Who

Zannen, Z'bor

What

Z'bor is off to the boardwalk to sell some skins and runs into another man of the sea.

This was not backscened, I'm a horrible person and forgot to post this.

When

-- On Pern --
It is 9:02 AM where you are.
It is midmorning of the seventh day of the eleventh month of the fifteenth turn of the 12th pass.
In Southern:
It is the thirty-seventh day of Spring and 93 degrees. It is a bright, sunny day.


Where

Southern Weyr, Boardwalk

OOC Date 26 Dec 2018 07:00

 

zannen_default.jpgz-bor_default.jpg

"I've given ye a little somethin' o' my trade, an' ye've witnesses to it."


boardwalk.jpg

Boardwalk

Ancient-cut stone stretches broad, smoothed by the wind and the weather and the rain to create a boisterous center of commerce. Wood overlays stone in places, patterned and pretty, to attract the eye of those traversing the strip to particular vendors. Though not the size of the tremendous markets of the North, the boardwalk's offerings show the knowledge of ageless crafters: Smith contraptions, Herder-certified animals, Starcraft maps and Weaver textiles are only some of the things that may be purchased, among the spicy scents of beach food and the contrast of bright shells and dark stones from the shoreline.



It's a bit unusual to see Z'bor out on the boardwalk this time of day, usually he's busy with drills, or sweeps, or hidework. But, he has no such responsibility today. On his second of a few rest days, he's just returned from a successful hunt and hides bring in marks, particularly feline hides. Hauling with him a particularly nice feline hide, and some wherry down, he's got some trade fodder for sure. He begins at the lower stalls, seeing if there might not be something for his weyr that might be of equal trade, if not, he'll go for marks instead.

Zannen is usually somewhere near the boardwalk if not on it, given his profession. Today, however, he's been perusing the stalls in earnest following a morning swim with the dolphins, still evident in the dampness of tousled hair. It's an interesting position he finds himself in, however. In the lower stretch of stalls, parked between a tanner and what looks to be a rug merchant, an impromptu band seems to be holding court. A handful of men, all weathered and scruffy, are thumping and strumming and piping out sea shanties. A drum, a gitar, and a high pipe are accompanied by wind-roughened but most tuneful voices…and they've roped Zannen into singing with them for some reason or other. The dolphineer is carrying the lead on a lilting tune in two, a few others standing nearby to listen on. "Blow the wind southerly, southerly, southerly/Blow the wind south o'er the bonnie blue sea," come the words in a simple, clear baritone. He seems to be enjoying himself, though his eyes flick over those watching as though he's unused to it. Which would be true.

Z'bor only has smiles for the music that floats towards him, the songs of the sea something deeply ingrained in the greenrider and his roots. Humming along, he waits for the Tanner to finish his business with someone else. So, dark brown eyes look over the crowds, lazily skimming heads until they land on the band playing the music and their impromptu singer. It's an amusing and uplifting scene, seeing men brought together with the power of song. He even sidles towards the group, unwittingly losing his spot in the line for the tanner. Oh well.

"But sweeter an' dearer, my heart is a-wand'ring/To welcome my true love in safety to me." The last line soars out over the stately thump of the drum before making a final turn into the chorus, after which there's a smattering of applause. Zannen, looking a bit rosy in the cheeks, gives the men accompanying him a little bow after doing the same to the audience, then steps away with just a bit of haste that he tries to hide. He approaches a man and woman standing nearby, who seem to be eying the dolphineer with speculative amusement. "So?" Zannen questions, folding his arms over his brawny chest as he attempts to tamp down any appearance of being flustered. "I've given ye a little somethin' o' my trade, an' ye've witnesses to it." He gesture around at those still lingering, blue eyes landing on the pelt-laden man nearby with a little nod before his focus returns to the man and woman. "Will ye count it toward trade fer what I'm askin', or should I take my business elsewhere?"

Z'bor is quite impressed with the display and there's a wry grin on his lips as he catches bits and pieces of the conversation after the performance. He'll wait, wanting to catch the singer's attention after he's through. It's not often Z'bor gets to interact with other seamen, most of his wing having backgrounds in other things. He nods to a comment made by a passerby, having to agree that the performance had been a good one.

It takes a bit for Zannen to step away from whatever it is he's negotiating. The merchants leave with a handful of his marks, and he shuffles a step back toward the other seamen, shoving fingers through his sandy blond hair as he appears to consider the deal he just made. No one else seems to be accosting him for the moment, however, and he presently huffs out a sigh and peers around, looking for where he might want to peruse next. But he sees the man with the hides and furs, apparently waiting for a word, and shifts to face him a bit, a brow lifted quizzically. "Somethin' I can do fer ye, mate?"

Z'bor grins as he's approached by the sandy blonde man and nods. "Aye, I only wondered where you learned yer shanty there. Haven't heard that one in a long time, takes a true man o' the sea to know it." He grins. "I grew up on ships coming out of Ista, found myself wondering where you hail from." Z'bor frees his dominant hand and holds it out for a handshake. "Z'bor, green Ozriath's, I hope you don't mind me bothering you."

Zannen smiles to hear that the man is a dragonrider, shaking his tousled head at Z'bor's last. "No bother at all, greenrider Z'bor, an' well met. My duty to yer Ozriath, wherever she be." He peers about a bit, though no dragons stand out nearby, and he returns his full attention to Z'bor. "Journeyman Zannen of the Dolphincraft, at yer service. I'm come from Big Bay o' the Oldtime. Wasn't more 'n a lad when I made the jump with my sister, who's a greenrider up Igen way." He hooks his thumbs in his belt, hitching up his sleeveless tunic slight to do so, and shrugs his broad shoulders slightly. "Learned the song from my dad, re-learned it with a crew I was with as an apprentice. Though my sister made sure I learned t' sing it proper; she was a Harper. Couldn't quite get her t' understand sailors don't much care about proper when it comes t' music," he notes with a rough chuckle.

Z'bor joins Zannen in his chuckling, 'tis true, sailors have no mind for being in tune most of the time. Z'bor looks a bit awestruck at having met an oldtimer that's young, he's not met too many. "Ah, well, that's Harpers for ya, the ones here are constantly trying to get my son to curb his caterwauling, he's about as on tune as a block o' wood, but he loves singin'." Might be having a sailor and a smith for dads that does it, but Z'bor isn't giving that much up. "Either way, seems she helped you with a natural skill. Ya sing beautifully."

"Sounds as though yer son'll fit right in, if he decides t' take up the Seacraft himself. An' it's my sister who sings beautif'ly; I jus' manage," Zannen counters with a lopsided smile, "but thank ye, all the same." He eyes Z'bor's haul, a brow lifting once more. "I don't want t' keep ye when we're haulin' all that about…"

Z'bor laughs and shakes his head. "Well thank ye. I'm sure he'll find a way to fit it into his life somehow." As for the skins he hauls and the feathers, well… "Ain't much to haul to be honest, and the tanner was busy anyways. So you aren't keepin' me, but if you need to go, I understand. Just thought I ought to introduce myself, and say hello. Us seamen stiuck together no?" And H'ris and Rielle are constantly at Z'bor to expand his social circles, he's never completely got over the whole shy wallflower thing.

Zannen nods agreement to that, glancing over at the tanner. There are marks being exchanged, and no apparent line to be had after that. "Aye. Once a sailor, always a sailor, e'en if our paths change with a knot," he notes. "And nothin' keepin' me either. Not anymore, leastways. Nothin' matches the hagglin' at Igen, but some o' the merchants here are shardin' close enough." He casts a rueful eye up the boardwalk, presumably at the pair he'd been dealing with earlier since their stall is visible from here.

Z'bor nods. "True enough. Won't take me long to unburden myself. I'll be stopping in the Kitten for a drink after, you're more than welcome to join if you like." He too is eyes the now empty tanner's stall, it's now or never. Leaving it open for Zannen to follow, Z'bor steps over, hailing the tanner before someone else can snatch him. And true to his word, Z'bor isn't long in his task and is soon returning to his former position. "As I said, I'm headed for a drink, and you're still welcome to join." With a smile, he begins heading for The Tipsy Kitten and the alcoholic drinks held within. A pint of ale sounds so refreshing right now.

Zannen considers the offer for a bit, trailing Z'bor to the tanner's stall and waiting nearby, arms folded upon his chest. Despite being at the Weyr, he hasn't come across as many erstwhile Seacrafters among the dragonriders as he expected to, so befriending one seems a pleasant prospect. "Y'know," he says once Z'bor is finished, "after the hoops I just jumped through, I think I'll take ye up on that." And so the dolphineer starts off with the greenrider toward the Weyr proper and the Tipsy Kitten, off to make a new friend over a good drink and some pub food.

Add a New Comment