The Rider Has a Name
IC Date: Day 24, Month 9, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Players: Aivey, Islay
Location: Main Settlement
Synopsis: Just a quiet evening. Islay's making fishing spears, and Aivey stops by for a chat while on her evening walk.
Main Settlement,
Early Evening
It's a pleasant island, made moreso by the work of many hands. Stone cliffs on the leeward side make a home for dragons, a large cavern at the base home to the rest in all but the worst rain season. Tropical forest covers most of the island, though there is a small plot of land near the cliffs for cultivated crops and beasts, and the exiles have even added a small dock for the small fishing boats made from the wood of the native trees.
The smoke of fires for cooking, heating water from the freshwater stream that bubbles through the center of the camp, and even the occasional resmithing of old metal traces a hazy line above the island. The dry season's sky stretches endless blue, but there are days where the winds do not blow and there is a heavy stillness in the air. The heat can become oppressive, small insects quiet their usual noise, and even the plants seem to wilt in the heat.
It's early evening, at that hour where the natural lighting is a soft glow yet still ample enough to keep most of the island awake and active. Aivey, having been inactive for the majority of the day, heads out of the infirmary hut for a walk. The cloth she'd worn around her head the day prior is now knotted around her arm, her hair hanging loose and about her shoulders. She walks with a large stick in hand and occasionally twirls it with a casual flick of her wrist. The movements are mostly busy work and controlled by her right hand. The left arm is once more looped about her middle, the shoulder set just a touch lower then the right.
Not really amongst those gathered around the central fire, Islay sits with her back to a tree, apparently just listening to those who are talking. It's shadowy where she is, so she remains fairly well unnoticed, unless someone happens to pass near her. The last rays of sunlight are fading slowly in the west, the sky a beautiful shade of crimson-gold. She has a small utility knife, and is busy working on some long, straight pieces of sturdy wood, sharpening one end to a fine point. Obviously, she's making more of those fishing spears she uses, and isn't looking at much of anything else. If she notices Aivey and her twirling walking-stick, she doesn't say anything, at least. She's also humming something that sounds vaguely like one of the old Harper teaching ballads, and not very well, at that.
Aivey, either pretty opposed to fireside chats with strangers or Islay's singing, heads in a general arch around the campfire-ish setting. Those gathered there do gain her attention, curious studies that often greet the faces of people she has yet to meet. The stick twirling stops as she comes to Islay and if the other woman's gaze is caught, Aivey offers her a quick nod of her head - a what's up, howdy-do, hidey-ho sort of greeting that's more habitual then anything else.
Perhaps it's some sense that's developed in the Exiles, but usually they can sense when someone's near. Islay's work pauses as her head comes up, her eyes regarding Aivey for a moment before the nod is returned. "Eve'nin'," she says, knife-wielding hand testing the end of the spear with a finger. "Not joinin' the fireside chat?" she inquires, though it's said casually enough. "Good time t'meet folks what need to be met," she offers, and there's a lop-sided grin. "Arm doin' better?" She always asks this of Aivey, perhaps interested in the wound itself, or maybe just wondering when it'll be time Aivey joins the work crews. Then, "Find anythin' in'tr'stin' on yer beach walk?"
"Not joining, no," Aivey says with a side-long look to the group, "Nothing personal but I've spent the day in heat... I don't particularly care to spend the evening in it either." The remainder of Islay's statement is picked and sorted through, Aivey responding to some and not all: "Shoulder's fine. Always fine. Back's fine too and nothing near as interesting as I'd have liked but then again I wasn't looking." She digs the stick into the ground, twists it and leans a majority of her weight against it. So much for not mingling: Aivey's staying put.
Islay listens to the response, her eyes only narrowing slightly when Aivey said she wasn't looking. "It's a good idea t'always be lookin' when y'walks th' beach," she comments casually. Not in rebuke; no, that's Nera's job. "Never know whatcha can find that's useful here." She examines the pointed end of the stick again, then works a bit more with th' knife. "Can y'throw a spear?" she asks then, looking back up. "When y'gots use o'both arms, I mean. Pole fishin's not quite as good as net 'r spear." Work seems to be this girl's main occupation, apparently. "Nera'll likely start ya doin' summat light, t'begin with. Fishin's not hard, if'n y'gots a good eye an' a steady hand." A pause. "And patience."
Aivey listens to Islay a little longer then neccessary, as though trying to piece together just what it is the woman's trying to tell her. When she responds, her tone is casual but her words precise. "Won't ever know until I try, I suppose but Nera's got the say on when that happens and it doesn't. Interesting woman, though, that Nera." Looking up from the ground, Aivey fixes her attention back on Islay.
"Good woman," Islay remarks. "She knows what needs t'be and what don't," is added. "We all listens t'her, an' do what she says do when she says t'do it." It's a rather non-committal answer, stating the obvious as she looks back up to Aivey. "Why y'call 'er int'restin'?" The question's accompanied by a tilt of Islay's head, and she continues to regard Aivey. "Nera's jus' like th' rest. Does her share o'th' work, an' makes sure things get done." There's a pause. "Good t'talk to if'n y'gots summat on yer mind, too. She's always been good t'me, an' I like 'er."
"Woman who can organize all she does has got to be interesting," Aivey says conversationally, "Especially considering all the folk who run around this place and call it home." She shrugs her right shoulder, easing a bit off the stick to reground it, "Glad to hear you like her though. Like I said, she's an interesting woman." Aivey studies the rest of the group at the fire, a group who by all rights she doesn't like talking in front of and so she slowly pulls the stick from the ground, "Like I said though, I don't especially feel like spending the coolest parts of the day by the fire."
"Don' make sense t'me neither," Islay agrees. "Me? -- I'm used t'th' heat. Spend most o'my time innit, so's it don't bother me none, jus' don' like sittin' 'round jackin' m'jaw like some," she explains. "I listen t'em, but I don't much like bein' inna bunch o'people." She shrugs, snapping her wrist and lodging the utility knife in the ground while she inspects the spear. "Figgered I'd get these ready fer you an' th' rider, so's when Nera says yer ready t'start workin' I can show ya where th' best fishin' is." She hefts the spear, testing the balance and weight of it, seems satisfied, then sets it aside. The knife if plucked from the ground, blade cleaned on her pants leg, then carefully sheathed.
Aivey doesn't immediately set off, mostly because Islay's comment has her glancing at the spear, "The rider has a name... E'sere," A definitive note to that name and her use of it, as though she were making some sort of point, "Might make more sense to me to let us make our own... all things considered," Her right shoulder lifts and then drops in a dismissive shrug, "Though people keep saying I don't know my way around here yet so I suppose I'm not one to talk." The stick is given another twirl, "Be seeing you around, Islay." Aivey starts out now, heading away from Islay at a slow, casual pace.
Islay is just as casual when she stands up, gathering the spears. She starts walking in the same direction as Aivey. "Gotta take these t'stores," she explains, probably to let Aivey know she's not being followed. "All th' knives and spears gotta go back t'where th'guards can watch o'er 'em," she tells the girl. "Derek and Nera keep close track o'them," she adds, tone matter of fact. "You be careful down this way after dark. Lots of roots n' things t'trip y'up." Islay walks along a little ways, then nods in one direction. "Jus' follow that path an' it'll take y't'th' beach." There's a nod, and Islay turns up a branch in the path that seems to lead uphill a bit. "See ya."
Aivey doesn't outwardly seem to mind Islay's following the same path she is, nor does she seem overly concerned about anything that may or may not trip her up. For all she shows Islay, she's not even listening but then Islay doesn't know that the slight tilt of Aivey's head down and to the side means she is indeed listening. When the other woman parts off to the stores, Aivey continues walking where every other step is punctuated with a thrust of the stick's point into the ground.
Players: Aivey, Islay
Location: Main Settlement
Synopsis: Just a quiet evening. Islay's making fishing spears, and Aivey stops by for a chat while on her evening walk.
Main Settlement,
Early Evening
It's a pleasant island, made moreso by the work of many hands. Stone cliffs on the leeward side make a home for dragons, a large cavern at the base home to the rest in all but the worst rain season. Tropical forest covers most of the island, though there is a small plot of land near the cliffs for cultivated crops and beasts, and the exiles have even added a small dock for the small fishing boats made from the wood of the native trees.
The smoke of fires for cooking, heating water from the freshwater stream that bubbles through the center of the camp, and even the occasional resmithing of old metal traces a hazy line above the island. The dry season's sky stretches endless blue, but there are days where the winds do not blow and there is a heavy stillness in the air. The heat can become oppressive, small insects quiet their usual noise, and even the plants seem to wilt in the heat.
It's early evening, at that hour where the natural lighting is a soft glow yet still ample enough to keep most of the island awake and active. Aivey, having been inactive for the majority of the day, heads out of the infirmary hut for a walk. The cloth she'd worn around her head the day prior is now knotted around her arm, her hair hanging loose and about her shoulders. She walks with a large stick in hand and occasionally twirls it with a casual flick of her wrist. The movements are mostly busy work and controlled by her right hand. The left arm is once more looped about her middle, the shoulder set just a touch lower then the right.
Not really amongst those gathered around the central fire, Islay sits with her back to a tree, apparently just listening to those who are talking. It's shadowy where she is, so she remains fairly well unnoticed, unless someone happens to pass near her. The last rays of sunlight are fading slowly in the west, the sky a beautiful shade of crimson-gold. She has a small utility knife, and is busy working on some long, straight pieces of sturdy wood, sharpening one end to a fine point. Obviously, she's making more of those fishing spears she uses, and isn't looking at much of anything else. If she notices Aivey and her twirling walking-stick, she doesn't say anything, at least. She's also humming something that sounds vaguely like one of the old Harper teaching ballads, and not very well, at that.
Aivey, either pretty opposed to fireside chats with strangers or Islay's singing, heads in a general arch around the campfire-ish setting. Those gathered there do gain her attention, curious studies that often greet the faces of people she has yet to meet. The stick twirling stops as she comes to Islay and if the other woman's gaze is caught, Aivey offers her a quick nod of her head - a what's up, howdy-do, hidey-ho sort of greeting that's more habitual then anything else.
Perhaps it's some sense that's developed in the Exiles, but usually they can sense when someone's near. Islay's work pauses as her head comes up, her eyes regarding Aivey for a moment before the nod is returned. "Eve'nin'," she says, knife-wielding hand testing the end of the spear with a finger. "Not joinin' the fireside chat?" she inquires, though it's said casually enough. "Good time t'meet folks what need to be met," she offers, and there's a lop-sided grin. "Arm doin' better?" She always asks this of Aivey, perhaps interested in the wound itself, or maybe just wondering when it'll be time Aivey joins the work crews. Then, "Find anythin' in'tr'stin' on yer beach walk?"
"Not joining, no," Aivey says with a side-long look to the group, "Nothing personal but I've spent the day in heat... I don't particularly care to spend the evening in it either." The remainder of Islay's statement is picked and sorted through, Aivey responding to some and not all: "Shoulder's fine. Always fine. Back's fine too and nothing near as interesting as I'd have liked but then again I wasn't looking." She digs the stick into the ground, twists it and leans a majority of her weight against it. So much for not mingling: Aivey's staying put.
Islay listens to the response, her eyes only narrowing slightly when Aivey said she wasn't looking. "It's a good idea t'always be lookin' when y'walks th' beach," she comments casually. Not in rebuke; no, that's Nera's job. "Never know whatcha can find that's useful here." She examines the pointed end of the stick again, then works a bit more with th' knife. "Can y'throw a spear?" she asks then, looking back up. "When y'gots use o'both arms, I mean. Pole fishin's not quite as good as net 'r spear." Work seems to be this girl's main occupation, apparently. "Nera'll likely start ya doin' summat light, t'begin with. Fishin's not hard, if'n y'gots a good eye an' a steady hand." A pause. "And patience."
Aivey listens to Islay a little longer then neccessary, as though trying to piece together just what it is the woman's trying to tell her. When she responds, her tone is casual but her words precise. "Won't ever know until I try, I suppose but Nera's got the say on when that happens and it doesn't. Interesting woman, though, that Nera." Looking up from the ground, Aivey fixes her attention back on Islay.
"Good woman," Islay remarks. "She knows what needs t'be and what don't," is added. "We all listens t'her, an' do what she says do when she says t'do it." It's a rather non-committal answer, stating the obvious as she looks back up to Aivey. "Why y'call 'er int'restin'?" The question's accompanied by a tilt of Islay's head, and she continues to regard Aivey. "Nera's jus' like th' rest. Does her share o'th' work, an' makes sure things get done." There's a pause. "Good t'talk to if'n y'gots summat on yer mind, too. She's always been good t'me, an' I like 'er."
"Woman who can organize all she does has got to be interesting," Aivey says conversationally, "Especially considering all the folk who run around this place and call it home." She shrugs her right shoulder, easing a bit off the stick to reground it, "Glad to hear you like her though. Like I said, she's an interesting woman." Aivey studies the rest of the group at the fire, a group who by all rights she doesn't like talking in front of and so she slowly pulls the stick from the ground, "Like I said though, I don't especially feel like spending the coolest parts of the day by the fire."
"Don' make sense t'me neither," Islay agrees. "Me? -- I'm used t'th' heat. Spend most o'my time innit, so's it don't bother me none, jus' don' like sittin' 'round jackin' m'jaw like some," she explains. "I listen t'em, but I don't much like bein' inna bunch o'people." She shrugs, snapping her wrist and lodging the utility knife in the ground while she inspects the spear. "Figgered I'd get these ready fer you an' th' rider, so's when Nera says yer ready t'start workin' I can show ya where th' best fishin' is." She hefts the spear, testing the balance and weight of it, seems satisfied, then sets it aside. The knife if plucked from the ground, blade cleaned on her pants leg, then carefully sheathed.
Aivey doesn't immediately set off, mostly because Islay's comment has her glancing at the spear, "The rider has a name... E'sere," A definitive note to that name and her use of it, as though she were making some sort of point, "Might make more sense to me to let us make our own... all things considered," Her right shoulder lifts and then drops in a dismissive shrug, "Though people keep saying I don't know my way around here yet so I suppose I'm not one to talk." The stick is given another twirl, "Be seeing you around, Islay." Aivey starts out now, heading away from Islay at a slow, casual pace.
Islay is just as casual when she stands up, gathering the spears. She starts walking in the same direction as Aivey. "Gotta take these t'stores," she explains, probably to let Aivey know she's not being followed. "All th' knives and spears gotta go back t'where th'guards can watch o'er 'em," she tells the girl. "Derek and Nera keep close track o'them," she adds, tone matter of fact. "You be careful down this way after dark. Lots of roots n' things t'trip y'up." Islay walks along a little ways, then nods in one direction. "Jus' follow that path an' it'll take y't'th' beach." There's a nod, and Islay turns up a branch in the path that seems to lead uphill a bit. "See ya."
Aivey doesn't outwardly seem to mind Islay's following the same path she is, nor does she seem overly concerned about anything that may or may not trip her up. For all she shows Islay, she's not even listening but then Islay doesn't know that the slight tilt of Aivey's head down and to the side means she is indeed listening. When the other woman parts off to the stores, Aivey continues walking where every other step is punctuated with a thrust of the stick's point into the ground.