Who

Astrid, Kyriatis

What

Restday reading turns to a gardening request.

When

It is midmorning of the twenty-eighth day of the ninth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Garden Terrace, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 16 Apr 2018 23:00

 

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"I think there's no reason why we can't adopt some of the nice things about other places, even if obviously Southern is the best place to be."


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Garden Terrace

Tucked-away and bejeweled, here is a hidden treasure of Southern, beckoning and beguiling those who may trod the entrance of weyrbridge: steps cut upwards, switching back and outer-railed, to terminate in a sheltered ledge of stone. Here, greenery blooms in fragrant profusion, scenting the air and quieting the minds of those who stroll amongst the cultivated rows of cultivars. Flowers, and tiny fruit-bearing trees limn the walkways. Tables and benches scatter organic throughout the rambling concourse, providing easy rest for those who challenged the stairs… or the craft shops beyond the scrolled wooden door at the innermost part of the terraced ledge.

It is the twenty-eighth day of Spring and 80 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.


"Oh my." Seated upon a bench somewhere in between greenery and the cobbled pathway is Astrid with a book in hand. Currently seated sideways on the bench with her back propped against the armrest, knees drawn up, and feet planted on the seat, she twists a lock of jet black hair with one hand as the other holds the book. She's quite clearly focused on reading the current passage, seemingly unfazed by the cheerful chitterings of the gold firelizard perched atop the bench. "Shh." It's a quiet shushing but a shushing nonetheless. Mhaire, the firelizard, ruffles her wings and looks offended.

As she should be! There's another gold firelizard in the vicinity, perched within one of the small fruit trees, and she is plainly offended on Mhaire's behalf, letting out a stream of trills of her own: so there! "Hush," says Kyriatis, hands deep in the garden's rich soil, glancing up and over her shoulder at the delinquent (and very young) Ilasi. To Astrid, cheerfully: "Sorry!"

"Hmmn?" Astrid continues to twirl her hair and just assumes that Mhaire apologized since she can't exactly see Kyriatis without turning around in her seat. "Wait, what?" Now she tears green eyes away from the page to squint at the little queen before sitting upright and glancing about. "Oh!" She laughs a little at the thought. The gardener is then spotted and she waves a hand to dismiss the apology before setting the book down onto the bench beside her. "No worries there. This one is just easily ruffled by everything that doesn't come across as complete adoration for her."

That reaction broadens Kyriatis' grin, her expression one of pure, heartily amused delight. "They're like that, aren't they? Ridiculous, and also completely adorable. Good book?" She gestures towards the book Astrid has just placed down with a tip of her head, both hands digging back into the garden bed she's working on with careful precision.

Astrid lifts her shoulders into a shrug and picks up the book again to read the plain cover, "The Gentle Giant and the Sultry Barmaid. I found it on this bench as I was walking by and decided to read the first few pages." And judging by her current place in the book, she read waaaaay more than she had originally intended to. "It's not classic literature by any means." A smirk follows as she considers the idea. "I suppose it's just one of many books scattered about the Weyr that were written by the infamous unknown author."

"Oh," says Kyriatis. "One of those." It's hard to tell from her tone whether she's dismissive or just somewhat unsure what to think of the books in question; it's clear, at least, that she's not an avid reader of them… even if she does know what they are. "They're just so… improbable? And," her cheeks have flushed pink, "Um, some of them are really dirty."

"I think that's the point." Astrid says with another smirk. "They're elaborate fantasies dreamed up by someone with a very vivid imagination and a skewed idea of the perfect man. Or woman." The cover of the book is then turned and she considers the plain silver etching on navy blue background, a lovely color combination in her opinion. It would make a beautiful dress with the right fabric… Her thoughts always seem to return to fashion at some point in a conversation. It's inevitable! "They're just an escape from reality. But, yeah. They're not everyone's cup of tea."

Kyriatis makes a face: perhaps, at fifteen, she's not quite at the point of really getting… well, the point of the books. Or the reality-vs-not, for that matter. She's a young fifteen. "I like fantasies," she admits, "but I guess not really that kind. They're weird. All that love stuff… it seems silly. It probably sets up all kinds of unrealistic expectations for people."

Astrid can sense that the genre of the books in question isn't exactly something the young gardener is at all interested in. Therefore, she changes the subject to something completely different. "I'm Astrid, by the way." she says while swinging her legs away from the bench to plant both feet on the ground. "No formal title other than merchant. I work in the Weyrweaver's shop in the Harper's Solarium." A hand gestures toward Kyriatis and the garden bed in front of her. "Any chance we can plant more pink flowers around the terrace?" Never hurts to ask! "There are some that line the edge of the bowl that smell like home."

"Kyria," says the teen by way of reply. "Kyriatis. I'm a— well. You can see what I am, I guess? Gardener." She waggles her fingers in Astrid's direction rather than making any attempt at offering her hand to be shaken: her hand is too dirty for that. "I can try and sneak some in? Most of the time I just get to weed, but… I like the flowers, too. Where's home?"

"Tillek." Astrid lifts a hand to tuck stray wisps of dark colored hair behind an ear before glancing back at Mhaire. The little gold is happily preening a wing and has seemingly forgotten about the shushing from earlier — there are more important things to focus on! Like making herself look pretty. "The Sea Hold has an array of pink and white flowers that grow along its walls and they smell wonderful every spring." And, of course, the pink and white colors would go well together as a scarf or hair accessory… There go her thoughts again~ "I'm not sure if they would even survive here at Southern, though. It might be too humid for them. That's something to consider, right?" Climate, she means.

Kyriatis presses her lips together thoughtfully as she considers this (very pressing) question. "It could be an issue," she agrees. "Tillek can be quite damp, I think? But not a warm heat, not the same as what we have. I would have to look into it. I've never actually been to Tillek." Dark eyes lift to study Astrid. "It does sound lovely, though. You must miss it."

Astrid rolls her shoulders back a bit as if to loosen tense neck muscles as Kyriatis considers Tillek and its flora. There's something in the merchant's body language that suggests this topic might not have been the best direction to steer toward, and she musters up a grin when the conversation flows back to her. "Oh, sometimes I do." is the stretched fib she breathes to life. Alas, it's all that she says about missing home before she turns to gently prod the preening firelizard. Mhaire lifts her head from her wing and scolds Astrid for interrupting! "It was just a thought. About the pink flowers, I mean." The book is then collected. "Your work is lovely, Kyria. Now I really ought to be off doing more productive things rather than sitting here reading. Like some laundry." Pardon her if she groans a little at the thought. JUST what she wanted to do on her restday.

Kyriatis' nose wrinkles: laundry! No one's favourite chore, surely. "I'll see what I can do, though," she promises. "About the flowers. I think there's no reason why we can't adopt some of the nice things about other places, even if obviously Southern is the best place to be." There's something conspiratorial about the way she says that, both as if she's decided that Astrid must, necessarily, agree with her, and as if, just perhaps, she's caught something of that body language. Something, somehow. "It was nice to meet you, Astrid."

"It truly is." A haven, an escape. Freedom. Each quality flickers through Astrid's thoughts about her new home and she stands up from her seat with the book in hand. She then glances down at it, recalling that it's not hers to keep! "Oh, I suppose this should stay here." A laugh follows and she stoops a little to place the book on the bench where she found it. Both hands brush together and she straightens while pivoting toward Kyriatis. "Likewise! I'm sure we'll see each other again soon." Another grin curves her expression. "I'll be on the lookout for those pink flowers. Come on, Mhaire!" With that said, Astrid turns and makes her way down the cobbled stairway with the little gold firelizard gliding close behind.

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