A short time ago Th'bek received a choppy missive from Weyrsecond R'xim. It said something to the effect of: you're to escort one of our dignitaries about the Weyr. Comb your hair. Resolved to be as less public as possible during this tenure of gold fever, he debated killing the messenger and claiming never to have received it, but did not follow through. So groom he did, and is here now, on time, hands behind his back as he stands by a white lime wall, dress leathers in place, so dark an umber as to be black but in the direct light (ample). His hair is also clean and slicked back, prepared with a touch of oil to keep it there. And he waits, expression indeterminable.

Igen is covered up in goldriders, setting tongues a'wag and hands a'twitch. Just this morning, a fastidious young queenrider hailing from Benden had a close call in the bazaar, retiring to her guest weyr with 'The Vapors.' What that close call was with, sources disagree. Snickered reports suggest that she was sampling Igen's street fare and 'the vapors' is perhaps less euphemistic than normal. It remains to be seen if the young woman will remain to contest a posting at the Desert Weyr. Dessert Weyr? F'in, for his part, has turned out in dress leathers, spit and polished. He shaved. And is returning to the site of Rev's post, after a circuit of the area, the normally affable young bronzerider's expression is grave as pale eyes move to and fro, searching for their charge. "Why aren't we meetin' 'er at 'er weyr?"

After a morning of administrative work, Diem is ready to be cut loose… but, there's just one more item on her schedule today: an official tour of the Bazaar. Having been instructed to meet two riders at a specific location in the heart of Igen's marketplace, the Fortian goldrider makes her way through the crowds to said destination. Dressed in form fitting riding leathers and heeled boots that lift her to a grand height of 5'8, Diem is striding with purpose. It's hot out here and her dark hair is pulled back into a runnertail. Here she comes! Does she know who she's looking for? Nope. Hopefully they'll spot her first.

Even within their shielding of shade from the Night Flight's facade, Th'bek is already sweating. And he itches. When he starts chafing is when the shit'll really hit the fan. "It'd take more time to collect her. And would she ride one of our dragons? Whose? No, the sooner she's here, the sooner we go, and can get on with the rest of the day. We'll walk fast. Skip the south end totally, say, because of unrest from a fight this morning— yeah. And no buying anything." Th'bek's voice is more pleasing when he's talking low, but not by design. Yet another outsider with the potential to be an insider is not high on his list of preference.

F'in's roving look halts, cutting to pin Rev, bits of the Night Flight's whitewash might flake under impact. "D'ya have somethin' better ta do?" F'in has been front and center combing over these outsiders with the potential to be insiders. He is invested. He's sweating too, collar of his leathers undone, though this may not be clear under the wrap of a saffron colored headscarf that is bright against muted, dusty colors. "Heard there was a fight down there." Truth? Or is he throwing in with Rev's plan. He draws a breath to expound further, the set of his eyes hard. Those eyes stand out stark against the bright yellow-orange of wound cloth widen on sight of an unfamiliar woman carving through the crowd, riding leathers and runner tail and more loops and tassels on her knot than in the ears and on the bosoms of dancers at Rosie's. "'ere she is." He turns to parallel Th'bek's stance.

Gentle wind chimes are subtle as Zsaviranth drifts into the mindscapes of both Tavuqth and Rhakanth, though she says nothing to announce her presence to either brown or bronze. She's just there. Curious and on the boundaries of their senses. There, yet juuust out of their immediate grasp. Diem spots two well dressed dragonriders with appropriate knots on their shoulders and turns in their direction after a slight moment of hesitation. She's met so many people this sevenday, will it ever end? Might as well grin and bear it. "Hello." she greets both men. Hands clasp loosely behind her back and she bounces a bit onto her tiptoes. "Diem, Fortian gold Zsaviranth's. Shall we?" Sounds like she's ready to get this over with, too.

Scratching behind an ear, Rev's eyes don't quite make it to F'in, but they come close. "I'd rather be at a card table. Or doing evaluations. I'm not a diplomat. Why did R'xim pick us?" Still in that strangled whisper that bleeds out once the goldrider is spotted. He evaluates at this distance. Young, attractive. "Do poorly if you bed her. Let her think Igen's only worth the sand it's founded on." Then business is on, the brownrider standing straighter, throwing his right arm over his abdomen and bowing from the hip. "Th'bek of brown Tavuqth, Arroyo Wingleader. It's a pleasure." He looks young and not yet desperate. And take it away, F'in.

"So jes keep yer mouth shut 'n take 'er measure." F'in tilts his head just enough to aside to Rev as the woman approaches, "'e's a right bleedin' bastard." Rukbat bright grin widens on sighting the attractive young woman. He snorts faintly, "'ll leave the poor beddin' t'you, Rev." And with that, the taller, less ranky man steps forward, inclining his head a hand likewise over his abdomen, "F'in of bronze Rhakanth. We're happy t'ave ya, Ma'am. Welcome. 's there anything y've heard o' that yer keen ta see?" Definitely not a native, this bronzerider. On the sage scented winds a golden cord unwinds, uncurling like smoke, shedding bright sparks as it goes to wind a wide arc around that presence. Vigilant. F'in offers his arm to the woman.

Diem unclasps her hands and nods after Th'bek's bow. "Charmed." she says in her Fortian accent. Maybe it's the heat that's making her responses short. Maybe it's the amount of hidework she completed this morning that set the tone for the day. Or maybe it's the way she can spot insincerity a mile away — she has been to meetings with Holders in these parts to know what that looks and feels like. Hazel eyes peer directly at the brownrider and then over to the taller bronzerider just before she turns and motions for them to start walking. "Yes." is her answer to F'in's inquiry. "I would be grateful if you could show me the Pit." The bronzer's arm isn't taken. Instead, she folds her arms across her middle and begins to follow them when they decide to start moving.

Th'bek glares at the dead center of F'in's back in the manner of true brothers or clutch brothers, the latter their bond. F'in's acting better than him at the moment, and Th'bek will applaud the bronzerider's good graces later. As Diem's arm tried to be taken he lets her other side grow cold, figuratively. Aint no one cold in Igen except the cold feet at night. "There isn't a Weyr like Igen," he boasts with a high chin, proud and looking for pickpockets as they commence the tour. The Pit? Fine. Less frippery there anyway. Maybe she'll faint at the blood and de facto stop the tour.

Having had no idea that some sort of meet and greet was going to go forth in the bazaar, Tyzana has headed that way after a long bath (someone roped her into cleaning greasy soot off walls after a full day of laundering) to maybe cheer herself up with a kebab or one of those sticky sweet baklava-type desserts full of nuts - or maybe both. So when she comes upon the group she's about to call out a greeting to the only person she actually really knows - F'in - when she realizes that he's 'involved' as it were. So instead, she snaps her teeth shut with a click and instead looks over the unfamiliar rider, Diem, from a distance. Huh. Goldrider. Tyzana's not stupid. She puts two and two together and makes the proper number and decides to skirt the little group and head for food. Because rider business ain't her business. Being a lowly laundress and all.

The incline of F'in's head deepens, the smile that hadn't quite reached his eyes smoothes to neutrality as the offer of his arm is declined. He's not sure what to make of that. Though… The Pit. Fer fuck's sake. Another one. "The Pit's this way." He gestures, "Lead on. Rev," F'in has arrayed himself opposite the brownrider, flanking Diem. He glances upwards, "Maybe we c'n take th' roofs." F'in is scanning the crowds and spots Tyzana. She's not getting off the hook that easy, "Tyzana," F'in raises a hand in greeting, wrist folding into a gesture of beckoning. "Come meet our guest." Diem might one day be Tyzana's boss, right? They should be acquainted.

"Oh, I'm quite familiar with Igen." Diem admits as they continue on through the crowd. Her throat is cleared a bit when a gentle breeze picks up and carries dust their way, though she's quick to squeeze her eyes shut. Lovely desert climate. A small handkerchief is pulled from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes before she opens them again and spots Tyzana a short distance away. The present male company is a bit cold on this tour, so she welcomes the other girl's company.

Seeing the small legion of dragonriders is enough for many bazaar denizens to provide a wide buffer for their clear-cut mission to the Pit. "Good." Th'bek congratulations Diem on her knowledge of Igen, whatever sort of prescience it might be. A few yards off he cuts apart from the duo to clear a path, the doors open to the street to encourage circulation. "A primary business of the Steens, one of the more prominent bazaar families." The darkness within is astounding from those pupils restricted from the arid brilliance outdoors. As Tyzana catches up to them he pauses so she may join them, a fragile smile on board his face. She looks familiar, but he doesn't dwell.

Okay, so Tyzana's not going to get food right now. F'in's calling her over has her stepping toward the group instead and she nods first to the bronzerider, than to the brownrider "Hello, F'in. And Th'bek, nice to see you again." Even if he doesn't remember here - Because there was that convo in the archives and she remembers. Then her attention turns to Diem, and the smile she had turned on the males is gifted to the woman. "Well met, weyrwoman. Welcome to Igen." It's sincerely meant, too. No cold greeting from Tyzana. Even if she's having a personal crisis, she's gonna be polite to a tee. "Why ever would you want to see The Pit?" she wonders "There are so many other wonderful things about Igen." It's honest curiosity, right there. "That's such a horrible place." Because Tyzana is not a fan of violence.

Never fear, Tyzana, F'in oft makes sure those in his company are fed. F'in's eyes narrow as he chews on Diem's suggestion that she is familiar with Igen. There were rumors of a visiting weyrwoman who hailed from Igen. Perhaps this is she. Thanks fer the intel, Rix. "Can't say I disagree with Miss Tyzana, Ma'am." F'in moves into the darkness ahead of the trio — totally roped in now, Tyz — stepping into the inner darkness, the sun's glare visiting green haze over his vision. Senses prick forward, Rhakanth's combing of his senses enlisted to parse the input of dim interior. They have arrived.

Diem smiles at Tyzana and remains polite in the face of her two less-than-pleasant escorts. "Thank you, Tyzana. You're very kind." The Fortian's accent is smooth and she turns to follow Th'bek toward the Pit soon afterward, but the girl's inquiry is still heard loud and clear. "I'm actually wondering if any of you can tell me more about the Steens." Yes, she opens the conversation up to Tyzana as well since the girl is joining this little tour now. The doors of the Pit are opened, but she doesn't step inside — maybe she won't at all. Hands clasp behind her back and she looks between her three tour guides.

Th'bek would never have pulled Tyzana's name as F'in had, though he would have gotten one or two consonants solved. "Miss," he accommodates her by setting himself further ahead, let the capable laundress be nearest to the queenrider. There's a fight currently being staged, two local hellions both well-matched featherweights. The background noise is challenging. "They're an important part of the bazaar and the Weyr as well indirectly through the merchandise and business they acquire. Once they were nomads, but were among the earliest groups to through down permanent taproots. I wouldn't cross them, but there are more cutthroat families out there." Having been in the Weyr all but a few weeks of his early life, Th'bek tries to minimize their largeness. "Their matriarch is not well." Ah, Mama Steen.

"Sorry, Ma'am. I don't know the Steens." Tyzana doesn't want to know the Steens. She really doesn't want to be in The Pit, either and…crap. There's a fight going on. Her gaze goes anywhere but toward the fighting men, mostly to her feet, as she listens to Th'bek spiel off the dictionary-accurate details whilst trying not to hear the smack and crunch of the fighting men abusing each other's flesh, or flinch as if each were a personal blow landing on her own body.

Ahhhhh… Mama Steen, that sandy old barracuda. "Her eldest daughter married into the Akzhan. Neither of the eldest sons has staked a proper claim to succeed Mama Steen." F'in has a pang for Tyzana's discomfort, moving between her and the fighting men, his own back turned towards the Pit to watch the likeliest vectors of danger — the crowd. Women, robed and veiled are approaching. Steen hospitality is on point. Trays of yellow-fruit zested water, sweet and clear — no grit — are brought as well as an array of delicacies. A deep curtsy follows from the 'daughter' closest, her eyes put her in her fourth decade. "We are honored by your presence," all are included, even Tyzana, though the curtsy's weight is for the goldrider. She straightens to stand at the ready, should the queenrider or her entourage require anything of the Steens.

Well versed in the historical background of Igen's Bazaar, Diem listens to Th'bek's telling of the Steens' roots at the desert Weyr. Putting out feelers here and there help piece together a blurry past. Gathering information from various sources allows her to sift through the old and new — like hearing that Mama Steen had passed. Dark colored brows hike upward as Diem looks at Th'bek. "When was this?" The illness of the Steen matriarch, that is. The fight in the background is seemingly ignored and clearly not interesting in the slightest. The Steens, however… They're a different story. Given the address of the veiled woman and tray of delicacies, Diem acknowledges the offering. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, but I must regretfully decline. I've a schedule to keep, else I would stay." The Fortian nods respectfully and turns to exit the Pit in hopes that the tour will continue as planned.

Th'bek will help himself, thank you. It's rude to scorn offerings from the prominent bazaar clans. And it's free. "Our thanks." He drinks and chews only enough to be considered polite, maybe eating Diem's share, then turns his back on the arena. A place he'll be visiting sometime this seven if prior habits are anything to go by. "More than a turn past, closer to three?" Looking to F'in to sample his memory core. "Let's go to the central district," where Rosie's Daughters is. And some sort of jewelry tent. Bowing to the member of the Steen family, he again leads the fray.

Her relief is clear when F'in imposes his body between her and the visual fight going on, but unfortunately he can't plug her ears and she doesn't think it politic, especially when the Steen contingent shows up, to plug her own like she wants to. So she just stares at her toes and sighs in relief when Diem indicates she's ready to move on. She scoots for the exit almost faster than Th'bek.

"Thereabouts." Like the goldrider, F'in is soaking in the details, though his focus is on her. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin. An interest in the Steens. Yes, it's seeming likely this is the goldrider who once hailed from Igen. "Did you know her?" The bronzerider, following Th'bek's impeccable manners, likewise samples the offered fare before hauling wide the heavy wooden doors, arms spread as the others tramp back into the bustling streets. Thunk! They move towards the seething, seedy heart of the Bazaar. In daylight, it is not half so seedy, and the small knot of folk spend what 'marks of light remain perusing stalls and — finally — getting Tyzana something to eat. Before night falls, Diem is delivered, safe and sound, to her next appointment.