Who

D'cen, Nayemi

What

D'cen and Nayemi write the book on how to win friends and influence people.

When

The nineteenth day of the ninth month of the fourth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Courtyard, Igen Hold

OOC Date 30 Apr 2015 04:00

 

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"Is there a murder taking place inside or something?"


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Courtyard

Below the bizarrely twisted and honeycombed sandstone cliffs that comprise the face of Igen Hold, a wide courtyard cobbled in flat, pale terra cotta brickwork stretches out to greet visitors approaching from the road that winds along the red palisades above the Igen River. Kept mostly clean of Igen's ever-pervasive sand, the stone lawn is edged by covered walkways that open onto the space via dozens of carved archways. Glowbaskets hang from wrought iron mounts at regular intervals beneath stone awnings, and each corner boasts a proud statue of a stylized dragon in sandstone. Most gather in the shade of the walkways during the heat of the day, but when twilight sets in, the Hold denizens can be found milling about the yard as the desert air cools, their paths illuminated by torches wedged into engraved stone wall sconces on the columns framing each arch.


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A darkly burnished bronze hide flashes against bright light as a landing is made somewhere along the roadside for one rider, bearing gifts. Nerd gifts, perhaps, since it's really a bunch of scrolls tucked under D'cen's arm. But they will presumably be welcome nonetheless by whomever their recipient is. "Sand, sand, everywhere. Sand, sand…" he singsongs to himself, wandering along the cobblestoned walkways. He's from Southern, judging by the knot attached to his shoulder so he should be used to the heat. But the sand? Gah! One hand is already scratching at the back of his neck like each speck of the stuff is actually a flea with vampiric teeth or something. He's paying NO attention to where he's going. Obviously.

She sits in the shade, as much of it as she can get, on the steps leading up to the main hall. By the looks of her, she's been there a while, leaning against one of those red-stone pillars with her skinny legs pulled up close to her chest, with her head lolled to one side and her eyes glazed listlessly (if open at all). There's a rucksack on the ground next to her, a rather dirty and weather-beaten thing, half-stuffed and limp like. She yawns, she shifts, she tries to get comfortable - Sand, sand, everywhere. - she opens her eyes against that damnable sunshiney glare. As the singer nears the steps into the Hold: "I wouldn't." Good luck finding the source of that voice, guy, since she's all hidden in shadow, not moving, and he's - well, not paying attention, troubled by grit, and presumably gonna have to squint against that same glare.

D'cen has a terrible singing voice by the way. Obviously either tone deaf, or just really doesn't care that he sounds like a dying dolphin. It -could- be funny. If it weren't so bloody awful. And suddenly he stops. Unknown voice. Female. Slightly to the east? Southeast? But for all that he thinks he is looking in the right direction, all he can see is sand, shadow, and glare. Which makes his eyes water. "Shit. My night, your day. Figures." BRIGHT LIGHT. BRIGHT LIGHT! "You wouldn't what? Go in? Live here? Scratch the shit out of the back of your neck? -Ever get sand out of your clothing again-?" he wonders, also obviously adept at making friends.

Yeah, people who start out conversations with things like I wouldn't probably don't get to claim a whole lot of friends, so at least they have something in common already~! Nayemi still doesn't move, like she's intent on sitting right there (in the precious shade) until she desiccates to the point that she's part of the scenery. "All of the above." There's a pause, filled by the sound of wind-and-sand scattering across the flagstones, probably of a tumbleweed chasing its shadow across the nearby desert. The point is: it's fricking desolate around here. "Don't go in," she warns more concisely. It's more ominous if it's just a disembodied voice, right?

D'cen is sort of in the shade! More like the very edge of it. But it's not the same shade that Nayemi is in. This is probably a good thing, for personal space reasons. Sharing shade would mean being far too close to another human being. And this place is already creeping him out. The diembodied voice does not help AT ALL. "There -are- Starsmiths here somewhere aren't there? I was told Igen Hold. Deliver the maps to Igen Hold." His eyes squint further, looking for the location of his newfound not-friend. "… why not? Is there a murder taking place inside or something?"

There are whites of eyes to be seen! And they move, even! If he's perceptive enough to notice them. Not that it matters, since she does finally shift a little, rearranging the way her arms fold, leaning forward now so her chin rests on the heel of her hand, her elbow on her knee, head tilted so she can look toward the closed bronze doors of the Hold proper. "Probably. Seems like the kinda place that would have starcrafters." Nayemi's skinny shoulders shrug listlessly. "Oh, worse. Boiling numbweed." Were it not for the impossibly dry air and the brittle breeze, one could probably catch a waft of it even out here, but it's just the smell of heat and dirt - and maybe just a whiff of something medicinal.

Oh, Oh! It's really a person! And not a mutant watchwher that can talk; or whatever else D'cen's slightly heat exhausted brain might be conjuring. Huzzah! His shoulders hunch a little less. She's a tiny thing, not registering as a threat on his hyper sensitive nerdometer. "Boiling numbweed." Twitch. There may even be a little green cast to his skin. "And there's nowhere to escape the…"… he waves a scroll about, a bit haphazardly. "Sun, sand, heat…?"

"Well, you can go back wherever you came from." Not to imply that D'cen clearly ain't from around here but - "You clearly ain't from around here." Nayemi's eyes follow the waving scroll in loopdy-loops, then cross after that effort, not smart. "You can try going in from the kitchens." She points, left from her perspective, and then shrugs again. "But it's a gamble."

Let's be honest, D'cen doesn't really fit in -anywhere-. It's the extra helping of awkward, and the Igen-questionable fashion choice that really makes him stand out as extra special today. "I'd question how you can tell. But." But he's weird, not completely clueless. "I'm from Southern Weyr, actually. Doesn't all this sand bother you? Are you ever really free of it?" He's going to be washing sand from creases he didn't even know he had, by the time he gets home. His discomfort is as obviously as a zit on the end of a gangly teenage boy's nose. "Mmmmm, food smell plus nauseating heat doesn't sound too smart either. So… why are you out here, exactly. Just waiting for the numbweed scent to pass through? Or avoiding being conscripted for boiling duty."

Nayemi shrugs. She does it a lot. Something about being skinny and a teenager; shrugging is just second nature. "Southern, huh? Hear it rains there a lot." That might be a subtle jab back at his home after all D'cen's complaints about hers… or it might just be the only thing she actually knows about Southern Weyr at all. Your call, Awkward von Sandhater. "You get used to it." The sand. "Not the food-smell-plus-heat stuff. Never bothered me. Numbweed-plus-food, though? That's pretty gross." She unfolds her lanky arms long enough to slap the pillar against she'd been resting, one palm patting it audibly. Why's she out here? "Holding up this pillar so the whole Hold doesn't fall down. It's a tough job."

"Yep. All the sharding time." D'cen agrees, about the rain. He has no problem complaining about the weather there either. It all sucks. It's why he prefers to stay inside until the evening. And his former job usually required clear skies. So… "Good thing about rain is it drowns thread pretty decent." It's his only concession. "Numbweed plus firestone, now there's an olfactory treat." Solemn about that one, he is. And his eyes follow the path of her hand until it smacks the poor unsuspecting pillar. "Right. But someone has to do it." he agrees. "Well, these charts won't deliver themselves. I'll just have to endure the boiling numbweed atrocity brewing inside. Thanks for the heads up though." Did we also mention he's bad at small talk?

An elongated, "Mmmmhmmm." Someone has to do it. Nayemi tucks back against the pillar, leaning her head, resting her shoulder, trying to make it look comfortable. Skinny girl, rock-pillar, hot day, gritty sand, there's just no way to make it comfy, but she tries! "Olfactory treat," she repeats with a smirk, closing her eyes and shaking her head drolly. Without opening those eyes, she pulls the front of her shirt up over her mouth and nose, ducking down into it, hopefully giving D'cen the suggestion for how to maybe cope with the crap going on inside. "Good luck," muffled from inside her shirt. They could write a book on how to make new bffs together~!

D'cen looks frankly skeptical at Nayemi's possible level of comfort. But, being the type of person he is? He says nothing. Instead, he makes a noncomittal noise of approval with the whole shirt-mask silent suggestion. And, takes a deep breath to prepare himself. (Pro-tip.. deep breaths when there is sand everywhere is not smart). So, his approach shall be more of a 'cough-hack-wheeze' your way past the numbweed scent unplanned-plan. And soon, he is inside the Hold. Much to his now and future dismay. Sure was nice to meet you, fellow awkward person!

Nayemi'll probably be there whenever he leaves, but she lets that one pass without a comment. Heck, she might even have dozed off by then! Those crazy Igenites get used to the durndest things.

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