Propriety
Who: Hattie, D'kai
What: Talk of running Holds, Weyrs, and dragons comes with a hasty lunch.
When: It is a summer afternoon, 13:49 of day 28, month 8, turn 18 of Interval 10
Where: Living Cavern, Fort Weyr
Summer in Fort brings warmth, sun, and -- shirtless riders. One in particular, who's looking sheepish under the chastising words of a matronly headwoman's assistant waving a spoon has his own tunic draped over an arm, a plate of food in another, and is ducking his head and nodding in time to punctuate her upbraiding, slipping in a word edgewise when he can. "Yes ma'am. No, no ma'am. I underst-- yes. Yes, ma'am. I will." And he slumps his shoulders, putting his plate down on a nearby tables to tug his shirt back /on/ again as the assistant departs with a firm, "Not when we're /eating/, young man. This is a respectable Weyr."
"Quite right, too," someone murmurs, eyes slanting towards the plate suddenly put down opposite theirs. A young woman of perhaps twenty turns, her dark frizzy hair pinned up and out of the way for once - considering the heat - looks away from poking food around her own plate and up towards the owner of the other. "I'm surprised you made it this far like that," she adds.
D'kai says, "Usually can get away with it long enough to eat. They don't usually bother me since I'm all," the response a bit muffled from under his tunic as he cants his torso left and right as though he could see the speaker through the fabric, "intimidating and things. Or so I hear." There, his shirt's properly on and he can peer down at the woman, and he motions the length of his six-and-a-half foot frame, before flops down into the seat behind his plate to twiddle with his fork for a second. "Get a better tan without a shirt on, too."
"I must've missed that," the woman remarks, staring at the man as though she expects something other than his height to present itself and be decidedly menacing. "Though how I could've missed you at all remains a mystery." She drops her fork carefully back to her plate and holds out a hand. "Hattie, of - well, formerly of - Ruatha River." Her gaze flicks towards the ceiling, but otherwise her expression remains pleasant enough.
The bronzerider appears appropriately bemused, too, re-emphasizing with a quirked grin, "Or so I hear." Since he doesn't seem too terribly threatening, especially not with his tongue half poking out of his mouth trying to stab a slippery piece of redfruit onto his fork, the effort which he promptly gives up in favour of sticking his hand across the table. "D'kai, of bronze Mikhuth, ride with Flint. Does that formerly-of mean now you're a Fortian, too? Since I'm a formerly-of, myself. Not Ruatha, mind you." Chatty, he.
"Well met," Hattie returns, as she shakes his hand and then retreats back to reclaim her fork. "And apparently so," she breathes. "My father sent me here. 'Spose I should stop saying that; makes me sound like I jump to whenever someone says so." She regards the bronzerider for a moment or two through narrowed eyes, trying to figure out where he might have been from without actually asking. It being a useless endeavour, the question appears as, "Formerly of where?"
He goes back to his redfruit, leaving the utensils behind to snatch it up with fingers instead and D'kai nods to stave off a response until he's finished chewing. "-- sent you here for what? The fabulous summers and ruggedly handsome bronzeriders?" Naturally these are things fathers send their daughters off to. He beams widely under her scrutiny and answers promptly, "Southern Boll, myself. I was a fisher by trade until I got picked up couple of turns ago."
A rare smile - more of a smirk than anything else - shows itself before any response, as Hattie leans one elbow on the table and rests her head on her hand. "Of course, what else does Fort have to offer?" The smirk vanishes a second later to be replaced by the proper answer. "Wants me to work. He figures I've done about all I can in the ways of learning to run a Hold, but the world isn't just made up of Holds, is it?" A slight shake of her head dismisses that subject. "Boll," Hattie echoes. "I've only been there a few times, when I was younger. Not spent much time there. Nice place, though, from what I remember."
Eyebrows lift; surprise, interest writes itself across his features for a moment before he's returned to that expression of serious contemplation of his plate. "Bitterly cold winters," D'kai offers himself, on what Fort's got, "Uh. Some brilliant Gathers, you know, in the area now since it's warm." What else, what else, he drums his fingers fast as though it was a question worthy of deep thought. "Running Weyrs, then, eh? That's quite the job." On Boll, with a proud straightening of his shoulders: "/Warm/ place. Not all humid like Ista, either."
"Yeah, one back home," of Gathers. "I'd been working on making sure everything would go well before- Well, I'm here now and it's nothing to do with me." Hattie makes a quick motion of her head from side to side. "I'm not so outrageously overbearing that I think I could run a Weyr," she says, protesting too much for that claim to be honest. "Not being a rider and all. Rather that I think he means me to see how it's done." She shrugs. "Whatever use it might be. Any Gathers of note that you've been to recently?"
Deke tips his own head, down then up again, asking curiously, "You didn't see that one through yourself? Shame, that, with all the hard work put into it." He shrugs lightly, skipping over that if she will too, and says, "Don't think the headwoman's ever a rider, actually. We're too busy -- ridering. Conflict of interests, really." Hmmm. Gathers. The bronzerider considers a moments. "Went to one -- uh, about exactly a month ago. Down Fort Hold way, but it was mostly fabric and things." Clearly not his own interest. "Though Mickey was glad enough to take a look at it all."
"It was my understanding that the Headwoman still answers to the Weyrleaders," Hattie answers, pushing her plate away and to one side. "Can't eat much in this weather," she mutters, before going on to say, "Though, from what I've seen, they all run aspects of the Weyr. Guess we all answer to someone, whatever we do." Her head tilts a little to one and she studies the bronzerider once more. "A bronze who likes fabrics?" she questions. "Forgive me, I don't yet know much in the way of dragons besides watching them sometimes."
"Sure, yeah, suppose they do. Or. Weyrwoman, more like, since she's the one who does all the --" he motions unhelpfully, "-- proper Weyr things. He's concerned with the wings, mostly." There's today's lesson in Weyr government from the man, if Hattie can sort out that the 'he' D'kai's referring to is the Weyrleader. "Everyone's gotta be doing /something/, though, or else nothing runs like it's supposed to." Then he's rolling his eyes slightly. "Oh, yeah. He's got a big, I don't know, tent thing. Thing for tents. So: fabric."
"...Thing for tents..." Hattie repeats. "I guess if you've gotta have a thing for something, tents are pretty harmless. Could be worse." Though she can't seem to come up with any examples. "As long as he doesn't make you sew some together yourself," is offered a bit carefully, just in-case he, well, does. "I've not spent much time studying any of the dragons, which is a bit silly being here amongst them all. I thought it might be rude to stare for too long, for a start."
D'kai might be able to think of a few worse ones, judging by the twitch of his mouth and a breathy chuckle of his, but he doesn't supply them to the woman, instead just wagging his head. "Oh, and he does. When we were weyrlings, my ma sent me a whole ship's worth of sailing canvas and I had to sew it all up nice for him over his couch, still in the barracks. /Man/." The memory of it has his fingers flexing, his grin widening. "Don't think you could study just one and get a proper idea, anyway. They've all pretty distinct personalities, though if you're looking for a model I'm sure Mickey'd let you stare at him all day if you like." Still a bronze, after all.
Hattie can only blink for a couple of moments, not sure whether to laugh or not. She settles for gawking for a second or two instead and hastily chokes back a snort of laughter. "I bet that made you stand out good and proper," she comments, quickly back to serious, however droll her words might sound. "The impression - excuse the pun - I'm getting is that they're just as unique as people. The dragons. Might be wrong, but..." The young woman slowly inclines her head. "If I have to stare, I'll try and do it as politely as possible. Don't want to set a bad example or anything."
The bronzerider scratches at his chin, peers down at his now-empty plate as he replies, "Oh, yeah. Some of 'em are as different as night and day. Mean, they're all dragons, but they're..." For lack of a better elucidation, he trails off into silence until an unexpected clap on his shoulder has him visibly startled. The bluerider who's come up grins easily, says, "Drills in five, Deke," and with that D'kai half-starts from his seat. "Oh, that's right. Gotta run. You see Mikhuth out and about, though, you feel free to look as hard as you like. Not much for propriety around here." Certainly not for him, at least, who pulls off his tunic again as he heads out.
"I, er, will, thank you." Though she too is a little startled by the interruption, Hattie's careful /not/ to stare at the semi-clothed bronzerider as he heads out and just as careful not to head in that same direction when she leaves only a couple of minutes later, lest anyone think she's off after him. For that wouldn't do, not at all.
What: Talk of running Holds, Weyrs, and dragons comes with a hasty lunch.
When: It is a summer afternoon, 13:49 of day 28, month 8, turn 18 of Interval 10
Where: Living Cavern, Fort Weyr
Summer in Fort brings warmth, sun, and -- shirtless riders. One in particular, who's looking sheepish under the chastising words of a matronly headwoman's assistant waving a spoon has his own tunic draped over an arm, a plate of food in another, and is ducking his head and nodding in time to punctuate her upbraiding, slipping in a word edgewise when he can. "Yes ma'am. No, no ma'am. I underst-- yes. Yes, ma'am. I will." And he slumps his shoulders, putting his plate down on a nearby tables to tug his shirt back /on/ again as the assistant departs with a firm, "Not when we're /eating/, young man. This is a respectable Weyr."
"Quite right, too," someone murmurs, eyes slanting towards the plate suddenly put down opposite theirs. A young woman of perhaps twenty turns, her dark frizzy hair pinned up and out of the way for once - considering the heat - looks away from poking food around her own plate and up towards the owner of the other. "I'm surprised you made it this far like that," she adds.
D'kai says, "Usually can get away with it long enough to eat. They don't usually bother me since I'm all," the response a bit muffled from under his tunic as he cants his torso left and right as though he could see the speaker through the fabric, "intimidating and things. Or so I hear." There, his shirt's properly on and he can peer down at the woman, and he motions the length of his six-and-a-half foot frame, before flops down into the seat behind his plate to twiddle with his fork for a second. "Get a better tan without a shirt on, too."
"I must've missed that," the woman remarks, staring at the man as though she expects something other than his height to present itself and be decidedly menacing. "Though how I could've missed you at all remains a mystery." She drops her fork carefully back to her plate and holds out a hand. "Hattie, of - well, formerly of - Ruatha River." Her gaze flicks towards the ceiling, but otherwise her expression remains pleasant enough.
The bronzerider appears appropriately bemused, too, re-emphasizing with a quirked grin, "Or so I hear." Since he doesn't seem too terribly threatening, especially not with his tongue half poking out of his mouth trying to stab a slippery piece of redfruit onto his fork, the effort which he promptly gives up in favour of sticking his hand across the table. "D'kai, of bronze Mikhuth, ride with Flint. Does that formerly-of mean now you're a Fortian, too? Since I'm a formerly-of, myself. Not Ruatha, mind you." Chatty, he.
"Well met," Hattie returns, as she shakes his hand and then retreats back to reclaim her fork. "And apparently so," she breathes. "My father sent me here. 'Spose I should stop saying that; makes me sound like I jump to whenever someone says so." She regards the bronzerider for a moment or two through narrowed eyes, trying to figure out where he might have been from without actually asking. It being a useless endeavour, the question appears as, "Formerly of where?"
He goes back to his redfruit, leaving the utensils behind to snatch it up with fingers instead and D'kai nods to stave off a response until he's finished chewing. "-- sent you here for what? The fabulous summers and ruggedly handsome bronzeriders?" Naturally these are things fathers send their daughters off to. He beams widely under her scrutiny and answers promptly, "Southern Boll, myself. I was a fisher by trade until I got picked up couple of turns ago."
A rare smile - more of a smirk than anything else - shows itself before any response, as Hattie leans one elbow on the table and rests her head on her hand. "Of course, what else does Fort have to offer?" The smirk vanishes a second later to be replaced by the proper answer. "Wants me to work. He figures I've done about all I can in the ways of learning to run a Hold, but the world isn't just made up of Holds, is it?" A slight shake of her head dismisses that subject. "Boll," Hattie echoes. "I've only been there a few times, when I was younger. Not spent much time there. Nice place, though, from what I remember."
Eyebrows lift; surprise, interest writes itself across his features for a moment before he's returned to that expression of serious contemplation of his plate. "Bitterly cold winters," D'kai offers himself, on what Fort's got, "Uh. Some brilliant Gathers, you know, in the area now since it's warm." What else, what else, he drums his fingers fast as though it was a question worthy of deep thought. "Running Weyrs, then, eh? That's quite the job." On Boll, with a proud straightening of his shoulders: "/Warm/ place. Not all humid like Ista, either."
"Yeah, one back home," of Gathers. "I'd been working on making sure everything would go well before- Well, I'm here now and it's nothing to do with me." Hattie makes a quick motion of her head from side to side. "I'm not so outrageously overbearing that I think I could run a Weyr," she says, protesting too much for that claim to be honest. "Not being a rider and all. Rather that I think he means me to see how it's done." She shrugs. "Whatever use it might be. Any Gathers of note that you've been to recently?"
Deke tips his own head, down then up again, asking curiously, "You didn't see that one through yourself? Shame, that, with all the hard work put into it." He shrugs lightly, skipping over that if she will too, and says, "Don't think the headwoman's ever a rider, actually. We're too busy -- ridering. Conflict of interests, really." Hmmm. Gathers. The bronzerider considers a moments. "Went to one -- uh, about exactly a month ago. Down Fort Hold way, but it was mostly fabric and things." Clearly not his own interest. "Though Mickey was glad enough to take a look at it all."
"It was my understanding that the Headwoman still answers to the Weyrleaders," Hattie answers, pushing her plate away and to one side. "Can't eat much in this weather," she mutters, before going on to say, "Though, from what I've seen, they all run aspects of the Weyr. Guess we all answer to someone, whatever we do." Her head tilts a little to one and she studies the bronzerider once more. "A bronze who likes fabrics?" she questions. "Forgive me, I don't yet know much in the way of dragons besides watching them sometimes."
"Sure, yeah, suppose they do. Or. Weyrwoman, more like, since she's the one who does all the --" he motions unhelpfully, "-- proper Weyr things. He's concerned with the wings, mostly." There's today's lesson in Weyr government from the man, if Hattie can sort out that the 'he' D'kai's referring to is the Weyrleader. "Everyone's gotta be doing /something/, though, or else nothing runs like it's supposed to." Then he's rolling his eyes slightly. "Oh, yeah. He's got a big, I don't know, tent thing. Thing for tents. So: fabric."
"...Thing for tents..." Hattie repeats. "I guess if you've gotta have a thing for something, tents are pretty harmless. Could be worse." Though she can't seem to come up with any examples. "As long as he doesn't make you sew some together yourself," is offered a bit carefully, just in-case he, well, does. "I've not spent much time studying any of the dragons, which is a bit silly being here amongst them all. I thought it might be rude to stare for too long, for a start."
D'kai might be able to think of a few worse ones, judging by the twitch of his mouth and a breathy chuckle of his, but he doesn't supply them to the woman, instead just wagging his head. "Oh, and he does. When we were weyrlings, my ma sent me a whole ship's worth of sailing canvas and I had to sew it all up nice for him over his couch, still in the barracks. /Man/." The memory of it has his fingers flexing, his grin widening. "Don't think you could study just one and get a proper idea, anyway. They've all pretty distinct personalities, though if you're looking for a model I'm sure Mickey'd let you stare at him all day if you like." Still a bronze, after all.
Hattie can only blink for a couple of moments, not sure whether to laugh or not. She settles for gawking for a second or two instead and hastily chokes back a snort of laughter. "I bet that made you stand out good and proper," she comments, quickly back to serious, however droll her words might sound. "The impression - excuse the pun - I'm getting is that they're just as unique as people. The dragons. Might be wrong, but..." The young woman slowly inclines her head. "If I have to stare, I'll try and do it as politely as possible. Don't want to set a bad example or anything."
The bronzerider scratches at his chin, peers down at his now-empty plate as he replies, "Oh, yeah. Some of 'em are as different as night and day. Mean, they're all dragons, but they're..." For lack of a better elucidation, he trails off into silence until an unexpected clap on his shoulder has him visibly startled. The bluerider who's come up grins easily, says, "Drills in five, Deke," and with that D'kai half-starts from his seat. "Oh, that's right. Gotta run. You see Mikhuth out and about, though, you feel free to look as hard as you like. Not much for propriety around here." Certainly not for him, at least, who pulls off his tunic again as he heads out.
"I, er, will, thank you." Though she too is a little startled by the interruption, Hattie's careful /not/ to stare at the semi-clothed bronzerider as he heads out and just as careful not to head in that same direction when she leaves only a couple of minutes later, lest anyone think she's off after him. For that wouldn't do, not at all.