In which Nolee and Zahava discuss hatchings, feasts, Weyrseconds, and more.
Nolee, Zahava
The Sandbar, Ista Weyr
Nolee
Nolee's straight dishwater blonde hair is cut in a sharp, angular style, resting flat against her upper neck, then flipping outward at the ends, shaped by a helmet's frequent presence. She has arched brows and large brown expressive eyes. Dry, cracked hands are marred with a crisscross of tiny white scars from failed glassworking projects, and manicured nails are showing signs of wear.
This heavily tanned, broad-hipped young woman wears a tank top in a shade of coral brighter than pale seashells, but not so strong as a fuschia. The hems have been detailed with a simple double line of embroidery in a slightly darker thread. The matching pants have a small star shape, done in the same thread, stitched over the front pocket on the left side. The outfit is dressed up with a filmy fuschia decorative scarf featuring tiny embroidered golden stars along the edge hems. One shoulder bears an oil-shined knot in Ista's trademark black and orange, a strand of gold woven in. New sandals complete the ensemble, their leather still gleaming enough to rub small callouses along some of her toes. Though the weather lines in her heavily freckled complexion make her seem older, Nolee has lived 20 Turns, 8 months, and 29 days.
Zahava
Somewhat large, grey-green eyes are settled deeply beneath the dark-brown arch of eyebrows, a gentle slant running upwards from the inside to the outer corner. Heavy lids end in a fring of long, dark lashes. A cloud of golden blonde hair drapes from head to mid-shoulders, a fine feathering of bangs falling about her face to mid-eye level, some of the longer strands falling almost to her cheekbones. Her hair has just a touch of copper in it, brightening the yellow to a sunny warmth. This style effectively hides her rather small, high-set ears. Her cheekbones are set just a little high, emphasized by a certain hollowness in her cheeks below. The bridge of her nose is rather thin and high, virtually no dip showing in profile from brow to nose. From there, her nose justs straight down her face without wavering, remaining almost entirely the same depth its full length. A pronounced philtrum gives way to a small, slightly narrow mouth with a clear V formed at the top of her upper lip, sloping sharply down to the corners of her mouth. Both lips are full and pink, but the upper is just a little more full than the lower. A pointed chin has the barest line of a cleft to give it character, protruding slightly in profile, full of strength from any angle. Her skin is subtly freckled, never taking on a very deep tan. It is all but impossible to put an age to the young woman. She is probably in her late teens, but could claim a youthful mid-twenties.
Though very slender, Zahava is not a short woman. She stands at a willowy 5'8" with hardly an ounce of extra flesh on her frame, although she is a trifle top-heavy. She wears a long, lightweight dress, loosly in the style of a chiton. Consisting ot two nearly sheer layers, where they overlap, the dress is modestly opaque. The under-layer is like a simple, sleeveless shift of pink cloth that falls from a high, round neckline to her ankles, ending in a beaded fringe. The overlayer is in a light lavendar lace cording along all the hems, and a row of large, pale pink lace flowers along the front hems and edges. It buttons onto her shoulders with three gold buttons, forming sheer mid-arm sleeves. It is worn like a robe, two large decorative cloth butterflies holding it closed, as well as a tie at waist-height. One butterfly clasps the sweetheart neckline closed, while the other rests just below her sternum under a decorative cord that runs where an empire waistline would. From the waistline, the over-dress opens, ending in front at mid-calf, and in back at same ankle-length as the underdress. Matching sandals cover her feet, laces criss-crossing up the length of her foot, and then up to mid-calf.
A few days after the hatching and Zahava has found herself a little table towards the back of the bar where an open window provides both a view and a breeze. The rest of the establishment is empty but for a pair of rather loud sailor-types at the opposite end. The young woman is nursing a pretty green drink, her expression amused, and there is an empty glass opposite her, that the bartender is just approaching to clear away. On the table is also an unopened bottle of wine, which she touches with a fingertip as she smiles at the man, speaking quietly before he walks away with the glass.
Nolee is wandering by on a stroll back from the docks beyond, or so one might gather from the string of glass floats bobbling against each other where they dangle over her shoulder. She whistles tunelessly, pausing to sheild her eyes to get a better view of the Sandbar's occupants. Finding it quiet, she heads in, her bare, damp toes wiggling delightedly against the floorboards as she casts a glance about. Sailors, no. Bartender? Busy. Hm. Solo familiar figure there: could be safe. "Why's it so quiet?" she whispers. "Are they out of alcohol again?"
Zahava glances up just as the sailor pair start laughing, and she waves her hand towards them. "Don't know how quiet /they/ are," she says with a shrug. "I think people are just... busy?" she guesses. "After the hatching and all, perhaps? Plus candidates going home and weyrlings busy. Not that they were drinking here before," she says, and it's a bit of a breathless ramble.
Nolee puts one hand on her hip, setting the floats a-tinkling against one another again. "Well, they're from below, from the docks?" With an almost sassy yet fond tone of 'authority,' she notes, "That type is never quiet." Another glance around, and she steps closer, leaving the floats on a spare table. "Lots of people busy now. At least I've a few days free. Hmm--Mind if I join you? Looks like your date may have stood you up." Then a realization, a glance toward the 'tender who cleared the glass sinking in. "Or already left?"
Zahava waves her hand at the empty chair. "By all means," she says. "I wouldn't call him my... 'date.' Just the rider who gave me a lift down so I didn't have to walk. Bought him a drink for his trouble. These sandals are terrible coming down the path on foot," she says, sticking her foot out slightly to demonstrate the slick sole. "I need to get them resoled."
Nolee sits in the chair, settling in and crossing her ankle at the opposite knee, her bare feet still damp from the surf, and sand-coated as well. "Smells familiar," she observes, her nose twitching, then the blonde settles back into the seat, her manner almost indifferent for a moment. "But I guess all riders are the same, after all." Stretching her toes, she watches the drying sand fall to the floor, then studies the indicated shoe. "Ugh, that does look slippery. You're lucky you haven't gone for a slide already. We've good leatherworkers, though, haven't we? Who could do it for you in no time."
Zahava blinks curiously, but delays her question as she slides her foot back under the table. "I'm sure we do. I've just been too busy to drop them off. Or I've been wearing them. What... smells familiar?" she finally venturs, curious.
Nolee nods at this, understandingly. "It just never seems convenient. Like, how can you go without shoes while the repairs are being done?" The sailors, in a fit of racous laughter, draw the goldrider's attention, her lips thinning. "What was that? Oh, the smell. Like when you wear someone else's shirt? And it smells like them? That kind of familiar." Resting her elbow on the table a moment, she sighs. "Was it much work? All those people, making a mess of the cavern? Or is it more like fun, a change from the norm?"
Zahava sips from the rim of the glass, her eyes lowing for a moment. When she lowers the glass, she says, "The hatching feast? It's always stressful. Things always go wrong with how quickly everyone has to move into gear. We're ready, but not /ready/. Food takes a certain amount of time to cook after all. One of the kitchen assistants got a nasty burn on her arm when she spilled some boiling water on herself."
Nolee leaves the other topics behind, having forgotten them in light of this new tidbit. "Ugh, that's terrible. I know it seems like turns and turns from on the sands, but it also seems like only a few moments pass between the humming and the last pairing." Scratching her nose absently, she wrinkles her chin, maybe trying to imitate the different shape of her companion's. "I haven't heard anything about any of them not making it, either. Will the girl recover? Besides a scar." Her own thin scars on her hand are eyed, then one hand covers the other, hiding them.
Zahava's eyes drop down at the motion, then lift. "She'll make it. Just some bad scars. And burns are the worst. At least numbweed eases the pain. And I saw the girl who got walked on by one of the hatchling's earlier this afternoon. She was out and about on her feet. Just a limp." She catches the eye of the bartender and glances across at the other woman. "Something to drink?"
Nolee brushes at the sand on her raised foot, brows furrowed in consternation. "They make those awful ropey things. At least it was from water, though it'd be best if it weren't at all." Realizing how silly she sounds, she shakes her head. "No, no. Nothing for me. Just a rest before I wander back. I've spent enough time sitting on the sands that I'm in need of the walk, and, sadly enough, of the rest in between."
Zahava gives Nolee a baffle look, her head tilted to the side. "Um, right," she says, as though she hasn't followed at all. "Have you seen C'len at all since the hatching? Or did he head right back to High Reaches?" she asks, her tone polite without being overly curious.
Nolee plants her feet back on the floor, though one of them creeps up and wipes at the clean one, spreading sand grains over it, too. "C'len? Oh, Vildaeth's. He stayed after, yes. We went swimming. It was an incredible relief to be out of that warm cavern, and for Vildaeth especially. Nalaieth thinks he's not so fond of the heat, but he's stayed here anyhow when drills permitted." On this topic, she chatters along merrily.
Zahava smiles, nodding. "He seemed pleasant," she remarks a little absently. "Not that I ever actually spoke to him. Still," she says, giving a little shrug. "I don't know how you can stand in there, honestly. Even watching the hatching was rather miserable, despite the excitement of it all.
"He was nice enough. Even if he is a little skinny. His mom made me these clothes, even. I think he said she lives here." A shrug, as though Nolee doesn't really recall the details for sure. "I'd much rather the heat than the cold. Have you been to High Reaches? It actually snows there, enough to freeze the water and people walk on it and slide around." Her eyes are wide, as though she's not quite sure she believes it, though she experienced it herself.
Zahava's lips curve into a smile. "I'm from Ierne," she says. "It doesn't snow there much, but it is a lot cooler than here much of the turn. I do sort of miss the way the seasons change there. I've completely lost track of how long I've been here, now. It was a turn or two ago. Beyond that, I'm not even sure, anymore."
"Ierne?" Nolee repeats, that particular glaze in her eyes that suggests a search through the tiny geographic annals of first her mind, then her lifemate's. Unfortunately, the blank look remains, indicating cluelessness. With a vacant smile, Nolee nods as though she understands, "Oh, right. Ierne." Seizing on a topic she knows better, she smiles. "We do have warm rain, and warmer rain, and dry heat? Those can help to tell apart the season." Stilling, she wonders, "What brought you here?"
Zahava takes another swallow of her drink. "My father, H'var, invited me for a visit, and the place grew on me," she says with a smile. "And M'yr talked me into staying," she adds. "Not just him, but he seemed particularly insistent for some reason. Maybe just trying to make up for his first impression."
Nolee wriggles in her seat, scratching an itch along her spine. "I came with my pop, too, though he brought me with him on a trade run. I planned to stay with my mum, but ended up staying for Nal--M'yr did?" The familiar name draws a pause, and it takes a moment for the blonde to find speech again. Then she's mirthful: "What'd he do?"
The quick shift in gears, midword, causes another blink from Zahava, and a pauses as she follows the switch. "Just kept asking if I'd decided to stay, yet. Like it was some sort of foregone conclusion that I would eventually." She gives a little shrug, "Might never have occurred to me if he hadn't been."
Nolee giggles, her expression for the Weyrsecond growing more blatantly fond. "He did? That sounds like him. Just to figure you'd go along." Brightly, she brushes back her hair, an unconscious effort perhaps to improve her appearance though the topic of their conversation isn't even present. "What was the first impression you had of him? It sounds like it must've been ... interesting."
Zahava's eyes study the other woman thoughtfully, but she just shakes her head. "Eh, I don't like to dwell on it. He's behaved much better since." There is a little pause, and then she amends, "Sometimes, anyway."
Nolee leans forward in anticipation of the story's start, though as Zahava indicates she'll remain quiet on the subject, the girl sits back, returning to feigned indifference. "Oh, right. Better not to think on the --" Her brows furrow, searching for the best term for the situation, "--moments where he's slipped. He's working very hard, you know. To make the weyr proud." A firm nod. As though that brought other events to mind, she laughs. "I heard someone say the bubblies were good, after the hatching. Very fresh."
"Oh, thank you. I'll have to mention that to the girls who worked on them," Zahava says with a warm smile. "I'd best be getting this back up to the cellar," she says, reaching for the neck of the wine bottle on the table.
Nolee seems to notice the bottle that's been ever-present, seeing it for the first time. "Oh! I apologize if I took someone's seat. I ought to head back as well. Nala's dried out from the heat, and all the oil I can carry hasn't been enough to soothe the itching." Rising, she collects the string of floats earlier set aside. "Thanks for the company," she offers, her tentative smile a trifle less intimidated than that of sevendays previous.
Zahava shakes her head. "No, this is what I cam down to get," she assures, tucking the bottle in the crook of her arm as she stands. "Thank you for joining me," she adds with a friendliness to her smile. "Just have to say a few words to the bartender before I head up," she says, waving her hand before turning to head to the bar.
Nolee nods once, reshouldering the string of floats, and turns to make her way toward the path, resuming her off-tune whistle.