Divale, F'mond


Divale's peace and quiet is interrupted by F'mond's Operation Goat Rescue.


It is noon of the seventh day of the tenth month of the fifteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Igen Weyr - Standing Stones

OOC Date 16 Dec 2018 06:00



Is that karma in the shape of a mostly three-legged kid? Maybe.


Standing Stones

It is perhaps a pity that the Standing Stones lie in quiet isolation, half-forgotten in the Weyr's easternmost corner. Or perhaps it is inevitable: the grandiose beauty of these red rocks is ill-suited to Igen's coarse grit, and maybe only their loneliness allows them to survive unmarred. Whatever the reason, it cannot be denied that the Standing Stones, a lonely jumble of ancient boulders, have a glory about them. The tumbled field of pillars and arches has been shaped by eons of wind and water into strange shapes, twisted and rutted. The going is treacherous: only the Weyr's half-feral herd of caprines navigates the terrain with any ease. To the northwest, the lakeshore glimmers; to the east, rough-carved steps lead towards another ancient pile of rocks - though the Star Stones are less haphazardly placed than their Standing cousins.

It is the sixty-seventh day of Autumn and 87 degrees. The day dawns bright and clear. Everything is coated in sand, but no clouds linger on the horizon.

Now that autumn is upon Igen, the daily temperatures have returned to a more sane level even at the peak of the day. Noon is a strange time of day, with most of the Weyr already busy; most of the main areas are likely buzzing with activity. It is not the case here, where the terrain is not so friendly to those of bipedal nature. The lure, however, is the quiet and that is what brings Divale here — or, at least, is her prime excuse. Parhelion's Wingsecond has a lull of time between one thing and the next; not quite enough to indulge in whatever 'other' pastimes she favours but enough that she found herself idling and desired to avoid it at all costs. Even if it meant a hike along winding narrow paths and less than pleasant footing. At least there's a view? She's come to rest on a more level outcropping of tumbled stones, perching upon one of the flatter ones that face the lake shore to the northwest.

Quiet is a fleeting thing and the winds whipping around the standing stones soon pick up a litany of words the seacraft would be proud of. The treacherous stone probably does some weird things with acoustics, but not too far off the winding path, there is a man in leathers kneeling on the rocks and apparently cursing at a prickly bush. Even has he's muttering a constant stream of "Sharding… Farnath… SHIT!" He keeps reaching in deeper, completely unphased by who might be wandering by.

Divale would have been content to ignore the warped litany of cursing but as it continues, she is both annoyed and intrigued enough to leave her perch (and peace) behind. Unhurried, she picks her way along, having to pause now and again to reconsider her choice of path when the sound and wind muddle direction. When she finally comes upon F'mond and his predicament, brows arch high before her features twist in a shadowed smirk and, wordlessly, she merely finds the nearest stable rock to lean against… and watch. Sorry, F'mond! No help for you (yet).

F'mond is this close to declaring victory against the bush or whatever when suddenly he lunges a bit forward and more cursing! Followed by a very young caprine jumping out of said bush, but it lets out a loud cry as it lands on it's back leg and proceeds to scramble in the direction of a currently wordless wingsecond mostly on three legs. The bronzerider lunges to his feet as well, hurriedly scooping up a bag that was at his feet and running after the kid and mostly managing not to slip on the loose rock. He does at least note someone in the path and while he might not be crying out for help, he will at least give a warning of "WATCHIT!"

Is that karma in the shape of a mostly three-legged kid? Maybe. Divale certainly wasn't prepared for it and it's fortunate that they're in a place too narrow for a certain midnight-clad brown to reach! She does react in time, dodging with only a minor stumble for her efforts as the ground slides a bit under her hastily placed feet. There's a narrowed look flashed at F'mond, but she makes no effort to chase after the kid. Not when the creature can nimbly evade her even if she tried! At least their near collision may have slowed the caprine down enough for the older bronzerider to catch up?

F'mond would probably argue that he's not that old, but he's got other things to do at the moment like throw himself at this darn goat. If the poor thing had actually been it's normal nimble self, he probably wouldn't have stood a chance, but between the injury and Divale's minor roadblock, the man manages to pin the goat under him. Now that he has it, the man blinks and reaches out one hand for his bag that was dropped in the scuffle and it's just out of reach. He glances between the bag and the goat and then over at Divale. "Would you mind?" The free hand points to the bag. This leather satchel is definitely old, but still functioning, and some fading embroidery shows herder yellow.

Divale's initial look is one that says she DOES mind and would rather not help him, but it's gone by the time she blinks her eyes and gazes more impassively towards the bronzerider and his struggles. Wordlessly, she'll step aside and over to where the satchel rests in the dust and grit. Crouching down, she gathers it and not-so subtly traces some of that faded embroidery while closing the short distance between her and F'mond. Now some pieces are coming together, despite the bronzerider clearly dressed in leathers and not typical Crafter-esque attire. "Do you require the whole satchel or something within it?" she asks dryly, but can be parsed as: does he need her to hand him something specific?

Pinning the young goat isn't as easy as it might seem. He (or she) is feisty! F'mond's mostly focused on the creature but does give a nod and "Thanks," when it seems the other rider is actually going to step in. "Mostly the redwort for now. There's a flask.." He gives a grunt as the kid manages to get enough room free to kick him in the stomach while F'mond tries to rearrange his hold so he can actually see the injured leg. "It's got a red band on it." Cause that's how creative his labeling system is.

Adjusting the satchel to pin it against her side as she rummages about the contents, Divale doesn't even glance towards F'mond as she searches. "Could probably tell from the smell alone," she mutters in that same dry, neutral tone of hers. Red banded flask in hand, she'll approach close enough to hand it to him when he is not otherwise preoccupied keeping the caprine kid contained. No doubt she recognized a few other materials in there, by assuming the ingredients even if she's uncertain of their exact use. "Anything more?" She may not be the friendliest assistant but at least he's not been completely abandoned by now?

One shouldn't look a gift-runner in the mouth and F'mond's not about to question the friendliness of his new-found helper, especially as it makes the otherwise mammoth task of getting redwort into his hand relatively simple. The top of the flask is removed with his teeth since he's not going to risk taking both hands off the kid and mostly just hope he doesn't choke while splashing the disinfectant on the injured hock. It takes just about all the flask and so once done, he'll drop it and the lid on the ground. "There's a salve in there. Should be.. green? Maybe blue? Smells like thyme. Slap that on and we should be good to go…" Apparently F'mond has come to terms that his patient will just scamper out of any bandages if they were to attempt them.

"You don't remember your own system?" Divale's mouth draws up into a sardonic smile or the shadow of one at least. She keeps any further barbed comments to herself and, rummaging in the satchel once more, she'll find two containers that could hold salve. Luck is on her side and the first one she opens appears to be the correctly thyme-scented one. "And what makes you think I know the first thing on how to apply salve?" Further teasing, as she makes it sound like what he asks of her requires significant intelligence. Yet she must not be entirely stone hearted, as she'll crouch down again and, once the kid is sufficiently restrained for the seconds she requires, will apply the salve. It's done with some skill that hints that she's not entirely unfamiliar with working on unwilling patients. Only a kid is much smaller than a panicked dragon!

F'mond glares up at his 'helper'. "It's been a while…" There might be a little bit of dust in some of the crevasses of the bag, but luckily the contents all seem fresh enough. There's a snort for her second question. "You knew how to find it without asking 'what's a salve', didn't ya?" Complete with slightly higher pitched voice for the mock question. "Plus, if you can apply numbweed…" But anything else is really unneeded and he cuts off as Divale's leaning in and applying it. Only once the hock is thoroughly slathered, he'll release the kid who is more than happy to run off to go do whatever goat-things he had planned for the day, slightly smellier and only limping a bit. F'mond watches a bit as the caprine capers and then gives a nod to the wingsecond. "Thanks."

If the contents had been spoiled, Divale wouldn't have been able to stop herself from needling him over it. The temptation would just be too much! She scoffs for his pitched voice, another smirk curving her lips as she wipes her fingers clean as best she can ? likely on something belonging to F'mond. "You'd be surprised. Some folk can't even master that in the way of basics." The salve is capped and returned to the satchel without question; the same goes to the flask when she recovers it and the lid. She's less interested in the caprine and more intrigued by the bronzerider; he'll no doubt see her darkened gaze narrowing again when he nods her way. She only nods in turn to his thanks, promptly offering him his satchel back.

Now that he's finally free of the kid, F'mond finally takes the time to inspect his hands. While they're a few minor scratches from the run in with the bramble bush, apparently nothing that he deems requiring a dive into the bag of goodies. "Yeah? Guess you just look somewhat competent?" Maybe it's her posture or voice? Either way, the bronzerider isn't dwelling on it and just shrugs. "I'm F'mond by the way. Bronze Travith's." There's a flip of his hand in the general direction of the lake. Somewhere out there is one of the smallest bronzes stretching out that mostly recovered wing.

Divale doesn't seem overly concerned either for the scratches F'mond acquired. That bramble bush he tangoed with must've been a harmless species too. "Should I be flattered by that?" she tosses back, giving him a sidelong look and a ghost of a wry smile for the sarcasm laced in there; it'll soften the bite a bit. His name has her furrowing her brow, recognition flickering and then gone. "Mhm. Recovery list, right?" Aww, look! He's famous. She knows of him! Which isn't entirely out of the realm of plausible, given her rank. "Well met." she says after a lapse of silence, thawing enough to nod respectfully and offer her name in turn. "Divale. Brown Lukoith's and Parhelion's Wingsecond." The last being obvious enough by her knot.

"Unless you'd rather look like a damsel?" F'mond raises an eyebrow at that. He probably meant the original as a complement, but if she wants to look like a fancy lady, the sort to get into distress and stuff, he won't judge even if Divale would have a long way to go for that aesthetic. And smile is wiped off his face as she brings up the recovery list. He gives a nod as he rises to his feet. "Yup. Keep being told any day now, but," He shrugs. "'Healers seem to be a bit cautious." And the caution is more than chafing at the moment. There's an ah of recognition as she provides her name. "Parhelion business have you out here for something besides chasing down wild caprines?"

Divale's sudden laugh is nothing short of a gruff sound, low and gone within a few breaths. Her voice is as shadowed as her dark humour. "I'd make a piss poor damsel," she muses, content to poke at herself though she hardly considers her lack of feminine curves or attributes to be a failure. She's good at wiping smiles off of people's faces too! "That they are and often for good reason. Even if it's nothing but an annoyance to the one hearing it." There's the tiniest shred of understanding there; she'd all but had her fill from her own injury, after all! "No, not business. Not exactly pleasure, either. I merely wanted quiet for what little time I have between this and that. This place often yields it." Except she's giving him a pointed look now, before scoffing lightly. "I've no interest in caprines, unless Lukoith has happened to pilfer from private stock." She owns her brown's bad habits and doesn't hide the fact that he has a reputation, even if he's been better over the last few Turns! "I should ask you the same, though I've got my answer." Fingers gesture vaguely towards his satchel.

F'mond shrugs again. "Enough fabric and some of that face stuff and some folks have been known to do a lot more with a lot less." It might have been a long while since he's lived with his sister, but even he can remember some of the arcane magic her and her friends got up to. There's a long groand at the mention of healers being right even as he rubs his hands over his own scalp. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. So I keep having to tell that big lug of mine. Not like we haven't been flying to the River Hold and back already for the past few sevens." And they've even been able to passably manage the landings now! As for her mention of wanting quiet, the bronzerider winces a bit. "Sorry about that. Can get out of your hair? Just saw the little guy when we were coming back from another stretch of the wings and figured had some time to kill…" So he put on his helping shoes!

"It's not that simple." Divale's reply is a little cooler, despite the amused smirk she flashes him. She's attempting to be nice but sometimes the mask is plainly visible. "I prefer the way I am now." Which is neither one or the other, but an androgynous blend. "I suppose you've heard it all, concerning your recovery." It is almost an apology for giving him a rehashed answer. Glancing towards the lake shore, she frowns heavily. "I've worked often enough in the 'Yard, but I don't think I'd ever had Travith as a patient. How long ago was the injury?" Because technically, she tries to oversee Parhelion riders when she has time to pull on her dragonhealer training. For a moment, it looks as though she will leap on the chance to easily dismiss him and yet she shakes her head. "No. It's fine. This is sufficiently distracting." So, uh. Yay? "Why care for the wild caprines?" Blunt as her question is, there is a genuine interest there.

F'mond doesn't look entirely convinced that it isn't that simple, but he'll raise his hands up in that universal sign of surrender and just assume that since Divale is female, she has a deeper knowledge of how fashion and cosmetics work. It's not like he has extensive knowledge of the topic anyways! There's another nod for the topic of injuries and hearing everything. "Yeah. Had more than enough time to hear it all. We've been down since spring?" So about six months, give or take. "First we thought we'd be back and ready to go by summer but…" There's a headshake. Travith isn't as young as he used to be and the injury was just as stubborn as the bronze can be. As for the caprines, he looks back the way the kid wandered off and shrugs. "Don't know? Cause I could? Cause he needed it? He might still end up being someone's dinner, but there wasn't a need for him to suffer out here before then." There's a whole plethora of reasons that could have brought F'mond out here on this mission, but he really didn't take time to ponder any of them on his way.

"Spring." Divale echoes back in the tone of someone who is merely stating a fact while applying some mental equations to their memories. Yet she comes up with nothing and can only look grim for the results. He isn't and wasn't Parhelion and thus she wouldn't truly be privy to that information; she tends not to focus too much on other cases outside of her Wing unless they're truly unique (aka: challenging) and time permits. "Autumn is a good month to return." she states, in an effort to evade even more well worn platitudes. There's no smile to follow it up however and it could ring a touch hollow; she's not very good of late with emotions. His list of "reasons" for chasing the caprine down have her regarding him silently for a long moment before her mouth curves again and her voice carries the driest tone yet. "How valiant some of those are. Just what one would expect of a bronzerider." Hey, he got to suggest she'd make a decent woman in the right clothes, so it's fair game to jab at him!

F'mond drawls out a long, slow "Yuuuuuuup." What else does he have to say about the facts of his injury? "I'll take any month as a month to return at this point." The alternative being the life of a watchrider is a fate he doesn't even want to contemplate. And twiddling his thumbs just doesn't sit right with this man. There's an eyebrow raise at Divale's jab, but at least he takes it in stride with a smirk of his own. "Yeah? And the others would expect a bronzerider to just ignore and go on their own way. Not like I got too many other pressing concerns on my time at the moment." So he's coming up with other tasks to fill his hands.

Nobody wants to think of a long stretch of Turns as watchrider before their time! Divale smirks, scoffing under her breath for his remark and giving a nod of agreement. Fair enough! Any month is definitely better than none. "Good point." she'll reluctantly give him that at least and, perhaps, she was expecting another response from him. Yet him yielding to the barb has her giving him another lingering, searching, look before her gaze moves on to gaze towards the lakeshore. "I shouldn't linger here much longer." No explanation to why but there could be a variety of reasons for her not to be cooling her heels too long. "Try not to injure yourself chasing after wayward caprines, hmm? That'd be unfortunate." Now she allows a more visible wry smirk, before lifting her hand in a brisk salute. "Clear skies, F'mond." It almost sounds like 'good luck'. Almost. Then she turns and begins to make the slow trek back down towards more level ground and to the Weyr itself.

Once Travith has gotten actual gray around his muzzle, maybe F'mond will be willing to think about watchriding without wanting to lose his mind, but not today! As for Divale's reason to go, he nods without question. The wingsecond is probably a busy woman! As for the caprine chasing, he smirks. "Nah, I think I have a wild wherry chase scheduled for the rest of the afternoon. Cleaar skies to you as well." He'll give a salute but settle down on one of those flattish rocks. She at least won't have an extra shadow on her journey back to the Weyr proper.

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