A'lira, Amarante


Amarante and A'lira gather at the Tea Room to get warm, and grumble about those useless kids these days.



It is afternoon of the twenty-fifth day of the second month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.
In Igen: It is the fifty-fifth day of Winter and 40 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.


The Tea Room, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 08 Oct 2017 05:00


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The Tea Room

This shop is easy to miss from the street. It bears the same striped awning that most shops have, this one in shades of lilac and sand, but it has no sign save for a plaque of sandstone hung beside the door, on which a teacup has been carved. When open, the heavy curtain that covers the doorway is pulled aside to allow entry. After stepping through, one will find themselves in a tiny space decorated with classic desert touches. The walls are whitewashed to increase the sense of light within but the floor is tiled in hues of blue and green, with each tile bearing in its center a brilliant red lotus. There are only five small tables, all of them of dark, heavily carved wood set low to the ground. To sit at one requires reclining on the plethora of pillows and cushions and layered rugs provided for that purpose; each seat is provided with a carved wooden back-prop to rest the pillows against, for those who want spinal support. Tea is served from the service at the rear of the room, where a tiny smokeless hearth keeps water heated, and a row of trays are kept loaded with teapots, tiny cups, and containers for sweetener. There is a small selection of fruits, breads and cheeses also available for those looking for a snack but this is not a place for heavy meals.

It's one of those awful — depending on who you ask, but if you ask Amarante, it's awful — winter days where it's extremely bright out and so it should also be nice out, but it's not. At least Igen isn't coated in snow, therefore saving everyone from reflective eye-burn at the same time. But that misleading sun is just an excuse to stay inside, and when blessed with a mid-afternoon break, Amarante has outright escaped the bustle of the Weyr lower caverns proper for a nip into the Tea Room. She's wrapped in a shawl and a wool dress, but her firelizard has dolled up a bit: she has a tiny hat affixed to her head courtesy of Doji. The gold is egg-heavy and therefore getting her own little recliner pillow; Amarante is alternating between sipping from three distinct cups of tea.

Of all the places to find a rider, the Tea Room is the most unlikely; one would expect to see A'lira in the Dustbowl Cantina, perhaps, or Last call, but no! He desires tea to ward off the chill brought by the deceptively bright day, so the Tea Room, with its delicate refinement, it is. The menu is swept briefly with dark eyes, its many offerings considered, and a selection made. Only one for now, but best believe there will be more. He's wearing new, soft leathers of so dark a brown they appear black, and a soft, combed fleece hoodie underneath the jacket for an added layer of warmth, black as Crom coal. Once he's got his tea — some fragrant blend or other — he turns to find a table to seat himself at. Oh, look, there's Amarante. And a lizard wearing… a hat? This, he must find out more about. His own little gold offers a muffled chirp from her place around his shoulders, where she'd somehow winkled under the hoodie, leaving only her nose free to snuffle at the air curiously. "Hey. Want company?" the tall brownrider asks when he reaches her table.

A very trendy little fascinator from a high end shop in the Bazaar. Forge is a fashionable firelizard, didn't you know? "They're open tables," Amarante replies sociably enough, this being her version of 'not specifically seeking extra people but not trying to get rid of anyone either.' Especially since she'll talk the ear off anyone who sits down, and therefore a lot of people tend to avoid sitting by her. "Feel free. You look nicely not chilly." She has her hands wrapped pretty firmly around one of the mugs, and there's blood under those fingernails.

Good thing A'lira himself tends to be fairly social most days, then, isn't it? He'll set himself down across from her, his leggs oddly long for the dainty little table they're enjoying, and there's a grimace for the way his knees stick out into the aisle. But oh, well, he knew what he was getting into. "I'm not." Chilly. He smiles at her, then the three mugs are given a closer inspection, as well as the fashionable fascinator. "Such an unusual arrangement." Apparently, today, Amarante is getting A'lira +, the one who actually can speak without dropping letters randomly.

"Couldn't decide." Amarante's diction is always precise, but right around now she sounds a little bleary around the edges. The sort that's tired, rather than drinking from spiked tea; this is further demonstrated by a yawn punctuating a sip and a mug-switch. "Most of the staff likes me enough, here, they had no objection when I said I'd just like three different drinks. It's not as if Forge was going to have any," a nod over at the firelizard, who is licking her own paw. "Is it still blustery outside? I was trying to avoid wind, but I'm also trying to avoid a specific apprentice, and he will never look here."

"They do brew a good tea." Choices, choices. A'lira picks up his own cup, pausing to study Amarante as she yawns sleepily,and one corner of his mouth quirks upward in amusement at her tactics. Charm will get you everywhere in this world. With a bit of a shift-about, he manages to cross his legs knee over knee so that he at least looks like he intended to half-way slouch; really, he's almost as tired as Amarante is. "Huh. Suppose she wouldn't. Even with the hat, she doesn't appear to be a tea-drinker." There's a squint for the weather and its disgustingly blustery insistence on pretending to be ::between::, and nods slowly. "Yeah, yeah it is. Why you trying to avoid the apprentice? An annoying little git, or something?" Because if he is, A'lira will have to find a way to keep him or her out of the Dragonhealer Yard.

"Pretty much. Nonstop stupid questions, regularly messing up, trying to flirt his way out of trouble …" Amarante has no tolerance for that kind of thing, but manages to be intolerant in a sweet way that doesn't quite let people realize they're in very much trouble. She's kind about telling people to leave her alone. Unless they get on her last two nerves, which is rare. So this apprentice may have no idea she thinks he's obnoxious, and also think she likes flirting … Amarante is just hiding. "There may be no stupid questions according to lecture teachers, but I'm not one, and I think 'look it up' is the answer to most of 'em."

"Oh. My favorite kind of apprentice: useless." A'lira cannot possibly roll his eyes any harder had they come out and been rolled across the floor. He gazes down at his tea for a long moment, watching the steam from it curl lazily upward into the air. "Thinks his pretty face covers a multitude of sins…" Well, Amarante gets it. He offers her a wryly sympathetic smile. "Would it help if I kind of lurked in the Infirmary, looking grim?" It wouldn't take much: his face is scarred, he's big, and unless he smiles (c'mon, how often does he not smile.), he's often mistaken for an axe murderer of some sort, out for blood. "Pff. My favorite words; look it up." He takes a moment, and then grins mischeviously, "Speaking of stupid questions, what the hell you been digging around in, raw ovines or something? Your nails are bloody."

"Yes," Amarante agrees brightly, switching teas again, "that is a stupid question, it's human blood, of course." Delivered deadpan. She allows silence to hang as she takes a couple of sips of tea, like it would be normal that she wouldn't wash her hands before leaving the infirmary. Forge clinks a talon against Amarante's now empty mug, curious. "… It's mine, I scratched an ill-placed itch on my shoulder and it broke open, I'll clean it up again when I get back. Research is an important skill," these are still the same conversation topic, right?"

"One of these days, Amarante… " A'lira threatens mildly, not in the least bit upset. He totally walked into that one, and will concede the point. He'll take another sip of his tea, and find that that was the last of it. Perhaps he should order another flavor, now. He's warmer now; the outer jacket comes off, leaving only the hoodie. Eostre gives a chirp, surprised to find a layer of blanket removed. "Ouch. Yeah, it is. You really can't be a Healer if you can't go find it out on your own. Fort's letting them go too young these days." Is that a verbal cane-shake?

"Some people need more experiential learning," Amarante says with a roll of her shoulders back, a tiny shrug, a sip of tea #3, "Which is the only reason there are apprentices at weyrs ever, really, I think, except for proximity to family. They've still got to go back to the Hall for exams — I did, but I was posted here because I needed more bedside with Thread wounds and less referencing. Being good at referencing should be required before any level of posting …" That last part was definitely coming out more of an irritable mutter before it trailed off.

"Mm. Suppose you're right about that," A'lira agrees, remembering his own inability to stay happily within the walls of Fort — oh, the trouble he managed to find. And yet, somehow, they kept their annoying wall-climber, and he was worth the annoyance he caused. "They put me at Kurkar because I needed 'more experience' with a 'harsher' way of life. Or that was their excuse, anyway." More like he'd gotten to be rather too much for the usual places one posts young Journeymen. Although, "Eh. I could do with more referencing. Got fairly good at it, but… better at bedside, especially with kids, for some reason. Don't even like the little mites." Oh, he's a liar on that score, but it's what all men are supposed to say about children.

It's highly probable that A'lira, who is lying, likes children a lot better than Amarante, who just rolls her eyes at the mention of pediatrics. Not her thing. So not her thing that she isn't going to waste breath or words on it. "Kurkar was fun," says she of the trouble-loving who thrives in the very harshness that so many seek to avoid. "If they had needed me I would maybe have stayed longer, but Thread's where my best work often is. Thread, burns, gaping knife wounds — not that Kurkar didn't have those, but it was a lot more kids with pneumonia."

It's mostly that A'lira's a big kid at heart himself that has led him straight to the small minions. Everyone's got their specialties, and the Hall is a better place for it. "So much fun." It's not immediately obvious whether that was sarcasm or not; either way, it's how A'lira rolls. "Oh, yeah, that. Got pulled off the routine of kids hacking up phlegm to keep his prize prisoner from strolling off." And that didn't work out so well, because she did indeed stroll off a time or two. "Hah, yeah, I remember you with me and mine. Sorry I'm a terrible patient." He's actually not at all sorry.

Nor is he that terrible a patient. "You did nothing to really apologize for," Amarante points out, that second mug now almost empty. She's letting Forge clink around with the first one, so long as the firelizard doesn't break anything. "I've had … substantially worse, fussier patients. Complaining about itching's fairly run of the mill. I can't imagine I'd like it either, and I'm one of those people who ends up accidentally pulling out my own sutures half the time." Because that cut on her arm just itched that much. "Caves'll mostly be respiratory. I thought you'd been a mindhealer, though."

"Yeah, first few days I was relieved not to get out of bed." Until all the fussing over his then-girlfriend did started to make him nervous. A'lira decides he does indeed need a second cuppa and manages to get ahold of it. That settled, he gives Amarante a long, puzzled look. "Did you?" Huh. A'lira going digging around in people's heads had occured to him; but not so much he actively pursued it. "I mean, I did so some studyin' and helping on that score, but nothing real formal."

"Quite possibly unsubstantiated rumors from people who didn't know what they were talking about," Amarante points out, upon finding out that the rumor of mindhealing was only that. Or maybe it was gossip. Or maybe it was just one person being particularly wrong. "Not a concern now, I suppose, you've got no space for all that. Mindhealers are pleasant people, though, good company." Amarante thinks Xieli is great, and maybe she doesn't mind being head-shrunk.

A'lira laughs softly. "Maybe they get me mixed up with A'yo. He was a mindhealing apprentice 'fore he Impressed." Not that the two look nearly alike, but people can be people. "Whatever the case, I am not upset people think I'm a mindhealer." Maybe it's his calmness, or something. Whatever, he'll accept about anything that doesn't require him to do much about it. "Nope, not a real concern at all — got too much on my hands with dragonhealing and wingriding." And the two are a finely balanced team, thanks to R'ku's most excellent scheduling ability. Otherwise, A'lira would be a crazy person. His second cup of tea finished, he heaves a sigh of regret. "Now I mention it…" He heaves a long, reluctant sigh. "I got another shift there. In the Yard. But Amarante, I gotta come see you." Wait, does that sound faintly ominous? "About some brushing up on my human-side skills. Just to keep them sharpish, since we do search and rescue, and that's fallen off some for me since I've been dealing with dragons."

If it began ominously, Amarante has turned it straight into delightful. She grins, and says, "That mean you want to take a couple of my shifts dealing with congested kids? Because they're all yours, if you can make it work with your wingleader." She doesn't expect that to actually happen, but there's no way Amarante wouldn't try to take advantage of such a wonderful thing! "I've never had a great rep for bedside manner myself, if you'd forgotten." Little too blunt.

A'lira laughs softly. "Why not." He's really sure it isn't gonna happen; children unattached to dragons are not a priority for dragonhealers. "Huh, I never noticed." Perhaps he's just impervious to bluntness — or perhaps prefers it to shilly-shallying around. Whatever the case, he doesn't put much stock in rumors. "Eh, whatever, though — maybe people need to man the hell up instead, hm?" He pushes himself away from that too-delicate table (who designs these things, anyway) and shrugs into his jacket, managing to disrupt his little queen, who squacks and flaps off resentfully. She had been sleeping so well! "I'll see you 'round, eh?" With a jaunty little wave, he's off.

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