Perfect night for the patio.
RL Date: 5/18/08
IC Date: 6/1/16
Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
This ledge is a good size, allowing two large dragons on it at the most, however the furniture and decorations do very little to allow dragons to land. The stone has, through time, become smooth with the sting of High Reaches' biting winter winds. Lacking are the telling talon marks of an occupant at any time within the past decade and the ledge has been weeded and cleared of greenery. Situated along the western bowl, this ledge offers a view of the lake in the distance and has a set of wide steps curving along the bowl wall to the ground.
A stone half-arc shelters half of the ledge from the extreme weathers, where a iron-wrought bench and two patio-like tables have been set up. Little niches, carved out of the stone in a rustic fashion hold glow baskets to provide light at night. The very edge has been decorated with wooden boxes of potted flowers that blossom beautifully in the spring and summer.
The evening is clear, not a cloud to be seen, giving you a perfect view of the stars. The smaller Belior is a nearly full waning gibbous while Timor shines in half moon. A light wind blows and the summer air is warm enough, with only a slight chill.
Look! It's a lovely day, the first of summer, and it's still early enough that the sun slants a long blue shadow across the bowl that's just encroaching the very edge of the patio; not everything's blood and drama and violence. How nice. N'thei seems to be enjoying the view, the leisure to watch toward the lake where warm weather's welcomed, the time to eat an apple, the luxury of kicking his feet up to the a table with his chair tipped back. Industry be damned.
Why it -is- a lovely day, and of all the things that N'thei's lazy gaze might see as he watches the bowl and the lake, they now include the approach of an impromptu foot race. There's the laughing and hooting of kids, chasing along, ages varying and thus speeds varying as well. Except one of them isn't a kid, it's a pale, skinny greenrider joining in the fun, laughing and yelping and encouraging some of the littler kids to keep up with the bigger ones. However, as the race nears the steps to the garden ledge, Persie pulls up, waving to her competitors and turning her jog up the stairs. Her cheeks are flush and her breath fast when she reaches the top, a hand wiping at her forehead rather dramatically, just in case any one is looking. She's still grinning, that big laughing smile not quite faded yet.
N'thei watches, of course he watches, that's what he's out here to do. In fact, a devil-may-care footrace could be exactly the kind of thing he's looking to watch, kens to it with his chin lifted up to see a little clearer toward the burst of runners. Yes, one breaks off, and he flicks a look long enough to be sure who it is and where she's headed before he leans hard to one side to see how the race ends. "You'd have had a close race there with the carrot-top," he glibs, one finger jabbed out to indicate a portly lad puffing across the finish line.
"Nah," Persie answers, leaning a bit as well to get a glimpse of how things turn out. "I'd have let him win. Poor fat little thing. I think it's considered sort of bad form to beat kids, isn't it? I mean, not, you know -beat- them, but to beat them in games and stuff." But she comes to a stop then, by the Snowasis's entrance, a hand on the stone and her brows pulling inward. "That doesn't quite seem right, though, does it? There's nothing wrong with losing. I wonder why that is. Anyway. I need a drink." And so she disappears into the Snowasis and a few long moments pass before she comes out with a tall glass of beer and looks to find herself a seat.
N'thei drags up an eyebrow, beat kids? No questions though, just a mild smile to chase Persie inside. He's down to picking flesh off the core of his apple by the time she returns, down to spitting a seed off his tongue across the ledge, up to watching her return with a twist of his lips. "Your generosity overwhelms me," with a look at her /one/ beer.
Well that confuses her. Persie stands there, looking at N'thei and his expression, following his gaze to her drink. It takes her a few full beats before she has any idea what he's talking about. And then she frowns, thinking hard. And then she hands her drink to him. "Here. I'll get another one." A hand anxiously slipping into her pocket to see if there's anything there.
Sometimes, it's just too easy. N'thei rushes to shake his head, to hold the beer right back out to Persie with a quick, "I'm just fooling around, love. Take your drink. Trying to cut back." At least for the next 2-3 hours. "Sit. Keep me company in the daylight for a change." One foot off the table flattens against the edge of a chair and pushes it back for her, metal legs making an irritating creech across stone.
"I could get you something else if you want," Persie says, taking the drink back when he offers, though her attention is certainly on the little wad of lint that she's come up with from her pocket. "Like... water." Frown. "Or we can share this one. It's just beer." Which is basically water, as far as she's concerned. "In daylight? How crazy," the blonde teases, flopping into the chair and only keeping the beer in the glass by luck. "Did I ever ask you to pick apples with me? Or did I just think about it really hard?" Apparently she didn't fail to take note of his snack.
"You did." N'thei tosses the core toward one of the potted plants, mulch in the making, and goes back to his pure leisure with his hands laced behind his head. "Sort of. You said we should do it some time, but I can't remember the chronology. Before or after I started treating you like an asshole?" Shrug for the timeline. "Why are you broke? Surely a pretty girl doesn't pay for all her own drinks." An accusing frown works its way over to Persie.
"Well, we should." Persie says with a nod of her head. She takes a gulp and offeres the beer over, even though he's just settled back again. "In the fall. We should. I know a place where they give you a bucket and let you pick as many as will fit. And you can keep 'em all, though not the bucket. It's a good price. You know, if you want your own apples. Anyway. She shrugs, one thin shoulder up and down. "I was broke for a while. I'm trying to be... less broke now. I want to see what the traders have. You're not broke are you? You must be making plenty now."
N'thei pronounces gently, "Not sure I'm into the whole picking part of apples. Just buy them already off the tree." True to his word, he shakes his head at her offer of beer, makes a face at the glass even, then another one at Persie's last statement there. "Not broke, but never really was. By 'now,' I'm guessing you mean because I'm the guy in charge?" Who sits on the patio in the fading afternoon while everyone else maintains industry, yep.
"Yes, because you're the guy in charge," Persie clarifies. "I didn't mean you were broke, just that you'd be... not likely to be broke being the guy in charge and all." But she's looking a touch sheepishily. "It's fun. Picking apples," she adds, settling back with her drink and bringing her knees up with her heels caught on the edge of her seat. "It might be fun," that spoken into her glass.
With a forlorn sigh, N'thei counters, "Spend it as fast as I make, sorry to say. Plus I used to pay Shanlee for doing my job." Used-to brings out a quick smile though, briefly pleased, then he eyes Persie and her knee-hugging posture. "Have you done it before? The apple-picking." Not sold.
"Well then, if you spend it as fast as you make it, the apples will be a good deal," Persie points out. Selling. "I -have- gone apple picking. That's how I know it's fun. And I bet you could reach all sorts of apples that I couldn't." Ulterior motives. "What do you spend it on?"
N'thei, with a short laugh; "Doubt that. People with skinny legs always seem to make the best climbers." He looks square at those skinny legs speculatively, then across at his own not-skinny ones perched on the edge of the table. "Split the cost of a bucket, you get the apples, I'll sit in the shade and keep you company." Like now! "What do you think I spend it on?" Honest question.
Well if he's gonna look, Persie will stretch one of those long pale legs out to put a foot on the table too. "Skinny," she repeats, affirms, either way, it's a rather thoughtful. "We can split the cost but you should still help, you lazy thing. You just have no idea what's good for you." It's a bright, cheeky smile that she flashes over the edge of her glass, her teeth sunk into her lip. "I think... I think you spend it on drinks. And gambling. But at least you can make something on gambling, can't you? Well, -you- could, at least. Not me, I don't really know how. Anyway, did I miss anything?"
N'thei arranges his feet to hook one under Persie's ankle, boots making it easy to get a grip, and drag the whole appendage this way and that like he needs a better view to pass judgment. "Skinny. Sorry kid." He concedes her guesses at his pocketbook with a pair of nods, drinking and gambling, then a happy-looking grin. "Gambling's easy, it's the bluffing that's hard, but that's where the money is. Not a good liar, are you?"
Persie's brows lift up as he hooks her leg, lifts it, but she'll wiggle her sandaled toes and play along. "Just skinny? Not graceful or lovely or anything? You've got to work on your sweet-talking," cheeky still. But she slips her foot off of his, back onto the table. "I don't know if I'm a good liar. I don't think I've tried much." But it does give her a puzzled look to think about it.
"Do you want me to say graceful or lovely?" N'thei looks at the leg in question again, his brows creased up while he tries to reconcile the flattery to the body part. Ahem. "Women usually have the leg-up-- pardon the pun-- in the lying department. Big eyes, beginning of a pout, we'll buy whatever bridge you're selling, sweetheart. Speaking of which. What are you trying to buy off the Vijays?"
"Only if you mean it," Persie laughs, playfully narrowing her eyes at him and marring the expression with a wrinkle of her nose. "Lying gambler." But she'll bend her knee a little, just to make that limb's curve a touch more shapely. "I was thinking of beads. I heard Lujayn has one of those beaded curtains and I thought it might be sort of fun to make one. Have one. She and I were going to go together. I don't know if they have beads but I figure they probably have -something- worth buying, right?"
N'thei says neither graceful nor lovely, but he looks at Persie's new curves and all. Because he's a man. "Presumably more than just /some/ thing worth buying. Kept an eye while they brought in all that merchandise, just for curiosity's sake, and some of it could be worth having at the right price. But beaded curtains?" Just a mite bemused there.
Persie just shrugs. "It sounded fun. Pretty. Besides, I was just going to buy the beads and make the curtain." She seems to have forgotten all about her leg. "And if there's something better then I'll buy that. Maybe a pretty dress or something. You know, for the next time there's a party." She looks, for a moment, like she's starting to feel sort of silly about the whole thing, her attention falling into her glass again. "What am I supposed to buy?"
Smile; "Don't look at me, love, I spend my money on drinks and gambling." And little things he takes out of his pocket then, a small-seeming box when held on N'thei's hand like that. "Presents from time-to-time. Shopping for Satiet's turnday, didn't find anything, but this one intrigued me. Bought it. Maybe it's for you." Made out of some soft blond wood and set with a tremendously delicate silver lock and hinge, locked closed.
Persie looks at the box, looks at him, looks at the box, looks at him. Her lips purse and she takes a drink of her beer, swallowing and wiping her lips with the back of a hand before she sits up to peer down at the box more properly. "Why not give it to her? Maybe you'll find something to put in it. You know, a necklace or something." Or a roll of pretty bandages. Her head tips, blonde hair hanging, "It's awfully pretty."
"Ahhh no." N'thei sets the box on the table and leans back from it, surveys it with much the same attention he showed Persie's leg not ten minutes ago: pretty but not possessive of. "It's locked." And no sign of a key in sight, and a locking mechanism so delicate that any attempt to pick or pry it would ruin the whole box. "I think some piece of jewelry that's pretty that she'll never wear seems more fitting. Just liked this."
"So..." See, there's a lot implied there and Persie isn't always so quick on the puzzling of facts. She takes a breath and sits back again, forgetting the box and looking at N'thei now. "So you bought a locked box that you can't open?" Even Persie is getting an inkling of the symbolism there and a beat later she shakes her head and coughs out a laugh that requires quick drinking.
N'thei doesn't exactly answer, though his lips fold while he looks at the box from beneath raised eyebrows. "Pretty box though, isn't it? For what it's worth." Collecting dust? "You laugh, but you're the one that wants to make her own beaded curtains." Still lingering derision over /beaded curtains/. With one finger, he slides the box across the table to Persie's side, ends with a bright smile; "Now it's a locked box that you can't open."
Yeah, like Persie doesn't have her own locked box analogies. "Yeah, but I do a lot of silly things. You're all rough and tough and mean," she puts on her mean face--lips all pouty, brows all creased--while she says this, shifting either shoulder foward with each adjective. "The great, big bronzerider." Still, she leans forward to switch her glass for the box, if only to shake it beside her ear and see if there's the sound of anything inside. "So you saw this box, thought it was pretty and bought it. That's it? You -do- have extra marks, don't you."
There is something inside it, something that shuffles like paper, something that rattles like metal or glass. N'thei watches her rattling it with curious detachment, not his problem any more. "There's probably plenty to be said for that too, more than for the locked box. Saw something I wanted, now it's mine." The sad look, not at all the rough-tough-mean, answers her dramatic expression; "That's what I am to you, my darling?" Sniff.
But now Persie is distracted, listening to those mysterious contents rustle and rattle around inside their delicate prison. "That's what you are to you," she answers, entirely off handed as now she's eyeing that lock. "I bet if we brought it to the smiths they could get it open." But for now she tries slipping her thumbnail along the crack between lid and base, to not effect obviously.
Eyes on the thumbnail, N'thei warns quietly, "I wouldn't." The silver around the lip of the box is thin, delicate, a foil-like covering easy enough t scratch away. Whoever put the box together did not mean for it to be roughly handled. "Do you want to?" He sounds surprised, disappointed. "Take it to the Smiths. It's yours. You can do what you want with it." But he files his teeth in a nervous tell at Persie's plans.
Her thumb stops just shy of the silver and Persie frowns a bit. She gives it another shake. "Well, there's someting inside..." And then, with a little chuckle, "Maybe it's the key." She flicks a look at him to share the joke, but he's looking a little anixious and that stops her, the laugh drawing out awkwardly as she blinks at him. "You don't want it openned?" she asks him, sounding a bit surprised herself.
"If I wanted it opened." N'thei looks hard at the very little thing, reaches toward it to lay two fingers across the lid and measure the length no more than his index finger. "Don't you think I would have opened it?" His half-smile is kind of 'duh' at her question there, no offense, and ends with a real-er (word?) chuckle. "I don't think it's the key, but who knows what, neh? Mystery's the fun."
"Maybe not if you didn't want to have the box all busted. I mean, you could smash it but then you wouldn't have the box," Persie observes, holding the thing still for his measure of it against his hand. However, she's eyeing him now, lashes narrowed without any playful pretense. "Do you know what's in this box, N'thei?"
This is why N'thei always has money; he looks right at Persie and there's no way to know whether or not he has the first clue what's actually in the box. "Do you think I'd tell you if I did?" he asks pleasantly, drags his finger across the fine filigree along the top of the box, then presses it a bit more securely into Persie's hand before he withdraws to his chair. "Now then. I'm thinking a ruby, pigeon's blood, not too big. Too gawdy?"
Persie laughs, "I think that if you didn't know, there'd be no point in being all mysterious about it." Her tongue works along the pinched edge of her lips as she focuses on the blonde wood and silver fastening. "If you don't want me to open it, I won't," she tells him. It takes a breath for her to make that promise, but then she sets the box on the table and takes up her glass again. "For the Weyrwoman? If it's not too big, I wouldn't think it would be too gawdy. Do you think she'd like it? Getting jewelry? You know her better than I do."
"Unless I want you to think I know for the sheer childish joy of knowing-something-you-don't-know." N'thei even devolves into the sing-songy chime that usually colors that particular turn of phrase, neener. He drags his thumbnail across his lower lip while he thinks on it-- not the box, the jewelry. "From me? Don't think she'd like it, kind of the point though. Just don't want it to be something horrible. It's the act she ought to hate, not the object."
Leova meanders outside from the inner cavern.
Leova has arrived.
I'daur walks outside from the inner cavern.
I'daur has arrived.
"If she'd hate it, why do it?" Persie asks, if hesitantly because as soon as the words leave her lips she can fathom a few reasons. None of which are likely to be N'thei's reason. But she's curling up with her half-finished glass of beer again, drawing the outstretched leg in and switching it for the other. "Where did you get the box, anyway?"
Evening's coming on, but it looks to be a fine one weather-wise. So N'thei and Persie are out enjoying it, chairs pulled up to one of the tables on the patio; she's got a beer, he's reclined with his hands laced behind his head, they both have at least one foot propped on the table. It's the life. --Predictably, he ignores the first question; the second makes him smirk. "Why? Thinking to ask for a duplicate key?"
"Thinking of asking for the key, yeah." But then Persie's thinking. It's a visible thing. There might even be a little smoke coming out from under that pale hair. "Duplicate?" That's what all the thinking comes up with, that and the arch of her eyebrows over surprised eyes. There's a smile tugging her lips. What are they talking about? Well it's entirely possible they're talking about that little wooden box on the table with the delicate silver lock. Possible.
At least the latest arrivals aren't dripping wet by now, no more than mildly damp here and there, though dragon-washing hasn't done Leova's hair any favors with the way it's curling on top. She's balancing a platter with bubbly pies, raided before the rest are gone, trying not to step on I'daur's heels. After all, he's got the kebabs. And the drinks, of course. And maybe even, believe it or not, a bit of salad.
Laden with food, I'daur makes a slower path than usual out onto the patio, glancing around for its tables to see their emptiness. And while he notes the spaces left over, he also notes N'thei and Persie there, and he turns to glance back at his follower, pausing so that his heels probably get clipped one more time. "Wher you want to sit?" he asks Leova.
N'thei pinches his lower lip with his thumb and finger, pulls it out a little, shakes his head while holding it like that. "Not telling." His upper lip, his upper teeth stretch into a smile that he holds till he drops his hand away, just about to speak again when out comes the food. Oh; and I'daur and Leova. "I'm not sure /picnicking/ is entirely appropriate given the current state of affairs," he begins most importantly, slides his feet back off the table to sit up straight and use his Weyrleader tone.
Between N'thei and his lip pulling, Persie's a beat behind when it comes to the arrival of more company and not to mention the food. She blinks over at Leova and I'daur, a bright smile claiming her lips. "Hi guys!" she's waving too. "Come sit with us. Or, well, come sit with us if you don't mind me picking at your food. Here, sit here." And with N'thei's feet out of the way, she brushes her hand across the table, just a little cleaning for this surprise meal arrives. They -will- be sharing, right?
Leova lurches to a halt, pies sliding into the curve of her arm, and leans up on her toes to look past him. At least until N'thei becomes entirely too audible. At which point she doesn't so much retreat as mention mildly, "Somewhere quiet." Over there. Elsewhere. Until, well, there's Persie and how can she turn down Persie? She gives the other greenrider a weak smile before adding in even more of a whisper, "Think we're caught, I'daur. After you."
And I'daur is once more stuck leading the way, this time shuffling over to Persie and N'thei's table to set down everything he's got in his hands. "Evening," he tells the pair then, as he moves to pull out a chair and settling into it. "Persie. Going to picnic with us?" Which is somehow an odd word coming out of his mouth, but!
"You're actually going to have a picnic." The /you/ in that sentence refers to I'daur, at whom N'thei stares for a spell before his brows climb and his eyes distract while a doubtful look crosses his face. "Leova. Good to see you." Perfunctory bland smile. "What's the occasion?"
Satiet wanders outside from the inner cavern.
Satiet has arrived.
Persie is looking pretty surprised too, first at I'daur, for his compliance in what was surely Leova's idea, which is why that big blinking expression is then shifted to the other greenrider. And then Persie giggles a little sitting forward with her elbows on her knees. "What did you bring? Are those pies? Ooh." And it seems that the box is forgotten for now.
Leova gives a good impression of cheer as she sets down the platter of pies right where Persie can sniff them, retreating only to pull the fourth chair up next to the third, and that means she can keep tall broad-shouldered I'daur between her and N'thei, now isn't that a fine coincidence. "Dinner," she does observe to the latter, one corner of her mouth turned up. Such a surprise!
"Apparently," says I'daur with a shrug, a glance to the two women to see what they say. For all he brought out the food, he doesn't seem in much hurry to get to eating, sliding the tray over toward Leova and Persie moreso than himself. He, after all, has a drink that he picks up instead. And while Leova calls out dinner, he points out, dryly, "Box," with a glance at the younger greenrider.
N'thei pretends by-the-way concern at I'daur; "How is your spine these days?" His frown is grave, eyes moved toward Leova with unsaid accusation. Box; glance; recline with hands clasped across his belly.
It's the weyrwoman's voice that's heard before she emerges from the Snowasis with a tall slushy drink at hand. It even has a cute umbrella perched into its lime-green snowy caps. What she's saying isn't as important as the tone with which she's saying it, intoxicated cheer, or as close to cheer as Satiet is capable of, and shortly, the flushed woman joins her already exited voice on the ledge. And looks to find a table full of odds and ends people.
Persie's slim little fingers are already making a dash for dessert, even if pie and beer doesn't really make for the best combination. But before she claims a piece for herself, N'thei's question stops her and she looks up at I'daur. "Spine?" It takes her a moment before she guesses they aren't actually talking about vertebrae, but it doesn't make her any less curious, it just makes her look back and forth between the rest of the members of impromptu dinner party. Satiet's voice, however, urges Persie to hurry up and take her pie so that she can sit back in her chair. She doesn't look, just the voice does it.
Leova slides a look up at I'daur, finds herself chuckling, and then reaches out toward the little silver-locked thing. Maybe even pick it up. "Very wild picnic," she says. "Out in the middle of nowhere. Think this would be hard on the teeth, though." Never mind spines, though she does flick a glance at Persie, smile deepening through all that laughter. "Should've brought more."
Niena strolls up a set of narrow stairs from the western bowl.
Niena has arrived.
"Stiff," drawls I'daur in response to N'thei, flicking a look up at the Weyrleader before he takes another drink. "Happens, you get to my age." He leans back in his chair himself, letting the girls eat while he drinks, and shoots a sideways glance back at the sound of Satiet's voice behind them.
N'thei leans forward to bring himself around where he can get a glimpse of the tunnel between the bar and the patio, just a quick peek at the owner of the voice before he settles back again like it never happened. "Picnic. Join us?" He must be inviting Satiet, as she's the only one not already at the table, even makes to abandon his chair to her, so gentlemanly. To I'daur-- "Good word for it, sir."
Satiet's standing at the entrance to the Snowasis, while seated at a table, I'daur and Persie separate N'thei from Leova. Various drinks are at hand including beer, and a pie with quite a plate of kabobs rests on the table. Along with a silvery box. It's a nice summer day that's just turning into evening at High Reaches Weyr.
Satiet's fingers tighten about the glass and a quick knock back downs a quarter of the slushy drink. Liquid fortification, that leads to the cringe of brain freeze. When it passes, she strides over, looking, if not pleasant, at least not distant, but ignores N'thei's vacated seat. "Isn't a grassy knoll and chained flowers required for picnics?" Unsaid, but in the askance of pale, glassy eyes: Doesn't having furniture defeat the essence of a picnic?
Persie, well, she doesn't have any idea what N'thei and I'daur are talking about, spines and stiffness and the weyrlingmaster gets another look from her, a once over, before she lets the whole thing go. And then she'll just sit back and start picking on that pie, not just eating it, but breaking the crust off, which is probably a terrible idea. She's good at coming up with those. "I don't know where picnic came from. It's really just... dinner, isn't it?"
Forget the food: Leova's turning the box over in knowing hands, seeing if it will rattle, trying the catch. Always good to check for a catch. Just as idly, "Do you wish more people had stiff spines, sometimes? Considering." But then here comes Satiet, and her gaze lifts, pausing on the print of the woman's sarong. And then her wrist. And then she's frowning, without a quip about picnics at all. Instead, "What happened?"
"Your Weyrleader's idea," I'daur volunteers in answer to Satiet's question; he shoots a look from Satiet to N'thei and back again, lifting a brow. It raises higher as he takes a better stock of the Weyrwoman, eyeing her face and her wrist and leaving that question to Leova.
N'thei, in answer to Persie, to I'daur, "I did coin the term, yes. And thank you for pointing out the flaw in it, miss, I forgot about grassy knolls and daisy-chains." He smiles graciously at Satiet, his fingers drummed across the back of the chair that he's vacated, that he nods to in silent offering. When it's brought to light, he looks blandly at Satiet's wrist-- "Not yours. Don't break it, Leova."
Niena heads in from the Snowasis, carrying her customary mug of klah. She seems startled at the crowd gathered, and even more so at Satiet's appearance. Wordlessly she looks around, then approaches the seat N'thei vacated before she entered,finally breaking her silence to ask politely "Is this taken?"
The curiosity that gleams in Satiet's blue eyes turn from the spread on the table and the 'picnic' to Persie who answers first. "I suppose," liquor-fuels the relaxation of her shoulders and that one-shouldered shrug of dismissal. "It doesn't really matter." That pronounced for both her quibbles over whether this is a picnic or not and probably for Leova's question, she's about to sprawl herself backwards into that empty, when Niena approaches, which results in a weird sort of flail. "Drinks anyone?" Her own, very green one is lifted in a toast to absolutely nothing, and in efforts to rebalance herself to stand.
"Mmf." That's Persie's addition about the box when N'thei's comment draws her attention to Leova's hands. It would probably be better annunciated if she hadn't just shoved the whole bit of pie into her mouth to keep the filling from ending up in her lap. She rolls the mouthful to one cheek to explain, "It doesn't open," and offer her hand to take the box back. Just an offer. No really.
"Is it so fragile?" Leova asks N'thei, only she's still looking past I'daur to Satiet's wrist, and then up at her face. And when her eyes narrow, that's when she stops tipping the box from side to side. Stops listening to that paper-rustly rattle. Because: face. Makeup. Designed to cover. It's a long moment later before she nods to her wingmate, and even then the box is slack in her hands, ripe for Persie to snatch back again. So. Her tone gets very even. "Why don't you take that spot, Satiet, and Niena, draw yourself up another if you want? I'd love a drink. Drinks all around. I'daur, please," and a brief hunt finds a glass to pass him: could be used, doesn't much matter.
No sooner does N'thei get the "No" out in answer to Niena than Satiet's about to sit, than he smirks briefly, quick to clear his throat after Leova goes doling out his chair where she will; "Someone take the darn chair." Just replace the darn in that sentence. "I'daur, please." Echoed while he moves from the table to drag a fifth chair in between the two greenriders.
I'daur, for his part, just watches the ongoings, particularly Satiet when she flails herself around. It makes him smirk. Leaning back in his chair, he lifts his own flask in answer to her question, though he takes the glass Leova passes him anyway. After he sets it down unused in front of him, he remarks, with another glance at flaily Weyrwoman, "You never did say. --Please?" A glance from Satiet to N'thei.
Niena nods to Leova and pulls over a chair, blushing. She keeps a death grip on her klah mug, though, and even manages not to slosh any of it on Satiet -- or anyone else at the table. NOt trusting herself to speak yet, she avails herself of the pie, taking a small slice across from where Persie abused the crust.
"Hello, Niena." To sit. To not sit? But then Leova's directing traffic and Satiet falls backwards and claims N'thei's old seat. Leova's even tone garners a head-tilted look from the goldrider, brow knit as if it should mean something, then a glance casts to the bound bandages to try to put two and two together to make four. She's half-successful. "Got drunk. Got hurt. It happens. I haven't had a vacation in years. I should get hurt more often. Drinks?" is asked again, despite the green frosty thing at hand, and a look goes to Persie's plate, "And pie. I'd love a slice of pie. How /is/ everyone tonight?"
Musical chairs, boxes, pies. What's going on here? Persie has no idea, but she tucks the little wooden box into her lap and then reaches out for a kebab, now that dessert is done. With N'thei slipping in between her and Leova, she offers him a kebab before she picks one for herself and sits back again. Well, back, but not all the way back because she's looking past him at Leova.
Leova gives N'thei an over-the-shoulder glance and scoots her chair to make room for him, so polite. And then gives him back the shoulder, turning toward Satiet again in time to hear her story, miss his expression. "Someone should open this," she says half to herself, just as the box is taken. And after a blink, "Persie?" As though it could have been another. At least it means she can skip the pie, take the glass back, go looking for something to put in it. "Could always not get hurt. Take a vacation. Who's going to tell you no, after all."
N'thei shakes his head at the food, too busy watching Niena drag yet another chair to a table built for four. Elbow room, anyone? Could be what keeps him from squeezing into the chair even though he's brought it around, rather has him leaning his hands on the chair-back so he's still part of the table without sitting at it. "Why open it? What if what's inside it isn't worth wrecking the box to get at it?"
Satiet senses "N'thei, at her 'more often,' fits a pointed look across the table with a one-sided smile he must've picked up from Satiet herself. Yeah; do that."
"You got drunk," and the thought of it seems to amuse I'daur, his mouth pulling to one side in a dry smirk at her answer. And when she's still asking about drinks even now. "Anything left for the rest of us?" he drawls then. Let the others worry about the box.
Niena appears to be trying to listen to every conversation at once, her eyes going from face to face as she slowly demolishes her pie and klah. She answers Satiet, "Masoth and I are well, ma'am." For once she doesn't return the question.
Satiet thinks hard -- the gears in her head working visibly in the wrinkles that line her forehead. Her finger lifts, counting silently in the air, until she decides to tell the weyrlingmaster, "He cut me off. I can't remember. But it's green at least." As if the color of her drink is more important than just how many she's had so far. Like I'daur, the box is not even on the fringes of her attention's focus, a passing glance for Leova and then N'thei shifting to Niena. "That's good. Very, very good. I think I've been better, but it's good you're well."
You sense Satiet's passing glance lingers a half-beat too long on N'thei, pale eyes meeting his in time to find that pointed look. Is she drunk or just good at playing the part? A glint of something flashes brief in those eyes before they're cutting away.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Vrianth goes prairie-hunting, tumbleweed-hunting, rolls a little silvery something out into the open air. If it's truly a ghost town, no one will shoot at it.
Wyaeth> I bespoke Vrianth with << What! >> That wasn't meant to be a shotgun blast, just came out that way. Tempered... << What? >>
Dragon> Wooden fragments go flying, what's left is a sudden spark. He /is/ there. << Weren't /sleeping/, were you? >> (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Well if N'thei doesn't want the food then Persie will just swing that kebab the other way, toward Satiet. "Sounds like you could use some food..." she says, though she looks a little uncertain about that, or maybe just about the Weyrwoman's new personality. Either way, she'll start nibbling on the kebab she's chosen for herself, her nearly-empty glass of beer wedged between her knees and no more comment on the box.
Dragon> Ok, if he was, he's certainly not now. << Why? >> (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
"So open it carefully. Hinges can be replaced. Worth it or not? At least you'll know." Leova twists to get a kebab for herself before they're all gone, if nothing else for the pointy stick. Downing a bite, she asides to I'daur after it, "Hope so. Otherwise we'll all be clamoring for that flask."
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Vrianth flicks him an image of lordly Wyaeth, up on the Star Stones for lack of a better place, snoring fit to wake the Weyr. This while, << /She/ should be protected. >> Teonath's. Possibly with a box.
N'thei, mild; "Excellent point, Leova. At least you'll know. --Do you need a real drink?" His attention turns rather suddenly across at Niena, after a glance around at the number of people, the number of drinks, her conspicuous mug o' klah.
Wyaeth> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth corrects that image to replace the snore with him looking very great, stark lines against summer sunset, dramatic, heroic, dusty. Distracted, he misses the rest, come again?
Dragon> An electric flicker makes the dust just disappear. Polished. He can keep the rest. << Protect her, >> Vrianth tells him. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
I'daur repeats, "Green," while his face contorts into looking impressed at the goldrider's expense. He just shakes his head, smirks, and returns to his own flask, with a sideways look at Leova for her words. "Don't think so," he answers, and caps the flask, puts it away very deliberately. "Unless you're going to--" He nods his head toward Satiet's bandaged wrist to indicate what Leova will have to do for his drink.
Dragon> Wait wait wait. << Do you actually know Satiet? >> Wyaeth's on a first name basis. (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
Niena finally notices the box, eyeing it curiously, but not reaching for it. She smiles uncertainly toward Satiet, then shakes her head at N'thei. "I'm on watch tonight -- I want to be sure I can stay awake."
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Vrianth can do lofty all on her own, and never mind the twinge of concern: << She's hurt. Shouldn't be. >> There's that wrist but more, the uncertainty, the wobbling. The wrinkles.
Easily distracted from Niena to Persie, a rare seen smile brightens Satiet's face and she takes the offered kebab. In turn, she slides Secath's rider the rest of her green slushy drink. "You look like you need a drink. Persie, right?"
Hand free of the excess food, Persie's can pick up her glass from between her knees, "I've got one," she tells Satiet, giving the remaining beer a little slosh. But the green stuff is being passes anyway and propriety and curiosity prevail. "I mean... thank you." And the beer gets set down and the green thing taken up. "What... what is it?" Though her eyes do flick from the glass to the bandaged wrist.
Leova, tutored, never minds it. Though she does give I'daur's display a narrowly amused look. Followed by a repeated, just as deliberate, "Don't think so." Delicate pauses between the words. Delicate, deliberate misunderstanding, underscored by a chin-tilt Satiet's way. "Wouldn't do her out both wrists. Would be cruel, hm? Vacation or no vacation."
"Very responsible, Niena, good for you." N'thei avoids the usual derision, watches the bluerider a moment longer until said watch duty calls her from the table. Aside, in answer to Persie; "It's green, love."
Dragon> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth puzzles over Vrianth's concern, turns it this way and that in his mind, then sends it back to her all dried out and desert-cracked. << Better to just stay outta it. >>
"More your style," says I'daur of the green drink passed Persie's way by Satiet. He scoots his chair back from the table, though, standing on up before he answers Leova. "Might give you the flask, you did," he tells the greenrider then, with a smirk as he straightens up, stretches. And it's apparently meant to suffice as good-bye, too, as he starts to turn away, fixing to leave.
Dragon> Probably. But, pressing, << She should not be hurt, Wyaeth. >> There's a strong sense that this place? It's his territory. To hunt but also to defend. Especially if that one isn't doing it herself. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Dragon> There's a strong sense that this isn't his place, not this particular issue. Also-- << You're way too damn bossy for a green. Calm down. Ain't like she's bleedin' to death or anything. >> (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
Ignorant, or just ignoring, I'daur's indication of her wrist, it becomes harder to ignore Leova, and with a look that's far too pleasant for Satiet's sharp face, the weyrwoman turns to Vrianth's rider. And then says nothing; just fixes the younger woman with a look. "I'm surprised," she notes instead, her typically cool voice mild even in this observant interjection today, "That you haven't just broken it open yet, N'thei. What, there's no key?"
It's true that if booze already suits Persie just fine, then vivid green booze has to be even more appropriate. And so without further ado, she takes a sip, the umbrella bopping her in the nose. Brows go up for the sweetness she's not quite accustomed to in her drinks, but she's smiling, so it must be good. "Frosty." But with the attention back on the box, she unintentionally shifts her legs, so that it bobbles between them in her lap. And she lifts her glass to I'daur despite his lack of farewell.
"Sorry," Leova tells I'daur with no real apology, just that remnant of amusement that turns up the corner of her mouth. She doesn't wave, just looks a moment and then turns back to the rest of the table, rubbing the crick out of her neck with one hand. Only then she's stopped by Satiet's look, and her brows go up a notch. Well?
N'thei's teeth scrape briefly across his lip in that way, thoughtful but no-good thoughts. "Hmmn?" He comes late into Satiet's remarks, the box, the key. "Not mine. Persie's. She certainly hasn't got a key for it, or I'm sure we'd all know what's in it by now." Talking about the box, looking at I'daur. Leaving him alone. With this crowd. Niiiiice.
Dragon> Vrianth allows the lack of bleeding. Still. There's a lightning-crackle that just /hints/ at her being less calm. Just for a moment. << Do you run the show, or not? >> Or think he does?
Dragon> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth projects, << Ok. What! >> Swaggering voice, weight to throw around. << Do you expect me to do about it? >>
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Vrianth's not above some positive reinforcement, in the form of a charge of delighted, delighting energy all for him: all hail the mighty Wyaeth. Which is to say: that's better. << Keep her safe. Find out who did it. Punish them. >> Wyaeth, descending upon some faceless creature who's shrieking like a wherry.
Satiet holds Leova's gaze steadily, for as long as she can, until N'thei replies to her comment. There's nothing in that look, no brow crook or hook to her mouth's shape. In the mean time, her bandaged hand comes to a ginger rest on the table's top, now void of two extra people and back to four. "Well, can't expect Persie to crush it open," says Satiet to N'thei, with her eyes on Leova, and clearly there's no one else at the table capable of such a feat, even had I'daur stuck around.
Dragon> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth projects a very simple, << No. >>
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Vrianth promptly asks, << Why? >> ...would the mighty Wyaeth fail them?
"Well..." Persie flicks her glance between Satiet and N'thei, and once to Leova for comfort. "I -could- crush it open but... That would destroy the box and it's..." Eyes back to N'thei. "It's pretty. I think, like Leova said, it could probably be opened without destroying it, though." Uneasy, she sucks down another mouthful of green.
Dragon> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth's quiet a while, windless, deserted, high-noon silence. He comes back with a warm, supple quality to his voice; << Why's it your place to question my decision? >>
Leova looks. And then she blinks, and then Satiet's still looking. So Leova keeps looking, amber eyes warm reflections of pale, pale blue. Her head tilts, and then her mouth curves up at one corner, and she lowers her gaze into that mild barely-not-a-weyrling pose. It might be recognizable, from before. And then her name calls her back to the others, with a, "Hm?"
"Crush it open?" N'thei's eyes land on the little box again, his lip filed anew, for a long deliberation of its delicacy. "It's your decision if you want to try and open it, love. Not our place to question it." There's a nice reassuring smile for quickly-drinking Persie. "Although you two are both very bad influences." A stern glance apiece for Satiet and Leova.
Dragon> Again silence. His silence. Her silence. And then, simply, regardless of whether it's a trap, a closed canyon with no safe exit, << Because it matters. She matters. >> Teonath's. Teonath, center of their Weyr when it's not time for fighting, for Fall. << And you /could/ change things, if only you would, Wyaeth. They would listen to you. >> (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Dragon> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth points out pleasantly, << We ain't talking about Teonath, we're talking about Satiet, 'n she's just fine. You're gettin' on my last nerve though. >>
Without the green drink in her immediate proximity, Persie's possession notwithstanding, Satiet lounges a little more naturally in her chair, a thin leg lifting to perch on the chair's edge so she can rest her chin on that bent knee; the sarong remaining discreet. "Crush it open. I'm sure someone as big and strong as you could do it," she affirms with a blurry sort of smile, though then waves flippant fingers for the Weyrleader's rebuke. "Where'd you get it?"
"He..." Persie flicks that glance to N'thei one more time, her returned smile uncertain despite all that reassurance. "He doesn't want me to open it." Though she's not done with it, the kebab gets placed back on the plate, well away from the other untasted ones, but she wants a hand free for that box and between the food and the drink, the drink wins. And the free hand covers the box in her lap rather protectively.
Dragon> Teonath, Teonath's; Vrianth, Vrianth's. Even if it's not Wyaeth, Wyaeth's. She shares a wordless sense of the natural order of things being upset, for the woman to be hurt so. And if Wyaeth won't do anything about it, well. That low-level electricity sharpens to a shock, acknowledgment rather than truly seeking to injure, and then Vrianth moves to disengage. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Leova says out of nowhere, "Do you care what he wants?" And she slides the next chunk of meat up her kebab, and bites off its end. Just like that.
N'thei answers across the table to Satiet, newly reclined, upon whom he has done a valiant job not to rest his eyes all night. "I'm sure I could, but why? It's not like the box ever did anything to me to deserve manhandling, neh? Besides." He smiles indulgently at Persie; "It's not mine. I don't want you not to open it, love. I want you to-- ok, you're getting on /my/ last nerve now." Judging by the aim of his glare, he means Leova, not Persie.
Dragon> Good riddance. Wyaeth lets the dust kick up between his mind and Vrianth's, his irritated thoughts muttered in the grit. (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
Lalala. Bereft of her drink, by her own doing, Satiet casts a look around for something else to focus on. Kebabs, how handy, and unlike Leova who just bites its ends off, just like that, Satiet takes her time and nibbles, keeping her Drunky McDrunk mouth busy.
Now Persie's lip is getting a good deal of abuse, biting it, twisting it in her teeth. "I think he has the key..." she admits, but then the sweat from the frosty glass drips down on the box and she has to wipe that away. No water spots on the pretty box, please. And yes, Leova asked her a question, and yes, Persie looks over at her, but there's no answer forthcoming, especially when N'thei starts glaring at the other greenrider. That has Persie going from meek to bewildered. "What did she do?"
It's quite the glare, and Leova's shoulder takes the brunt of it, falling before she carefully, deliberately straightens it again. It would be easiest to shift her chair away, into I'daur's now that he's gone, or even switch altogether. Or leave. Which means that instead she sits there, silent, and takes another bite. Maybe Persie will protect her!
N'thei stretches out his smile patiently while Leova says nothing, some satisfaction for him, and he's straightening up from half-leaning against the back of the chair all that time. "Why would I give you a locked box if I had the key the whole time?" He shrugs and smiles and leaves it at that. "Can I trust you two not to beat her up and take the box if I leave?" Says you-two, only looks at Satiet.
There's too much tenseness for someone who's aiming for being overly self-medicated and with a lingering look for the Weyrleader who's made admirable efforts not to look her way, Satiet drops her foot to the ground again and gets to her feet. She's just a little wobbly now, after the rest, after the little bit of food. "Good luck with your undeserving box," says the raven-haired woman to the meek greenrider. "And good luck playing musical chairs," she continues merrily at the more bold greenrider. "And good luck with-... being you," is finally said after a moment's silence to N'thei. "But I think, I need another drink." Except she doesn't head for the Snowasis, instead aiming for the steps to the bowl.
"I don't know, I..." But Satiet's dropped foot stops Persie from guessing N'thei's motives for things he may or may not have done. The moment's distracts serves her well enough that instead she asks, "Why would you buy a box you can't open?" And then she realizes that she's stolen the Weyrwoman's drink and she blinks down, "Do you want it back?" But she's already turning off, heading away and Persie can only think to call, "Thank you." Polite. And she shares another look with Leova, an uneasy one.
That much satisfaction Leova won't begrudge him. Much. "Thank you," she repeats after her assistant weyrlingmaster, since it seems to be the thing to do. She looks back at Persie. And then her mouth curves up, and her gaze is sliding back over her shoulder at N'thei. "Of course you can trust me." And then away again: after Satiet, those steps, seeing that she makes it safely down.
Thoughtful; "Why would I buy a box that I can't open." N'thei answers with another shrug, with a politely bland smile at Leova, then he turns to go as well. Roughly the same way as Satiet, coincidentally, with a shortened stride that keeps from overtaking hers.
Satiet gets down the steps safely, but rests there, taking a deep breath where her shoulders draw up before continuing on her way. Where N'thei keeps his strides short, Satiet's turns a little floaty along the way, as if walking straight is far beyond her capabilities at this point. The woman's drifting curvy path pauses her by the steps up to her ledge, just long enough to kick her sandals up onto the steps, before she drifts towards the lake shore. There might even be singing in the distance. Possibly.
With N'thei heading off after Satiet, just a shrug for a goodbye, Persie is left frowning down at her box. "I don't think he wants me to open it. I don't think. But why would you give someone a box they can't open?" All of this for the one remaining companion, this and the faint relaxation of her shoulders. alone with someone unscary at last.
Which leaves Leova to poke N'thei's chair out of the way. Well out of the way. Back to the table next to theirs, in fact. /Now/ she can look at Persie, frankly, for the first time in what seems like a very long time, and relax a little herself. "Pass me the drink? I want to try it too." But then she says, "Make you decide."
IC Date: 6/1/16
Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
This ledge is a good size, allowing two large dragons on it at the most, however the furniture and decorations do very little to allow dragons to land. The stone has, through time, become smooth with the sting of High Reaches' biting winter winds. Lacking are the telling talon marks of an occupant at any time within the past decade and the ledge has been weeded and cleared of greenery. Situated along the western bowl, this ledge offers a view of the lake in the distance and has a set of wide steps curving along the bowl wall to the ground.
A stone half-arc shelters half of the ledge from the extreme weathers, where a iron-wrought bench and two patio-like tables have been set up. Little niches, carved out of the stone in a rustic fashion hold glow baskets to provide light at night. The very edge has been decorated with wooden boxes of potted flowers that blossom beautifully in the spring and summer.
The evening is clear, not a cloud to be seen, giving you a perfect view of the stars. The smaller Belior is a nearly full waning gibbous while Timor shines in half moon. A light wind blows and the summer air is warm enough, with only a slight chill.
Look! It's a lovely day, the first of summer, and it's still early enough that the sun slants a long blue shadow across the bowl that's just encroaching the very edge of the patio; not everything's blood and drama and violence. How nice. N'thei seems to be enjoying the view, the leisure to watch toward the lake where warm weather's welcomed, the time to eat an apple, the luxury of kicking his feet up to the a table with his chair tipped back. Industry be damned.
Why it -is- a lovely day, and of all the things that N'thei's lazy gaze might see as he watches the bowl and the lake, they now include the approach of an impromptu foot race. There's the laughing and hooting of kids, chasing along, ages varying and thus speeds varying as well. Except one of them isn't a kid, it's a pale, skinny greenrider joining in the fun, laughing and yelping and encouraging some of the littler kids to keep up with the bigger ones. However, as the race nears the steps to the garden ledge, Persie pulls up, waving to her competitors and turning her jog up the stairs. Her cheeks are flush and her breath fast when she reaches the top, a hand wiping at her forehead rather dramatically, just in case any one is looking. She's still grinning, that big laughing smile not quite faded yet.
N'thei watches, of course he watches, that's what he's out here to do. In fact, a devil-may-care footrace could be exactly the kind of thing he's looking to watch, kens to it with his chin lifted up to see a little clearer toward the burst of runners. Yes, one breaks off, and he flicks a look long enough to be sure who it is and where she's headed before he leans hard to one side to see how the race ends. "You'd have had a close race there with the carrot-top," he glibs, one finger jabbed out to indicate a portly lad puffing across the finish line.
"Nah," Persie answers, leaning a bit as well to get a glimpse of how things turn out. "I'd have let him win. Poor fat little thing. I think it's considered sort of bad form to beat kids, isn't it? I mean, not, you know -beat- them, but to beat them in games and stuff." But she comes to a stop then, by the Snowasis's entrance, a hand on the stone and her brows pulling inward. "That doesn't quite seem right, though, does it? There's nothing wrong with losing. I wonder why that is. Anyway. I need a drink." And so she disappears into the Snowasis and a few long moments pass before she comes out with a tall glass of beer and looks to find herself a seat.
N'thei drags up an eyebrow, beat kids? No questions though, just a mild smile to chase Persie inside. He's down to picking flesh off the core of his apple by the time she returns, down to spitting a seed off his tongue across the ledge, up to watching her return with a twist of his lips. "Your generosity overwhelms me," with a look at her /one/ beer.
Well that confuses her. Persie stands there, looking at N'thei and his expression, following his gaze to her drink. It takes her a few full beats before she has any idea what he's talking about. And then she frowns, thinking hard. And then she hands her drink to him. "Here. I'll get another one." A hand anxiously slipping into her pocket to see if there's anything there.
Sometimes, it's just too easy. N'thei rushes to shake his head, to hold the beer right back out to Persie with a quick, "I'm just fooling around, love. Take your drink. Trying to cut back." At least for the next 2-3 hours. "Sit. Keep me company in the daylight for a change." One foot off the table flattens against the edge of a chair and pushes it back for her, metal legs making an irritating creech across stone.
"I could get you something else if you want," Persie says, taking the drink back when he offers, though her attention is certainly on the little wad of lint that she's come up with from her pocket. "Like... water." Frown. "Or we can share this one. It's just beer." Which is basically water, as far as she's concerned. "In daylight? How crazy," the blonde teases, flopping into the chair and only keeping the beer in the glass by luck. "Did I ever ask you to pick apples with me? Or did I just think about it really hard?" Apparently she didn't fail to take note of his snack.
"You did." N'thei tosses the core toward one of the potted plants, mulch in the making, and goes back to his pure leisure with his hands laced behind his head. "Sort of. You said we should do it some time, but I can't remember the chronology. Before or after I started treating you like an asshole?" Shrug for the timeline. "Why are you broke? Surely a pretty girl doesn't pay for all her own drinks." An accusing frown works its way over to Persie.
"Well, we should." Persie says with a nod of her head. She takes a gulp and offeres the beer over, even though he's just settled back again. "In the fall. We should. I know a place where they give you a bucket and let you pick as many as will fit. And you can keep 'em all, though not the bucket. It's a good price. You know, if you want your own apples. Anyway. She shrugs, one thin shoulder up and down. "I was broke for a while. I'm trying to be... less broke now. I want to see what the traders have. You're not broke are you? You must be making plenty now."
N'thei pronounces gently, "Not sure I'm into the whole picking part of apples. Just buy them already off the tree." True to his word, he shakes his head at her offer of beer, makes a face at the glass even, then another one at Persie's last statement there. "Not broke, but never really was. By 'now,' I'm guessing you mean because I'm the guy in charge?" Who sits on the patio in the fading afternoon while everyone else maintains industry, yep.
"Yes, because you're the guy in charge," Persie clarifies. "I didn't mean you were broke, just that you'd be... not likely to be broke being the guy in charge and all." But she's looking a touch sheepishily. "It's fun. Picking apples," she adds, settling back with her drink and bringing her knees up with her heels caught on the edge of her seat. "It might be fun," that spoken into her glass.
With a forlorn sigh, N'thei counters, "Spend it as fast as I make, sorry to say. Plus I used to pay Shanlee for doing my job." Used-to brings out a quick smile though, briefly pleased, then he eyes Persie and her knee-hugging posture. "Have you done it before? The apple-picking." Not sold.
"Well then, if you spend it as fast as you make it, the apples will be a good deal," Persie points out. Selling. "I -have- gone apple picking. That's how I know it's fun. And I bet you could reach all sorts of apples that I couldn't." Ulterior motives. "What do you spend it on?"
N'thei, with a short laugh; "Doubt that. People with skinny legs always seem to make the best climbers." He looks square at those skinny legs speculatively, then across at his own not-skinny ones perched on the edge of the table. "Split the cost of a bucket, you get the apples, I'll sit in the shade and keep you company." Like now! "What do you think I spend it on?" Honest question.
Well if he's gonna look, Persie will stretch one of those long pale legs out to put a foot on the table too. "Skinny," she repeats, affirms, either way, it's a rather thoughtful. "We can split the cost but you should still help, you lazy thing. You just have no idea what's good for you." It's a bright, cheeky smile that she flashes over the edge of her glass, her teeth sunk into her lip. "I think... I think you spend it on drinks. And gambling. But at least you can make something on gambling, can't you? Well, -you- could, at least. Not me, I don't really know how. Anyway, did I miss anything?"
N'thei arranges his feet to hook one under Persie's ankle, boots making it easy to get a grip, and drag the whole appendage this way and that like he needs a better view to pass judgment. "Skinny. Sorry kid." He concedes her guesses at his pocketbook with a pair of nods, drinking and gambling, then a happy-looking grin. "Gambling's easy, it's the bluffing that's hard, but that's where the money is. Not a good liar, are you?"
Persie's brows lift up as he hooks her leg, lifts it, but she'll wiggle her sandaled toes and play along. "Just skinny? Not graceful or lovely or anything? You've got to work on your sweet-talking," cheeky still. But she slips her foot off of his, back onto the table. "I don't know if I'm a good liar. I don't think I've tried much." But it does give her a puzzled look to think about it.
"Do you want me to say graceful or lovely?" N'thei looks at the leg in question again, his brows creased up while he tries to reconcile the flattery to the body part. Ahem. "Women usually have the leg-up-- pardon the pun-- in the lying department. Big eyes, beginning of a pout, we'll buy whatever bridge you're selling, sweetheart. Speaking of which. What are you trying to buy off the Vijays?"
"Only if you mean it," Persie laughs, playfully narrowing her eyes at him and marring the expression with a wrinkle of her nose. "Lying gambler." But she'll bend her knee a little, just to make that limb's curve a touch more shapely. "I was thinking of beads. I heard Lujayn has one of those beaded curtains and I thought it might be sort of fun to make one. Have one. She and I were going to go together. I don't know if they have beads but I figure they probably have -something- worth buying, right?"
N'thei says neither graceful nor lovely, but he looks at Persie's new curves and all. Because he's a man. "Presumably more than just /some/ thing worth buying. Kept an eye while they brought in all that merchandise, just for curiosity's sake, and some of it could be worth having at the right price. But beaded curtains?" Just a mite bemused there.
Persie just shrugs. "It sounded fun. Pretty. Besides, I was just going to buy the beads and make the curtain." She seems to have forgotten all about her leg. "And if there's something better then I'll buy that. Maybe a pretty dress or something. You know, for the next time there's a party." She looks, for a moment, like she's starting to feel sort of silly about the whole thing, her attention falling into her glass again. "What am I supposed to buy?"
Smile; "Don't look at me, love, I spend my money on drinks and gambling." And little things he takes out of his pocket then, a small-seeming box when held on N'thei's hand like that. "Presents from time-to-time. Shopping for Satiet's turnday, didn't find anything, but this one intrigued me. Bought it. Maybe it's for you." Made out of some soft blond wood and set with a tremendously delicate silver lock and hinge, locked closed.
Persie looks at the box, looks at him, looks at the box, looks at him. Her lips purse and she takes a drink of her beer, swallowing and wiping her lips with the back of a hand before she sits up to peer down at the box more properly. "Why not give it to her? Maybe you'll find something to put in it. You know, a necklace or something." Or a roll of pretty bandages. Her head tips, blonde hair hanging, "It's awfully pretty."
"Ahhh no." N'thei sets the box on the table and leans back from it, surveys it with much the same attention he showed Persie's leg not ten minutes ago: pretty but not possessive of. "It's locked." And no sign of a key in sight, and a locking mechanism so delicate that any attempt to pick or pry it would ruin the whole box. "I think some piece of jewelry that's pretty that she'll never wear seems more fitting. Just liked this."
"So..." See, there's a lot implied there and Persie isn't always so quick on the puzzling of facts. She takes a breath and sits back again, forgetting the box and looking at N'thei now. "So you bought a locked box that you can't open?" Even Persie is getting an inkling of the symbolism there and a beat later she shakes her head and coughs out a laugh that requires quick drinking.
N'thei doesn't exactly answer, though his lips fold while he looks at the box from beneath raised eyebrows. "Pretty box though, isn't it? For what it's worth." Collecting dust? "You laugh, but you're the one that wants to make her own beaded curtains." Still lingering derision over /beaded curtains/. With one finger, he slides the box across the table to Persie's side, ends with a bright smile; "Now it's a locked box that you can't open."
Yeah, like Persie doesn't have her own locked box analogies. "Yeah, but I do a lot of silly things. You're all rough and tough and mean," she puts on her mean face--lips all pouty, brows all creased--while she says this, shifting either shoulder foward with each adjective. "The great, big bronzerider." Still, she leans forward to switch her glass for the box, if only to shake it beside her ear and see if there's the sound of anything inside. "So you saw this box, thought it was pretty and bought it. That's it? You -do- have extra marks, don't you."
There is something inside it, something that shuffles like paper, something that rattles like metal or glass. N'thei watches her rattling it with curious detachment, not his problem any more. "There's probably plenty to be said for that too, more than for the locked box. Saw something I wanted, now it's mine." The sad look, not at all the rough-tough-mean, answers her dramatic expression; "That's what I am to you, my darling?" Sniff.
But now Persie is distracted, listening to those mysterious contents rustle and rattle around inside their delicate prison. "That's what you are to you," she answers, entirely off handed as now she's eyeing that lock. "I bet if we brought it to the smiths they could get it open." But for now she tries slipping her thumbnail along the crack between lid and base, to not effect obviously.
Eyes on the thumbnail, N'thei warns quietly, "I wouldn't." The silver around the lip of the box is thin, delicate, a foil-like covering easy enough t scratch away. Whoever put the box together did not mean for it to be roughly handled. "Do you want to?" He sounds surprised, disappointed. "Take it to the Smiths. It's yours. You can do what you want with it." But he files his teeth in a nervous tell at Persie's plans.
Her thumb stops just shy of the silver and Persie frowns a bit. She gives it another shake. "Well, there's someting inside..." And then, with a little chuckle, "Maybe it's the key." She flicks a look at him to share the joke, but he's looking a little anixious and that stops her, the laugh drawing out awkwardly as she blinks at him. "You don't want it openned?" she asks him, sounding a bit surprised herself.
"If I wanted it opened." N'thei looks hard at the very little thing, reaches toward it to lay two fingers across the lid and measure the length no more than his index finger. "Don't you think I would have opened it?" His half-smile is kind of 'duh' at her question there, no offense, and ends with a real-er (word?) chuckle. "I don't think it's the key, but who knows what, neh? Mystery's the fun."
"Maybe not if you didn't want to have the box all busted. I mean, you could smash it but then you wouldn't have the box," Persie observes, holding the thing still for his measure of it against his hand. However, she's eyeing him now, lashes narrowed without any playful pretense. "Do you know what's in this box, N'thei?"
This is why N'thei always has money; he looks right at Persie and there's no way to know whether or not he has the first clue what's actually in the box. "Do you think I'd tell you if I did?" he asks pleasantly, drags his finger across the fine filigree along the top of the box, then presses it a bit more securely into Persie's hand before he withdraws to his chair. "Now then. I'm thinking a ruby, pigeon's blood, not too big. Too gawdy?"
Persie laughs, "I think that if you didn't know, there'd be no point in being all mysterious about it." Her tongue works along the pinched edge of her lips as she focuses on the blonde wood and silver fastening. "If you don't want me to open it, I won't," she tells him. It takes a breath for her to make that promise, but then she sets the box on the table and takes up her glass again. "For the Weyrwoman? If it's not too big, I wouldn't think it would be too gawdy. Do you think she'd like it? Getting jewelry? You know her better than I do."
"Unless I want you to think I know for the sheer childish joy of knowing-something-you-don't-know." N'thei even devolves into the sing-songy chime that usually colors that particular turn of phrase, neener. He drags his thumbnail across his lower lip while he thinks on it-- not the box, the jewelry. "From me? Don't think she'd like it, kind of the point though. Just don't want it to be something horrible. It's the act she ought to hate, not the object."
Leova meanders outside from the inner cavern.
Leova has arrived.
I'daur walks outside from the inner cavern.
I'daur has arrived.
"If she'd hate it, why do it?" Persie asks, if hesitantly because as soon as the words leave her lips she can fathom a few reasons. None of which are likely to be N'thei's reason. But she's curling up with her half-finished glass of beer again, drawing the outstretched leg in and switching it for the other. "Where did you get the box, anyway?"
Evening's coming on, but it looks to be a fine one weather-wise. So N'thei and Persie are out enjoying it, chairs pulled up to one of the tables on the patio; she's got a beer, he's reclined with his hands laced behind his head, they both have at least one foot propped on the table. It's the life. --Predictably, he ignores the first question; the second makes him smirk. "Why? Thinking to ask for a duplicate key?"
"Thinking of asking for the key, yeah." But then Persie's thinking. It's a visible thing. There might even be a little smoke coming out from under that pale hair. "Duplicate?" That's what all the thinking comes up with, that and the arch of her eyebrows over surprised eyes. There's a smile tugging her lips. What are they talking about? Well it's entirely possible they're talking about that little wooden box on the table with the delicate silver lock. Possible.
At least the latest arrivals aren't dripping wet by now, no more than mildly damp here and there, though dragon-washing hasn't done Leova's hair any favors with the way it's curling on top. She's balancing a platter with bubbly pies, raided before the rest are gone, trying not to step on I'daur's heels. After all, he's got the kebabs. And the drinks, of course. And maybe even, believe it or not, a bit of salad.
Laden with food, I'daur makes a slower path than usual out onto the patio, glancing around for its tables to see their emptiness. And while he notes the spaces left over, he also notes N'thei and Persie there, and he turns to glance back at his follower, pausing so that his heels probably get clipped one more time. "Wher you want to sit?" he asks Leova.
N'thei pinches his lower lip with his thumb and finger, pulls it out a little, shakes his head while holding it like that. "Not telling." His upper lip, his upper teeth stretch into a smile that he holds till he drops his hand away, just about to speak again when out comes the food. Oh; and I'daur and Leova. "I'm not sure /picnicking/ is entirely appropriate given the current state of affairs," he begins most importantly, slides his feet back off the table to sit up straight and use his Weyrleader tone.
Between N'thei and his lip pulling, Persie's a beat behind when it comes to the arrival of more company and not to mention the food. She blinks over at Leova and I'daur, a bright smile claiming her lips. "Hi guys!" she's waving too. "Come sit with us. Or, well, come sit with us if you don't mind me picking at your food. Here, sit here." And with N'thei's feet out of the way, she brushes her hand across the table, just a little cleaning for this surprise meal arrives. They -will- be sharing, right?
Leova lurches to a halt, pies sliding into the curve of her arm, and leans up on her toes to look past him. At least until N'thei becomes entirely too audible. At which point she doesn't so much retreat as mention mildly, "Somewhere quiet." Over there. Elsewhere. Until, well, there's Persie and how can she turn down Persie? She gives the other greenrider a weak smile before adding in even more of a whisper, "Think we're caught, I'daur. After you."
And I'daur is once more stuck leading the way, this time shuffling over to Persie and N'thei's table to set down everything he's got in his hands. "Evening," he tells the pair then, as he moves to pull out a chair and settling into it. "Persie. Going to picnic with us?" Which is somehow an odd word coming out of his mouth, but!
"You're actually going to have a picnic." The /you/ in that sentence refers to I'daur, at whom N'thei stares for a spell before his brows climb and his eyes distract while a doubtful look crosses his face. "Leova. Good to see you." Perfunctory bland smile. "What's the occasion?"
Satiet wanders outside from the inner cavern.
Satiet has arrived.
Persie is looking pretty surprised too, first at I'daur, for his compliance in what was surely Leova's idea, which is why that big blinking expression is then shifted to the other greenrider. And then Persie giggles a little sitting forward with her elbows on her knees. "What did you bring? Are those pies? Ooh." And it seems that the box is forgotten for now.
Leova gives a good impression of cheer as she sets down the platter of pies right where Persie can sniff them, retreating only to pull the fourth chair up next to the third, and that means she can keep tall broad-shouldered I'daur between her and N'thei, now isn't that a fine coincidence. "Dinner," she does observe to the latter, one corner of her mouth turned up. Such a surprise!
"Apparently," says I'daur with a shrug, a glance to the two women to see what they say. For all he brought out the food, he doesn't seem in much hurry to get to eating, sliding the tray over toward Leova and Persie moreso than himself. He, after all, has a drink that he picks up instead. And while Leova calls out dinner, he points out, dryly, "Box," with a glance at the younger greenrider.
N'thei pretends by-the-way concern at I'daur; "How is your spine these days?" His frown is grave, eyes moved toward Leova with unsaid accusation. Box; glance; recline with hands clasped across his belly.
It's the weyrwoman's voice that's heard before she emerges from the Snowasis with a tall slushy drink at hand. It even has a cute umbrella perched into its lime-green snowy caps. What she's saying isn't as important as the tone with which she's saying it, intoxicated cheer, or as close to cheer as Satiet is capable of, and shortly, the flushed woman joins her already exited voice on the ledge. And looks to find a table full of odds and ends people.
Persie's slim little fingers are already making a dash for dessert, even if pie and beer doesn't really make for the best combination. But before she claims a piece for herself, N'thei's question stops her and she looks up at I'daur. "Spine?" It takes her a moment before she guesses they aren't actually talking about vertebrae, but it doesn't make her any less curious, it just makes her look back and forth between the rest of the members of impromptu dinner party. Satiet's voice, however, urges Persie to hurry up and take her pie so that she can sit back in her chair. She doesn't look, just the voice does it.
Leova slides a look up at I'daur, finds herself chuckling, and then reaches out toward the little silver-locked thing. Maybe even pick it up. "Very wild picnic," she says. "Out in the middle of nowhere. Think this would be hard on the teeth, though." Never mind spines, though she does flick a glance at Persie, smile deepening through all that laughter. "Should've brought more."
Niena strolls up a set of narrow stairs from the western bowl.
Niena has arrived.
"Stiff," drawls I'daur in response to N'thei, flicking a look up at the Weyrleader before he takes another drink. "Happens, you get to my age." He leans back in his chair himself, letting the girls eat while he drinks, and shoots a sideways glance back at the sound of Satiet's voice behind them.
N'thei leans forward to bring himself around where he can get a glimpse of the tunnel between the bar and the patio, just a quick peek at the owner of the voice before he settles back again like it never happened. "Picnic. Join us?" He must be inviting Satiet, as she's the only one not already at the table, even makes to abandon his chair to her, so gentlemanly. To I'daur-- "Good word for it, sir."
Satiet's standing at the entrance to the Snowasis, while seated at a table, I'daur and Persie separate N'thei from Leova. Various drinks are at hand including beer, and a pie with quite a plate of kabobs rests on the table. Along with a silvery box. It's a nice summer day that's just turning into evening at High Reaches Weyr.
Satiet's fingers tighten about the glass and a quick knock back downs a quarter of the slushy drink. Liquid fortification, that leads to the cringe of brain freeze. When it passes, she strides over, looking, if not pleasant, at least not distant, but ignores N'thei's vacated seat. "Isn't a grassy knoll and chained flowers required for picnics?" Unsaid, but in the askance of pale, glassy eyes: Doesn't having furniture defeat the essence of a picnic?
Persie, well, she doesn't have any idea what N'thei and I'daur are talking about, spines and stiffness and the weyrlingmaster gets another look from her, a once over, before she lets the whole thing go. And then she'll just sit back and start picking on that pie, not just eating it, but breaking the crust off, which is probably a terrible idea. She's good at coming up with those. "I don't know where picnic came from. It's really just... dinner, isn't it?"
Forget the food: Leova's turning the box over in knowing hands, seeing if it will rattle, trying the catch. Always good to check for a catch. Just as idly, "Do you wish more people had stiff spines, sometimes? Considering." But then here comes Satiet, and her gaze lifts, pausing on the print of the woman's sarong. And then her wrist. And then she's frowning, without a quip about picnics at all. Instead, "What happened?"
"Your Weyrleader's idea," I'daur volunteers in answer to Satiet's question; he shoots a look from Satiet to N'thei and back again, lifting a brow. It raises higher as he takes a better stock of the Weyrwoman, eyeing her face and her wrist and leaving that question to Leova.
N'thei, in answer to Persie, to I'daur, "I did coin the term, yes. And thank you for pointing out the flaw in it, miss, I forgot about grassy knolls and daisy-chains." He smiles graciously at Satiet, his fingers drummed across the back of the chair that he's vacated, that he nods to in silent offering. When it's brought to light, he looks blandly at Satiet's wrist-- "Not yours. Don't break it, Leova."
Niena heads in from the Snowasis, carrying her customary mug of klah. She seems startled at the crowd gathered, and even more so at Satiet's appearance. Wordlessly she looks around, then approaches the seat N'thei vacated before she entered,finally breaking her silence to ask politely "Is this taken?"
The curiosity that gleams in Satiet's blue eyes turn from the spread on the table and the 'picnic' to Persie who answers first. "I suppose," liquor-fuels the relaxation of her shoulders and that one-shouldered shrug of dismissal. "It doesn't really matter." That pronounced for both her quibbles over whether this is a picnic or not and probably for Leova's question, she's about to sprawl herself backwards into that empty, when Niena approaches, which results in a weird sort of flail. "Drinks anyone?" Her own, very green one is lifted in a toast to absolutely nothing, and in efforts to rebalance herself to stand.
"Mmf." That's Persie's addition about the box when N'thei's comment draws her attention to Leova's hands. It would probably be better annunciated if she hadn't just shoved the whole bit of pie into her mouth to keep the filling from ending up in her lap. She rolls the mouthful to one cheek to explain, "It doesn't open," and offer her hand to take the box back. Just an offer. No really.
"Is it so fragile?" Leova asks N'thei, only she's still looking past I'daur to Satiet's wrist, and then up at her face. And when her eyes narrow, that's when she stops tipping the box from side to side. Stops listening to that paper-rustly rattle. Because: face. Makeup. Designed to cover. It's a long moment later before she nods to her wingmate, and even then the box is slack in her hands, ripe for Persie to snatch back again. So. Her tone gets very even. "Why don't you take that spot, Satiet, and Niena, draw yourself up another if you want? I'd love a drink. Drinks all around. I'daur, please," and a brief hunt finds a glass to pass him: could be used, doesn't much matter.
No sooner does N'thei get the "No" out in answer to Niena than Satiet's about to sit, than he smirks briefly, quick to clear his throat after Leova goes doling out his chair where she will; "Someone take the darn chair." Just replace the darn in that sentence. "I'daur, please." Echoed while he moves from the table to drag a fifth chair in between the two greenriders.
I'daur, for his part, just watches the ongoings, particularly Satiet when she flails herself around. It makes him smirk. Leaning back in his chair, he lifts his own flask in answer to her question, though he takes the glass Leova passes him anyway. After he sets it down unused in front of him, he remarks, with another glance at flaily Weyrwoman, "You never did say. --Please?" A glance from Satiet to N'thei.
Niena nods to Leova and pulls over a chair, blushing. She keeps a death grip on her klah mug, though, and even manages not to slosh any of it on Satiet -- or anyone else at the table. NOt trusting herself to speak yet, she avails herself of the pie, taking a small slice across from where Persie abused the crust.
"Hello, Niena." To sit. To not sit? But then Leova's directing traffic and Satiet falls backwards and claims N'thei's old seat. Leova's even tone garners a head-tilted look from the goldrider, brow knit as if it should mean something, then a glance casts to the bound bandages to try to put two and two together to make four. She's half-successful. "Got drunk. Got hurt. It happens. I haven't had a vacation in years. I should get hurt more often. Drinks?" is asked again, despite the green frosty thing at hand, and a look goes to Persie's plate, "And pie. I'd love a slice of pie. How /is/ everyone tonight?"
Musical chairs, boxes, pies. What's going on here? Persie has no idea, but she tucks the little wooden box into her lap and then reaches out for a kebab, now that dessert is done. With N'thei slipping in between her and Leova, she offers him a kebab before she picks one for herself and sits back again. Well, back, but not all the way back because she's looking past him at Leova.
Leova gives N'thei an over-the-shoulder glance and scoots her chair to make room for him, so polite. And then gives him back the shoulder, turning toward Satiet again in time to hear her story, miss his expression. "Someone should open this," she says half to herself, just as the box is taken. And after a blink, "Persie?" As though it could have been another. At least it means she can skip the pie, take the glass back, go looking for something to put in it. "Could always not get hurt. Take a vacation. Who's going to tell you no, after all."
N'thei shakes his head at the food, too busy watching Niena drag yet another chair to a table built for four. Elbow room, anyone? Could be what keeps him from squeezing into the chair even though he's brought it around, rather has him leaning his hands on the chair-back so he's still part of the table without sitting at it. "Why open it? What if what's inside it isn't worth wrecking the box to get at it?"
Satiet senses "N'thei, at her 'more often,' fits a pointed look across the table with a one-sided smile he must've picked up from Satiet herself. Yeah; do that."
"You got drunk," and the thought of it seems to amuse I'daur, his mouth pulling to one side in a dry smirk at her answer. And when she's still asking about drinks even now. "Anything left for the rest of us?" he drawls then. Let the others worry about the box.
Niena appears to be trying to listen to every conversation at once, her eyes going from face to face as she slowly demolishes her pie and klah. She answers Satiet, "Masoth and I are well, ma'am." For once she doesn't return the question.
Satiet thinks hard -- the gears in her head working visibly in the wrinkles that line her forehead. Her finger lifts, counting silently in the air, until she decides to tell the weyrlingmaster, "He cut me off. I can't remember. But it's green at least." As if the color of her drink is more important than just how many she's had so far. Like I'daur, the box is not even on the fringes of her attention's focus, a passing glance for Leova and then N'thei shifting to Niena. "That's good. Very, very good. I think I've been better, but it's good you're well."
You sense Satiet's passing glance lingers a half-beat too long on N'thei, pale eyes meeting his in time to find that pointed look. Is she drunk or just good at playing the part? A glint of something flashes brief in those eyes before they're cutting away.
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Vrianth goes prairie-hunting, tumbleweed-hunting, rolls a little silvery something out into the open air. If it's truly a ghost town, no one will shoot at it.
Wyaeth> I bespoke Vrianth with << What! >> That wasn't meant to be a shotgun blast, just came out that way. Tempered... << What? >>
Dragon> Wooden fragments go flying, what's left is a sudden spark. He /is/ there. << Weren't /sleeping/, were you? >> (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Well if N'thei doesn't want the food then Persie will just swing that kebab the other way, toward Satiet. "Sounds like you could use some food..." she says, though she looks a little uncertain about that, or maybe just about the Weyrwoman's new personality. Either way, she'll start nibbling on the kebab she's chosen for herself, her nearly-empty glass of beer wedged between her knees and no more comment on the box.
Dragon> Ok, if he was, he's certainly not now. << Why? >> (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
"So open it carefully. Hinges can be replaced. Worth it or not? At least you'll know." Leova twists to get a kebab for herself before they're all gone, if nothing else for the pointy stick. Downing a bite, she asides to I'daur after it, "Hope so. Otherwise we'll all be clamoring for that flask."
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Vrianth flicks him an image of lordly Wyaeth, up on the Star Stones for lack of a better place, snoring fit to wake the Weyr. This while, << /She/ should be protected. >> Teonath's. Possibly with a box.
N'thei, mild; "Excellent point, Leova. At least you'll know. --Do you need a real drink?" His attention turns rather suddenly across at Niena, after a glance around at the number of people, the number of drinks, her conspicuous mug o' klah.
Wyaeth> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth corrects that image to replace the snore with him looking very great, stark lines against summer sunset, dramatic, heroic, dusty. Distracted, he misses the rest, come again?
Dragon> An electric flicker makes the dust just disappear. Polished. He can keep the rest. << Protect her, >> Vrianth tells him. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
I'daur repeats, "Green," while his face contorts into looking impressed at the goldrider's expense. He just shakes his head, smirks, and returns to his own flask, with a sideways look at Leova for her words. "Don't think so," he answers, and caps the flask, puts it away very deliberately. "Unless you're going to--" He nods his head toward Satiet's bandaged wrist to indicate what Leova will have to do for his drink.
Dragon> Wait wait wait. << Do you actually know Satiet? >> Wyaeth's on a first name basis. (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
Niena finally notices the box, eyeing it curiously, but not reaching for it. She smiles uncertainly toward Satiet, then shakes her head at N'thei. "I'm on watch tonight -- I want to be sure I can stay awake."
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Vrianth can do lofty all on her own, and never mind the twinge of concern: << She's hurt. Shouldn't be. >> There's that wrist but more, the uncertainty, the wobbling. The wrinkles.
Easily distracted from Niena to Persie, a rare seen smile brightens Satiet's face and she takes the offered kebab. In turn, she slides Secath's rider the rest of her green slushy drink. "You look like you need a drink. Persie, right?"
Hand free of the excess food, Persie's can pick up her glass from between her knees, "I've got one," she tells Satiet, giving the remaining beer a little slosh. But the green stuff is being passes anyway and propriety and curiosity prevail. "I mean... thank you." And the beer gets set down and the green thing taken up. "What... what is it?" Though her eyes do flick from the glass to the bandaged wrist.
Leova, tutored, never minds it. Though she does give I'daur's display a narrowly amused look. Followed by a repeated, just as deliberate, "Don't think so." Delicate pauses between the words. Delicate, deliberate misunderstanding, underscored by a chin-tilt Satiet's way. "Wouldn't do her out both wrists. Would be cruel, hm? Vacation or no vacation."
"Very responsible, Niena, good for you." N'thei avoids the usual derision, watches the bluerider a moment longer until said watch duty calls her from the table. Aside, in answer to Persie; "It's green, love."
Dragon> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth puzzles over Vrianth's concern, turns it this way and that in his mind, then sends it back to her all dried out and desert-cracked. << Better to just stay outta it. >>
"More your style," says I'daur of the green drink passed Persie's way by Satiet. He scoots his chair back from the table, though, standing on up before he answers Leova. "Might give you the flask, you did," he tells the greenrider then, with a smirk as he straightens up, stretches. And it's apparently meant to suffice as good-bye, too, as he starts to turn away, fixing to leave.
Dragon> Probably. But, pressing, << She should not be hurt, Wyaeth. >> There's a strong sense that this place? It's his territory. To hunt but also to defend. Especially if that one isn't doing it herself. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Dragon> There's a strong sense that this isn't his place, not this particular issue. Also-- << You're way too damn bossy for a green. Calm down. Ain't like she's bleedin' to death or anything. >> (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
Ignorant, or just ignoring, I'daur's indication of her wrist, it becomes harder to ignore Leova, and with a look that's far too pleasant for Satiet's sharp face, the weyrwoman turns to Vrianth's rider. And then says nothing; just fixes the younger woman with a look. "I'm surprised," she notes instead, her typically cool voice mild even in this observant interjection today, "That you haven't just broken it open yet, N'thei. What, there's no key?"
It's true that if booze already suits Persie just fine, then vivid green booze has to be even more appropriate. And so without further ado, she takes a sip, the umbrella bopping her in the nose. Brows go up for the sweetness she's not quite accustomed to in her drinks, but she's smiling, so it must be good. "Frosty." But with the attention back on the box, she unintentionally shifts her legs, so that it bobbles between them in her lap. And she lifts her glass to I'daur despite his lack of farewell.
"Sorry," Leova tells I'daur with no real apology, just that remnant of amusement that turns up the corner of her mouth. She doesn't wave, just looks a moment and then turns back to the rest of the table, rubbing the crick out of her neck with one hand. Only then she's stopped by Satiet's look, and her brows go up a notch. Well?
N'thei's teeth scrape briefly across his lip in that way, thoughtful but no-good thoughts. "Hmmn?" He comes late into Satiet's remarks, the box, the key. "Not mine. Persie's. She certainly hasn't got a key for it, or I'm sure we'd all know what's in it by now." Talking about the box, looking at I'daur. Leaving him alone. With this crowd. Niiiiice.
Dragon> Vrianth allows the lack of bleeding. Still. There's a lightning-crackle that just /hints/ at her being less calm. Just for a moment. << Do you run the show, or not? >> Or think he does?
Dragon> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth projects, << Ok. What! >> Swaggering voice, weight to throw around. << Do you expect me to do about it? >>
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Vrianth's not above some positive reinforcement, in the form of a charge of delighted, delighting energy all for him: all hail the mighty Wyaeth. Which is to say: that's better. << Keep her safe. Find out who did it. Punish them. >> Wyaeth, descending upon some faceless creature who's shrieking like a wherry.
Satiet holds Leova's gaze steadily, for as long as she can, until N'thei replies to her comment. There's nothing in that look, no brow crook or hook to her mouth's shape. In the mean time, her bandaged hand comes to a ginger rest on the table's top, now void of two extra people and back to four. "Well, can't expect Persie to crush it open," says Satiet to N'thei, with her eyes on Leova, and clearly there's no one else at the table capable of such a feat, even had I'daur stuck around.
Dragon> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth projects a very simple, << No. >>
Dragon> Wyaeth senses that Vrianth promptly asks, << Why? >> ...would the mighty Wyaeth fail them?
"Well..." Persie flicks her glance between Satiet and N'thei, and once to Leova for comfort. "I -could- crush it open but... That would destroy the box and it's..." Eyes back to N'thei. "It's pretty. I think, like Leova said, it could probably be opened without destroying it, though." Uneasy, she sucks down another mouthful of green.
Dragon> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth's quiet a while, windless, deserted, high-noon silence. He comes back with a warm, supple quality to his voice; << Why's it your place to question my decision? >>
Leova looks. And then she blinks, and then Satiet's still looking. So Leova keeps looking, amber eyes warm reflections of pale, pale blue. Her head tilts, and then her mouth curves up at one corner, and she lowers her gaze into that mild barely-not-a-weyrling pose. It might be recognizable, from before. And then her name calls her back to the others, with a, "Hm?"
"Crush it open?" N'thei's eyes land on the little box again, his lip filed anew, for a long deliberation of its delicacy. "It's your decision if you want to try and open it, love. Not our place to question it." There's a nice reassuring smile for quickly-drinking Persie. "Although you two are both very bad influences." A stern glance apiece for Satiet and Leova.
Dragon> Again silence. His silence. Her silence. And then, simply, regardless of whether it's a trap, a closed canyon with no safe exit, << Because it matters. She matters. >> Teonath's. Teonath, center of their Weyr when it's not time for fighting, for Fall. << And you /could/ change things, if only you would, Wyaeth. They would listen to you. >> (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Dragon> Vrianth senses that Wyaeth points out pleasantly, << We ain't talking about Teonath, we're talking about Satiet, 'n she's just fine. You're gettin' on my last nerve though. >>
Without the green drink in her immediate proximity, Persie's possession notwithstanding, Satiet lounges a little more naturally in her chair, a thin leg lifting to perch on the chair's edge so she can rest her chin on that bent knee; the sarong remaining discreet. "Crush it open. I'm sure someone as big and strong as you could do it," she affirms with a blurry sort of smile, though then waves flippant fingers for the Weyrleader's rebuke. "Where'd you get it?"
"He..." Persie flicks that glance to N'thei one more time, her returned smile uncertain despite all that reassurance. "He doesn't want me to open it." Though she's not done with it, the kebab gets placed back on the plate, well away from the other untasted ones, but she wants a hand free for that box and between the food and the drink, the drink wins. And the free hand covers the box in her lap rather protectively.
Dragon> Teonath, Teonath's; Vrianth, Vrianth's. Even if it's not Wyaeth, Wyaeth's. She shares a wordless sense of the natural order of things being upset, for the woman to be hurt so. And if Wyaeth won't do anything about it, well. That low-level electricity sharpens to a shock, acknowledgment rather than truly seeking to injure, and then Vrianth moves to disengage. (Vrianth to Wyaeth)
Leova says out of nowhere, "Do you care what he wants?" And she slides the next chunk of meat up her kebab, and bites off its end. Just like that.
N'thei answers across the table to Satiet, newly reclined, upon whom he has done a valiant job not to rest his eyes all night. "I'm sure I could, but why? It's not like the box ever did anything to me to deserve manhandling, neh? Besides." He smiles indulgently at Persie; "It's not mine. I don't want you not to open it, love. I want you to-- ok, you're getting on /my/ last nerve now." Judging by the aim of his glare, he means Leova, not Persie.
Dragon> Good riddance. Wyaeth lets the dust kick up between his mind and Vrianth's, his irritated thoughts muttered in the grit. (Wyaeth to Vrianth)
Lalala. Bereft of her drink, by her own doing, Satiet casts a look around for something else to focus on. Kebabs, how handy, and unlike Leova who just bites its ends off, just like that, Satiet takes her time and nibbles, keeping her Drunky McDrunk mouth busy.
Now Persie's lip is getting a good deal of abuse, biting it, twisting it in her teeth. "I think he has the key..." she admits, but then the sweat from the frosty glass drips down on the box and she has to wipe that away. No water spots on the pretty box, please. And yes, Leova asked her a question, and yes, Persie looks over at her, but there's no answer forthcoming, especially when N'thei starts glaring at the other greenrider. That has Persie going from meek to bewildered. "What did she do?"
It's quite the glare, and Leova's shoulder takes the brunt of it, falling before she carefully, deliberately straightens it again. It would be easiest to shift her chair away, into I'daur's now that he's gone, or even switch altogether. Or leave. Which means that instead she sits there, silent, and takes another bite. Maybe Persie will protect her!
N'thei stretches out his smile patiently while Leova says nothing, some satisfaction for him, and he's straightening up from half-leaning against the back of the chair all that time. "Why would I give you a locked box if I had the key the whole time?" He shrugs and smiles and leaves it at that. "Can I trust you two not to beat her up and take the box if I leave?" Says you-two, only looks at Satiet.
There's too much tenseness for someone who's aiming for being overly self-medicated and with a lingering look for the Weyrleader who's made admirable efforts not to look her way, Satiet drops her foot to the ground again and gets to her feet. She's just a little wobbly now, after the rest, after the little bit of food. "Good luck with your undeserving box," says the raven-haired woman to the meek greenrider. "And good luck playing musical chairs," she continues merrily at the more bold greenrider. "And good luck with-... being you," is finally said after a moment's silence to N'thei. "But I think, I need another drink." Except she doesn't head for the Snowasis, instead aiming for the steps to the bowl.
"I don't know, I..." But Satiet's dropped foot stops Persie from guessing N'thei's motives for things he may or may not have done. The moment's distracts serves her well enough that instead she asks, "Why would you buy a box you can't open?" And then she realizes that she's stolen the Weyrwoman's drink and she blinks down, "Do you want it back?" But she's already turning off, heading away and Persie can only think to call, "Thank you." Polite. And she shares another look with Leova, an uneasy one.
That much satisfaction Leova won't begrudge him. Much. "Thank you," she repeats after her assistant weyrlingmaster, since it seems to be the thing to do. She looks back at Persie. And then her mouth curves up, and her gaze is sliding back over her shoulder at N'thei. "Of course you can trust me." And then away again: after Satiet, those steps, seeing that she makes it safely down.
Thoughtful; "Why would I buy a box that I can't open." N'thei answers with another shrug, with a politely bland smile at Leova, then he turns to go as well. Roughly the same way as Satiet, coincidentally, with a shortened stride that keeps from overtaking hers.
Satiet gets down the steps safely, but rests there, taking a deep breath where her shoulders draw up before continuing on her way. Where N'thei keeps his strides short, Satiet's turns a little floaty along the way, as if walking straight is far beyond her capabilities at this point. The woman's drifting curvy path pauses her by the steps up to her ledge, just long enough to kick her sandals up onto the steps, before she drifts towards the lake shore. There might even be singing in the distance. Possibly.
With N'thei heading off after Satiet, just a shrug for a goodbye, Persie is left frowning down at her box. "I don't think he wants me to open it. I don't think. But why would you give someone a box they can't open?" All of this for the one remaining companion, this and the faint relaxation of her shoulders. alone with someone unscary at last.
Which leaves Leova to poke N'thei's chair out of the way. Well out of the way. Back to the table next to theirs, in fact. /Now/ she can look at Persie, frankly, for the first time in what seems like a very long time, and relax a little herself. "Pass me the drink? I want to try it too." But then she says, "Make you decide."