Who

H'rik, K'vre, Zetali

What

Riders bathing can talk about many things: dragon-to-dragon talks, hunting, and whether Parhelion smells?

Parhelion doesn't smell <3

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-fifth day of the tenth month of the sixteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Public Baths, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 20 Apr 2019 23:00

 

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Public Baths

Stout walls have been erected around several naturally formed pools, serving to provide a semblance of privacy and protection from the harsh wind and sand. Above the pools, well cleaned walkways criss-cross beneath tiled arches and descend with a stairway or two leading down to each pool to provide one means of slip-free access through the area. Surrounding the pools there are benches, receptacles to put used clothing and towels in, and areas to get sweetsand and towels from - if you didn't bring your own.


Igen is baking hot this morning, and it's only going to get hotter. Fortunately, shade can be found, and H'rik has done just that; he's soaking in one of the pools in the public baths, sat down in the water that's blissfully cooler than the surrounding air. He lifts cupped hands to sluice water over his shoulders one at a time, unable to stop the sigh of relief from the cool feeling. The place is fairly quiet at this time of day, only a few others occupying other pools. On one of the nearest benches is a pile of what's probably his stuff, a bronze fire-lizard sat atop it…for now. He looks pretty distracted, peering up at the various fire-lizards passing by overhead and generally going about their firelizardy business.

The day is blissfully quiet in the baths, at least until a little blue meteor comes shooting over the walls and past the bronze firelizard atop H'rik's pile of belongings. The tiny blue zings past and very nearly crash-lands on an unclaimed area of the floor, chattering and squawking as he looks over to the entryway. Distant laughter issues from it. "I'm coming, I'm coming." The voice of a brownrider: Zetali, brown Odskovith's, a former Harper apprentice; one whom weyrlinghood has tempered into a dutiful, responsible rider who always seems bound and determined to go the extra mile. Today, though, she has a day off. Today, soaking in water cooler than the scorching desert air sounds great. Except… there's someone here already. "Oh." Zetali comes to a halt, just as her tiny blue firelizard stamps in a circle and squalls at her, as though to say, 'come onnnn!' "Weyrleader." She snaps off a salute, somewhat awkwardly, since she's also carrying a towel. Her greeting is cheerful, anyway. "Mind some company? It's just too hot today. And it's going to get hotter."

Woah! That fire-lizard went right by him! The slender bronze lets out a bugle of joy at the close call, seemingly not bothered at the near-miss. It's that noise that draws H'rik's attention - is some ne'er-do-we - er, bazaar inhabitant after his stuff? Nope - just a blue fire-lizard over there on the floor making a noise, and now what must be his owner coming into the baths. Someone who's familiar, though it's been a while since H'rik has chatted with the former weyrling and her adorable brown. "Morning - ah, er." Come on, memory! "Zetali?" There are only so many big, bouncy browns with female riders around Igen, right? Her fire-lizard seems to be having some sort of tantrum, and H'rik grins back rather than returning the salute. "Not at all. What's your fire-lizard cross about?" He seems to be misinterpreting the blue's impatience for anger, though he's amused by it regardless.

"That's right. Zetali," the brownrider confirms, with an easy grin. The notion that the Weyrleader actually remembers her name is a little flattering. If the tables were turned, she may or may not have known. In fact, she seems to be whole-heartedly ignoring the little blue firelizard making impatient 'come-here' noises at her. "He's not really cross, but I think he wants me to get into the water so he can sit on top of my head. It's a new thing of his." She shrugs, reaching up and plucking at some frizzy brown strands escaping its short braid. Most of it's managed to come back after the weyrlinghood buzzcut, and she's just a bit too vain to keep it off. (No doubt she will the first time she gets Thread in her hair.) "I guess my hair is comfortable, or… something. Honestly, I don't understand half of what he does anyway. He's an energetic little guy." She moseys over and gives the little blue a pat, which teases a half-pleased, half-impatient little prrum from him. "Good," she states, to H'rik's acceptance of company. "'Cause it's too hot." With that, she dumps her things in a pile, takes precisely two minutes to efficiently strip, gather up some sweetsand, and slides into the basin with a sigh. "This, right here, makes Igen's stupid heat worth it. Keroon never got this hot. Well, maybe it did, but it was a different kind of heat."

H'rik laughs at that. He can't help it, okay! It's the image of the fire-lizard making a nest of Zetali's hair that's got him. "I don't think anyone understands what they do half the time." Speaking of - he glances over at Magi to make sure the little guy is still guarding his clothes. Who watches the watchmen? H'rik, apparently. Grinning at Sforzando's continued attitude, he lets his eyes slide the other way while Zetali gets ready to bathe, returning his attention to her once she's in the water. "It does, doesn't it? I'm guessing Keroon doesn't have anything like this, there?" He settles back against the edge of the pool, the picture of relaxation.

While the former Harper gets herself ready, the little blue firelizard makes his impatience known again, lashing his tiny, tapered tail and rattling his wing vanes. It's all very important, you see. He must have his hairnest. Zetali ignores him, sinking a little lower into the water, just in time for Sforzando to flutter over and alight atop her head, itty bitty claws giving him purchase. She stays very still while he does this, probably because having claws accidentally graze her scalp too close is a good recipe for bleeding everywhere. "Keroon doesn't really have much like this. Most of the land is put towards raising herdbeasts and runnerbeasts. My Da raises herdbeasts, although he's not of the Crafthall. My sibs help out. I'm actually the first dragonrider of my immediate family." She pauses to raise a hand and rub at her chin, ignoring the smear of water. "Might be the first one out of my extended family, too, come to think of it." She settles as well, although she manages to do it without ever moving the horizontal tilt of her head. "I guess I should be thankful Oddy never wanted to do anything like this. At this point, he'd squash me flat just trying to put his head in my lap…"

H'rik stays perfectly still, watching Sforzando make his move. Is he frightened by the idea of attracting the blue to his head? Not that he has huge amounts of hair, so he isn't at too much of a risk of being the ideal nest. A hand has to sneak up in the end though, to scratch at a spot on the front of his shoulder, but by now Zetali's become the perch and he's definitely safe. "Oh yeah? You've not put the idea into any of your family's heads about Standing, have you? Could do with some more solid candidates." It's a compliment for Zetali and what he's heard of her, as much as a half-joke, half-serious question, delivered with a glimmer in his blue eyes. "If I remember right - he's a big one. Not that we should be too surprised, with Raktraeth's genes there, huh?"

"Standing?" Letting herself sink until the water's up to her chin, Zetali quirks a brow at the idea of spreading ideas. "I could spread the word about Standing, but I'm the youngest in my family. All my sibs are older than I am. I'll be sure to stalk my oldest brother if he ever decides to get over himself and start a family, although that would require that he pull his nose out of herding for more than two minutes at a time." She chuckles. Her brother must share her work ethic. As to Odskovith, she snorts, nearly scattering water and causing Sforzando to flinch; which in turn causes her to flinch at the prick of tiny, indelicate claws. "Ow. Watch it, 'Forz," she grumbles, before sea-green eyes flick back to H'rik. "Oddy? Yeah. He's a big one. Almost as big as his sire. He fell a little short, but he looks the same size 'cause his tail is so long. Back legs, too. I notice he's a lot more agile in the air than some browns, though, for it. Awkward as you please on the ground, though. I think he hops and shuffles more than he actually walks… yeah, Raktraeth's a big one. First time I saw him I almost thought he was a bronze for a second or two, 'til I saw his colour."

Is that disappointment at a failed recruitment drive in H'rik's eyes? Maybe just a little - but hey, ongoing families are good for everyone, including future baby dragons. "Ah, well." Although he doesn't know Zetali's brother, he laughs because she is, in that funny way people have when they're making chit-chat. Ha-ah! There's the tiniest wince when Zetali expresses pain; then the conversation turns to dragons. "Eh, Wendryth's not so nimble on the ground himself. Far as I see it, it's more important to have the grace in the sky - that's where they need it." A thought comes to mind about mistaking Raktraeth for a bronze, and he snorts in amusement, looking over at Zetali with mock warning. "We're already controversial enough without even the notion of women Impressing bronze. Could you imagine how that'd go down with the general folk?"

"I met Wendryth once or twice." Zetali grins. "Odskovith has some kind f hero-worship going on about him, and I'm not sure if I should worry about that or not. Yeah, Oddy's pretty graceful in the sky. More than he looks like he should be." She holds up her hands with a splash of trailing droplets in a disarming gesture. "Hey, hey, hey! Go easy, Weyrleader. I'd never been around dragons before, remember? Dumb pre-Impression me didn't know the difference between a brown and a bronze 'til I saw them for the first time." And then there was no going back. "I'm not deaf. I've heard some grumbles here and there about it. Brown is all the controversy I can handle, thanks… there'd be riots if women were put atop bronzes. Pretty as they may be," she adds, with a grin. "Wendryth's a handsome fellow when the light strikes him just so. Not that Oddy isn't, with all those tawny shades. He's probably one of the lighter browns I've seen. His wings almost don't have any colour in 'em, especially when the sun's behind him."

H'rik does look faintly embarrassed at the idea of Odskovith having that impression of Wendryth, and a hand comes up to push back his hair, leaving a wet streak through it. "Fits right in with Arroyo then, huh? Good nimble Wing, that one." There's a hint of pride in his voice, even though the Wing isn't his - and likely never would be, given Wendy isn't exactly the type of dragon it needs. He laughs when Zetali talks about her dragon colour ignorance, expression apologetic even though the conversation is friendly. "Riots are one thing I - well, the Weyr - can do without!" Chilling out against the lip of the pool, his arms come up to float at the surface, moving left to right slightly in the pleasant water. He's trying to recall Oddy's colouration. "Feline-like, if I remember? Wendryth's definitely more classic bronze, I suppose." Shiny would be an apt description. But! "How is it going for the two of you, anyway?"

"He does. And so do I, I like to think. Arroyo does a lot of general work for the holders and the weyrfolk both, and Oddy likes being helpful. A little too much, sometimes." Zetali reaches up to clear frizzy strands from her face, leaving a wet streak of her own; Sforzando is forced to mince in place with an indignant squeak atop her scalp to keep from being touched. She ignores him, clearly used to this kind of treatment. "You bet. Although I think Oddy would be good at keeping people from causing too much damage. Knowing Oddy, he'd just want to… I don't know, hug people into submission or something. He loves everyone. "Yeah. He's a little like a feline, or at least that's what I think of, when I saw him the first time. Big and heavy, like a really big feline. Top-heavy, almost, until you see how long those back legs and tail are, and his head's so coarse it almost looks kind of scary… but the texture of the colour of his hide, it almost looks like fur. Tawny, mostly, and some russet. He's got these dark lines, too, I could swear they look like stitches. Really pale wings. Easy to spot from the air," she adds, lifting a hand to gesture and flicking a careless cascade of droplets in the same motion. How are things going for them? "Great," she says, with a grin. "It was a little rocky at first. He's too enthusiastic, and he needs a cooler head to inject a little logic in his world of rose-coloured optimism. And some temperance to his overeager nature. I've really got to watch him during Threadfall sometimes. We're lucky so far."

H'rik watches with a shadow of concern in his eyes as Sforzando evades Zetali's hand - and she doesn't appear to get clawed in response, so that's a relief! He can totally sympathise with talking about one's dragon in such detail - what rider wouldn't indulge in this if allowed to? - and watches Zetali with a knowing smile on his face, nodding here and there as she talks all things Oddy. He doesn't interrupt, waiting until it seems like she's done before contributing his thoughts, gathered up slowly. "Sounds like he'd be well at ease in Southern's jungles - ever taken him hunting felines there?" There's a flash of recognition for a dragon who needs tempering, especially during Threadfall. "The enthusiasm is good - but yeah. I had a few moments early on with Wendy when he wanted to be the hero…." There's a tone of relief in the man's voice that they've got this far, despite that"

The brownrider only shrugs, once she's had a chance to get all that dragon adoration out of her system. It's a common ailment among dragonriders, after all! The idea of hunting in the jungles of the southern continent, however, earns a raised eyebrow. "Well, I hadn't actually thought about that too much, but I guess I could give him the opportunity some time. That's got to be harder prey to bring down than a fat herdbuck in a paddock, anyway, but he's so big that they shouldn't pose a threat to him… I wonder if he should be eating something like that, though." To enthusiasm, she only shrugs, reaching for her sweetsand, eyes flicking to one side as she feels Sforzando shifting his weight, mincing in a circle before settling down atop her head once more. "Yeah. He's enthusiastic, and I don't want to snuff that out. I do want to snuff out his ridiculous need to be the hero, though. He's getting better, but he's got a ways to go, still. That kind of thing is exactly how he could get the both of us killed. Or even others, too," she adds, worriedly. "Maybe I should find someone with a sterner dragon and have them explain the importance of being a part of the whole, instead of a lone agent. Horror stories, optional. Hey, d'y'think Wendryth would be willing to do that some time? He'll listen to Wendryth, I think." She proceeds to slather on the sweetsand, scrubbing away the desert heat and dust of autmn in Igen; Sforzando squalls once in indignant 'hey hold still,' but decides he's not going to win that argument, and flutters over to land atop Zetali's pile of stuff. He manages a single curious squawk at Magi, but doesn't hassle the other (and definitely bigger) male.

"It's way different to hunting out of a paddock," H'rik says, a somewhat wistful air to his tone as his gaze slackens, memories of his and Wendryth's hunts there before duty got on top of them. "Exciting. Most dragons like it, having that thrill of chasing down something free and dangerous." Is this selling the whole idea? He shakes his head, as if shaking away the images before his mind's eye. "I should go back some time. If your dragon's careful, you can get a good fur off your catch, if y'like." There's still sympathy about heroic dragons, and he seems a touch surprised that Zetali's asking for Wendy's help in talking to her brown. "Could give it a go. He's not stern so much, but he's got a few Turs under his wings now to have mellowed him out." Magi has been staring at a group of green and blue fire-lizards chasing in circles off in the distance, and it's a rather distracted chirp that he gives back to Sforzando, though he's still staring at that interesting chase, a distracted guy indeed.

"I'm sure it is. Yeah, he probably would. It might do him some good," Zetali concedes, with a sideways tip of her head. "Give him some kind of outlet for all that enthusiasm and energy. I can't keep up with him, some days." The former harper busies herself with scrubbing off, and then pauses to scoop up a handful of water and dump it over her head, screwing her eyes shut and sputtering. "Yeah? I bet that might fetch a nice little something in trade at the Bazaar, although I have a hard time imagining Oddy being meticulous with anything. He's…" He's sure something, that's for sure. Careful and precise aren't really applicable qualifiers, though. "Enthusiastic," she adds, awkwardly. "Very enthusiastic." She smiles faintly when H'rik agrees to enlist Wendryth's help. "Thanks. You don't have to; I know you're busy, as Weyrleader. And I'm sure Wendryth's busy, too. I know most dragons don't think of other riders, but please thank him for me, will you? I appreciate the effort. I figure if Oddy's going to listen to anybody, it'll be Wendryth. He's not dramatically out of line, with his antics, but I think he needs to hear it from someone who isn't me."

Enthusiastic? H'rik gets the meaning behind that, and his smile, with the softness around the edge of his expression, says that. He sinks further down into the water, until the surface is just above his shoulders, stretching his legs out and trying not to kick Zetali as he does so. "No, no, it's no problem." It's the first time someone's approached him directly for this sort of thing. "Wendryth's given a few - ah - informal pep talks. And hey - if it helps stop any future going way out of line…what is it they say? Nipping it in the bud? That's good, right?" He seems to be justifying it as much to himself as he is asking Zetali's opinion on the whole thing.

"Oh, good. I wouldn't want to impose." Depsite having no skill whatsoever at swimming, Zetali is graceful enough in the water to move quickly and avoid being inadvertantly kicked. Something to fix, someday, but in her Turns her at Igen, now — Turns already? Goodness, where does the time go? — she still hasn't got around to it. "I figure anything might be helpful. If it works, great. If it doesn't, well, I can't really fault you or Wendryth for trying. Maybe I could talk to Weyrlingmaster Vosji. She'd have a good idea who to have talk to Oddy, if he won't listen to me. I mean, it isn't that he doesn't listen to me; it's not like I can't control him… but it might hold a little more water coming from someone he respects, you know?" She reaches up to rub at her chin, considering. "It's a thought, anyway."

H'rik is hanging out in one of the pools at the baths with Zetali this hot autumn morning. The place isn't overly busy, and their firelizards - a blue and a bronze - are sat with the riders' possessions on the bench nearby. "Vosji's a good call," H'rik agrees. "She's got - well, quite a few Turns more experience than me or Wendy with those sorts of things." His grin is a hair apologetic for their relative inexperience with such help. He's more thoughtful about replying to her last comments, lifting his eyes tot he sky for a moment as he sits there in the cool water and considers things. "Sometimes people - or dragons - just need that little nudge. And…sometimes some people are too close to them for them to listen. Needs to come from a distance. If I'm making any sense." His voice drops to more of a mumble as he looks across at Zetali again.

Parhelion, incoming: a staggered handful of sweaty men and women enter the baths, in various states of ash and grime: the aftermath of live firestone drilling, a familiar enough sight. And with them, amongst them, K'vre. The brownrider strips out of his functional jacket and starts on his blue shirt, a weary smile shared to the bluerider that typically finds herself and her lifemate off to his port side. He moves away from the knot of wingriders, the better to shuck off his clothes and de-grime himself at one of the appropriate spots. Lukewarm oil and a scraper come in handy, and soon enough he's toeing into the pool H'rik and Zetali are in, giving a respectful, "Weyrleader," first, and then a lower-toned, "Brownrider," for the Arroyo wingrider. His sigh at the first kiss of warm water is as to be expected.

"She probably has quite a few Turns' experience on a lot of people. Meaning no disrespect," Zetali adds hastily, raising her hands fast enough to leave a trail of water. "She's just good at what she does. I like to think Vosji's guidance is what got Oddy and I through weyrlinghood, you know? Although she's probably going to have her work cut out for her, so I guess I'd better talk to her soon." She tilts her head at H'rik's advice, though, as though mulling it over. "Nah. That makes sense." She pulls herself up out of the water, snatching her towel away from her blue firelizard and wrapping it around herself with a neat flick of the wrist. K'vre's arrival, aong with the others, brings her to salute, somehow, despite holding a towel with one hand, and offers a cheery wave to both K'vre and H'rik, drying off and transitioning back into her now-slightly-damp clothing. "I'd better get back to that big brown lug of mine. We've got drills. See you later. K'vre. Weyrleader." And with that, provided neither stops her, Zetali is soon gone.

Grubby riders incoming! H'rik draws himself up, bringing his legs back in so he's not lounging across most of the pool and taking up all the room. "Morning," the brownrider joining them gets. For a moment he's outnumbered by brownriders - until Zetali gets out of the pool. "Bye, Zetali," H'rik gets out before she heads off. There's a glance to ensure his stuff is still there (Magi's even managed not to get distracted, and is still perched there!), and then H'rik turns his attention to K'vre. "Good drills? Though you guys have reminded me I've probably been lounging here too long, if Parhelion's finished with those." Time does fly!

"I didn't think I smelled that bad," K'vre says to H'rik, his quiet voice laced with amusement at Zetali's quick departure. Slate-blue eyes follow after his fellow brownrider, an uptick at the side of his mouth indicating some small level of fondness for the Arroyoan. He shifts, reaching for the soapsand, and shades his attention upward to H'rik. "The winds are a little erratic coming out of the southwest, but good drills. No injuries, not even with the new Fortian transfer." A brief but definitive answer, and then the older man inclines his chin toward H'rik: "We just wrapped, a quarter candlemark ago."

H'rik's body language is different now - more upright, formal, for all that his tone is casual, with an easy smile. "Well, you only got rid of fifty percent of us?" Totally joking around of course, though his nod that follows is a little more serious, a pleased flash in his eyes about the Fortian transfer mentioned. "Yeah? Good to hear it. Far as I understand it, Igen flight techniques are kinda different to Fort's." Ugh, business talk. He shakes his head, as if shaking that off, and lets his gaze drift over the now much busier baths. "Sounds like it's a rest well-earned."

"I've never had the pleasure of drilling with a Fortian wing, but I do hear they adhere quite a bit more to the standard V than we do. But with our thermals," K'vre shrugs his bare shoulders as if to say — does it matter? Igen's winds can be as erratic as the rest of the desert. He doesn't presume to speak on his fellow wingmate, new that he might be: not a man's place, to speak of another in front of the man who leads them. This steward's son knows that well. "Yes, I'd think so," he quietly comments in his Keroon drawl regarding the well-earned rest, starting in on scrubbing his arms, lapsing into a familiar silence.

"Me neither," H'rik admits easily enough. "Done a lot of reading though and…yeah. Different weather entirely, there. Different approach." Well, obviously. BUT he doesn't want to fall into his usual trap of getting caught up in this topic. Time to find something else to talk about! Or let the silence go on? It does seem comfortable enough to sit there soaking, especially while cleaning has to be attended to. He should be thoroughly clean by now, and probably rather wrinkled. He heaves a big ol' sigh. "I think I've had mine. And that's definitely why I'm leaving, and not because of any Parhelion smells." The lame joke is accompanied by a lame smile to match.

It wouldn't be a topic that K'vre would disparage further conversation upon — dragonriders and talking shop must be common enough. Fantasy football taken to a new level. But as it becomes evident the young weyrleader doesn't want to continue that line, K'vre's happy to leave it, nodding briefly at the other man's commentary. "I will take your word on it, weyrleader," K'vre responds to the attempted joke, smiling in a way that puts crows-feet at the corners of his eyes rather than his typical squint that lines the inner corners of those blue eyes. "May clear skies follow you."

"And t'you," H'rik says, before he heaves himself out of the pool, going for his things. Free of his duty, Magi flutters off with great relief to go exploring - and just maybe see what the blues and greens he saw earlier are up to now they've gone off more distantly. Rolling his eyes skyward at the fire-lizard's nature, H'rik wastes little time towelling off and dressing, pulling a brimmed hat onto his head. There's a turn, a salute touched to his temple for K'vre, and then off the Weyrleader goes, tossing his towel into the receptacle on his way out.

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