Log: Taking Briony For A Sail
Who: Briony, P'draig
When: Afternoon, day 7, month 10, turn 22 of the 10th interval.
Where: Docks/Ocean, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy meets Briony and takes her for a short sail while on break between cooking shifts at the restaurant.
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.
Briony
She can claim no more than average height, and her figure, too, is rather ordinary, but her fair skin and delicate features lend themselves to an air of fragility belied by the very robustness of her manner. With hair a middling brown in color, a slightly lopsided smile, and a broad forehead left unbalanced by her faintly pointed chin, her best feature remains a pair of narrow wide set eyes a clear blue gray in color.
The dock is busy as the afternoon marches on towards evening, crowded with a mixture of dockworkers and sailors whose feet thud rhythmically against the wooden slats. Briony is out at the far end of the pier, bare feet dipped into the water and skirt hiked up, and batting her eyelashes flirtatiously at a young man who stutters and blushes at the attention. Soon enough, the man is recalled with a sharp word to his work, and Briony is left alone, one still figure on the edge of it all.
Hot and sweaty, P'draig takes a break from the kitchen, though he hasn't taken off his cook's coat or apron, he does loosen the double-breasted jacket as he walks down the pier, headed in Briony's general direction. He chuckles a little as he catches sight of the flirting, and moves forward to sit down a little ways away, his own shoes slipped off and tired feet join the girl's dipping into the coolness of the water. "Hey there. Nice afternoon, isn't it?" he offers over with a friendly smile. His attire and the knot at his shoulder might present an oddity: a rider's knot, but a cook's garb.
Briony kicks at the water, making little splashes that wet her legs and catch the edge of her skirt. "It's lovely," she agrees, with eager enthusiasm. "A beautiful day to go sailing, don't you think?" There's no mistaking the way she raises her voice, or the arch glance she sends back towards the young man who just left, and who is, unfortunately, now too far and too busy to pay attention. Turning her quirky, lopsided smile to full force, she bats her eyelashes at P'draig, this time. "Do you know how to sail?"
Full on flirting turned his way makes Paddy laugh and he sweeps a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly damp-streaked. "I do actually and I even have a boat," he tells Briony with a lopsided grin. "I'll guess this is the part where I say 'want to take a ride on my boat?' Or is that too over the top," Paddy teases gently.
Briony grins, unabashed. "That's usually the way it goes," she agrees, serenely. "Why, it's practically your duty to take me for a sail," she continues, warming to her subject. "Because, you see, I'm new here. And I've never been sailing before, and," her eyes sparkle with excitement, "wouldn't it be such an adventure?"
"New to Ista or the Weyr?" P'draig asks conversationally and finishes loosening up his cooking jacket, flaps the two sides to generate a bit of breeze, then drops his hands back behind himself, feet swinging to and fro in the water. "And my duty, huh? How about introductions first, at the least," he adds cheerily and picks up one hand, offering it over for a shake. "P'draig, brown Jekzith's, owner of the Beach House. Welcome to the neighborhood?"
Briony takes P'draig's hand without the least hesitation for a handshake both brief and energetic. "I'm Briony. My family's farmers, and now I'm a barmaid at The Lucky Seven." It's clear from proud way she says this last that she still considers this, too, to be a bit of an adventure. "I'd make a lovely sailing companion, I promise."
"Well met, Briony," P'draig says sincerely and shakes firmly. Calluses across his fingers speak to a lot of knife-work in the kitchen. "A barmaid at the Seven huh? How long have you been holding down the job? I know Raveki, she seems like a nice person to work with." He laughs merrily at that last. "I'm not arguing you wouldn't, I think we could manage a short trip out onto the water. I'm on break before the dinner rush at the restaurant." He aims a waggle of his thumb back in the direction of said.
"Not very long. The girls are all nice, and I don't mind the work," Briony says. "It's mostly men who come in, and they tip real well." Especially after she's flirted with them. His last words are greeted with another flash of that lopsided smile. "I knew as soon as I saw you that I'd like you," she declares, with vivacious good humor. "And that you'd like me, too. I'm very likable, you know."
"It's not for everyone, being on your feet like that most of the night," P'draig says of barmaiding and the corner of his mouth tugs to the side a little. "Yeah, it's ... definitely oriented on men, the Seven is. We're a bit more family-friendly at the Beach House," the brownrider says carefully. Her certainty makes him laugh again and Paddy sits up this time, to pull his coat all the way off, folds it up and unwinds apron strings, bundles the handful of white canvas together. "I'm sure we'll get along just fine. I'll just go un-tarp the boat. Want to give me a hand?" and he tilts his head down the docks a little ways where the boat bobs on the water. It's small. Just a skiff. But it does have a mast and a single sail.
Briony isn't afraid of a little hard work, especially when such a reward as sailing is dangled in front of her. She jumps eagerly to her feet. "Just show me to do, cap'n," she says, already beginning to sashay her way down the dock in her bare feet - her shoes are nowhere to be seen. "Which one is it?"
Bare feet are pulled out of the water and Paddy collects his bundle of jacket-and-apron and his clogs, gets to his feet. "The white hull with the blue trim and red sail, though you probably can't quite see the sail color right now, since she's battened down," the brownrider describes and heads on over to the right boat. He laughs at being called captain though. "Noo, not captain. Just 'sailor' will do." As they arrive alongside the right boat on a branch off of the main docks he puts down his bundle of stuff and kneels to start unlooping the tarp that covers the top of the boat, though the mast hasn't been unstepped as it would be for long-term storage. "Pull that side free and we'll roll the tarp back, hop in, fold up the tarp and let the sail down."
With a minimum of awkwardness, Briony watches P'draig carefully and then does as she's told, with fair success and only a few muttered oaths when her hair insists on being in her eyes and obscuring her vision. Brushing it back with an impatient hand, she helps to roll the tarp back. "What a lovely boat!" She exclaims, though she'd probably say that no matter what the boat looked like.
With the tarp rolled back enough to let him hop in, P'draig does so and reaches back onto the dock for shoes, jacket, etc., flips open one of the bench seats and drops the lot inside. Then he sets to unrolling more the tarp, coiling rope as he goes. Clearly, he's old hat at this. Briefly, he shoots a grin over his shoulder at Briony. "Thanks. She's not much, but she sails pretty smoothly. With the tarp dealt with, he folds it up and stows it under one of the other seats, comes around to hold up a hand for her to take and step in off the dock. "Watch your step, put your foot right there," he points to one bench. "Then have a seat and I'll let the sail down, untether her and we'll go for a little spin out to that island just off the coast," he points in the right direction, "and curve back before sunset."
Briony takes P'draig's hand for the second time that night, and uses it as an anchor to get herself from dock to boat and then down onto the seat. "That sounds wonderful," she says, still enthusiastic, and gazing out at that little island like it's a whole new world to discover. "How long've you been sailing?"
Once Briony's settled, he unlashes the boom, brings the sail down and hooks the sheet to keep it from running out, then with care, frees the boat from one tether then the other, coiling the ropes up carefully as he goes, stows them out of the way beneath seats, then moves back to the stern to take up one of the oars which he uses to push the boat away from the dock. "Since I was a kid ... I think my Da took me out for the first time when I was four ... and he started to teach me when I was six, so about thirty turns altogether, but I didn't get a lot of practice in until I was thirteen or so," the brownrider explains. "Okay then, here we go, sit tight while we maneuver around some of these other boats." That takes some oar work before they're in a little patch of clear and he can start getting the sail set up right to ride out through the waves.
A stiff ocean breeze, full of saltwater tang, tugs at Briony's hair as they move along, and she can't resist leaning out over the edge of the boat to dangle just her fingertips in the water, if only for a moment. "That long!" She exclaims, with a little laugh. "It must be nice, to be able to just go wherever, whenever you want. With your dragon, too, I mean."
"Mm, that long," P'draig answers with a grin and ships the oar, pulls on the sheet to tighten the sail and turns the tiller to find a path out towards open water. The boat rocks a little on the waves, bouncing across the crests. "Yeah it's one of the perks of being a rider, or being able to sail or ride or drive a wagon. Even if wagons are on the slow side. Give me a boat to sail any day over a wagon ride," Paddy replies with a laugh. "So, you've never been out on a boat before?"
"Not on a sailboat," Briony agrees, clasping her hands together around her knees as she tilts her head back, watching P'draig with interest. "I've been on other kinds of boats - little boats, mostly, rowboats and things, and I took a ferry to get to the island. But it isn't quite the same, is it?" She adapts to the sway and bounce with apparent ease, although she occasionally has to catch at some solid part of the boat to steady herself. "I didn't know it was so - jumpy!"
"Ahh, yeah you feel the ocean a lot more on a boat this size," P'draig explains. "A big boat like the one you came across on, it feels more like rolling under you, in a little boat, you're really going up and down the waves if you have big swells." The brownrider gives the sheet a pull and the boat picks up a little bit more speed. "Hang on there, we're going to need to tack a bit. You might want to lounge down a bit too so you don't get hit in the head with the boom," a nod to the thick piece of wood that anchors the sail at the bottom. It's a high-hung boom, angling sharply above Paddy's head where he sits right in the stern, but it could catch Briony if she sits up too high. "Once we get out past some of the breakers that hit the island, want to learn a little about steering?"
Briony spares a sharp-eyed glance for the boom, and she carefully rearranges herself so she's sitting low enough not to be hit. "Oh, please, can I?" She asks, with eager enthusiasm. "And," laughing at herself, "you can teach me what all these words mean - boom and tack and breakers and - I do know what steering means, at least, though I haven't the slightest idea how you manage it."
"Sure, you'll need to know them if you're going to talk to sailors," P'draig says with a bright laugh and puts the tiller over, lets the boom swing free as they tack into the wind. Once they're on the right heading, Paddy hauls the sheet in tight again and sits back comfortably, one foot up on the bench that half-spans the bottom of the boat. "And no problem, just want to get past these bigger waves and we're good to go. I can tell you already though that one of the things that messes with people's heads is that you need to turn the tiller," he pats said part of the boat, "the opposite way that you want to turn."
"Truth be told, it doesn't take much actual talking," Briony says, with a sideways glance and a cheeky grin. "All you've really got to do is flutter your eyelashes and wiggle your hips." She doesn't quite manage to deadpan, "you should give it a try sometime."
Laughing again, P'draig bobs his head once. "Good point. Especially when you've got lovely hips like yours. Mine don't seem to impress most of the guys, though some ..." he waggles his free hand back and forth, winks over at Briony. "I leave the lash-fluttering to T'mic though. He's a lot better at it than I am. I do better with the wordy kind of flirting. Or just cutting to the chase." His grin pulls up on one side. "Mind the boom again," is the warning as he makes the boat tack again. "We'll need to do that two more times, then should be smooth sailing and you can give it a whirl."
"And here I thought you wanted me along for my sailing skills," Briony teases, with a toss of her head. She sweeps his body a look with a critical eye. "Your hips aren't bad, though I wouldn't call them your best feature." It's her turn to wink. She ducks to avoid the boom, then throws her head back and shuts her eyes, enjoying the feel of the wind across her face. "Two more times," she repeats, faithfully.
"I believe I was told you'd be good company," P'draig quips, minding the tiller again as they cut along at angle to the the shore that's rapidly dwindling away behind them. "Which would be why I asked you along. That and it's good manners to be a friendly host when there's someone new around." He gives her his best innocent-eyed look though the little hip-wiggle along with might ruin the effect. "So given you've known me all of a half hour, what /would/ you call my best feature?" This even as he leans back to tack again and the sail swings about.
Briony cracks an eye just in time to catch the end of that hip wiggle, and can't help the giggles it brings forth. "Tsk, tsk," she says, shaking her head and clucking like a disappointed mother hen, "you didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you? First you've got to tell me what /you/ think /my/ best feature is." The look she gives him up through her lashes is pure mischief, but she's obviously enjoying herself. "One more!" She says, to prove she's still paying some attention to the boat.
The boat settles into its new course and P'draig winds the sheet around his lower forearm. "So far, your smile," he compliments with a wink. "But I'll reserve final judgment until I know you better." Playing along gamely. "Yep, one more and you can see the line where things kind of smooth out a little. I gather that the island kind of tapers off sharply down into the sea and that's why we get some good waves right around the beaches. Good for surfing."
"Surfing!" Briony sits straight up with a gasp, forgetting their previous game entirely. "Tell me you know how to surf and I'll do anything you like if only you'll teach me how." Her face is serious, even solemn, though it's completely at odds with the sparkle in her eyes, and there's a twitch in her lips that just might be a smile trying to break through.
That hikes P'draig's brows up a bit but he laughs again, shakes his head. "Shame I don't actually. Just a little bit here and there. That's one 'anything' favor I don't get to call in." He adjusts the tiller's angle a little and leans back, arm lounging along the stern's edge. "My daughter though, she might be willing to teach you. A friend taughter her several turns ago and she's kept it up. But you'd have to not mind a teacher who's only eight."
"Shame," Briony echoes, deflating visibly as she slouches back down. "Eight, huh?" She considers, carefully, but either she doesn't believe an eight turn old knows how to surf, or the idea of learning from a girl younger than herself isn't nearly as appealing. "Is she your only kid?"
"Tacking again," P'draig informs right before he puts the tiller over for the last time. Once the boat's come about and they're sailing along toward that other little island, he settles again. "Mm. She's been surfing since she was five, will be nine middle of the second month," Paddy offers over informatively. "And she's my oldest. I have three others, though only two of them live at Ista full-time. Flights make for some interesting situations for riders sometimes."
"It's - a bit different here, isn't it? From the holds, I mean." For the first time, Briony sounds almost hesitant. "At home, if Pa even thought I was - but here, nobody much cares, seems like." She brushes her hair out of her face. "Have you always lived at the weyr?"
"Yes, it is," P'draig says straightforwardly. "I apprenticed in a big hold for a while and it's ... two cultures that overlap in some places and are wildly different in others," the brownrider continues and smiles over at her, nodding. "Yeah, I'll bet. Here ... no one is really going to blink much about what you choose to do." He nods about living at a Weyr. "I'm weyrbred, yes, though not from Ista. I was born and raised at High Reaches Weyr, with four parents," Paddy notes with a touch of mischief in his eyes. "I stood for a clutch and didn't impress, at Fort, went off to apprentice as a Baker, worked at Tillek Hold, posted down to Fort Weyr a few turns later, got Searched again and impressed Jekzith. I served as Weyrlingmaster there for just over a decade before I transferred to Ista."
"Mmm," Briony says, then decides, "I'm just not going to think about it." And, a bit more breezily, "I've never much thought about anything before, no good reason to start now, is there?" Her grin returns. "Can I learn how to steer now?"
"Probably a good idea, take things a little bit easy," P'draig advises, "since you're so keen on jumping right into so many other things," he jokes, then gestures her over one-armed. "Sure, come on over and you can take the sheet first, get a feel for how it works with the wind, the sail. Then we'll work on the tiller."
Briony jumps right up, a little unsteady on her feet, but she uses it as a predictable excuse to try and grab P'draig's arm as a way of steadying herself. She spends the rest of the outing flirting as outrageously as ever, and trying her best to learn what she can about sailing.
Unfazed by being grabbed, P'draig continues to play along with the flirting though he doesn't take advantage of it either. By the time the round that little island, Briony might have a better idea how to manage the sail and he's started lessons on the tiller, but takes over again for the ride back to the Weyr. Back before sunset as promised windblown and sea-salty to go in separate directions to two very different establishments.
When: Afternoon, day 7, month 10, turn 22 of the 10th interval.
Where: Docks/Ocean, Ista Weyr
What: Paddy meets Briony and takes her for a short sail while on break between cooking shifts at the restaurant.
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.
Briony
She can claim no more than average height, and her figure, too, is rather ordinary, but her fair skin and delicate features lend themselves to an air of fragility belied by the very robustness of her manner. With hair a middling brown in color, a slightly lopsided smile, and a broad forehead left unbalanced by her faintly pointed chin, her best feature remains a pair of narrow wide set eyes a clear blue gray in color.
The dock is busy as the afternoon marches on towards evening, crowded with a mixture of dockworkers and sailors whose feet thud rhythmically against the wooden slats. Briony is out at the far end of the pier, bare feet dipped into the water and skirt hiked up, and batting her eyelashes flirtatiously at a young man who stutters and blushes at the attention. Soon enough, the man is recalled with a sharp word to his work, and Briony is left alone, one still figure on the edge of it all.
Hot and sweaty, P'draig takes a break from the kitchen, though he hasn't taken off his cook's coat or apron, he does loosen the double-breasted jacket as he walks down the pier, headed in Briony's general direction. He chuckles a little as he catches sight of the flirting, and moves forward to sit down a little ways away, his own shoes slipped off and tired feet join the girl's dipping into the coolness of the water. "Hey there. Nice afternoon, isn't it?" he offers over with a friendly smile. His attire and the knot at his shoulder might present an oddity: a rider's knot, but a cook's garb.
Briony kicks at the water, making little splashes that wet her legs and catch the edge of her skirt. "It's lovely," she agrees, with eager enthusiasm. "A beautiful day to go sailing, don't you think?" There's no mistaking the way she raises her voice, or the arch glance she sends back towards the young man who just left, and who is, unfortunately, now too far and too busy to pay attention. Turning her quirky, lopsided smile to full force, she bats her eyelashes at P'draig, this time. "Do you know how to sail?"
Full on flirting turned his way makes Paddy laugh and he sweeps a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly damp-streaked. "I do actually and I even have a boat," he tells Briony with a lopsided grin. "I'll guess this is the part where I say 'want to take a ride on my boat?' Or is that too over the top," Paddy teases gently.
Briony grins, unabashed. "That's usually the way it goes," she agrees, serenely. "Why, it's practically your duty to take me for a sail," she continues, warming to her subject. "Because, you see, I'm new here. And I've never been sailing before, and," her eyes sparkle with excitement, "wouldn't it be such an adventure?"
"New to Ista or the Weyr?" P'draig asks conversationally and finishes loosening up his cooking jacket, flaps the two sides to generate a bit of breeze, then drops his hands back behind himself, feet swinging to and fro in the water. "And my duty, huh? How about introductions first, at the least," he adds cheerily and picks up one hand, offering it over for a shake. "P'draig, brown Jekzith's, owner of the Beach House. Welcome to the neighborhood?"
Briony takes P'draig's hand without the least hesitation for a handshake both brief and energetic. "I'm Briony. My family's farmers, and now I'm a barmaid at The Lucky Seven." It's clear from proud way she says this last that she still considers this, too, to be a bit of an adventure. "I'd make a lovely sailing companion, I promise."
"Well met, Briony," P'draig says sincerely and shakes firmly. Calluses across his fingers speak to a lot of knife-work in the kitchen. "A barmaid at the Seven huh? How long have you been holding down the job? I know Raveki, she seems like a nice person to work with." He laughs merrily at that last. "I'm not arguing you wouldn't, I think we could manage a short trip out onto the water. I'm on break before the dinner rush at the restaurant." He aims a waggle of his thumb back in the direction of said.
"Not very long. The girls are all nice, and I don't mind the work," Briony says. "It's mostly men who come in, and they tip real well." Especially after she's flirted with them. His last words are greeted with another flash of that lopsided smile. "I knew as soon as I saw you that I'd like you," she declares, with vivacious good humor. "And that you'd like me, too. I'm very likable, you know."
"It's not for everyone, being on your feet like that most of the night," P'draig says of barmaiding and the corner of his mouth tugs to the side a little. "Yeah, it's ... definitely oriented on men, the Seven is. We're a bit more family-friendly at the Beach House," the brownrider says carefully. Her certainty makes him laugh again and Paddy sits up this time, to pull his coat all the way off, folds it up and unwinds apron strings, bundles the handful of white canvas together. "I'm sure we'll get along just fine. I'll just go un-tarp the boat. Want to give me a hand?" and he tilts his head down the docks a little ways where the boat bobs on the water. It's small. Just a skiff. But it does have a mast and a single sail.
Briony isn't afraid of a little hard work, especially when such a reward as sailing is dangled in front of her. She jumps eagerly to her feet. "Just show me to do, cap'n," she says, already beginning to sashay her way down the dock in her bare feet - her shoes are nowhere to be seen. "Which one is it?"
Bare feet are pulled out of the water and Paddy collects his bundle of jacket-and-apron and his clogs, gets to his feet. "The white hull with the blue trim and red sail, though you probably can't quite see the sail color right now, since she's battened down," the brownrider describes and heads on over to the right boat. He laughs at being called captain though. "Noo, not captain. Just 'sailor' will do." As they arrive alongside the right boat on a branch off of the main docks he puts down his bundle of stuff and kneels to start unlooping the tarp that covers the top of the boat, though the mast hasn't been unstepped as it would be for long-term storage. "Pull that side free and we'll roll the tarp back, hop in, fold up the tarp and let the sail down."
With a minimum of awkwardness, Briony watches P'draig carefully and then does as she's told, with fair success and only a few muttered oaths when her hair insists on being in her eyes and obscuring her vision. Brushing it back with an impatient hand, she helps to roll the tarp back. "What a lovely boat!" She exclaims, though she'd probably say that no matter what the boat looked like.
With the tarp rolled back enough to let him hop in, P'draig does so and reaches back onto the dock for shoes, jacket, etc., flips open one of the bench seats and drops the lot inside. Then he sets to unrolling more the tarp, coiling rope as he goes. Clearly, he's old hat at this. Briefly, he shoots a grin over his shoulder at Briony. "Thanks. She's not much, but she sails pretty smoothly. With the tarp dealt with, he folds it up and stows it under one of the other seats, comes around to hold up a hand for her to take and step in off the dock. "Watch your step, put your foot right there," he points to one bench. "Then have a seat and I'll let the sail down, untether her and we'll go for a little spin out to that island just off the coast," he points in the right direction, "and curve back before sunset."
Briony takes P'draig's hand for the second time that night, and uses it as an anchor to get herself from dock to boat and then down onto the seat. "That sounds wonderful," she says, still enthusiastic, and gazing out at that little island like it's a whole new world to discover. "How long've you been sailing?"
Once Briony's settled, he unlashes the boom, brings the sail down and hooks the sheet to keep it from running out, then with care, frees the boat from one tether then the other, coiling the ropes up carefully as he goes, stows them out of the way beneath seats, then moves back to the stern to take up one of the oars which he uses to push the boat away from the dock. "Since I was a kid ... I think my Da took me out for the first time when I was four ... and he started to teach me when I was six, so about thirty turns altogether, but I didn't get a lot of practice in until I was thirteen or so," the brownrider explains. "Okay then, here we go, sit tight while we maneuver around some of these other boats." That takes some oar work before they're in a little patch of clear and he can start getting the sail set up right to ride out through the waves.
A stiff ocean breeze, full of saltwater tang, tugs at Briony's hair as they move along, and she can't resist leaning out over the edge of the boat to dangle just her fingertips in the water, if only for a moment. "That long!" She exclaims, with a little laugh. "It must be nice, to be able to just go wherever, whenever you want. With your dragon, too, I mean."
"Mm, that long," P'draig answers with a grin and ships the oar, pulls on the sheet to tighten the sail and turns the tiller to find a path out towards open water. The boat rocks a little on the waves, bouncing across the crests. "Yeah it's one of the perks of being a rider, or being able to sail or ride or drive a wagon. Even if wagons are on the slow side. Give me a boat to sail any day over a wagon ride," Paddy replies with a laugh. "So, you've never been out on a boat before?"
"Not on a sailboat," Briony agrees, clasping her hands together around her knees as she tilts her head back, watching P'draig with interest. "I've been on other kinds of boats - little boats, mostly, rowboats and things, and I took a ferry to get to the island. But it isn't quite the same, is it?" She adapts to the sway and bounce with apparent ease, although she occasionally has to catch at some solid part of the boat to steady herself. "I didn't know it was so - jumpy!"
"Ahh, yeah you feel the ocean a lot more on a boat this size," P'draig explains. "A big boat like the one you came across on, it feels more like rolling under you, in a little boat, you're really going up and down the waves if you have big swells." The brownrider gives the sheet a pull and the boat picks up a little bit more speed. "Hang on there, we're going to need to tack a bit. You might want to lounge down a bit too so you don't get hit in the head with the boom," a nod to the thick piece of wood that anchors the sail at the bottom. It's a high-hung boom, angling sharply above Paddy's head where he sits right in the stern, but it could catch Briony if she sits up too high. "Once we get out past some of the breakers that hit the island, want to learn a little about steering?"
Briony spares a sharp-eyed glance for the boom, and she carefully rearranges herself so she's sitting low enough not to be hit. "Oh, please, can I?" She asks, with eager enthusiasm. "And," laughing at herself, "you can teach me what all these words mean - boom and tack and breakers and - I do know what steering means, at least, though I haven't the slightest idea how you manage it."
"Sure, you'll need to know them if you're going to talk to sailors," P'draig says with a bright laugh and puts the tiller over, lets the boom swing free as they tack into the wind. Once they're on the right heading, Paddy hauls the sheet in tight again and sits back comfortably, one foot up on the bench that half-spans the bottom of the boat. "And no problem, just want to get past these bigger waves and we're good to go. I can tell you already though that one of the things that messes with people's heads is that you need to turn the tiller," he pats said part of the boat, "the opposite way that you want to turn."
"Truth be told, it doesn't take much actual talking," Briony says, with a sideways glance and a cheeky grin. "All you've really got to do is flutter your eyelashes and wiggle your hips." She doesn't quite manage to deadpan, "you should give it a try sometime."
Laughing again, P'draig bobs his head once. "Good point. Especially when you've got lovely hips like yours. Mine don't seem to impress most of the guys, though some ..." he waggles his free hand back and forth, winks over at Briony. "I leave the lash-fluttering to T'mic though. He's a lot better at it than I am. I do better with the wordy kind of flirting. Or just cutting to the chase." His grin pulls up on one side. "Mind the boom again," is the warning as he makes the boat tack again. "We'll need to do that two more times, then should be smooth sailing and you can give it a whirl."
"And here I thought you wanted me along for my sailing skills," Briony teases, with a toss of her head. She sweeps his body a look with a critical eye. "Your hips aren't bad, though I wouldn't call them your best feature." It's her turn to wink. She ducks to avoid the boom, then throws her head back and shuts her eyes, enjoying the feel of the wind across her face. "Two more times," she repeats, faithfully.
"I believe I was told you'd be good company," P'draig quips, minding the tiller again as they cut along at angle to the the shore that's rapidly dwindling away behind them. "Which would be why I asked you along. That and it's good manners to be a friendly host when there's someone new around." He gives her his best innocent-eyed look though the little hip-wiggle along with might ruin the effect. "So given you've known me all of a half hour, what /would/ you call my best feature?" This even as he leans back to tack again and the sail swings about.
Briony cracks an eye just in time to catch the end of that hip wiggle, and can't help the giggles it brings forth. "Tsk, tsk," she says, shaking her head and clucking like a disappointed mother hen, "you didn't think it was going to be that easy, did you? First you've got to tell me what /you/ think /my/ best feature is." The look she gives him up through her lashes is pure mischief, but she's obviously enjoying herself. "One more!" She says, to prove she's still paying some attention to the boat.
The boat settles into its new course and P'draig winds the sheet around his lower forearm. "So far, your smile," he compliments with a wink. "But I'll reserve final judgment until I know you better." Playing along gamely. "Yep, one more and you can see the line where things kind of smooth out a little. I gather that the island kind of tapers off sharply down into the sea and that's why we get some good waves right around the beaches. Good for surfing."
"Surfing!" Briony sits straight up with a gasp, forgetting their previous game entirely. "Tell me you know how to surf and I'll do anything you like if only you'll teach me how." Her face is serious, even solemn, though it's completely at odds with the sparkle in her eyes, and there's a twitch in her lips that just might be a smile trying to break through.
That hikes P'draig's brows up a bit but he laughs again, shakes his head. "Shame I don't actually. Just a little bit here and there. That's one 'anything' favor I don't get to call in." He adjusts the tiller's angle a little and leans back, arm lounging along the stern's edge. "My daughter though, she might be willing to teach you. A friend taughter her several turns ago and she's kept it up. But you'd have to not mind a teacher who's only eight."
"Shame," Briony echoes, deflating visibly as she slouches back down. "Eight, huh?" She considers, carefully, but either she doesn't believe an eight turn old knows how to surf, or the idea of learning from a girl younger than herself isn't nearly as appealing. "Is she your only kid?"
"Tacking again," P'draig informs right before he puts the tiller over for the last time. Once the boat's come about and they're sailing along toward that other little island, he settles again. "Mm. She's been surfing since she was five, will be nine middle of the second month," Paddy offers over informatively. "And she's my oldest. I have three others, though only two of them live at Ista full-time. Flights make for some interesting situations for riders sometimes."
"It's - a bit different here, isn't it? From the holds, I mean." For the first time, Briony sounds almost hesitant. "At home, if Pa even thought I was - but here, nobody much cares, seems like." She brushes her hair out of her face. "Have you always lived at the weyr?"
"Yes, it is," P'draig says straightforwardly. "I apprenticed in a big hold for a while and it's ... two cultures that overlap in some places and are wildly different in others," the brownrider continues and smiles over at her, nodding. "Yeah, I'll bet. Here ... no one is really going to blink much about what you choose to do." He nods about living at a Weyr. "I'm weyrbred, yes, though not from Ista. I was born and raised at High Reaches Weyr, with four parents," Paddy notes with a touch of mischief in his eyes. "I stood for a clutch and didn't impress, at Fort, went off to apprentice as a Baker, worked at Tillek Hold, posted down to Fort Weyr a few turns later, got Searched again and impressed Jekzith. I served as Weyrlingmaster there for just over a decade before I transferred to Ista."
"Mmm," Briony says, then decides, "I'm just not going to think about it." And, a bit more breezily, "I've never much thought about anything before, no good reason to start now, is there?" Her grin returns. "Can I learn how to steer now?"
"Probably a good idea, take things a little bit easy," P'draig advises, "since you're so keen on jumping right into so many other things," he jokes, then gestures her over one-armed. "Sure, come on over and you can take the sheet first, get a feel for how it works with the wind, the sail. Then we'll work on the tiller."
Briony jumps right up, a little unsteady on her feet, but she uses it as a predictable excuse to try and grab P'draig's arm as a way of steadying herself. She spends the rest of the outing flirting as outrageously as ever, and trying her best to learn what she can about sailing.
Unfazed by being grabbed, P'draig continues to play along with the flirting though he doesn't take advantage of it either. By the time the round that little island, Briony might have a better idea how to manage the sail and he's started lessons on the tiller, but takes over again for the ride back to the Weyr. Back before sunset as promised windblown and sea-salty to go in separate directions to two very different establishments.