It's evening at Igen Weyr and there's a strange-ish gold who is making herself at home in all the sand that coats… everything. She's wallowing, in fact. Meanwhile, in the Archives, a strange figure is roaming through the stacks, muttering aloud: "No, Rhis, I promise you, it wasn't in that corner." It's probably in that corner, but Mayte is not one to accept being wrong lightly. She turns the corner and moves down another stack, asking with exasperation, "Did they totally re-do the Archives? I can't find anything!"

Lukoith is off on his nightly rounds of lurking somewhere and if Rhiscorath’s wallowing has drawn his attention, he’ll keep his observations well out of the way. With the dark brown occupied for the time being, Divale is free for a little late-night trip to the Archives for… reasons. Duty or pleasure? Who knows. She had already comfortably holed herself up in one of the less shabbier chairs and looks up from a rather thin, worn looking book. “It does seem like this place shifts every few sevenday or so.” she offers in a not-so helpful manner. Alas, she is not an archivist or even a Harper, so it begs to ask just how much help she would be if she really did put effort into it.

Mayte startles, either because she thought she was alone or because she was so distracted with this search for literature. "Every sevenday?" she echoes in dismay and no small part annoyance, "The Harper doesn't have enough going on, he can rearrange the books that often?" The annoyance isn't directed at Divale though, and Mayte huffs and stops to lean against one shelf. "Whatever. Rhis just wants a stupid romcom book she swears is here." Silly dragons and their books. Divale gets another long look and then Mayte's mouth creases into a grin: "Well, Divale. How're you doing?" She sounds utterly confident she hasn't gotten the brownrider's name wrong.

“Mhm.” Divale comfirms, while her mouth draws into one of those vague, shadowed smirks of hers. She’ll remain curled in her seat, looking utterly too comfortable there in the dim lighting. “I guess not? Though perhaps I am mistaken and only assume so.” Cryptic games or merely her odd brand of humour. “Or what I usually seek is the only items shuffled.” Her head tilts. “Romcom?” Oh no. Mayte, don’t answer that! She is more interested in this new term, than the fact that Rhis wants the book. At the long look and grin, Divale merely dips her head. She was right! “I am well enough. Settled into Parhelion well enough. Haven’t died yet.” Came close! “I keep very busy. And I can only hope Lukoith stops siring clutches on top of all the rest. I am surprised to see you.” She remembers! How could she not? Even if her approach is (rudely?) informal. “How have you been, Mayte? And Rhiscorath?”

That's also a possibility that Mayte acknowledges with a tip of her head. "Yeah," the goldrider mutters sourly, "Rhis got into those stupid romantic funny books a while back and just won't give 'em up. She says they taste sweet." There's no arguing with a gold on a mission; Mayte just shrugs. As for who Divale is, Mayte looks a bit impressed: "Parhelion AND Lukoith is siring clutches? Congratulations." A briefly smug look because the line continues but ahem. "We're well, thank you. Rhiscorath is enjoying the sand and updating her roster, and I'm… book hunting. Benden won't let her take any more paperwork because she sleeps on it and wrinkles them." Imagine, pages written by 9th Pass Weyrwomen, only to be slept on by Rhiscorath. Now, back to Igen and Divale: "I heard H'rik took the Weyrleader knot last time Zsaviranth went up. I keep meaning to bring a bottle of wine for him." Instead of being offended by Divale's approach, Mayte seems to be relaxing into it slowly.

Divale tries but fails in the end from wrinkling her nose in bemused disgust. “Romance funny books.” she echoes back. “Why,” And she sounds genuinely puzzled. “Would anyone want to read that? No offence.” To Rhis. A brow quirks for the ‘tastes sweet’ remark but the brownrider has no comment. She’ll merely close her book and rest it lightly on her lap; from what’s visible of the cover, it’s not a romcom, but something to do about plants. Obviously. “One with Zsaviranth and one with Niatskivhiath — one of the last clutches, in fact. Theirs hatched alongside Rajakhelath and Tlazotezath’s.” And funny that Mayte brings up H’rik just then! Divale nods, truly bemused this time. “That he did. Wendryth is young and so is H’rik, but we’ll see how they fair.”

Mayte just shrugs at Divale's nose: "Faranth, don't even ask. She heard about it down at Southern, or maybe it was here; I don't know. She just wanted something mindless to chew on instead of agreements and tithe bills." The shorter woman does eye the book quickly in case Divale's pulling one over but plants… well. "Congratulations again. What did Lukoith think of it?" As for H'rik's youth, Mayte shifts a shoulder once up, and then back down: "We never really know who'll do well in the Weyrleader chair. Southern's got a new one, too." Suddenly, a snicker, "K'svo," Benden's WL, "is shitting himself, talking about how he's gonna have to teach these newbies." Mayte grins wryly, "Like he wasn't a new Weyrleader so long ago himself." One hand waves away the subject of Benden though: "Anything else happening of late? I see the Bazaar hasn't set itself on fire lately…"

“Literally?” Chew on. Divale might be tempted to lead Mayte to all the romcom’s if that’s the case! Not that she’d know where to look. “He was insufferable, both times. He tried to chase Zsaviranth again when she rose despite my grievances — or that it was futile.” All those bronzes, at their best, to get top dog spot of the Weyr? Also: a woman Weyrleader? Blasphemy! “No, we don’t, do we?” she muses dryly in agreement to just how the next Weyrleader is picked. “I do not envy a bronzerider that, to be honest or a goldrider, to be honest.” Her gaze lingers a moment on Mayte before her expression clears with a blink and a vague smile. “K’svo should at least give H’rik a little longer to prove himself?” But she does not know him or much of Benden’s politics. As for Igen? Divale’s shoulders lift in a similar small shrug. “… not recently on fire, at least.” Wait, what? “Aside from the usual gossip, typical nights in the Bazaar,” Yay predictable crime? “Threadfall and most goings-on, Igen has been fairly well — quiet, even.” And? “May have a slight shortage in fresh herdbeast.” But that’s not her field, really and her knowledge may only go so far.

"Oh yeah; we're not welcome at Harper much anymore." That kind of literally. As for Lukoith, Mayte snickers a little, "Boys will be boys, whether they're actual boys or big winged creatures who chase anything that glows." The Weyrleaders will sort themselves out, or not: Mayte shrugs a little and shakes her head, "H'rik'll learn to stand for himself. K'svo means well but he gets a bit… boring when he thinks he has something to say." The Bazaar is a lot more interesting, Mayte's eyebrows rising. "I'm impressed, they've gotten boring." The herdbeast situation is a little more worrying: "Even with Keroon right there?" Lips pursing, she continues, "It's not like they're great with sharing important things… firestone, for example…" Snarkily put.

Divale laughs quiet and low in her throat for Mayte’s admission about being unwelcome from Harper Hall. She will also dip her head in agreement for Lukoith’s behaviour, but she allows the topic to slide. “Probably best that it happens that way. And is that so?” Do tell! Not that she ever hopes of crossing paths with K’svo, but one never knows? Could be she does enjoy tucking away random little tidbits of information on a person too. Some gossip can be put to good use! “I may disagree there. Give it time… the Bazaar will churn out *something*. The families can’t be so quiet for so long?” Watch them jinx the whole thing! There’s a smirk about the herdbeasts and Keroon and Divale can only helplessly spread her hands. “It’s not my business to know.” It sounds like apology and hint both that Mayte’s got the wrong person to question! “Firestone?” THAT brings a curious frown, but alas… She’s unfolding herself from her chair and returning her book to the very shelf she plucked it from. It’s clear she isn’t quite done being social however and rather boldly offers: “I am going to see if I can’t enjoy a drink or two before it gets much later.” An obvious ‘join me’ lingering there. If not? “You might have luck in that end.” A nod to the farthest corner… and probably where Mayte should have gone to start.

Mayte chortles a little and raises her eyebrows, smirking with old gossip between her teeth. "Why don't I tell you about the first Threadfall of this Pass and the party Keroon was throwing, over a beverage," she proposes, "And I'll have the Harper find it for Rhis." Because who really wants soggy romantic comedy novels piling up in their weyr? Not Mayte, for suresies. "Lead the way," and with a courteous gesture, Mayte indicates she'll follow where Divale leads, letting the books and papers sigh a bit in relief as both riders leave the archives unblemished and dry, in search of said evening of drinks and company.