Who

Chelsa, Rh'maz

What

Two former wingmates meet up far from Igen Weyr.

When

It is evening of the tenth day of the eleventh month of the tenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Dockworks, Big Bay Hold

OOC Date 05 May 2017 05:00

 

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"No promises about what the fourth drink gets you."



Dockworks

The nighttime harbor blazes with light from ships and barges and the quay. Baskets and cages of glows shine everywhere, tended to by servants, and carried by revelers. It is the first night of a Big Bay autumn festival, borne first from an obscure local legend and elevated by the hold elite. It is a lush evening of cool breezes off the water, a gorgeous evening. Bonfires blaze up and down the beach from those not invited to the closing of the quay, where the merchants have bade the guards chase off riff-raff, where they have set themselves up as the focal point for lavish attentions. Painted acrobats jump and tumble. Dancers shimmy in scarves and strings of beads. A tattooed man swings a length of chain with fire on its ends. And the resounding beat of drums can be heard from far away. Dragons play and chase high above the waters, dragons of regional weyrs, and their riders mingle throughout the sprawling party with varying degree of attitudes. The Istan brownrider is in high spirits, her laugh big and bright, her glass always full. The Telgari wingsecond looks greatly put-upon, trapped in a story told by a self-important older gentleman. Fort is here, Rh'maz somewhere, his heavily threadscored blue zipping along with stolen lanterns in his claws.

Chelsa has at last skipped out from the watchful eye of the group of older Igen riders she came with. No doubt they will enjoy themselves drinking and talking about boring things, but Chelsa wanted to get out and about. She's wearing formal riding leathers, comfortable enough against the cool autumn air, but under her jacket is a colorful shirt in blues and purples, decidedly non-uniform, snug and low-cut but a silver scarf around her throat provides a bit more modesty. She finds a high point for the view of the bay and the festival, pausing for a moment to enjoy the lights and Harper music rising from various corners.

A shimmering creature sways along the upper dockworks, a fanciful construct of cloth and beads. It was made to look like a fantastical fish— important somehow to the local legend, and the honored memory of this festival— and a team of dancers carry it along beneath its decorated bulk. Attendants herald its arrival with swinging baskets full of light.

"They say it grants you wishes, you know," comes a Fortian voice from behind Chelsa. "The magic fish of the festival. I wish for drama, personally— all night the blooded brats of Rocky Ford and Red Sands have been circling each other, but they're really putting the passive in passive-aggressive." Rh'maz heaves a huge sigh. He looks smart in formal leathers, his knot fixed with Fort Weyr colors, and his patch the flying five-spear emblem of Javelin Wing. His hair has grown out substantially into a riotous mane of black hair, from where it will still grow on his threadscored scalp. He's finally taken to wearing an eyepatch over the dead eye. And he looks happy to see her.

Chelsa turns at the sound of a familiar voice, trying to place it. The moment she lays eyes on the bluerider, her face lights up in a huge grin. "Rh'maz! Has it been a million Turns, or what?" Whether he's expecting it or not, she seizes him in a quick hug of welcome. "Ach, I need way more than one fish for my wishes," she says a bit wryly, though she's still grinning delightedly. "You look good, though. What, Fort? No wonder I haven't seen you in forever. How are you liking it there?" Just a headshake when the lordlings' children are mentioned, resignation for the looming trouble she has noticed too.

Rh'maz has a warm hug for her, and he rawrs a little when he gives it. "Oh, it's all very Fort, and all the people there who have known me for turns. Hard to get away with anything. Blamed for things before I even do them, even." He gives her a once-over, looking thoughtful. "I'm sorry I left without much in the way of goodbye. It was urgent, well, sort of, and I knew I'd have to fill out hidework for Th'bek. Kill me. What's new with you? What is happening in the world of Chelsa?"

Chelsa takes complete advantage and loops her arm into Rh'maz's, so they can stroll along the walk, even if they seem to be an oddly matched couple. "Honestly, you'd have to buy me a drink or three to get the whole story," she says lightly. "Come on, let's get a cup of wine, all right? I want to hear about your adventures at Fort, too. Probably if they're blaming you for some sort of mischief, you're already planning it, right?" She hums when he mentions how quickly he'd had to leave. "Everything all right, with your urgent business? I hope you've been able to resolve everything."

"So, by your math, if we get a cup of wine, do I get a third of the story?" Rh'maz is happy to whisk her along down to the quay. Striped tents of vendors sell all manner of good things, at least those vendors who have given over the hefty sum the party-people demanded. As they walk, the former harper indicates subtly to Chelsa who the muckety-mucks are, who's worth watching, who's a bastard. "And everything's fine now, as could be expected. My— stepdaughter, as it were— shards, how strange that sounds aloud. She was left in a sorry spot, so Xalatonth and I went back for her."

"Of course, first drink gets you the middle third, second drink gets you the beginning of the story, and third drink gets you how it all turned out. No promises about what the fourth drink gets you," Chelsa adds, with a shameless grin and wink. She tries to follow along with the who's-who of the muckety-mucks, though her comments in reply are more about who's wearing something interesting and who's in last year's cast-offs. "Ah, so you were able to put the girl to rights? Very young? I wonder, since you haven't come back to Igen at this point." She sounds a bit sorry at that, despite their light mood.

"Wild embellishment, I hope," he tells her in regard to the fourth. "You have to learn to throw in a little extra. It makes the gossip really pop." When he takes in her review of the various statements of fashion, and the crimes thereof, he points his chin toward a fancy bigbellied gentleman in some sort of robe-ish attire. "Oooh, I have the same pajamas at home… " A touch more serious, he explains, "She'll land on her feet. Stronger than she knows, like most girls tend to be. I want to come back, but I have to know that Igen will be right for her." He edges in toward one of the vendors to buy them a drink. "I hear this is good, sort of fruity and light. They like to cut up lemons in it."

Chelsa giggles in response to Rh'maz's fashion comments, especially since there are a number of older men and women in the crowd who will just wear anything. "It's amazing the people who seem to think that the more something costs, the more fashionable it is," Chelsa remarks. "Just because you paid a lot for it, doesn't mean you look good in it." She listens with seriousness regarding the girl, and nods. "Strong girls do well at Igen. I survived, didn't I?" At least, so far. She accepts whatever drink recommendation the bluerider gives, taking the cup from the vendor as they continue to stroll along. "This is nice. They serve this often here? Anyway, after Kuramaeth finally rose, two people fell in love. Nope, I wasn't one of them." She whistles, pantomimes nudging two chess pieces together to kiss. "Sorry, is that too personal and boring?"

"Utterly boring. At this point a flight is a yawn if it doesn't have at least one knife-fight, a pack of tunnelsnakes, belligerent bronze-riders who end up accidentally leaving with each other, and a cross-eyed lower caverns wench who can deadlift the weyrleader. Oh and a tearful declaration in the rain, and someone getting their entire life's worth of belongings chucked from their ledge." Rh'maz smiles gently at her, though, from the rim of his glass. "My dear, flights are part of life in the weyr. I'm no greener, but Es'drem was, and he just said you had to find out what worked for you. I would caution that a flight isn't the best place to find love. A bit of fun perhaps! Serendipitous if it occurs— but love should arise from mutual experiences, respect, trust, and a host of other wonderful things. A randy dragon is just a great big idiot, frankly."

Chelsa finds just the spot to poke Rh'maz in the ribs, under his jacket, too. "I didn't say I wanted to find love. But sometimes you find someone interesting, but then just being too close to the person might make someone else nervous. I can't live with other people's regret. It's too much." A sigh at the long list of things required to make something "interesting". "Honestly, I'm about at the point I'd start going down that list, if I thought it would do any good. Fine, forget I said anything. You tell me about the list of people who were unhappy you ended up in their bed." Her tone turns bitter.

"There's a list?" Rh'maz whines with lordly affront. "Nooo, everything was wonderful and romantic. Rose petals everywhere. Harps strumming. I've certainly never raced out of a stranger's weyr yelling I had to get back to High Reaches. If it ever gets weird, I always pretend I'm from there. That's my go-to. Interesting how everyone just accepts it— they're a strange lot, High Reaches." His voice has a smirky buoyant tone intended not to make fun of her, rather to lighten the mood, in his joyful self-deprecating way. "Chelsa dear, life is full of interesting someones. You'll get the hang of it. I'm sure your brother and sister greens will have a wealth of advice for you. Lean on them."

Chelsa rolls her eyes. "If that's supposed to make me feel better, that's an utter fail," she says, her voice cold and merciless. Not even the teasing about Reaches did anything to lighten her mood. "Fine, next time, I'll just find the weirdest, most skeevy guy possible to end up with, and then I'll tell him I'm from Reaches. And if anyone I meet seems the least bit interesting, I'll tell them to go talk to someone else. I'm only allowed to talk with and sleep with utterly boring people. I guess you're on that list too, now." Another merciless poke is delivered to his ribs.

Rh'maz says airily of the skeeverly gentlemen, "Oh you won't have to find them, they just show up. Pop up like mushrooms after the rain." He turns his head so that he may better see her with his living eye. "I know I've teased you, but, I know you can take it. Chin up. Now, quit your poking, you'll make me spill my drink. These are my fancy people leathers. Goes with the eyepatch. Maybe I'll start a new trend." He drains his cup. "How are you finding yourself in Arroyo? I've seen a few familiar faces out here tonight."

Chelsa just looks skyward at his response, choosing not to forgive him but also not to press the point. His comments are ones she has heard more than once, and hearing them again doesn't make them any more palatable. "Arroyo is fine, the wing flies together well. Sometimes I think about doing something else, though. Maybe I'll go back to Reaches, where the boring, skeevy people are." Despite her words, a touch of humor enters her voice again. "Your leathers are awfully well-tailored. I love the details. You'll have to give me the name of the person who did them," she adds, and they continue off into the light and din of the festival.

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