of others — that sort of shady business of his is long, long since behind him. “Ah, nice to meet you too.” he repeats again, caught off guard a bit by Mayte’s name. He still regrets, to this day, that they never quite met eye to eye; he still respected her, as he did Bailey and losing both, in different regards, left marks on him. “I don’t mind. Waiting, that is! I mean, it’s understandable so… no offence is taken. So long as I’m not taking up too much of your time?” He’s doing his best to not look like he’s completely without manners. So far, so good? Nodding grimly, when she gives him the ‘floor’, Va’os cuts right to the chase. “Pretty much. With only one gold until recently, each loss to injury or worse is hitting us harder than it should. Telgar was generous enough to send one of their surplus golds to us but that still leaves too much at stake. So this is the next step.” Begging? “Not that I’m insisting on help, just… y’know. If Igen can, that’s all I could hope for! If not, I get it.”

If Va'os could read Nasrin's painfully elegant formal handwriting, good luck! Likely the precipients either have translators or leave them unread as napkins. "To change the subject for only a moment, some water? The ice is melting fast. Cut it with some wine? I have a plethora." She points at a hickory or chestnut wine holder stocked with gifts and connections to Ramita. Uusually they're regifted! "It is an honest request. Igen has only two producing golds but they're steady and broods are slightly more frequent. At what percentage are you of full strength?" A numbers girl, she attaches a hand to one glass of water, the thin remainder of ice shinking against the sides of the simple goblet.

“Just water for now, thanks.” Va’os knows his vices well and if he gets into drinking now, by the time the Weyrleaders catch up, he’ll be half way undone and that’ll fuel the gossip mills for to the turn of the seasons! His brows furrow, “That’s half of why I’m a little reluctant to ask Igen for such a… request. I’d hoped to have heard from Ista by now…” his voice trails off for a moment, lips pressed in a thin and grim line that fades the moment Nasrin asks for numbers. Chuckling, he’ll exhale and shake off that tension as he leans back in his seat. “Let’s see! Last reports…” The details won’t be too elaborate but just enough to give the young goldrider an idea of the struggle that Southern is facing. Conversations may veer away again, as other topics have a tendency to thread their way in. Through it all, Va’os keeps a tap on the worst of his behaviour quirks and eventually they will go their separate ways! By the fall of evening, Tsiroth and Southern’s Weyrleader will be gone. But it may only be the first visit!

Nasrin hasn't far to go to acquire another glass for the Weyrleader which she fills and shares from a tin pitcher. She then links all fingers under her chin while Va'os expounds more about input in comparison to casualties, layering comments and questions as needed. Th'bek and S'tol don't take much longer to return afield, so freeing up Diem and H'rik. Which will in turn free up Nasrin to restyle her hair in practiced haste and join them all in the Council Room.