Who

Divale, Realilina

What

Realilina tries to strike up a conversation with Divale after Threadfall.

(Slightly fudged date IC.)

When

It is afternoon of the twenty-second day of the fifth month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass. It is the fifty-second day of Spring and 91 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.

Where

Central Bowl, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 04 Jul 2018 04:00

 

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"You'd be better off speaking to any rider but I, if what you're seeking is idle conversation as your prime 'information' gathering."


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Central Bowl

Cradled childlike in an easterly mountainous embrace, the steppes of the central bowl nestle cozily between lake and weyr. The latticework of dusty adobe paths spider out from the southerly Weyr Road, wagon-ruts of which curve lazily to the adobe sprawl of the northeastern bazaar. A small footpath, just as abused, ambles away from the lake's shore, travelling over rock and hill to the northern dragonet complex and branching itself due west to end at the entrance of the blessedly cool inner caverns. The abandoned caverns of Igen-that-was lie at the end of one disused tracking. All around, the dizzying heights of the caldera's sharp-sloped sides are pocked here and there with ledges, the weyrs' draconic occupants needing no path to guide their way.


Any hopes of further practice and preparation for the T-Tourney earlier in the day were promptly put on hold. Threadfall was scheduled and, understandably, focus was put on that as priority. Now as the hour ticks further to late afternoon, 'Fall has ended and the Wings have since returned. With injuries at a minimal, morale is way up. Removed from the worst of the traffic is Divale, but that is nothing unusual as she goes about her duties as Wingsecond and seeing to Parhelion's dismissal and Lukoith's care. Shadowed and cold expression yields little of her true mood, as the brownrider works on unfastening flight straps. Uncharacteristically, she is distracted amongst the thriving activity of riders, weyrfolk and Crafters of all sorts coming and going through the bowl and seems unfazed by the livelier, almost celebratory-like, atmosphere around her.

The buzzing atmosphere of the Bowl suits Realilina just fine; she'd been willingly conscripted to help organize some younglings to port firestone during the heat of the Fall, a welcome break from the tedium of the classroom she's been confined inside lately when not deep into her own work. It's possible she's got some ulterior motives in hanging around the Bowl, perhaps lowkey making sure her non-biological children and their lifemates have returned safely from the menace of Thread, but you'd be surprised at the mental gymnastics you become capable of when motherhood is involved. "Wingsecond," she acknowledges the brownrider, making light conversation, "Seems to have been a well-flown 'Fall with light casualties. That's a welcome relief, isn't it?"

Having been caught off guard by anyone's approach (and secretly reproachful to Lukoith for not warning her), Divale's posture stiffens as the only sign of being surprised. When she turns to face Realilina, her expression is stony in neutrality… at least to start. Brows furrow as she works to place the woman's face, but with no luck. Intrigued by that alone and perhaps why of all people she'd been singled out saves her from being outright dismissed. "Journeyman," she replies dryly, voice unusually quiet and gruff than one would expect. "Indeed, it would seem that fate favoured and spared us." Gaze narrowing, she'll give the older woman a once over look before adding: "… are you in need of assistance?" Divale's assuming now that that is the reason for a Harper to be approaching her.

Ah, she's one of those then. Mental note taken. The Harper gives the younger woman a genuine smile, opening and holding up her hands in a gesture of peace and denial. "Realilina," she offers her name,"and I'm just after a bit of reconnaissance. All knowledge is worth having, after all." Realilina flicks her knot with a grin, quirking a brow. "Information is more valuable than coin, and knowing which way the Weyr's mood leans and why is official Harper business." The quite massive Lukoith is eyed for a moment in which she takes to judge temperament before continuing, "It also occurred to me that I wasn't sure if we'd ever spoken outside of passing, which is always a fairly decent reason to strike up a conversation."

Mulling over the name offered, hers will be in turn given though bluntly curt. "Divale, rider of brown Lukoith." She omits her other rank purposely, as the obvious had already been addressed in the initial 'greeting'. Silence hangs heavily between them, as she doesn't immediately answer or acknowledge the rest of what Realilina says; while moderately rude, she is still listening, though her focus has returned to the buckles on her flight straps. Lukoith's mood is mirrored of his rider, though he looks down upon the petite woman with wolfish curiosity. It's his low, almost growled rumbling that draws Divale back from whatever introspective darkness she'd slipped into. "My reports are generally submitted to my Wingleader, Eala and later archived." she mutters. Or so she assumes! There is a shadowed smirk for the reference to the pricelessness of information. Now THAT they can agree upon, albeit briefly! "You'd be better off speaking to any rider but I, if what you're seeking is idle conversation as your prime 'information' gathering."

You can almost see the scroll being scribbled on behind Lina's eyes. She's serious about that information bit and can't help smirking a bit when it resonates with the other woman. If Divale's actions are rude, the Harper doesn't seem to acknowledge it; she's run across all sorts of mad genius across the Turns, which leaves the brownrider well within her personal boundaries of 'normal'. "Well to be formally met, then." Her eyes flick back to Lukoith as he gives her a once over, voicing admiring aside to herself, "My. It's no wonder you caught Zsaviranth, is it?" Realilina covers her mouth to stop herself from a burst of laughter threatening to escape her at the detached response, "Ah, reports, records, archives! No, my dear, I'm interested in reality, not the rewriting recorded for the annals of history. I find going directly to the sources much more enlightening and significantly less dull." Saucy wink. "Plus, the dust in there chokes me. I have no idea how Sesa spent some many Turns in those things without drying out and turning to dust herself." Narrowing her eyes, not with suspicion but certainly intrigued, she pushes a bit more, "Perhaps I've just been out in the heat too long, but you've dismissed the rest of your wing. You've specifically positioned yourself off to the side. It's curious, intriguing even, so forgive me if I pry."

First her arrival and now that specific remark serve to briefly throw Divale off balance. Pausing midway through gathering the straps she's unbuckled, she turns to fix Realilina with another narrowed look. "Lukoith caught Zsaviranth and Niatskivhiath and that was edging on Turns ago, now. What," her voice grows a little quieter here, with a different edge to it. Warning, perhaps? "Has that to do with our conversation?" The older woman is treading into thin ice, as the brownrider doesn't seem amused in the slightest and is only kept civil by means of rank. Proverbial hackles settle, however, on the explanation given and Divale almost clicks her tongue in exasperation. "The answer should be obvious?" Divale evades again after another spell of heavy silence. Only this time? There's a vague hint of a bemused quirk to one corner of her mouth. Crypticness is an old, very familiar and preferred game for her; she's testing Realilina's resolve and to see if the Harper is in the mood to play. She'll entertain her for a little while longer, but should she pry too far? Well, there are reasons (so many reasons) she does not enjoy Harpers sniffing too close.

"Peace, peace, woman! I've just never been quite close enough to admire him. He's quite strapping," Realilina offers diplomatically, lifting her empty hands again. See? Nothing her but her wits, wiles, and a bit of firestone dust. She lets the tense moment blow over, keeping her own body language loose and relaxed. "Ah, now," the older woman waggles a finger, edges of her lips tugging at a smile, "obvious is in the eye of the beholder, isn't it? I'm afraid I know little enough of you as a person to say the definitive reasons, though I've heard that isn't exactly uncommon." A hand is placed on a hip and she does click her tongue, a focusing technique while analyzing what she has available to her. "Either you're here by choice or necessity, in that the choice would've been made for you otherwise. That's the thing about choices like that; they aren't necessarily choices as much as acceptance of the inevitable. After a while, things are easier that way. Certainly easier to mentally parse." Slightly raised brows pose the question: Well?

Divale may quirk a brow, but Lukoith's not about to let that one slide without input. Even with lack of verbal speech, it's evident enough by the manner of him shaking out his neck as he raises his head and holds himself that he's pleased by the older woman's observations. At least he's appreciating of the praise and compliments! Divale's gaze drifts upwards towards the brown, brows furrowing as she does but her gaze soon snaps back to Realilina. Suspiciously she accepts what vague information the Harper has on her but it's the response given that has the brownrider relenting further. For a moment, some of that shadowed nature about her dissipates and she actually smiles in a faint, ghostly way. "Perhaps…" she agrees reluctantly, but in the next breath her features become distant and guarded again. Realilina may as well be working on coaxing the trust out of a stray canine fearful and wary of human contact; it's not wholly different when handling Divale. "I am needed elsewhere," Divale is quick to mutter, while turning back to finish the task she was in the midst of doing. "And need to finish. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Journeyman." Another time, perhaps, if their paths cross again, Realilina may earn a different response. Today is just not the day!

Realilina cants her head towards the dragon, acknowledging his preening with the hint of a smile and the smallest laugh under her breath. Then it's back to Divale; there's a lot to read into, here, but for now she just soaks it up like a sponge for later use. The woman's sudden return to distancing herself is marked with a touch of amusement, but the Harper doesn't mention it. Instead, she settles for a two-fingered salute, "Enjoy your afternoon, Wingsecond." And like that, she's off, leaving the brownrider to her brooding and riddles.

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