Who

Kyriatis, F'kan

What

Coming across Kyriatis in a clearing on the first day of autumn, F'kan gets lost in a metaphor…poor guy.

When

It is noon of the first day of the third month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Clearing, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 07 Jun 2018 04:00

 

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"It's the circle of life, nothing less."


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Clearing

The rise from sea to Weyr is made serene by a charming road winding sand-trodden from beach below to stonecut entrance above. The path wanders among a surprisingly green valley where purple flowers bloom in charmingly unfettered profusion. The meadows themselves are often in high demand as picnic areas, for dragons are not allowed to land in the narrow valley itself. No trees nor cliff lies near to shadow the clearing, however, and the intensity of sun can be unbearable for those not familiar with the humid drench of Southern's summers.

It is the first day of Autumn and 63 degrees. The day is dreary and overcast. A warm autumn rain is falling down in soft drizzles.


And just like that, summer is over: it's dreary and a little damp, but not actually raining, but both make it a far cry from summer's heat. The clearing's not really a garden as such, but there's still maintenance to be done; Kyriatis is taking her time with it, this afternoon, sitting cross-legged upon a picnic blanket as she rather dolefully dead-heads dying flowers, casting their browning petals about her like some rather morbid-looking wedding ritual. Beneath her breath, she's humming, but it's either a sad song or she's just a terribly bad singer (or more likely, both).

Respite from the summer's heat is nothing to shake a stick at, at least not for this certain brownrider. Dressed comfortably in his light leathers, F'kan strolls up from the direction of the Weyr Entrance, seemingly ambling along in the pleasant autumn weather in the direction of the Boardwalk and the beach beyond. But his interest is piqued when he spies a gardner girl at work on that picnic blanket and he alters his course to saunter in her direction. When close enough to be heard, he'll call out a friendly, "Good afternoon," in the girl's direction, as he puzzles at what she could be doing decapitating all those flowers, "So the real question is what did they ever do to you?" he asks with a bright, crooked smile as he juts his chin in the flowers' direction.

"They were born, and now they'll die," might not be all that reassuring, come to think of it. Kyriatis answers without looking up, as another pretty (less pretty now, maybe, but it was pretty, once upon a time) flower scatters beneath her shears. She swivels, then, head tipping back, back, back so that she can look upwards and acknowledge the brownrider to his face. "It's the circle of life, nothing less."

"You're a dark one aren't you?" F'kan notes with a roguish chuckle before he runs a hand through his shaggy blonde hair as his bright blue eyes scrutinize the girl for a moment. "Hang on a second, I've seen you before! You were on the Sands for Rhiscorath's eggs weren't you?" he asks because as his friends know, this brownrider sometimes has a problem with speaking before thinking, so you'll have to excuse his lack of tact. "That was an example of the circle of life right there," at least he remains on topic.

Kyriatis blanches. It's not been all that long since those eggs hatched, and mention of it is still… well. It may take some time. "Was it? I didn't see anyone die, but maybe I wasn't watching the right things? Maybe there's some whole thing about dragons that I just don't get. Do they eat their shells or something?" She's mocking him. Maybe. Probably. No, almost definitely. Despite her moody expression, there's a hint of a smile about the corners of her mouth.

Well it's a good thing that F'kan doesn't often pick up on things like people mocking him, oh to be so blissfully ignorant. So since it looks like the girl isn't understanding, he comes closer and crouches down next to her blanket, "No, what I meant was that was the begining of a new life cycle of dragons, with the hatching of the babies. Or wait…" Oh the gears are really grinding now, "No, that would mean the cycle would have started with Rhiscorath's flight, not the actual hatching. But still, it's pretty neat if you think about it." Right right?

Whether or not she really welcomes the company, Kyriatis slides along the blanket to make room for F'kan. "I suppose it is," she allows. "But generally, circles of life involve birth and death, and I don't think any of us really care to think about those dragons dying." She gives the brownrider a serious glance, eyebrows lifting: does he take her point?

F'kan won't invade the blanket, he's fine crouching where he is. Besides, the brownrider has a reputation and he would hate to sully the young girl's by association. Furrowing his brown now, his hands play in some of the tall grass, as he really does not see her point at all even though he tries really hard. "I guess so, if you're talking about the whole circle of life, but I was just speaking of a small part of it," he holds his hands flat, palms facing each other to add visual aids to his explanation.

"But…" Kyriatis' brow furrows. "It's not really a circle then, is it? It's a semi-circle of life. No— it's not even that. It's a line of life." And it really, really doesn't move us all. As if for emphasis, she decapitates another flower, decisively: it's dead, Jim. Really, really dead. "Anyway, whatever. I guess I'd be more enthusiastic about if, you know…" Hint. Hint.

"If you'd impressed?" Here Kyria, F'kan will finish that thought for you, helpful guy that he is. "Okay so not a piece like that, what about a wedge, like a piece of pie?" Cause pies are circles so it all makes sense. Letting himself fall back onto his rump with a soft grunt, he stretches his legs out into from of him on the grass and then leans back onto his hands. Apparently he's not quite done imparting questionable wisdom on the wee mite.

Slowly; "A piece of pie." She doesn't dignify the mention of Impression with confirmation. It's a given, ok? "And for some people, it was full of delicious fruit, while for others… empty pastry." She's even-toned, but her imagery is… dramatic. Then again, she is sixteen. "I'm not sure you're very good at this, brownrider."

"Or there's an even better pie baking right now that has a piece with your name on it," F'kan adds optimistically as he offers the girl a most reassuring smile as he tilts his head in her direction. He waves off her assertions that the brownrider isn't the best qualified to be having conversations about abstract theories of life and whether it goes in a cycle or line or even wibbly-wobbly shaped.

"Bubbly pie?" Despite herself, Kyriatis sounds a little hopeful, and a little wistful, though she frowns, too. "If I even want pie. Anyway. Whatever. Maybe I prefer dead flowers. Nothing wrong with them. Are you always full of stupid…?" In a way, that sentence is almost better left unfinished. "How'd you recognise one candidate on the sands, anyway? Do you stare really hard at the girl candidates?" She gives him a suspicious glance.

"Everybody loves pie!" F'kan looks a little affronted at the idea of Kyria not liking the confectionary perfection that is the pie. To her last question though, he manages to find one of those dead flowers for himself and pops the head off with his thumnail. Shrugging slightly, he turns to her, "I don't see the draw myself," he means in dead flowers, as to her last he just smiles and shrugs, "Really good eyesight, I love a good hatching too, and actually pay attention to the people out there. They could be wingmates one day y'know."

Kyriatis gestures towards the flowers with one hand, and the jut of her chin. "If you kill 'em earlier, you can dry them and they keep some of their scent. Then you can use them to make rooms smell nice." It's not much of a selling point, and by her expression, she seems to know it. Of the other comment: "Right. Of course. That makes sense." She glances away, idly scattering some flower petals about on the grass. "Now I want pie." The real thing? The metaphor? Who can tell.

"Can you really?" F'kan looks intrigued by the idea of drying flowers to make rooms smell nice. He is a guy living alone after all. Anything to cover up that rugged man smell that seems to permeate everything. "So what's the point of scattering them then? Are the petals where the seeds are?" So woefully ignorant, but so willing to learn. the brownrider is curious about everything. When she speaks of pie again, he lights up in her direction, "There's always more pie." he assures here, words just as cryptic as hers.

"These ones are too old. They're already dead and gross. But if we chop the heads off, they should grow back in the spring." Kyriatis gives them a wistful glance. It really is the circle of life! "Is there always more pie? Sometimes someone eats the last slice. And sometimes," but hopefully not very often, let's be clear, "the pie is poisoned and you regret it." This metaphor, if it is even still that, may have gone too far. "And some people just prefer cake. What if they don't want pie forever?"

"Wait….are we still talking about Impression?" F'kan asks as he scratches at his head in confusion after running over what the gardener girl said in his head over and over. "And when you talk of the pie being poisoned and you regretting it…I've never heard anyone ever regret Impression." In all his limited turns of being a rider, so that's something.

Kyriatis, enigmatically: "No, we're talking about pie." She even gets up, dusting off her knees and reaching for the blanket, to fold it and sling it over her shoulder. "I'm hungry. It's lunch time!"

"Oh! Right!" F'kan says with a sheepish rub of the back of his neck. "Well you go and have yourself a nice lunch then miss, I think I'm jsut gonna sit out here and enjoy these dead things you seem to be so interested in," he really is trying to see what the girl does in them…

And despite any earlier teenage moodiness, deep thoughts, or pie-related trauma, Kyriatis laughs. All the way back down the path to the Weyr, even. "Have fun!" she calls, somewhere before she's out of earshot.

Mission Accomplished!

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