Divale, R'keon, Zisiene


Three unlikely souls intersect on a popular rooftop…


It is sunset of the nineteenth day of the seventh month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Rooftops, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 25 Mar 2018 04:00



[OOC:] R'keon says "Igen's breakfast club!"


If you can find the handholds to haul your way up - and there are plenty, if you know where to look - then there is a hidden highway of tile and adobe that waits for knowing travellers to tread its path.A road best travelled by those sure of foot and able to stomach the occasional leap between buildings without falling victim to vertigo, the rooftops represent a quick and possibly convenient way of travelling about the bazaar; though don't be surprised if there's the odd shady opportunist willing to take a risk this high above what law lies below.

The view from up here is spectacular; rooftops, sun-bleached, weathered, beaten by time, spread like an uneven patchwork quilt from here to the very borders of the bazaar. Some flat, some tiled, some frequented and some abandoned - it's not unusual to find the odd potted garden, stored goods or even a precious chicken coop, locked down to protect the feathered denizens within its thread-protected casing.

The sounds of the bazaar are muffled, the scents blissfully so too, making it a potentially pleasant little getaway for those in need of a little peace and quiet to observe the skies, to travel the high walkways, or to simply soak in some of Rukbat's rays.

Yes, Igen, it is still hotter than hellfire outside, but the best news is: Rukbat's settling, so you can now come out of hiding. That's precisely what a rangy bronzerider's already done, his body used to this sort of desert brutality and its temperature schemes. Balanced on an apothecary's rooftop, just before it joins an annex of the Corks and Works, R'keon is viewing a gap's cone of space to view some weyrlings in the training grounds with Vosji. He drinks something intermittently.

It’s very true that when the sun sets, all sorts will come out and play. Even if the temperature remains rather oppressive! Igen is not her native territory and while she’s spent some Turns now, the sun is not Divale’s friend … at least not in large dosages. With it now set, the brownrider can move a bit more freely and not so covered. Normally she’d be on the ground, but on occasion wanders the rooftops when time, duties or patrols permit. Her surprise is muted and covered when she finds herself anything but alone as she ventures to a preferred spot. “Wouldn’t it be better to view them closer?” she muses dryly and without a care as to whether or not she’s caught R’keon off guard.

The Sirocco rider is performing an action of bearing the drink back down to the rooftop's stone lip as Divale interjects. Not quite off guard, his early life was all about staying keen to surroundings. Legs dangling over the edge, he performs a saltute, hand not quite reaching his forehead. Bright blue eyes linger only a trace before they travel back towards the training grounds. "Tried that once," his labored voice low and easily lost to background din, "and they made me stay." He flicks a hand at the alabaster space beside him, offering his audience.

“That so?” Divale’s query is a simple one, though not lacking in intrigue after she has, by ingrained habit now, returned his salute. His offer is what brings a heartbeat of pause, but she will accept the invitation and settle nearby. Her own instincts keep distance; not to the point of rudeness but enough to make a cautious statement. Conversation remains minimal as well — she is not a chatty one, which may be of some relief to R’keon.

R'keon nods his head affirmatively once, unmistakeable. "I was an assistant to G'deon in your wingleader's clutch." He takes a quick drink to calm his throat, clears it with a gentle cough. "Did," adjusting his jagged speech, "you make the hatching? See the next wave of skyfighters?" The distance of space is also preferred, thanks Divale. Old habits, they die hard.

The rooftops. A refuge for the petite figure that's making its silent way towards the pair of riders. Zisiene stops, and slips quietly into a shadow. The pair of riders are right where she used to perch to think. What to do? What to do? She slips just a little closer as she thinks on her next move.

Divale keeps her gaze ahead, but there’s no mistaking the quirk of brow and subtle turn to mark her renewed interest. “How unfortunate,” she remarks in her own shadowed way, though her lips curve in the barest show of amusement. Old habits do die hard! Now it’s her turn to nod and briefly spin her experience. “Most of it and in time to witness some of the Candidates I was familiar with Impress. One to bronze and one to green. There was one girl I’d thought would be among them, but she was left Standing. Another reminder that one can never gauge just how fate will swing…” Zisiene may be lurking in shadow, but Divale’s aware of something and that is enough. Though she shows no visible sign to the girl. Nor does she signal R’keon; her assumption is that he likely is aware enough too.

The shadow sprite that is Zisiene goes visually unnoticed by the bronzerider as he stares out afield, yet there's the soft scrapings of her feet against the flaking lime wash this roof originally had. He looks over the wrong shoulder at first, spotting her better when he pries a glance over his right one. "If you're here to pick our pockets," his tone as pleasing as rusty barbed wire. But there are undercurrents, once it may have been melodious, "I almost guarantee what's in hers are superior to mine." He half-asses a smirk and rapid-fire glance to Parhelion's wingsecond. "I think I was her favorite." He comments about Eala's preference in what were once her superiors. It's possible he's calmly lying, Divale doesn't know him enough to tell yet!

If she were there to pickpockets neither would have noticed her. Zisiene slips quietly closer. The barbed tones of R'keon's voice is not precisely off-putting. The young woman steps closer, this time bringing her into view. She was just going to sit in her spot to think, but apparently others find this location equally agreeable. She's not really in a mood to be overly sociable, and hasn't been for some time so she'll stop just within speaking range. That voice sounds painful.

“The contents of my pockets are no more superior than his,” Divale oh-so dryly chimes in, without so much as a twitch of movement or change to her neutral expression. She does, however, mildly scoff under her breath. “I’d not recommend it, however. It’d be quite regrettable.” Said flatly, but just-so that it does not come off as a pure spoken threat. Her attention then lifts back to R’keon and look over him once as if to assess that potential lie. Eventually, another scoff but more audible and bemused this time. “Mhm,” No, she doesn’t quite believe it. “Wasn’t to your liking, then, to continue on again?”

"Oh, and she affiliates with the guard, better just," R'keon funnels another drink from mouth to throat, "skip us over entirely." He keeps a watch over the petite young woman, not distrusting her, but somewhat curious of her identity. This pause is perfect for Zisi to plant her intro, only if she decides to. "I think," he gathers a breath to answer Divale, "there are better successors."

There's space for her to make introductions. Still Zisiene remains still, and silent as she assesses things, "That one has nothing of interest as a rule," said with a chinpoint towards Divale, "Zisiene," she finally says, "Zingari," but for how long remains to be seen.

Divale chuckles so low that it may only be overheard by R’keon and even then, could simply be lost to the natural din surrounding them. She does speak quietly, but enough to be heard. “Wise of you.” The brownrider is not about to spill secrets or hints that she does favour some of the folk who tread the Bazaar or among the Traders. What good is she without a few extra eyes and ears? And there, a name! “Zingari, is it?” Mild interest, there and enough to have her turn her head to view Zisiene more clearly. To R’keon, she merely smirks. “Perhaps. I cannot judge, as I was not under your guidance.”

R'keon's studded boot heels tip-tap against the wall of the apothecary, knees just barely swaying from the reverberations. As Zisiene seems to confirm there is nothing in Divale's pockets worth plucking, R'keon glances to the brownrider, brows lifting to confirm her earlier allogations of par pocket contents. And that somehow, Zisiene knows this. R'keon carries only enough to buy pork rinds once or twice a month in the Cantina. "What is your… place in the Zingari?" His voice breaks and it may be time to use Qalamath to convey further communications.

Zisiene cants her head to one side, "Firedancer," she states truthfully. Once she studied the art of spycraft, but events of the not too distant past have ended that study. Not that Isie would divulge that information, "And knife thrower," she adds. The rumors of her knife hoarding are more than likely well known. Though Isie only has one knife that's visible. The belt knife on her left hip.

Divale dark gaze meets R’keon and perhaps he’ll find confirmation there. It’s true, her pockets have nothing of interest to Zisiene. Does that mean the brownrider isn’t hiding something? There is a vague, secretive smile that flickers and is gone and nothing more given on the matter. “Interesting mix of skills,” she remarks to the young Zingari woman. “One of my clutchmates was Zingari.”

R'keon listens to Zisiene describe her positions with the Igen traders. He draws the last from his drink, something mildly alcoholic by the smells, an ale, and steeps for a good moment or two. "Trader, firedancer, knife-thrower… exceeds my life summary." A laid-back reaction to his tanned face is soon a blur as R'keon swings his feet over and under him, brushing lime dust from faded leather breeches. "Sparin' you the decay of my voice, ehhhm," he clears his throat, but it won't help. Rather than formulate a more intricate farewell, the bronzerider lifts a hand in parting and maneuvers down dangerously small stairs.

Zisiene watches the bronzerider move, and steps back slightly even though it may well be a useless gesture. Divale's mention of a clutchmate being Zingari has her thinking. Maybe, "Moanna?" because really that's the only Zingari that would have Impressed at the same time as Divale.. She thinks?

“Your life has been standard?” Divale’s attention has snapped back rather sharply to R’keon for his reflection to Zisiene’s skills and some further withheld humour. As the bronzerider moves to stand, so does she but not out of respect. It’s those old habits at work again! There is also the passage of time gnawing on her heels too. “Clear skies,” she murmurs in passing to his leave. Perhaps another time they will cross paths again! At least if his voice should fail, the switchover would not be as awkward. “That would be her,” Zisiene’s guess is correct but that will be all that is shared this evening. “The roof is yours,” Divale murmurs as she moves past the young Zingari woman, but not without a lingering look that silently warns against any mischief before she too, is gone.

Zisiene watches the departure of the brownrider before she settles herself where the bronzer'd been. Time to think.

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