Log: Not Quite A Stranger
RL: April 9, 2008.
VR: Day 16, month 12, Turn 15, of the Interval. It is a winter evening.
Leova torments some ale, but she's happy to see P'draig too. Vrianth pops some bubbles, but Jekzith shares anyway.
Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr (#7315RIJ$)
Large with high ceilings, this cavern's most striking features are the little nooks and crannies along the perimeter and the seemingly dangerous jagged overhang of stalactites just above the hearth. More corners have been made from six, slightly curved walls with half-razed stone blocks rising from the ground as well as outcroppings of hollowed walls, making the layout cumbersome for a private dwelling, however decorative curtain rods and opaque fabrics have been installed to turn each defect in the cavern's shape into its own private corner.
Near the hearth, beneath the stone fixture hanging from the ceilings, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches have been set, the upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and even warmer hues of rich colors for winter. Small tables, fit for up to four people each, litter the landscape, while a wooden bar construction claims the wall where a dolly window to the kitchens is unlatched. The cabinetry installed has glass panels, so the various liquors available are visible.
Evening's fallen. It might have been time for curfew, a few months prior. Right now, though, weyrlings are responsible for themselves. More or less. Which is why one weyrling has her elbows on the bar, torturing a tall brown glass of ale by blowing bubbles through it with a reed straw. Her jacket's the same, folded over the stool next to her. Her hair's shorter, her build even stronger. And, of course, tonight there are more seats available than there were in that tavern back when.
One Fortian Weyrlingmaster swings into the bar and pauses in the threshold, scanning the room at a leisurely pace, one shoulder propped in the curved arc of the ledge-entrance. It's thus his gaze lands on Leova and he blinks once, then grins slowly and pushes away from his rocky shoulder-prop to amble towards the weyrling. On the way he nods and trades a casual greeting or two with some familiar faces. The clearing of P'draig's throat announces his presence just before words do, the brownrider hovering behind that jacket-clad stool. "Mind if I sit here? I'll buy the next round." Jauntily offered, just like back then.
Realization doesn't sink in right at first, though it's not because Leova's been served any more alcohol than what's before her. She starts to reach for her jacket to move it, since it hadn't proved itself equal to the task of keeping her space, but then. Hadn't there been plenty of room, not too long ago? She looks. Places, plenty of places. And then she looks at the man, a dubious must-be-mistaking-me-for-someone-else in her eyes and nearly on her lips, and that's when it hits. She laughs. "Welcome." And promptly moves her jacket to the other side.
P'draig just waits through those iterations of changing expression and finally grins widely, winks even in answer to that laugh and the welcome. The stool squeaks a little in protest as the brownrider climbs onto it rather than easing into a seat like a normal person. "Heya. Good to see you're out and about for ale again. I'll take that to mean you and your green're doing well. Vrianth, right? Congratulations too." And Paddy offers over a belated handshake even as he flips a quarter onto the counter with his other hand and orders an ale. Thereafter he starts to shrug out of his own jacket to fold it onto the bar.
"Vrianth," Leova agrees, that smile broadening as much as any still-smitten weyrling's can, and maybe then some. Leaving the poor ale alone long enough to reach for his hand, "Thanks. Might have seen her even, if you came here through the bowl? Curled up with Ish... with another green, smaller, and a blue." But then, it's dark. "Hope you're managing to keep busy, yourself."
Eyes crinkled at the corners for that smitten-ness, recognizing it, P'draig shakes hands firmly, hands still oddly callused even after so many turns of dragon oil. "Probably did yeah, but didn't know it was her." His eyes get that look to them, of a rider connecting with dragon and another slow smile crosses his face. "Pretty," he notes after a moment, then blinks, let's Jekzith's view of the Bowl from the lake go and nods thanks to the barkeep as a frothy mug of ale's set down before him. "I don't usually have problems with staying busy," replies the brownrider with a chuckle. "You know, between duties and a toddler and other stuff."
Leova gives him a sidelong look. "Because you can really tell. In the dark." Then again, maybe he can! "You in the wings or something? Least, I didn't hear anything about a gold going up over there. Can't remember whether Milani mentioned a toddler." Or whether she was paying attention if she did.
"Jekzith can," P'draig points out, drawing his mug in towards himself and takes a healthy swig, winding up with a foamy white mustache for his trouble. "Wing. T'rien's. And Palia, my daughter, almost two turns old." Beat. "Flight-born." He eyecrosses looking down at the current decoration of his upper lip and swipes at it with his tongue.
"So tell me, what's pretty for Jekzith." Leova ignores his redecorating in favor of blowing a few more bubbles through the ale, making it that much more fizzy before it deflates. "One of those? Congratulations. Mother must like you."
Vrianth senses that Jekzith sends a single iridescent, blue-tinged bubble floating just past the olive green's mental 'nose', a hint of delighted laughter behind it.
Jekzith senses Vrianth's attention, an indistinct near-subliminal buzz, abruptly snaps into place. Bubble. Someone's teasing. She gives the bubble one of her little sparks: does it move? Does it pop? Does it get swallowed up inside?
"Green and gold. Preferably long of tail." P'draig summarizes Jekzith's preferences fairly succinctly and leans over the bar to dive for a napkin to deal with the rest of the foam. Her statement about Illya's mother though halts his movement and a little twitch just under his eye follows, along with a slight setting of his jaw. "At the time, she was fairly put out with me actually." Fingers find napkin and he resettles on the stool, dabbing at his mouth and settles a more serious look on Leova. "Winning a flight doesn't always have anything to do with whether or not the riders like each other. Even when you're tightly wound like Jek and me." His gaze slips on past Leova to the darkened Bowl where presumably Jekzith lurks somewhere. When his focus returns to Leova, it settles on the straw-bubbled ale. "Okay ... are you trying to win a make-the-ale-fizz-over contest?" Asked curiously and humorously both, the teasing light.
"Really." Leova doesn't sound too impressed, but she does sound amused. At least for that moment, until P'draig's tone changes. She isn't shy about meeting his gaze, though she does keep the glass with her as she turns to him, chin resting on the tip of the reed until she speaks. "But. She kept it. Didn't have to, they're telling us. Well, some of us." More bubbles. A drink. For the teasing, she mutters something that turns out to be, "Turnday. Couple days ago. Forgot."
Vrianth senses that Jekzith sends a second bubble to chase after the first when he senses that hook of attention captured. The first grows bigger, infused with gold and the second pushes through and into it, spinning in opposite directions. << Hello there. >>
My, he can spin bubbles and talk at the same time. But Vrianth lets herself be entertained, accompanied by a dim sense of Ishawith shifting under her chin. << You must be Jekzith. >> She had the key: now, here's the lock. (Vrianth to Jekzith)
P'draig's jaw tightens furter at continuing statements about Illya and he looks away again, fingers tapping on the bar's surface. "Maybe I'll tell you all about that some other time. But no. She didn't have to. Not really a good topic for a forgotten turnday though." And with that he summons up a smile and tilts his mug towards the weyrling. "If you forgot, it probably wasn't memorable, so I'll hope today's been a good not-turnday."
"Fair," says Leova, looking at P'draig even when he looks away from her. Maybe even more. Though she does accept the toast when he turns back, with a smile even if it's brief. "About the same as yesterday, maybe the day before that. Suppose there are worse things to forget."
Vrianth senses that Jekzith floats more bubbles, all shades of the rainbow now all around his sense of the young green. << Yep! P'draig's mine. And yours is ... >> he has to concentrate to nab the picture from P'draig. *Leova*. Just as she is right now, sat on a bar stool blowing bubbles into her ale. Draconic laughter rings brightly through his head, shared with her. << I like that she blows bubbles too. Do you do it? Do you like it? >> Curious, but not pushy.
Jekzith senses Vrianth spark-spark-maybe-pops enough to give herself some breathing room, but once she has that, is agreeable enough. Especially, yes, when Jekzith gives her that image of her lifemate: like what she sees, and yet... different. Somehow. Vrianth is intrigued. Her reply is graveled over with that much more humor, lit up in green, << Not in what she drinks. Do you taste his? >>
His profile for the duration of that look away betrays barely contained emotions, complicated ones at that. But then, it was all so brief. "Happy not-turnday then," P'draig says genially enough, whatever stormclouds gathered now largely dispelled. Forcibly so perhaps. And the edge of his mug clinks against her glass. "How many is this now, then? Or wait, I'm not supposed to ask that. At any rate, are you worried you're going to get too silly-headed if you have too much of it, or is the blowing just for the fun of it?"
Vrianth senses that Jekzith glitters more sparks behind those popped bubbles and peeks out from between them. Peek-a-boo. And there he is, having edged away from the lake to come closer across the Bowl, though he's not right next to the cluster of clutchmates. << In the water? I do that. For the fun of it. >> Echoing his rider's word choices, though he might not be aware of it. << It's ... earthy. Like the water at the bottom of a lake. But sweeter and it bubbles against his tongue. I've never drunk it myself. >>
"Just the first. You can ask whatever." Doesn't mean she'll answer. And then Leova shrugs half-heartedly. "Mostly, I don't know. Something to do. Makes it last longer, if nothing else." She takes a long pull from the straw. "Though I should get back to the barracks one of these days. Does he taste much? Through you."
Abruptly all the bubbles are gone. At least, from Vrianth's end of things. She's looking at him now, head lifted from Ishawith who's looking too, her eyes dark jewels in the night. << Show me? >> His rider's. Through Jekzith. That. (Vrianth to Jekzith)
"Maybe I'll stick to what my mother taught me then," P'draig says with a laugh and lifts his mug for another long drink. He eyes Leova over the rim of the mug thoughtfully. "Supposedly, drinking beer with a straw makes it go to your head faster," he notes once the mug's dropped out of the way. "At any rate, next time I come by, I'll make sure to bring a gift. Turndays only happen once a turn after all." That's followed with an impish smile that fades only a little at mention of Barracks. "Yeah, you're not quite out of the woods yet on curfews and so on and so on, right?" He's squinting to recollect timing from Hatching to now and then blinks at her once, gives his ale a sheepish look and nearly finishes it on the next swallow, loosens his hand from the mug and overlays it on the other, finges laced together closely. "Me and him. Like this. He's like a buzz in the back of my head. All the time." There's another short break in the conversation as Paddy finishes off his ale and he opens his mouth likely to say something very different from what comes out. "Mum's ready to hand Palia off. Best go see to that, head home. So I'll see you around Leova, probably next time I bring my daughter up." He's got one last smile for her and a clap to her shoulde, light if it lands and he collects his jacket before heading out to collect his kid.
"Can't argue about a man's mother," Leova agrees, and then it's her turn to do some eyeing, the straw this time. Faster to her head? She shrugs and drinks again. "Don't have to, P'draig. Not that it wouldn't be nice. Not quite a stranger, right? And right, not out of it, or not out from everything anyway, though Lujayn's got her weyr at least." /Buzz/ gets him another considering look, in time that she notices him heading toward her and her drink doesn't spill. "Evening. Best to Palia. And Jekzith." Of course. And then she turns back. Sits some more. And messes with the rest of her ale until it's gone entirely flat and there's no excuse not to go back.
Vrianth senses that Jekzith shades muted with disappointed at vanished bubbles, floating one last one tentatively around. But then she has that question for him and he's pulling the taste of ale along the link, amber and white bubbles sliding down his throat and over to hers, leaving behind a pop pop tingle as they break across tongue and leave behind a faintly bittersweet aftertaste. << Like that. >> There's distraction though and the brown sliding closer, coming right up to the ledge to meet P'draig to carry him upward. << We need to leave. We have to get *Palia*. But we'll be back again. I can show you more sometime. Then. If you want. >> Promised.
He can keep that last one for all of her, as long as it's not hiding too much, especially with the disappointment that she didn't exactly intend.. but then! Jekzith shares, and she might not notice half a dozen bubbles, half a hundred, even beyond those amber and white that are there already. She drinks it in, looking down at him, at the dragon's rider when he too comes by. << Thank you. Jekzith. >> Pure and aware and pleased. (Vrianth to Jekzith)
Over his shoulder, just before he ducks out: "Nope, not quite a stranger. Hope you get yours soon - that'd be a good turnday present." A loose salute and the night swallows him up for the return to Fort with his precious cargo.
VR: Day 16, month 12, Turn 15, of the Interval. It is a winter evening.
Leova torments some ale, but she's happy to see P'draig too. Vrianth pops some bubbles, but Jekzith shares anyway.
Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr (#7315RIJ$)
Large with high ceilings, this cavern's most striking features are the little nooks and crannies along the perimeter and the seemingly dangerous jagged overhang of stalactites just above the hearth. More corners have been made from six, slightly curved walls with half-razed stone blocks rising from the ground as well as outcroppings of hollowed walls, making the layout cumbersome for a private dwelling, however decorative curtain rods and opaque fabrics have been installed to turn each defect in the cavern's shape into its own private corner.
Near the hearth, beneath the stone fixture hanging from the ceilings, a thick rug with a low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches have been set, the upholstery and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm autumnals in fall, and even warmer hues of rich colors for winter. Small tables, fit for up to four people each, litter the landscape, while a wooden bar construction claims the wall where a dolly window to the kitchens is unlatched. The cabinetry installed has glass panels, so the various liquors available are visible.
Evening's fallen. It might have been time for curfew, a few months prior. Right now, though, weyrlings are responsible for themselves. More or less. Which is why one weyrling has her elbows on the bar, torturing a tall brown glass of ale by blowing bubbles through it with a reed straw. Her jacket's the same, folded over the stool next to her. Her hair's shorter, her build even stronger. And, of course, tonight there are more seats available than there were in that tavern back when.
One Fortian Weyrlingmaster swings into the bar and pauses in the threshold, scanning the room at a leisurely pace, one shoulder propped in the curved arc of the ledge-entrance. It's thus his gaze lands on Leova and he blinks once, then grins slowly and pushes away from his rocky shoulder-prop to amble towards the weyrling. On the way he nods and trades a casual greeting or two with some familiar faces. The clearing of P'draig's throat announces his presence just before words do, the brownrider hovering behind that jacket-clad stool. "Mind if I sit here? I'll buy the next round." Jauntily offered, just like back then.
Realization doesn't sink in right at first, though it's not because Leova's been served any more alcohol than what's before her. She starts to reach for her jacket to move it, since it hadn't proved itself equal to the task of keeping her space, but then. Hadn't there been plenty of room, not too long ago? She looks. Places, plenty of places. And then she looks at the man, a dubious must-be-mistaking-me-for-someone-else in her eyes and nearly on her lips, and that's when it hits. She laughs. "Welcome." And promptly moves her jacket to the other side.
P'draig just waits through those iterations of changing expression and finally grins widely, winks even in answer to that laugh and the welcome. The stool squeaks a little in protest as the brownrider climbs onto it rather than easing into a seat like a normal person. "Heya. Good to see you're out and about for ale again. I'll take that to mean you and your green're doing well. Vrianth, right? Congratulations too." And Paddy offers over a belated handshake even as he flips a quarter onto the counter with his other hand and orders an ale. Thereafter he starts to shrug out of his own jacket to fold it onto the bar.
"Vrianth," Leova agrees, that smile broadening as much as any still-smitten weyrling's can, and maybe then some. Leaving the poor ale alone long enough to reach for his hand, "Thanks. Might have seen her even, if you came here through the bowl? Curled up with Ish... with another green, smaller, and a blue." But then, it's dark. "Hope you're managing to keep busy, yourself."
Eyes crinkled at the corners for that smitten-ness, recognizing it, P'draig shakes hands firmly, hands still oddly callused even after so many turns of dragon oil. "Probably did yeah, but didn't know it was her." His eyes get that look to them, of a rider connecting with dragon and another slow smile crosses his face. "Pretty," he notes after a moment, then blinks, let's Jekzith's view of the Bowl from the lake go and nods thanks to the barkeep as a frothy mug of ale's set down before him. "I don't usually have problems with staying busy," replies the brownrider with a chuckle. "You know, between duties and a toddler and other stuff."
Leova gives him a sidelong look. "Because you can really tell. In the dark." Then again, maybe he can! "You in the wings or something? Least, I didn't hear anything about a gold going up over there. Can't remember whether Milani mentioned a toddler." Or whether she was paying attention if she did.
"Jekzith can," P'draig points out, drawing his mug in towards himself and takes a healthy swig, winding up with a foamy white mustache for his trouble. "Wing. T'rien's. And Palia, my daughter, almost two turns old." Beat. "Flight-born." He eyecrosses looking down at the current decoration of his upper lip and swipes at it with his tongue.
"So tell me, what's pretty for Jekzith." Leova ignores his redecorating in favor of blowing a few more bubbles through the ale, making it that much more fizzy before it deflates. "One of those? Congratulations. Mother must like you."
Vrianth senses that Jekzith sends a single iridescent, blue-tinged bubble floating just past the olive green's mental 'nose', a hint of delighted laughter behind it.
Jekzith senses Vrianth's attention, an indistinct near-subliminal buzz, abruptly snaps into place. Bubble. Someone's teasing. She gives the bubble one of her little sparks: does it move? Does it pop? Does it get swallowed up inside?
"Green and gold. Preferably long of tail." P'draig summarizes Jekzith's preferences fairly succinctly and leans over the bar to dive for a napkin to deal with the rest of the foam. Her statement about Illya's mother though halts his movement and a little twitch just under his eye follows, along with a slight setting of his jaw. "At the time, she was fairly put out with me actually." Fingers find napkin and he resettles on the stool, dabbing at his mouth and settles a more serious look on Leova. "Winning a flight doesn't always have anything to do with whether or not the riders like each other. Even when you're tightly wound like Jek and me." His gaze slips on past Leova to the darkened Bowl where presumably Jekzith lurks somewhere. When his focus returns to Leova, it settles on the straw-bubbled ale. "Okay ... are you trying to win a make-the-ale-fizz-over contest?" Asked curiously and humorously both, the teasing light.
"Really." Leova doesn't sound too impressed, but she does sound amused. At least for that moment, until P'draig's tone changes. She isn't shy about meeting his gaze, though she does keep the glass with her as she turns to him, chin resting on the tip of the reed until she speaks. "But. She kept it. Didn't have to, they're telling us. Well, some of us." More bubbles. A drink. For the teasing, she mutters something that turns out to be, "Turnday. Couple days ago. Forgot."
Vrianth senses that Jekzith sends a second bubble to chase after the first when he senses that hook of attention captured. The first grows bigger, infused with gold and the second pushes through and into it, spinning in opposite directions. << Hello there. >>
My, he can spin bubbles and talk at the same time. But Vrianth lets herself be entertained, accompanied by a dim sense of Ishawith shifting under her chin. << You must be Jekzith. >> She had the key: now, here's the lock. (Vrianth to Jekzith)
P'draig's jaw tightens furter at continuing statements about Illya and he looks away again, fingers tapping on the bar's surface. "Maybe I'll tell you all about that some other time. But no. She didn't have to. Not really a good topic for a forgotten turnday though." And with that he summons up a smile and tilts his mug towards the weyrling. "If you forgot, it probably wasn't memorable, so I'll hope today's been a good not-turnday."
"Fair," says Leova, looking at P'draig even when he looks away from her. Maybe even more. Though she does accept the toast when he turns back, with a smile even if it's brief. "About the same as yesterday, maybe the day before that. Suppose there are worse things to forget."
Vrianth senses that Jekzith floats more bubbles, all shades of the rainbow now all around his sense of the young green. << Yep! P'draig's mine. And yours is ... >> he has to concentrate to nab the picture from P'draig. *Leova*. Just as she is right now, sat on a bar stool blowing bubbles into her ale. Draconic laughter rings brightly through his head, shared with her. << I like that she blows bubbles too. Do you do it? Do you like it? >> Curious, but not pushy.
Jekzith senses Vrianth spark-spark-maybe-pops enough to give herself some breathing room, but once she has that, is agreeable enough. Especially, yes, when Jekzith gives her that image of her lifemate: like what she sees, and yet... different. Somehow. Vrianth is intrigued. Her reply is graveled over with that much more humor, lit up in green, << Not in what she drinks. Do you taste his? >>
His profile for the duration of that look away betrays barely contained emotions, complicated ones at that. But then, it was all so brief. "Happy not-turnday then," P'draig says genially enough, whatever stormclouds gathered now largely dispelled. Forcibly so perhaps. And the edge of his mug clinks against her glass. "How many is this now, then? Or wait, I'm not supposed to ask that. At any rate, are you worried you're going to get too silly-headed if you have too much of it, or is the blowing just for the fun of it?"
Vrianth senses that Jekzith glitters more sparks behind those popped bubbles and peeks out from between them. Peek-a-boo. And there he is, having edged away from the lake to come closer across the Bowl, though he's not right next to the cluster of clutchmates. << In the water? I do that. For the fun of it. >> Echoing his rider's word choices, though he might not be aware of it. << It's ... earthy. Like the water at the bottom of a lake. But sweeter and it bubbles against his tongue. I've never drunk it myself. >>
"Just the first. You can ask whatever." Doesn't mean she'll answer. And then Leova shrugs half-heartedly. "Mostly, I don't know. Something to do. Makes it last longer, if nothing else." She takes a long pull from the straw. "Though I should get back to the barracks one of these days. Does he taste much? Through you."
Abruptly all the bubbles are gone. At least, from Vrianth's end of things. She's looking at him now, head lifted from Ishawith who's looking too, her eyes dark jewels in the night. << Show me? >> His rider's. Through Jekzith. That. (Vrianth to Jekzith)
"Maybe I'll stick to what my mother taught me then," P'draig says with a laugh and lifts his mug for another long drink. He eyes Leova over the rim of the mug thoughtfully. "Supposedly, drinking beer with a straw makes it go to your head faster," he notes once the mug's dropped out of the way. "At any rate, next time I come by, I'll make sure to bring a gift. Turndays only happen once a turn after all." That's followed with an impish smile that fades only a little at mention of Barracks. "Yeah, you're not quite out of the woods yet on curfews and so on and so on, right?" He's squinting to recollect timing from Hatching to now and then blinks at her once, gives his ale a sheepish look and nearly finishes it on the next swallow, loosens his hand from the mug and overlays it on the other, finges laced together closely. "Me and him. Like this. He's like a buzz in the back of my head. All the time." There's another short break in the conversation as Paddy finishes off his ale and he opens his mouth likely to say something very different from what comes out. "Mum's ready to hand Palia off. Best go see to that, head home. So I'll see you around Leova, probably next time I bring my daughter up." He's got one last smile for her and a clap to her shoulde, light if it lands and he collects his jacket before heading out to collect his kid.
"Can't argue about a man's mother," Leova agrees, and then it's her turn to do some eyeing, the straw this time. Faster to her head? She shrugs and drinks again. "Don't have to, P'draig. Not that it wouldn't be nice. Not quite a stranger, right? And right, not out of it, or not out from everything anyway, though Lujayn's got her weyr at least." /Buzz/ gets him another considering look, in time that she notices him heading toward her and her drink doesn't spill. "Evening. Best to Palia. And Jekzith." Of course. And then she turns back. Sits some more. And messes with the rest of her ale until it's gone entirely flat and there's no excuse not to go back.
Vrianth senses that Jekzith shades muted with disappointed at vanished bubbles, floating one last one tentatively around. But then she has that question for him and he's pulling the taste of ale along the link, amber and white bubbles sliding down his throat and over to hers, leaving behind a pop pop tingle as they break across tongue and leave behind a faintly bittersweet aftertaste. << Like that. >> There's distraction though and the brown sliding closer, coming right up to the ledge to meet P'draig to carry him upward. << We need to leave. We have to get *Palia*. But we'll be back again. I can show you more sometime. Then. If you want. >> Promised.
He can keep that last one for all of her, as long as it's not hiding too much, especially with the disappointment that she didn't exactly intend.. but then! Jekzith shares, and she might not notice half a dozen bubbles, half a hundred, even beyond those amber and white that are there already. She drinks it in, looking down at him, at the dragon's rider when he too comes by. << Thank you. Jekzith. >> Pure and aware and pleased. (Vrianth to Jekzith)
Over his shoulder, just before he ducks out: "Nope, not quite a stranger. Hope you get yours soon - that'd be a good turnday present." A loose salute and the night swallows him up for the return to Fort with his precious cargo.