Who

A'kehm, Catryn

What

Two friends catch up (yes, Kehm has friends). Catryn tells him about the latest and greatest news in her life.

When

It is evening of the seventh day of the fifth month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Stables

OOC Date 11 Mar 2016 05:00

 

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"That's because we're like those two runners, a close distance apart but separate by circumstances."


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Stables

The stone stables of Southern sweep breezily in arches and vaulted ceilings, done in the same architecture that figures so prominently within the inner caverns. A half-loft in the back shows neatly stacked hay bales, the sweet scents from the fodder drifting down to commingle with the aroma of runner and leather and sweat. There, broad box stalls house inhabitants safely away from the fancies of dragons: nickers and restless stompings fill the air, nirvana to those so inclined.


Stables are not stationary places, but here is A'kehm: author of a different, new dogma. Within a throne of crates and barrels, the bronzerider is holding court among animals, the most loyal of subjects. None of the runners are his, neither does he tend to any. The bronzerider is not really occupied, he's already shaved and picked at his nails with a knife and is watching a runner loose within the stables visit other runners he hasn't seen before, only smelt. Sometimes there's biting involved. Kehm just watches.

Standing in front of one of the runner stalls is an archivist holding a briefcase at her side while gently petting the soft nose an average sized mare. The animal whuffles against her hand and Catryn smiles at the sensation, leaning a bit to set down the briefcase so she can properly scritch the white fur. "Aren't you pretty. You're so pretty…" A snort from the runner follows the Harper's sentiments. Preoccupied at the moment, the activity within the stables is normal for the time of day as all the animals are being fed.

The loose runner isn't not an honest danger to Catryn, he's too busy flirting with a penned mare. Shhh, don't tell him he's a gelding. "Catryn, lovey. Don't tell me you're looking to give birth on a bed of straw, though I did see an attractive pile of the stuff on the other side." And resisted jumping in it. That stuff chafes something fierce after.

Catryn jumps a bit when someone addresses her and then glances over to see a familiar face. "If you're not careful, you might startle me into having this baby here." The white mare snorts again and pins her ears back at the wandering gelding, which is a perfect excuse for the archivist to pick up her briefcase again and make toward the bronzerider. "Hello, Kehm." she says, using his informal name. A grin curves her lips as she steps to the side to let a stablehand with a few slabs of hay by. Never get in the way of hungry runners. "Haven't seen you in a while."

A'kehm reshuffles his weight between the amalgam of wooden containers that aren't exactly La-Z-Boy rated. "Wups." No remorse actually required. "That's because we're like those two runners, a close distance apart but separate by circumstances. I'm generally up there," twirling a finger to indicate the sky, "and you're down here. When exactly are you supposed to be due?" Maybe T'ral will take some time off.

"That's very true." Catryn says with a smirk before helping herself to one of the wooden crates. It takes a little effort, but soon she's seated upon the flat surface and adjusting her shin length skirt so that she's a bit more comfortable. At this stage, just being off her poor feet is enough. "I'm due in a fortnight." That's said with a sigh. So close, yet so far away… "I'm ready for this to be over with." An index finger pokes the side of her belly before she moves the briefcase closer to the crate. "It's enough time to find a runner that I'll be able to use when we move." And by 'we' she means herself, baby, and T'ral.

A'kehm has his head kicked back against a crate so he's predominantly following the gravid harper with his eyes. "Pregnancy, like everything, looks good on you." He languidly blinks, looking like he's conserving energy. The stablehand catches and leads the gelding back to his stall. Moving? The back of Kehm's head lifts an iota. "Where to, Telgar?"

Catryn shakes her head with a huffed laugh. "No, not Telgar. Over near the terraced fields that are located just off the river." She shifts her weight a little, the wooden crate creaking in protest as she moves. "Although it might as well be Telgar given how far away our home will be from the Weyr." Silence fills the air around them for a moment until the Harper looks over at the runner beast she was just petting. The animal is happily munching on some hay and eyeing that gelding being directed away from her stall. "It's why I'm looking for a runner that'll get me to and from the Weyr, so I don't have to bother the dragonriders for a lift." A beat, "I'm hoping to put a few marks on that white mare."

"Not the Weyr?" Catryn's pronouncement makes Kehm's brows vault but where the harper hangs her hat, or briefcase, is really none of his affair. "Is Thread gonna stay off your head?" Okay, now he's done caring, legs alternating an overlapped position. "That one will get you from here to there, a little cow-hocked, ask for a discount."

The plans to her new home are drawn on hides kept in her briefcase, yet Catryn doesn't reach for them. "We're moving into something that T'ral designed from a wrecked ship. There are a bunch of them scattered along the Southern continent and we're actually taking a piece of one and turning it into a thread-proof weyr-like home." She nods, impressed once again by the thought of living on the ground and not high above a bowl. "It'll be large enough to shelter Esanth and it'll be covered so that thread can't burrow into it. Built into the terraces in the fields." She glances over at the runner Kehm is referring to and quirks a brow. "Never one to pass up a bargain, are you?" A jest, that. "I'll need one that's, you know, reliable."

A man comes into the stables knotted with the insignia of a smith and he has an odd cargo of six meatrolls to give to Kehm. "He put 'im in that one," a half-assed gesture while taking half of one of the meatrolls in his mouth. He chews with great gusto. "My share for watching his runner," literally, he watched. "That's some kind of project," wetting a finger to pick up fallen crumbs. "I didn't know T'ral was the… architectual type." But it's not like they powwow much after drills. At the bargain comment, the bronzer pauses chewing only to smile dangerously. "That one'll work."

Catryn glances over at the man making good on his payment to the bronzerider for 'watching' the runner. "I'm sure it is." That wry smile returns as she watches the other gent wander off to tend to the animal that was just lead away by one of the stablehands. "I suppose he's quite the architect after listening to me," Complain. "Drop a ton of hints that we need to move. The ground weyrs weren't an option to us, so we got creative." And Catryn used her uber librarian research skillz to find them some alternative choices. They're quite a team, C&T. The runner merits another look and then Kehm is on the receiving end of a suspicious squint. "He looks lame." Literally.

It's carnage how A'kehm eats, the six meatrolls very soon a sum of three. "Is the Weyr," tucking some food into his cheek to speak, "going to give ship weyrs to every nonrider having a baby?" He swallows and is already handling another meatroll. Connecting Catryn's assumption with the smith despite knowing better, "I didn't know you knew him."

"I can't speak for leadership, but do you not remember the weyr shortages during weyrlinghood?" Catryn pins the bronzer with a look he's used to seeing from her. Ground weyrs are usually kept in high demand for the dragon infirmary and high ranking visitors. "You had a very pretty weyrmate as I recall…" Maneuvering up off the crate and dusting off her behind, she stoops as best she can to collect the briefcase handle. Everything these days takes effort. "Any chance you'd like to walk with me to the craft complex?" Lashes bat at her dear friend and ex-bunkmate.

"I think," working on the last meatroll with a notch more refinement, "some people have died since then," AKA moar real estate. "But maybe you guys will start a trend. I rather like my weyr being inaccessible." Fewer Jehovah witnesses. "I had a weyrmate?" There are those that make it to his weyr whom he mates with, but Kehm finds the similarities end there. He stands and assumes his height. "I guess I can go that way." Arm crook. Hopefully T'ral will see them.

"A weyrmate. Weyr-mate. Someone you shared a weyr with." Catryn tries not to look and sound too amused when she accepts A'kehm's arm. Somewhere T'ral's spidey senses are tingling, don't you worry Kehm. "And I haven't gotten a chance to tell you about the latest Healer Hall statistics I've been reading about for the past Turn…" Lucky Kehm! Remember those nights during candidacy when she'd read reports about all sorts of random facts out loud? Light colored eyes glint with a bit of mischief when she peers ahead of them and out into the softly lit pathway leading toward the craft complex. Southern's sky has darkened quite a bit since their arrival and now it's early evening as they make the trek through and beyond the archway. "Only ten percent of women who weyrmate bronzeriders appreciate when…" In that brief walk, Catryn will make sure Kehm has enough random information to shmooze his way through six months worth of dinner parties. Oh how old friendships never die~

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