Log: Damned if you, damned if you don't
IC: Day 7, month 10, turn 22 of Interval 10.
RL: 2010.05.16
Bailey seeks Paddy out to discuss the job he’d mentioned to her at the restaurant and ends up holding a serious discussion with him, revolving around the trials and tribulations of raising a child under less than ideal circumstances and the implications of being paired with a dragon.
[OOC - Yeah, so I'm going sappy and tagging the song for Paddy & Palia ;) ]
The Beach House, Ista Weyr(#1647RJ)
Standing between things: the beach and the jungle, the Weyr and the Hold and serving more than one function, both public business and private abode, the Beach House has a comfortable, relaxed feel to it. Built along southern lines, the entire cothold is wrapped around with a porch and the roof slopes low, hanging out over the edges of its support structures: future protection against Thread. The windows are wide and set low in the walls, a few boasting full glass panes, the rest screened and shuttered with sliding panels.
On this end of the building, set at a slight angle to the water with a full view of the beach, the porch lies nearly flush to the ground allowing patrons to walk right into the restaurant. Cane-weave tables and chairs for two and four line the porch walls and a long counter provides both extra seating 'bar' style along with a view right into the open kitchen. An opening wide enough for two people is cut into the counter allowing servers to pass between the kitchen and the dining area. Warm-hued wood paneling lines the underside of the roof and all of the surfaces within the restaurant and local climbing vine flowers curl around the support posts of the porch from planters hung beneath. When open for business, little glow baskets are unlidded within the embrace of the vines to provide a little extra decorative touch. Dimly visible, about a quarter of a mile away are the docks and the Sandbar.
Contents:
P'draig
Beach House Menu
Obvious exits:
Main Beach Kitchen
It's hazy and humid out and the Beach House seems to be closed today. P'draig however is sitting out on the porch in one of the comfy deck chairs with a clipboard propped up against one knee, writing something. The kids aren't in evidence: still up at the Weyr in harper lessons. The brownrider is definitely dressed down for the weather: just shorts and a glass of something with a lot of ice in it stands on the small table beside him.
Hair bundled up atop her head, and wearing as little as absolutely possible, this being a tiny pair of shorts and halter-neck top (almost a uniform these days), Bailey arrives, sandals announcing her arrival as soon as she steps over and onto the porch. Pale eyes fit onto the brownrider, quiet in her study of the man until, “No rest for the wicked, hmm?” Assuming work is what he’s doing.
The flop of sandals on the porch floorboards do alert Paddy enough to lift his eyes up from whatever is on that clipboard. The sight of Bailey instantly brings a smile to his face and he puts the board down. Looks like a lot of chicken scratch on the paper there and there's some arrows and things pointing to different locations, like he's been moving things around. "Well hey there," he greets her with a grin and raps knuckles on the board. "Yeah. Rearranging the menu and swapping some things around for autumn. Here's hoping the weather breaks soon. I feel like a used up dishrag," the brownrider remarks about the heat. "Iced tea?" he offers, with a gesture towards his glass. "I've got a pitcher in the icebox inside."
Steps carry the brunette over closer to where she’s able to catch a glance at the clipboard. Interest showing up, “New menu items?” grinning a little, “Need a taster for those?” The glance Bailey puts down to the glass could rival that of a man lost in a desert, “Please, that would be great.” As to the weather a small grimace appears, “I could go with spending my days floating around in the pools or just sleeping all day. But then that would never see the Even’Star under full sail again.” Another deck chair nearby is taken a hold of and pulled up alongside where P’draig sits, “Which is why I’m here. I need to talk to you.” Straight down to business.
"Yeah, seasonal and all that," P'draig explains, pushes up out of his chair. He pauses as Bailey cuts straight to the chase. "Oh? Okay, hold on a second, let me get you your drink, then we can talk," the brownrider answers and on his way to the door into the cothold, his hand rests briefly on Bailey's shoulder. He's not gone long, bare feet quiet on the floorboards. When he comes back, he's got the pitcher, a spare glass and a bowl of cut up fruit - looks and smells like mango, strawberry and peach. The bowl, pitcher and glass are set down on the table, her drink poured and passed over with a smile, ice clinking inside. Paddy sits then, leaning back casually. "So, what's on your mind?" he encourages.
Fingers lift and touch to the hand that P’draig puts to her shoulder, a smile appearing to go along with the nod of thanks. Bailey tips her head back against the chair, closing her eyes briefly and letting out a long sigh. One could almost be forgiven for thinking she’s fallen asleep at first. However, once the brownrider returns with not only the pitcher of iced tea but slices of fruit too, she’s instantly alert and reaching for a piece of mango. Someone must be hungry! A long swallow of her drink followed by a slow inhalation of breath and then she’s turning a sidelong look over to him, “About that job you mentioned a while back. You still hiring?”
Grinning again at the ferocity with which Bailey attacks that food, P'draig nods in answer to her question, reaches for his own glass. "Yeah. I had to cut back on the staff pretty sharply, but I still need someone who can come in and cover the evening rush ... the thing is, it's not big pay, other than the tips," the brownrider explains. "Dyla's great but she's a little too expensive for me. She got a job at a waystation down the road on the way to the hold - better pay."
Bailey catches that grin and at least manages to look a little shamefaced, her fingers halting mid-air in the course they’d taken toward a piece of strawberry. Instead they shift over to her glass and wrap around its moisture beaded sides. Tanned shoulders lift and fall in a small shrug, “Any pay’s better than none,” a swallow of iced tea and then, “How many nights a seven and what sort of hours would you need someone in for?”
"Hey, I like a woman with appetite," P'draig teases her and nudges the bowl a little bit closer, steals a slice of peach for himself. "Mmph. If you can do all four nights we're open and handle the lunchtime bunch, take a break in between then be back to help out for evening, that'd be good. We're usually open from noon on the dot, until three-ish, take a two hour break, then come back at five for dinner service. Meals included."
Chuckling a little sheepishly and reaching once again for the slice of strawberry once the bowl is nudged closer. Chewing on the juicy piece of fruit, Bailey’s eyes slip out over to the horizon, a deeply contemplative expression forming. Silence stretches out and then she’s nodding, “Sounds fair enough to me,” and then she’s adding, “How about we take this on a two month trial basis and see how things work out from there?”
Watching her, P'draig sips from his glass, absently swipes his wrist across his forehead where sweat has gathered. "Okay, sounds like a good idea. It can be tough work, being on your feet that much. So if it doesn't work out, no harm, no foul." The brownrider rests his glass atop one knee, tilts his head against the chair's back. "How've you been?"
Frowning a little as she pops a peach slice into her mouth, Bailey chews, swallows and then creates a bright smile for P’draig, “Can’t be much harder work than restoring my boat.” Leaning back in her chair, even slumping down a little, Bailey’s attention once again goes out to the horizon, her lips twisting wryly at the query, “Been making some life changes.”
"How's the restoration going?" P'draig asks curiously, lazily reaching for some more fruit and popping two strawberries into his mouth in rapid succession. "Yeah? The kind that send your life off on a completely different path, or just little side trips?" he asks with good humor.
With a wrinkle of nose, “Slowly. Decks are done. Had some help with that,” a sip of iced tea before continuing on, “Now she needs some time in the dry docks for hull work, and then, new sails.” In other words, she’s only just scratched the surface. Laughter low and throaty erupts from Bailey, “Aye, you could say that.” Though she doesn’t pinpoint which of the two it is. Turning the conversation back over onto P’draig, “Met your T’mic down at the pools the other day. Real sweet he is.”
"Let me know if I can help with any of it. I know my way around boats a little at least," P'draig claims and licks a bit of juice off of his thumb, tilts his glass up for another drink. "Hm. New paths can be interesting, but tough at the same time. Glad the restoration is going well even if it's slow," he remarks sincerely then laughs. "Yeah, I heard," the brownrider says with amusement. "Do you want me to repeat the compliments?"
"Any good with a paint scraper?" Bailey is quick to ask on the offer of help. Tanned legs stretch out before her as she settles in good and comfy into the embrace of the deck chair, her eyes flickering a glance over to P'draig and then out to sea again, "Aye, especially the kind that don't come with instructions." Lips quirk up into an amused line, "Really? He's not too bad himself." The brunette goes quiet for a while, lost in thought it would seem. Breaking that silence eventually she asks, "How's Palia? I've been meaning to come around when she's here but..." frowning a little, "Let's just say that I got distracted for a bit."
"Sure," P'draig says readily, "just takes a steady hand and strong wrist," the brownrider claims about scraping and mimics the motion. She stretches out and his gaze follows the line of those legs then skips away out to the ocean too, then over to the pitcher. He reaches for it and refills his glass. "More?" Paddy offers over and laughs. "Yeah. Something about his smile," he confesses about his weyrmate then sobers a bit. "Palia's pretty good. She's due to spend a little bit of time with her mother though and she doesn't want to go."
Chuckling and nodding, “Looks like you’ve got it down. Only thing is, I can’t pay you. But I know of this really good restaurant that serves the most delicious meals. I could maybe wangle a meal or two out of the owner if you do a good enough job?” teasing outright. Lifting her glass and holding it out to the brownrider, “Please,” her own mouth setting into a grin, “He’s got one of those smiles that could have you forgiving him almost anything it seems.” That slips off and Bailey is soon setting a troubled look over to Paddy, “Can’t say I blame her. Is she going on her own?”
P'draig laughs merrily, a full on belly laugh even. "Wouldn't be looking to get paid for that," P'draig says with a grin. "That'd just be helping out a friend and only in between things at that," he admits and hovers the pitcher over her glass, pours carefully. The ice is melting pretty fast. Briefly P'draig's lips quirk into a fond expression. "Yeah. That and just ... his way with people and life. He doesn't have a malicious bone in his body." The tone in the brownrider's voice mirrors the quality of his expression, deeply affectionate. But. His daughter. Gray-blue eyes lift, seek out Bailey's. "Yes, that's usually how it goes. She goes to see Illya for a few days at Southern, they have some time together, she comes home. Illya wants her to stay a lot longer this time, Palia dosn't want to, so I told Illya it'd be better to stick to the usual. Palia said she'd do it, but I think she still doesn't want to."
Bailey puts a warm smile to P’draig, “Well then from one friend to another, thank you.” Plucking up a slice of fruit, she pops it into her mouth, once again thoughtful as she chews, “He’s got a very unique way of explaining things to people to.” The re-filled glass is held against her neck for the cooling effects as she listens in silence. “You know, she’s going to get to the age where her mother is going to have to start respecting her wishes and understanding that this is a consequence of her having left. Children are extremely forgiving of most things. Abandonment isn’t one of them.” This spoken as if by one whose been there. Adding in a quieter tone, “Could she not come here? Meet up with the child on her own territory for a change?”
"You're welcome," P'draig answers, smiling again and re-settles in his chair, takes a deep breath as a cooler breeze washes over the porch. "Smells like a storm," he notes casually, tilting his head to look out at the sky over the sea, then nods about T'mic. "Yeah, all ties into his unique way of looking at the world," Paddy says with a laugh, brief though as Bailey remarks further on Palia's mother. "I was actually ... heartened by the fact that Illya wanted to spend more time with her. It's taken her some time to come around, but she's been doing better at it. I don't ... want to discourage that. So, you know, tried to compromise with Palia about it."
Putting forth a heat exhausted sigh, a wishful note trickling through her tone, “Shards I hope so. I can’t take much more of this heat.” A warm smile for words over Paddy’s weyrmate and then she’s turning back to the subject of Palia’s mother. There are so many things she could say, that she wants to say, as evidenced by the stretch of silence, Bailey eventually heads for quietly diplomatic by asking, “When does she leave for the visit?”
"It's been almost a pattern lately," P'draig says with a chuckle. "Hot in the morning, storm around lunch, cooler in the afternoon," he remarks and tilts his glass back again, drinks long while Bailey is mulling things over. He does look her way for a moment or two, maybe to try to gauge her expression. "Three days," Paddy answers as quietly, "for three days."
Through a short chuckle, “I’m seriously considering sleeping until after lunch and then prowling like a wher until late into the nights.” Fingers trip across the fruity snacks and settle on a slice of mango. Chewing and then washing it down with a drink from her glass, Bailey’s expression is still kept carefully neutral. The lazy sprawl she’d adopted changes shape when she pulls her legs back in and sits forward a little in the chair. Turning a long look over to Paddy she finally responds, “I would imagine you know what’s best for her,” completely ignoring the mother-factor in the equation, “And that Palia feels free to let you know if she’s unhappy.” Another question, “At what age would you feel comfortable letting her decide when and if she wants to continue this…liaison?” Not prepared to call it a relationship.
"Doesn't sound like a bad idea," P'draig agrees with a little smile about plans for the afternoon. Another breeze ruffles his scribbled up sheets of menu paper then lets them lie still again. Clouds are stacking up high off at the horizon and the wind carries the scent of rain and that indefinable something that means 'storm'. The brownrider sets his glass down and rubs a hand over his face. "I don't know if always do, but I try. I mean ... with this, it's hard. Do I tell her mother she can never see her again and then later on when Palia does want to, run into a problem with Illya not wanting to? Or ..." he waves that hand helplessly. "Sometimes, my brain gets all tied up in knots thinking through all the possibilities. Long story short, yes. If she /really/ doesn't want to, I won't make her. As for when she gets to decide all on her own ... when she's old enough to apprentice in four turns."
That breeze rifles through stray strands of hair, Bailey lifting her face to it and closing her eyes with a soft sigh of appreciation for the eminent relief to come. Still with eyes lidded she responds, quietly at first, “When Illya left she gave up her right to make demands of Palia,” lashes flutter open and Paddy is set with a direct look, “The fact that she’s now making an effort is admirable to be sure.” Her glass is set down and all her attention goes the brownrider’s way, “If you want my opinion?” continuing on regardless of whether he may want it or not, “Have Palia go, this time as arranged. And then explain to Illya that if she ever wants to know what, if anything she means in her daughter’s life without any kind of persuasion at play, she needs to let Palia be the one to decide the when and where of the next encounter.” That said she drops her eyes away and stands taking a step or two in the direction of where the storm brews. Not leaving, just giving him (or perhaps herself) time alone with his thoughts.
"She didn't ... leave right away," P'draig starts to reply and breaks off as Bailey charges onward. He's silent for a moment or two, watching her rise and walk those step away. He waits a bit then drops his feet down off of the sides of the chair, pushes upright and approaches Bailey, one hand lifting to touch her back gently, aims to slide his arm around her. "I can try that, but I'm pretty sure that if I do, Illya will either shut down or she'll get on a tear about it and try to take Palia away from me." The wind picks up, gusts across the porch, doesn't quite die down all the way this time and fat drops of water start to fall from the sky a little ways off shore.
Bailey’s quiet as he talks, pale eyes fixed on the darkening and brooding sky, not pulling away as P’draig slips his arm around her. As the rain starts to fall, she remains where she is and finally asks in a quiet voice, “Can she do that? Take her away from you?” sliding a troubled look the brownrider’s way.
"I ... chose our daughter over her," P'draig answers after a moment, voice a little thick. "I injured her pride when I did that. Which is also ... a part of why she left, went to Southern. It took some time for her to ... recover," the brownrider continues slowly. "She started asking for visits with Palia when Palia was a toddler. So it's not that Illya hasn't ever been a part of Palia's life, just that she's never really acted as her mother." His hand curls around Bailey's upper arm, fingers squeezing lightly. "And that means it's a balancing act for me, to try to manage Illya's feelings and Palia's both. Usually, Palia wins, hands down. But sometimes I have to make compromise choices to keep things smooth overall. Keep whatever balance has gotten struck over the turns." He blows out a breath, look out at the wind-tossed waves as the rain rushes up onto the beach and starts pattering down hard on the roof of the porch. "In a lot of ways, Illya's still kind of a big child herself. She's capable of being adult about some things, but not about others." His free hand curls around the porch rail, knuckles tight. "I don't know if she could or couldn't really, but I don't want her to try. I don't want to put Palia through that. And while here in the Weyr my choice of weyrmate isn't a big deal at all, Illya's family are conservative holders and they could use the fact that I'm with T'mic against me, I guess."
Blue eyes seem to mirror the storm that breaks overhead as the brownrider speaks; anger, sympathy and sadness for what he says. Turning Bailey sets a gentle touch to the side of his face, her eyes now starting to brim with moisture, “Oh Paddy, I’m so sorry you’ve had to carry all of that. It’s not fair. Not to you and certainly not to Palia.” Looking away and out over the rain darkened sand she lets out a long sigh, “Makes me glad not to have the complicated blurring of lines you ‘riders seem to have.” Yes, because her life is just the perfect example of being free of complications. With a frown her tone turns single-minded, “And I would think that in response to that,” Illya’s family causing problems, “The Weyr would stand behind you on this one.” Lips press into a thin line, “Then again, the last thing either you or Palia needs is to be caught up in the middle of a Weyr versus Weyr versus Hold debacle.” Life, the vicious circle snapping at heels.
"It's mostly old news," P'draig answers softly and lifts his hand up to curl around hers, smiles a little. "I also don't think that Palia's unhappy to visit at all. Just that maybe there's some hard conversations coming, for all of us. And it might be hard for Illya to hear. She might have to just learn to live with being a 'friendly auntie', because Palia considers Miara to be her mother." When she mentions the Weyr though, he starts to shake his head. "No, I wouldn't ask that of the Weyrleaders. Wouldn't drag them or the Weyr into a personal matter. If it did come down to some kind of legal battle, at least I've got one very well-versed archivist harper for a brother to help handle things."
Bailey’s hand drops down to where his grips the railing so fiercely, fingers touching across his knuckles, musing aloud as she does so, “Old news maybe, but some wounds, take a long time healing while others leave scars not easily overlooked.” She nods to what Paddy says of hard conversations, adding her own opinion in, sounding grimly determined, “Which is why fostering or a milk mother could never be a consideration for me. I’d want my child to know who their mother is.” Stepping out of that companionable one-armed embrace, the brunette moves to take up both their glasses and returns holding his out to him, interest coloring her expression, “Is he good enough to win for you?”
"I'm fine," P'draig replies quietly and smiles over at Bailey and his hand turns to squeeze her fingers briefly. "I'm not so sure about Illya sometimes, though. I hurt her pretty badly, whether it's justified or not by most moral standards." His head tilts to the side at the grim determination in her voice as the rain pounds all the more heavily down above. "I couldn't walk away from my kids either, not easily. It's part of why I didn't want my son Jaivery fostered out until he was older, which ... made for a lot of arguments with /his/ mother." His arm drops as she steps away and his gaze tracks Bailey back to the table, another smile offered as she brings him his glass. He takes it, has a sip and puts it down on the railing, eyes back on the storm. "Probably not if it went to some kind of hearing. But he's meticulous and detail-oriented and would pull every scrap of supporting legal documentation available to back up a case."
“You did what you had to do for the sake of your little girl and that’s what you need to keep in mind,” Bailey states, a hard line forming along her jaw, “A child couldn’t ask for more.” What Paddy says next draws a sound of disgust from the brunette, “You don’t get to spread your legs for the pleasure and then try to farm off the responsibility thereof onto another.” Tight anger flashing in briefly before it’s gone again and she’s attempting an apology for her uninvited response, “I’m sorry,” eyes casting out over the sea yet again, “I shouldn’t have said that.” Her expression turns up into a lighter line and then setting into an unreadable expression, “Sounds like the kind of man I’d want on my side if I ever needed it.”
Pushing his glass over a bit, P'draig turns enough that he can lift a hand towards Bailey's cheek, brush back any stray strands of hair from her face that might've worked loose from the pile on top of her head. "Things ... are a little different in a Weyr," he notes gently. "Most kids are raised by foster-parents, or by the nannies in the nursery because a lot of riders, especially during a Pass, don't have time to take care of a dragon, fighting Thread and kids. It's easier in an interval when you're not risking your life every few days, but dragons still need a fair bit of attention. I'm ... lucky, because Jekzith thinks of my kids as his too. Other riders, their dragons aren't so tolerant of their riders' kids." He takes a breath, aims to loop his arm around her shoulders again. "So. It's actually often the more responsible thing to do, to find a good foster-parent or foster-family for your child, when you're a dragonrider. In the end all that matters is that children are loved and cared for." Her shift of expression brings a dent of confusion to his forehead right between his brows. "Bailey ... do you need harper help?" he asks softly.
Bailey stills her expression is at first closed as Paddy’s fingers re-arrange recalcitrant strands of hair while he speaks, and then turns thoughtful, “Perhaps that’s something that should be pointed out to that growing gaggle of candidates the Weyr is busy putting together. If they’re not Weyrbred, these are things a young lad or lass is not going to have given much thought to when agreeing to stand.” Tipping her head to one side she gives the brownrider a pointed look, “In fact, that’s probably a discussion you should have with them before they head out and potentially meet their dragons, both as a father facing,” she makes a sweeping motion with her hand, “all of this, and as their future Weyrlingmaster.” Seems someone has their ear close to the ground in terms of relevant information regarding the Weyr. The question put to her has the brunette affecting a quick frown and shaking her head, “No.” and then adding in a slightly perturbed tone, “Is there a reason I might need one?”
"For what it's worth, I usually do try to give them a low-down, especially the ones who're coming in from holds, when I'm Searching," P'draig informs with a little grin. "I don't really believe in bringing them in blind, though there's some things that no matter how much you explain it ahead of time, a person just can't grasp until they're in the moment, until they've impressed." His grin widens just a touch and he nods. "Trust me, these are all things I'm pretty well aware of and made sure the weyrlings under my care were too when I served," the brownrider continues though the past tense might be notable. "I don't know if I'll be taking up the knot again for this group yet." P'draig's arm tightens around Bailey briefly and he shakes his head. "No ... just wondering because of the questions," he admits and leans over to drop a kiss to the crown of her head.
At least Bailey manages to look suitably sheepish for having tried to tell the man how to do his job. Somewhat mollified by his response, she nods, "Poor Anileas looked pretty flabbergasted when K'vrey asked him to stand the other day. I suppose it's the shock and the honour that probably has most saying yes before they've properly thought it through. That, and really, it's a bit of a roll of the dice isn't it?" that last as to who impresses and who doesn't, "Glad to know there'll be no dragon breathing down my neck for those eggs." Seeming fairly sure about that. An easy sort of companionship finds the brunette slipping her arm around P'draig's waist and hooking a thumb into the waistband of his shorts. Turning a quizzical look up to him, "Have they asked you yet, or are you still deciding if you want to or not?" Making a fairly good job of exhibiting idle interest, "Does your brother do that kind of thing of his own accord, or just if he's instructed to do so by the Harper Hall?"
"Heh, yeah, it's often a pretty ... panic-inducing moment and a lot of people have a lot of different pressures on them to either say yes or no, that can compete with their own desires about it, much less the practicalities," P'draig agrees. "If ... you think the kid needs an ear or anything, let me know? I'd be happy to talk to him." He nods though, about the roll of the dice. "Yes. It all depends on whether or not the dragon who's meant for you hatches in that group or not. Even most riders don't understand exactly how and why our dragons picked us, even if they give us reasons later on." Briefly, he grins for the ease with which her arm slings around his waist, but Paddy lifts his temporarily abandoned glass has a sip of its contents and puts it back down again. "I've neither been asked, nor have I decided. It's a lot of work and I'd have to pass along the day to day management of the Beach House to the other cooks if I do it." Thunder booms overhead followed by the flicker of lightning. "Both," is the simple answer about his brother.
A tanned shoulder shrugs against P’draig, “Don’t really know the lad to be honest. Only just met him the day the Orchid Rain came back in and he was searched right off the docks in front of us. He might appreciate having someone like you to talk to about it though.” Putting some thought into her next question she drains her glass but keeps her fingers curled around it’s damp sides, “Is it like having your thoughts talking out loud to you in your head all the time?” this to being paired with a dragon. Nodding her understanding of how the one job would compete with the other for his time, Bailey takes the opportunity to ask, “So when do I start? Or is there like an interview or something I have to do first?” As to the brownrider’s harper brother she nods once again, mentally filing away the information. The crack of thunder causes her to jump slightly and disentangle herself from him stating, “I should be going soon. Poor Skipper’s probably popping in and out of between with fright round about now.” Adding with an amused twist of mouth, “He’s a bit of a baby.”
"Ahh, that's really sudden then," P'draig says with a sympathetic tone. "I think a lot of people don't realize that they can ask for a little bit of time to think it over too. I did, the second time I was asked to stand." His head shakes though at her description. "Not quite. It can be that blunt and obvious, but a lot more subtle too. With Jekzith, I have this kind of ... buzz in the back of my head all the time, his thoughts. But I know how to kind of draw the curtains to dampen it. And when he's sharing, I usually feel what he feels as I'm there feeling it too. Sometimes it's not words at all, it's just the feelings and senses." He looks over at her when she asks that question, grins. "If you're available tomorrow ... that'd be fine. Otherwise let me know when you .can. start." The brownrider's brows lift a little. "I'm surprised he hasn't popped right over here to you and Bailey ... seriously, wait until it clears up a bit. There's no sense risking getting struck by lightning," Paddy points out reasonably. "This'll probably blow over within a half hour."
“You were asked twice?” Not really needing an answer, just intrigued by that bit of information. Brows crinkle together as Bailey tries to picture what it is that P’draig describes and eventually just ends up wrinkling her nose, “Don’t think I’d like that much. Have enough trouble trying to keep my own head together let alone throwing in a whole other personality altogether.” Her mouth turns up into a pleased line, “Tomorrow it is then, boss.” As to her firelizard, she casts a look out in the direction where the docks lie, “I don’t think he’s figured out how to find me yet. He’s still little. Last time he popped between it took me ages to find him again and when I did he was under the throw on my bed. Which is probably where he is now. Lazy little bugger.” The last said in a fond tone. For a moment she’s torn between the little creature in her charge and the very real chance of falling foul to the storm. Eventually with a sigh, “Fine, but then you’re going to have to feed me again.”
"Yeah, stood twice, as a matter of fact," P'draig explains. "Didn't impress the first time." He grins at her nose-crinkled remark and reaches over to give her shoulder a little bump with his closed fist, friendly. "That would be among the things that most people can't really understand until they're there," he offers over. "I never thought I'd get used to it, now I can't imagine living without him." A nod about tomorrow and he laughs at where the lizard probably is. "Mine are probably up at the Weyr chatterboxing with the other Weyr firelizards," his tone, likewise fond. "And if it's feeding you need, you've come to the right place." Grinning widely, Paddy steps back from the railing and holds open the screen door for her. "After you, let's see what we can do about one /fabulous/ lunch. I'll even chop up something for your little lazy bugger." He winks then and as the storm progresses, there'll be a casual but tasty lunch to enjoy, some lighter conversation until the rain lets up enough to let Bailey make a dash for the EvenStar.
RL: 2010.05.16
Bailey seeks Paddy out to discuss the job he’d mentioned to her at the restaurant and ends up holding a serious discussion with him, revolving around the trials and tribulations of raising a child under less than ideal circumstances and the implications of being paired with a dragon.
[OOC - Yeah, so I'm going sappy and tagging the song for Paddy & Palia ;) ]
The Beach House, Ista Weyr(#1647RJ)
Standing between things: the beach and the jungle, the Weyr and the Hold and serving more than one function, both public business and private abode, the Beach House has a comfortable, relaxed feel to it. Built along southern lines, the entire cothold is wrapped around with a porch and the roof slopes low, hanging out over the edges of its support structures: future protection against Thread. The windows are wide and set low in the walls, a few boasting full glass panes, the rest screened and shuttered with sliding panels.
On this end of the building, set at a slight angle to the water with a full view of the beach, the porch lies nearly flush to the ground allowing patrons to walk right into the restaurant. Cane-weave tables and chairs for two and four line the porch walls and a long counter provides both extra seating 'bar' style along with a view right into the open kitchen. An opening wide enough for two people is cut into the counter allowing servers to pass between the kitchen and the dining area. Warm-hued wood paneling lines the underside of the roof and all of the surfaces within the restaurant and local climbing vine flowers curl around the support posts of the porch from planters hung beneath. When open for business, little glow baskets are unlidded within the embrace of the vines to provide a little extra decorative touch. Dimly visible, about a quarter of a mile away are the docks and the Sandbar.
Contents:
P'draig
Beach House Menu
Obvious exits:
Main Beach Kitchen
It's hazy and humid out and the Beach House seems to be closed today. P'draig however is sitting out on the porch in one of the comfy deck chairs with a clipboard propped up against one knee, writing something. The kids aren't in evidence: still up at the Weyr in harper lessons. The brownrider is definitely dressed down for the weather: just shorts and a glass of something with a lot of ice in it stands on the small table beside him.
Hair bundled up atop her head, and wearing as little as absolutely possible, this being a tiny pair of shorts and halter-neck top (almost a uniform these days), Bailey arrives, sandals announcing her arrival as soon as she steps over and onto the porch. Pale eyes fit onto the brownrider, quiet in her study of the man until, “No rest for the wicked, hmm?” Assuming work is what he’s doing.
The flop of sandals on the porch floorboards do alert Paddy enough to lift his eyes up from whatever is on that clipboard. The sight of Bailey instantly brings a smile to his face and he puts the board down. Looks like a lot of chicken scratch on the paper there and there's some arrows and things pointing to different locations, like he's been moving things around. "Well hey there," he greets her with a grin and raps knuckles on the board. "Yeah. Rearranging the menu and swapping some things around for autumn. Here's hoping the weather breaks soon. I feel like a used up dishrag," the brownrider remarks about the heat. "Iced tea?" he offers, with a gesture towards his glass. "I've got a pitcher in the icebox inside."
Steps carry the brunette over closer to where she’s able to catch a glance at the clipboard. Interest showing up, “New menu items?” grinning a little, “Need a taster for those?” The glance Bailey puts down to the glass could rival that of a man lost in a desert, “Please, that would be great.” As to the weather a small grimace appears, “I could go with spending my days floating around in the pools or just sleeping all day. But then that would never see the Even’Star under full sail again.” Another deck chair nearby is taken a hold of and pulled up alongside where P’draig sits, “Which is why I’m here. I need to talk to you.” Straight down to business.
"Yeah, seasonal and all that," P'draig explains, pushes up out of his chair. He pauses as Bailey cuts straight to the chase. "Oh? Okay, hold on a second, let me get you your drink, then we can talk," the brownrider answers and on his way to the door into the cothold, his hand rests briefly on Bailey's shoulder. He's not gone long, bare feet quiet on the floorboards. When he comes back, he's got the pitcher, a spare glass and a bowl of cut up fruit - looks and smells like mango, strawberry and peach. The bowl, pitcher and glass are set down on the table, her drink poured and passed over with a smile, ice clinking inside. Paddy sits then, leaning back casually. "So, what's on your mind?" he encourages.
Fingers lift and touch to the hand that P’draig puts to her shoulder, a smile appearing to go along with the nod of thanks. Bailey tips her head back against the chair, closing her eyes briefly and letting out a long sigh. One could almost be forgiven for thinking she’s fallen asleep at first. However, once the brownrider returns with not only the pitcher of iced tea but slices of fruit too, she’s instantly alert and reaching for a piece of mango. Someone must be hungry! A long swallow of her drink followed by a slow inhalation of breath and then she’s turning a sidelong look over to him, “About that job you mentioned a while back. You still hiring?”
Grinning again at the ferocity with which Bailey attacks that food, P'draig nods in answer to her question, reaches for his own glass. "Yeah. I had to cut back on the staff pretty sharply, but I still need someone who can come in and cover the evening rush ... the thing is, it's not big pay, other than the tips," the brownrider explains. "Dyla's great but she's a little too expensive for me. She got a job at a waystation down the road on the way to the hold - better pay."
Bailey catches that grin and at least manages to look a little shamefaced, her fingers halting mid-air in the course they’d taken toward a piece of strawberry. Instead they shift over to her glass and wrap around its moisture beaded sides. Tanned shoulders lift and fall in a small shrug, “Any pay’s better than none,” a swallow of iced tea and then, “How many nights a seven and what sort of hours would you need someone in for?”
"Hey, I like a woman with appetite," P'draig teases her and nudges the bowl a little bit closer, steals a slice of peach for himself. "Mmph. If you can do all four nights we're open and handle the lunchtime bunch, take a break in between then be back to help out for evening, that'd be good. We're usually open from noon on the dot, until three-ish, take a two hour break, then come back at five for dinner service. Meals included."
Chuckling a little sheepishly and reaching once again for the slice of strawberry once the bowl is nudged closer. Chewing on the juicy piece of fruit, Bailey’s eyes slip out over to the horizon, a deeply contemplative expression forming. Silence stretches out and then she’s nodding, “Sounds fair enough to me,” and then she’s adding, “How about we take this on a two month trial basis and see how things work out from there?”
Watching her, P'draig sips from his glass, absently swipes his wrist across his forehead where sweat has gathered. "Okay, sounds like a good idea. It can be tough work, being on your feet that much. So if it doesn't work out, no harm, no foul." The brownrider rests his glass atop one knee, tilts his head against the chair's back. "How've you been?"
Frowning a little as she pops a peach slice into her mouth, Bailey chews, swallows and then creates a bright smile for P’draig, “Can’t be much harder work than restoring my boat.” Leaning back in her chair, even slumping down a little, Bailey’s attention once again goes out to the horizon, her lips twisting wryly at the query, “Been making some life changes.”
"How's the restoration going?" P'draig asks curiously, lazily reaching for some more fruit and popping two strawberries into his mouth in rapid succession. "Yeah? The kind that send your life off on a completely different path, or just little side trips?" he asks with good humor.
With a wrinkle of nose, “Slowly. Decks are done. Had some help with that,” a sip of iced tea before continuing on, “Now she needs some time in the dry docks for hull work, and then, new sails.” In other words, she’s only just scratched the surface. Laughter low and throaty erupts from Bailey, “Aye, you could say that.” Though she doesn’t pinpoint which of the two it is. Turning the conversation back over onto P’draig, “Met your T’mic down at the pools the other day. Real sweet he is.”
"Let me know if I can help with any of it. I know my way around boats a little at least," P'draig claims and licks a bit of juice off of his thumb, tilts his glass up for another drink. "Hm. New paths can be interesting, but tough at the same time. Glad the restoration is going well even if it's slow," he remarks sincerely then laughs. "Yeah, I heard," the brownrider says with amusement. "Do you want me to repeat the compliments?"
"Any good with a paint scraper?" Bailey is quick to ask on the offer of help. Tanned legs stretch out before her as she settles in good and comfy into the embrace of the deck chair, her eyes flickering a glance over to P'draig and then out to sea again, "Aye, especially the kind that don't come with instructions." Lips quirk up into an amused line, "Really? He's not too bad himself." The brunette goes quiet for a while, lost in thought it would seem. Breaking that silence eventually she asks, "How's Palia? I've been meaning to come around when she's here but..." frowning a little, "Let's just say that I got distracted for a bit."
"Sure," P'draig says readily, "just takes a steady hand and strong wrist," the brownrider claims about scraping and mimics the motion. She stretches out and his gaze follows the line of those legs then skips away out to the ocean too, then over to the pitcher. He reaches for it and refills his glass. "More?" Paddy offers over and laughs. "Yeah. Something about his smile," he confesses about his weyrmate then sobers a bit. "Palia's pretty good. She's due to spend a little bit of time with her mother though and she doesn't want to go."
Chuckling and nodding, “Looks like you’ve got it down. Only thing is, I can’t pay you. But I know of this really good restaurant that serves the most delicious meals. I could maybe wangle a meal or two out of the owner if you do a good enough job?” teasing outright. Lifting her glass and holding it out to the brownrider, “Please,” her own mouth setting into a grin, “He’s got one of those smiles that could have you forgiving him almost anything it seems.” That slips off and Bailey is soon setting a troubled look over to Paddy, “Can’t say I blame her. Is she going on her own?”
P'draig laughs merrily, a full on belly laugh even. "Wouldn't be looking to get paid for that," P'draig says with a grin. "That'd just be helping out a friend and only in between things at that," he admits and hovers the pitcher over her glass, pours carefully. The ice is melting pretty fast. Briefly P'draig's lips quirk into a fond expression. "Yeah. That and just ... his way with people and life. He doesn't have a malicious bone in his body." The tone in the brownrider's voice mirrors the quality of his expression, deeply affectionate. But. His daughter. Gray-blue eyes lift, seek out Bailey's. "Yes, that's usually how it goes. She goes to see Illya for a few days at Southern, they have some time together, she comes home. Illya wants her to stay a lot longer this time, Palia dosn't want to, so I told Illya it'd be better to stick to the usual. Palia said she'd do it, but I think she still doesn't want to."
Bailey puts a warm smile to P’draig, “Well then from one friend to another, thank you.” Plucking up a slice of fruit, she pops it into her mouth, once again thoughtful as she chews, “He’s got a very unique way of explaining things to people to.” The re-filled glass is held against her neck for the cooling effects as she listens in silence. “You know, she’s going to get to the age where her mother is going to have to start respecting her wishes and understanding that this is a consequence of her having left. Children are extremely forgiving of most things. Abandonment isn’t one of them.” This spoken as if by one whose been there. Adding in a quieter tone, “Could she not come here? Meet up with the child on her own territory for a change?”
"You're welcome," P'draig answers, smiling again and re-settles in his chair, takes a deep breath as a cooler breeze washes over the porch. "Smells like a storm," he notes casually, tilting his head to look out at the sky over the sea, then nods about T'mic. "Yeah, all ties into his unique way of looking at the world," Paddy says with a laugh, brief though as Bailey remarks further on Palia's mother. "I was actually ... heartened by the fact that Illya wanted to spend more time with her. It's taken her some time to come around, but she's been doing better at it. I don't ... want to discourage that. So, you know, tried to compromise with Palia about it."
Putting forth a heat exhausted sigh, a wishful note trickling through her tone, “Shards I hope so. I can’t take much more of this heat.” A warm smile for words over Paddy’s weyrmate and then she’s turning back to the subject of Palia’s mother. There are so many things she could say, that she wants to say, as evidenced by the stretch of silence, Bailey eventually heads for quietly diplomatic by asking, “When does she leave for the visit?”
"It's been almost a pattern lately," P'draig says with a chuckle. "Hot in the morning, storm around lunch, cooler in the afternoon," he remarks and tilts his glass back again, drinks long while Bailey is mulling things over. He does look her way for a moment or two, maybe to try to gauge her expression. "Three days," Paddy answers as quietly, "for three days."
Through a short chuckle, “I’m seriously considering sleeping until after lunch and then prowling like a wher until late into the nights.” Fingers trip across the fruity snacks and settle on a slice of mango. Chewing and then washing it down with a drink from her glass, Bailey’s expression is still kept carefully neutral. The lazy sprawl she’d adopted changes shape when she pulls her legs back in and sits forward a little in the chair. Turning a long look over to Paddy she finally responds, “I would imagine you know what’s best for her,” completely ignoring the mother-factor in the equation, “And that Palia feels free to let you know if she’s unhappy.” Another question, “At what age would you feel comfortable letting her decide when and if she wants to continue this…liaison?” Not prepared to call it a relationship.
"Doesn't sound like a bad idea," P'draig agrees with a little smile about plans for the afternoon. Another breeze ruffles his scribbled up sheets of menu paper then lets them lie still again. Clouds are stacking up high off at the horizon and the wind carries the scent of rain and that indefinable something that means 'storm'. The brownrider sets his glass down and rubs a hand over his face. "I don't know if always do, but I try. I mean ... with this, it's hard. Do I tell her mother she can never see her again and then later on when Palia does want to, run into a problem with Illya not wanting to? Or ..." he waves that hand helplessly. "Sometimes, my brain gets all tied up in knots thinking through all the possibilities. Long story short, yes. If she /really/ doesn't want to, I won't make her. As for when she gets to decide all on her own ... when she's old enough to apprentice in four turns."
That breeze rifles through stray strands of hair, Bailey lifting her face to it and closing her eyes with a soft sigh of appreciation for the eminent relief to come. Still with eyes lidded she responds, quietly at first, “When Illya left she gave up her right to make demands of Palia,” lashes flutter open and Paddy is set with a direct look, “The fact that she’s now making an effort is admirable to be sure.” Her glass is set down and all her attention goes the brownrider’s way, “If you want my opinion?” continuing on regardless of whether he may want it or not, “Have Palia go, this time as arranged. And then explain to Illya that if she ever wants to know what, if anything she means in her daughter’s life without any kind of persuasion at play, she needs to let Palia be the one to decide the when and where of the next encounter.” That said she drops her eyes away and stands taking a step or two in the direction of where the storm brews. Not leaving, just giving him (or perhaps herself) time alone with his thoughts.
"She didn't ... leave right away," P'draig starts to reply and breaks off as Bailey charges onward. He's silent for a moment or two, watching her rise and walk those step away. He waits a bit then drops his feet down off of the sides of the chair, pushes upright and approaches Bailey, one hand lifting to touch her back gently, aims to slide his arm around her. "I can try that, but I'm pretty sure that if I do, Illya will either shut down or she'll get on a tear about it and try to take Palia away from me." The wind picks up, gusts across the porch, doesn't quite die down all the way this time and fat drops of water start to fall from the sky a little ways off shore.
Bailey’s quiet as he talks, pale eyes fixed on the darkening and brooding sky, not pulling away as P’draig slips his arm around her. As the rain starts to fall, she remains where she is and finally asks in a quiet voice, “Can she do that? Take her away from you?” sliding a troubled look the brownrider’s way.
"I ... chose our daughter over her," P'draig answers after a moment, voice a little thick. "I injured her pride when I did that. Which is also ... a part of why she left, went to Southern. It took some time for her to ... recover," the brownrider continues slowly. "She started asking for visits with Palia when Palia was a toddler. So it's not that Illya hasn't ever been a part of Palia's life, just that she's never really acted as her mother." His hand curls around Bailey's upper arm, fingers squeezing lightly. "And that means it's a balancing act for me, to try to manage Illya's feelings and Palia's both. Usually, Palia wins, hands down. But sometimes I have to make compromise choices to keep things smooth overall. Keep whatever balance has gotten struck over the turns." He blows out a breath, look out at the wind-tossed waves as the rain rushes up onto the beach and starts pattering down hard on the roof of the porch. "In a lot of ways, Illya's still kind of a big child herself. She's capable of being adult about some things, but not about others." His free hand curls around the porch rail, knuckles tight. "I don't know if she could or couldn't really, but I don't want her to try. I don't want to put Palia through that. And while here in the Weyr my choice of weyrmate isn't a big deal at all, Illya's family are conservative holders and they could use the fact that I'm with T'mic against me, I guess."
Blue eyes seem to mirror the storm that breaks overhead as the brownrider speaks; anger, sympathy and sadness for what he says. Turning Bailey sets a gentle touch to the side of his face, her eyes now starting to brim with moisture, “Oh Paddy, I’m so sorry you’ve had to carry all of that. It’s not fair. Not to you and certainly not to Palia.” Looking away and out over the rain darkened sand she lets out a long sigh, “Makes me glad not to have the complicated blurring of lines you ‘riders seem to have.” Yes, because her life is just the perfect example of being free of complications. With a frown her tone turns single-minded, “And I would think that in response to that,” Illya’s family causing problems, “The Weyr would stand behind you on this one.” Lips press into a thin line, “Then again, the last thing either you or Palia needs is to be caught up in the middle of a Weyr versus Weyr versus Hold debacle.” Life, the vicious circle snapping at heels.
"It's mostly old news," P'draig answers softly and lifts his hand up to curl around hers, smiles a little. "I also don't think that Palia's unhappy to visit at all. Just that maybe there's some hard conversations coming, for all of us. And it might be hard for Illya to hear. She might have to just learn to live with being a 'friendly auntie', because Palia considers Miara to be her mother." When she mentions the Weyr though, he starts to shake his head. "No, I wouldn't ask that of the Weyrleaders. Wouldn't drag them or the Weyr into a personal matter. If it did come down to some kind of legal battle, at least I've got one very well-versed archivist harper for a brother to help handle things."
Bailey’s hand drops down to where his grips the railing so fiercely, fingers touching across his knuckles, musing aloud as she does so, “Old news maybe, but some wounds, take a long time healing while others leave scars not easily overlooked.” She nods to what Paddy says of hard conversations, adding her own opinion in, sounding grimly determined, “Which is why fostering or a milk mother could never be a consideration for me. I’d want my child to know who their mother is.” Stepping out of that companionable one-armed embrace, the brunette moves to take up both their glasses and returns holding his out to him, interest coloring her expression, “Is he good enough to win for you?”
"I'm fine," P'draig replies quietly and smiles over at Bailey and his hand turns to squeeze her fingers briefly. "I'm not so sure about Illya sometimes, though. I hurt her pretty badly, whether it's justified or not by most moral standards." His head tilts to the side at the grim determination in her voice as the rain pounds all the more heavily down above. "I couldn't walk away from my kids either, not easily. It's part of why I didn't want my son Jaivery fostered out until he was older, which ... made for a lot of arguments with /his/ mother." His arm drops as she steps away and his gaze tracks Bailey back to the table, another smile offered as she brings him his glass. He takes it, has a sip and puts it down on the railing, eyes back on the storm. "Probably not if it went to some kind of hearing. But he's meticulous and detail-oriented and would pull every scrap of supporting legal documentation available to back up a case."
“You did what you had to do for the sake of your little girl and that’s what you need to keep in mind,” Bailey states, a hard line forming along her jaw, “A child couldn’t ask for more.” What Paddy says next draws a sound of disgust from the brunette, “You don’t get to spread your legs for the pleasure and then try to farm off the responsibility thereof onto another.” Tight anger flashing in briefly before it’s gone again and she’s attempting an apology for her uninvited response, “I’m sorry,” eyes casting out over the sea yet again, “I shouldn’t have said that.” Her expression turns up into a lighter line and then setting into an unreadable expression, “Sounds like the kind of man I’d want on my side if I ever needed it.”
Pushing his glass over a bit, P'draig turns enough that he can lift a hand towards Bailey's cheek, brush back any stray strands of hair from her face that might've worked loose from the pile on top of her head. "Things ... are a little different in a Weyr," he notes gently. "Most kids are raised by foster-parents, or by the nannies in the nursery because a lot of riders, especially during a Pass, don't have time to take care of a dragon, fighting Thread and kids. It's easier in an interval when you're not risking your life every few days, but dragons still need a fair bit of attention. I'm ... lucky, because Jekzith thinks of my kids as his too. Other riders, their dragons aren't so tolerant of their riders' kids." He takes a breath, aims to loop his arm around her shoulders again. "So. It's actually often the more responsible thing to do, to find a good foster-parent or foster-family for your child, when you're a dragonrider. In the end all that matters is that children are loved and cared for." Her shift of expression brings a dent of confusion to his forehead right between his brows. "Bailey ... do you need harper help?" he asks softly.
Bailey stills her expression is at first closed as Paddy’s fingers re-arrange recalcitrant strands of hair while he speaks, and then turns thoughtful, “Perhaps that’s something that should be pointed out to that growing gaggle of candidates the Weyr is busy putting together. If they’re not Weyrbred, these are things a young lad or lass is not going to have given much thought to when agreeing to stand.” Tipping her head to one side she gives the brownrider a pointed look, “In fact, that’s probably a discussion you should have with them before they head out and potentially meet their dragons, both as a father facing,” she makes a sweeping motion with her hand, “all of this, and as their future Weyrlingmaster.” Seems someone has their ear close to the ground in terms of relevant information regarding the Weyr. The question put to her has the brunette affecting a quick frown and shaking her head, “No.” and then adding in a slightly perturbed tone, “Is there a reason I might need one?”
"For what it's worth, I usually do try to give them a low-down, especially the ones who're coming in from holds, when I'm Searching," P'draig informs with a little grin. "I don't really believe in bringing them in blind, though there's some things that no matter how much you explain it ahead of time, a person just can't grasp until they're in the moment, until they've impressed." His grin widens just a touch and he nods. "Trust me, these are all things I'm pretty well aware of and made sure the weyrlings under my care were too when I served," the brownrider continues though the past tense might be notable. "I don't know if I'll be taking up the knot again for this group yet." P'draig's arm tightens around Bailey briefly and he shakes his head. "No ... just wondering because of the questions," he admits and leans over to drop a kiss to the crown of her head.
At least Bailey manages to look suitably sheepish for having tried to tell the man how to do his job. Somewhat mollified by his response, she nods, "Poor Anileas looked pretty flabbergasted when K'vrey asked him to stand the other day. I suppose it's the shock and the honour that probably has most saying yes before they've properly thought it through. That, and really, it's a bit of a roll of the dice isn't it?" that last as to who impresses and who doesn't, "Glad to know there'll be no dragon breathing down my neck for those eggs." Seeming fairly sure about that. An easy sort of companionship finds the brunette slipping her arm around P'draig's waist and hooking a thumb into the waistband of his shorts. Turning a quizzical look up to him, "Have they asked you yet, or are you still deciding if you want to or not?" Making a fairly good job of exhibiting idle interest, "Does your brother do that kind of thing of his own accord, or just if he's instructed to do so by the Harper Hall?"
"Heh, yeah, it's often a pretty ... panic-inducing moment and a lot of people have a lot of different pressures on them to either say yes or no, that can compete with their own desires about it, much less the practicalities," P'draig agrees. "If ... you think the kid needs an ear or anything, let me know? I'd be happy to talk to him." He nods though, about the roll of the dice. "Yes. It all depends on whether or not the dragon who's meant for you hatches in that group or not. Even most riders don't understand exactly how and why our dragons picked us, even if they give us reasons later on." Briefly, he grins for the ease with which her arm slings around his waist, but Paddy lifts his temporarily abandoned glass has a sip of its contents and puts it back down again. "I've neither been asked, nor have I decided. It's a lot of work and I'd have to pass along the day to day management of the Beach House to the other cooks if I do it." Thunder booms overhead followed by the flicker of lightning. "Both," is the simple answer about his brother.
A tanned shoulder shrugs against P’draig, “Don’t really know the lad to be honest. Only just met him the day the Orchid Rain came back in and he was searched right off the docks in front of us. He might appreciate having someone like you to talk to about it though.” Putting some thought into her next question she drains her glass but keeps her fingers curled around it’s damp sides, “Is it like having your thoughts talking out loud to you in your head all the time?” this to being paired with a dragon. Nodding her understanding of how the one job would compete with the other for his time, Bailey takes the opportunity to ask, “So when do I start? Or is there like an interview or something I have to do first?” As to the brownrider’s harper brother she nods once again, mentally filing away the information. The crack of thunder causes her to jump slightly and disentangle herself from him stating, “I should be going soon. Poor Skipper’s probably popping in and out of between with fright round about now.” Adding with an amused twist of mouth, “He’s a bit of a baby.”
"Ahh, that's really sudden then," P'draig says with a sympathetic tone. "I think a lot of people don't realize that they can ask for a little bit of time to think it over too. I did, the second time I was asked to stand." His head shakes though at her description. "Not quite. It can be that blunt and obvious, but a lot more subtle too. With Jekzith, I have this kind of ... buzz in the back of my head all the time, his thoughts. But I know how to kind of draw the curtains to dampen it. And when he's sharing, I usually feel what he feels as I'm there feeling it too. Sometimes it's not words at all, it's just the feelings and senses." He looks over at her when she asks that question, grins. "If you're available tomorrow ... that'd be fine. Otherwise let me know when you .can. start." The brownrider's brows lift a little. "I'm surprised he hasn't popped right over here to you and Bailey ... seriously, wait until it clears up a bit. There's no sense risking getting struck by lightning," Paddy points out reasonably. "This'll probably blow over within a half hour."
“You were asked twice?” Not really needing an answer, just intrigued by that bit of information. Brows crinkle together as Bailey tries to picture what it is that P’draig describes and eventually just ends up wrinkling her nose, “Don’t think I’d like that much. Have enough trouble trying to keep my own head together let alone throwing in a whole other personality altogether.” Her mouth turns up into a pleased line, “Tomorrow it is then, boss.” As to her firelizard, she casts a look out in the direction where the docks lie, “I don’t think he’s figured out how to find me yet. He’s still little. Last time he popped between it took me ages to find him again and when I did he was under the throw on my bed. Which is probably where he is now. Lazy little bugger.” The last said in a fond tone. For a moment she’s torn between the little creature in her charge and the very real chance of falling foul to the storm. Eventually with a sigh, “Fine, but then you’re going to have to feed me again.”
"Yeah, stood twice, as a matter of fact," P'draig explains. "Didn't impress the first time." He grins at her nose-crinkled remark and reaches over to give her shoulder a little bump with his closed fist, friendly. "That would be among the things that most people can't really understand until they're there," he offers over. "I never thought I'd get used to it, now I can't imagine living without him." A nod about tomorrow and he laughs at where the lizard probably is. "Mine are probably up at the Weyr chatterboxing with the other Weyr firelizards," his tone, likewise fond. "And if it's feeding you need, you've come to the right place." Grinning widely, Paddy steps back from the railing and holds open the screen door for her. "After you, let's see what we can do about one /fabulous/ lunch. I'll even chop up something for your little lazy bugger." He winks then and as the storm progresses, there'll be a casual but tasty lunch to enjoy, some lighter conversation until the rain lets up enough to let Bailey make a dash for the EvenStar.