Who

Mayte, El'ai, and tasna

What

El'ai is fingering the Sands. Mayte scares him, and Tasena comes to his rescue. For a while.

When

Fourth day of the third month of the 12th Pass

Where

Igen Weyr Galleries

OOC Date

 

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Galleries

Though occasionally cleaned by ambitious (or neurotic) drudges or weyrbrats being disciplined, the lack of Eggs over the last several Turns has led to the Galleries falling into a state of disrepair. Sand can be found…well, everywhere. On the benches, under the benches, on the railings and walkways. There is also the random tidbit leftover from people who've wandered into the gathering place since the last cleaning. A random bit of cloth here, a bit of something that might have been a carving-in-progress once there.


A deep silence holds reign here in this empty place that carries the echoes of the ghosts of a thousand people who have sat here to watch the unfolding drama of countless Hatchings. It's a great place to find solace in a busy, loud weyr, especially a strange, busy loud weyr. El'ai is leaning against one of the railways that provides one of the best views onto the sweep of sands that stands empty. For now, at any rate. The Southern is in his riding leathers, sporting his knot, with tousled hair looking all casual teen. He leans over the railing, trying to stretch an arm to scoop up a handful of sand. Contemplative.

You know what else the Galleries are for? Warm. It may be early spring in Igen, but emphasis on the 'early', so Mayte is quite eager to tromp in, shrugging off a warmer sweater as she absorbs the OMGWARM of radiating heat from the Sands. There aren't too many here for Mayte to observe but for the weird guy at the rails, so she wanders aways over to him. This could take some careful planning so Mayte runs silent as she moves up behind him. As the Southern man leans over, Mayte's probably not admiring his butt, to say, "Hi. You lost or something?"

El'ai is not a stealth master, a master ninja or anything of the sort. So it's no wonder when the girl's voice (what's she got?! NINJA feet?) comes out of nowhere, the foreign bronzerider can't help but jump and sling the sand that was in his hand outward, which might catch Mayte. "Where did you come from?!" The touch of accusation to the boy's tone surely isn't for real, right? Hastily, he swipes his sandy hand against the side of his hip and then reaches up to scratch the back of his head. "No, I'm not lost. I'm just … checking." Getting any kind of straight answer out of the bronzerider (who's knot is visible) is like getting blood from a rock.

Mayte's fast enough to close her eyes from the onslaught of sand, but not her mouth - figures it'd be the thing left open. Ptui ptui, pTUI! Mayte's left spitting out sand and scowling at El'ai, "I'd say, right behind you," eyes dart to the knot, "Bronzerider." A free hand tries to shake sand from Mayte's hair and brush what's left on her tongue, "Yech. Gross." Paaaa-TUI. Mayte finishes her cleaning-cycle and looks back up… and up, at the man-boy, "What're you checking for, bronzerider?" The simple facts are now established.

Tasena could be in search of that warmth, the quiet, or just plain wandering. She's a couple minutes behind Mayte, at any rate, and while she hasn't bothered with a sweater, her shirtsleeves are all the way down, and she's absently rubbing at them as she enters the main part of the galleries. She's in time to spot El'ai's scooping and Mayte's scoping, then approaches them both while the sand is tossed. She slowly brushes at the front of her shirt and arches a brow at the rider. "Seriously, El'ai?" she drawls slightly, though there's an amused cant to her grin. The rest doesn't need to be said, right? She turns her attention to Mayte briefly and nods in greeting. "I guess I'm not the only one hoping to catch Elicheritath in the act, huh?" Just one of many guesses, really.

"I'm sorry," El'ai starts to say, tone almost contrite before he ends with, "But you shouldn't sneak up on people." The look he gives Mayte would do Osweith proud, for all her NINJA feets made her silent as a mouse. "Me? I'm here to check on the sands." Tasena's arrival is welcomed with a dollop of relief for a friendly face, the boy's expression lighting up at her approach. "Tas!" The warmth is genuine as greeting is tossed out. To them both, he shrugs, "Well. Bailey's always cleaning the sands before it's time for Khalyssrielth. And I know it's not the same with bronzes, but. I thought I would check," does his voice fade lamely? "— I would check to make sure they didn't need cleaning." Awkward pause. "Or something."

"And you shouldn't be feeling the Sands up," Mayte retorts a little sullenly, appending, "sir," to the end of that. Just in case. Tasena's voice has Mayte turning slightly with an interested look, "Hey, Tasena." A chin nod to El'ai, "S'here to 'check the sands'." Mayte doesn't even need to do finger air-quotes; her voice is suspicious enough. Still, the vintner's dark eyes dart to her partner-in-wine and tight shoulders start to relax a little. "I came in to get warm," she tells Tas, "'Cause it may be spring out there, but it sure doesn't feel like spring." El'ai's admission doesn't go unnoticed, Mayte's eye alighting on him again, "Soooo, you know each other then." Tas, Mayte's putting her trust in you: to the bronzerider from Southern, Mayte announces, "Mayte. Vintner apprentice. Welcome to Igen." Notice how she's not pleased to meeting him? That's cuz her jaw's still working to spit out more sand.

Tasena scratches the bridge her nose briefly while she listens to El'ai's explanation, then gives those sands a long, hard look. "Cleaning sand," she murmurs, her skepticism strong. "Sounds a little bit like watering the lake, doesn't it?" There is a subdued hint to her tone of voice that could indicate she's just teasing him, and the friendly smile that follows only reinforces that. She moves toward that railing and leans against it, staring at the nearest swatch of heated sand. She grins at Mayte and glances back toward the bowl, if only for a second. "It's that sharding desert. Bakes you one minute, sucks all the heat away the next." She then nods in answer, though she glances at El'ai briefly as if checking to see if he's going to jump in. Though she does so, anyway. "I worked at the tavern at Southern Weyr before coming back to Igen," she supplies simply while folding her hands and turning back toward the sands. "Bit of a punk ass, if you ask me. Wouldn't get anywhere without Sekhaenkath. Or Bailey." The sly sideways glance and wicked little grin should hopefully dispel any worriers she's going all out in creating an inter-Weyr fight.

"It is Sekhaenkath's clutch too," El'ai's voice is not plaintive nor whiny, but instead he seems to be corralling his maturity in that single sentence to present absolute fact. As far as cleaning the sands go, he shrugs. "I don't know. I never understood it, but like, some are partial to getting all the bits and pieces of shell out? Something?" It's clear that the bronzerider lacks experience in this. At Mayte's still-sullen tone, he draws himself up. "Yes. Tasena is from Southern." Blue-blue eyes dart to Tasena — at least she's here! — before turning back to Mayte. Tasena rubbing it in a little? Gets a good-natured look, for now, because El'ai is a lover guys, not a fighter! "You don't sound very welcoming," now he's accusing Mayte in the most awkward way possible. Also, cue the emo shoving of his hands into the pockets of his trousers. So there! Take that!

The idea of 'watering the lake' gets a stifled snort from Mayte, and listens with a cocked ear to Tasena's explanation: "So, it's a different kinda heat down there, right?" That's Mayte's question? About the heat? The woman's adroit assessment has Mayte eyeing El'ai in a new light, eyes gleaming a little - maybe it's a trick of the light. "There are drudges for that, right?" Mayte offers helpfully, but then the man is making all sorts of unhappy noises, to which she responds, "I meant, like, on behalf of the Weyr or something. You threw sand in my face," let's not get into particulars, "so I'm gonna take a few to get over that." Oh, young-womanly sarcasm; so witty and pointy. Still, the corners of Mayte's lips are having some trouble in staying properly anchored downwards.

"She makes a good point," Tasena says in an even tone, grinning at El'ai, then winking at Mayte as she straightens away from the railing. "And, I don't know. Heat is heat. It's the humidity that makes all the difference. Neither place has the nice oceanic influence, though. Part buffer, part temptress. Instead, Igen has the sharp, and Southern has the blunt, and both feel sharding uncomfortable when that heat decides to join in. Or the cold, for that matter." She shudders a little bit, as if to shake off the chill, then hooks a thumb back the way she can. "I think I'm going to try to do something about that cold, actually. Was just checking to see if there were eggs yet. You two behave, got it?" she adds, pointing at the both before she grins. Without another word, she heads right back the way she came.

"You startled me," El'ai is quick to point out, "It is not my fault that my hand was full of sand when I spun around it's not my fault that sand flew out of my hand." Now who's banging out particulars? Dark brows lower in what could be a glower, but it sits not so well on his brow. He is not made for such expressions, the sweetness of his childhood still softening features that are hardening to manhood. "It's like… preparing your weyr or your room," since neither girl is with dragon, "You don't trust someone else to know where to put the knick-knacks. It's a … thing that…you just do." As Tasena ABANDONS him ("Yes, we'll be have."), the bronzerider has nothing to do but to look at Mayte. "It's been almost hot enough to fry an egg on the stones of the bowl lately. We all think that Thread has messed up our weather." Now, he sneaks a peak at Mayte.

Mayte is not about to get into a war of particulars, giving a head-toss about whatever details El'ai chooses to focus on, "Could have always left it where it should be, right? On the sands." The thought of the Sands being anything like her room gets a slightly bug-eyed look from Mayte. "So… then you're sneaking into the Queen's bedroom to make her bed?" Talk about creepy. Mayte stares up at El'ai so briefly, her gaze switching desperately to the back of Tasena's head with a faint "See you later…" There are witnesses, right? In case El'ai does something weird? Mayte's totally looking around in case he makes any sudden moves. "That heat sure does sound nice," she tells the Southerner, trying to sound soothing. And probably utterly failing to do so.

"If I had the foresight to drop it before I got startled." El'ai takes a deep breath. The pushes aside the infuriating girl's arguments about what happened to focus on the next thread of conversation. Which causes the bronzerider to eye her oddly. "You… I guess. I mean I don't like to be fried, but if you enjoy that amount of pain and suffering then maybe you should come to Southern sometime." He says it in that infuriating way someone says something with a presumed 'you'll see' tacked onto it. If Mayte is eyeballing him, he is eyeballing her as if she's going to sprout knives and stick him in between the ribs. Does he edge away? Yup. Just in case. Are there witnesses? "And no. I don't go into her bedroom, but my dragon will sit out there. It's kind of like partly my space too."

In the frustrating habit of young know-it-all older teens everywhere, Mayte raises her eyebrows and pins El'ai with a 'See?' look. HAHA. Except it's hard to fade that into a wrinkled-nose of disgust so for a moment, Mayte looks a little trundle-bug-esque: "I meant, it'd be nice to be warm again." A wave out to the currently empty Sands while Mayte manoeuvres herself to lean against the same railing by a hip, "I mean, it's nice in here, but I can't like, set up a tent and live until the weather warms up." El'ai's evasive moves earn him a toothy grin as Mayte recognizes what's going on: "S'probably a good idea anyway. Weyrwoman Tuli is pretty cool, but I don't think she'd like someone breaking into her weyr or anything." Soundtrack of Cops. Mayte pauses, thinking heavily for a moment, "Wait, your dragon is the clutch-sire?" Well, when there is a clutch. "An' you're pretty excited, huh?" The short girl is either trying to put El'ai at ease, or put him at ease so she can EAT HIM LATER. You can just never tell.

Perhaps El'ai is thinking that Mayte is softening him up to be deep fried and turned over a spit later. Because the look he gives her is a touch wide-eyed and startled before he glances to the sands. "Er. Yes." He's the clutch dad. But since there's no other recourse to the threat of being eaten, he shakes his head and skirts his way around those TEETH. "Uh. You." Beat. "Are weird." SMOOTH, El'ai. And with that, the bronzerider does what any man in this situation would do: he makes a run for it. HE WHO RUNS AWAY LIVES TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY. Time to beat feet!

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