Veresch, Finn


Veresch picks up the knife she'd commissioned from Finn.


It is afternoon of the first day of the eleventh month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Igen Weyr, Caravan Grounds, Reika Encampment

OOC Date


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Caravan Grounds

Deep grooves in the hard packed earth criss-cross a large patch of denuded ground, bearing mute testament to the caravans that frequent this area. Despite the midden holes set back a ways from the main center of traffic, the air is sweet, redolent with the sagebrush that forms a loose perimeter around the flattened expanse. In what is as close to its center as the vague boundaries suggest, a stone ringed fire pit has been dug and surrounded with the odd log or two, ash overflowing from its darkly blackened core.

It is the thirty-first day of Autumn and 63 degrees. The afternoon stirs with gusting winds.

Afternoon, and decently so, with the main heat of the day past and fading into an autumn dusk that promises to be incredibly beautiful, if the dust storm of earlier has anything to do with it. Having been out of the Weyr for a few days, Veresch only found the note asking for a visit a short hour ago, and made a turn past the baths before showing her clean face around the caravan grounds. Her form seems taller, or perhaps she's running the last of the awkwardness out of it. Meandering through after going to greet Onari, she turns the last little bit to the forge where the smith normally hangs out, ruffling curly-wet hair dry in the late afternoon heat.

Warbling greets Veresch as she rounds the corner, Finn straightening from his work. More sanding. He pulls the face cover down, grinning and raising a hand to pet his little flit. He whistles to her and she hop, hop, hops along the table and up onto a perch that, by the tiny clawmarks on it, is her designated 'throne.' It's waist level, so she's not getting too many grandiose ideas, but Finn tosses her a little treat when she hops to her spot. She warbles happily and croons a greeting at Veresch, standing to fan her little whitegold wings. "Afternoon Veresch, it's been a month of restdays since you've been around. Keepin' you hoppin' eh?"

Veresch might have chilled out on the subject of pets, and actually cares for her own dearly, but it's still nice to see others', and know that she won't get into long-term trouble for spoiling them rotten. Like kids, really. This time, after going to give Finn a hug and a "Hm-hmm, something like that," she goes to greet Her Highness on her perch, tickling a path up belly and down the spine. Once that is done, she turns to give him a clear smile, chin lifting just a little bit. "Busy enough that I missed the note in any case! I'm sorry about that. Did you miss me? How're you?"

Gross or not, when Finn hugs it's serious business. Hope Veresch wanted metal dust all over whatever it is she's wearing. It doesn't stain, much. The little flit butts her head against Veresch's wrist warbling happily, fairly dancing on her perch and is about to hop away after (onto) Veresch when Finn issues a short piping shrill, which arrests the movement aaaaalmost before the point of no-return and the little flit tumbles off her perch, leap aborted just a hair too late. "Awww," Finn chuckles, feeling a little stab of guilt. The little flit croons and gathers mournfully the shards of her dignity. There's a little dignity here. A little dignity there. Some more here. Oh some, no, that's just lint. She harumphs and hops back onto her perch, after which, Finn tosses her another little morsel. "Note, what note?" Finn dips down to fiddle with the treadle of his grinding wheel and straightens with a flat wooden box, set aside. "Miss you? Who're you again? Versh? Veersha?" He grins, "Of course. How's the arm?" He spins around on the stool, lifting his feet and dropping them to stop when he's facing Veresch. "Oh. You know. Goldriders. Bandit attacks. Same ol' same ol'. You? Been keepin' safe?" He stops, considering what it is that Veresch has been doing and his brows draw down, "Have you been keeping safe?" Is there someone who needs ventilating?

"Hey!" Veresch chides as the little flit meets her doom, so to speak. She waits until the treat is delivered before scooping her up in any case. If Smoke's horror of water keeps her from the baths, Finn will just have to deal. The teen needs something to pet right now. "The note you left me to come by," she reminds patiently as she sits down on her usual little stool. "It's going okay. So far they've not come up onto the traces, so I think I'm safe." Ironic, that last. "Bandit attacks? Goldriders?" Her brows knit at the combination, both stirring her to unhappiness. "The attacks I know about, but what's going on with the goldriders?" There's a short pause. "Do I need to ventilate someone?"

Since she'd waited to collect the sad little flit (now happy) until she'd gone back to her perch, Finn only has a wink for Veresch. "Ah," he leans on his elbow, finger tracing the edge of the flat box idly, "What did it say? Been so long…?" He squints, shaking his head and looking off into the distance. The memory is so far away… His eyes widen, "It has been a while, hasn't it?" He grins, a flash of teeth in the metal dust smirched face, light colored eyes dancing. He answers the first two questions by partially answering the last, "Me! According to Onari," he presses his lips together rolling his eyes lightly, Can you believe such a thing? says the fluttered lashes. "She says I embarrassed her and myself AND Linny when she visited the camp." He huffs, "I disagree. Oh, and, I, uh, got attacked by bandits outside the weyr when Garf got snakebit." Look at how interesting that little tuft of grass growing there between those rocks is.

Confusion, thy name is Veresch. In another genre, however, someone might have been alarmed at the way that she strokes at the little flit in Smoke's absence, the quiet internal rattle of mastermind-cogs spinning away. It'll work, if only she can keep her expression straight. "What did you do that she'd say that?" she asks lightly, fingertips tickling in underneath Trill's golden belly. Her expression clouds a bit. "You got attacked by bandits? Are you alright? Wait, is Garf ok?" She looks around for the canine, concerned now — "Is he… is he still around?" she asks quietly.

Finn waves a dismissive hand, "Ah, I ruined her dress. She borrowed one from Onari. It was FINE." Onari, such a worry wart. The little golden flit croons under Veresch's petting. Finn nods, a quick gesture, "I'm fine. Garf too. He's…" Finn's brows furrow and he sits up taller on his stool to crane around, "…around here somewhere. All better." Thanks to one Zingari healer.

"You ruined her dress," Veresch repeats; her voice is light, the vocal equivalent to sheerest gauze, and her fingers still slowly on the crooning flit's neckridges. "You ruined her dress." Given Finn's reputation, is it any wonder that she jumps to a conclusion that leaves a bitter taste in her mouth? "No. I think I'm with Onari on this one." Surreptitiously, perhaps, she straightens from her lean against the wagon, and the smile that evolves is wholly pretty and wholly unnatural. "I'm glad to hear that Garf is fine." Her eyes drop to the box; teenaged emotions fragile, she resorts to dodging thinking about the implications entirely. "Is that my knife in there?"

"Nothing wrong with your ears," Finn quips, wisely steering clear of a thing that needed repetition. Finn's hand flattens on the box, fingers spread over it. "Knife? Your knife? In here?" He lifts his hand to corkscrew a finger onto the lid before breaking into a broad grin and flipping to latch open to show Veresch the blade. The sketch he'd made for it is rolled up in there too, along with a little charred bit of splintery wood and a leather sheath, dyed a deep brown.

Transferring the golden flit back to her perch with a last caress, Veresch reaches out to take the box, fingertips admiring the wood, before she looks inside. One by one fingers dip inside to flicker through the contents from the sketch to the piece of charred sling-support to the leather sheath for the blade. Carefully, very carefully, she hauls out the blade to admire it, fingertips tracing over the obvious craftsmanship that shows. "Thank you," she says very quietly. "It's lovely."

The little flit fusses at getting 'put up' but settles quickly enough with a little flouncy grump. Proud, the light in Finn's eyes as he watches Veresch admire the blade. A good bit of work, that. "You'll have to thank Onari and Garlin as well," he sits back on his stool from the untintentional loom he'd been hovering in. "Onari did the sheath and helped me fit it to a smaller hand. Garlin did the hilt. I'm real pleased with how the blade came out." He looks pleased. Fit to bust.

"I'll thank them when I see them again. I saw Onari heading in, but." But. There's a big but there. Stowing the blade carefully back into the box, she clicks its lid shut, and looks up at the blue-eyed lug. "Thank you again. But Finn…" There's that but again, and this time as she stands it finds a voice. "I'm going on a long run as of tomorrow," she announces, like she hadn't just decided it. "Might be away for a few sevens if something doesn't go wrong. You take care of Onari during that time, ok? I hope things go well. My compliments to your parents."

Finn nods, "If she's not in her wagon, she'll be down at the roundpens with Ma." He peers up, thinking, "What's today?" Hmmm? He nods finally, "Yeah, roundpens." Something seems amiss and he watches as Veresch secures the latch and makes her goodbyes. She'd been so excited before. Exacting. Anxious. The proud beam dims, "Is it… it's what you wanted, right?" Nevermind about the extended trip. THERE'S PROFESSIONAL PRIDE IN JEOPARDY.

Veresch, about to turn away, hears that tiny quavering note in his question, and her brows furrow. She looks around, sees that face. It decides something for her, and she puts the box down on the little stool she had just stood up from. "Hold up your hands and close your eyes," she murmurs, foot tapping as she waits for him to do so. "And don't peek. That'll spoil it."

"Um," What? Finn does as he's bid. He holds up his hands? Like a stickup? And closes his eyes. Ducking his head briefly to scratch an itch on his face with a bunched shoulder. Metal dust leaves smut on the fabric. "Okay."

If only he didn't always do as instructed, his life expectancy would be much longer, and not so fraught with dads wanting to kill him. However, that's the burden he has to bear for being hot and biddable, so he'd better bear it. Seconds after he holds up his hands there are smaller ones lacing their fingers through his, until Veresch is clasping both hands, and the feel of another's forehead resting against his. "Do you really think I don't like it?" she asks quietly, very close to him. "I love it. I absolutely love it. And I…" There's a long pause, and a light kiss right on the lips, and a rapid-fire retreat of a few paces. When he opens his eyes again, she's scowling. "Tell anyone I did that and I'll kill you in your sleep with your own damnable hammer."

Veresch was about as scary to Finn as the kitten he'd given her, so, biddable, yeah. No reason not to be. Except. Whoops. His eyes snap open at that lace of fingers in his and Veresch stepping into his space, and she's pressing her forehead to his. He closes his eyes quickly, not wanting to print Veresch's face in soft, intimate focus in his mind. He sits very still. He's right on the cusp of saying something when the light kiss comes. His eyes snap open at that for damn sure and he straightens, blinking at Veresch as she retreats. "Veresch!" Kill him with his hammer? What? Agog. As if he hadn't pulled very similar shenanigans more times than he could count. Age appropriately, of course. Flummoxed.

"What?" Veresch demands, still scowling. "I know that can't be the first time that that's happened. Don't worry. I won't step in on your precious dress-ripping … thing." There's hurt there, oh yes. "But I couldn't face you again without at least having said something about the situation I'm in now. I'm not a coward, and I don't want to be one now." Thus all mastermind plans are foiled, see, by the ambitions of their own creators. The scowl deepens. "I mean it. Tell anyone, even 'nari, and I'll make your life a living misery, okay? Okay." She grabs her box. "We got a deal, Trader?"

Finn blnks, mouthing 'ripping thing'? What? "Coward? What situation?" There's a shift in Finn's posture, chin dipping down, shoulders straightening. Having been in a 'situation' recently -with bandits- this isn't something he's taking lightly. She'd said she was heading out of the Weyr. Is it ventilating time? So, so clueless. Soo…. ooooh. Finn's eyes go wide. Dots. He can connect them. Given time enough. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, shaking his head as he chuckles, "Veresch, you're one of the least cowardly people I know." He cocks his head looking at her with a little sad expression and nods, making an 'X' over his heart. "I'll say bye to 'Nari for you. Be safe out there." There's a healthy dose of 'you better' ladled in.

With her box cuddled to her chest, Veresch tosses him one last look before she goes to greet Trill. "Take care of him," she orders the golden flit, and makes her way out of the encampment, back straight and chin up, even if she's sniffling and suspiciously bright-eyed.

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