Log: Of Boats, Revenue Streams And Life Continuity
Who: L'hai, P'draig
When: It is an autumn afternoon, 17:03 of day 2, month 10, turn 21 of Interval 10.
Where: Docks, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy's just come in from a sail and some fishing and comes across L'hai who's very interested in learning about life aboard a ship. And other things.
Docks, Ista Weyr(#450RJ)
Like fingers stretching out to sea, Ista's dockyards provide plenty of room to berth the ships that ply their trade here. Stone pilings support the wooden planking, the whole sturdy and well-worn from the constant traffic of the sailors and dockworkers that come and go with the tide. Thick posts march along both sides of the docks, rising half a man-height; from a few of them dangle salt-swollen and sun-bleached ropes. The ocean murmurs and slops at the pilings, rarely stretching itself to make the planks more than damp. A short distance to the east lies the Sandbar and out across the water distant shapes outline the small islands that dot Ista's famous black sand coastline.
Shadows stretch long across the docks, sunset not too far off, though Rukbat hasn't quite dropped that low yet. Many a fishing boat has pulled into the docks or is tacking in after a day out on the ocean and the sounds of sailors calling to each other, mingle with the creak of masts, the clank of chain as all is made ship-shape at end of day. Among the smaller craft that's just come in, is P'draig's little vessel, the brownrider standing to catch at one of the mooring posts to make it fast. A small bucket of fresh-caught fish is braced by a coil of rope along one of the boat's bench seats, testament to how Paddy spent his afternoon off. He whistles jauntily enough as he ties up, gray blue eyes lifting from the rope for a moment to gauge the angle of the sun.
When boats still had business out in the waters, the docks were less traveled places. But now that the day is threatening to end, there's less spots where a lone person can not be in the way for very long. L'hai, his eye on those tall masts and the movements of those handling them, is shuffled aside several times with apologies from him and grunts from them. Side-stepping a man whose shoulder is supporting a large barrel, the bronzerider skirts another area where items are being unloaded and spots, with a modicum of relief, something familiar. "Hello there, hello," he greets, folding up a large bit of paper and tucking it under his arm to, perhaps, wordlessly see if P'draig needs a hand.
"Hey L'hai," P'draig greets with easy casualness and offers the bronzerider a smile. "Mind grabbing the line there?" Because he's hopped back down and is holding up the second line with which to secure the small craft to the dock. "Nice afternoon isn't it? You're out for some fresh air?" With all the continued easy manner of someone who is presently quite relaxed though the brownrider's gaze drifts curiously to that large piece of paper for a moment or two, before lifting back to L'hai's face.
"This one?" it must be a superfluous question, because L'hai simultaneously leans in to take the rope while asking. Working a little oddly because of pressing the one arm against his side to contain his paper, he manages to get the bit secured. "It doesn't seem all that different from many others," he comments in lightly surprised dismissal for the weather. "Not my exact reason for the outing, but somewhat of a relation." Done with the task, he side-steps to squint over at the ships again. "How many people, do you know, on one of the larger vessels?"
"Yeah," P'draig confirms, nonetheless and leans a little too, though careful of his balance so the front of the boat doesn't go swinging outward. With L'hai busying himself with tying up, Paddy is free to furl the sails, though he leaves the mast up: no need to unstep with Thread an increasingly distant memory. He coils things up neatly as he goes, clearly comfortable at least on a casual basis with sailing and boats. "The sky's pretty," is the brownrider's observation with a chin-jerk towards what's starting to turn into a gloriously gold-and-crimson sunset. That question though draws Paddy's gaze away and he considers one of the really big boats that's come in. "Twenty or so depending," the brownrider says after a moment. "On the really big ones, long haul, maybe up to thirty or so." He tilts another curious look at L'hai as he finishes tying off the sails and pulls a covering tarp out from under one bench seat. "Learning about ships?"
When he's keeping that studying gaze on the lines of wood and sail, the prelude to the sunset is only something L'hai shields his eyes against. He hardly seems to notice the colors at all, nor the brownrider's commentary on it. Instead, his eyes flitter from place to place and, if anyone were paying close enough attention, it'd be suspect that he was taking a count of all the bodies still working the docks. A long, thoughtful noise escapes him before he turns attention, but not gaze, back to P'draig. "Yes, I've..." Here he pauses, finally glancing away from the investigation, "... come into a new interest for them. I've got a pretty, ah, steady hand at their insides now, but there isn't quite a complete study until you've the practicality of the thing in front of your own face."
"Mm, I was a little bit boat-crazy when I was younger," P'draig remarks as the tarp is stretched and secured, unrolling as he moves across the bow and into the stern. There he picks up the bucket of fish and puts it up on the dock, unrolls the last bit of tarp, then climbs out and bends low to tuck the tarp down and makes it fast with its binding ropes. "Thought about seacrafting at one point, but it didn't stick except for actually learning to sail this little thing," he adds with a nod to the boat in question. Straightening, he leans against one of the mooring posts, arms folded across his chest. "So if you're looking for the practicality of the thing ... want to learn to sail?"
L'hai listens to the light spiel on P'draig's life with a smile that looks like it might be taken off him by a slight breeze. It's no commentary on how interested or not interested he is, just how he's still growing into using the expression. He seems to regard everything the brownrider is doing with marked intensity now that he's looking that way. When the other rider is finally still, the bronze one backs up from the safely docked boat, seemingly assuming this little session concluded. At the other's question, his head jerks to one side shortly in mental double-take. "That's... not exactly what I was going... for. Ahh... how long did it take you, to learn one like that?" Nod towards the smaller construction he came in on.
Unperturbed by the seemingly transitory nature of L'hai's expression, P'draig only offers up a genuine, warm smile of his own, eyes crinkling up at the corners, their appearance deepened by a summer's worth of tan. "Oh? So more the ships themselves than the sailing of them?" Paddy queries and puffs his cheeks up for a second, then exhales. "Well, I learned in fits and starts from my father mostly. So it took about a turn to be decent at it, but I wasn't practicing every day or even every seven."
"The ships," L'hai agrees, fitfully, "... and other people's... sailing of them." He releases some air of his own, but out his nose. And he breathes it back in again in a quick, indecisive sniff. "You see I was," a long pause is inserted in the middle of his sentence where he uses up most of the concentration inside pulling the paper out from under his arm and opening it with a quick snap of both wrists, "trying to determine the operation of one of these, ah, deals. Time, work, lifestyle... with the numbers I'm... getting a, ah- a better idea of where each man might be during the-- well, the height of their journey." And he raises his chin to look over the diagram at the real thing. For that's what the paper is, a mathematical taking apart of every section of that specific type of vessel.
"Wow ..." P'draig remarks less-than-informatively as he looks over the drawing. "You know, the seacraft has ship specs, right?" Brows lift. "If you want to look at a bunch of blueprints for different kinds of ships, what they're used for and how many crew they can take on," the brownrider continues, ticking off on his fingers. "Otherwise, you know, you could probably volunteer on one of the big fishing rigs," a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder. "To get a real taste for the fishing life."
"Oh, yes," the holder of the drawing affirms absently, "There were some on file, I just made this one to see how much I could recall from memory..." L'hai glances back and forth, ship to drawing, ship to drawing. Then he scrunches the paper a bit to hold it with one hand, turning to P'draig. "I'm not even that big of a fan of the taste of fish," he retorts evenly. The wry look on his face drains away, however, when what he's said triggers some other thought process he must get a grasp on. It takes a second. Then, "You're working on something, aren't you? Some kind of prospect."
It's probably because P'draig knows L'hai somewhat at least, from before weyrlinghood and during, that he doesn't look surprised by the fact that the bronzerider chose to do that. "Good memory exercise," is the remark the brownrider makes and looks down at the drawing for a moment. "A lot of time gets spent on deck when you're actually out at sea. It's too cramped down below to really just ... hang out," he notes then looks up at L'hai, brows up. "Prospect?" Beat. "Oh ... you mean the restaurant?"
"You can't sneak up on someone at sea..." is L'hai's last, muttered musing on the matter before it's all about P'draig. The paper he removes again only to give it a proper folding at each of its natural creases. "Prospect," he repeats when it seems needed. And when it's asked, "Do I? Since you brought it up, I assume so. But it isn't unheard of for someone to have, I suppose, more than one prospect. Let's say, though, that I mean the restaurant. I'd be interested to hear how that's going. I think I can still remember when that other place went up, that, uh... that other one." He waves a hand land-wards. Excellent epilogue after the mention of his memory game.
That earns L'hai a sidelong glance. Sneaking up on is not something he'd usually associate with the bronzerider. "More than one prospect ... well the restaurant is the big project right now. They're actually building it down there," a gesture down the beach a little ways where in fact, the skeleton of the building can be vaguely seen peeking out from between palm trees and there's a pile of lumber on the beach for the purposes of construction for that matter. "The Lucky Seven. Bar. Gambling hall. Not so much restaurant," Paddy notes mildly. "But did you mean another ... prospect?" That word again.
"Ah, The Lucky Seven, no, hmmm, it wouldn't be," L'hai's eyebrows jump up a bit. "I think the last time I was in there was also my first." He eyes P'draig sideways, having just gotten done examining off in the future restaurant's direction. "A fight happened." He rolls his eyes, his feelings on this display, though he can't beat down the tiniest quirk of curiosity at the sound of it, either. Conflicted, perhaps. "No, I meant the restaurant, now that I hear you talk about it. Just wasn't sure, leaving it open. Actually, it doesn't make me think of the bar now, it makes me... hmm, it makes me think of Javeri."
"I've only been a handful of times, one being to walk June home," P'draig notes, one hand lifting to rub at the edge of his jaw. "A fight. Huh. Yeah, I usually go to the Sandbar if I want a drink, to hang out and socialize or well, I cook for Kip of course," the brownrider continues and his face does this interesting 'going neutral' thing at mention of Javeri and he looks off towards where the restaurant is slowly coming together. "You're not too far off on that, actually. This is ... kind of like what she was doing with the boat, only on land. At least, it came up when I was talking about it with Nenita and my plans for a cothold where I sometimes made food for people wound up turning into a new attraction for visitors to Ista." Humor there and Paddy grins slowly.
"I don't usually... do any of those things," L'hai mentions, skeptically, as if challenging his own claim that he'd even been to the Seven. Since he hasn't really let up on the inquisitive staring since he started it with the ships, the bronzerider notices the sudden onset of neutrality. He blinks slowly in that moment, weighed down by some concentration. But to examine the expression further would mean to step more to the side of the brownrider who's turned his face away, and L'hai holds his ground. "That's good, I, ah, I've been doing some research on the various enterprises the Weyr's benefited from." In timely fashion, he also begins to grin, but at an angle and in his old condescending manner. "If I had a conceivable talent to contribute... ah, but, it's interesting. To see what riders do. It's like, like life hasn't stopped."
"Mmm. Ch'son likes to gamble at the Seven and the business is pretty brisk, from what I can gather," Paddy muses, focus slowly returning to his companion. "Oh? What've you come up with so far in terms of benefits?" the brownrider asks next, clearly interested there. "Javeri was -- really disappointed when the Layabout got wrecked." That last though, draws another grin, the amusement deeper, also the wry quality. "You mean in an interval? Why should it really? I mean, people need to stay busy, right?"
L'hai's mouth pulls out of its grin when he juts out a lower lip, chin sucking in where he is clearly biting it. During this new frame of thinking, he brings his arms up across his chest, two fingers tapping against one arm idly. "An interesting back and forth relationship, such as you can imagine, or hope, from any such endeavor. Yours is in its own neighboring category, of course, because of what I assume to be a nature of possibly bringing people in, rather than only getting people already present to cycle money flow around. Like Javeri's which, naturally, she would be upset about. I don't think anyone really *desires* for something of theirs to come to ruin." Duh, P'draig. He's brought up short, though, in an attempt to explain the next. His instructional tone falters. "No. I mean, because of Impression."
"Yeah, it's meant to have ... wider appeal," P'draig says slowly. "Not just people old enough to drink and gamble," the brownrider explains. "A little more you know, family-friendly." Pause and then he's giving L'hai a long look. "Disappointed enough that she transferred to Igen," he notes with a touch of dryness, which seems to imply that yes, no one wants to have things wrecked, but maybe her reaction was a bit much. "Arguably ... it's a new life beginning because of Impression." Paddy's turn to instruct? "That combines the new: life with a dragon and the old: what the rider was interested in before."
"And also outside of Ista, I think I mean, which is where the money coming in is about... instead of just," and L'hai draws a kind of circle in the air. The movement reminds him that he's holding on the schematic, so he decides to shuffle that into a pocket before looking up to catch P'draig's look. He works around that comment about Javeri a bit, but ultimately keeps his twitching mouth shut. There's too much to consider for the next part. "Well, I didn't, ah... used to believe that. It all seemed very intrusive. I can admit, however, being somewhat wrong about a limited view of it." He sniffs again, shifting his weight. "Although, if you wanted to argue the semantics of the word 'new'..."
"Yes," P'draig says with a little nod. "It's selfish too, to be honest. I'd like to be down where it's cooler, where the ocean breezes come through and to spend more time with my family and cooking interesting things," the brownrider says candidly. "It is pretty intrusive," Paddy agrees, a little blunt. "And life-changing. And during a Pass, you really do have to set almost but not everything aside, because the duty of fighting Thread and taking care of a dragon is almost completely consuming." Pause. "We're lucky we don't live at the height of a Pass, L'hai. Very lucky." The last? Earns a bit of a blank look. "You'll ... have to enlighten me about that one. I'll readily admit to that being over my head."
"But not the 'very' to which I had first been thinking. Well, not anymore..." L'hai holds out a hand, gesturing somewhat along with what P'draig says, exampling that this was also a portion of what he was referring to. "Very lucky," he mumbles, more to himself than out of any outward agreement. Though who wouldn't agree with that, supposing. His neutral face lights up a second when it all comes down to word definitions. He straightens his sleeves and makes a motion as if to straighten absent glasses. "Well--!" But even as he gears up for what is sure to be a long but enlightening monologue, he grows distant. There's a haze to his eyes P'draig is sure to recognize. When he's clear-headed again, the rider sighs. "Another time. I'm afraid other errands have just come up. You will excuse me, won't you?" Whether or not he does, L'hai angles his way back towards land -- resuming the back and forth apologies as he evades workers.
When: It is an autumn afternoon, 17:03 of day 2, month 10, turn 21 of Interval 10.
Where: Docks, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy's just come in from a sail and some fishing and comes across L'hai who's very interested in learning about life aboard a ship. And other things.
Docks, Ista Weyr(#450RJ)
Like fingers stretching out to sea, Ista's dockyards provide plenty of room to berth the ships that ply their trade here. Stone pilings support the wooden planking, the whole sturdy and well-worn from the constant traffic of the sailors and dockworkers that come and go with the tide. Thick posts march along both sides of the docks, rising half a man-height; from a few of them dangle salt-swollen and sun-bleached ropes. The ocean murmurs and slops at the pilings, rarely stretching itself to make the planks more than damp. A short distance to the east lies the Sandbar and out across the water distant shapes outline the small islands that dot Ista's famous black sand coastline.
Shadows stretch long across the docks, sunset not too far off, though Rukbat hasn't quite dropped that low yet. Many a fishing boat has pulled into the docks or is tacking in after a day out on the ocean and the sounds of sailors calling to each other, mingle with the creak of masts, the clank of chain as all is made ship-shape at end of day. Among the smaller craft that's just come in, is P'draig's little vessel, the brownrider standing to catch at one of the mooring posts to make it fast. A small bucket of fresh-caught fish is braced by a coil of rope along one of the boat's bench seats, testament to how Paddy spent his afternoon off. He whistles jauntily enough as he ties up, gray blue eyes lifting from the rope for a moment to gauge the angle of the sun.
When boats still had business out in the waters, the docks were less traveled places. But now that the day is threatening to end, there's less spots where a lone person can not be in the way for very long. L'hai, his eye on those tall masts and the movements of those handling them, is shuffled aside several times with apologies from him and grunts from them. Side-stepping a man whose shoulder is supporting a large barrel, the bronzerider skirts another area where items are being unloaded and spots, with a modicum of relief, something familiar. "Hello there, hello," he greets, folding up a large bit of paper and tucking it under his arm to, perhaps, wordlessly see if P'draig needs a hand.
"Hey L'hai," P'draig greets with easy casualness and offers the bronzerider a smile. "Mind grabbing the line there?" Because he's hopped back down and is holding up the second line with which to secure the small craft to the dock. "Nice afternoon isn't it? You're out for some fresh air?" With all the continued easy manner of someone who is presently quite relaxed though the brownrider's gaze drifts curiously to that large piece of paper for a moment or two, before lifting back to L'hai's face.
"This one?" it must be a superfluous question, because L'hai simultaneously leans in to take the rope while asking. Working a little oddly because of pressing the one arm against his side to contain his paper, he manages to get the bit secured. "It doesn't seem all that different from many others," he comments in lightly surprised dismissal for the weather. "Not my exact reason for the outing, but somewhat of a relation." Done with the task, he side-steps to squint over at the ships again. "How many people, do you know, on one of the larger vessels?"
"Yeah," P'draig confirms, nonetheless and leans a little too, though careful of his balance so the front of the boat doesn't go swinging outward. With L'hai busying himself with tying up, Paddy is free to furl the sails, though he leaves the mast up: no need to unstep with Thread an increasingly distant memory. He coils things up neatly as he goes, clearly comfortable at least on a casual basis with sailing and boats. "The sky's pretty," is the brownrider's observation with a chin-jerk towards what's starting to turn into a gloriously gold-and-crimson sunset. That question though draws Paddy's gaze away and he considers one of the really big boats that's come in. "Twenty or so depending," the brownrider says after a moment. "On the really big ones, long haul, maybe up to thirty or so." He tilts another curious look at L'hai as he finishes tying off the sails and pulls a covering tarp out from under one bench seat. "Learning about ships?"
When he's keeping that studying gaze on the lines of wood and sail, the prelude to the sunset is only something L'hai shields his eyes against. He hardly seems to notice the colors at all, nor the brownrider's commentary on it. Instead, his eyes flitter from place to place and, if anyone were paying close enough attention, it'd be suspect that he was taking a count of all the bodies still working the docks. A long, thoughtful noise escapes him before he turns attention, but not gaze, back to P'draig. "Yes, I've..." Here he pauses, finally glancing away from the investigation, "... come into a new interest for them. I've got a pretty, ah, steady hand at their insides now, but there isn't quite a complete study until you've the practicality of the thing in front of your own face."
"Mm, I was a little bit boat-crazy when I was younger," P'draig remarks as the tarp is stretched and secured, unrolling as he moves across the bow and into the stern. There he picks up the bucket of fish and puts it up on the dock, unrolls the last bit of tarp, then climbs out and bends low to tuck the tarp down and makes it fast with its binding ropes. "Thought about seacrafting at one point, but it didn't stick except for actually learning to sail this little thing," he adds with a nod to the boat in question. Straightening, he leans against one of the mooring posts, arms folded across his chest. "So if you're looking for the practicality of the thing ... want to learn to sail?"
L'hai listens to the light spiel on P'draig's life with a smile that looks like it might be taken off him by a slight breeze. It's no commentary on how interested or not interested he is, just how he's still growing into using the expression. He seems to regard everything the brownrider is doing with marked intensity now that he's looking that way. When the other rider is finally still, the bronze one backs up from the safely docked boat, seemingly assuming this little session concluded. At the other's question, his head jerks to one side shortly in mental double-take. "That's... not exactly what I was going... for. Ahh... how long did it take you, to learn one like that?" Nod towards the smaller construction he came in on.
Unperturbed by the seemingly transitory nature of L'hai's expression, P'draig only offers up a genuine, warm smile of his own, eyes crinkling up at the corners, their appearance deepened by a summer's worth of tan. "Oh? So more the ships themselves than the sailing of them?" Paddy queries and puffs his cheeks up for a second, then exhales. "Well, I learned in fits and starts from my father mostly. So it took about a turn to be decent at it, but I wasn't practicing every day or even every seven."
"The ships," L'hai agrees, fitfully, "... and other people's... sailing of them." He releases some air of his own, but out his nose. And he breathes it back in again in a quick, indecisive sniff. "You see I was," a long pause is inserted in the middle of his sentence where he uses up most of the concentration inside pulling the paper out from under his arm and opening it with a quick snap of both wrists, "trying to determine the operation of one of these, ah, deals. Time, work, lifestyle... with the numbers I'm... getting a, ah- a better idea of where each man might be during the-- well, the height of their journey." And he raises his chin to look over the diagram at the real thing. For that's what the paper is, a mathematical taking apart of every section of that specific type of vessel.
"Wow ..." P'draig remarks less-than-informatively as he looks over the drawing. "You know, the seacraft has ship specs, right?" Brows lift. "If you want to look at a bunch of blueprints for different kinds of ships, what they're used for and how many crew they can take on," the brownrider continues, ticking off on his fingers. "Otherwise, you know, you could probably volunteer on one of the big fishing rigs," a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder. "To get a real taste for the fishing life."
"Oh, yes," the holder of the drawing affirms absently, "There were some on file, I just made this one to see how much I could recall from memory..." L'hai glances back and forth, ship to drawing, ship to drawing. Then he scrunches the paper a bit to hold it with one hand, turning to P'draig. "I'm not even that big of a fan of the taste of fish," he retorts evenly. The wry look on his face drains away, however, when what he's said triggers some other thought process he must get a grasp on. It takes a second. Then, "You're working on something, aren't you? Some kind of prospect."
It's probably because P'draig knows L'hai somewhat at least, from before weyrlinghood and during, that he doesn't look surprised by the fact that the bronzerider chose to do that. "Good memory exercise," is the remark the brownrider makes and looks down at the drawing for a moment. "A lot of time gets spent on deck when you're actually out at sea. It's too cramped down below to really just ... hang out," he notes then looks up at L'hai, brows up. "Prospect?" Beat. "Oh ... you mean the restaurant?"
"You can't sneak up on someone at sea..." is L'hai's last, muttered musing on the matter before it's all about P'draig. The paper he removes again only to give it a proper folding at each of its natural creases. "Prospect," he repeats when it seems needed. And when it's asked, "Do I? Since you brought it up, I assume so. But it isn't unheard of for someone to have, I suppose, more than one prospect. Let's say, though, that I mean the restaurant. I'd be interested to hear how that's going. I think I can still remember when that other place went up, that, uh... that other one." He waves a hand land-wards. Excellent epilogue after the mention of his memory game.
That earns L'hai a sidelong glance. Sneaking up on is not something he'd usually associate with the bronzerider. "More than one prospect ... well the restaurant is the big project right now. They're actually building it down there," a gesture down the beach a little ways where in fact, the skeleton of the building can be vaguely seen peeking out from between palm trees and there's a pile of lumber on the beach for the purposes of construction for that matter. "The Lucky Seven. Bar. Gambling hall. Not so much restaurant," Paddy notes mildly. "But did you mean another ... prospect?" That word again.
"Ah, The Lucky Seven, no, hmmm, it wouldn't be," L'hai's eyebrows jump up a bit. "I think the last time I was in there was also my first." He eyes P'draig sideways, having just gotten done examining off in the future restaurant's direction. "A fight happened." He rolls his eyes, his feelings on this display, though he can't beat down the tiniest quirk of curiosity at the sound of it, either. Conflicted, perhaps. "No, I meant the restaurant, now that I hear you talk about it. Just wasn't sure, leaving it open. Actually, it doesn't make me think of the bar now, it makes me... hmm, it makes me think of Javeri."
"I've only been a handful of times, one being to walk June home," P'draig notes, one hand lifting to rub at the edge of his jaw. "A fight. Huh. Yeah, I usually go to the Sandbar if I want a drink, to hang out and socialize or well, I cook for Kip of course," the brownrider continues and his face does this interesting 'going neutral' thing at mention of Javeri and he looks off towards where the restaurant is slowly coming together. "You're not too far off on that, actually. This is ... kind of like what she was doing with the boat, only on land. At least, it came up when I was talking about it with Nenita and my plans for a cothold where I sometimes made food for people wound up turning into a new attraction for visitors to Ista." Humor there and Paddy grins slowly.
"I don't usually... do any of those things," L'hai mentions, skeptically, as if challenging his own claim that he'd even been to the Seven. Since he hasn't really let up on the inquisitive staring since he started it with the ships, the bronzerider notices the sudden onset of neutrality. He blinks slowly in that moment, weighed down by some concentration. But to examine the expression further would mean to step more to the side of the brownrider who's turned his face away, and L'hai holds his ground. "That's good, I, ah, I've been doing some research on the various enterprises the Weyr's benefited from." In timely fashion, he also begins to grin, but at an angle and in his old condescending manner. "If I had a conceivable talent to contribute... ah, but, it's interesting. To see what riders do. It's like, like life hasn't stopped."
"Mmm. Ch'son likes to gamble at the Seven and the business is pretty brisk, from what I can gather," Paddy muses, focus slowly returning to his companion. "Oh? What've you come up with so far in terms of benefits?" the brownrider asks next, clearly interested there. "Javeri was -- really disappointed when the Layabout got wrecked." That last though, draws another grin, the amusement deeper, also the wry quality. "You mean in an interval? Why should it really? I mean, people need to stay busy, right?"
L'hai's mouth pulls out of its grin when he juts out a lower lip, chin sucking in where he is clearly biting it. During this new frame of thinking, he brings his arms up across his chest, two fingers tapping against one arm idly. "An interesting back and forth relationship, such as you can imagine, or hope, from any such endeavor. Yours is in its own neighboring category, of course, because of what I assume to be a nature of possibly bringing people in, rather than only getting people already present to cycle money flow around. Like Javeri's which, naturally, she would be upset about. I don't think anyone really *desires* for something of theirs to come to ruin." Duh, P'draig. He's brought up short, though, in an attempt to explain the next. His instructional tone falters. "No. I mean, because of Impression."
"Yeah, it's meant to have ... wider appeal," P'draig says slowly. "Not just people old enough to drink and gamble," the brownrider explains. "A little more you know, family-friendly." Pause and then he's giving L'hai a long look. "Disappointed enough that she transferred to Igen," he notes with a touch of dryness, which seems to imply that yes, no one wants to have things wrecked, but maybe her reaction was a bit much. "Arguably ... it's a new life beginning because of Impression." Paddy's turn to instruct? "That combines the new: life with a dragon and the old: what the rider was interested in before."
"And also outside of Ista, I think I mean, which is where the money coming in is about... instead of just," and L'hai draws a kind of circle in the air. The movement reminds him that he's holding on the schematic, so he decides to shuffle that into a pocket before looking up to catch P'draig's look. He works around that comment about Javeri a bit, but ultimately keeps his twitching mouth shut. There's too much to consider for the next part. "Well, I didn't, ah... used to believe that. It all seemed very intrusive. I can admit, however, being somewhat wrong about a limited view of it." He sniffs again, shifting his weight. "Although, if you wanted to argue the semantics of the word 'new'..."
"Yes," P'draig says with a little nod. "It's selfish too, to be honest. I'd like to be down where it's cooler, where the ocean breezes come through and to spend more time with my family and cooking interesting things," the brownrider says candidly. "It is pretty intrusive," Paddy agrees, a little blunt. "And life-changing. And during a Pass, you really do have to set almost but not everything aside, because the duty of fighting Thread and taking care of a dragon is almost completely consuming." Pause. "We're lucky we don't live at the height of a Pass, L'hai. Very lucky." The last? Earns a bit of a blank look. "You'll ... have to enlighten me about that one. I'll readily admit to that being over my head."
"But not the 'very' to which I had first been thinking. Well, not anymore..." L'hai holds out a hand, gesturing somewhat along with what P'draig says, exampling that this was also a portion of what he was referring to. "Very lucky," he mumbles, more to himself than out of any outward agreement. Though who wouldn't agree with that, supposing. His neutral face lights up a second when it all comes down to word definitions. He straightens his sleeves and makes a motion as if to straighten absent glasses. "Well--!" But even as he gears up for what is sure to be a long but enlightening monologue, he grows distant. There's a haze to his eyes P'draig is sure to recognize. When he's clear-headed again, the rider sighs. "Another time. I'm afraid other errands have just come up. You will excuse me, won't you?" Whether or not he does, L'hai angles his way back towards land -- resuming the back and forth apologies as he evades workers.