Who

Veresch, N'tael

What

Old friends meet in the stables to talk.

When

It is midmorning of the sixteenth day of the eighth month of the sixth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Stables

OOC Date 15 Dec 2015 07:00

 

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"Well, when ye got them things t' recommend it."


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Stables

The powerful odor of hot runner lies heavy in the air here, and even the relative open of the stable design - roomy stalls, lofty arches, this is incongruously one of the best designed buildings in the entire Weyr, legacy of a long-ago Weyrleader of Herder origins - cannot altogether dispel the stink of Animal. The Stables serve for the Weyr's population of runners, and house a small menagerie of other creatures. Avians, caprines and porcines all have their homes here, and all add to the earthy feel of the place.


After roughly two turns in Keroon at the beasthall, there are few places in the Weyr that Veresch would rather be than the stables, but needs must when familial correspondence drives, and so she's here today, dressed in what might pass for weyr grunge: comfortable pants and a light, though longsleeved tunic, with her hair scraped back into a ponytail. She is, at least for the moment, chatting to one of the journeymen responsible for the runners, holding up a small parchment for her, and grinning as she gesticulates. "…he settled in well, yeah, and working hard to get the stud lines established again. If they know what's good for them, those runners will foal like nobody's business." Here in the room it's tolerably cool, and most of the animals are inside thanks to the stinging grit whistling around the eaves outside, so the place is powerfully redolent of animal musk. Veresch, poor returned Igenite, doesn't even seem to smell it, and peers obediently at the lines of a runner when the journeyman turns to point a new one out to her.

N'tael is completely comfortable here in he stables. A turn at the weyr has taught him the basics of runners, and the young man has his own preferences for the runners here. A fingerroot in his hands he makes a beeline for his favorite, a piebald racer with a proud curve to his neck. Without a hint of shame the young bronzer mounts the bottom rung and offers out the treat to the high-strung creature. It's not htat he doesn't see the other people here, he's just focused on who he came to see. The journeyman and woman get a half wave, it has been a while since he saw Veresch after all.

There's a half-look for N'tael and a grinning wave from Veresch, and a dimply smile from the journeyman before they conduct their conversation a little more quietly. A few minutes later, once done, Veresch wanders over to the young man and clambers up on the bottom rung as well, standing a good bit taller. Someone definitely ate her growing oaties. "Didn't think to see you here," she says happily with a squinty-eyed, fond smile. "Did you finally decide to come over to the desert side of doing things, or are you just visiting for a little?" Reaching to the side she drapes her arm over his shoulder and air-kisses his nearest cheek. "Or have you just accepted that all the best-looking women are in Igen, hm? How long have you been here?"

That runner is more than happy to take that fingerroot into his teeth and munches it down like it was nothing. N'tael says hanging over the door of his stall until it is gone, then slides down just as Veresch throws that arm over his shoulder. Recognition comes suddenly and while she may go for the air kiss N'tael will go one step further and wrap his arms around the woman. The hight difference makes it a little hard to do the whole pick-up-swing-around, so N'tael doesn't bother, but instead plants a kiss on her cheek. "Veresch! I wondered what'd happened t' ye! I been here 'bout a turn," and the rest of her question will get answered by the dual knot on his shoulder. Southern's colors still hang there, but Igen's are represented also in equal measure. "'m sorry t' be breakin' it t' ye, but Southern's got more hotties 'n Igen. Somethin' bout how all've ye seem t' feel coverin' ye faces 's a swell idea!"

Veresch happily stays still for the kiss, though she wrinkles her nose at his suggestion that veils are responsible. "It's not my fault you guys got the beach paradise and we got the super-traditional den of violence, smuggling, and iniquity." Okay, it's not bad, but her nose-wrinke is eloquent on the subject. She waits until the smacking kiss is done before stepping off the rung as well and heading to a nearby bale to take her leisure. "Mmmh, I see. Decided to try the exchange thing then?" Her hands tuck between her thighs. "But I must say, Nate, you grew up all pretty and studly! Is Tlazotezath still as mean as two cactuses together? Or has he calmed down a little? Arroyo, I see? I think that's Rev's wing at the moment? If he's not treating you right, just give him a clonk on the head from me." She grins broadly. "He probably deserves a few."

"Well, when ye got them things t' recommend it." There's all sorts of covered humor in N'tael's voice, but they break out in the way his blue eyes dance. Following N'tael takes a knee on one of those bales himself and leans against a wall. "Time's got a way of changin' people, aye?" Those changes are a little hard to pin down in the youthful rider, but he does carry himself slightly different. More upright and confident. There's no self doubt about him and he looks like he could jump right into a fire without hesitating. "As f'r Tlazotezath, he's mellowed a li'l, but only on 'e surface. Scratch too hard 'n he's still him." And from the tone of voice N'tael puts into that? N'tael wouldn't change the bronze for anything. "Th'bek's no' too bad. 'Royo either. Lookin' t' maybe Transfer t' Whirlwind if'n somethin' else don't happen first. What had ye out 'n about?"

Veresch leans her head back against the stable, ignoring a kick a restive stallion gives against the wooden gate of his stall a couple of doors down. "Message for my dad, can you believe it? It's been over three turns since I've been a messenger, and he's in Keroon, but he still makes me hop when he wants to." She wrinkles her nose eloquently as she dusts her thighs off. "I'd buy you a drink to celebrate the move I missed, but Igen is being extremely Igen today, so… another time?" Her eyebrows arch. "Why do you want to move to Whirlwind? Not that I'm up to date on them, really — is it that bar in the sky that they have, or more pressing concerns?"

"I'd be there 'n a second if'n Pa asked me t' be headin' o'er t' Nerat." So N'tael understands the pull a father can have, no matter how old one gets. Bending over he sweeps up a straw of hay and sticks it between his lips. There's a slightly mysterious smile on his face for her comment about Igen being Igen - it's quite possible that the young man has grown fond of the desert, and not just thanks to Tlazotezath's devotion to the heat and sand. "As f'r Whirlwind, 's 'e high flight, and I came t' be learnin'. With Ma'am Zetya steppin' down, movin' t' where I can observe G'tan only makes sense."

The young woman gives him a pretend-scowl. "Oh, so I see, you came here to be stealing all our leading positions, hmm? But be careful, you know that apparently Igen is the den of thieves, we might just steal you permanently as well." She considers the top of her boots, frowning at the scuffing the hissing sand gave the leather. "I think… what with everything that happened, I think that surely there must be a flight in the offing soon?" Her shoulders lift and fall, slightly defeated by her lack of knowledge on the whole topic. "Who knows, you might end up Weyrleader after all, and then you're here for however long the golds want your bronze around. Will Southern be able to do without you?"

Pretend-scowl meets wide grin. "Nah, ma'am Rhiscorath hates Tlazotezth with a passion." So that puts at null any chance that N'tael will win Rhiscorath's senior flight. The way Tlazotezath tries to flirt with the bookish gold and gets shut down provides no small amusement for his small rider. A shrug for her last, "Southern jus' hatched 'n graduated o'er 70 weyrlin's. Igen's hurtin' a li'l bit. Don't mind stayin' and lendin' a hand till ye got more people fillin' 'e ranks."

Veresch's fingers twine together and her forehead creases at the mention of Southern's recent bounty. "I'm happy for Southern," she finally says, very quietly. "I mean, all those new dragons and two golds on top of it, and this poor place is sitting with only one queen, and perhaps importing someone else who might suck as much as… as Igen's luck recently. I know it's not logical, and I'm not a rider, but I feel a little jealous, you know? It's difficult to remember sometimes that they've gotten their share of bad luck too. I wonder if it's something in the water over there, or something in the water here. For once it'd be nice not to be assailed with raiders or ornery newtimers or… or dragon deaths in 'fall."

"Aye. M' girlfriend," more-or-less, the universe is designed to keep them apart, "impressed this time." The forever candidate is no longer the forever candidate! "We can't be envious 'Resh, otherwise e'd jus' be buyin' unhappyiness. Igen'll be jus' fine. Ma'am Mayte's gonna be a fine senior, 'n Rhiscorath's already glowin'." N'tael's tone is gentle and he offers out an arm for a hug if Veresch wants one. "Igen'll have a Weyrleader for-sure 'gain, 'n stuff'll settle." N'tael's belief is FIRM.

Veresch does borrow the arm for a single squeeze, though her sadness soon crumbles. "No! Did she? Diya, right? Short 'un?" Fair enough, the height Veresch describes the Souther rider at is somewhere around kneelevel, perhaps a little low. "Knee-high to a tunnelsnake? I'm so happy she finally Impressed! Do you think she'll give me some tips, or let the luck rub off on me a bit?" The young woman smiles roguishly at that… and blinks seconds later. "Although that reminds me, I have to go and say hi to Prymelia down there! Naaaate… may I bum a ride down there and back off you one day? I'll clean your weyr or something in exchange. Or.. I don't know, do some of your laundry?" What is the going rate for a dragon ride these days?

N'tael taps his nose, indicating that Veresch has gotten the identity of the woman in one. He's proud of Diya and her tree-frog green. Pushing away from the wall N'tael cocks a hand towards the doorway. "How 'bout we negotiate that while we get back t' 'e weyr? I got some things t' be doin' afore sweeps later." And he WILL bargain with her, though the price will probably come down to a bottle of good wine, a dance, and maybe a kiss on the cheek. N'tael's tricky like that.

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