Log: A Walk With June
Who: June, P'draig
When: It is a summer afternoon, 13:11 of day 11, month 8, turn 20 of Interval 10.
Where: Beach/Path to the Seven, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy walks June home on a sweltering day and certain points of view come to light.
It's not long into the afternoon on this tropical island they call Ista and the so-strong sun overhead melts everything in its sight. Even the jungle foliage that rims the black sand beach seems to wilt a little bit more in the heat and the humidity. The natives of Ista are used to it, but a northern girl like June struggles with the scorch that makes her skin slick and her hair stick. She keeps her sandals on and slides as quickly as possible through the sand, navigating from one spot of shade to the next, though she has a portable shadow of her own, brought with her thanks to the addition of a white, wide-brimmed hat to her gauzy outfit. She braces herself now under a tree, on the edge of a particularly long stretch of unprotected sand, and takes advantage of the pause to remove her hat and rid herself of some excess sweat.
The weyrlings have been given their afternoon break, P'draig not inclined to work them hard during the middle-of-the-day heat. Though 'on call' this means break time for the Weyrlingmaster too, since the babies are now old enough that they don't need the constant supervision of day and night shifts and an on-call rotation's been started at night for the weyrlingmaster-team instead. Several of the weyrlings have escaped the heat up on the Bowl to find the slightly cooler clime of the beach and a group of them are splashing around in the shallows, while their dragonets nap like bright jewels in nests of black sand. Paddy's ambled away however, his own hairline beaded with sweat and impatient fingers tug at shirt buttons to loosen fabric and flap it to get some air flow going against his skin. His path brings him past June's tree and he slows, taking in the signs of that struggle with the weather. "Hey there June. Rough here in the summer, isn't it?" he says in sympathetic fashion. "I'm still not used to it a few turns in."
Caught with the back of her hand to her forehead, June looks over to meet the greeter's eye, a smile brought to her features when she sees it's Paddy. "Rough doesn't even begin..." she trails off, lowering that hand to the back of her neck to remove drenched tendrils from her skin. "I would take a mid-winter blizzard over this any day," she shares, though the comment is still made with a good-natured smile. "Your weyrlings are looking good," she compliments, passing her gaze over those draconic jewels momentarily, "at least to the untrained eye. Things must be going well."
"Yeah. It's brutal here for another month or so," P'draig answers, eyes following the path of her hand to her neck and he nods towards the trees. "Could pick one of those and fan you with it," he offers with a touch of humor in his voice, eyes crinkling up at the corners, good-natured. His shoulder fetches up against the tree trunk and he looks towards the little dragons, about a quarter grown and smiles. "They're coming along. Health-wise they're all pretty good. The real struggle is with the bond between them and their new riders. There's a lot of bumps on that road."
June gives a gentle laugh for his offer, glancing at those temptingly fan-like leaves. In the end, she declines just as jokingly. "I think if I stayed out here long enough for that, I'd be cooked." Indeed, even with the help of that hat, her shoulders are uncomfortably pink. She nods over the concerns of weyrling bonds, understanding enough, though likely not fully, for there's still an ounce of puzzlement as her look lingers on the dragonets. Maybe that'll never go away. "Actually, I should get on my way," she tells him, placing the floppy hat on her head once again. "Do you think I could convince you to escort me along the way?" she asks charmingly once she has it straightened, smile bright, eyelashes subtly batted. Why exactly she'd need an escort for a path she walks alone often, she doesn't share. "Or do you have to watch them?"
P'draig smiles as June laughs then eyes those pinkening shoulders with increased sympathy. Lucky him, he tans and is very brown at the moment in fact, after months of outdoor work with the weyrlings. "Ah, yeah, probably best to get indoors, find some shade and put your feet up with something cool to --" his brows lift just a little at the charm and the little bat of lashes and a faintly bemused expression crosses his face. "No, I'm not on watch at the moment, though if they call I'll need to go running," he says with a little half-curl of a smile. Even though she refused just now, he pushes away from the tree and breaks off one of those leaves, then offers her his arm politely. "Be happy to walk you back. I can fan as we go, too." His grin widens then and he gives the leaf a wag or two in demonstration.
Better and better. June rewards his agreement to come with a warmly uttered, "Wonderful," as she takes the offered arm, then she lets her smile break into a laugh when he begins to fan her. "I have always loved a man who can multitask." With her other hand, she gives his arm a pat and then starts them off across the baking sands. "You know," she presses on conversationally, "I never would have guessed it, but the summer has slowed us down a lot." Us, it must mean her and her tavern girls. "I guess it's the same as winter on the mainland. No one wants to walk further than they have to. I don't really blame them, but." She can't exactly get behind the loss of business it causes.
"That's me, multi-tasker extraordinaire," P'draig jokes. "Just uh, don't let Mic catch me. He gets huffy if I'm working too hard." Uttered confidentially and yet, with continued humor. "It's his mission in life to make sure I'm not taking on too much." Her next words see his face smoothing out to a pleasant neutral, nodding. "Mmm. Could be a -- problem with the jungle location too? One reason the Sandbar is so popular, it catches the seabreezes," he notes with a gesture of the fan in that direction, then he resumes walking and fanning. "If it's ah -- not affecting, you know, profits too much could be -- a good break too? Everyone needs a break from -- work. Now and then." Mmhm. Work.
June looks up at her rider escort, chin tipped just so to place the brim of her hat out of the way. "It's a drawback," she says of her jungle location, "but it's worth too much to be able to draw in travelers. It balances, I guess." They reach the jungle path and pass into the line of shade the foliage provides; it offers a minor respite from the sharp sunlight, but nowhere escapes the humidity. "Mmhmm," she muses over the prospect of a good break, though her eyes are searching out something a little more vague that she's spotted in him. She gives up those examining little glances a moment later, turning to watch the wind of the path ahead of them. "You're not exactly thrilled by the thought of what we do, are you?" she asks frankly, turning up a quiet smile, knowing and a bit wry.
"Oh sure, sure, I hadn't thought of that." Beat. "Travelers," P'draig echoes and applies himself to fanning, even as sun gives way to shade. Humidity and all. Has to be dealt with. That scrutiny sees Paddy's gaze shifting away, also cast ahead to make sure of any bumps in the path, rocks, that kind of thing. The question sees him drawing a breath, not quite sharply and he looks over at her apologetically. "Shells. I'm sorry. I try not to let it show," he confesses with a wrinkle in his forehead. "Don't get me wrong, I have -- the utmost respect for you and I like your company, very much. I just -- I don't understand it. Why does a beautiful, talented woman like you need to do that for money? For a living?" He makes another face and lifts his fan-holding hand up, pinches at the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. "You don't have to answer that," he says more quietly as the leaf kind of bonks him in the forehead.
June's quiet while she lets him have his full say, her smile alternately directed up at him and at the foliage that closes in on them from the sides. "No, it's alright," she reassures his regret, the arm that's linked with his giving a little squeeze. "I don't mind answering. Let's see, well. Flattered as I am, I think you're overestimating my talents. I don't have many, honestly. Nothing craft-worthy, that's for sure. Oh, I could work in laundries or in kitchens as good as anyone I expect, though I doubt I'd like to." She pauses briefly, sneaking a few fingers beneath her hatband to swipe away some wetness. "What I am good at actually lends itself well to what I do. Not just the sex," she says with a twist of a joke sneaking into her tone, a squinted look passed up at him. "I mean the kind of services that go beyond that. The talking, the listening, problem-solving. Don't get me wrong, I know that most of the men that come to us just want a lay, and that's just fine. But there are others looking for companionship, understanding, some peace. With them, you have a chance to do some good, at least. It may not seem like much of a life, but there's... there's fulfillment there. Which I wouldn't get washing a dish."
P'draig's turn to be silent, though that leaf he's got resumes its fanning motions. He looks ... troubled, brows knit, but not in anger, just parsing it all. "You'd've made one hell of a goldrider," is what he ultimately comes up with. "And those kinds of skills make a good headwoman too. You're a business-woman, you know business and helping people and ... well shells, you know, a lot of what you just said reminds me of my little sister." And maybe that's a big part of just how troubled he's looking. "I guess --" he makes a little face and twirls the leaf around once, "I guess I just have a hard time seeing why anyone'd need to pay. I guess I'm just -- I'm lucky. I've always had friends, family, people who care about me to provide all of those things. It's hard to imagine people not being able to find those things without needing to pay for them."
June's smile briefly dips into a thinned line when he cites her goldrider material, but the pleaster of the expressions eventually wins out, especially when he likens her to a sister, which garners a glance much like one a little sister might give. "You've been in a Weyr too long," is her explanation for his failure to understand the need. "I don't know if you've ever lived in a hold for very long, but it's different. A man marries for land or prestige. Hires people, live with people that can do the job, not people that he necessarily likes. It's a strict environment, too; it's not acceptable to find any old strumpet for your outlet, there's not enough secrecy. And that's part of what you pay for, with us. Discretion. There are weyrfolk, too, of course, they just tend to have different reasons." June's gaze, for the most part, strays idly to the sides of the path as they delve deeper into the jungle, peering through into the thickness of the trees.
That thinned smile gives Paddy a visible pang. He's not really all that good at hiding his expressions. "Sorry - that was a compliment, June. Not everyone's cut out to ride gold. It takes that kind of understanding of people I think, to make a really good weyrwoman," he tries to explain and takes a deep breath. "I've never lived in a hold," P'draig relates with a nod. "Weyrbred through and through, back a couple of generations depending on which side. Though there's some holder blood in there too. I grew up in a family with four weyrmates," he continues, "and I'm weyrmated to a man who couldn't keep his cock in his pants if you /did/ pay him and neither of us asks or actually wants that kind of fidelity." The 'fan' twirls again, then resumes it's business of stirring the air to cool June's face. "Tell me it's not like that in every hold, because ... well from what I've seen, it's not. But I know that most kids who come under my care from a hold background they have a much, much harder time usually with what it really means to deal with flights."
For his apology, June just gives another pat-- she's not offended-- and lets it lie. Her focus turns back from the foliage so she can attend to the story of his background, a soft chuckle picking up when he describes the arrangement between him and Mic. "I'm sure they're not all like that," she speaks on holds. "But I don't often see the ones that are happy with their lives." She lowers her gaze, just to be better able to turn her face into the short breeze that fanning leaf provides. "Oh, I guess they would have trouble," she says, as if she'd never thought of that particular problem before. "Poor things." It's not all sympathy, though, she has a little laugh for the anonymous holder kids' predicaments as well.
Wry, is Paddy's grin in return for that pat, though his expression shades warmer as she chuckles about Mic. "No ... I suppose that you wouldn't," he says slowly, still thinking it all through, fan still moving, though not at a particularly hurried pace. "They do. Most of them are raised with the idea of getting married, waiting until you get married and the ones who didn't wait anyway, still have a really hard time getting their heads around not always having a choice. It's one of the hardest things to walk them through other than the initial bonding period. Between and flaming and all that, those aren't simple either, but at least they're very concrete things." He takes a breath, lets it out. "I ... guess in a way, there's something similar between my ah -- my list. And what you do." A concession. "I keep a list of discreet, kind, willing riders who will help weyrlings who haven't had sex before or who haven't had sex with the same gender before. Because for all flights are actually usually /good/, it's just not a good idea for that to be you know, the first time. For anyone."
A list? June's curiosity perks with a upward hitch of her eyebrows and she turns her eyes up to him while she listens, smile gradually growing stronger. "I have heard they can get quite... rough." Not that that's particularly good or bad, her tone keeps a careful neutrality. "You know," she continues after a paused thought, "there are always a few gentle girls with a consideration for holders' reticence at my tavern." She's quick to add, though, the converse, "Of course, if you can find those that would do it free..." She trails off; she knows the service she offers comes at a price not all are willing to pay.
P'draig's shoulders tense up a little as June drops that suggestion into the conversation and the fan stops. He looks away off into the trees. "It's not a short list," he finally says after a moment. "But -- it's possible that ah ... some of them might not be comfortable with anyone on the list and ah -- in that case --" he trails off into silence.
June picks up on the uncomfortable dips in the conversation like someone with a sixth sense for those things, and the detection only turns up her smile a degree or two higher. "It was an idea, Paddy," she placates easily. "That's all. I have them often enough, I'm not unusually attached to this one. It doesn't come with any obligation of expectation. You can say no."
"I don't know if this makes any sense, June, but the idea of paying makes me feel like I'd be taking advantage," P'draig says in a low voice. "It's one thing when people come together because they want to, or because they feel comfortable. I -- I can send weyrlings your way if they feel comfortable with the concept. But I -- I'm sorry. I won't pay for them to come to you, won't front them the cash if they need it. I just --" his head shakes a few times and his eyes close. "I'm sorry," he concludes again lamely.
"No need to be sorry," June insists with a cotton-soft comfort in her voice, an attempt to alleviate the discord their conversation has spawned. "It'd be silly of me to expect everyone to agree with what I do, wouldn't it? All I can ask is they let me run my business without meddling or hindering. You know?" June tilts her face up to him again, one eyebrow angled higher than the other. Does he?
P'draig laughs self-consciously. "Weyrbred and I have trouble with /this/," he says with a shake of his head. "I don't think you're silly. And no, I'm not going to get all up in your business. But if I come to the Seven, it's only for drinks. And maybe ... maybe to talk to you. You know. To visit." He looks down at her very seriously, that sheepishness still on his face.
June just beams briefly up at the sheepishness before turning her eyes on the surrounding jungle once again. "I think you'd have fun," she tells him amiably. "And you wouldn't be the only one. Plenty of people come just to drink, or to gamble. Something for everyone. Do you know any good drinking songs?"
"I had that one drink, one time. With you," P'draig reminds and hey, fan! "I play a little poker sometimes, but I'm not really a gambler though I do know a few drinking songs. Not that many. But some. Actually, you'd probably make more off me with the drinks. Because it takes a lot of them to get me even close to drunk." Beat. "Perils of being a weyrlingmaster."
"Then I definitely want you drinking," June answers dryly, giving his gentlemanly arm a tiny jerk to help indicate the joke along with her still-strong smile. Around the bend they go and the red-lettered sign marking the location of the tavern comes into view. "I also exist outside of the tavern, though. Occasionally, at least," she adds with a wry twist. "If you ever wanted to stay at your beloved Sandbar."
"It's a nearly bottomless store of marks," P'draig extends the joke, "my drinking." The tavern comes into view and the brownrider's mouth quirks a little as they approach the building. "I know. I've spoken to you more outside of it than within." There's another little pause and then the brownrider smiles down at the redhead. "I'd be happy to buy /you/ a drink at the 'bar and maybe even cook you dinner if you'd care to try my cooking, at the Sandbar one evening."
"That sounds like fun," June replies, considering for only a second before declaring it so. She releases his escorting arm and leaves the range of his fan to step around in front of him, one hand going to brush the brim of her hat out of the way so she can squint up at him. "Just let me know when you're not going to be herding young dragons." Another brief brightening of her smile, and she adds, "Thanks for the company."
"Most evenings these days, though I'm always on call," P'draig answers for his availability. "I'll look forward to that, then. Maybe third day next seven?" he proposes an actual date. "That's an actual rest-day for me." His smile is bright and sincere in return. "You're welcome and have a good afternoon, June. Oh -- let me know if you need us to do any ice runs for you. The weyrlings when they get to between, some of the visuals are up in the mountains." He smiles again and bobs his head once politely, then waits as she walks towards the tavern until she's inside, before turning to head back to the Weyr proper.
June nods, setting the date for sure. "I'll trade days with Petra." Who just so happens to be on the other side of the clearing, splitting wood for their oven while Chidiree looks on. Both of them have taken notice of the pair, but they have no reason to keep watching. June starts her trek across the clearing, but after only a few steps, the prospect of an ice run gives her pause, turns her about. "That would be a big help," she admits, shamelessly eager, her nodding sending the brim of her hat a-bounce. "I'll take advantage of it, don't you worry." And with that, she gives him a parting smile, lifts her hand in the imitation of an actual wave, and continues on her way into The Lucky Seven.
When: It is a summer afternoon, 13:11 of day 11, month 8, turn 20 of Interval 10.
Where: Beach/Path to the Seven, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy walks June home on a sweltering day and certain points of view come to light.
It's not long into the afternoon on this tropical island they call Ista and the so-strong sun overhead melts everything in its sight. Even the jungle foliage that rims the black sand beach seems to wilt a little bit more in the heat and the humidity. The natives of Ista are used to it, but a northern girl like June struggles with the scorch that makes her skin slick and her hair stick. She keeps her sandals on and slides as quickly as possible through the sand, navigating from one spot of shade to the next, though she has a portable shadow of her own, brought with her thanks to the addition of a white, wide-brimmed hat to her gauzy outfit. She braces herself now under a tree, on the edge of a particularly long stretch of unprotected sand, and takes advantage of the pause to remove her hat and rid herself of some excess sweat.
The weyrlings have been given their afternoon break, P'draig not inclined to work them hard during the middle-of-the-day heat. Though 'on call' this means break time for the Weyrlingmaster too, since the babies are now old enough that they don't need the constant supervision of day and night shifts and an on-call rotation's been started at night for the weyrlingmaster-team instead. Several of the weyrlings have escaped the heat up on the Bowl to find the slightly cooler clime of the beach and a group of them are splashing around in the shallows, while their dragonets nap like bright jewels in nests of black sand. Paddy's ambled away however, his own hairline beaded with sweat and impatient fingers tug at shirt buttons to loosen fabric and flap it to get some air flow going against his skin. His path brings him past June's tree and he slows, taking in the signs of that struggle with the weather. "Hey there June. Rough here in the summer, isn't it?" he says in sympathetic fashion. "I'm still not used to it a few turns in."
Caught with the back of her hand to her forehead, June looks over to meet the greeter's eye, a smile brought to her features when she sees it's Paddy. "Rough doesn't even begin..." she trails off, lowering that hand to the back of her neck to remove drenched tendrils from her skin. "I would take a mid-winter blizzard over this any day," she shares, though the comment is still made with a good-natured smile. "Your weyrlings are looking good," she compliments, passing her gaze over those draconic jewels momentarily, "at least to the untrained eye. Things must be going well."
"Yeah. It's brutal here for another month or so," P'draig answers, eyes following the path of her hand to her neck and he nods towards the trees. "Could pick one of those and fan you with it," he offers with a touch of humor in his voice, eyes crinkling up at the corners, good-natured. His shoulder fetches up against the tree trunk and he looks towards the little dragons, about a quarter grown and smiles. "They're coming along. Health-wise they're all pretty good. The real struggle is with the bond between them and their new riders. There's a lot of bumps on that road."
June gives a gentle laugh for his offer, glancing at those temptingly fan-like leaves. In the end, she declines just as jokingly. "I think if I stayed out here long enough for that, I'd be cooked." Indeed, even with the help of that hat, her shoulders are uncomfortably pink. She nods over the concerns of weyrling bonds, understanding enough, though likely not fully, for there's still an ounce of puzzlement as her look lingers on the dragonets. Maybe that'll never go away. "Actually, I should get on my way," she tells him, placing the floppy hat on her head once again. "Do you think I could convince you to escort me along the way?" she asks charmingly once she has it straightened, smile bright, eyelashes subtly batted. Why exactly she'd need an escort for a path she walks alone often, she doesn't share. "Or do you have to watch them?"
P'draig smiles as June laughs then eyes those pinkening shoulders with increased sympathy. Lucky him, he tans and is very brown at the moment in fact, after months of outdoor work with the weyrlings. "Ah, yeah, probably best to get indoors, find some shade and put your feet up with something cool to --" his brows lift just a little at the charm and the little bat of lashes and a faintly bemused expression crosses his face. "No, I'm not on watch at the moment, though if they call I'll need to go running," he says with a little half-curl of a smile. Even though she refused just now, he pushes away from the tree and breaks off one of those leaves, then offers her his arm politely. "Be happy to walk you back. I can fan as we go, too." His grin widens then and he gives the leaf a wag or two in demonstration.
Better and better. June rewards his agreement to come with a warmly uttered, "Wonderful," as she takes the offered arm, then she lets her smile break into a laugh when he begins to fan her. "I have always loved a man who can multitask." With her other hand, she gives his arm a pat and then starts them off across the baking sands. "You know," she presses on conversationally, "I never would have guessed it, but the summer has slowed us down a lot." Us, it must mean her and her tavern girls. "I guess it's the same as winter on the mainland. No one wants to walk further than they have to. I don't really blame them, but." She can't exactly get behind the loss of business it causes.
"That's me, multi-tasker extraordinaire," P'draig jokes. "Just uh, don't let Mic catch me. He gets huffy if I'm working too hard." Uttered confidentially and yet, with continued humor. "It's his mission in life to make sure I'm not taking on too much." Her next words see his face smoothing out to a pleasant neutral, nodding. "Mmm. Could be a -- problem with the jungle location too? One reason the Sandbar is so popular, it catches the seabreezes," he notes with a gesture of the fan in that direction, then he resumes walking and fanning. "If it's ah -- not affecting, you know, profits too much could be -- a good break too? Everyone needs a break from -- work. Now and then." Mmhm. Work.
June looks up at her rider escort, chin tipped just so to place the brim of her hat out of the way. "It's a drawback," she says of her jungle location, "but it's worth too much to be able to draw in travelers. It balances, I guess." They reach the jungle path and pass into the line of shade the foliage provides; it offers a minor respite from the sharp sunlight, but nowhere escapes the humidity. "Mmhmm," she muses over the prospect of a good break, though her eyes are searching out something a little more vague that she's spotted in him. She gives up those examining little glances a moment later, turning to watch the wind of the path ahead of them. "You're not exactly thrilled by the thought of what we do, are you?" she asks frankly, turning up a quiet smile, knowing and a bit wry.
"Oh sure, sure, I hadn't thought of that." Beat. "Travelers," P'draig echoes and applies himself to fanning, even as sun gives way to shade. Humidity and all. Has to be dealt with. That scrutiny sees Paddy's gaze shifting away, also cast ahead to make sure of any bumps in the path, rocks, that kind of thing. The question sees him drawing a breath, not quite sharply and he looks over at her apologetically. "Shells. I'm sorry. I try not to let it show," he confesses with a wrinkle in his forehead. "Don't get me wrong, I have -- the utmost respect for you and I like your company, very much. I just -- I don't understand it. Why does a beautiful, talented woman like you need to do that for money? For a living?" He makes another face and lifts his fan-holding hand up, pinches at the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. "You don't have to answer that," he says more quietly as the leaf kind of bonks him in the forehead.
June's quiet while she lets him have his full say, her smile alternately directed up at him and at the foliage that closes in on them from the sides. "No, it's alright," she reassures his regret, the arm that's linked with his giving a little squeeze. "I don't mind answering. Let's see, well. Flattered as I am, I think you're overestimating my talents. I don't have many, honestly. Nothing craft-worthy, that's for sure. Oh, I could work in laundries or in kitchens as good as anyone I expect, though I doubt I'd like to." She pauses briefly, sneaking a few fingers beneath her hatband to swipe away some wetness. "What I am good at actually lends itself well to what I do. Not just the sex," she says with a twist of a joke sneaking into her tone, a squinted look passed up at him. "I mean the kind of services that go beyond that. The talking, the listening, problem-solving. Don't get me wrong, I know that most of the men that come to us just want a lay, and that's just fine. But there are others looking for companionship, understanding, some peace. With them, you have a chance to do some good, at least. It may not seem like much of a life, but there's... there's fulfillment there. Which I wouldn't get washing a dish."
P'draig's turn to be silent, though that leaf he's got resumes its fanning motions. He looks ... troubled, brows knit, but not in anger, just parsing it all. "You'd've made one hell of a goldrider," is what he ultimately comes up with. "And those kinds of skills make a good headwoman too. You're a business-woman, you know business and helping people and ... well shells, you know, a lot of what you just said reminds me of my little sister." And maybe that's a big part of just how troubled he's looking. "I guess --" he makes a little face and twirls the leaf around once, "I guess I just have a hard time seeing why anyone'd need to pay. I guess I'm just -- I'm lucky. I've always had friends, family, people who care about me to provide all of those things. It's hard to imagine people not being able to find those things without needing to pay for them."
June's smile briefly dips into a thinned line when he cites her goldrider material, but the pleaster of the expressions eventually wins out, especially when he likens her to a sister, which garners a glance much like one a little sister might give. "You've been in a Weyr too long," is her explanation for his failure to understand the need. "I don't know if you've ever lived in a hold for very long, but it's different. A man marries for land or prestige. Hires people, live with people that can do the job, not people that he necessarily likes. It's a strict environment, too; it's not acceptable to find any old strumpet for your outlet, there's not enough secrecy. And that's part of what you pay for, with us. Discretion. There are weyrfolk, too, of course, they just tend to have different reasons." June's gaze, for the most part, strays idly to the sides of the path as they delve deeper into the jungle, peering through into the thickness of the trees.
That thinned smile gives Paddy a visible pang. He's not really all that good at hiding his expressions. "Sorry - that was a compliment, June. Not everyone's cut out to ride gold. It takes that kind of understanding of people I think, to make a really good weyrwoman," he tries to explain and takes a deep breath. "I've never lived in a hold," P'draig relates with a nod. "Weyrbred through and through, back a couple of generations depending on which side. Though there's some holder blood in there too. I grew up in a family with four weyrmates," he continues, "and I'm weyrmated to a man who couldn't keep his cock in his pants if you /did/ pay him and neither of us asks or actually wants that kind of fidelity." The 'fan' twirls again, then resumes it's business of stirring the air to cool June's face. "Tell me it's not like that in every hold, because ... well from what I've seen, it's not. But I know that most kids who come under my care from a hold background they have a much, much harder time usually with what it really means to deal with flights."
For his apology, June just gives another pat-- she's not offended-- and lets it lie. Her focus turns back from the foliage so she can attend to the story of his background, a soft chuckle picking up when he describes the arrangement between him and Mic. "I'm sure they're not all like that," she speaks on holds. "But I don't often see the ones that are happy with their lives." She lowers her gaze, just to be better able to turn her face into the short breeze that fanning leaf provides. "Oh, I guess they would have trouble," she says, as if she'd never thought of that particular problem before. "Poor things." It's not all sympathy, though, she has a little laugh for the anonymous holder kids' predicaments as well.
Wry, is Paddy's grin in return for that pat, though his expression shades warmer as she chuckles about Mic. "No ... I suppose that you wouldn't," he says slowly, still thinking it all through, fan still moving, though not at a particularly hurried pace. "They do. Most of them are raised with the idea of getting married, waiting until you get married and the ones who didn't wait anyway, still have a really hard time getting their heads around not always having a choice. It's one of the hardest things to walk them through other than the initial bonding period. Between and flaming and all that, those aren't simple either, but at least they're very concrete things." He takes a breath, lets it out. "I ... guess in a way, there's something similar between my ah -- my list. And what you do." A concession. "I keep a list of discreet, kind, willing riders who will help weyrlings who haven't had sex before or who haven't had sex with the same gender before. Because for all flights are actually usually /good/, it's just not a good idea for that to be you know, the first time. For anyone."
A list? June's curiosity perks with a upward hitch of her eyebrows and she turns her eyes up to him while she listens, smile gradually growing stronger. "I have heard they can get quite... rough." Not that that's particularly good or bad, her tone keeps a careful neutrality. "You know," she continues after a paused thought, "there are always a few gentle girls with a consideration for holders' reticence at my tavern." She's quick to add, though, the converse, "Of course, if you can find those that would do it free..." She trails off; she knows the service she offers comes at a price not all are willing to pay.
P'draig's shoulders tense up a little as June drops that suggestion into the conversation and the fan stops. He looks away off into the trees. "It's not a short list," he finally says after a moment. "But -- it's possible that ah ... some of them might not be comfortable with anyone on the list and ah -- in that case --" he trails off into silence.
June picks up on the uncomfortable dips in the conversation like someone with a sixth sense for those things, and the detection only turns up her smile a degree or two higher. "It was an idea, Paddy," she placates easily. "That's all. I have them often enough, I'm not unusually attached to this one. It doesn't come with any obligation of expectation. You can say no."
"I don't know if this makes any sense, June, but the idea of paying makes me feel like I'd be taking advantage," P'draig says in a low voice. "It's one thing when people come together because they want to, or because they feel comfortable. I -- I can send weyrlings your way if they feel comfortable with the concept. But I -- I'm sorry. I won't pay for them to come to you, won't front them the cash if they need it. I just --" his head shakes a few times and his eyes close. "I'm sorry," he concludes again lamely.
"No need to be sorry," June insists with a cotton-soft comfort in her voice, an attempt to alleviate the discord their conversation has spawned. "It'd be silly of me to expect everyone to agree with what I do, wouldn't it? All I can ask is they let me run my business without meddling or hindering. You know?" June tilts her face up to him again, one eyebrow angled higher than the other. Does he?
P'draig laughs self-consciously. "Weyrbred and I have trouble with /this/," he says with a shake of his head. "I don't think you're silly. And no, I'm not going to get all up in your business. But if I come to the Seven, it's only for drinks. And maybe ... maybe to talk to you. You know. To visit." He looks down at her very seriously, that sheepishness still on his face.
June just beams briefly up at the sheepishness before turning her eyes on the surrounding jungle once again. "I think you'd have fun," she tells him amiably. "And you wouldn't be the only one. Plenty of people come just to drink, or to gamble. Something for everyone. Do you know any good drinking songs?"
"I had that one drink, one time. With you," P'draig reminds and hey, fan! "I play a little poker sometimes, but I'm not really a gambler though I do know a few drinking songs. Not that many. But some. Actually, you'd probably make more off me with the drinks. Because it takes a lot of them to get me even close to drunk." Beat. "Perils of being a weyrlingmaster."
"Then I definitely want you drinking," June answers dryly, giving his gentlemanly arm a tiny jerk to help indicate the joke along with her still-strong smile. Around the bend they go and the red-lettered sign marking the location of the tavern comes into view. "I also exist outside of the tavern, though. Occasionally, at least," she adds with a wry twist. "If you ever wanted to stay at your beloved Sandbar."
"It's a nearly bottomless store of marks," P'draig extends the joke, "my drinking." The tavern comes into view and the brownrider's mouth quirks a little as they approach the building. "I know. I've spoken to you more outside of it than within." There's another little pause and then the brownrider smiles down at the redhead. "I'd be happy to buy /you/ a drink at the 'bar and maybe even cook you dinner if you'd care to try my cooking, at the Sandbar one evening."
"That sounds like fun," June replies, considering for only a second before declaring it so. She releases his escorting arm and leaves the range of his fan to step around in front of him, one hand going to brush the brim of her hat out of the way so she can squint up at him. "Just let me know when you're not going to be herding young dragons." Another brief brightening of her smile, and she adds, "Thanks for the company."
"Most evenings these days, though I'm always on call," P'draig answers for his availability. "I'll look forward to that, then. Maybe third day next seven?" he proposes an actual date. "That's an actual rest-day for me." His smile is bright and sincere in return. "You're welcome and have a good afternoon, June. Oh -- let me know if you need us to do any ice runs for you. The weyrlings when they get to between, some of the visuals are up in the mountains." He smiles again and bobs his head once politely, then waits as she walks towards the tavern until she's inside, before turning to head back to the Weyr proper.
June nods, setting the date for sure. "I'll trade days with Petra." Who just so happens to be on the other side of the clearing, splitting wood for their oven while Chidiree looks on. Both of them have taken notice of the pair, but they have no reason to keep watching. June starts her trek across the clearing, but after only a few steps, the prospect of an ice run gives her pause, turns her about. "That would be a big help," she admits, shamelessly eager, her nodding sending the brim of her hat a-bounce. "I'll take advantage of it, don't you worry." And with that, she gives him a parting smile, lifts her hand in the imitation of an actual wave, and continues on her way into The Lucky Seven.