LOG: Jiggedy Jig
Date: Day 11, Month 10, Turn 18
Location: Somewhere in the Tillek region
Synopsis: After the Triumph of the Missing Heir, Leova and K'del return only to find that High Reaches is Temporarily Unsafe, and detour for dinner. There is also a toast to Edeline (not to be confused with Emeline).
Log and summary stolen from leovaried
Continues on from here.
Except that, even as they cruise away from the Star Stones, wings warming in the cold air that's nowhere near as cold as /between/, it's to see a Polaris green tearing up the skies beyond them with her chasers chaos on her heels. And Vrianth swerves. Sends a second image: what must be a cluster of cotholds as seen from above, set into foothills with a stream running through, stone fences catching sunset light. << Come with us. >> And vanishes.
Cadejoth half surges forward, as that green comes into view, a palpable eagerness - or, at least, great interest - radiating from him, though he's dutiful in responding to the image. A moment later, he disappears in her wake, emerging again with a flutter of wingsails. << Coming, coming, >> he tells her, though, of course, he's already here.
Amusement gleams back at the young bronze, and certain knowledge that Vrianth does not share until he /is/ there: << It would not have been... comfortable for your rider, >> although there's a hint that might have been entertaining for the /rest/ of them, his being stuck astride, no time to do anything else. She overflies the cotholds once more, their altitude low enough that nothing can be seen beyond hills and mountains and more mountains, but the air's warmer in what must be the valley's microclimate. And when she lands, it's on the road itself, not far from the cotholds but not terribly close, either, perhaps five minutes' walk for their riders. Leova's already pulling off her flight helmet, buckling it to her straps, and then doing a spot-check among a couple sacks.
There's a certain acceptance of this, admittedly, Cadejoth's ichor cooling, his flight relaxing, now that they're far from that hormonal green. << True, >> he allows, mental touch still buzzing, but more quietly, now. << But - /oh/. >> He keeps his pace to little more than a light glide, keeping up, but not taxing himself too far, so he lands a time after she does. K'del hurries down, pulling off his own helmet, and glancing around, lips pulled tight.
The greenrider winds up swapping a couple things, then secures the surviving sack to her belt. "Carry anything with you, handiwork? You do, bring it," she calls over once she's slid on down. Both dragons get a long look, Cadejoth large and bony-pale past her Vrianth, and then she presses her cheek against the rangy neck that curls about her. Whispers something. And then starts hiking up the road. Vrianth yawns, then stretches some, enough to sharpen her claws on the nearby fence without actually tearing the mortared stones down.
"No...?" begins K'del, apparently surprised by the question, watching Leova with an uncertain expression as. His gaze slides away, up towards Cadejoth, then back to the greenrider, hastily sliding into action as she starts down the road. He catches up within a few paces, digging his hands into his pockets, and turns his head back once, just in time to see Cadejoth slide down to a relaxed position, his tail flicking idly at a few small stones beneath it, sending them flying, while his head lowers to rest upon his forelimbs.
"S'all right," Leova says back over her shoulder, adding as he catches up, "He hungry? Wild wherries a couple hills yonder, but she'd as soon take a rest just now." It's an even road as these things go, this far into the hills: rutted some, maybe, but not too many potholes, and the most egregious grass kept to the side. One side has a part-grown hedge, old enough to have been started in the last Turns of the comet's visit but not much more.
K'del allows himself a nod, easy, slowing his pace down to a more meandering walk now that he's caught up. "No, he's all right. Ate yesterday. Reckon he'll be fine, tossing rocks around for a bit." He keeps turning his head around, looking at this and that, curiosity still writ large upon his features, though he keeps his thoughts to himself for the moment. Except: "Don't know he would've chased. He hasn't, yet. Just thought about it a lot."
"Some of us got whittling, others toss rocks," Leova supposes with a hint, no, more than a hint of a smile to go with her, "Next thing you know, he'll be skipping them." But she's looking up ahead as the road dips, to where a cothold's window suddenly begins to glow with green, though there's low-slanted sunlight left in the sky up high. It's an easy walk she's dropped into, familiar to weyrlings assigned to get somewhere at the same time without being a quick march or dawdling. "Distracting?"
It's a smile that K'del matches, while rubbing the side of his head absently. "And some of us have nothing at all." Beat. "Well, not /quite/ true. Don't imagine he has the finesse to skip them. Bet he'd enjoy it, though." He follows her gaze, probably go coincidence since his own has been wandering so much, giving the cothold vague consideration as he answers the question. "A bit. They kind of loom large in his thoughts. And he likes to share. Or maybe it's that he forgets not to."
"Think when they get big, they mostly just go plonk anyway. But if he makes it? Can hire him out to Gathers." Leova absently kicks at a pebble as she walks. Stretches. And Vrianth stretches with her, only it's just the dragon who curls up with her head resting on her back paw but her eyes wide open, luminescent, slowly whirling. "Worries? Or just... looking forward." The greenrider admits after a moment, "Wouldn't trade three-times-a-Turn for never knowing the next, myself."
K'del chokes back a laugh, which ends up sounding more like a cough, albeit an amused one. "That'd be the day. Though he might work as a climbing structure for the kids." There's no symmetry in the weyrling pair's movements, the young bronze continuing to flick rocks, occasionally managing some distance, some altitude, but mostly just sending them rolling, if that, while his rider saunters on, hands dug in pockets again. "Neither," he shares, head shaking. "Or - not /worried/, just wish he'd go for it, and stop me wondering when it'll be. More intrigued than excited, I guess." Amused, again: "I can see the benefits. Though. I don't know."
That rock-flicking does provide a certain entertainment for Vrianth, at least, when she isn't looking up and about as she does every now and again: something on the wind, or back in the trees, or at her rider's chuckle: climbing structure, indeed. Sometimes, at nothing outwardly discernable at all. When it's back to all that intrigue, past the path off to that one cothold now, with a low bridge up ahead and further cotholds clustered beyond them, that I-don't-know has Leova looking sideways for once, brows lifted in inquiry that fills the slight pause. What she actually says, though: "Suppose it's not much help to remember it could be months yet. Is he more... Look-a-girl, or spotting the chasers and what tricks they're trying, or what?"
K'del clarifies, quietly: "The thrill of the chase. I like the idea of that, more than /being/ chased. Despite the potential for inconvenience." One of Cadejoth's rocks sails clear of the fence, and he lets out a delighted warble, tail thumping upon the ground in satisfaction. "Both. He has a thing for working out who is best at things, and figuring out why. Doesn't care about being the best himself, as long as he can learn from them." It's an attitude that, clearly, somewhat mystifies the young man. Then, belatedly, an afterthought tacked on: "No, not much help."
The bridge's stone amplifies footfalls, but Leova doesn't slow, gaze sweeping up ahead from the tall weyrling beside her. "Can see that." Her voice is more neutral than it needs to be, except in its wryness. "Hope the inconveniences don't add up too high, for you." And she exhales an even quieter breath, even as Vrianth spins a gleam of light toward Cadejoth's mental eyes, the better to catch them and send that spark bouncing along the side of the road instead. << /Very/ far. Now. Cadejoth. Can you keep the rocks out of the pastures /and/ out of the road, at the very same time? >> Call it a challenge. Her rider: "Best." Like she's tasting the word, some new spice.
The neutrality makes the corners of K'del's mouth twitch, a barely suppressed smile. "Imagine I'll cope. Imagine I don't have much of a choice." Again, one of his hands withdraws from the warm pocket it was resting in, to run through his hair in a vague, thoughtful gesture. << Out of the pastures... /and/ out of the road? >> The challenge - he clearly takes it as such, thoughts bright with the thought of it - is given some careful, if very brief, consideration. << Probably. >> His tail goes swinging again, after he shuffles to the side, hunting out another rock to flick, and gives it a go. This one goes skittering down the road - a first time failure. << Next time, maybe. >> "Well," clarifies the young man, "Good at, at least, if not /best/. Best is hard to gauge."
There's no apology to Vrianth's explanation, even as she lines the road's verge in more mental light, watches that second rock go jumping off to one side of it: << Humans like rocks to stay out of their way. And they must travel along the road. >> Poor humans! And: << Perhaps. Would you still like it, Cadejoth, if it were easy? >> Her rider, who'd earlier more-or-less agreed about coping (or maybe it's choices) with a lift and fall of her shoulder, keeps walking past a cothold with children's voices muffled from within, another that's all dark, and almost past a third before veering off onto what proves to be a well-traveled side path in the shadow of the side wall and what looks to be the shorter wall of a garden beyond. Meanwhile, "Reckon so, unless you get real specific about the best-at-what. Circumstances and all. Tradeoffs." Voices. "Hungry?"
<< Oh! >> responds Cadejoth, as though, despite the current passage of his rider and hers, this thought had never quite crossed his mind. << And the rocks would be in their way. So it would be a service, to them, to keep them away. >> A beat passes, then he adds, << Not so much. I like working things out, making them good. Making /me/ good. Easy is less fun. >> K'del's neck twists to allow him to inspect each cothold as they pass, giving them a measure of idle consideration as he holds up his end of the conversation. "Tradeoffs. Right. Faster, but tires more easily, all of that." Then, gaze seeking to find the source of the voices, "Pretty much always." Hungry, that is.
Vrianth rewards him with a pulse of pure pleasure as her /yes/: << Yet also not where their animals eat, >> in the pastures, that would be. << My Leova reminds me, also not in a garden, which is a place where they grow plants on purpose. Really, they are very particular, >> but then so is Vrianth, if differently. << What do you want to be... good at, Cadejoth? Next. >> Her rider, paused just before the gate: "Right, then." A palm lifted toward his shoulder signals that she'll lead the way: inward, the door with an easy swing to it, and then they can get out of the breeze into the warmth of the walls' shelter and the buzz of conversation that ebbs only briefly at seeing who's just shown up. It's nothing fancy, the trestle tables bare except where people are whiling away the evening, people with a familiar way of talking and a similar pattern to their clothes. No bustling barmaid here. No fancy-dressed gamblers. Occasional feathery insects flutter about the glows, though. Softly, "Locals only. And us. Serve their own wine. Old country: won't take our marks, we behave the way we should."
/Such/ a challenge, with all these restrictions! << Can't they just work around them? >> he wants to know, suddenly impatient, despite this fleeting gripe. His concentration, as his tail takes aim again, means it takes him a few moments to respond to the question. << Aside from this? >> The aiming, the /flick/ - oh, the satisfaction, of a rock flying through the air (this one nicely sits on the verge - good boy). << Don't know yet. Imagine I'll figure it out, when I see something I want to be good at. >> Though there's a flicker of that green, left behind, and an awareness - a mmhmm kind of feeling. K'del follows the greenrider, his eyes all but drinking in the view, though there's a subtle nod to his head, as though yes, he knows this kind of place. Perhaps he does. "Proper behaviour. Of course," he murmurs, matching the softness of her voice.
/Such/ impatience, perhaps Vrianth should pull some of that warm energy back again? << They can. But it bothers them. And we wish to stay welcome. >> That last has a point to it, though when his rock lands where it does, she relents enough to strobe that verge-glow in neon green and blue. Idly, her own claw curling around a small rock now, << Let me know when you find out, Cadejoth. If you remember. >> As their sunset gradually becomes twilight, one bone-pale moon peeks out from behind a hill, though it can only light the dragons and not their riders behind those human walls. "Right, then," Leova half-repeats, glances briefly up at her charge, and starts making the rounds. Of their hosts, the man with the heavy beard and a feather in his brimmed hat just gets a nod-and-smile, busy as he is with rehashing some comfortable old argument with another couple men. The latter look to be different generations but have the same big nose and a particular way of gesturing. Beyond a clump of older women, knitting busily while they talk, is their goal: the true proprietor who, her silvery hair in a bun and her bodice properly laced over blouse and skirt, presides over a limited, light buffet of cheese spread and other cold dishes like pickled fish, smoked porcine hocks, and the like. She fixes a narrow look on Leova. "About time you came back. Who's the young man?"
But Cadejoth lives, breathes, /exudes/ impatient - not to mention excitement and anticipation. He'll provide his own warm energy, if he needs to. << I suppose, >> he allows, letting his tail slide back to a rest, no more flicking of stones (just in case). It flicks, though, idly, not hard enough to disrupt anything, but nonetheless, a constant movement. << I will try to remember, Vrianth, and if I do, I will definitely tell you. >> K'del echoes the nod-and-smile, keeping one eye on Leova, her movements and gestures, while the other explores the contours and contents of the room. He gives the knitting women a brilliant smile, which earns him a few glances, but his expression is more or less controlled as they approach the proprietor. Before Leova can answer the question, he extends a hand: "K'del, Cadejoth's weyrling. Senior weyrling. Our duties to you."
"Speaks for himself, does he." The woman gives the young man a long look that hesitates upon the extended hand of unknown cleanliness, and then accepts it and says, "Welcome to our cothold, Senior Weyrling K'del, and our duties to High Reaches Weyr. My name is Valea," and beside him, Leova silently mouths with her, "No relation." She does wipe her hands with a cloth before starting on parceling out two plates with the slow-grilled, tender hocks, some greens, some condiments. "And my man is Jacoban. That's about as formal as we're going to get, if you know what's good for you. Whereabouts you from? Leova, why don't you get the napkins," and the assistant weyrlingmaster lets herself be put to not-really-very-much-work agreeably enough, gathering up a couple of the hemmed, undyed cloths while Valea offers both plates to K'del. Vrianth, meanwhile, sees about drawing on more energy than was strictly hers, since Cadejoth has so much, the plan alone enough to brighten those whirling eyes of hers. << /Wonderful/. >> One thing or another.
"I certainly do," responds K'del, dimples showing. His grip is firm, as he shakes the hand, and it's not too dirty, though he does glance at it cautiously as he returns it, apparently just to make certain of it. "It's a pleasure to be here - Valea. From a vinehold, maybe half a day from Tillek Hold proper." He accepts both plates as they're offered to him, balancing them in his hands, and adds, "Smells delicious. Thank you." Cadejoth certainly won't notice the withdrawal of the energy, his own still buzzing so contentedly, clicking, shaking and flicking as he settles back down, in so much as he ever does. << Good! We're all good, then. >>
"A Tillek young man," Valea says approvingly, with only the most infinitesimal hesitation after their Hold's name, the sort that most wouldn't notice, and perhaps it's that that has her drawing two frothy mugfuls from the tap for Leova to carry. Or perhaps she would have anyway. "Make yourselves comfortable, we can get the news from you later. Our Harper's journeying a couple holds over, but a couple of the men have a fair way with a whistle and drum. And be sure to toast to Lady Edeline!" Leova has a sideways smile for the woman, but stays otherwise silent, with but a nod for K'del to precede her. And Vrianth's quiet too, teasing out the extra wattage that Cadejoth has to spare, the tip of her tail flicking too. Flick flick.
K'del certainly doesn't seem to - he's too busy beaming, and averring, "Best possible place to be from, in my opinion. Thank you for the hospitality, Valea, we'll be happy to share what news we can." He doesn't so much as glance at Leova, to confirm this or anything else, though apparently the motion of her nod is something that catches the corner of his eye, because, after one more brilliant smile for Valea, he turns to seek out a place to sit amidst the other occupants of the room. Cadejoth flicks out the occasional burst of disjointed thought, a bubble of energy - but otherwise, he, too, remains silent. For once.
"/So/ smile-y," Leova murmurs as they walk, bemused or even amused rather than surprised. She has a nod and a brief comment or two for some of the people they pass, and a smile of her own for the oldsters playing cards that welcome them to sit at the long table's other end. Easing onto the bench, she gets the mugs distributed, and then lifts an inquiring look to K'del there: how's he taking all this?
"Nothing wrong with a good smile," returns K'del, very calm - and still smiling, if at a slightly reduced wattage, except when acknowledging people as they pass. Passing over the other plate, as he sets his own in front of him, he considers the food, and then his companion. "Interesting spot. Come here often? Where - /exactly/ - are we?"
There's exactly and then there's /exactly/, and Leova gives him a speculative look. "Where do you think we are? Weren't high enough for the best view," on purpose? "But maybe you can narrow it down some." A reach into her belt pouch gets her utensils, and that leads to smearing cheese on the good rye bread and dotting a thinner layer of the pickled fish on top of that.
K'del takes a sip from his mug before either responding to Leova, or considering his food, despite his earlier announcement of hunger. "Tillek, obviously," he says, finally, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, and taking another thoughtful glance around. "Inland. Quite a lot inland, at a guess. But I don't really know this area, so I couldn't say how far east." Now that he's spoken, he draws out his own knife, and begins to slice up his food with a lazy hand.
"To Lady Tillek, and a healthy birth," Leova murmurs under her breath before she, too, drinks, with an eye to K'del afterward. The men must start another round, for their talk gets louder for a little bit, and then there's the hiss and ruffle of cards cut and shuffled. "Fairly far east," she agrees when he's done, having made judicious progress into her sandwich. "Might have noticed, not much lighter than home, and most of that's because the Weyr's so far north. Ruatha's..." she straightens from her bench enough to scan, "/That/ way, Fort over there." Slap slap slap go the cards onto the table. "Don't reckon they'd take too well to someone going all high-and-mighty dragonrider on them, but they do like the company. And the news. What did you make of earlier?"
K'del makes a face, one of 'ooops, forgot', and hurriedly murmurs out his own toast, before drinking again. The mug is returned to the table, and he begins on his own sandwich, put together hastily, and nods as she confirms his guess. "Southeastern corner, then," he concludes, with another nod, in between bites. "Can imagine - the news, I mean. Often takes a while for things to get spread, as I remember. The child-finding?" He sets down his sandwich, half of it threatening to escape, and considers the question. "Felt pretty good, being able to help - even if we didn't do much, in the end. Is that kind of thing something we normally deal with, on sweeps?"
We. One corner of Leova's mouth curves up, and she says, "If we have time, it helps. Especially now that it's Interval, though not /expected/. Wagon got a broken axle, let's say, could send the word out to somebody that it's going to be late. Or if they don't have the tools, go back for some. Or even help out ourselves, but it all depends." She wets her throat, dark lashes lidding momentarily. "Part is... the whole having to be careful. Representing the Weyr and all that, you remember from class: not like we could say or sign anything to make the Weyr beholden, but they'll remember we're /Reaches/ riders. And it isn't like a Gather, where most folks are out to have a good time, follow me?"
K'del's brows lift, a silent question about that curving mouth corner. "Right," he agrees, however, not speaking until she finishes altogether. "Anything we do, they'll remember that we're from the Reaches. So if we screw up, it looks bad. But, on the other hand, if we /help/ - that helps us too, yes?" He slides his fingers around the handle of his mug, his expression registering intense thoughtfulness. "Or they come to expect us to do that, also, and I suppose that might not necessarily be good, either."
Leova's expression may not hold much in the way of answers, amber eyes long calmed from their moment's mischief, holding thoughtfulness of their own. "Tricky balance, you got that straight. Rather help than not. But. If you're in a cranky mood, back aching from yesterday hard swerve and you just want to be /done/, wise to not set yourself up to make trouble." She circles the mug around, curving her fingers around its breadth. "Thinking about going back, visiting that girl at Merry Meet?"
K'del adjusts his sandwich, and manages to get it to his mouth without losing anything. He bites, he chews, and then he swallows, and once that's done, he nods. "So, basically, wherever we go, we have to watch ourselves, to make sure we make a good impression. Because it all matters." Satisfied with this conclusion, he lowers his head towards his food again without waiting for a response, though before taking another bite, he adds: "Thought about it. Like to. But I think the other guy was her fiance. So, even though she was flirting like mad, it might not be... politic."
"Yes," and if relief won't show in Leova's face with his lowered like that, it flavors the subtle approval in her tone. "And even if he wasn't, well. Not as though we're fighting Fall for them just now. Search's a different thing, too." She picks a tiny filament of fishbone out from between her teeth, sets it on the edge of the plate. "And what you said about good impressions, pretty much. Another reason not to drink too much even here, all aside from their only having so much to share with us." A little while later, "Glad you knew better, by the way. Wasn't sure."
K'del's brief spark of pleasure at that approval fades slightly, at what she says next. "So, basically, no picking up girls from the holds," he concludes, sounding at least a little disappointed. "No playing the bronzerider card. Suppose that makes sense." If it must. "How's search different?" he prompts, then, allowing curiosity to beat out the rest. And, after swallowing another bite, quietly, "Like to think I'm not a complete idiot. I'm holdbred. Know what it's like, the other end - being awed by a visiting rider." But.
"But. Still temptation." It could be a question, but it comes out wry, verging on factual. Leova isn't shy about buying time by layering another open-face sandwich, with high-heaped fragments of smoked porcine, this time. "Little strange talking about this," she finally admits. "Wouldn't say /no/ necessarily, just real careful? Widows maybe, and not too recently so. Larger Holds, where everyone isn't in everyone's back pocket. Think of the Weyr, and what the girl's bound to go through... You have a sister, didn't you say? What you'd want for her." This time the pause is to sustain herself with some more bites of sandwich, these with a free finger held up all just-a-minute. "Think you might do better talking to someone else about Search, too, other'n rules and things. Vrianth hasn't, see. Yet. Any case, though, it's not like the stories in the old days: Search someone, it's hands off. You remember."
K'del lets his shoulders drop into a shrug, which may well be answer enough, question or not. While she fills her sandwich, he finishes his own in several large bites, chewing heartily, and washes the lot down with another sip from his mug. "Right. Remember the weyr's reputation, again. Nothing that could bite us on the arse, later." His head drops into a very slow nod at mention of his sister, expression suddenly rueful, even outright embarrassed. "She hasn't? So some of them don't. And-- right, no sleeping with the candidates. Guess it'd be frowned on, out of the tales, to search people for their looks, rather than because the dragon says." Beat. "Anyway, doesn't make much sense - searching someone, then maybe having to wait most of a turn."
"How do she and Cadejoth get on?" Leova thinks to add. "Your sister." Just in case it weren't entirely clear. And that approval eases its way out again in her low laugh, escaping despite herself, "/Practical/. Yes. Though when it comes to looks..." Then the greenrider pauses, teeth filing her lower lip, gaze sliding some to the side. She shakes her head: not here.
Evidently it wasn't that clear, because K'del's expression is confused - and then enlightened, after the clarification. "He likes the way she scratches his neckridges for him. She thinks he's sweet. Thinks /I'm/ a raging hypocrite, but I suspect we'll make things up sooner or later." His lip twists for that, but not for long, as it breaks into a grin for her laughter. "Of course," he agrees, his expression barely shifting as he registers her head shake, and nods, just slightly. Noted.
"Hypocrite," Leova repeats with a lift of brows. But he'd said /sweet/, and she reaches for a guess, speaking a little louder over the practice trills someone's trying on what must be the whistle Valea had mentioned, "Over wanting him to hold still, you mean?" Holding still: Vrianth stretches now, sweeping her wings back, fairly humming with good energy.
K'del shakes his head, no. "Over something completely separate. Though, you're right: I said he was embarrassing, and she said I was being an idiot, how could I not find it completely adorable." He wipes some condiment off his finger onto another piece of bread, and piles on some cheese, pickles and meat. "Don't think anything embarrasses her, though. And it's not as though she doesn't realise that I'm head over heals for him, all the same." Cadejoth's tail has still not stopped twitching, and he's been flicking his wings about for a while, too, not so much impatient as simply wound-up. But his thoughts are content, still pleased, despite the current lack of action.
Well, then. It's the work of a moment for Vrianth to fling herself into the air, but there's plenty of sky for everyone. Unless another wing or two comes sweeping in here, at least. Leova has to smile, and it's timed right to be the anecdotes, but it can't hurt that it's when her dragon's taking wing. "Embarrassing and adorable, reckon those aren't just two sides of the same mark. Glad they get on well, anyhow." She settles into eating, unhurried, though after a bit does add, "Would like you to give them the news, when you're ready. No rush, though. Anything else going on with you?"
Cadejoth needs no second invitation, shoving himself skywards after a moment more, so that the air fills his wings in a great gust. He lets out a long, low warble of delight, not loud enough to be a distraction to those on the ground, but exuberant nonetheless. K'del allows his lips to twist into a wry smile, quiet agreement to Leova's comment, as he lifts his sandwich back towards his mouth. Between bites, he adds, "If you like. What counts as news, though?" Another bite, before he shakes his head. "Not especially. Looking forward to being tapped, but otherwise... same kind of thing as usual."
"Got a better idea of wings, yet?" Leova asks, and then can't help but look upward: dragonwings overhead, already too high for the wind of her flight to be directly felt. It touches her expression even when she looks back, though the greenrider doesn't directly smile. "News, though. Ask them, or let them ask you. Happen to know anyone who knew anyone who knew anyone who was at Lady Tillek's arrival? Who ferried Lord Nabol over for Conclave? What about anything going on with the next hold over... all right, so you wouldn't know what that /is/. But. Ride sweep enough, you'll build up a repertoire."
Leova thinks to add, "Don't suppose you sing?"
"Avalanche, I think," admits K'del, with an edge of hesitation. "Imagine I'll take what I get, though." Though his head tilts slightly, as if listening to some internal commentary, that's his only response to the flight of the dragons, above; instead, he takes another bite of his sandwich, and chews it while listening to the greenrider. "Gossip," he concludes. "Not that I mean that in a bad way. Personal interest stuff. Have to start listening to it more, then." His head shakes, then, lips pulling tighter. "Not I. Complete failure at all arts, crafts and musical activities."
Leova's easy nod doesn't press for anything more decisive, but then, she's got the rest of her porcine to eye, and then to start scraping down. Neither does she press him about his voice. "Pretty much. Keep in mind, though, it's got the possibility to affect trade, if nothing else. Or maybe a miller's got two sons, to where the second wouldn't ordinarily get a spot, but the next hold over has a miller who's just had his fifth daughter... Suppose that's trade too, though. In its way."
"No, that's definitely trade," agrees K'del after a moment, setting down the crusty remains of his sandwich for a moment, so that he can reach for his mug. "S'what happened with my brother - one of them, anyway. His wife was an only child. Point is, though, that it strengthened ties between the families, so helped make things better for business. Information is marks, anyway. I get it." He punctuates this ramble with a sharp nod, takes his sip, then returns to his sandwich. "Basically, everything we do can have an impact on things, is that what you're saying?"
"Cothold, or something else?" Leova asks with interest, though she's not so rapt as to have it stop her from picking a last shred of meat off the bone. And even then, she doesn't quite commit: "Most things. Some impact. Don't always know which way. Not," and here she does hastily swallow the bit of meat and look back at him, "To make you all self-conscious: no point in that either. Anyhow, ask... someone else, he'll tell you just do what needs doing, you'll figure it out. Someone /else/, things just happen the way they were meant," though Leova's expression shows what she thinks of /that/. The knife taps. And then she sits back, starts to clean the blade, punctuating the familiar task with easy sips of her ale.
"Small winery," explains K'del, as the last of his sandwich disappears, leaving nothing but crumbs, bones and the vaguest of condiment smears upon his plate. He gets caught between a nod and a shake of the head, and manages, after a moment, to just grin: "Not too self conscious. Makes sense, I think. Mostly, at least." The last of his ale is drunk down, then he, too, reaches for his knife again, cleaning it, though half of his attention resumes a wandering glide about the room, lingering on the groups of cardplayers, knitters, the whistle-player, and others.
"Wonder if it's anything the Snowasis'd want to trade with," Leova speculates, after a quick smile of her own for K'del's reaction. /Reactions/. "Might be busy enough, though, just now... Listen, want to go socialize, be my guest." Blade clean, she sheathes it, gives her fingertips a sniff afterward before setting down her napkin: time for another go at the ale.
The thought, it seems, is not one K'del has considered before; his expression is appraising, of a kind, punctuated by a thoughtful nod. "May suggest that, at some point," he tells her, with an incline of his head that is probably intended as a 'thank you for the idea'. Again, his lips purse, his gaze scanning the room, and, again, he nods. "Reckon I will, for a bit. See what I can glean - and share in return, of course." His own knife is tucked away, and he rises, pausing halfway up - "Is there someplace I should take the plates?"
"'Back thataway," Leova says, sitting up enough to angle a nod towards the cothold proper, tacking on a smile when she intercepts the glances of an older, blue-capped woman looking their way. "Thought I saw the tray over by Valea, there, or if nothing else she'll put you to right, hm? ... Here. Thanks," as she slides the plate K'del's way, gives him a nod, and reaches back to get at her sack and what proves to be her usual whittling oddments within. A shake of the glowbasket later, and she's off to work: not with the knife this time, but one of her finer pumice stones, sanding down an oblong shape half-hidden by her hands. It might as well be a signal, for a couple of the cotholders start ambling their way. Incoming.
K'del follows with his eyes Leova's nod, and confirms it with one of his own, as he sets her plate atop of his, and picks them up, hanging his mug off the thumb of his other hand. "My pleasure," he says, smiling, hesitating a moment with evident interest as she gets out her whittling supplies - and then turning to head off in the indicated direction, to dispense with the plates, refill his mug, and insert himself into a conversation between Valea and another woman, both of whom seem eager enough to include him.
Her gaze lifts as his back turns, watching the tall weyrling thread between the tables until he's found himself in the women's company, though it's not as though he's so likely to get lost. Perhaps it's that thought that has her smile, one that deepens for her visitors, a woman about her age and her brother perhaps a decade older. Familiar faces, by her greeting, with a pat of the bench for the woman to sit beside her. Convivial conversation. Ale that's on the bitter side, but bracing all the same. Walls, and the natural protection of the valley, to keep out the worst of the autumn wind. It could be easy, for those who don't find this too mundane or aren't simply too tired, to while away quite some time. Certainly Vrianth isn't objecting, but then, she gets to fly.
Nor does K'del seem inclined to object. He clinks mugs with one of his companions, and says something that makes them both laugh, and the conversation continues from there. The way he's standing, he could linger for hours - he even /seems/ genuinely interested in everything that gets said, though perhaps that's his attempt to be charming. Outside, though Cadejoth will fly higher and higher, far beyond the protection of the valley, the winds aren't exactly something that bother /him/ - if anything, he seems to delight in soaring through them.
Vrianth? May soar up along one, riding its energy, but only to slip between it and the next, and then batter herself against a gust. When Cadejoth's near, she'll shape her path with an eye to his, the better to tempt crashing without /quite/ doing it... but when he's gone, she's off and away. Time passes, and there's more conversation, and then more ale, and Leova makes considerable progress on the polishing. Someone brings the old drum out, and there are a couple choruses of songs that lead into arguments over the lyrics that, for the most part, remain good-natured enough. No glasses get broken, although a white-bearded man has a story to tell when quite a few were, "...and then Hold Gabor thought they could charge double, damn their eyes." Another argument that could have escalated winds up with menfolk separating their wives, something about throwing versus picking. And then out come the rich oat crackers and the sweet cream, and some more settling in. Leova's kept tabs on her charge for the most part, but this time it's a closer check: ready to go?
K'del will even share a dance with one of the women, a brief turn about the room, during one of those songs, to the applause of those around - but just the one, laughing excuses made for the rest. He spreads his attentions throughout, spending a few minutes with different groups, an utter gentleman, pleasant and without airs. Leova's closer check comes as he leans up against a table, talking with a group of men, and he inclines his head just so: ready when you are. Another minute more, then he extricates himself, returning his now-empty mug as he begins his farewells. Outside, Cadejoth glides down to a landing, half reluctant, half eager to be on the way off again, curling his tail about his hindquarters as he waits for the riders to join them once again.
So well-behaved! If his assistant weyrlingmaster is surprised, it doesn't particularly show. Only, after her woodworking supplies are stashed again, after her own farewells and mug-returning and a trading of oddments into and out of that sack, when they're once again walking along that path but uphill this time, "Does it take much out of you? Or give you energy back." Vrianth, now, Vrianth hasn't landed yet, though she's gotten to where she's circling on high.
K'del's stride is lazy, his entire stance one of utter relaxation, as they make their way down the path. His hands are stuffed into his pockets again. "The latter, mostly. Find it so-- /satisfying/, I guess. Talking to people. Finding out about them. Making them smile. Probably be wired for hours, now, after all of that, but it was good. Glad you brought me." Cadejoth's head inclines up, to watch Vrianth, but he's apparently content to remain where he is at least for as long as it takes for the riders to make it back.
She has a low laugh, finding out and all. "Glad to," as it turns out. "Not like it's a /secret/, but... What'll you do? Wired." Vrianth cuts a tighter loop, a figure eight angling to become eighty-eight, and dips low above their heads before rushing on. Leova glances up, hesitates without missing a step, and then just flattens her hair back down.
"No, but not like I would've found it on my own, most like," grins the weyrling, glancing across at his assistant weyrlingmaster just in time for Vrianth's low dip. He ducks, unused to this, and looks mostly pretty embarrassed as he rises back up. His answer to her question comes a moment or two later, his 'cool' recovered. "Find someone who wants to expend some energy with me," he says, matter-of-factly, and in a way that, without being entirely innuendo, fairly neatly illustrates the activity intended by it.
"Maybe in a few Turns, you'll show someone else," Leova half-teases, like it should be some tradition to pass down. Only then she's, well. Laughing. Behind her free hand, only audible between the bootsteps over the bridge's stone, but still. Doesn't apologize for her lifemate, either, just lifts her face into the breeze while he's talking, the better to hide her smile, and raises the collar where it's slipped. "Not /too/ late," she assesses. "Should still be a decent selection." Like it's a buffet.
K'del keeps his head turned, watching, while she laughs. After a few seconds, he joins in as much as a grin is 'joining in' , head shaking just slightly. "Maybe I will," he tells her, almost defensive, but mostly, almost /entirely/, in a light tone, an amused tone, even. "Pass it on down the generations, as it were. No, not too late. Won't have a problem finding someone." Cocky. Unspoken, though the implication is there: I never do. "And you? Invigorated, or exhausted?"
"Got it from a wingmate, myself. You're just early," this with a dry sideways look, as though Leova guesses it might please him and says it anyway. And her? The greenrider gets her gloves on as she thinks about it, likely for the first time if her considering tone when she speaks is any indication. "In between. 's a good sort of energy, not bouncing off the walls. Won't have a problem getting to sleep, when I get around to it."
K'del laughs outright for that, and there's even something of a skip to his next step - that's energetic all right. But he's more restrained after that, waiting thoughtfully for her to consider her answer, and then share it. "Right. More of a satisfied kind of thing. Get that." His gaze seeks out the dragons through the darkness ahead, expression turning fond.
"Pretty much. Want a different sort of energy, I go somewhere else... /Finally/," because there lands Vrianth. At last. On the far side of Cadejoth. Of course. Poor Leova, to have to walk several paces further! Or maybe that's just how some of those tricks work: enough that the other person knows what you're getting at, not enough that they mind.
"Different places for different kinds of energy? Hm." K'del muses over this as he reaches up to rub Cadejoth's headknobs, the pale bronze leaning his head down to meet the hand. He does glance past the bronze, towards Leova and Vrianth, a faint smile on his face. /Poor/ Leova. But now, dragon greeted, the young man draws out his gloves, and, once these are on, climbs back up to his perch atop Cadejoth.
It's nothing upon which Leova elaborates, and soon enough she's busy getting a nuzzling of her own that's just enough to impede getting her helmet back on. Of course. And then later, Vrianth has to aim a light paw-swat at that easy-to-see tail of Cadejoth's, should it be twitching, just as her rider's buckling in. "... into /you/," is the half-audible murmur, and then Leova calls out, "Night, K'del! Cadejoth," like that's going to be it: a flight upward, a flight onward, and then three coughs till home.
Cadejoth's tail is, /of course/, twitching - and it flicks back, almost like a swat in return. "Good night," agrees his rider, all strapped in, helmet on, jacket buttoned up against the chill. "To both of you." Then: time for a bumpy launch, and definitely time for home.
Jiggedy jig.
Location: Somewhere in the Tillek region
Synopsis: After the Triumph of the Missing Heir, Leova and K'del return only to find that High Reaches is Temporarily Unsafe, and detour for dinner. There is also a toast to Edeline (not to be confused with Emeline).
Log and summary stolen from leovaried
Continues on from here.
Except that, even as they cruise away from the Star Stones, wings warming in the cold air that's nowhere near as cold as /between/, it's to see a Polaris green tearing up the skies beyond them with her chasers chaos on her heels. And Vrianth swerves. Sends a second image: what must be a cluster of cotholds as seen from above, set into foothills with a stream running through, stone fences catching sunset light. << Come with us. >> And vanishes.
Cadejoth half surges forward, as that green comes into view, a palpable eagerness - or, at least, great interest - radiating from him, though he's dutiful in responding to the image. A moment later, he disappears in her wake, emerging again with a flutter of wingsails. << Coming, coming, >> he tells her, though, of course, he's already here.
Amusement gleams back at the young bronze, and certain knowledge that Vrianth does not share until he /is/ there: << It would not have been... comfortable for your rider, >> although there's a hint that might have been entertaining for the /rest/ of them, his being stuck astride, no time to do anything else. She overflies the cotholds once more, their altitude low enough that nothing can be seen beyond hills and mountains and more mountains, but the air's warmer in what must be the valley's microclimate. And when she lands, it's on the road itself, not far from the cotholds but not terribly close, either, perhaps five minutes' walk for their riders. Leova's already pulling off her flight helmet, buckling it to her straps, and then doing a spot-check among a couple sacks.
There's a certain acceptance of this, admittedly, Cadejoth's ichor cooling, his flight relaxing, now that they're far from that hormonal green. << True, >> he allows, mental touch still buzzing, but more quietly, now. << But - /oh/. >> He keeps his pace to little more than a light glide, keeping up, but not taxing himself too far, so he lands a time after she does. K'del hurries down, pulling off his own helmet, and glancing around, lips pulled tight.
The greenrider winds up swapping a couple things, then secures the surviving sack to her belt. "Carry anything with you, handiwork? You do, bring it," she calls over once she's slid on down. Both dragons get a long look, Cadejoth large and bony-pale past her Vrianth, and then she presses her cheek against the rangy neck that curls about her. Whispers something. And then starts hiking up the road. Vrianth yawns, then stretches some, enough to sharpen her claws on the nearby fence without actually tearing the mortared stones down.
"No...?" begins K'del, apparently surprised by the question, watching Leova with an uncertain expression as. His gaze slides away, up towards Cadejoth, then back to the greenrider, hastily sliding into action as she starts down the road. He catches up within a few paces, digging his hands into his pockets, and turns his head back once, just in time to see Cadejoth slide down to a relaxed position, his tail flicking idly at a few small stones beneath it, sending them flying, while his head lowers to rest upon his forelimbs.
"S'all right," Leova says back over her shoulder, adding as he catches up, "He hungry? Wild wherries a couple hills yonder, but she'd as soon take a rest just now." It's an even road as these things go, this far into the hills: rutted some, maybe, but not too many potholes, and the most egregious grass kept to the side. One side has a part-grown hedge, old enough to have been started in the last Turns of the comet's visit but not much more.
K'del allows himself a nod, easy, slowing his pace down to a more meandering walk now that he's caught up. "No, he's all right. Ate yesterday. Reckon he'll be fine, tossing rocks around for a bit." He keeps turning his head around, looking at this and that, curiosity still writ large upon his features, though he keeps his thoughts to himself for the moment. Except: "Don't know he would've chased. He hasn't, yet. Just thought about it a lot."
"Some of us got whittling, others toss rocks," Leova supposes with a hint, no, more than a hint of a smile to go with her, "Next thing you know, he'll be skipping them." But she's looking up ahead as the road dips, to where a cothold's window suddenly begins to glow with green, though there's low-slanted sunlight left in the sky up high. It's an easy walk she's dropped into, familiar to weyrlings assigned to get somewhere at the same time without being a quick march or dawdling. "Distracting?"
It's a smile that K'del matches, while rubbing the side of his head absently. "And some of us have nothing at all." Beat. "Well, not /quite/ true. Don't imagine he has the finesse to skip them. Bet he'd enjoy it, though." He follows her gaze, probably go coincidence since his own has been wandering so much, giving the cothold vague consideration as he answers the question. "A bit. They kind of loom large in his thoughts. And he likes to share. Or maybe it's that he forgets not to."
"Think when they get big, they mostly just go plonk anyway. But if he makes it? Can hire him out to Gathers." Leova absently kicks at a pebble as she walks. Stretches. And Vrianth stretches with her, only it's just the dragon who curls up with her head resting on her back paw but her eyes wide open, luminescent, slowly whirling. "Worries? Or just... looking forward." The greenrider admits after a moment, "Wouldn't trade three-times-a-Turn for never knowing the next, myself."
K'del chokes back a laugh, which ends up sounding more like a cough, albeit an amused one. "That'd be the day. Though he might work as a climbing structure for the kids." There's no symmetry in the weyrling pair's movements, the young bronze continuing to flick rocks, occasionally managing some distance, some altitude, but mostly just sending them rolling, if that, while his rider saunters on, hands dug in pockets again. "Neither," he shares, head shaking. "Or - not /worried/, just wish he'd go for it, and stop me wondering when it'll be. More intrigued than excited, I guess." Amused, again: "I can see the benefits. Though. I don't know."
That rock-flicking does provide a certain entertainment for Vrianth, at least, when she isn't looking up and about as she does every now and again: something on the wind, or back in the trees, or at her rider's chuckle: climbing structure, indeed. Sometimes, at nothing outwardly discernable at all. When it's back to all that intrigue, past the path off to that one cothold now, with a low bridge up ahead and further cotholds clustered beyond them, that I-don't-know has Leova looking sideways for once, brows lifted in inquiry that fills the slight pause. What she actually says, though: "Suppose it's not much help to remember it could be months yet. Is he more... Look-a-girl, or spotting the chasers and what tricks they're trying, or what?"
K'del clarifies, quietly: "The thrill of the chase. I like the idea of that, more than /being/ chased. Despite the potential for inconvenience." One of Cadejoth's rocks sails clear of the fence, and he lets out a delighted warble, tail thumping upon the ground in satisfaction. "Both. He has a thing for working out who is best at things, and figuring out why. Doesn't care about being the best himself, as long as he can learn from them." It's an attitude that, clearly, somewhat mystifies the young man. Then, belatedly, an afterthought tacked on: "No, not much help."
The bridge's stone amplifies footfalls, but Leova doesn't slow, gaze sweeping up ahead from the tall weyrling beside her. "Can see that." Her voice is more neutral than it needs to be, except in its wryness. "Hope the inconveniences don't add up too high, for you." And she exhales an even quieter breath, even as Vrianth spins a gleam of light toward Cadejoth's mental eyes, the better to catch them and send that spark bouncing along the side of the road instead. << /Very/ far. Now. Cadejoth. Can you keep the rocks out of the pastures /and/ out of the road, at the very same time? >> Call it a challenge. Her rider: "Best." Like she's tasting the word, some new spice.
The neutrality makes the corners of K'del's mouth twitch, a barely suppressed smile. "Imagine I'll cope. Imagine I don't have much of a choice." Again, one of his hands withdraws from the warm pocket it was resting in, to run through his hair in a vague, thoughtful gesture. << Out of the pastures... /and/ out of the road? >> The challenge - he clearly takes it as such, thoughts bright with the thought of it - is given some careful, if very brief, consideration. << Probably. >> His tail goes swinging again, after he shuffles to the side, hunting out another rock to flick, and gives it a go. This one goes skittering down the road - a first time failure. << Next time, maybe. >> "Well," clarifies the young man, "Good at, at least, if not /best/. Best is hard to gauge."
There's no apology to Vrianth's explanation, even as she lines the road's verge in more mental light, watches that second rock go jumping off to one side of it: << Humans like rocks to stay out of their way. And they must travel along the road. >> Poor humans! And: << Perhaps. Would you still like it, Cadejoth, if it were easy? >> Her rider, who'd earlier more-or-less agreed about coping (or maybe it's choices) with a lift and fall of her shoulder, keeps walking past a cothold with children's voices muffled from within, another that's all dark, and almost past a third before veering off onto what proves to be a well-traveled side path in the shadow of the side wall and what looks to be the shorter wall of a garden beyond. Meanwhile, "Reckon so, unless you get real specific about the best-at-what. Circumstances and all. Tradeoffs." Voices. "Hungry?"
<< Oh! >> responds Cadejoth, as though, despite the current passage of his rider and hers, this thought had never quite crossed his mind. << And the rocks would be in their way. So it would be a service, to them, to keep them away. >> A beat passes, then he adds, << Not so much. I like working things out, making them good. Making /me/ good. Easy is less fun. >> K'del's neck twists to allow him to inspect each cothold as they pass, giving them a measure of idle consideration as he holds up his end of the conversation. "Tradeoffs. Right. Faster, but tires more easily, all of that." Then, gaze seeking to find the source of the voices, "Pretty much always." Hungry, that is.
Vrianth rewards him with a pulse of pure pleasure as her /yes/: << Yet also not where their animals eat, >> in the pastures, that would be. << My Leova reminds me, also not in a garden, which is a place where they grow plants on purpose. Really, they are very particular, >> but then so is Vrianth, if differently. << What do you want to be... good at, Cadejoth? Next. >> Her rider, paused just before the gate: "Right, then." A palm lifted toward his shoulder signals that she'll lead the way: inward, the door with an easy swing to it, and then they can get out of the breeze into the warmth of the walls' shelter and the buzz of conversation that ebbs only briefly at seeing who's just shown up. It's nothing fancy, the trestle tables bare except where people are whiling away the evening, people with a familiar way of talking and a similar pattern to their clothes. No bustling barmaid here. No fancy-dressed gamblers. Occasional feathery insects flutter about the glows, though. Softly, "Locals only. And us. Serve their own wine. Old country: won't take our marks, we behave the way we should."
/Such/ a challenge, with all these restrictions! << Can't they just work around them? >> he wants to know, suddenly impatient, despite this fleeting gripe. His concentration, as his tail takes aim again, means it takes him a few moments to respond to the question. << Aside from this? >> The aiming, the /flick/ - oh, the satisfaction, of a rock flying through the air (this one nicely sits on the verge - good boy). << Don't know yet. Imagine I'll figure it out, when I see something I want to be good at. >> Though there's a flicker of that green, left behind, and an awareness - a mmhmm kind of feeling. K'del follows the greenrider, his eyes all but drinking in the view, though there's a subtle nod to his head, as though yes, he knows this kind of place. Perhaps he does. "Proper behaviour. Of course," he murmurs, matching the softness of her voice.
/Such/ impatience, perhaps Vrianth should pull some of that warm energy back again? << They can. But it bothers them. And we wish to stay welcome. >> That last has a point to it, though when his rock lands where it does, she relents enough to strobe that verge-glow in neon green and blue. Idly, her own claw curling around a small rock now, << Let me know when you find out, Cadejoth. If you remember. >> As their sunset gradually becomes twilight, one bone-pale moon peeks out from behind a hill, though it can only light the dragons and not their riders behind those human walls. "Right, then," Leova half-repeats, glances briefly up at her charge, and starts making the rounds. Of their hosts, the man with the heavy beard and a feather in his brimmed hat just gets a nod-and-smile, busy as he is with rehashing some comfortable old argument with another couple men. The latter look to be different generations but have the same big nose and a particular way of gesturing. Beyond a clump of older women, knitting busily while they talk, is their goal: the true proprietor who, her silvery hair in a bun and her bodice properly laced over blouse and skirt, presides over a limited, light buffet of cheese spread and other cold dishes like pickled fish, smoked porcine hocks, and the like. She fixes a narrow look on Leova. "About time you came back. Who's the young man?"
But Cadejoth lives, breathes, /exudes/ impatient - not to mention excitement and anticipation. He'll provide his own warm energy, if he needs to. << I suppose, >> he allows, letting his tail slide back to a rest, no more flicking of stones (just in case). It flicks, though, idly, not hard enough to disrupt anything, but nonetheless, a constant movement. << I will try to remember, Vrianth, and if I do, I will definitely tell you. >> K'del echoes the nod-and-smile, keeping one eye on Leova, her movements and gestures, while the other explores the contours and contents of the room. He gives the knitting women a brilliant smile, which earns him a few glances, but his expression is more or less controlled as they approach the proprietor. Before Leova can answer the question, he extends a hand: "K'del, Cadejoth's weyrling. Senior weyrling. Our duties to you."
"Speaks for himself, does he." The woman gives the young man a long look that hesitates upon the extended hand of unknown cleanliness, and then accepts it and says, "Welcome to our cothold, Senior Weyrling K'del, and our duties to High Reaches Weyr. My name is Valea," and beside him, Leova silently mouths with her, "No relation." She does wipe her hands with a cloth before starting on parceling out two plates with the slow-grilled, tender hocks, some greens, some condiments. "And my man is Jacoban. That's about as formal as we're going to get, if you know what's good for you. Whereabouts you from? Leova, why don't you get the napkins," and the assistant weyrlingmaster lets herself be put to not-really-very-much-work agreeably enough, gathering up a couple of the hemmed, undyed cloths while Valea offers both plates to K'del. Vrianth, meanwhile, sees about drawing on more energy than was strictly hers, since Cadejoth has so much, the plan alone enough to brighten those whirling eyes of hers. << /Wonderful/. >> One thing or another.
"I certainly do," responds K'del, dimples showing. His grip is firm, as he shakes the hand, and it's not too dirty, though he does glance at it cautiously as he returns it, apparently just to make certain of it. "It's a pleasure to be here - Valea. From a vinehold, maybe half a day from Tillek Hold proper." He accepts both plates as they're offered to him, balancing them in his hands, and adds, "Smells delicious. Thank you." Cadejoth certainly won't notice the withdrawal of the energy, his own still buzzing so contentedly, clicking, shaking and flicking as he settles back down, in so much as he ever does. << Good! We're all good, then. >>
"A Tillek young man," Valea says approvingly, with only the most infinitesimal hesitation after their Hold's name, the sort that most wouldn't notice, and perhaps it's that that has her drawing two frothy mugfuls from the tap for Leova to carry. Or perhaps she would have anyway. "Make yourselves comfortable, we can get the news from you later. Our Harper's journeying a couple holds over, but a couple of the men have a fair way with a whistle and drum. And be sure to toast to Lady Edeline!" Leova has a sideways smile for the woman, but stays otherwise silent, with but a nod for K'del to precede her. And Vrianth's quiet too, teasing out the extra wattage that Cadejoth has to spare, the tip of her tail flicking too. Flick flick.
K'del certainly doesn't seem to - he's too busy beaming, and averring, "Best possible place to be from, in my opinion. Thank you for the hospitality, Valea, we'll be happy to share what news we can." He doesn't so much as glance at Leova, to confirm this or anything else, though apparently the motion of her nod is something that catches the corner of his eye, because, after one more brilliant smile for Valea, he turns to seek out a place to sit amidst the other occupants of the room. Cadejoth flicks out the occasional burst of disjointed thought, a bubble of energy - but otherwise, he, too, remains silent. For once.
"/So/ smile-y," Leova murmurs as they walk, bemused or even amused rather than surprised. She has a nod and a brief comment or two for some of the people they pass, and a smile of her own for the oldsters playing cards that welcome them to sit at the long table's other end. Easing onto the bench, she gets the mugs distributed, and then lifts an inquiring look to K'del there: how's he taking all this?
"Nothing wrong with a good smile," returns K'del, very calm - and still smiling, if at a slightly reduced wattage, except when acknowledging people as they pass. Passing over the other plate, as he sets his own in front of him, he considers the food, and then his companion. "Interesting spot. Come here often? Where - /exactly/ - are we?"
There's exactly and then there's /exactly/, and Leova gives him a speculative look. "Where do you think we are? Weren't high enough for the best view," on purpose? "But maybe you can narrow it down some." A reach into her belt pouch gets her utensils, and that leads to smearing cheese on the good rye bread and dotting a thinner layer of the pickled fish on top of that.
K'del takes a sip from his mug before either responding to Leova, or considering his food, despite his earlier announcement of hunger. "Tillek, obviously," he says, finally, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, and taking another thoughtful glance around. "Inland. Quite a lot inland, at a guess. But I don't really know this area, so I couldn't say how far east." Now that he's spoken, he draws out his own knife, and begins to slice up his food with a lazy hand.
"To Lady Tillek, and a healthy birth," Leova murmurs under her breath before she, too, drinks, with an eye to K'del afterward. The men must start another round, for their talk gets louder for a little bit, and then there's the hiss and ruffle of cards cut and shuffled. "Fairly far east," she agrees when he's done, having made judicious progress into her sandwich. "Might have noticed, not much lighter than home, and most of that's because the Weyr's so far north. Ruatha's..." she straightens from her bench enough to scan, "/That/ way, Fort over there." Slap slap slap go the cards onto the table. "Don't reckon they'd take too well to someone going all high-and-mighty dragonrider on them, but they do like the company. And the news. What did you make of earlier?"
K'del makes a face, one of 'ooops, forgot', and hurriedly murmurs out his own toast, before drinking again. The mug is returned to the table, and he begins on his own sandwich, put together hastily, and nods as she confirms his guess. "Southeastern corner, then," he concludes, with another nod, in between bites. "Can imagine - the news, I mean. Often takes a while for things to get spread, as I remember. The child-finding?" He sets down his sandwich, half of it threatening to escape, and considers the question. "Felt pretty good, being able to help - even if we didn't do much, in the end. Is that kind of thing something we normally deal with, on sweeps?"
We. One corner of Leova's mouth curves up, and she says, "If we have time, it helps. Especially now that it's Interval, though not /expected/. Wagon got a broken axle, let's say, could send the word out to somebody that it's going to be late. Or if they don't have the tools, go back for some. Or even help out ourselves, but it all depends." She wets her throat, dark lashes lidding momentarily. "Part is... the whole having to be careful. Representing the Weyr and all that, you remember from class: not like we could say or sign anything to make the Weyr beholden, but they'll remember we're /Reaches/ riders. And it isn't like a Gather, where most folks are out to have a good time, follow me?"
K'del's brows lift, a silent question about that curving mouth corner. "Right," he agrees, however, not speaking until she finishes altogether. "Anything we do, they'll remember that we're from the Reaches. So if we screw up, it looks bad. But, on the other hand, if we /help/ - that helps us too, yes?" He slides his fingers around the handle of his mug, his expression registering intense thoughtfulness. "Or they come to expect us to do that, also, and I suppose that might not necessarily be good, either."
Leova's expression may not hold much in the way of answers, amber eyes long calmed from their moment's mischief, holding thoughtfulness of their own. "Tricky balance, you got that straight. Rather help than not. But. If you're in a cranky mood, back aching from yesterday hard swerve and you just want to be /done/, wise to not set yourself up to make trouble." She circles the mug around, curving her fingers around its breadth. "Thinking about going back, visiting that girl at Merry Meet?"
K'del adjusts his sandwich, and manages to get it to his mouth without losing anything. He bites, he chews, and then he swallows, and once that's done, he nods. "So, basically, wherever we go, we have to watch ourselves, to make sure we make a good impression. Because it all matters." Satisfied with this conclusion, he lowers his head towards his food again without waiting for a response, though before taking another bite, he adds: "Thought about it. Like to. But I think the other guy was her fiance. So, even though she was flirting like mad, it might not be... politic."
"Yes," and if relief won't show in Leova's face with his lowered like that, it flavors the subtle approval in her tone. "And even if he wasn't, well. Not as though we're fighting Fall for them just now. Search's a different thing, too." She picks a tiny filament of fishbone out from between her teeth, sets it on the edge of the plate. "And what you said about good impressions, pretty much. Another reason not to drink too much even here, all aside from their only having so much to share with us." A little while later, "Glad you knew better, by the way. Wasn't sure."
K'del's brief spark of pleasure at that approval fades slightly, at what she says next. "So, basically, no picking up girls from the holds," he concludes, sounding at least a little disappointed. "No playing the bronzerider card. Suppose that makes sense." If it must. "How's search different?" he prompts, then, allowing curiosity to beat out the rest. And, after swallowing another bite, quietly, "Like to think I'm not a complete idiot. I'm holdbred. Know what it's like, the other end - being awed by a visiting rider." But.
"But. Still temptation." It could be a question, but it comes out wry, verging on factual. Leova isn't shy about buying time by layering another open-face sandwich, with high-heaped fragments of smoked porcine, this time. "Little strange talking about this," she finally admits. "Wouldn't say /no/ necessarily, just real careful? Widows maybe, and not too recently so. Larger Holds, where everyone isn't in everyone's back pocket. Think of the Weyr, and what the girl's bound to go through... You have a sister, didn't you say? What you'd want for her." This time the pause is to sustain herself with some more bites of sandwich, these with a free finger held up all just-a-minute. "Think you might do better talking to someone else about Search, too, other'n rules and things. Vrianth hasn't, see. Yet. Any case, though, it's not like the stories in the old days: Search someone, it's hands off. You remember."
K'del lets his shoulders drop into a shrug, which may well be answer enough, question or not. While she fills her sandwich, he finishes his own in several large bites, chewing heartily, and washes the lot down with another sip from his mug. "Right. Remember the weyr's reputation, again. Nothing that could bite us on the arse, later." His head drops into a very slow nod at mention of his sister, expression suddenly rueful, even outright embarrassed. "She hasn't? So some of them don't. And-- right, no sleeping with the candidates. Guess it'd be frowned on, out of the tales, to search people for their looks, rather than because the dragon says." Beat. "Anyway, doesn't make much sense - searching someone, then maybe having to wait most of a turn."
"How do she and Cadejoth get on?" Leova thinks to add. "Your sister." Just in case it weren't entirely clear. And that approval eases its way out again in her low laugh, escaping despite herself, "/Practical/. Yes. Though when it comes to looks..." Then the greenrider pauses, teeth filing her lower lip, gaze sliding some to the side. She shakes her head: not here.
Evidently it wasn't that clear, because K'del's expression is confused - and then enlightened, after the clarification. "He likes the way she scratches his neckridges for him. She thinks he's sweet. Thinks /I'm/ a raging hypocrite, but I suspect we'll make things up sooner or later." His lip twists for that, but not for long, as it breaks into a grin for her laughter. "Of course," he agrees, his expression barely shifting as he registers her head shake, and nods, just slightly. Noted.
"Hypocrite," Leova repeats with a lift of brows. But he'd said /sweet/, and she reaches for a guess, speaking a little louder over the practice trills someone's trying on what must be the whistle Valea had mentioned, "Over wanting him to hold still, you mean?" Holding still: Vrianth stretches now, sweeping her wings back, fairly humming with good energy.
K'del shakes his head, no. "Over something completely separate. Though, you're right: I said he was embarrassing, and she said I was being an idiot, how could I not find it completely adorable." He wipes some condiment off his finger onto another piece of bread, and piles on some cheese, pickles and meat. "Don't think anything embarrasses her, though. And it's not as though she doesn't realise that I'm head over heals for him, all the same." Cadejoth's tail has still not stopped twitching, and he's been flicking his wings about for a while, too, not so much impatient as simply wound-up. But his thoughts are content, still pleased, despite the current lack of action.
Well, then. It's the work of a moment for Vrianth to fling herself into the air, but there's plenty of sky for everyone. Unless another wing or two comes sweeping in here, at least. Leova has to smile, and it's timed right to be the anecdotes, but it can't hurt that it's when her dragon's taking wing. "Embarrassing and adorable, reckon those aren't just two sides of the same mark. Glad they get on well, anyhow." She settles into eating, unhurried, though after a bit does add, "Would like you to give them the news, when you're ready. No rush, though. Anything else going on with you?"
Cadejoth needs no second invitation, shoving himself skywards after a moment more, so that the air fills his wings in a great gust. He lets out a long, low warble of delight, not loud enough to be a distraction to those on the ground, but exuberant nonetheless. K'del allows his lips to twist into a wry smile, quiet agreement to Leova's comment, as he lifts his sandwich back towards his mouth. Between bites, he adds, "If you like. What counts as news, though?" Another bite, before he shakes his head. "Not especially. Looking forward to being tapped, but otherwise... same kind of thing as usual."
"Got a better idea of wings, yet?" Leova asks, and then can't help but look upward: dragonwings overhead, already too high for the wind of her flight to be directly felt. It touches her expression even when she looks back, though the greenrider doesn't directly smile. "News, though. Ask them, or let them ask you. Happen to know anyone who knew anyone who knew anyone who was at Lady Tillek's arrival? Who ferried Lord Nabol over for Conclave? What about anything going on with the next hold over... all right, so you wouldn't know what that /is/. But. Ride sweep enough, you'll build up a repertoire."
Leova thinks to add, "Don't suppose you sing?"
"Avalanche, I think," admits K'del, with an edge of hesitation. "Imagine I'll take what I get, though." Though his head tilts slightly, as if listening to some internal commentary, that's his only response to the flight of the dragons, above; instead, he takes another bite of his sandwich, and chews it while listening to the greenrider. "Gossip," he concludes. "Not that I mean that in a bad way. Personal interest stuff. Have to start listening to it more, then." His head shakes, then, lips pulling tighter. "Not I. Complete failure at all arts, crafts and musical activities."
Leova's easy nod doesn't press for anything more decisive, but then, she's got the rest of her porcine to eye, and then to start scraping down. Neither does she press him about his voice. "Pretty much. Keep in mind, though, it's got the possibility to affect trade, if nothing else. Or maybe a miller's got two sons, to where the second wouldn't ordinarily get a spot, but the next hold over has a miller who's just had his fifth daughter... Suppose that's trade too, though. In its way."
"No, that's definitely trade," agrees K'del after a moment, setting down the crusty remains of his sandwich for a moment, so that he can reach for his mug. "S'what happened with my brother - one of them, anyway. His wife was an only child. Point is, though, that it strengthened ties between the families, so helped make things better for business. Information is marks, anyway. I get it." He punctuates this ramble with a sharp nod, takes his sip, then returns to his sandwich. "Basically, everything we do can have an impact on things, is that what you're saying?"
"Cothold, or something else?" Leova asks with interest, though she's not so rapt as to have it stop her from picking a last shred of meat off the bone. And even then, she doesn't quite commit: "Most things. Some impact. Don't always know which way. Not," and here she does hastily swallow the bit of meat and look back at him, "To make you all self-conscious: no point in that either. Anyhow, ask... someone else, he'll tell you just do what needs doing, you'll figure it out. Someone /else/, things just happen the way they were meant," though Leova's expression shows what she thinks of /that/. The knife taps. And then she sits back, starts to clean the blade, punctuating the familiar task with easy sips of her ale.
"Small winery," explains K'del, as the last of his sandwich disappears, leaving nothing but crumbs, bones and the vaguest of condiment smears upon his plate. He gets caught between a nod and a shake of the head, and manages, after a moment, to just grin: "Not too self conscious. Makes sense, I think. Mostly, at least." The last of his ale is drunk down, then he, too, reaches for his knife again, cleaning it, though half of his attention resumes a wandering glide about the room, lingering on the groups of cardplayers, knitters, the whistle-player, and others.
"Wonder if it's anything the Snowasis'd want to trade with," Leova speculates, after a quick smile of her own for K'del's reaction. /Reactions/. "Might be busy enough, though, just now... Listen, want to go socialize, be my guest." Blade clean, she sheathes it, gives her fingertips a sniff afterward before setting down her napkin: time for another go at the ale.
The thought, it seems, is not one K'del has considered before; his expression is appraising, of a kind, punctuated by a thoughtful nod. "May suggest that, at some point," he tells her, with an incline of his head that is probably intended as a 'thank you for the idea'. Again, his lips purse, his gaze scanning the room, and, again, he nods. "Reckon I will, for a bit. See what I can glean - and share in return, of course." His own knife is tucked away, and he rises, pausing halfway up - "Is there someplace I should take the plates?"
"'Back thataway," Leova says, sitting up enough to angle a nod towards the cothold proper, tacking on a smile when she intercepts the glances of an older, blue-capped woman looking their way. "Thought I saw the tray over by Valea, there, or if nothing else she'll put you to right, hm? ... Here. Thanks," as she slides the plate K'del's way, gives him a nod, and reaches back to get at her sack and what proves to be her usual whittling oddments within. A shake of the glowbasket later, and she's off to work: not with the knife this time, but one of her finer pumice stones, sanding down an oblong shape half-hidden by her hands. It might as well be a signal, for a couple of the cotholders start ambling their way. Incoming.
K'del follows with his eyes Leova's nod, and confirms it with one of his own, as he sets her plate atop of his, and picks them up, hanging his mug off the thumb of his other hand. "My pleasure," he says, smiling, hesitating a moment with evident interest as she gets out her whittling supplies - and then turning to head off in the indicated direction, to dispense with the plates, refill his mug, and insert himself into a conversation between Valea and another woman, both of whom seem eager enough to include him.
Her gaze lifts as his back turns, watching the tall weyrling thread between the tables until he's found himself in the women's company, though it's not as though he's so likely to get lost. Perhaps it's that thought that has her smile, one that deepens for her visitors, a woman about her age and her brother perhaps a decade older. Familiar faces, by her greeting, with a pat of the bench for the woman to sit beside her. Convivial conversation. Ale that's on the bitter side, but bracing all the same. Walls, and the natural protection of the valley, to keep out the worst of the autumn wind. It could be easy, for those who don't find this too mundane or aren't simply too tired, to while away quite some time. Certainly Vrianth isn't objecting, but then, she gets to fly.
Nor does K'del seem inclined to object. He clinks mugs with one of his companions, and says something that makes them both laugh, and the conversation continues from there. The way he's standing, he could linger for hours - he even /seems/ genuinely interested in everything that gets said, though perhaps that's his attempt to be charming. Outside, though Cadejoth will fly higher and higher, far beyond the protection of the valley, the winds aren't exactly something that bother /him/ - if anything, he seems to delight in soaring through them.
Vrianth? May soar up along one, riding its energy, but only to slip between it and the next, and then batter herself against a gust. When Cadejoth's near, she'll shape her path with an eye to his, the better to tempt crashing without /quite/ doing it... but when he's gone, she's off and away. Time passes, and there's more conversation, and then more ale, and Leova makes considerable progress on the polishing. Someone brings the old drum out, and there are a couple choruses of songs that lead into arguments over the lyrics that, for the most part, remain good-natured enough. No glasses get broken, although a white-bearded man has a story to tell when quite a few were, "...and then Hold Gabor thought they could charge double, damn their eyes." Another argument that could have escalated winds up with menfolk separating their wives, something about throwing versus picking. And then out come the rich oat crackers and the sweet cream, and some more settling in. Leova's kept tabs on her charge for the most part, but this time it's a closer check: ready to go?
K'del will even share a dance with one of the women, a brief turn about the room, during one of those songs, to the applause of those around - but just the one, laughing excuses made for the rest. He spreads his attentions throughout, spending a few minutes with different groups, an utter gentleman, pleasant and without airs. Leova's closer check comes as he leans up against a table, talking with a group of men, and he inclines his head just so: ready when you are. Another minute more, then he extricates himself, returning his now-empty mug as he begins his farewells. Outside, Cadejoth glides down to a landing, half reluctant, half eager to be on the way off again, curling his tail about his hindquarters as he waits for the riders to join them once again.
So well-behaved! If his assistant weyrlingmaster is surprised, it doesn't particularly show. Only, after her woodworking supplies are stashed again, after her own farewells and mug-returning and a trading of oddments into and out of that sack, when they're once again walking along that path but uphill this time, "Does it take much out of you? Or give you energy back." Vrianth, now, Vrianth hasn't landed yet, though she's gotten to where she's circling on high.
K'del's stride is lazy, his entire stance one of utter relaxation, as they make their way down the path. His hands are stuffed into his pockets again. "The latter, mostly. Find it so-- /satisfying/, I guess. Talking to people. Finding out about them. Making them smile. Probably be wired for hours, now, after all of that, but it was good. Glad you brought me." Cadejoth's head inclines up, to watch Vrianth, but he's apparently content to remain where he is at least for as long as it takes for the riders to make it back.
She has a low laugh, finding out and all. "Glad to," as it turns out. "Not like it's a /secret/, but... What'll you do? Wired." Vrianth cuts a tighter loop, a figure eight angling to become eighty-eight, and dips low above their heads before rushing on. Leova glances up, hesitates without missing a step, and then just flattens her hair back down.
"No, but not like I would've found it on my own, most like," grins the weyrling, glancing across at his assistant weyrlingmaster just in time for Vrianth's low dip. He ducks, unused to this, and looks mostly pretty embarrassed as he rises back up. His answer to her question comes a moment or two later, his 'cool' recovered. "Find someone who wants to expend some energy with me," he says, matter-of-factly, and in a way that, without being entirely innuendo, fairly neatly illustrates the activity intended by it.
"Maybe in a few Turns, you'll show someone else," Leova half-teases, like it should be some tradition to pass down. Only then she's, well. Laughing. Behind her free hand, only audible between the bootsteps over the bridge's stone, but still. Doesn't apologize for her lifemate, either, just lifts her face into the breeze while he's talking, the better to hide her smile, and raises the collar where it's slipped. "Not /too/ late," she assesses. "Should still be a decent selection." Like it's a buffet.
K'del keeps his head turned, watching, while she laughs. After a few seconds, he joins in as much as a grin is 'joining in' , head shaking just slightly. "Maybe I will," he tells her, almost defensive, but mostly, almost /entirely/, in a light tone, an amused tone, even. "Pass it on down the generations, as it were. No, not too late. Won't have a problem finding someone." Cocky. Unspoken, though the implication is there: I never do. "And you? Invigorated, or exhausted?"
"Got it from a wingmate, myself. You're just early," this with a dry sideways look, as though Leova guesses it might please him and says it anyway. And her? The greenrider gets her gloves on as she thinks about it, likely for the first time if her considering tone when she speaks is any indication. "In between. 's a good sort of energy, not bouncing off the walls. Won't have a problem getting to sleep, when I get around to it."
K'del laughs outright for that, and there's even something of a skip to his next step - that's energetic all right. But he's more restrained after that, waiting thoughtfully for her to consider her answer, and then share it. "Right. More of a satisfied kind of thing. Get that." His gaze seeks out the dragons through the darkness ahead, expression turning fond.
"Pretty much. Want a different sort of energy, I go somewhere else... /Finally/," because there lands Vrianth. At last. On the far side of Cadejoth. Of course. Poor Leova, to have to walk several paces further! Or maybe that's just how some of those tricks work: enough that the other person knows what you're getting at, not enough that they mind.
"Different places for different kinds of energy? Hm." K'del muses over this as he reaches up to rub Cadejoth's headknobs, the pale bronze leaning his head down to meet the hand. He does glance past the bronze, towards Leova and Vrianth, a faint smile on his face. /Poor/ Leova. But now, dragon greeted, the young man draws out his gloves, and, once these are on, climbs back up to his perch atop Cadejoth.
It's nothing upon which Leova elaborates, and soon enough she's busy getting a nuzzling of her own that's just enough to impede getting her helmet back on. Of course. And then later, Vrianth has to aim a light paw-swat at that easy-to-see tail of Cadejoth's, should it be twitching, just as her rider's buckling in. "... into /you/," is the half-audible murmur, and then Leova calls out, "Night, K'del! Cadejoth," like that's going to be it: a flight upward, a flight onward, and then three coughs till home.
Cadejoth's tail is, /of course/, twitching - and it flicks back, almost like a swat in return. "Good night," agrees his rider, all strapped in, helmet on, jacket buttoned up against the chill. "To both of you." Then: time for a bumpy launch, and definitely time for home.
Jiggedy jig.