A reunion of sorts.

[nikoth]

A'son goes for some late night eating and runs into three women, with differing results.



Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr
With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life.

It's classic. Absolutely. Classic. Poor innocent greenrider tucked up in an oversized chair, leaning against one of its arms with her legs hooked over the other, boots a-dangle. Knife in her hands. Partly-carved block of wood in her hands. She's staring at them with a furrow in her brow, like they just stopped talking. Or just started.

There's the stamping of feet coming from the caverns beyond this one. Within minutes A'son appears, dressed in pants and a shirt that are covered completely with blue paint. It's even on his face, his hands and streaked through his hair. The only thing not infected is his jacket, which seems to have escaped the attack.

People come and go. It's what they do, around here. Stamping isn't enough to make Leova look up today, to spot the lone survivor of the alien hordes. Not yet. Instead, all at once, she pokes the knife tip-first into the wood so it wavers with a sproinging noise: not the sword and the stone, but what can you do.

And as it is, lone greenriders in chairs doing woodcarvings don't grasp ones attention quite so well. The only present member of the blue man group heads over to the hearth, filling the bowl he brought with him. He takes a little taste of his stew, blowing lightly on the spoon before fully dedicating himself to eating. With a contented sigh he drops down into a cozy looking chair, sinking down.

And something about the motion... it's not so much the stew-getting, because people do that around here too, but the sitting. Not that they don't do that either, but. Blue. Paint. All of a sudden Leova's lurching up, or trying to from such an awkward spot with her knife and all with a, "Careful! Careful!" Always the best way to greet someone with a fresh bowl of hot stew.

A'son simply stares at her, dumbfounded. He watches her lurch out of the seat, holding a knife. "Are you okay?" He eats another spoonful of stew into his mouth, eyeballing her with an uplifted 'brow.

"You're!" Leova stares. "Are you dry?" Blue paint. All that blue paint. Without really looking at what she's doing, she recovers the knife and sheaths it, so at least that's one danger out of the way.

"Yes?" A'son continues to look at Leova as if she might be completely off her rocker. It's entirely possible he's been covered in this blue paint for so long that he doesn't realize he even has it on him anymore. "Are you dry?" He asks, eyebrow remaining uplifted as he watches her sheath the knife.

"Should /hope/ so." Unless blue paint's contagious? No? Not yet? Abandoning the wood block on the seat of the chair, Leova takes the few steps over to reach out and test his shoulder with a forefinger. Before. Her finger stops. Midair. "/A'son/." Wide amber eyes lift, trying to puzzle out his face, seeing as how they haven't met so very often: Right?

He pulls his head back, staring at her paused in midair finger. Then he looks up at her again and her puzzling-out expression. "Well, I was just checking it out. Like you were." He puts his bowl down and holds out a painted hand to put in front of her finger. "Yeah, A'son. You are... That greenrider X'lar was so crazy about. Leova."

That narrows her eyes, all right. "Forget that part," Leova tells him, and aims to swipe his palm with her finger: wet? Dry? "Why are you here? Why are you..." Blue?

"Touchy subject?" A'son asks with a smirk beginning to play on his lips. He closes his fingers when she tries to swipe at his palm, possibly enclosing her finger if she doesn't get it out quick enough. Should she touch his hand she'll find that it's entirely dry and crusty. "I live here. Why am I... what?"

"Turns ago," Leova says, more of an edge in her smoky voice by now, although that might have something to do with the way she's taking her finger back and... it's not coming. She curls it a little, don't want it to dislocate after all, and gives it a jerk: maybe this time? "Since when do you live here. Blue."

"And now?" A'son asks, original starting smirk now fully into play. He doesn't release her finger right away, instead he holds it a second longer than necessary and then opens his hand all the way. "Well, the other day? I came from between, landed on this horribly orange weyr I had been assigned and made it my home. I'm trying to convert it to something less... awful."

Which means he gets a poke before her finger retreats, if she can manage it, before she's leaning back and examining that finger for blueness. So far, it's just a flake or two. "Does Milani..." Headwoman. Assigned. Weyr. "She must." And then Leova's staring past her finger at A'son all over again. "Hope you didn't wreck the chair."

A'son laughs, shaking his head when she pokes at him. He goes back for his bowl and proceeds eating again. "She might, but I don't think she must. I feel like she would have given me a better looking place to live. I think I know who helped me with that." He looks down at himself and then the chair. "I hope so too. Don't tell on me?"

The greenrider's brows lift up a notch, and a backward step or two later, she's leaning on the arm of her chair. There's still some staring going on. "Can't promise," she says, but slowly. Still processing! "Why... now?"

A'son is sitting in one of the cozy looking chairs, slowly eating his soup. He's covered head to toe in dark blue paint except for his clean jacket. The paint looks dry, but who can tell for sure? Leova is some feet away leaning on her own chair. "Why not? How can I trust a wingmate if they won't tell a little white lie about some paint?" He watches her as she backs away. "No time like the present?"

Faces often lose their familiarity when they're the wrong color and so while Persie's gaze goes directly to the blue man when she wanders in, there's no recognition in her eyes, just a visible bubble of '...' over her head. She blinks at the oddly hued profile and at the much more normal one, Leova's. The greenrider gets a smile and the twiddle of her fingers. "Your friend is blue," she laughs.

Wingmate. Down go Leova's brows again, but then there's an unwilling tug at one corner of her mouth. "Reckon you changed things up for... my wingleader. Should be interesting. Do you," but then there's Persie and, turning, she breaks off. Gives the other greenrider a look of her own. And, more lightly, "Don't tell?"

"Our wingleader." A'son corrects as he scoops the last of his food into his mouth. He places the bowl carefully on the arm of the chair and leans back. Persie appears just then and the bronzerider takes a long look at the skinny blonde. If anyone wasn't aware, blue men possess amazing bursts of speed. This one is no exception to that rule as he hops out of his chair to pick up/hug Persie. Unfortunately for her he is covered in that paint and he looks more like a charging gorilla.

Dragon> Somewhere out there, polarity shifts, and Vrianth refocuses: listening for Nikoth's boom and crash or, if that's imperceptible, aiming to set a spark to /light that off/. (Vrianth to Nikoth)

Dragon> To Vrianth, Nikoth feels that spark of Vrianth's, attention shifting to hers as she catches his focus. No words are formed, simply a questioning feeling is emanated from him.

"Don't.. tell," Persie murmurs back with some confusions, since surely anyone who sees him would know he's blue and it's hard for her to imagine the man himself is unaware. Her hands shove into her back pockets and her weight shifts awkwardly as she looks from side to side. And maybe the blueness is getting in the way of her ability to recognize a face, but the voice... Her brows pinch and she looks back just in time to see a blue gorilla lunging at her. Only now she recognizes him. "A'son!" Her arms go around his neck, her feet come off the floor and she gives Leova a look over the bronzerider's shoulder that's plainly bewildered and excited.

It's enough that Leova lets that go, gaze dropping as she slides past the chair's arm and back far enough that she can reclaim the sack that sits at its feet, can recover the block of wood and set it into the sack, can hook the sack upon her belt and stay there, irresolute.

Dragon> No words, no crash, and so Vrianth... swings gravity, if thoughts can have gravity at all, to see if that feeling can roll downhill. Towards her, where there's beginning to be just an inkling of the brightening gleam of days to come. (Vrianth to Nikoth)

"How're things?" He asks as he laughs and returns Persie back to the floor much more gently than the way he took her from it. A'son slips an arm around her shoulder as he turns back to watch Leova pick up her things. "Why is that he's keeping you in Glacier?" He asks, perhaps unexpectedly. His eyes are lit up with something that's a little more than idle curiousity.

Dragon> To Vrianth, Nikoth feels the pull of Vrianth become stronger, dragging him away from all the other things that were occupying him before she came along. She begins to encompass his thoughts and eventually requires him to speak. << Yes? >>

Persie is still all giddy and grinning, and as A'son keeps an arm over her shoulder, she'll put both of hers around his middle to continue to hug him despite the paint. And, having interrupted the conversation, she's now quite to let it resume, watching with a questioning look as Leova gathers her things.

Leova hesitates. Finally she says from the other side of the chair, that curve to her mouth again but wryer, now, "Have to ask him. Don't answer to someone like me, you know that." Even if A'son doesn't know, /really/ know her. "Save the wing things for later?" she offers more than denies, with a gesture to Persie. Giddy Persie. Enough to send anyone awhirl.

A'son drops his chin to rest on top of Persie's blonde hair, maybe leaving little flecks of blue where it goes. He considers Leova from where he stands, eyebrows furrowing when she gestures at the greenrider he stands next to. His expression seems to register suspicion rather than simple acceptance. "Right. I suppose." Then he pulls away from Persie a little to actually look at her. "You didn't tell me how are things?"

Dragon> << Your rider, >> Vrianth returns in kind, and there's an undernote to her swift-flowing energy that's a reflection of his rider, /blue/, << Claims that you will fly with us. >> (Vrianth to Nikoth)

Dragon> << Your rider, >> Vrianth returns in kind, and there's an undernote to her swift-flowing energy that's a reflection of his rider, /blue/, << Claims that you will fly with us. Nikoth. >> (Vrianth to Nikoth)

Dragon> To Vrianth, Nikoth projects, << He doesn't claim what he doesn't know for fact. We fly with Wyaeth and his. >> A thunderous boom of declaration. Someone is excited. << This is good. >>

Watching Leova has Persie chewing her lip. "I can go," she offers the other greenrider, flicking her glance between the two people she's walked in on. But then A'son is pulling back to look down at her and she can't help but beam up at him. "I'm smiling. You're blue." She reaches a finger to poke at his painty cheek, oblivious to whatever blue dust might be accumulating on her. "Why are you blue?" she anxious to ask, looking nervously at Leova again.

Suspicion: Leova's eyes narrow, briefly, but then she lifts a shoulder, lets it fall: she'll take on the acceptance, simple as that. A half-turn and she can't help but smile at Persie, something closer to a grin and as reassuring as she can get, and the rest of the turn later, she's gone. For a minute. Maybe even two.

Dragon> Boom, boom, boom. Vrianth draws in his energy, breathes out brilliance: << Where will they put you, Nikoth? >> Shoulder to shoulder with her likewise rangy sire? Off to the side with her, with Sevierth? Up front or trailing off behind? Just an echo, a rumble, her playing with his sound effects again: boom. (Vrianth to Nikoth)

"No, you can't go. You just got here. I'll be insulted for life if you leave." A'son declares with a grin, placing his finger underneath her chin. "I'm blue because my weyr is the color of oranges and limes. I'm trying to correct it." An idea seems to come to him and he looks a touch excited, "There's some furniture in my weyr that might just be perfect for you. You should come and look at before I cart it away to the stores." He notices when Leova leaves, that suspicion returning and he frowns. Then a murmur, "Maybe he was right."

"Orange and lime? And you're painting it?" Persie sounds so disappointed. "You got a new weyr?" It takes her a few beats, during which she glance to see Leova leaving and smiles back at her, before she realizes where A'son's new weyr might be. "You're here? Back? But you weren't on the list." This confuses her and she grabs at the chest of his blue-painted shirt to give it a tug, just to make sure he's not a figment. "What did you say to Leova? She ran away." Ok, maybe the tug was remonstrance for either not being on the list or for scaring Leova, or all of the above.

Dragon> To Vrianth, Nikoth pauses, silence. The bang and crash is absent for a moment. He doesn't know. << Somewhere. We will fly, that I know. >>

A few minutes later, a voice echoes down the hallway. "Leova? What, come on, just tell me ... it's not my turnday so it can't be a surprise like that," Milani is saying as she gets tugged along by the greenrider. Around the corner they go and there's a bemused look on the headwoman's face, hair up, a pencil held loosely in one hand, but no clipboard. Maybe she was working when the greenrider nabbed her though. "Serously, Leova!" she exclaims and then she sees and comes to a stop, blinking wide eyes at the little tableau by the nighthearth. Plink. That would be the sound of her pencil falling on the floor. "Ays?"

Blue Ays. Staying behind and to one side of her redheaded friend, now that she's done dragging her, Leova's got a gleam in her eye. Might even be proud.

Dragon> << With us, >> Vrianth agrees with the bronze, but it's only lightly, broadly possessive: with Glacier, is what she means, with an underlying fizz of /surprise/. (Vrianth to Nikoth)

Eyebrows raise as he watches Persie go from being disappointed to connecting the dots. "Orange and lime aren't really colors for me, I'm sort of a dark and neutral tones kind of man. We can't all be brilliantly hued." A'son smiles and grabs at her hands when she tugs on his shirt. "I don't know, I don't think she's my biggest fan. What list are you talking about anyway? If it's alphabetical... my name does start with an A." He grins and gives those hands a squeeze. The plink grabs his attention more than the sound of his name. There's a blink and he turns around to look in that direction. Eyes land on the pencil and then travel up to Milani. One word describes his expression: Guilty. "What's going on?" He asks, slipping his arm around Persie and gripping her in an 'Oh man, don't go' way.

"The list of people who just got here. I'm going to be the new welcome wagon," Persie chuckles. She's laughing, so A'son can't be in -that- much trouble. "I'd have noticed if I saw your name. But you have a weyr and a wing and everything. Milani must know y-" There's the plinking and the gripping and Persie's eyes get all wide and round as she looks between the grown man clinging to her and the astounded headwoman just a few paces away. Attempting to ease a situation turned unexpectedly tense, she smiles broadly. "I didn't recognize him with the paint," she tells Milani, laughing at herself.

The headwoman takes in blue paint, bronzerider and bronzerier with arm around greenrider and a string of different expressions flit quickly across her face replacing that first look of total astonishment. Next up is a brilliantly delirious smile and a statement of the obvious that might not be too dissimilar to something Persie may have said earlier. "You're ... blue," Millie blurts out nonsensically. "And here." Half a step closer and then a pause as she blinks at Persie and laughs suddenly. "Undercover?" she tries another single word out for size. "Not on the list," she murmurs an echo of agreement with the blonde, uncertainty and gladness fighting for dominance around the corners of her mouth.

Such reactions! Leova eases just a step to the side, the better to watch, hands covering her deepening smile.

"I'm sure that you're going to be a terrific welcome wagon. In fact, you've been a great one so far." A'son grins, though he does seem a bit more tense than he was moments earlier. "Yes, I seem to be garnering that reaction tonight. I guess I should take it as a sign that I need to bathe, huh?" One arm still around the greenrider, he gestures to himself with the other and lifts a shoulder. "Yeah, no... I wasn't on the list I guess. I snuck in, I'm good like that I suppose. It's a skil." Leova. Where is she. The bronzerider swings his head around the room and his gaze lands directly onto her. Unreadable.

Though A'son seems to be using her as a human sheild, Persie doesn't let him get away with it. She smiles up at him and pats his chest and steps back to free his arms should he allow it. "I just don't know how you managed to get any paint on the walls. You must be terrible at it." And to Milani, "He probably just wanted to surprise everyone," she remarks generously, a playful wrinkle to her nose. And she, too, looks to Leova, or rather, between Leova and A'son.

There's probably a lot of very clever comebacks that Milani would ordinarily be making if this were anyone else sitting in the nighthearth splattered with blue paint. But it's A'son and the headwoman just can't seem to put together a full sentence. "Surprise ... right." She laughs again, lifts a hand to her face and blushes suddenly. "Well, it's a good surprise," Millie finally says and takes a deep breath, seems to collect herself and hunkers down to pick up that pencil. "I'm glad that Persie got to the whole welcoming thing. That's good, really good." The headwoman steps forward again, one hand held out. "There wasn't a request to clean your weyr out, or we'd have taken care of it," she says with something like professional aplomb. "Welcome home, A'son."

The rusty (shaggy, overgrown, must-find-her-brownrider-hairdresser) head tilts, and Leova gives A'son a look back that's starting to angle towards surprise. Her chin lifts a fraction. No eyes for anyone else, not even her friends: just what's becoming a stare, until it breaks into a flick of her head the redhead's way. Greet her right? Treat her right? What the hell? Hard to say.

A'son seems genuinely surprised when Persie tries to slip away, it's not until she's nearly gone that he tries to manage a catch on her hand. He bites his lower lip when she smiles at him and shakes his head. He catches that flick of Leova's head and his eyes narrow and he draws up. There's a sigh and he turns towards Milani. He tries his best brave mans smile before he looks down at her hand, dumbly. "Thanks. My weyr didn't need to be cleaned out, it was sort of set up already. Though, I think it would have been better dirty."

Persie gives A'son a steady look, an important look. She tugs her hand from his and tips her head very slightly but very pointedly toward Milani. She doesn't move away, just in case being on his own proves to be too much for him to handle, but her expression does look a bit like Leova's: Greet her right and the like. And meanwhile, she's smiling again as if that moment and that look didn't happen. "I wish I'd seen it before you painted it, though. Not that it isn't a nice blue and all."

With that initial startlement wearing off, Milani can't help but clue in to some of that underlying tension. The pleased edge comes off of her smile and confusion trickles back in. The headwoman looks over her shoulder a little back and forth between Leova and A'son and then Persie and A'son. Her hand starts to drop and she swallows once. "It was set up? Set up how?" Curiosity in her voice in spite of it all and maybe clinging to the role that her rank conveys is a good support right about now.

Leova's mouth had compressed somewhere in there, and now, as people look, she makes a show of fumbling with that bag at her hip, head lowered to examine it better. Maybe she'd forgotten something!

"It was painted a rather vibrant shade of orange with lime... and yellow. My dragon has matching sandbags for his bed. He won't give them up either." A'son looks defeated when he says that last sentence. "It's not done being painted blue, I'm only about halfway there." He looks down at his shirt and plays with the end of his jacket. "It had some furniture too, also not really me. I think it was on purpose." Eyes travel back over to Leova, he hasn't forgotten her. He looks like he's remembering her for later. Then he puts his hand out, shaking Milani's hand. "Nice to see you." Then he peers over at Persie? This is good?

Persie stays right where she is, her hands clasped, her posture eager. But she gives A'son a look when he shakes Milani's hand. It's brief, just a second. Then she's smiling again. "I can help, if you want. And then I can see what color it was before it's gone. And you might actually get some paint on the walls. In fact, helping might even be part of my new job." For that last bit, she beams her gratitude at Milani.

"Orange ... and lime," Milani unwittingly echoes Persie again and her teeth catch at her lower lip briefly. "Blue does sound a lot more your thing," the headwoman musters, blinking rapidly. His hand is taking hers and there's a shake. A handshake. She shakes back, looks up at him, eyes just a little wide. "Furniture? Of course. I'll put that on the list right away. Just let me know what you need." There's refuge to be found in professionalism once more. "If you'd like to help Persie, I'm sure it would be appreciated, though we can have staff see to that as well." Nerveless fingers tighten on his briefly, then all of a sudden she aims to step in closer, paint notwithstanding, apparently intending a brief, one-armed hug. She murmurs something down low, then steps back, looking a little flustered. "I should -- go see to that. Make sure that everything is all taken care of." The words pour out rapid-fire. "Come by if you'd like to have a look in the locked stores for things."

It's a fascinating bag, must be, but Leova catches that cue to look up for a quiet, "Good night, Millie," aimed to be inserted before the headwoman leaves. And from there, look out: A'son's stew, wherever it went, wherever it might be getting cold.

Still holding Milani's hand, he turns to look over at Persie. "You have to come help, you can see the paint. And the furniture, I think it's sort of built for you. You being around would be better than just some random guy sent to help." A'son smiles at her gently before he turns around again. "I don't need more furniture. I think I'm going to uh, sleep on the floor. So don't worry about it, okay? I'll be fine. I have furs and some sheets." He looks uncomfortable and worried when she briefly hugs him, eyes squeezing shut when he listens to what she says in his ear. He pulls away and swallows. "I have to go. I need to put the tops back on my paint buckets. Good night, ladies." He does stop by Leova before he abruptly exits the area, muttering something and looking none too happy about whatever it is.

A'son mutters to Leova, "... for... in... business.... this in... next time... mentions... me."

You whisper "Thank you for getting involved in my business. I'll keep this in mind the next time N'thei mentions your name to me." to Leova .

"I will," Persie promises A'son about the painting. And since he's doling out a hug and making his goodbyes, she steps back enough to drop into a seat by the fire, smiling at everyone as they stand around. She draws her knees up and wraps her arms around them.

"On the --" Milani starts and whatever composure she'd managed up until now starts to crumble as he pulls away and turns to go. There's a vague movement of the headwoman's hand and her gaze goes to Leova first, then back to Persie. "T-take care of him," she blurts out and fingers press to her mouth, then she turns and walks out, back straight. It's not until she's around the corner that she breaks into a run, footsteps betraying it as they fade away out of hearing down the hallway.

Tops /not/ being on paint buckets, that starts to bring Leova's attention back, but the taller man's stop, his mutter... that swings her around and then she's standing there without a retort as he goes. As Millie goes. And then, there is profanity.