A'lira, Divale


Spending what little free time she has, Divale browses among the Bazaar and briefly crosses paths with A'lira…


It is afternoon of the nineteenth day of the fifth month of the twelfth turn of the 12th pass.


Central Bazaar

OOC Date 05 Nov 2017 04:00




Central Bazaar

All roads in the weyr ultimately lead here, to this center of commerce. Canvas awnings jut out over time worn, sandy cobblestone, sheltering customers and wares alike from the majority of Igen's elements, and funnel scents both mouthwatering and vomit inducing through the thin streets. Almost all store fronts are open air, delineated by sandstone arches with intricately carved facades. The insides of these stone-shingled buildings act as an amplifier for the salesmens' bawled enticements, and are held up by the chipped swirls of marble pillars.

On the rare moment of ‘free time’ a rider may find themselves with, what better time than to browse the Bazaar? Given how often she patrols this area, it’s any wonder that DIvale isn’t sick of the place but as this isn’t for duty, perhaps it’s bearable. With Threadfall not due for several days, there’s just a teeny bit more time left in the day for the brownrider to pursue some aimless wandering. Pausing by one of the many stalls, she’ll curiously inspect the offered wares before moving on.

Free time? What's that? A'lira is vanishingly unfamiliar with such a thing, having taken on more responsibilities than the sane generally ask for. But today, he was given a boon: he's been ordered, mind, to take a day to himself in which he will do nothing of any importance at all. No studying, no sweeps, no reports, just freedom to loaf about. As a consequence, he's bored. So bored he's taken to wandering the Bazaar, looking at items to squirrel away in his new weyr. So far, he's got nothing, though, that will complement the current decor.

It should be of no surprise that Divale’s ‘wandering’ will take her close to one of the apothecary-type shops; this one in particular boasting some new early spring crops that have the brownrider lingering in serious contemplation over a few. She’s aware of the afternoon crowd milling about her, but not so much who is among them. If A’lira is wanting advice on ‘squirrelling’ away? Divale’s a master at eclectic collections! Only she is currently unaware of the other brownrider, focused as she is.

A'lira will join Divale at her apothecary, and why not? Nothing like getting a few herbs to go along with that which he already has, by hook or crook. "Fancy meeting you here," he drawls in amusement as he draws within conversational distance; as usual, though, there's sufficient space to maintain a bit of moving around. No sense in crowding the woman, right? He's not a beast, as some might imagine.

“Not surprising, is it?” Divale counters dryly, with only a fleeting sidelong glance to confirm that A’lira is, in fact, there and she isn’t imagining having overheard his voice among the low thrum of the moving crowd. “Come to browse?” She can only guess that the other brownrider is on his own agenda for the day and certainly not here for her company. Her gaze has settled back on the selection of herbs and she will cautiously pick up one wrapped bundle to inspect it. Which, of course, draws the owner of the shop a little closer to “observe at a distance”.

"Amazed, actually," A'lira agrees, equally dry. This is the desert, after all; they're all dry here. He sweeps his gaze over the various herbs, spices, and medicines — how often all these things are one and the same to the experienced user — with mild interest. He's rarely one for company these days, having developed a rather… solitary existence with a few, marked exceptions. And yet, he manages to find amusement in Divale's thorny company anyway. That easy boy's long gone with the advent of the reality of being a dragonrider. The shop owner is noted briefly before he lets his eyes drift to a particular plant, and lays a single finger upon it to judge its relative freshness. "How are things with you." A direct question? Say it isn’t so: he knows there will be no direct answer, and yet he asks anyhow just to be polite.

There is definitely a long pause of silence but not inaction, while Divale mulls over her answer. In that small window of time, she will lift that bundle of herbs to sniff delicately at the contents; her fingers have already made there assessment. She must like what is to be found, as she’s motioning for the shopkeeper to set that particular one aside. “As well as I can be,” she finally murmurs in return to A’lira. As expected, it’s not quite a full answer but close enough. Withdrawn as she is on most days, today she will in turn ask the same: “And you?”

A'lira is hardly disappointed; a fuller answer would have spooked him something fierce. He rejects the little bundle of dried herb — too far gone for his taste. He'll move on to something else, preferably the other little bundle of joy, there: this one's more springy, and when lifted for a smell check, more pleasant to the nose. "I'm here." Isn't he just the eternal optimist. He offers Divale a wicked little grin of wry amusement. "Who'd've thought H'rik would make Weyrleader. And so soon."

“Time has nothing to do with it,” Divale points out, her voice low spoken and gruff as always and only very subtly hinting at her own bemusement. “Wendryth won. It will remain to be seen how H’rik adjusts; I do not envy him. To have that thrust on you…” Oh wait. She’d never know, would she? There’s a smirk to follow and she will resume her browsing.

"So they tell me," A'lira laughs softly. A'lira basically vacated the entire Weyr in order to avoid such a duty. He was all about that nope on that score. He's not entirely unsympathetic, though; he'll offer the poor boy a drink or two every now and then, even if he's never, ever going to volunteer for that particular job. It just isn't worth it for him. "He'll survive, or he won't." Faranth his poor, poor soul. The bundle is set aside for him, having met with his approval. Are there more lovely little plants he can squirrel away? Why, yes, yes there are, and soon he has enough to make a lovely little surprise. For whoever. Or whatever. "So. Have you checked in on Xh'chil recently?" Becuse that poor soul's just dying to have visitors to his tiny self while he's mending."

Divale quirks a brow for the herbs set in A’lira’s little gathering but she makes no further comment. She is very selective, it seems and is taking her time in making another choice. Or is she looking for something in particular? Who knows. “Could surprise us all.” she remarks on the matter of H’rik being their newest Weyrleader. Lukoith no doubt took to chasing Zsaviranth; he had succeeded once but that was well before she became Senior. Now? No chance in hell, but that won’t stop the ambitious brown from an attempt. “Xh’chil?” Brows furrow, as she scours her memory and in the end, Divale only shakes her head. “Afraid not. My time in the ‘yard is infrequent and more so of late. Our ‘Falls have been unusually few and far between.”

A'lira may or may not agree with Divale, and is totally not going to explain the reasoning behind his little shopping expedition of his; it would take too long to explain. Kyprioth, naturally, had not cared that he'd missed the flight, as A'lira knows well the things that makes his dragon happy. There had been much rolling around in an open meadow sufficiently far away that the brown hadn't felt the rising of the gold at all. "Yeah, the one with the broken body. Like half of it. And his dragon's wing, too. Little fucker's a terror because he's not as mobile as he'd like to be." Xh'chil has been driving the young apprentices to literal tears. He offers Divale a sideways grin of amusement. Oh, how the small bronzerider reminds him of a certain brownrider. But he's not going to mention that, either. "Hmm. All the better to attend to other, more pressing matters, wouldn't you say." The breaks between Threadfalls, that is.

“Wing injuries take the longest to mend, depending on the severity. They should threaten him with a longer healing period if he’s being so stubborn a patient. Usually works.” Divale’s smirk may say otherwise, but one never knows with her! Her gaze lifts to focus narrowly on A’lira for the last statement he makes. “What pressing matters would these be?” she asks, holding his gaze until he either deflects her or answers.

"Pfff. So I've told him. Several times. And still, he fusses and glares like a wayward apprentice." Even Xh'chil bloody well old enough to know all this already. Imagine that, a restless rider; who'da thunk it. A'lira raises his eyebrows at Divale, all bland innocence in the face of her narrow focus on him. "Oh, this and that." Deflection? Maybe. But mostly, amusement at the abruptness of the question — isn't it interesting that Divale would ask. His bundle of herbs and whatever are gathered up, then, and put away into that convenient little bag he's put in a pocket. "Just those things that make life interesting."

Divale’s interest holds long enough, a vague half-smile, half-smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth and she is back to browsing. Finally she seems to make a decision and adds another small bundle of herbs to her previous stash, followed by a labeled vial of some sort of powder. Spice, maybe? “There are many different things that make life interesting and they vary from person to person.” she murmurs, while gesturing to the shopkeeper that she’s finished and is ready to pay.

A'lira's probably learned way too quickly how to dance with her. Perhaps one day she'll trip him up, but it will not be this day. The young brownrider shifts his gaze over the Bazaar, making note of a woodcrafter he really must catch up with before the man can get away. "Sure." He agrees with a chuckle, giving over the payment for his own little purchace with satisfaction. "At any rate, I'm off; enjoy your additions, there." And whatever she's going to do with them — if she doesn't ask him what he's doing wiht his, he won't ask what she's doing with hers. Likely, neither of them will get an answer anyway. With a mocking little salute, he's off after that man to finish out his little expedition.

“And same to you.” Don’t ask, don’t tell. Divale lives by that most days and after concluding her business with the shopkeeper, she will tuck her purchases away safely in a pocket. A’lira will briefly gain her full attention again; long enough for her to nod respectfully before the other brownrider can escape. “Good afternoon, A’lira.” She will turn away then, to rejoin the flow of the crowds and disappear somewhere among the Bazaar. Perhaps gone for a drink or for entertainment of another sort.

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