Who

Rocio, D'har

What

Rocio and D'har catch up a bit in the Nighthearth.

When

It is the thirty-seventh day of Autumn and 43 degrees. Rain pours down in hard, biting sheets. The wind tears through any open space, biting just as hard. Thunder booms and lightning flashes in the dark clouds above.

Where

Nighthearth, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 01 Mar 2018 07:00

 

rocio_default.jpg d-har_default.jpg

“Don’t tell me I’ve happened upon the writer of all those bodice-rippers that keep popping up all over the place.”
"Shut up, D'har."


nighthearth.jpg

Nighthearth

A comfortable nook, this natural extension of the living room is cozily attired with overstuffed chairs and a couple of well-worn loveseats. All have been covered in various shades of green, giving the very incongruous appeal of a miniature forest hidden away inside… a grove of man-made proportion. Fish stews and spicy white-wherry chili are often kept hot on the minor hearths east and west of the main, for those whose hours defy when meals are kept. Ornate, the largest hearth towers high, rich with carving and utilitarian in fashion: it holds court by providing the weyr with rich klah, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon wafting.


It’s not a very good afternoon to be outside, therefore it’s not shocking to see Southern’s very own greenriding huntress holding down the couch near the hearth. She apparently has a restday since she is wearing a fitted long sleeved shirt, Pern’s equivalent to flannel pajama pants, and striped knitted socks on this miserable autumn day. Blonde hair is pulled back into a runnertail and she’s not wearing any amount of pink, so it’s safe to say that she is not proddy anymore. Thank Faranth. A nice fire crackles as Rocio sits cross-legged upon an overstuffed, comfy loveseat and she appears to be writing… something. In her lap is a small pile of hides and in her hand is a stylus tapping against her chin. “Naw. That ain’t any good.” she mumbles to herself. The line she had just written down is quickly crossed out and she starts writing something new as her muse strikes out of nowhere. “HA!”

In from the living caverns strides D’har, looking as though he’s just had firsthand experience with the not-very-good afternoon. His black hair is slicked back against his head, damp with rain, bronze cheeks made ruddy with the bit of driving wind and the cold of altitude. Combined with the fact that he’s still in his leathers, it’s clear that he’s likely been out on a sweep. Though it’s also possible he just came down from his weyr for a bite; the weather is that bad. Catching sight of Rocio cozied up in the loveseat with her writing elicits a lopsided smile from the bluerider as he crosses to the fire, unfastening his jacket. “No more pink? It’s such a becoming color on you, Rocio,” he teases lightly. Ebony eyes flick down to her hides, a dark brow lifting. “Don’t tell me I’ve happened upon the writer of all those bodice-rippers that keep popping up all over the place.”

Leave it to Rocio to finish what she's writing before glancing up at a soggy looking bluerider. “Shut up, D'har.” she replies with a smirk. Some hides are shuffled around like she's looking for another draft of whatever literature she's composing. "Nia went up a few days ago and I've burnt everythin' pink that I own." Which just means that she'll buy more pink clothing when her lifemate decides to glow again in few months — Niamyth's cycles are like clockwork. There might be the faintest shade of red to her cheekbones when he accuses her of writing all of those smutty books scattered about the Weyr. "No." is her immediate response to that gem. “I'm actually writin' my brother a,” she thinks about this for a moment. “Sympathy card.” If it should be called that.

D’har’s smile broadens into an unrepentant grin at Rocio’s smirked rebuke. He hangs his jacket by the fire to let it dry, his gloves laid just in front of the hearth to do the same. “I know she did. Searuth wouldn’t stop grumbling about the sharding bronze getting in his way. Thankfully he’s just about forgotten now.” The fact that he appears to have made the greenrider blush only keeps his smile in place, though it fades considerably when she names what she’s writing. “Ah. I’m sorry. Though…you seem to be having fun with it.” Which clues him in to the fact that she might be being facetious.

“Weeeell.” Rocio’s tone indicates that there’s a little more to the story. “Um. It’s… not really a sympathy card. More like a ‘I’m sorry for breakin’ your nose’ card.” A few hides are laid out on the armrest of the loveseat as she sifts through to find the best draft thus far. As Niamyth mentally takes note of Rocio’s interaction with D’har, she reaches out to Searuth with the summery scent of wheatgrass along the very edge of his mindscape. « Hi Searuth! » Apparently the green is waiting out the rainstorm underneath the small alcove of her ledge. « It’s a rainy yucky day, ain’t it? » Fireflies twinkle in her own mindscape to embellish her sunny mood despite the weather.

D’har can’t help but laugh aloud at that, turning to pour himself some klah. “A bit of sibling rivalry, or was it an accident?” he asks. Not that the two need be mutually exclusive, of course. Once he has his klah, he settles his long frame into another cozy chair across from Rocio, rolling his shoulders until one gives an audible pop as he finally gets a moment to relax. Searuth greets Niamyth’s summery evening with the wafting of a cool forest breeze, hints of cedar and damp earth mingling with the sweet redolence of wheatgrass. « Niamyth, » he rumbles, letting those fireflies mingle effortlessly with the shadowed mystery of the forest beneath bright moons. « It could certainly do with a bit less wind. And clearer nights. » The blue doesn’t mind gloomy weather as a rule, but there are times it gets to be a bit much, even for him.

Rocio is quick to clarify, “Totally an accident. Weren’t my fault at all.” Well, that’s half true. She lifts both hands in defense mode, emphasizing innocence before divulging details of what really happened. “So, my older brother, Lonnie, and I were fixin’ fence posts at home when he wanted t’ move one closer t’ the brush line of the field. I said that wasn’t smart ‘cause we already used that space last spring.” Both hands lower and she resumes sifting through the cards she made. “He disagreed and started t’ move the fence post where I said it shouldn’t go, so I grabbed hold of it and started t’ move it where I wanted it. Long story short,” too late, “Lonnie yanked one way and I hollered at him that he weren’t usin’ his head and… kinda let go of the post.” She cringes a little. “He yarned so hard on the post that when I let go it hauled back and nailed him right in the shnoz.” Fingers wiggle at her own nose for more emphasis. “So, I’ve been workin’ on a homemade card t’ make him feel better. I even drew pictures and wrote a small poem.” Aha! She found the preferred draft of said card.

“Shells,” D’har mutters, but he’s chuckling and shaking his head. “So it goes with siblings, doesn’t it? Why solve with words what you can solve with a little wrestling?” He takes a sip from his klah, a little sigh given in reminiscence before he registers the rest of what Rocio is saying. He can’t help but smile at the greenrider, the curve of his lips warm. “That’s quite… Will you cuff me if I say ‘sweet?’” he asks as she extracts her draft of choice.

“Usually he’s quick to dodge, but I blame Niamyth fer this one.” Rocio sends red wavy vibes to her lifemate for making her feel extra proddy this time around. Poor Lonnie suffered the most, though. Hence the homemade card. “See.” She holds the card up and points to a little blonde person dressed in pink, a tall blonde person with a bandage over his nose, a sparkly green dragon, a broken fence post, and a big red heart. “The visual speaks for itself, don’t it?” The card is then lowered and opened up so she can read what she wrote prior to D’har showing up, “‘My stubbornness I will try to conquer, I’m sorry I bopped you on your honker.’” Now she takes the time to sign her name at the bottom in fancy cursive, glancing over at the bluerider afterward with a quirked brow. “Now why would I cuff you? I ain’t the volatile type.” Says she who broke her brother’s nose.

D’har’s smile as he looks over the card is a helpless one. There are some things that are just patently adorable, and whether Rocio is aware of it or not, this is one. The bluerider is not immune to adorableness! What she wrote inside, however, sends him laughing mirthfully, sitting back in his chair while doing his best to take care of his klah. “Oh, your brother is a lucky one, to be apologized to in such a way. Moreover, to have a sister who would think to apologize in such a way.” Rocio’s last has him biting the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know. Perhaps you might have thought the term as out-of-character as wearing pink? If not, though, I’m perfectly happy to use it freely.”

Rocio conveniently ignores D’har when he mentions ‘pink’ again and clears her throat, organizing the pile of cards at the same time. “You got any brothers or sisters? I got three older brothers.” Which, obviously, makes her the baby of the family. She glances over at him for a moment and then gathers up the hides to stuff them into a cloth messenger bag she collects from the floor. It’s an organized mess. “We’re hunters. I mean, well. I was a hunter before Niamyth found me. But, I’m still dang good with a bow an’ arrow!” A beat, “I’m probably the only dragonrider on Pern that carries a bow with me everywhere. Niamyth’s straps are custom built for all my,” She pauses to think of the fancy word. “Accoutrements.” It sounds funny when she says it.

“Hunting in the blood, hm?” D’har questions, clearly admiring the fact. “You should have a chat with our junior Weyrwoman sometime. She’s mentioned having a fondness for such things herself.” Sighing thoughtfully, he sips away at his klah again for a moment. “I have two siblings. Niada is a Turn older than me, married to the Hold’s Harper at Boll. I’m an uncle twice over because of her,” he notes with a deep smirk. “My little brother Indrasan is four Turns my junior and a Woodcraft journeyman, posted at Lemos.” He’s quiet for a moment before admitting, “I haven’t seen either of them for quite some time.”

“Yeah?” Rocio had no idea Amani had experience with her former line of work. Then again, she only ever sees the goldrider en route to some important meeting or another place she needs to be in a hurry, which makes it a little hard to strike up a conversation with the gal. “Oh, I got a gaggle of nieces and nephews thanks t’ Lonnie and my other brother Brodie.” Readjusting her position on the loveseat, the greenrider now sits with her legs folded an an angle and with her elbow propped on the armrest so she can better pay attention to what he’s saying. “Why’s that?”

D’har has a momentary mental glimpse of Rocio surrounded by a “gaggle” of miniature humans courtesy of her brothers and can’t help a small smile. Her question, simple though it may be, sends the bluerider into a long moment of considering quietude. “I…try not to look at why I haven’t too closely,” he replies, ebony eyes cast down into his mug. His avoidance is plain. “I simply need to remedy the fact at some point. Perhaps I am in a better position to do it now than I have been in a while. It’s easy enough to do, after all…” He drifts into silence, giving Rocio a quick smile before obscuring most of his face with another sip of klah.

“Well, hey. Boll ain’t a bad place t’ visit this time of the Turn…” Rocio says with her own gaze cast down toward her fingernails. She curls her hand a little to view how badly she needs a manicure with all the nonchalance she can muster in the moment — it’s not hard to guess that the topic of family is a wee bit sensitive for D’har, so she breezes on by it like the summery current of Niamyth’s shared mindscape. The green is probably chattering nonstop to poor Searuth, gossip that she is. “Speakin’ of places t’ visit, I oughtta be makin’ a trip up t’ the Barrier Hold soonish. It’s been an age since I’ve been t’ The Klah Bark.”

If it’s really family or something else may be a topic of conversation for another time, perhaps. D’har is currently fine with moving on past it right now, though does give a hum of agreement over the matter of Boll being fine for a visit, particularly now. Searuth is nothing if not a good listener, though he can certainly spare a bit to send some bolstering to his rider. “The Klah Bark is precisely what it sounds like it is, I’m guessing?” Someone hasn’t been at all despite being here a few Turns, apparently.

Rocio nods and returns her gaze to D’har with a bright grin. “Yeah, it’s a little cafe in the Hold run by a friend of mine. Sabina. At least… I think she’s still the proprietor. Like I said, it’s been a while since I been around those parts.” Lots of jagged memories surround that location for her — it’s where the Coin Killer attacked her, where he attacked N’tael, where Bailey got stabbed and where they both recouped together in the Hold’s infirmary for sevendays. It’s bittersweet, though, since there are also some really good memories twined at the Hold as well. They’re just tougher to haul to the surface. “Shards I feel old.” she then says with a laugh to shake off the dark memories. “I remember my first trip t’ the Hold when I was sixteen. Many, many, maaannnyy moons ago.”

D’har nods as Rocio fills him in about this little locale that he’s deciding he may have to go try. Though he may wait until summer at this rate, unless his yen for really good klah on a cold day compels him to make an earlier excursion. He catches a flickering in her expression before her laugh, wondering at what might be causing it but deciding not to pry. “Well, you don’t look old in the least,” he informs her with a roguish wink and a smile to match, chuckling softly at her last. “It must be a pleasant memory to have stayed with you thus far.”

“Good. ‘Cause if you were gonna say that I looked old then that’d mean I’d have t’ brain ya.” Rocio says with a toothy grin. Whether or not she’s being serious is up to debate — that smile of hers could go either way. Her shoulders lift into a shrug after D’har’s latest comment, “I s’pose. Rodric told me that I was old enough to go with him, so I went. You ever met Renalde? He was the Lord Warder of the Hold.” There’s a fondness in her tone for the best Headman Southern ever had. “I liked him a lot.”

“But you just said you’re not the volatile type,” D’har counters with a lift of his finger from his mug to be brandished at Rocio along with a rakish tilt of his lips. “Besides if such a lie were to escape my lips concerning such a pretty thing as you, Searuth would probably get to me first. Honesty meaning what it does to him.” Mention of Southern’s erstwhile Headman has the bluerider thinking for a moment before he shakes his head. “I don’t believe I ever had the pleasure. He made an impression on you, obviously.”

“D’har. Sugarcube.” Rocio is not about to argue what she said. However… “There are three things you never say to a gal, okay?” She’s about to break it down for him by raising one finger. “You ain’t aloud to comment on her weight,” Second finger. “Her age,” Third finger. “And never, ever, ever tell her to calm down.” Niamyth apparently agrees with that last statement wholeheartedly the way the summer breeze in her mindscape picks up and how the glowbugs flicker a little brighter. “Because let me tell ya. NEVER in the history of calming down has a woman ever calmed down by being told to calm down.” If she was trying to be serious, it doesn't help when she snickers right after that last bit.

Ebony eyes dance mirthfully as Rocio outlines her list of transgressions never to be made with the fairer sex for him. “You wound me, my dear, for believing I have not had much experience with such matters. I have had this slapped into me a few times, after all. I was not commenting on your age. Nor would I ever expect a woman to calm down on my account.” D’har will just settle for being able to discreetly encourage calming down without saying a word, instead!

Rocio squints over at D’har and is having a difficult time picturing someone slapping that pretty face of his. Then again, proddy greenriders do strange things. So if it was a greenrider, she can maaaybe see why that action would occur. “Just sayin’. Some men need a little remindin’ every once in a while.” Amusement glints in her light colored eyes now that she’s no longer squinting with suspicion. “Ya know, in case it hasn’t been slapped into ‘em.”

“I certainly can’t argue that,” D’har chuckles, partly from behind his mug as it lifts to allow him another sip. After a moment, he glances to his hanging jacket and rises, testing the leather and lining between thumb and fingers. “I suppose it will have to do,” he sighs, though perches once more on the arm of the chair to finish his klah. “When are you planning on visiting the Barrier?” he asks Rocio, a dark brow quirked subtly in curiosity.

“Probably when it ain’t pourin’ buckets outside.” Rocio says, glancing toward the living cavern and its multitude of occupants. “I ain’t against the elements, but today is particular cruddy.” Niamyth doesn’t seem to mind watching it rain from beneath the shelter of her ledge and she’s doing a fine job at catching Searuth up with all of Southern’s draconic gossip. As D’har perches on the armrest of the chair, though, Rocio decides now would be a good time to start gathering up the messenger bag propped against the loveseat — she should try to do something productive on her restday. Leaning a bit, she grabs hold of the strap and stands up while sliding it onto her shoulder.

“You can ::between:: out from beneath the cruddiness, you know,” D’har teases with a wink, setting aside his now empty klah mug. With a sigh, he plucks up his not-quite-as-damp jacket and shrugs it back on. “I’m feeling inclined to investigate it myself once I’m dried out. If you’d care to join me. Otherwise…” He gives the greenrider a little bow, the smirk that curves his lips still impish. “I shall leave you to your card-creation, Rocio.”

Rocio rolls her eyes at D’har and folds her arms across her middle now that the messenger bag’s strap is secured over her shoulder. That tease and smirk of his has a way of bringing out the sass in her (with a little help from Nia, of course). “I’d rather stub my toe and ::between:: to Bitra.” A smirk curves her lips as she turns around and makes her way toward the inner caverns with those striped knitted socks of hers. Apparently she arrived in socks and is leaving in socks. But, that’s beside the point! She has a bluerider to avoid and a card to deliver~

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