Mayte, El'ai


Mayte and Rhis have gone to Southern and decide to explore the new Hold. There, they discover El'ai and Sekhaenkath. Vodka is shared.


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


Southern Hold Ice Fields

OOC Date


el-ai_default.jpg Mayte7.jpg

Ice Fields

The air is fine and crisp and sharp and spare, threatening to vanish within the lungs of those who risk such altitude. Vast and sprawling lies the ice shelf of the Southern continent, bleak as far as the sharpest of eyes can see. Here there is meddling by mortal forces, a road ice-cut and gravel-trod from the mountain pass below to the looming caves ahead.

It is really damn cold out; but it's not below freezing which is a plus. Rukbat's butter-yellow kiss is just warm enough to remind one that she lurks so high in the sky but does little to actually *warm*. Glistening across the ice fields, spring heralds the cold sweat across the top of the ice shelf that aids in a slushy crunch that yields beneath the boot steps of one young bronzerider. El'ai has sought these fields to explore them, Sekhaenkath a dark blight against snowy wastes. "Hold there, a moment." A muttered comment that's meaningless to the ears that hear, but means something to El'ai, who's caught himself squinting in the snow-bright glare towards the blue-shaded mountains. What's out there? The truth?

For a while it may seem that the cold silence of the ice fields means that El'ai, Sekhaenkath, and the cold are alone. In fact, if it weren't for the squirmy little brown escort whose flaps precede him, Mayte and Rhiscorath could have come up undetected. Instead, while Rhiscorath glides, Twerpth seems to fumble around with the air - or maybe that's just in comparison to the young gold. Both do come in for a landing, one more gracefully than the other, and it's easy to hear Mayte shooing Twerpth and D'ummy away: "Look. There's someone there. It's Rhiscorath's sire and rider, I'll be fine." The wavering D'ummy does take the exc-reason to leave, taking off again with a warning look and a "Meet me at Southern before you fly back." Whatevs. So now Mayte and Riscorath are free of their minders, so the nearly-not-a-weyrling moves up closer to El'ai: "Hey there! Whatcha doing out here?" A look about, to where Rhiscorath is trying to figure out if snow is like sand: "Sorta cold, isn't it?" All teasing in that tone.

Lost in thought, El'ai doesn't immediately notice Mayte's arrival, though Sekhaenkath is not nearly so unobservant. A purring warble is sent across the glittering ice towards his girl-child, the flame-heat of red-bronze brilliant feet making their way closer to both goldrider and his own. "Mayte," El'ai's surprise is etched in the uplift of brows and the slight open of mouth before he collects himself and shoves his hands in his pockets. A rakish smile curves wickedly across his features, brilliant blue eyes glinting with hidden humor. "They let you out, huh?" Bundled in the warmth of riding leathers, the man looks hardly the worse for wear despite the cold's hungry teeth nipping at his heels. "Just a bit. Maybe it's chilly." So says the lie that rolls off quicksilver tongue, that marks such words for falsehoods with the puff of vapor that comes with each word.

Just a moment, dad. Rhiscorath is on the verge of an important discove… Haaaay, it's wet! The gold doesn't hmph her disdain, but there's an air of snobby delicacy in the way she raises her nose from a patch of the stuff, sneezes, and makes her way back over to her sire. From there, she greets him with warm beams of light through dusty windows. Mayte is grinning when she looks from her dragon's antics to El'ai. "Well, not so much 'let out'…" So many ways that could go, but she doesn't explain much after, "They stuck me with an escort," and a thumb is hitched in the direction of D'ummy and Twerpth. Anyways, "Pfft, this is more than chilly. This is like… like how I imagine High Reaches is." Mayte's own leathers look slightly more worn than El'ai's, "But then, I guess living in Igen'll do that to you. So, whatcha doing out here?" Don't think she didn't notice El'ai evading that question. "It's kinda pretty, in a… cold way."

Sekhaenkath's own presence is reminiscent of night time, midnight fur and the inescapable spirit of adventure that coalesces into the bobbing will'o'wisps that dance through a primordial forest. It's a greeting, promise. "What am I doing out here?" Brows shoot up even further as the bronzerider rocks back on his heels, inner amusement only getting deeper. "Why, exploring." El'ai's expression is full of laughter and wicked thoughts. "And you? Did you come," a glance to the rather limp — er — lame escort, "to check out where we're building the Hold?" Cheeks are pink with cold, dark lashes flutter when the wind kicks up, stirring snow-dust and sending chills down the spine. "Okay, it might be cold." It's a teasing concession. "Rhiscorath looks good." Beat. "Healthy." Pause. "Not missing any limbs or anything." Smooth, El'ai. "It is pretty," his gaze pulls away from Mayte, turning to view the harsh surroundings. "Dangerous, but pretty all the same."

A spirit of adventure that Rhiscorath is unsure of, watching longingly from her stacks of books. A book flips open to what seems to be the climax of an adventure novel, the hero overcoming so many obstacles. There are even little drawings in the margins. Ahem. Mayte turns from her observations of the landscape to eye El'ai: "I heard about it, and Rhiscorath decided she had to come see it for ourselves." That very same healthy dragon who's busy trying to flick snow off her tail. Ewwwww. "Thank you," Mayte replies with a return grin, "I try to keep her that way." The idea of missing limbs has Mayte looking incredulous, but evidently decides against asking for more details. Wince. "Dangerous, like, from freezing to death?" The young woman looks around with renewed interest: "Or someone could slip and hit their heads?"

El'ai's statement garnering that look from Mayte has the bronzerider nearly laughing outright. "It's not like I really remember what all goes into weyrlinghood — and really not in a pass. Ours was pretty lax." Weyrlinghood, that is. Sekhaenkath is content to curl into a loaf of dragon, tail curled around the dark dragon glass of his spiked form. "Freezing to death, yeah. Falling, getting caught in an avalanche; pretty much anything that could kill you that's cold." Despite his dour words, the bronzerider is not at all dour. "How's Igen? I kind of miss the freedom of whoring and gambling." Because who doesn't like honesty? Really, now! He eyes the gold, thoughtful. "Adjusting to being a rider?"

Oh sure, laugh at the Weyrling. Mayte looks only a little disgruntled, but it passes quickly - perhaps she's getting used to that. Or learning better, but whichever: "Lax? Like they thought the Red Star wasn't gonna come back or something?" Cuz surprise. "In any case, Rhiscorath watches what Sekhaenkath is doing, and imitates him after moving in close to share warmth. "An avalanche soundss pretty awful. Uh, the whorehouses?" Time for a cautious look at the man who Searched her: "Uh, I wouldn't know myself, but… but no one's come screaming or crying about them not eing there.." Maybe there's been a few new wives who aren't as happy with it, but, "Things seem to be running along, tickety-boo. We even have a kind of interim goldrider!" Which spells happy times for Mayte, though Rhis snorts at some snow. "How's Southern? Heard you had a new Weyrleader," Mayte continues as if Rhis hadn't not-commented at all.

"Just… lazy," El'ai doesn't elaborate, brow furrowing as if it's a time he'd rather not remember with any particular clarity. He's able to shrug it off and glance back at Mayte. A smirk comes to play, along with the narrowing of eyes that heralds the roughly-stated words, "I'm sure they're still there, but I've got bigger things on my plate than a bunch of women. It's got fond memories, but we're at war now." War with THREAD. Eyes widen as surprise flits across his features, "Do you? What, exactly, does an Interim goldrider do? I don't think Tuli is going back." She's not exactly moved from her convalescent spot. "Ja'kai. Appointed by Q'fex, but I don't think he's going to last long."

A long, quiet moment for Mayte as she watches El'ai's expression and her own eyes narrow back: "They would be. And the Pass started before Rhiscorath's egg was even laid." Nope, it's not the diplomatic life for Mayte. About Linny, the young woman shrugs, "Uh, I guess what most junior Weyrwomen do… Linny says her specialty is talking with others so she'll handle that stuff." No skin off Mayte's nose, evidently. Her interest in Ja'kai is more palpable: "Yeah, he's not a bronzerider, isn't he?" Clearly this is a leap of belief, even for a girl for whom some formative years were spent with Oldtimers, "Why not? Well…" a pause to think about the situation, "He's not gonna be able to chase the Senior queen, so I guess he's out when she goes up again." That's Rhiscorath's granny we're talking about: "Talicaneetath, right?"

"But I Impressed before the strange goldrider," that would be Rhaeyn, "fell out of the sky and changed our world," El'ai adds, tilting his head almost childlike in her direction. He examines her from this curious position, before going on to muse, "And what do interim junior weyrwomen do that like to talk to people? Is she going to stay?" He pauses, carefully considers his next question, "Maybe she'll take Tuli's place with you and Sadaiya?" But the affairs of Igen's goldriders have little to do with his own narrow world view. Fishing around his jacket, he turns up a silver'd flask and takes a sip. Offering it to the weyrling goldrider while saying, "No, Ja'kai can't chase, but I don't think he'll last even that long. I have a feeling some of the brown- and bronzeriders will overthrow him before he can dig his claws in." Wrinkling his nose, the Southern bronzerider states, "It's messy and it doesn't help that Ja'kai is… Ja'kai."
Rat walks to the Mountain Pass.

A nod of Mayte's still helmeted head seems to concede El'ai's point, but then Mayte pauses and looks the bronzerider over carefully. "And before Thread came back," she adds, a little expectantly, as if this must have been the next sentence El'ai was going to say. She's distracted for a moment about Linny's position: "Well, she's showing me a lot of things, and I'm getting more lessons with her and Sadaiya now that the other weyrlings are flaming. I think it helped the morale, after we learned Tuli couldn't come back right away." Does Mayte look a little uncomfortable, even as she takes the flask and sniffs at it? "What's in this?" Another sniff and then Mayte pauses with the flask half-way up to her mouth, wondering, "Can a Weyr really do that? Vote their Weyrleader out?" Mayte is utterly astonished: these are the nitty details of politics one doesn't get in lessons.
Rat walks in from the Mountain Pass.

"It's vodka. It'll warm your bones. You can drink now, yes? Drink, have sex and all that?" El'ai forgets where the weyrlings are in their learnings. Sekhaenkath's warble of Rhiscorath's presence is enough to seed the familial bonds there. For now, anyway. He is ever a creature of Khalyssrielth, after all. "Ja'kai," the bronzerider's tone is cool, neutral, "did not earn his position, Mayte. If all of the wings opted to not follow him? It could happen. He's only a man." The look he gives the Igen goldrider is troubled. "Not everyone follows the rules either. Southern is suffering the presence of more than one or two or three ambitious bronze and brownriders." Running his hand around the curve of his stubbled jaw, he squints a look to Mayte, "Yuh-huh. I'm sure it helped that people were excited to flame and didn't have to worry about the weyr not being able to produce as many new babies." A touch sardonic, a touch teasing is the smile that follows.

Oh, well, vodka. Try stopping Mayte now, even if she gives the mouth of the flask a little wipe with leathered gloves. Cooties, you understand. "Mmm," she says after a bracing swallow, "Oh yeah, we can drink or swear. We're adults now, y'know." A sardonic grin in response accompanies the return of the flask, "Even got our own weyrs now." Escort D'ummy aside. But she's not here to argue politics either: "But he was appointed by the man who did." Still, Mayte looks intrigued enough to not follow that line of argument, instead muttering something about bronzeriders. Shake of head, and the Weyrling returns to normal conversational tones: "Well, now Southern doesn't have to worry about that as much, huh?" Sweet and a little salty, those words.
You overhear Mayte mutter, "Yeah. Ambitious … … figure…" to herself.

Don't think El'ai didn't pick up on what she didn't say. And because he's an ass, he's going to drag it into the open with a hint of wicked glee, "Don't have anyone warming your bed then, eh? Don't need to go on and visit the male whores do ya?" Incorrigible tease, he is. "Yes, he was, but Q'fex isn't the Weyrleader and one's finger of power only extends so long. Especially for those who have lofty goals." Which, by El'ai's expression and tone, is not himself. "No, we don't. I think we'll be having babies crawling out of our ears soon." Now he's taking the flask back, giving the girl a little wink.

Evidently this is either a point of frustration for Mayte or annoyance: "You got someone?" she fires back, "Southern got a Rosie's or something?" No mention of the male whores, at least. Oh look, Southern politics: "Well, maybe Taleecanitath will go up soon and save you from your Weyrleader, or something like that." Whatevs, in other words. Mayte licks her lips again a little and exhales like she's just bitten into something spicy and comments, "Y'know, they tell us at Vintner… told us, that drinking alcohol in the cold isn't actually a great idea." Still, she's eyeing that flask in El'ai's hand.

"Talicanitath," El'ai says absently, then leans in. "Why? You worried I got someone?" he fires back, unperturbed by her own annoyance. "Did they?" A looooooong swig is taken, rather in exaggeration, before handing it back to her. Wiping the back of his mouth with his gloved hand, he says, "I've heard the opposite. It helps keep you warm. In fact, some areas feed alcohol to their animals when it gets really cold because it helps keep the body from freezing or some shit." He shrugs. He dun care. He cares that it tastes good.

"Yeah, her," Mayte replies, though Rhiscorath turns to stare at El'ai for a moment. Filed and noted. Maybe with sticky flags. The bronzerider's casual lack of response doesn't help Mayte's temper, but she can curtail it to: "Pfft. Yeah. Ew." Emphasis on the 'ew'. "You're like, Rhiscorath's sire's rider." Human squicks mean little to dragons, but Mayte hasn't quite reached that point yet. "I thought they fed it to their animals to make 'em taste better." The flask is taken with a grin and while Mayte does clean off the mouth of it again, she's easily generous with her swig. "You guys made this down at Southern?" The flask is waved a little to indicate its content.

El'ai stares at her. Stares at her. Incredulity filters into his bright, bright blue eyes. "Seriously? Wow, that's…" His ego isn't harmed because he's now deemed Mayte as crazy. Licking his lips, he doesn't even bother to explain and instead just shakes his head. Laughs a little and finally answers her question after the quick inhale and exhale of breath, "Yeah. Or I think it is. I got it from my sister." A short burst of half-laugh and the bronzerider's adding in, "Possibly they do, but they also keep them warm with it." Or so the stories have told him.

For some reason, this nettles Mayte a little: "That's what?" she asks, watching El'ai through narrowed eyes, though she'll offer the flask back. No point in being crazy AND a thief. "We make something comparable at Igen." is her assertion to that though, "Your sister, huh? I think I should meet her, if she's giving stuff like that out." For a moment, Mayte closes her eyes with a frown and huffs. "And now I'm supposed to go ::between:: back to Igen. That's some powerful stuff." The vodka, she means.

El'ai leans in towards the goldrider and gives her a wicked smile before saying, in utter seriousness, "That's asinine." And as for her comment on between, the bronzerider chin-nods towards the base camp, which is currently a hole in the mountain, and says, "Go wait in there until it passes off." Crooked half-smile later and he's taking the flask and using it to salute the girl. "It's time for you to run along like a good little girl." That seems to be the conclusion she's drawn from her explosive (in his eyes) 'ew'. Does it say it to purposefully nettle the weyrling? It is entirely possible for his smart ass is sauntering away. Towards Sekhaenkath. Presumably to go somewhere. Maybe it's to see his whores. Who knows! This is El'ai, bailing the scene stage left.

Rhiscorath rises from her comfortable crouch and pads towards her rider. "Good little girl," Mayte mutters, fuming. She's not mouth-agape at El'ai's retreating ass (that's right, flee), but she stomps towards the approaching gold dragon. She still manages to mount with the customary aid to get on something as tall as Rhiscorath, if a bit more carefully. It's then that the cursing starts, something about D'ummy and Twerpth that's probably audible, since sound carries over even frozen water. "I'll see you at Southern!" she shouts as Rhiscorath starts to take off, and then when she has enough time to envision, Rhiscorath blinks ::between::.

Add a New Comment