Who

Nasrin, Eidruko, Ramita, Divale, Varli, Eala

What

Once things begin to cool off a little bit, all sorts of folks come to see what excitement might be found at the Racetracks tonight.

When

It is sunset of the twenty-eighth day of the seventh month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Igen Bazaar - Akzhan Racetrack

OOC Date 28 Mar 2018 05:00

 

nasrin_default.jpgeidruko_default.jpgramita_default.jpgdivale_default.jpgvarli_default.jpgeala_default.jpg

spacer.png

Akzhan Racetrack

The Racetrack has been a fixture of Igen Weyr for several centuries, though it's situated a little walk from the Weyr proper towards the steppe. The great sweep of the oval course is overseen at one end by a wooden structure of tiered seating. Races take place on a regular basis and the annual championship draws crowds from as far away as Keroon Sea Hold. The desert track is famous for providing a demanding and treacherous race, and seeing runners and riders risk their necks is all part of the appeal. This doesn't stop people bringing their children along, and race days are a curious split between a family day out for some and a chance for others to seriously misbehave. Gambling, drinking and whoring are all encouraged in the few adobe buildings that cluster at one end of the track — and the guards are far enough away that it's usually privately hired Akzhan muscle that keeps the peace.

Behind the Racetrack are the training grounds, used to prepare both jockeys and the runners bred by the family. Akzhan stock is famous across the northern continent for its speed and stamina.


While the Steens made themselves merchants and eschewed their more rustic roots, the Akzhan's clung to their heritage of the horse. Nasrin provided no prior notification she was attended the impending race, Rukbat a little less of a fireball in the sky now that evening's beginning to crest. With a guard recruit for protection, the junior clad in lightweight wool takes some stairs slowly, up to a canopy she's been directed toward. "This would be the other noble beast," she makes small talk with her chaperone Eidruko, for everyone knows dragons are the more prestigious.

To say that folks emerge from the crevices of the bazaar like rats from a warren as soon as the sun starts to set during summer wouldn't be an inaccurate statement, although some might object to be compared to vermin that don't even exist on Pern. Within the swirl of Azkhan's red and gold and Tlatoani's bronze and all the other colors of the more notable bazaarite families in the fancy seats, is a little hint of scarlet and white. For the moment at least, Ramita is representing her family alone. The day isn't the only thing that's hot as she seems more interested in the heated conversation with her companion, a rather boring looking merchant, than the race about to start before them. And of course, like any semi-decent Steen woman, she's got an escort of her own lurking about somewhere not too far.

Rare are the opportunities for one brownrider to find herself here and yet here she be, currently ghosting between the mingling crowds. It must be another uncommon 'off duty' spell for Divale too, as she wears no Parhelion devices or looks dressed for patrol, drills or PT. She's not so much a heathen to go without her knot entirely, so that much will give her away but her clothing, while androgynous in cut, is casual and of much lighter weave to offer some comfort from the desert heat. With the sun setting, she keeps her head uncovered and her dark gaze moves over crowd and racetrack alike. Never fear, either. Divale is well and truly alone; Lukoith has been firmly banished by her own degree from any nearby proximity to this place.

"I ate horse once, that's about my history with 'em." Eidruko, not quite sure if his comment would get him killed or cursed, prudently keeps his voice to a lower register. It's been breaking less this past month, on a current steak of ten days being vocally puberty-free. It's probably a good thing a sixteen-Turn old looks as tall as he does, as his age would be of little help in an altercation. While Nasrin tucks herself under a stretched aqua-colored canvas, he remains standing, getting a feel for the place. He's about three seconds from noting Divale.

That Ramita is supporting clan Steen solo can't go unchecked. Nasrin points out their colors to Eidruko, stands, and picks her way over to her cousin. When near enough, she engages a genuine smile that is only found when among family, a setting where she truly feels she can most relax her guard. Well, some family members. The others require the devotion of a snake-charmer. "Consider your ranks bolstered by one more if you wish," she won't sit unless permitted. "Or tripled if you count my friend here. You can be Steen for a night, Eidruko." She is slower than the guard recruit to note Divale, distracted for now by Ramita.

The sun is setting which means the temps are dropping to a more agreable level of discomfort. In spite of the heat, Varli's making her way through the crowd, and she'll come to a stop when she finds a place that's not set aside for any particular family. The riders are noted, but she'll simply sit where she is for now. Her eyes scan the crowd, then she spots a midnight brown runner and quirks an eyebrow. How… Interesting.

Although no marks have changes hands, and there has definitely been no hand shake, the firm nod from Ramita and an answering one from her partner concludes that conversation and so up the man gets and departs, possibly blocking the view of the track for a few in lower rows as he makes his departure. Meanwhile, a fan is magicked out from one of Ramita's sleeves and she uses it to idly stir up her own breeze while waiting for those races to still start. Her turns in the more temperate Benden climate have left her un-acclimiated to her home weather. Since her attention was on the jockeys positioning below, Nasrin's arrival does take her a little by surprise, although she doesn't jump. The voice is familiar enough that she turns around with a smile and a wave to the empty seats on her padded bench. "Good evening, weyrwoman. I believe I have room for a few more." Her guard has probably seen Divale, but why would he mention a wingsecond's presence in the crowd? There's definitely more concerning people to watch out for and watching he's doing.

Three seconds will see Divale spot Eidruko first and the moment her eyes lock with his, there is a notable dip of her head in greeting, though she doesn't immediately call out to the young Guard. She's not here on work, after all? But her drifting ends and her invitation is silent that he may venture her way if he so chooses; her position is not out of sight or far from where the Steens have arranged themselves. Polite, respectful greetings by similar dip of her head will be offered to both Nasrin and Ramita, should either women notice her. Divale's happy enough to remain "unseen" here and leave the Guard work for… well. The Guards (on duty)!

Eidruko is desperately trying to catch Divale's eye, but it isn't quite working out to his estimations. Look at him, all protecting a weyrwoman. Wearing a mix of bedouin robes and his father's bunged up riding jacket, he's a visible dichotomy of two cultures: the toilers of the ground and of the air. Finally he gains Divale's attention, nods with obeisance rather than saluting— in case she'd like to remain slightly more discreet. For all he knows, this place is a hotbed of vice.

It is not for intrigue that has seen Varli attending the races. Her instinct is to remain watchful just the same. One never knows what kind of information can be gleaned, but so far nothing seems to be of any real interest or import.

"I didn't plan on actually watching a full race, but I estimated more time is spent racing than not, so the odds were in my favor." Get it, odds? It isn't very funny, and Nasrin doesn't act like she staged the perfect funny. So it's probably just a horrid coincidence of verbiage. "Sorry, I hope I didn't step on your foot," she reacts walking by Varli like she stepped on the tail of a cat. "How often do you attend the races?" Sitting down, woolen garments falling to their own accord, the rider's face flushes from the heat. She spies Divale's head and tries to see the rest of the connected body.

If Eidruko paid much attention to gossip he'd know that this place was a hotbed of vice, as much as any other place in Igen might be. Where ever spectacles of entertainment form, folks will come to gamble and drink to excess. Heated feelings will arise and punches might even fly! Although some sections of the track are more likely to have that then others. As far as where the Families sit well, it's pretty tame as far as crimes the guards would be concerned with. Any backstabbing is strictly the business kind, which may be why Ramita seems as at ease as she ever does in public, which still involves perfect posture and the relatively icy demeanor, although thawed a little bit with Nasrin's arrival. "Refreshments?" Along with the bench, there's also a side table that has a bucket filled with actual ice. And in the ice there is a bottle of clear liquid, and considering who is offering it's probably something of her own creation. Plus there's some grapes and cheese in there as well. "I don't have time often, to see races. More in the fall and spring. In summer, normally conflicts with prime fight time at the Pit." Which is also prime drink selling time.

Varli gives the woman next to her an absent shake of her head, "Not at all," to the comment of not having stepped on her foot, "I've not had the luxury to attend a race of yet," i.e, this is her first race within the Weyr. Varli is well familiar with runner racing, and once one her share of races. Though that was a long time ago, "You know where that midnight brown came from?" because if the runner is the runner she thinks he is, well she'll have to excuse herself and go on a hunt.

Don't forget the whoring either and other vice-like practices often found around such establishments! While the gambling isn't as up front as the dens that litter the Bazaar, some exchange of marks or bets is merely expected here. Divale's presence is not to hunt down those wishing to partake; no, she's just a spectator for today. Disappearing back into the crowds, it takes but a moment for the brownrider to surface again, this time all but next to Eidruko. "Evening." she greets, blunt in lower pitched voice.

Eidruko would love terribly to tear into the vintner's spread, but he isn't really in a stage of famine. His metabolism just thinks it so. "Ma'am," he blurts when Divale gets close enough to state her presence. He was, admittedly, lost in thought. "Much going on?" Because as important as this retinue is, it's boring as hell. His green eyes almost plead it to be so.

It's so luscious to have a vintner in the family, doubly so that she's female. "Oh? I'd love to try it out for myself," with emphasis because it's damned hot. Nasrin is no lush, practically a Puritan, but she appreciates the luxury of taste. She traverses the short distance to help herself, hesitant to put ice as not to dilute the beverage's true nature. Her compromise? Crushing a small portion of ice with her teeth, then drinking. "I have to ask…" what is it? All of the alcohol connoisseur gene went directly to Ramita.

It could be worst. At least Ramita hasn't broken out the inventory spreadsheets to kill time while waiting for the races. She's mostly not working today, if you don't count mingling with the other families as business. And Ramita's no heathen. The ice was mostly for sitting the bottle in so it remained cold, but also probably safe enough for eating. And it's with a pleased smile that she gets to reveal her latest secret concoction. "My usual spirit, but instead of the peppers, infused it with strawberries and some citrus. Thought it might be refreshing." Since Igen's WAY too hot and there's not enough that little fan of her's could do about it, even if she did wave it more than halfheartedly. It seems like the jockeys are all in place with the six different runners. A man has a gong on a tall ladder and lets it ring and they're off! The chestnut runner in question doesn't immediately jump to the lead, but he's making a pretty strong showing in second behind the dun colored warmblood.

Eala isn't often seen here unless duty demands it, and quite often the greenrider seems to actively avoid the track. But today Parhelion's Wingleader is amidst the crowd, all but lost among the throngs of people. Somehow, she manages to find a vantage point — elbowing a minimal number of people in the process, one hopes — and scans the area, brows lifting when she finds her Wingsecond near Nasrin and Ramita. She doesn't immediately take off toward them, however, pausing to observe their interaction while keeping one eye on the race.

"Only the races," Divale notes dryly to Eidruko, after keeping much of a twitch of distaste under control for being called 'ma'am'. Delayed is her smirk, so perhaps it was mostly a subtle jest to the young recruit. "If there is much else, then I am remiss that I am unaware." Which is a half-lie, straight off. She is largely lurking closer to the young man than the two Steens, but close enough. Of all the eyes and conversations surrounding them, it won't take long for the brownrider to sense she's being observed (or it's pure luck). A small tilt of her head has her peering over her shoulder and a handful of seconds pass as she searches for the source, missing the start of the race in the process.

Varli leans slightly forward to watch the race as it starts. The woman glances to the left, then back to the track. There was a slight tug, and the purse that went with that tug will soon earn the pickpocket a silent curse of frustration. Varli knows better than to leave her purse where it can be easily reached in such a place. Though she soon spots a mark on the runner she'd been watching that gives her confirmation. A small sighing tcha is given as she stands, and makes her way out of the stands. And she was having such a good time too.

Nasrin, after the intermittent gnashings of ice chunks, is more careful around Varli. "This might be my second time here, but I don't exactly bet or anything. I'm not very practiced around runnerflesh." As Varli asks about the dark brown steed, the weyrwoman trains her eye on that rider's silks. "A beast from Lord Tsimag's stables, uh, Kaspy Peaks Hold." This was practically a history lesson for the rider. "Enjoy the first race here." She sits back by Ramita. "I never thought I'd say this, but," recalling the taste to her tongue, "I miss the peppers. Hello, Divale," she squints crookedly to the brownrider, face still flushed. Drinking more, eyes on the starting race, they're approached by an Akzhan attendent who politely asks for an audience with the weyrwoman after the event. May as well get it over with now, she doesn't have time after the race. "I can do so now, I'll follow. This was short-lived, but cheer the gray on for me?" A soft moue for Ramita and Divale and Nasrin's lead away.

Eidruko's eyeballs the Akzhan attendant as he sidles over, and it looks like he'll be tailing the weyrwoman along for the meeting. Please be slightly eventful, nothing sharp and pointy, but a fistfight he could breakup would be dandy. He grins to Divale, maybe he likes calling her ma'am to get to her, but doesn't try it again. If he catches Eala's eye, he'll salute with a lad's gusto.

"It's good to know my other products have such a loyal following," Ramita apparently won't take offense to that although she gives a bit of an exhale that could pass for the tiniest sigh ever. "Before too long I should have a bit more room to be able to experiment." There's only so much room she's been able to eek out without starting a complete turf war with the Pit's cooks. There's a nod given as Nasrin departs to duties and a toast with her own glass of the strawberry-citrus drink. "Wingsecond. Wingleader. You don't have to hover over there. The Azkhans do have some fairly nice seats." And she's made sure to claim a section of some of the best which are currently only occupied by little Ramita by herself.

Eventually, Eala seems to observe enough — even if what she's looking for is unclear — and the greenrider makes her way over to the familiar group just as Nasrin is making her departure. "Weyrwoman," she acknowledges, tilting her head to Eidruko's salute. Cute. She brushes past Divale with a sidelong smirk for the other woman which may well answer the question of just who was staring her down moments before. "Thank you, that's very generous." She glances toward Ramita's drink, having missed much of the preceeding conversation. "Another one of yours?"

Divale lapses silent the moment that Azkhan attendant arrives, watching the exchange and returning Nasrin's greeting with a quiet spoken, "Weyrwoman Nasrin." Just to be irritatingly formal! Even if it brings a bit of a grimace to tug at the corner of her mouth. Alas, her prey would-be "companion" takes his leave as well to follow the goldrider, leaving the Wingsecond to stand there. Oh, what to do? "I didn't wish to intrude." Is her answer to Ramita's invitation, which is graciously accepted by the brownrider merely stepping in to fill the space now emptied by Nasrin's departure and seconds after Eala has ventured in. She saw that smirk! And smirks right back, with neutral flare. There was no mischief afoot… this time!

All the rooting in the world, if any of the women Nasrin had left in charge of her cheering, wouldn't have helped that poor little grey horse succeed. It came in dead last and neither the chestnut nor the dun won either. Instead, it was a dark horse that came up from behind! A gorgeous and high spirited looking perfectly black runner. But Ramita didn't have any actual marks on the race and so who won matters little to her and so she focuses on the two riders. There's a nod towards Eala's question. "Indeed. And if either of you would wish to try some, I could use some honest opinions. Some of my other cousins," Not Nasrin clearly, but the knuckleheads that are better at just hitting things that need to be hit, "Can't seem to tell one type of citrus from another." So not generous at all. It's strictly business!

"I don't know how well-developed my tastes area," Eala admits with a brief laugh, "but I'd be willing to try." Wasn't she attempting sobriety, at some point? That's clearly long forgotten. "I'm surprised you don't have a place of your own, at this point. The Pit seems… limiting." The greenrider poses the question innocently, as though it's not possibly a contentious topic. Given what she knows of the Steens, at least. A glance goes to her Wingsecond with the expectation of being backed up. "Don't you think?"

Divale chuckles low, casting a brief glance to the end of the race. Her knowledge of runners is vastly limited, but she gives an appreciative look to the winning animal. There are far more intriguing conversations going on, however and the promise of new alcohol to taste! Ramita always has a willing guinea pig in her. "I'd love to offer some insight," she muses, while casting another side glance to Eala. Brows furrow, as if in thought but there's a shadow of a wry smirk at play on her features, as she takes a seat. "Would saying 'it'd be about time' adequate enough?" Of an answer, that is.

Ramita is well too schooled in the art of hiding all outward expression of emotion in public to convey such a thing as her utter distaste she may have for her current working conditions. In stead, the question just gets a brief nod. "Indeed. My uncle has been generous enough to provide me with some space." Although surely rumors of some of the squabbles in the Pits kitchens haven't remained solely in the kitchens. Nothing loves gossip more than a kitchen worker even if the Steens do tend to hire employees as much for discreetness as their ability to do a job.

"Generous is one word for it, I suppose," Eala states in a tone that's just vague enough that she can pretend she wasn't leveling any form of insult at the Steen patriarch. However, given the greenrider's vocal support of all woman-led enterprises, her position can hardly be a surprise. "Well, if you ever do decide to forgo your uncle's hospitality in favor of your own success, I'd be more than happy to assist however I can." She smirks at Divale's offering, a chuckle passing her lips for the other woman's answer. "It'll do."

Divale's agreement to Eala's statement comes in the form of a more visible smirk. Generous, indeed! She will quirk a brow, however, for her eagerness to help and it's obvious she would love to make a snarky remark just about then but keeps it to herself (for now). "What new combinations have you been trying of late?" she asks, genuinely curious of that clear liquid. She'd missed the earlier conversation between Ramita and Nasrin over the exact flavour. Of course her interest would be more in the ingredients than probable locations. And if another race is about to begin? Well… she is thoroughly engrossed in other things for now.

And the training in keeping that perfectly icy facade of neutrally polite interest holds as Ramita dips her head again to accept Eala's offer for it wouldn't do to appear to eager. Folks might talk. There is about to be another race starting, but the vintner's attention is drawn by a messanger that appears near her side wearing the colors of the Azkhan. The message is whispered in her ear and she is quickly rising. "If you'll excuse me… but help yourselves." Cheese, fruit, alcohol and races. What more could someone ask for?

Eala is well-aware of the necessity of keeping up that facade. Her own expression doesn't give away much, but there's less of a need for her to wear a poker face these days when not dealing with criminals. That knot on her shoulder gives her the ability to get away with far more than she used to, after all. "Thank you, that's very gracious," she says politely,flashing the other woman a brief look which suggests that they'll talk later. Perhaps when there are fewer people with certain expectations lingering around. Eala immediately reaches for a bit of cheese, popping it into her mouth as she watches Ramita's departure. "I want her to have her own place. And if you come across any other promising women…" All this is spoken in a low tone meant for Divale's ears only.

Add a New Comment