Raisin Paste
I just edit this to add, in all humility, that while doing further research into this raisin paste (i.e. I wanted to eat it) I was very nicely informed by my mother that I am stupid, and that the concoction I refer to in this log (which, yes, actually exists and actually is delicious) is raisin SAUCE. Which is a bit less gross. But I'm going to stick with my raisin paste because mm-mm, raisin paste.
11-4/5/6-2006 (J'cor/Karth/NPCs, Roa/Tialith):
Feeding Grounds
Late in the morning, Karth has seized an opportunity to sneak down through the stairs from his weyr to the bowl floor without having to disturb the (currently empty) office. He has come to the feeding grounds without his rider, leaving J'cor to his many duties while he looks after himself; after months of readjustment, he's finally learned to hunt effectively on the ground. Evidence of this: he's already caught a large herdbeast, which he somehow managed to corner and now lies nibbling delicately, careful to get the least amount of mess and gore on his clean hide.
It is Tialith who arrives next, and having fuctioning wings, she makes full use of them. Roa trails along afterwards, yawning and rubbing at her eyes. Late morning, yes, but a late night too, apparantly. She leans against the fence of the feeding grounds, cheek settling on a post, eyes closing. The queen is not fussy and she makes her decision with a single swoop around the grounds. Dive, grab, snap, the buck is dead before he knew he was doomed. But if the kill was humane, the queen quickly sets about taking the corpse apart in one of the more gruesome ways possible. She does not look towards Karth as she makes her greeting. << A fine catch. >> That is all, those the occampanying image is of Karth's kill and not her own.
Karth does look, however, raising his only lightly-blooded muzzle from the belly of the beast and glancing over at Tialith's. Her carnage doesn't disturb him at all; he's even a bit jealous - before he had to walk up stairs to get his home, he enjoyed bloody kills as well - and stretches his mouth open to lick the meager bits of blood and flesh from his own chops. << Thank you, >> he answers the queen, summoning up a gracious tone to mask his envy. A little snuffle, then, and he turns to Roa, offering her a bow with wings spread wide (he has no shame about the holes in them) before he returns to his kill. << Your rider is well, I hope, though tired. >>
Roa has opened her eyes slightly to watch the gold. She seems unbothered by the mess, but open eyes catch Karth's bow and her lips lift in a lazy smile. She straightens and returns the favor, dipping into a low curtsy for the Weyrleader's dragon. Formality completed, she again leans against her post.
Tialith is either oblivious to the envy or so used to receiving such that it equals out to about the same thing. Entrails, it seems, can also serve as spaghetti. Schlurp! << Roa is well. >> There is a light perplexity in her heavy thoughts. Could she be anything else? << And yours? How does he fare? >> Politeness. What a bother.
Karth is more picky about the entrails, pulling them out with a delicate curve of his foreclaws and piling them off to the side, on the beast's flank. For him, the organs are much better. << He fares well enough, >> Karth answers, his mental tone reaching towards something that's almost a chirrup, << for the season. Though I fear my constant presence tires him now and again. >> Trickling an edge of liver from the side of his mouth, but with his pleasant manner unaffected by the gore, Karth gives an amused rumble.
<< Roa does not think he appreciates the oil, >> comes Tialith's bemused commentary as wll as the image, stolen from her rider's throuhts, of Karth squirming and nosing his greasy self along the ledge. There is crunching and bones are partially eaten , but mostly just moved around so that more inanrds can be found and swallowed.
Karth, drawing back from his meal, just so happens to be echoing that image to a lesser extent on the grass, brushing an itch off his muzzle. When she sends it, he sneezes: amusement, surprise, and quite possibly a reference to that time she sassed him in the infirmary. << Actually, I believe it is the jokes, >> he answers mildly, as though the sneeze had not occurred. << He says they have grown particularly foul, and that I begin to remind him of his brother. >> Dropping fully to his stomach on the grass, he curls his forepaws out around the beast and holds it still while he noses it around.
Tialith pauses in her own eating to observe Karth in his. The inenrmost eyelid flicks aross her eyes several times, the glow dulling and brightening. << You have curious habits. >> And then, near the post, Roa lifts her head a bit and Tialith is urged to quey on her rider's behalf, << He has a brother? >>
Karth cranes his neck to look down at the herdbeast as he's eaten it so far, as though he needed to reflect on what might have lead her to conclude that he had 'curious habits.' Rather than answer verbally (mentally), he takes a little nip of the entrails, spinning a small length of them into his mouth (much the way she did earlier) before he reaches the limit of his tolerance for entrails and snaps it off. More like it? As his spinning eyes turn her way, the Roa-prompted question registers and the blue in his eyes whirl faster. << Of course. They are very close. >> Idly, he plucks an image from J'cor's mind - his rider all unknowing - and flashes it to Tialith: a similar face, the same hawkish nose, but eyes that sparkle with laughter and lips quirked in permanent amusement. << Though they have not been able to visit in some while. >> His wings give a little shiver on his back, explanation offered.
<< Oh. >> And here, again, is where Tialith's interest would end. These are human woes, and the humans in question do not directly or viscerally connected with her own so, well, that's a shame. Any more lung left in her kill? She noses around a bit before settling on some tasty thigh muscle instead. But it is Roa, watching more attentively now, that nudges again. And so Tialith queries, all sunlight and politeness, << Has yours been able to visit home since the bad fall? >>
Karth is all wrapped up in his finicky eating, of course, and not at all awaiting such a question. He has his mouth open and is licking outwards from his teeth, trying to expel the lingering taste of those entrails which he has just remembered he dislikes. Her question pauses him, tongue still lolling out of his mouth while he considers. << No, >> he answers after a few beats, drawing his tongue back into his mouth and giving a prim little sniff over what remains of the entrail-flavor.
<< Oh. >> Nudge. Sigh. Tialith enjoys a bit more eating before she complies with her rider's request. << Would he like to? >>
Karth, having secured a victory, does not continue to beat Tialith about the head with it. << He would, >> the bronze confirms, dipping his head in a semi-nod that accentuates the agreement. << I would like him to, as well. He does not ask the blues, >> i.e. his transports, << because it is not their duty. >> Rolling slightly sideways, he angles himself such that he can look over his shoulder, directly at Roa: apparently, he's figured out where the impetus of this conversation comes from.
The queen finishes off the beastie bits, nudging the bones and what's left a little away before she begins the task of cleaning her talons and generally restoring her hide to its immaculate state by way of her tongue. << I have had no cause to visit Igen, but we know markers for all the Weyrs. >> It is as much of an invitation as Karth is likely to get.
For his direct eye contact, he is awarded a small shake of the weyrwoman's head and a tiny smirk. If Tialith is oblivious to the fact that she has been oh-so-cleverly manipulated, Sefton's student is not.
Karth blinks an innocent eyelid back at Roa, his gaze lingering on her for a moment more before he turns to his food. Delicately as he's been eating, he's taking a much longer time of it: he's only now gotten to the bone-crunching, marrow-sucking fun part. << His home is not the weyr, >> Karth informs Tialith, with a ripple of amusement in his tone and a crack of ribs in his mouth. << If you were to - see cause - >> his eyes whirl faster - << to visit Gezzah, however, I would be able to provide coordinates. >> And J'cor. He crunches more bones with a dismissive flick of his wings.
Lick. Lick. Nibblenibblenibble. A particularly gooey talon gets some special attention as Tialith allows this correction. << We would see cause, if that was needed. >> The queen has finally gotten the gist that this topic of conversation holds some import for Roa, and so she takes the initiative, belatedly, to directly query her rider on the plan of attack. A small pause as information is exchanged. << Gezzah celebrates the end of its harvest, and Roa has been asked to study one such festival for her work. >> A flicker of an empty clasroom. That sort of work. << She would appreciate the view of a native. It would require his attendance, though. >> Regretful, that.
Karth's delight over this suggestion grows slowly, but it's a burning bright presence in his mind by the time he answers. << He would attend, >> the bronze says, with a note of promise, << and be her guide. They are very welcoming, at Gezzah,>> he notes. << She would have to excuse him for a time. But they would look after her. >> Now that he's secured the beginnings of an agreement, his thoughts are free to bounce around from one place to the next, with little effort to segue. << They would be honored. >> Nevermind /he/ is not a native, Karth apparently considers himself qualified to speak for the people of Gezzah.
<< As they should be, >> is Tialith's easy reply. There is no smugness or self-satisfaction in her tone. The queen only shares the truth as she understands it. Who would -not- be honored to have Roa present at their celebration? << When? >>
<< Two days hence, >> Karth answers - he's certainly cutting it close, with this request, but for all that he gives the answer with full confidence that if she has something scheduled, she will rearrange it. << They wait until evening: our afternoon. The heat is less intense then. >>
<< We shall come, then. >> Tialith rises, stretches, and prowls aay to, after all that cleaning, begin eying the herd again for entree number two.
Gezzah Hold
If Gezzah were not exactly as Karth pictured it, of course, they would be lost between; fortunately the bronze (aided by his rider) recovered the place in painstaking detail, the hint of some deep-seated adoration woven into the intricacy of his remembrance: the nearby mountains, the oasis, the hold - surrounded by struggling plots of agriculture, filled internally with square flat-roofed houses. It is J'cor's fault they're late, since the Weyrleader insisted on getting every last bit of paperwork out of the way before he would leave for a celebration; because they are late, the party is already in full swing, the crunched, narrow streets of Gezzah alight with colorful lanterns and, as their descent brings them closer, resounding with playful music. Their arrival is quickly noted by four dragons, three greens and a blue, who have also returned home for the festivities. First to get up his nerve towards the foreign gold, the blue contacts Tialith with a wordless request for identity, purpose. He couples it with a sense of respect, apology: they do not know her. It's nothing personal. If she passes inspection, she will be welcome to land in the clearing with him and his companions.
The queen bursts into the desert warmth with her mosaic wings spread wide. She drifts a lazy circle as she benevolently informs the tentative blue that she is Tialith of High Reaches and her Rider is Roa. That they come with the Weyrleader and wish to enjoy the gather. She does not swing in for a landing, though she angles a bit lower, as if expecting that such reasons will, of course, mass muster. atop the queen, Roa is hidden mostly beneath her leathers, goggles, and helmet. She simply wiats for the introductions to run their course.
Below, the blue raises up onto his hindquarters, his wings spread wide though they are no more than shadows in the darkness. Each of the three greens arranged behind him followed suit and then, in one coordinated movement, they dip down in bows so familiar they could only have been Karth's doing. << Welcome, >> says the blue, daring real words at last. He draws up out of his bow with great dignity, the three greens following in his wake. They also echo his greeting, touching Tialith's mind with brief whispers of Welcome, welcome. The last green adds a bit: << Welcome to Gezzah. >> And somewhere in those well-lit streets, a man with an appearance similar to J'cor's breaks off from a group of men smoking pipes and trading talk of the times to consult with an Igen bluerider, giving the man a hearty pat of thanks and raising a finger to his lips - 'shush!' - with a wink before he sneaks off for the hold's main entrance, there to await Roa and J'cor in the role of his hold's only emissary.
In response to this explosion of formality, Tialith wings into an elegant landing that leaves her standing tall, head high, eyes glowing deep blues and greens. If her rider looks a touch less delighted by the gradiosity of the three dragons, well, goggles and helmet hide it nicely. << Our thanks for your welcome. >> She crouches, angling a leg, and Roa swings down. She pauses to remove cap, goggles, and coat, as it's a bit too warm. For now. Woe to the desert-inexperienced who do not realize how frigid the nights become. The little weyrwoman steps back, waiting for J'cor to dismount before making her way towards the hold's entrance and the man waiting there. She sniffs faintly, a familair aroma already wafting her way. Oh. Pipes.
J'cor follows soon after Roa, and like her he removes his warm riding clothes as soon as he's free - he provides his own furnace in any weather, and they are soon to be in the cramped, warm streets (if it would not be overstating the case to describe Gezzah's narrow dirt passageways between houses as 'streets') of the hold. Seeing him, one of the greens gives a little croon and stuffs her nose into the sand, giving it an inconsequential but playful flick his way. Her companions are more interested in Tialith: although they keep their distance, respectfully, and have their heads dipped low, submissively, they are watching her with fixed and unhidden interest. J'cor throws his things over his arm and steps up next to Roa, summing up a thin smile for her as he glances down. "I do apologize for making you late," he offers - no mention of himself being late, just her concern. "Typically, people begin to gather in the square - " oh, there's a square in it somewhere, tucked between houses - "of their own accord, when the sky turns dark. The music begins when the musicians arrive, and the food and the lights when people bring them." He's providing a description, see, for the things she missed; he provides it while walking, though, towards that main gate where the still-unseen brother awaits.
The gold allows the discreet persusal as she settles herself, sphynx-like, on the ground. Her tail settles up against her side, the caramel and spaded tip flicking once. << I do not bite, >> is the bemused information sent to the other three, << dragons. >>. She is accustomed, after all, to blues and greens who will race her and honk in her face. This is unusual. << If you have questions, you may ask them. >>
Roa falls into step besides J'cor, nodding slowly to his information. Tucking it away for the paper she is to write. Of course. She even dregs up a few queries about the origins of certain foods or song choices, waiting solemnly for the answers as they make their way to the doors of Gezzah.
J'cor has all the answers ready, even so far as going into a digression about the procurement of ham and how, since pigs are not raised in the hold, it must be bought from traveling herdsmen (a thought which provokes a small swallow from him) and kept salted, which explains why ... and on, and on. Rarely has he ever been so willingly talkative, and the more he speaks, the more of his usual, formalistic diction slips away: such is his concentration on getting to the big open archway.
The blue and his greens (for they are his, make no mistake, and once Tialith speaks they crowd against his sides; something about their manner suggests more the protection of siblings, however, than of mates) must consider their questions: perhaps they have too many to choose from. The first to speak one is the same green who added 'to Gezzah' and the same who flung sand upon seeing J'cor: << How is Karth? >> She must have checked with her rider first, because she does not need to ask /where/ is Karth. The blue must have also, for he rustles his wings.
Then J'cor and Roa are at the entrance, where a figure clad in loose white trousers should be impossible to miss, yet nevertheless manages to hide himself until they are about twenty feet up close. He strides forward and grabs J'cor in a thumping hug, then draws back and grasps him by the elbow. "Yaah, little brother," he greets. Quietly: "We've had news." That seems to be all the exchange necessary: J'cor grasps his elbow back, firms his jaw, and nods once. Then he expands the circle to include Roa, turning so he stands by his brother - that face as Karth pictured it - and faces the little weyrwoman. "Ah, Roa, this is Yosset, my brother and the holder of Gezzah. Yosset, Roa is a weyrwoman of the Reaches." Thus introduced, Yosset plops on a big grin for Roa, and steps forward to offer his warm, dry hand.
Tialith lowers her head, perhaps to make herself seem smaller, or perhaps at the Reaches it is time of a late-day nap. << Karth hunts, >> the queen offers, << and he has spaces in his wings where none should be. He seems well. He makes bad jokes. >>
Roa is quiet as Yosset appears and the brothers greet one another. She studies the elbow touching with quiet curiosity and then steps forward to curtsy before Gezzah's holder. "Well met, sir. Thank you for having Tialith and myself." She settles her smaller and cooler hand into Yosset's palm.
Yosset's grin broadens at the propriety of Roa's response, and he lifts the little hand to his lips for a light, formal kiss. "I'm delighted, Roa; well met. I've no aunties with me so it's my responsibility to tsk at you and usher you towards the banquet we've prepared, little did you know, just to fatten you." Elbows seem to be the item of the day, for when he sets off walking inside the hold he grabs Roa by hers, loops J'cor by his, and drags them both inside. They've hardly entered the streets when a gaggle of scrawny children comes dashing along, yelling incoherent comments in which the word 'gold' alone is clearly audible - they all slide to a halt when they spy the three adults before them, eyes wide and mouths gaping. J'cor quirks a smile and leans around his brother to look at Roa. "It looks as though T'sper, whose green you saw, has been talking."
T'sper's green is processing Tialith's comments, tucking her nose against the chest of one of the other nearby greens; there's a whirl of sympathetic gray when she mentions Karth's wings, but the comment about jokes lightens it to a regular blue. << Karth always makes bad jokes, >> she responds, a quiet murmur of amusement. A beat of silence, then, awkwardly, she withdraws from her companion to blink outer lids at Tialith. << Uhm. How are you? >> she tries politely, digging the tip of her nose into the sand (though her faceted eyes still reflect the gold before her) and wiggling around in it.
There is a bit of laughter as the banquet is dedicated to her fattening. "Others have tried," she admits with a grin, "but none have been successful. I don't suppose you have any foods that might make me taller?" She flashes a small smile and drifts into a curious study of those gawking children. "Tia's blunt," the little weyrwoman notes, "and she looks for respect in unusual ways. I believe she's currently encouraging her own interrogation." This is said to Yosset and J'cor. The children, on the other hand, are offered a far simpler, "Hello."
Huh. Wiggling. Maybe wiggling is regional, as this dragon is the first, besides Karth, that Tialith has observed doing so. The question, however, so mirrors the many others she's gotten since the transfer papers went through that her response is brief and perhaps the littlest bit dry. << Not proddy. >> Next question.
<< What? >> The green does not keep up on High Reaches politics, but at least the question starts her out of her nose-wiggling in the sand. << Oh. >> Someone explained it to her. She resettles herself on the sand, her forepaws crossing in front of her and tucking carefully under her chest. The green beside her raises a protective wing, and she rolls under it into the other's side, chuffing happily. << Do you want to be? >> seems the next logical question.
Yosset, seeming more unlike his brother by the moment, laughs out loud at Roa's joke, and his laughter is enough to prompt even a small snort from J'cor. The children seem humbled by the unexpected adult encounter, but one of them steps forward. "Hello," he pops out awkwardly, bravely meeting Roa's eyes. "Weyrwoman, would you or your gold mind if we went over?" You can practically hear the hyphens between his words, as formally composed as he can manage; less formally, he's quick to add: "We don't have to touch her if she doesn't want. Just say hello."
The queen blinks languidly, one of four pairs of eyes glowing in the growing dark. This queary inspires a deep sigh from Tialith, he exhalation sending some sand blowing towards the other three. << It would be better, if I was. Such things have their own time. >>
Roa bites her bottom lip and ducks her head down, perhaps a bit taken by surprise at that laughter. The question, though, evokes a a simpler sort of bemusement. "If you have your guardians' permission, then yes, you may visit her. She's named Tialith."
A crowd of little faces turns expectantly towards Yosset, who has transferred rather suddenly from his laughing, cheerful self into a more solemn, fatherly air fitting Gezzah's holder. "You may," he decides, after making them wait for only a beat. Then the kids explode into action, streaming out around the adults like water through a broken dam. The boy who became their spokeman alone remains behind, and that for just a second: he rushes J'cor, grabbing him around the waist for a fierce, sympathetic hug. Caught by surprise, the Weryrleader barely has time to rest a comforting hand on the boy's head before he's off again, pounding barefoot after his friends. It will be a while before they reach the dragons, fortunately for Tialith.
Unfortunately for Tialith, she still has the blue and his three green ladies to deal with, and they have settled enough in Tialith's presence to begin nesting. The green who's been speaking to her, at the behest of the other green next to her, has to stick out her forepaw so that her toes can be nibbled clean by her companion's ministrations. Untroubled by this, she stretches her neck around her friend and continues questioning Tialith. << Are you afraid? >> Paired with this comes a sense of the green's own diffidence, of many dragons looking to her and responsibility for a long, long time.
Back in the streets, J'cor has tried to reintroduce conversation - "Roa is studying harvest festivals for a Caucus assignment" - and Yosset has taken off in a long description of festivals he's seen over his many turns, highlighting funny stories. The streets have become more and more noisy, spill-off from the square not far away, and at last they emerge into a tiny open space cramped with people and lights. "First sight, Roa!" Yosset declares, her elbow still in his hand. "Breathe deep, because we're about to plunge in."
The children are observed, especially the hugging one and there is a moment of sympathy exchanged with the Weyrleader. Little people with runny noses. Not her thing. She does watch them vanish, bare feet thumping away into the night. And then Roa is listening to Yosset's long explanation and there is more nodding and 'mmm'ing and general quiet cues that she is paying attention. And then. The square. Her eyes widen just faintly at the sheer mass of people compared to space and she does, as Yosset suggests, draw in a deep and fortifying brath before moving forward with the others.
The golden queen in unaware of her approaching fanclub, and instead she again peers over at the sand-wriggling green and experimentally, tries a bit of wriggling herself. What's the fad all about, anyhow? But whatever Karth seems to find in it, Tialith does not. << No, >> comes the answer to the question, along with a twinge of perplexity. << Why would I be? >>
The green's eyes whirl a bit faster, seeing her actions imitated by a gold, and she manages to shake off her groomer long enough that she, too, can stick her nose back in the sand. Wiggling deep, she gives a great big snort that sends up an explosion of sand around her head and earns a cluck of disapproval from her companion. Delighted by the moment of (as she thinks) shared play, the green's next words come in a singsong. << Because you will be queen for-/ever/. >>
Although the square is crowded and festive, it does not seem to be Yosset's goal. Instead, shifting to a more secure grip on his companions' wrists and pushing J'cor in front of him, leaving his brother to lead the way as he draws Roa along. Various celebrants notice J'cor and come up to pat his shoulder or shout friendly greetings at him, but they're away as quickly as they come, and then he's lead the trio into the courtyard of a (relatively) large private house. Shared bedrooms, arranged on the three walls which don't open on the street, have been converted into sitting rooms; one of them holds smoking men, another gossiping women, and the last a table full of food. In the center, there are musicians and dancers, primarily old women and young girls who are playing at made-up steps. Yosset quickly abandons them both and vanishes into the crowd, allowing J'cor to step up next to Roa. "He's gone to fetch a host for you," he explains. "Will you be all right on your own, for a time? I have - visits to make." He glances down at her with a small, apologetic smile, and shrugs.
The flying sand causes Tialith to cant her head to one side, then the other, then the first side again. Slowly, she lowers her head, rubs her chin in the sand, and *snorts*. A small wave of sand goes sailing up and out and the gold gives a faint rumble of approval. New games are never a thing to walk away from. << I am already a queen forever, >> Tialith informs the green benevolently.
Oh, relief. That breathing space will remain available. Roa studies the gathering of people and offers J'cor a nod and a small smile. "Of course," she says. "It will give me a moment to get my notes in order anyhow. Please. Take your time, sir.
J'cor nods, stretching his own smile further back to erase the apologetic twinge that held it earlier. The crowd of dancers begins to shift in front of them, heralding Yosset's return; sure enough, the holder comes tramping into view, trailed obediently by a meek-looking girl of fifteen. As he steps up to join the two Reachians, he thumps one hand on J'cor's shoulder and gives the girl's back a gentle nudge with the other. "Roa, this is Shaya, my daughter and the lady of the house." Shaya blushes and curtsies. "She'll keep you company while I take my brother from you, hope you don't mind." And if she does, too late, because Yosset sweeps J'cot away and leaves the two young women together, Shaya staring shyly at her feet and raising her quiet voice with an effort to be heard over the music: "If you have any questions, I'll do my best to answer them." Otherwise, she won't speak until spoken to.
The green chirrupts happily when Tialith returns her game, digging her own nose further into the sand for another explosive snort. All three eyelids must squeeze tightly shut, so high does the explosion reach; her companion squeals at her and bats her with a wing, then swings a paw through the sand to fling it her way. << Uhm. That's true, >> the green allows, leaning away from flung sand. Beyond Tialith, the children have finally arrived, but their excited screams ended much earlier and the only thing that heralds them is the slap of feet on sand and their heavy breathing as they drag through. Once they're a good hundred feet away, they all stop in a little line, watching the queen wide-eyed while they catch their breath.
Shaya is offered a curtsy in reply to her own greeting and then, as the men vanish, the little weyrwoman finds herself standing alone in a crowd with this silent girl. "Would you, uhm, mind telling me a bit about the dance?" she asks, gesturing towards the women swirling about. "Do you know what it means? Or is it just for fun?"
Right. It's on now. Tialith rubs her nose deeper...inhales a mighty breath...and promply explodes into a sneezing fit. Sand, after all, can be drawn in as easily as it can be blown out. A factor the Reachian queen forgot to anticipate. So the arriving children are treated to the rather unusual spectacle of a queen dragon shaking hr head, snorting, snuffling, and pawing at her nose. SNEEZE! Much better. And then her gaze swivels to take in the little crowd of anklebiters. Carefully she lowes herself onto her belly, head in the sand (small breaths now) and watches them with eyes of dark blue and green.
Another explosion, of equal magnitude, occurs among the watching quartet of dragons. The chatty green starts it, throwing her head up and giving way to a crow of victory and laughter: Tialith just snorted /sand/! In the next moment, as her nearest companion rams a shoulder into her, the cuddling quartet becomes a mass of rough and tumble gameplay that makes the quiet huddle of children break into snickers: they are clearly familiar with this silliness from their hometown dragons. Yet, the same leader from before steps forward, biting down on a grin as he offers Tialith a practiced bow. "Greetings, Tialith," he says in that same hyphenated formality he used on Roa. "I am Yoz, of Gezzah Hold. We welcome you." Spurred by his manner, the seven other children step forth to offer their own names and bows or curtseys.
Shaya drags her shoulders up protectively to her chin, which is all part of the process of gearing up to meet Roa's eye. "Just for fun. They're making it up." A pause, a nibbled lower lip with lowered eyes, and then: "There is a women's dance, though. It means - uhm, well it means good luck, really, and good bye to last turn." Her eyes sneak upwards and she braces for eye contact again. "Would you like to see it?"
With the arrival of the children, something in the gold has calmed and gone quiet. At the bows and the greetings, she remains flattened but her wings lift, spread wide, lower, and retuck. A sort of draconic version of a bow, if one is not moving one's body. And then the queen waits for the children's next move.
Roa tries to offer Shaya what she hopes is a comforting smile. It is, at least, small and gentle. "Do you know," she whispers conspiratorially, "that before Tialith found me, I used to work in the kitchens at Telgar? It was a great deal of work, and I only did what was asked. You must be very clever, if you're already helping to run an entire hold. I would very much like to see the good luck and good bye dance, if you wouldn't mind."
Shaya's cheeks deepen with a blush, clearly visible since her skin lacks the heavy outdoor tanning that marks the men from these parts, but she smiles through it. "Oh, don't worry," she says quickly, misinterpreting Roa's words about her humble origins, "it won't matter where you come from, once they get a bit used to seeing you. We just don't get strangers much." Nothing at all about her own competence, which is a subject too embarassing to admit. Still, the comfort has gone a long way in opening her up, and she steps forward to take Roa's hand (more familiar even than her father) and lead her towards the dancers. As she walks in front, she bends down to murmur to one of the little girls dancing with a grandmother; that girl immediately takes off towards the musician's stand. And then it's a moment of awkward waiting for the next song to begin, Shaya offering another shy smile to take up the interim.
Eventually the tussling dragons become aware of the string of introductions from the children, and they pause in their play while the chatty green slips away and up closer to Tialith. Settling back into the sand with forepaws crossed in front of her, she much belatedly introduces herself - Espereth, it turns out - and is followed by her three friends doing the same. That done, she notes quietly, << They give good scratches, and they don't pinch. >> As she does, she stretches her neck out towards the nearest child and offers a pleading croon, which is instantly answered by a grin as the girl dashes forward to lean up on her cheek and pet it. Yoz flicks a glance after his retreating mate, then offers another bow for Tialith. "We would be honored to help make you comfortable, if you would wish it." Is that a formal enough way to say, please let me pet you? In case she'd rather not, the boy turns his bow into a small step backwards, signalling respect for the queen's space.
Shaya's litle smiles are returned and her advice given a solemn nod. "That's a comfort to know," Roa notes quietly as she's led over to the dancers and finds a free spot to sit. As they wait, so does she, and Shaya's smile is met with a quick little wink.
This information about the children is noted and tucked away as the queen observes the little green cozy up for scritching. Still, a gold does not whimper for attention. Or, rather, Tialith doesn't. What she does do is rise up with a shake to pad slowly, head down, eyes shining deep blue, towards the cluster of barefooted children. When she is directly before them, peering down, she carefully lowers herself again to the sand, chin to the ground, eyes reflecting their many faces, and heaves a soft sigh that stirs sand up against their toes.
Their toes scrunch up, delight over the nearness of the gold and the warmth of her breath - the desert night does indeed grow cold, at least here outside the hold. Yoz moves forward stiffly, nervous but determinedly courageous, and eventually he's close enough to set a hand down on Tialith's nose. He looks up at her near eye before he does so, watching for any sign of rejection, and at first contact his touch is uncomfortably light, almost tickling. Within moments, he's grown confident enough to to settle his hand firmly, and Espereth's judgment about the children's good scratches is born out. Another boy and a girl follow him to Tialith, but the rest disperse to the three Igenite dragons, who have earned their affection over time.
Sit? No, no, that's unheard of. Shaya steps forward when Roa steps away, catching her by the hands and dragging her back into the circle. For a circle they have formed, word passing quickly among the dancers so that they form a ring around their expected performer. Roa gets stuck between two middle-aged women, one thin and one fat, who seem to be informal leaders: once the right music starts, they start clapping, drawing others with them in a rhythmic beat that matches Shaya's steps. The young woman moves little at first, no more than a swing of her hips, but soon enough she's turning, adding footwork; then pulling off an impressive spin while bent halfway backwards, all her motion suddenly a blur of turns. The clapping grows loud and enthusiastic, and one of the two women next to Roa lets out a high shrill of encouragement: "Ah-la-la-la!" Women on the other side of the circle laugh and call it back; the thin woman on Roa's other side gives the weyrwoman a presumptuous nudge with her hip: clearly, she's meant to join in. "Ah-la-la-la!"
The queen's only real response to the touches is another slow sigh and the lidding of her eyes over and over and over until they are fully closed to better enjoy the children's ministrations.
As for Roa, oh, well, sitting isn't okay. But standing is okay. In a circle. And clapping. Clapping, Roa can do, sure, as her eyes rest on Shaya nad the dance begins. That she is impressed is evident. It's only when the Ah-la-la-la-ing starts that there's a flicker of concern. Is she supposed to...-oof-...yes she is. Roa waits for a couple more calls and returns before drawing in a deep breath and adding her own, slightly fumbling call to the noise.
The thin woman has been waiting attentively for Roa to get up the nerve to call, and when she does - and it's such a fumbling attempt - she doubles up in laughter, throwing an arm over the young weyrwoman to show it's all in good fun. Still with that arm hung there, she cups a hand around her mouth and lets out another ululation, encouraging Roa with a gentle pat-pat on her shoulder before she draws away. Shaya finishes the dance with her arms twisted and flung high, her back arched, and for a moment there's silence. Then, bedlam: the women stomp and shout and ululate, and the men pitch in a few high whistles and then - suddenly - the light in the room changes as the colorful cloths are pulled off glows and tossed towards the courtyard's center, where a red-faced, panting Shaya has just managed to flee back to Roa. "Did you - " pant - "like it?" Her shining eyes are full of pride and hope.
And it's silence in the draconic quarter, with Espereth having given up her questions and all of them settled in for attentions of the children.
Roa smiles up at the woman who throws an arm around her. She will have to practice that call, should she ever know she's coming here again. But there is a touch of easing in her shoulder muscles as the circle breaths and Shaya leads her away from Bedlam. "It was beautiful," she says. "I've never seen a dance like it. Thank you for showing me."
Shaya breaks into her panting with a heavy swallow, whetting her throat for speach. "Thank you," she answers, smiling again. "I've been practicing." The circle has collapsed in on itself, the women and girls now joined by a few men, though their own motions are of course considerably less flexible and spinning than Shaya's. As she looks out over them, Shaya spots Yosset and J'cor in the side-room with the food. She puts her hand on Roa's shoulder and points at them: "Uncle's back." Then, her timidity ever so quickly vanished, she grabs Roa's hand again and leads her along the outskirts of the courtyard, aiming for the men.
So Roa is led, wending her way though the gathering and towards the men. The only thing she does attempt is to make a detour over to gather a pair of drinks: one for the dry-throated Shaya and one for herself. Either way, once they arrive, Yosset and J'cor are each offered a small smile. "Hello again," the weyrwoman murmurs with a soft laugh. "We seem to have found you."
There are drinks, but it is a choice between thin, sour wine and strong, sour quikal. Shaya opts for the quikal, thanking Roa's thought with a quick squeeze of her hand, and then separates to greet J'cor with a quick kiss on the cheek. He returns the greeting, then turns a smile on Roa while his niece retreats to her father's side, to tell him in quiet but excited tones all about her dance. "Indeed you have," J'cor answers - and if he seems a little tired and red about the eyes, well, they're small changes. "Shaya's kept you well looked-after, I hope, and not terribly overwhelmed." The smile turns a little wry, but only for a second.
"Not too terribly. She demonstrated one of the dances here. The one about saying farewell to the year." Her own drink is sipped once and then not sipped again, though it's politely held onto until she's able to discreetly pour it out somewhere. "If I may ask," Roa's head tips a bit tot he side, "Why the elbow?"
J'cor tilts his head, puzzled, when she describes what dance Shaya did, and flicks a quick look over at his niece. The girl is in the middle of spinning her hands, a repetition of a moment from her dance, and getting a laughing hug from her father, who has stolen the quikal from her. The Weyrleader becomes even more puzzled at Roa's question, returning to her with a blink. "I'm sorry - the elbow?" He glances down at his own, tilting it out as though he expected to find something there.
Roa studies J'cor a moment before clarifying. "When you greet one another, or when you escort women from place to place, you touch the elbow. Not the arm or the hand. I was wondering why." Roa's brows draw down a bit as she glances over to Shaya and then back to J'cor. "At least, I thought that was the dance she did..."
J'cor's mouth parts to form a soundless 'ah,' and he leans forward, beckoning Roa conspiratorially inward. "That's just how Yosset describes all the dances. He's correct, but - truly, the idea is just to move, and quickly. It helps one feel better." He shifts back again to a normal speaking space, raising one finger to lean briefly on his lips, although otherwise his face betrays no suspicious sign. Addressing her elbow question, he answers by example, taking hers and turning her towards the table. "It's simply what's done. Women can lead each other by the hand, but for a man to lead a woman that way would be - unless they're married, or related - rude. And I suppose the elbow seems more cordial than the arm. You should eat something while you're here, Roa." Apropos of nothing except that he's just lined them up in front of a large platter of ham, some yellowed chicken, and an odd-looking brown material with black spots in it. "The food will not make you taller, but it is good."
As the explanations are given, Roa nods slowly. "They're beautiful, the dances. Unique to this region? I've never seen the like, before." And then she is guided to all the food and she peers at it. "No, I suppose it won't make me taller. I've yet to find anything that does. Except heels, and I assure you sir, you don't wish to know about heels." Her head tips up to regard the Weyrleader, "Is it rude, also, to invite a guest to eat without joining her?"
J'cor's low chuckle starts when she tells him about heels, but it's hardly reached an audible level when her following question startles him and cuts him off. A smile replaces it, drawing out the faint wrinkles that have started to form around his eyes, and he backs away with a bow. "It would be. Therefore," he straightens, reaching for a stack of plates behind him and producing two, "I will join her." He separates her plate from his own and holds it out for her to take, but his attention has already gone to the food, scanning it to see what he wants. "I couldn't say, honestly, about the dances. The travelers we see here tend to be fairly local, so they are never surprised to see the dances; I myself have never lived anywhere but Gezzah, Igen, and High Reaches."
"We don't dance that way at High Reaches," Row informs him solemnly, save for the quirk of her lips. Plate is accepted and she waits for J'cor to make his choices before she begins selecting her own. She takes a bit of everything, though only the littest bit of that brown creation witht he black spots. "Nor at Telgar," she adds. "It must have been somthing. Going from here to the Weyr. And then Reaches. Different worlds, really."
J'cor watches her measley portions with that brown creation, and shakes his head at her. He has a fairly sizeable portion of it for himself, and grabbing the spoon, he holds it out for her, clearly intending that she take it and try again. "This is called raisin paste," he explains, "so it neither looks nor sounds appetizing. Don't be fooled." He doesn't press the matter any further than that, though, allowing the spoon to fall down again, though the handle remains pointed tantalizingly in her direction. Of her question, as he selects a roll of silverware, he says slowly, "It was - but then I had Karth. And once we could between, we had the leisure of being able to come back in our free time, and visit those we missed." It is 'we,' not 'I.' "The Reaches." Well, he tries. He tries his best to smile, but it falls short of sincerity. "I suspect any place would seem unique from any other," is his pacifying conclusion. A gesture then, a raised eyebrow of question: behind them is a large couch, running the length of the back wall and even curving at one corner. Many other diners have retired there, to eat and chat; he, in respect of Roa's anxiousness about the crowd, suggests the quieter end of it. Shaya and Yosset, for their part, have long since departed without a word, carrying out their own duties to mix with the crowds.
Now, the weyrwoman has many flaws and here is one of them...she is loathe to resist a challenge. So the offered spoon is taken up and a more hearty...glop...of the brown and black goo is added to the modest amount chosen before. There now. Plate complete. Roa glances back over at J'cor as he speaks, and she notes, softly, "The Reaches was not kind to you. I imagine there's some significant piece of you that cannot wait to leave it behind." To the offer of the couch, se dips her head into a nod. Suggestion approved.
J'cor does not seem at all surprised by the hearty glop she chooses, so perhaps her huge portion is not all that unusual, from his perspective. What does surprise him is the frankness of her comment, which catches him halfway through the step he's about to make towards the couch. "Ah," he begins unhelpfully, lowering his head a moment. Just a moment: in the next he's straightened again, looking down on her with resumed calm. "I hardly blame the Reaches as a whole. Might I like to leave it? Yes, perhaps, but not for Igen. And Karth, as he points out incessantly, is hardly well-equipped or, as I point out, modest enough to make any trip overland. Much as the Reaches might appreciate my back, and I might appreciate a change, we are stuck with each other." That said, he takes off towards his selected part of the couch.
And if Roa caught J'cor by surprise, J'cor has just gotten even. Her eyes widen a little as she pads after the Weyrleader and settles on the less-busy corner of the couch. "Do you...I mean...I'm sure something could be arranged if you wished to leave. Something that didn't entail walking. If you wished it. If you don't, that's another thing entirely." A fork is lifted and a bit of the raisin paste is scooped up and studied before it is popped into her mouth.
Tiny explosion. In the mouth. The raisin paste, so hideously named, is not (as promised) hideously flavored: the taste of cinnamon marks the first wave, followed by the sweetness of raisins; and it's warm, surprisingly soft and not at all ... pasty. The aftertaste is somehow, mysteriously, almost spicy. J'cor, for his part starts off with the ham, resting the plate in his lap while he saws off some of it and dips it in some kind of squash concoction - squash paste, perhaps. "I honestly have not given the idea a great deal of my time. You'd have to ask Karth his preferences - he has the leisure for that sort of thing, and I think it's counter-productive to encourage such thoughts while I am, still, the Weyrleader of High Reaches." If he should be lowering his voice for such a conversation in such a crowd, he doesn't make any effort towards it; indeed, though a few of their couch-mates glanced their way, none seem to have any interest in listening.
The weyrwoman's brows arch high at the unexpected flavor and consistenc, and she gives a slow and deep nod of approval, swallowing down the one bite and forking up another as J'cor speaks. "I suppose that's so," she agrees. "Better to think on the day to day. When things change, then, I suppose, you can breathe and worry about the future. I find I travel in the opposite direction. It's equally perplexing."
J'cor considers her comments in silence for a moment or two, chewing over his mouthful of squash and ham. Then, gulping it down, he raises a finger. "Karth is not here." Obviously. "But if he were, I imagine he'd tell you that you must expect that: for your future holds promise of a beginning, mine of an end. You prepare to reconstruct yourself, I to deconstruct." The Weyrleader looks down at his plate sharply, and saws off another slice of ham. "He would also say that life is always changing and any kind of change is difficult." This last he almost mutters; then he cuts it off by stuffing food in his mouth.
Roa follows suit, contenting herself with eating quietly and, from the way she does so, everything meets with her approval. It doesn't hurt that she missed lunch, either. After she swallows down a bite of that yellow chicken, blue eyes lift to regard J'cor. "I don't need Karth here to hear your words, sir," is all she says softly.
J'cor closes his eyes - those ever so subtly reddened eyes - and takes a hard swallow, leaning back against the couch cushions behind him. His answer is quiet, and almost philosophical in tone: "He is, at times, a useful shill." Then silence, on his end.
It is Roa's turn for quiet, and she uses the silence to eat a bit more. "I don't suppose...would it be rude, do you think, to enquire whether Shaya might teach me how to dance the way the women do here?" she asks finally.
J'cor cracks an eye open again, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. "Roa, she would adore you for asking. As would any other woman here, whether she knew your name or not." He lets out a low chuckle, leaning forward in his seat and returning to his food. "Although I do warn you - Shaya's talent is exceptional. Few ever achieve the level she has at fifteen turns, though in a night, I imagine she could teach you some of the basics."
A slow shake of Roa's head. "I didn't mean tonight. I meant regular lessons. Once a seven, maybe. It's later, here. I could, possibly, arrange to meet her in the Reaches early morning, which would be a decent waking hour for Gezzah. Do you think she'd oblige? Would it be rude to ask?"
J'cor's eyebrows go up at that, and his eyes go searching the room - ostensibly for Shaya, who is no doubt wandering out there somewhere, but not visible from their current angle. "By early morning here, she would already be at work - she is the lady of Gezzah, more or less." His fork drops to the plate and starts to stir squash paste while he thinks, a faint frown forming on his features. "She must have her own hours free for practicing, however, and I expect she would happily clear one of those sessions to teach you. It is possible she is already teaching her sister - if you do not mind splitting time with a seven turn old," he adds with a short smile.
"I'm not very good with children, so I suppose I would be getting two lessons at once." A bit more chicken is speared and eaten, and Roa studies her near-empty plate as she speaks next. "It would be improper, I suspect, for me to arrive without an escort."
J'cor's smile fades slightly, briefly; then it's back. "It would not, but I would insist upon it anyway. Purely as a favor, you understand - it does me a great deal of good, coming here." Spearing a piece of ham on his fork, he lifts it for a quick, admonishing shake at her. "And I would also require that the children be allowed to gawk at Tialith, at the very least. Mostly because there is no way to stop them, and they will only resort to dangerous, evasive measures if disallowed." This time, he does not cut off his low chuckle.
"Sir, she will never forgive me for confessing this but..." and Roa does glance quickly from side to side before leaning forward to share her deep, dark secret, "Tialith adores children." A small nod and a rather artificed sigh. "So if I denied her access, they would not be the only ones attempting clandestine meetings in the dunes."
J'cor's eyebrows raise when she leans forward, and he tilts his ear towards her to better help the passing along of conspiratorial messages. Her words, however, bring another smile to his lips. "That's an easy guess, actually." His eyes roll up, the picture of innocence to go along with his suddenly quirked smile, and then he shoots Roa a quick wink. She is, after all, child-sized.
Blink. And then a small snicker. "Yes. Well. I suppose there is that," Roa murmurs a mite sheepishly. "I don't know what happened. I ate my vegetables. I drank my milk. I did all of my chores. All the things the adults insisted would get me growth spurts. And yet..." Her feet, unable to touch the ground from the height of the couch, swing out and then in once.
J'cor makes an uncertain hemming sound in his throat, then slowly shakes his head. "Those things? Pure superstition. The only true way to grow tall is to swallow a cup of oasis water at midnight when the moon is full and you are hanging upside down." Dropping the fork, he raises a hand to his chin and strokes it thoughtfully. "I believe Yosset tried it, but he found it unexpectedly difficult to swallow while our cousins swung him by the ankles." J'cor gives a little shrug - fancy that, how silly - and reclaims his fork.
"I imagine the ankle swinging, while essential, adds a special sort of challenge," Roa supplies solemnly. After quiet consideration she adds, "He should have used a straw."
J'cor raises his eyes to the crowd, getting luckier this time in that he happens to spot Yosset passing by at a fast walk, his arm thrown over some other man's shoulder while he chatters away in his ear. He watches his brother off-stage, as it were, but doesn't comment; once Yosset has left his vision, he hmms over Roa's suggestion. "The moon is full tonight, and I know of a few women cruel enough to dangle you by your feet if you'd like to try it, Roa. We could even find the water seller, and spare you the trek to the oasis."
"Tempting as it is," the little weyrwoman ponders, "I wouldn't wish to put Tialith off. Besides. None of my clothes would fit." Nod. "But thank you, sir. You're very generous to offer."
J'cor, having no handy cup to raise in toast to her, instead tilts his fork graciously. "The people of Gezzah have always prided themselves on their hospitality," he notes generously.
"And their elbows," Roa rejoins solemnly. Her own fork is lifted, her tines tapped against his so they make a faint *plink* sound.
J'cor returns solemn rejoinder with solemn nod; "And their elbows," he confirms, just before the sounding of that plink. Glass-less toast completed, he returns to his food: the ham now done, he starts in on what he must have been anticipating for some time now: raisin paste. "Is it really so odd?" he asks, the forkful of paste hovering in front of his mouth. "The elbows," he clarifies, raising his own as a demonstration before he treats himself to delicious, delicious raisin paste.
"Not if you grew up with it as part of your culture," Roa says with a shrug. "For me, hands are tools. Means of greeting and grabbing and taking and giving. There is no great intimacy to them. I think the elbow, less noticed, is a more private place to be touched. It intimates more. And yet here, it is just the opposite. I find it interesting." Roa took less food, and the las of her raisin paste has eben gone for some time. The final bits of squash are eaten and then her fork s set down on the empty plate.
J'cor has a great deal of raisin paste left, and he's in no great hurry to finish it. "Ah," he greets her answer slowly, nodding once (and forking up raisin paste). "I have been trying to imagine what, about this festival, might strike a vistor as - unique," he allows the word with a small smile. "The elbows simply never occurred to me."
"Everywhere is unique to everywhere else. I've never had raisin paste before. Your yellow meat. The dancing and the sound the women make while dancing. And, well, we've already covered the elbows." Roa pauses and queries back, "and the Reaches? What struck you as different when you first came? Besides the weather, obviously."
J'cor, still somewhat in his role as a guide to this festival, compulsively educates: "The yellow is just lemon seasoning, along with a few other things." But he is also buying time with his education, time to think. "It's hard to remember, now. The armchairs - a comfortable chair for just one person. And I do remember Karth complaining that people spent less time outside, I would guess because the cold kept them in. Also, to be quite honest, the informality. That, of course, is more a change from Igen than from Gezzah."
"I noticed that, coming here," Roa notes "That there were more little rules here. And at Igen Weyr, it is the same?"
J'cor gets down to the end of his raisin paste, pausing to let the last morsel dissolve in his mouth while he thinks over his reply. A swallow, and then, "It is the same, to an extent. It is a weyr, so it is naturally less -" he waves his fork-holding hand, trying to describe his thought. "Ah, I read a book once suggesting that weyrs had adopted a much more 'flowing' culture due to the constant influx of people from different regions necessary for search. That is a long way of saying that Igen has many rules of its own, but that it is, at the same time, very differently a product of its own traditions, perhaps more influenced by the hierachies of dragonriders than of constant tradition built up over time." Pausing here, he clears his throat and sets the gesturing fork down on his plate, summing up a quick, wry smile to shoot sideways at Roa. "Which is - an even longer way of saying yes and no."
Roa laughs softly. "Longer, but more informative. So you think that overall, each area might not even agree on what traditional Traditions are. That an Igenite could be affroned by Reaches cultural mores and vice versa. Weyrs are autonomous in more than just their laws."
J'cor no longer has his toasting-fork, so he just inclines his head, allowing the wryness to slip out of his smile. "An excellent summary. Your Caucus courses have taught you well, Roa. Speaking of-" he lifts his empty plate, demonstrative, and raises an eyebrow at her before looking out at the crowd of celebrants outside. "I ought to be showing you around the festival still, for your report."
"Ah. My report does scold me quietly that it is being ignored. So." Roa shifts in preparation for sliding down onto the ground again. "Let's get these set away" her empty plate is lifted "and then I would very much enjoy a tour, sir. Thank you."
11-4/5/6-2006 (J'cor/Karth/NPCs, Roa/Tialith):
Feeding Grounds
Late in the morning, Karth has seized an opportunity to sneak down through the stairs from his weyr to the bowl floor without having to disturb the (currently empty) office. He has come to the feeding grounds without his rider, leaving J'cor to his many duties while he looks after himself; after months of readjustment, he's finally learned to hunt effectively on the ground. Evidence of this: he's already caught a large herdbeast, which he somehow managed to corner and now lies nibbling delicately, careful to get the least amount of mess and gore on his clean hide.
It is Tialith who arrives next, and having fuctioning wings, she makes full use of them. Roa trails along afterwards, yawning and rubbing at her eyes. Late morning, yes, but a late night too, apparantly. She leans against the fence of the feeding grounds, cheek settling on a post, eyes closing. The queen is not fussy and she makes her decision with a single swoop around the grounds. Dive, grab, snap, the buck is dead before he knew he was doomed. But if the kill was humane, the queen quickly sets about taking the corpse apart in one of the more gruesome ways possible. She does not look towards Karth as she makes her greeting. << A fine catch. >> That is all, those the occampanying image is of Karth's kill and not her own.
Karth does look, however, raising his only lightly-blooded muzzle from the belly of the beast and glancing over at Tialith's. Her carnage doesn't disturb him at all; he's even a bit jealous - before he had to walk up stairs to get his home, he enjoyed bloody kills as well - and stretches his mouth open to lick the meager bits of blood and flesh from his own chops. << Thank you, >> he answers the queen, summoning up a gracious tone to mask his envy. A little snuffle, then, and he turns to Roa, offering her a bow with wings spread wide (he has no shame about the holes in them) before he returns to his kill. << Your rider is well, I hope, though tired. >>
Roa has opened her eyes slightly to watch the gold. She seems unbothered by the mess, but open eyes catch Karth's bow and her lips lift in a lazy smile. She straightens and returns the favor, dipping into a low curtsy for the Weyrleader's dragon. Formality completed, she again leans against her post.
Tialith is either oblivious to the envy or so used to receiving such that it equals out to about the same thing. Entrails, it seems, can also serve as spaghetti. Schlurp! << Roa is well. >> There is a light perplexity in her heavy thoughts. Could she be anything else? << And yours? How does he fare? >> Politeness. What a bother.
Karth is more picky about the entrails, pulling them out with a delicate curve of his foreclaws and piling them off to the side, on the beast's flank. For him, the organs are much better. << He fares well enough, >> Karth answers, his mental tone reaching towards something that's almost a chirrup, << for the season. Though I fear my constant presence tires him now and again. >> Trickling an edge of liver from the side of his mouth, but with his pleasant manner unaffected by the gore, Karth gives an amused rumble.
<< Roa does not think he appreciates the oil, >> comes Tialith's bemused commentary as wll as the image, stolen from her rider's throuhts, of Karth squirming and nosing his greasy self along the ledge. There is crunching and bones are partially eaten , but mostly just moved around so that more inanrds can be found and swallowed.
Karth, drawing back from his meal, just so happens to be echoing that image to a lesser extent on the grass, brushing an itch off his muzzle. When she sends it, he sneezes: amusement, surprise, and quite possibly a reference to that time she sassed him in the infirmary. << Actually, I believe it is the jokes, >> he answers mildly, as though the sneeze had not occurred. << He says they have grown particularly foul, and that I begin to remind him of his brother. >> Dropping fully to his stomach on the grass, he curls his forepaws out around the beast and holds it still while he noses it around.
Tialith pauses in her own eating to observe Karth in his. The inenrmost eyelid flicks aross her eyes several times, the glow dulling and brightening. << You have curious habits. >> And then, near the post, Roa lifts her head a bit and Tialith is urged to quey on her rider's behalf, << He has a brother? >>
Karth cranes his neck to look down at the herdbeast as he's eaten it so far, as though he needed to reflect on what might have lead her to conclude that he had 'curious habits.' Rather than answer verbally (mentally), he takes a little nip of the entrails, spinning a small length of them into his mouth (much the way she did earlier) before he reaches the limit of his tolerance for entrails and snaps it off. More like it? As his spinning eyes turn her way, the Roa-prompted question registers and the blue in his eyes whirl faster. << Of course. They are very close. >> Idly, he plucks an image from J'cor's mind - his rider all unknowing - and flashes it to Tialith: a similar face, the same hawkish nose, but eyes that sparkle with laughter and lips quirked in permanent amusement. << Though they have not been able to visit in some while. >> His wings give a little shiver on his back, explanation offered.
<< Oh. >> And here, again, is where Tialith's interest would end. These are human woes, and the humans in question do not directly or viscerally connected with her own so, well, that's a shame. Any more lung left in her kill? She noses around a bit before settling on some tasty thigh muscle instead. But it is Roa, watching more attentively now, that nudges again. And so Tialith queries, all sunlight and politeness, << Has yours been able to visit home since the bad fall? >>
Karth is all wrapped up in his finicky eating, of course, and not at all awaiting such a question. He has his mouth open and is licking outwards from his teeth, trying to expel the lingering taste of those entrails which he has just remembered he dislikes. Her question pauses him, tongue still lolling out of his mouth while he considers. << No, >> he answers after a few beats, drawing his tongue back into his mouth and giving a prim little sniff over what remains of the entrail-flavor.
<< Oh. >> Nudge. Sigh. Tialith enjoys a bit more eating before she complies with her rider's request. << Would he like to? >>
Karth, having secured a victory, does not continue to beat Tialith about the head with it. << He would, >> the bronze confirms, dipping his head in a semi-nod that accentuates the agreement. << I would like him to, as well. He does not ask the blues, >> i.e. his transports, << because it is not their duty. >> Rolling slightly sideways, he angles himself such that he can look over his shoulder, directly at Roa: apparently, he's figured out where the impetus of this conversation comes from.
The queen finishes off the beastie bits, nudging the bones and what's left a little away before she begins the task of cleaning her talons and generally restoring her hide to its immaculate state by way of her tongue. << I have had no cause to visit Igen, but we know markers for all the Weyrs. >> It is as much of an invitation as Karth is likely to get.
For his direct eye contact, he is awarded a small shake of the weyrwoman's head and a tiny smirk. If Tialith is oblivious to the fact that she has been oh-so-cleverly manipulated, Sefton's student is not.
Karth blinks an innocent eyelid back at Roa, his gaze lingering on her for a moment more before he turns to his food. Delicately as he's been eating, he's taking a much longer time of it: he's only now gotten to the bone-crunching, marrow-sucking fun part. << His home is not the weyr, >> Karth informs Tialith, with a ripple of amusement in his tone and a crack of ribs in his mouth. << If you were to - see cause - >> his eyes whirl faster - << to visit Gezzah, however, I would be able to provide coordinates. >> And J'cor. He crunches more bones with a dismissive flick of his wings.
Lick. Lick. Nibblenibblenibble. A particularly gooey talon gets some special attention as Tialith allows this correction. << We would see cause, if that was needed. >> The queen has finally gotten the gist that this topic of conversation holds some import for Roa, and so she takes the initiative, belatedly, to directly query her rider on the plan of attack. A small pause as information is exchanged. << Gezzah celebrates the end of its harvest, and Roa has been asked to study one such festival for her work. >> A flicker of an empty clasroom. That sort of work. << She would appreciate the view of a native. It would require his attendance, though. >> Regretful, that.
Karth's delight over this suggestion grows slowly, but it's a burning bright presence in his mind by the time he answers. << He would attend, >> the bronze says, with a note of promise, << and be her guide. They are very welcoming, at Gezzah,>> he notes. << She would have to excuse him for a time. But they would look after her. >> Now that he's secured the beginnings of an agreement, his thoughts are free to bounce around from one place to the next, with little effort to segue. << They would be honored. >> Nevermind /he/ is not a native, Karth apparently considers himself qualified to speak for the people of Gezzah.
<< As they should be, >> is Tialith's easy reply. There is no smugness or self-satisfaction in her tone. The queen only shares the truth as she understands it. Who would -not- be honored to have Roa present at their celebration? << When? >>
<< Two days hence, >> Karth answers - he's certainly cutting it close, with this request, but for all that he gives the answer with full confidence that if she has something scheduled, she will rearrange it. << They wait until evening: our afternoon. The heat is less intense then. >>
<< We shall come, then. >> Tialith rises, stretches, and prowls aay to, after all that cleaning, begin eying the herd again for entree number two.
Gezzah Hold
If Gezzah were not exactly as Karth pictured it, of course, they would be lost between; fortunately the bronze (aided by his rider) recovered the place in painstaking detail, the hint of some deep-seated adoration woven into the intricacy of his remembrance: the nearby mountains, the oasis, the hold - surrounded by struggling plots of agriculture, filled internally with square flat-roofed houses. It is J'cor's fault they're late, since the Weyrleader insisted on getting every last bit of paperwork out of the way before he would leave for a celebration; because they are late, the party is already in full swing, the crunched, narrow streets of Gezzah alight with colorful lanterns and, as their descent brings them closer, resounding with playful music. Their arrival is quickly noted by four dragons, three greens and a blue, who have also returned home for the festivities. First to get up his nerve towards the foreign gold, the blue contacts Tialith with a wordless request for identity, purpose. He couples it with a sense of respect, apology: they do not know her. It's nothing personal. If she passes inspection, she will be welcome to land in the clearing with him and his companions.
The queen bursts into the desert warmth with her mosaic wings spread wide. She drifts a lazy circle as she benevolently informs the tentative blue that she is Tialith of High Reaches and her Rider is Roa. That they come with the Weyrleader and wish to enjoy the gather. She does not swing in for a landing, though she angles a bit lower, as if expecting that such reasons will, of course, mass muster. atop the queen, Roa is hidden mostly beneath her leathers, goggles, and helmet. She simply wiats for the introductions to run their course.
Below, the blue raises up onto his hindquarters, his wings spread wide though they are no more than shadows in the darkness. Each of the three greens arranged behind him followed suit and then, in one coordinated movement, they dip down in bows so familiar they could only have been Karth's doing. << Welcome, >> says the blue, daring real words at last. He draws up out of his bow with great dignity, the three greens following in his wake. They also echo his greeting, touching Tialith's mind with brief whispers of Welcome, welcome. The last green adds a bit: << Welcome to Gezzah. >> And somewhere in those well-lit streets, a man with an appearance similar to J'cor's breaks off from a group of men smoking pipes and trading talk of the times to consult with an Igen bluerider, giving the man a hearty pat of thanks and raising a finger to his lips - 'shush!' - with a wink before he sneaks off for the hold's main entrance, there to await Roa and J'cor in the role of his hold's only emissary.
In response to this explosion of formality, Tialith wings into an elegant landing that leaves her standing tall, head high, eyes glowing deep blues and greens. If her rider looks a touch less delighted by the gradiosity of the three dragons, well, goggles and helmet hide it nicely. << Our thanks for your welcome. >> She crouches, angling a leg, and Roa swings down. She pauses to remove cap, goggles, and coat, as it's a bit too warm. For now. Woe to the desert-inexperienced who do not realize how frigid the nights become. The little weyrwoman steps back, waiting for J'cor to dismount before making her way towards the hold's entrance and the man waiting there. She sniffs faintly, a familair aroma already wafting her way. Oh. Pipes.
J'cor follows soon after Roa, and like her he removes his warm riding clothes as soon as he's free - he provides his own furnace in any weather, and they are soon to be in the cramped, warm streets (if it would not be overstating the case to describe Gezzah's narrow dirt passageways between houses as 'streets') of the hold. Seeing him, one of the greens gives a little croon and stuffs her nose into the sand, giving it an inconsequential but playful flick his way. Her companions are more interested in Tialith: although they keep their distance, respectfully, and have their heads dipped low, submissively, they are watching her with fixed and unhidden interest. J'cor throws his things over his arm and steps up next to Roa, summing up a thin smile for her as he glances down. "I do apologize for making you late," he offers - no mention of himself being late, just her concern. "Typically, people begin to gather in the square - " oh, there's a square in it somewhere, tucked between houses - "of their own accord, when the sky turns dark. The music begins when the musicians arrive, and the food and the lights when people bring them." He's providing a description, see, for the things she missed; he provides it while walking, though, towards that main gate where the still-unseen brother awaits.
The gold allows the discreet persusal as she settles herself, sphynx-like, on the ground. Her tail settles up against her side, the caramel and spaded tip flicking once. << I do not bite, >> is the bemused information sent to the other three, << dragons. >>. She is accustomed, after all, to blues and greens who will race her and honk in her face. This is unusual. << If you have questions, you may ask them. >>
Roa falls into step besides J'cor, nodding slowly to his information. Tucking it away for the paper she is to write. Of course. She even dregs up a few queries about the origins of certain foods or song choices, waiting solemnly for the answers as they make their way to the doors of Gezzah.
J'cor has all the answers ready, even so far as going into a digression about the procurement of ham and how, since pigs are not raised in the hold, it must be bought from traveling herdsmen (a thought which provokes a small swallow from him) and kept salted, which explains why ... and on, and on. Rarely has he ever been so willingly talkative, and the more he speaks, the more of his usual, formalistic diction slips away: such is his concentration on getting to the big open archway.
The blue and his greens (for they are his, make no mistake, and once Tialith speaks they crowd against his sides; something about their manner suggests more the protection of siblings, however, than of mates) must consider their questions: perhaps they have too many to choose from. The first to speak one is the same green who added 'to Gezzah' and the same who flung sand upon seeing J'cor: << How is Karth? >> She must have checked with her rider first, because she does not need to ask /where/ is Karth. The blue must have also, for he rustles his wings.
Then J'cor and Roa are at the entrance, where a figure clad in loose white trousers should be impossible to miss, yet nevertheless manages to hide himself until they are about twenty feet up close. He strides forward and grabs J'cor in a thumping hug, then draws back and grasps him by the elbow. "Yaah, little brother," he greets. Quietly: "We've had news." That seems to be all the exchange necessary: J'cor grasps his elbow back, firms his jaw, and nods once. Then he expands the circle to include Roa, turning so he stands by his brother - that face as Karth pictured it - and faces the little weyrwoman. "Ah, Roa, this is Yosset, my brother and the holder of Gezzah. Yosset, Roa is a weyrwoman of the Reaches." Thus introduced, Yosset plops on a big grin for Roa, and steps forward to offer his warm, dry hand.
Tialith lowers her head, perhaps to make herself seem smaller, or perhaps at the Reaches it is time of a late-day nap. << Karth hunts, >> the queen offers, << and he has spaces in his wings where none should be. He seems well. He makes bad jokes. >>
Roa is quiet as Yosset appears and the brothers greet one another. She studies the elbow touching with quiet curiosity and then steps forward to curtsy before Gezzah's holder. "Well met, sir. Thank you for having Tialith and myself." She settles her smaller and cooler hand into Yosset's palm.
Yosset's grin broadens at the propriety of Roa's response, and he lifts the little hand to his lips for a light, formal kiss. "I'm delighted, Roa; well met. I've no aunties with me so it's my responsibility to tsk at you and usher you towards the banquet we've prepared, little did you know, just to fatten you." Elbows seem to be the item of the day, for when he sets off walking inside the hold he grabs Roa by hers, loops J'cor by his, and drags them both inside. They've hardly entered the streets when a gaggle of scrawny children comes dashing along, yelling incoherent comments in which the word 'gold' alone is clearly audible - they all slide to a halt when they spy the three adults before them, eyes wide and mouths gaping. J'cor quirks a smile and leans around his brother to look at Roa. "It looks as though T'sper, whose green you saw, has been talking."
T'sper's green is processing Tialith's comments, tucking her nose against the chest of one of the other nearby greens; there's a whirl of sympathetic gray when she mentions Karth's wings, but the comment about jokes lightens it to a regular blue. << Karth always makes bad jokes, >> she responds, a quiet murmur of amusement. A beat of silence, then, awkwardly, she withdraws from her companion to blink outer lids at Tialith. << Uhm. How are you? >> she tries politely, digging the tip of her nose into the sand (though her faceted eyes still reflect the gold before her) and wiggling around in it.
There is a bit of laughter as the banquet is dedicated to her fattening. "Others have tried," she admits with a grin, "but none have been successful. I don't suppose you have any foods that might make me taller?" She flashes a small smile and drifts into a curious study of those gawking children. "Tia's blunt," the little weyrwoman notes, "and she looks for respect in unusual ways. I believe she's currently encouraging her own interrogation." This is said to Yosset and J'cor. The children, on the other hand, are offered a far simpler, "Hello."
Huh. Wiggling. Maybe wiggling is regional, as this dragon is the first, besides Karth, that Tialith has observed doing so. The question, however, so mirrors the many others she's gotten since the transfer papers went through that her response is brief and perhaps the littlest bit dry. << Not proddy. >> Next question.
<< What? >> The green does not keep up on High Reaches politics, but at least the question starts her out of her nose-wiggling in the sand. << Oh. >> Someone explained it to her. She resettles herself on the sand, her forepaws crossing in front of her and tucking carefully under her chest. The green beside her raises a protective wing, and she rolls under it into the other's side, chuffing happily. << Do you want to be? >> seems the next logical question.
Yosset, seeming more unlike his brother by the moment, laughs out loud at Roa's joke, and his laughter is enough to prompt even a small snort from J'cor. The children seem humbled by the unexpected adult encounter, but one of them steps forward. "Hello," he pops out awkwardly, bravely meeting Roa's eyes. "Weyrwoman, would you or your gold mind if we went over?" You can practically hear the hyphens between his words, as formally composed as he can manage; less formally, he's quick to add: "We don't have to touch her if she doesn't want. Just say hello."
The queen blinks languidly, one of four pairs of eyes glowing in the growing dark. This queary inspires a deep sigh from Tialith, he exhalation sending some sand blowing towards the other three. << It would be better, if I was. Such things have their own time. >>
Roa bites her bottom lip and ducks her head down, perhaps a bit taken by surprise at that laughter. The question, though, evokes a a simpler sort of bemusement. "If you have your guardians' permission, then yes, you may visit her. She's named Tialith."
A crowd of little faces turns expectantly towards Yosset, who has transferred rather suddenly from his laughing, cheerful self into a more solemn, fatherly air fitting Gezzah's holder. "You may," he decides, after making them wait for only a beat. Then the kids explode into action, streaming out around the adults like water through a broken dam. The boy who became their spokeman alone remains behind, and that for just a second: he rushes J'cor, grabbing him around the waist for a fierce, sympathetic hug. Caught by surprise, the Weryrleader barely has time to rest a comforting hand on the boy's head before he's off again, pounding barefoot after his friends. It will be a while before they reach the dragons, fortunately for Tialith.
Unfortunately for Tialith, she still has the blue and his three green ladies to deal with, and they have settled enough in Tialith's presence to begin nesting. The green who's been speaking to her, at the behest of the other green next to her, has to stick out her forepaw so that her toes can be nibbled clean by her companion's ministrations. Untroubled by this, she stretches her neck around her friend and continues questioning Tialith. << Are you afraid? >> Paired with this comes a sense of the green's own diffidence, of many dragons looking to her and responsibility for a long, long time.
Back in the streets, J'cor has tried to reintroduce conversation - "Roa is studying harvest festivals for a Caucus assignment" - and Yosset has taken off in a long description of festivals he's seen over his many turns, highlighting funny stories. The streets have become more and more noisy, spill-off from the square not far away, and at last they emerge into a tiny open space cramped with people and lights. "First sight, Roa!" Yosset declares, her elbow still in his hand. "Breathe deep, because we're about to plunge in."
The children are observed, especially the hugging one and there is a moment of sympathy exchanged with the Weyrleader. Little people with runny noses. Not her thing. She does watch them vanish, bare feet thumping away into the night. And then Roa is listening to Yosset's long explanation and there is more nodding and 'mmm'ing and general quiet cues that she is paying attention. And then. The square. Her eyes widen just faintly at the sheer mass of people compared to space and she does, as Yosset suggests, draw in a deep and fortifying brath before moving forward with the others.
The golden queen in unaware of her approaching fanclub, and instead she again peers over at the sand-wriggling green and experimentally, tries a bit of wriggling herself. What's the fad all about, anyhow? But whatever Karth seems to find in it, Tialith does not. << No, >> comes the answer to the question, along with a twinge of perplexity. << Why would I be? >>
The green's eyes whirl a bit faster, seeing her actions imitated by a gold, and she manages to shake off her groomer long enough that she, too, can stick her nose back in the sand. Wiggling deep, she gives a great big snort that sends up an explosion of sand around her head and earns a cluck of disapproval from her companion. Delighted by the moment of (as she thinks) shared play, the green's next words come in a singsong. << Because you will be queen for-/ever/. >>
Although the square is crowded and festive, it does not seem to be Yosset's goal. Instead, shifting to a more secure grip on his companions' wrists and pushing J'cor in front of him, leaving his brother to lead the way as he draws Roa along. Various celebrants notice J'cor and come up to pat his shoulder or shout friendly greetings at him, but they're away as quickly as they come, and then he's lead the trio into the courtyard of a (relatively) large private house. Shared bedrooms, arranged on the three walls which don't open on the street, have been converted into sitting rooms; one of them holds smoking men, another gossiping women, and the last a table full of food. In the center, there are musicians and dancers, primarily old women and young girls who are playing at made-up steps. Yosset quickly abandons them both and vanishes into the crowd, allowing J'cor to step up next to Roa. "He's gone to fetch a host for you," he explains. "Will you be all right on your own, for a time? I have - visits to make." He glances down at her with a small, apologetic smile, and shrugs.
The flying sand causes Tialith to cant her head to one side, then the other, then the first side again. Slowly, she lowers her head, rubs her chin in the sand, and *snorts*. A small wave of sand goes sailing up and out and the gold gives a faint rumble of approval. New games are never a thing to walk away from. << I am already a queen forever, >> Tialith informs the green benevolently.
Oh, relief. That breathing space will remain available. Roa studies the gathering of people and offers J'cor a nod and a small smile. "Of course," she says. "It will give me a moment to get my notes in order anyhow. Please. Take your time, sir.
J'cor nods, stretching his own smile further back to erase the apologetic twinge that held it earlier. The crowd of dancers begins to shift in front of them, heralding Yosset's return; sure enough, the holder comes tramping into view, trailed obediently by a meek-looking girl of fifteen. As he steps up to join the two Reachians, he thumps one hand on J'cor's shoulder and gives the girl's back a gentle nudge with the other. "Roa, this is Shaya, my daughter and the lady of the house." Shaya blushes and curtsies. "She'll keep you company while I take my brother from you, hope you don't mind." And if she does, too late, because Yosset sweeps J'cot away and leaves the two young women together, Shaya staring shyly at her feet and raising her quiet voice with an effort to be heard over the music: "If you have any questions, I'll do my best to answer them." Otherwise, she won't speak until spoken to.
The green chirrupts happily when Tialith returns her game, digging her own nose further into the sand for another explosive snort. All three eyelids must squeeze tightly shut, so high does the explosion reach; her companion squeals at her and bats her with a wing, then swings a paw through the sand to fling it her way. << Uhm. That's true, >> the green allows, leaning away from flung sand. Beyond Tialith, the children have finally arrived, but their excited screams ended much earlier and the only thing that heralds them is the slap of feet on sand and their heavy breathing as they drag through. Once they're a good hundred feet away, they all stop in a little line, watching the queen wide-eyed while they catch their breath.
Shaya is offered a curtsy in reply to her own greeting and then, as the men vanish, the little weyrwoman finds herself standing alone in a crowd with this silent girl. "Would you, uhm, mind telling me a bit about the dance?" she asks, gesturing towards the women swirling about. "Do you know what it means? Or is it just for fun?"
Right. It's on now. Tialith rubs her nose deeper...inhales a mighty breath...and promply explodes into a sneezing fit. Sand, after all, can be drawn in as easily as it can be blown out. A factor the Reachian queen forgot to anticipate. So the arriving children are treated to the rather unusual spectacle of a queen dragon shaking hr head, snorting, snuffling, and pawing at her nose. SNEEZE! Much better. And then her gaze swivels to take in the little crowd of anklebiters. Carefully she lowes herself onto her belly, head in the sand (small breaths now) and watches them with eyes of dark blue and green.
Another explosion, of equal magnitude, occurs among the watching quartet of dragons. The chatty green starts it, throwing her head up and giving way to a crow of victory and laughter: Tialith just snorted /sand/! In the next moment, as her nearest companion rams a shoulder into her, the cuddling quartet becomes a mass of rough and tumble gameplay that makes the quiet huddle of children break into snickers: they are clearly familiar with this silliness from their hometown dragons. Yet, the same leader from before steps forward, biting down on a grin as he offers Tialith a practiced bow. "Greetings, Tialith," he says in that same hyphenated formality he used on Roa. "I am Yoz, of Gezzah Hold. We welcome you." Spurred by his manner, the seven other children step forth to offer their own names and bows or curtseys.
Shaya drags her shoulders up protectively to her chin, which is all part of the process of gearing up to meet Roa's eye. "Just for fun. They're making it up." A pause, a nibbled lower lip with lowered eyes, and then: "There is a women's dance, though. It means - uhm, well it means good luck, really, and good bye to last turn." Her eyes sneak upwards and she braces for eye contact again. "Would you like to see it?"
With the arrival of the children, something in the gold has calmed and gone quiet. At the bows and the greetings, she remains flattened but her wings lift, spread wide, lower, and retuck. A sort of draconic version of a bow, if one is not moving one's body. And then the queen waits for the children's next move.
Roa tries to offer Shaya what she hopes is a comforting smile. It is, at least, small and gentle. "Do you know," she whispers conspiratorially, "that before Tialith found me, I used to work in the kitchens at Telgar? It was a great deal of work, and I only did what was asked. You must be very clever, if you're already helping to run an entire hold. I would very much like to see the good luck and good bye dance, if you wouldn't mind."
Shaya's cheeks deepen with a blush, clearly visible since her skin lacks the heavy outdoor tanning that marks the men from these parts, but she smiles through it. "Oh, don't worry," she says quickly, misinterpreting Roa's words about her humble origins, "it won't matter where you come from, once they get a bit used to seeing you. We just don't get strangers much." Nothing at all about her own competence, which is a subject too embarassing to admit. Still, the comfort has gone a long way in opening her up, and she steps forward to take Roa's hand (more familiar even than her father) and lead her towards the dancers. As she walks in front, she bends down to murmur to one of the little girls dancing with a grandmother; that girl immediately takes off towards the musician's stand. And then it's a moment of awkward waiting for the next song to begin, Shaya offering another shy smile to take up the interim.
Eventually the tussling dragons become aware of the string of introductions from the children, and they pause in their play while the chatty green slips away and up closer to Tialith. Settling back into the sand with forepaws crossed in front of her, she much belatedly introduces herself - Espereth, it turns out - and is followed by her three friends doing the same. That done, she notes quietly, << They give good scratches, and they don't pinch. >> As she does, she stretches her neck out towards the nearest child and offers a pleading croon, which is instantly answered by a grin as the girl dashes forward to lean up on her cheek and pet it. Yoz flicks a glance after his retreating mate, then offers another bow for Tialith. "We would be honored to help make you comfortable, if you would wish it." Is that a formal enough way to say, please let me pet you? In case she'd rather not, the boy turns his bow into a small step backwards, signalling respect for the queen's space.
Shaya's litle smiles are returned and her advice given a solemn nod. "That's a comfort to know," Roa notes quietly as she's led over to the dancers and finds a free spot to sit. As they wait, so does she, and Shaya's smile is met with a quick little wink.
This information about the children is noted and tucked away as the queen observes the little green cozy up for scritching. Still, a gold does not whimper for attention. Or, rather, Tialith doesn't. What she does do is rise up with a shake to pad slowly, head down, eyes shining deep blue, towards the cluster of barefooted children. When she is directly before them, peering down, she carefully lowers herself again to the sand, chin to the ground, eyes reflecting their many faces, and heaves a soft sigh that stirs sand up against their toes.
Their toes scrunch up, delight over the nearness of the gold and the warmth of her breath - the desert night does indeed grow cold, at least here outside the hold. Yoz moves forward stiffly, nervous but determinedly courageous, and eventually he's close enough to set a hand down on Tialith's nose. He looks up at her near eye before he does so, watching for any sign of rejection, and at first contact his touch is uncomfortably light, almost tickling. Within moments, he's grown confident enough to to settle his hand firmly, and Espereth's judgment about the children's good scratches is born out. Another boy and a girl follow him to Tialith, but the rest disperse to the three Igenite dragons, who have earned their affection over time.
Sit? No, no, that's unheard of. Shaya steps forward when Roa steps away, catching her by the hands and dragging her back into the circle. For a circle they have formed, word passing quickly among the dancers so that they form a ring around their expected performer. Roa gets stuck between two middle-aged women, one thin and one fat, who seem to be informal leaders: once the right music starts, they start clapping, drawing others with them in a rhythmic beat that matches Shaya's steps. The young woman moves little at first, no more than a swing of her hips, but soon enough she's turning, adding footwork; then pulling off an impressive spin while bent halfway backwards, all her motion suddenly a blur of turns. The clapping grows loud and enthusiastic, and one of the two women next to Roa lets out a high shrill of encouragement: "Ah-la-la-la!" Women on the other side of the circle laugh and call it back; the thin woman on Roa's other side gives the weyrwoman a presumptuous nudge with her hip: clearly, she's meant to join in. "Ah-la-la-la!"
The queen's only real response to the touches is another slow sigh and the lidding of her eyes over and over and over until they are fully closed to better enjoy the children's ministrations.
As for Roa, oh, well, sitting isn't okay. But standing is okay. In a circle. And clapping. Clapping, Roa can do, sure, as her eyes rest on Shaya nad the dance begins. That she is impressed is evident. It's only when the Ah-la-la-la-ing starts that there's a flicker of concern. Is she supposed to...-oof-...yes she is. Roa waits for a couple more calls and returns before drawing in a deep breath and adding her own, slightly fumbling call to the noise.
The thin woman has been waiting attentively for Roa to get up the nerve to call, and when she does - and it's such a fumbling attempt - she doubles up in laughter, throwing an arm over the young weyrwoman to show it's all in good fun. Still with that arm hung there, she cups a hand around her mouth and lets out another ululation, encouraging Roa with a gentle pat-pat on her shoulder before she draws away. Shaya finishes the dance with her arms twisted and flung high, her back arched, and for a moment there's silence. Then, bedlam: the women stomp and shout and ululate, and the men pitch in a few high whistles and then - suddenly - the light in the room changes as the colorful cloths are pulled off glows and tossed towards the courtyard's center, where a red-faced, panting Shaya has just managed to flee back to Roa. "Did you - " pant - "like it?" Her shining eyes are full of pride and hope.
And it's silence in the draconic quarter, with Espereth having given up her questions and all of them settled in for attentions of the children.
Roa smiles up at the woman who throws an arm around her. She will have to practice that call, should she ever know she's coming here again. But there is a touch of easing in her shoulder muscles as the circle breaths and Shaya leads her away from Bedlam. "It was beautiful," she says. "I've never seen a dance like it. Thank you for showing me."
Shaya breaks into her panting with a heavy swallow, whetting her throat for speach. "Thank you," she answers, smiling again. "I've been practicing." The circle has collapsed in on itself, the women and girls now joined by a few men, though their own motions are of course considerably less flexible and spinning than Shaya's. As she looks out over them, Shaya spots Yosset and J'cor in the side-room with the food. She puts her hand on Roa's shoulder and points at them: "Uncle's back." Then, her timidity ever so quickly vanished, she grabs Roa's hand again and leads her along the outskirts of the courtyard, aiming for the men.
So Roa is led, wending her way though the gathering and towards the men. The only thing she does attempt is to make a detour over to gather a pair of drinks: one for the dry-throated Shaya and one for herself. Either way, once they arrive, Yosset and J'cor are each offered a small smile. "Hello again," the weyrwoman murmurs with a soft laugh. "We seem to have found you."
There are drinks, but it is a choice between thin, sour wine and strong, sour quikal. Shaya opts for the quikal, thanking Roa's thought with a quick squeeze of her hand, and then separates to greet J'cor with a quick kiss on the cheek. He returns the greeting, then turns a smile on Roa while his niece retreats to her father's side, to tell him in quiet but excited tones all about her dance. "Indeed you have," J'cor answers - and if he seems a little tired and red about the eyes, well, they're small changes. "Shaya's kept you well looked-after, I hope, and not terribly overwhelmed." The smile turns a little wry, but only for a second.
"Not too terribly. She demonstrated one of the dances here. The one about saying farewell to the year." Her own drink is sipped once and then not sipped again, though it's politely held onto until she's able to discreetly pour it out somewhere. "If I may ask," Roa's head tips a bit tot he side, "Why the elbow?"
J'cor tilts his head, puzzled, when she describes what dance Shaya did, and flicks a quick look over at his niece. The girl is in the middle of spinning her hands, a repetition of a moment from her dance, and getting a laughing hug from her father, who has stolen the quikal from her. The Weyrleader becomes even more puzzled at Roa's question, returning to her with a blink. "I'm sorry - the elbow?" He glances down at his own, tilting it out as though he expected to find something there.
Roa studies J'cor a moment before clarifying. "When you greet one another, or when you escort women from place to place, you touch the elbow. Not the arm or the hand. I was wondering why." Roa's brows draw down a bit as she glances over to Shaya and then back to J'cor. "At least, I thought that was the dance she did..."
J'cor's mouth parts to form a soundless 'ah,' and he leans forward, beckoning Roa conspiratorially inward. "That's just how Yosset describes all the dances. He's correct, but - truly, the idea is just to move, and quickly. It helps one feel better." He shifts back again to a normal speaking space, raising one finger to lean briefly on his lips, although otherwise his face betrays no suspicious sign. Addressing her elbow question, he answers by example, taking hers and turning her towards the table. "It's simply what's done. Women can lead each other by the hand, but for a man to lead a woman that way would be - unless they're married, or related - rude. And I suppose the elbow seems more cordial than the arm. You should eat something while you're here, Roa." Apropos of nothing except that he's just lined them up in front of a large platter of ham, some yellowed chicken, and an odd-looking brown material with black spots in it. "The food will not make you taller, but it is good."
As the explanations are given, Roa nods slowly. "They're beautiful, the dances. Unique to this region? I've never seen the like, before." And then she is guided to all the food and she peers at it. "No, I suppose it won't make me taller. I've yet to find anything that does. Except heels, and I assure you sir, you don't wish to know about heels." Her head tips up to regard the Weyrleader, "Is it rude, also, to invite a guest to eat without joining her?"
J'cor's low chuckle starts when she tells him about heels, but it's hardly reached an audible level when her following question startles him and cuts him off. A smile replaces it, drawing out the faint wrinkles that have started to form around his eyes, and he backs away with a bow. "It would be. Therefore," he straightens, reaching for a stack of plates behind him and producing two, "I will join her." He separates her plate from his own and holds it out for her to take, but his attention has already gone to the food, scanning it to see what he wants. "I couldn't say, honestly, about the dances. The travelers we see here tend to be fairly local, so they are never surprised to see the dances; I myself have never lived anywhere but Gezzah, Igen, and High Reaches."
"We don't dance that way at High Reaches," Row informs him solemnly, save for the quirk of her lips. Plate is accepted and she waits for J'cor to make his choices before she begins selecting her own. She takes a bit of everything, though only the littest bit of that brown creation witht he black spots. "Nor at Telgar," she adds. "It must have been somthing. Going from here to the Weyr. And then Reaches. Different worlds, really."
J'cor watches her measley portions with that brown creation, and shakes his head at her. He has a fairly sizeable portion of it for himself, and grabbing the spoon, he holds it out for her, clearly intending that she take it and try again. "This is called raisin paste," he explains, "so it neither looks nor sounds appetizing. Don't be fooled." He doesn't press the matter any further than that, though, allowing the spoon to fall down again, though the handle remains pointed tantalizingly in her direction. Of her question, as he selects a roll of silverware, he says slowly, "It was - but then I had Karth. And once we could between, we had the leisure of being able to come back in our free time, and visit those we missed." It is 'we,' not 'I.' "The Reaches." Well, he tries. He tries his best to smile, but it falls short of sincerity. "I suspect any place would seem unique from any other," is his pacifying conclusion. A gesture then, a raised eyebrow of question: behind them is a large couch, running the length of the back wall and even curving at one corner. Many other diners have retired there, to eat and chat; he, in respect of Roa's anxiousness about the crowd, suggests the quieter end of it. Shaya and Yosset, for their part, have long since departed without a word, carrying out their own duties to mix with the crowds.
Now, the weyrwoman has many flaws and here is one of them...she is loathe to resist a challenge. So the offered spoon is taken up and a more hearty...glop...of the brown and black goo is added to the modest amount chosen before. There now. Plate complete. Roa glances back over at J'cor as he speaks, and she notes, softly, "The Reaches was not kind to you. I imagine there's some significant piece of you that cannot wait to leave it behind." To the offer of the couch, se dips her head into a nod. Suggestion approved.
J'cor does not seem at all surprised by the hearty glop she chooses, so perhaps her huge portion is not all that unusual, from his perspective. What does surprise him is the frankness of her comment, which catches him halfway through the step he's about to make towards the couch. "Ah," he begins unhelpfully, lowering his head a moment. Just a moment: in the next he's straightened again, looking down on her with resumed calm. "I hardly blame the Reaches as a whole. Might I like to leave it? Yes, perhaps, but not for Igen. And Karth, as he points out incessantly, is hardly well-equipped or, as I point out, modest enough to make any trip overland. Much as the Reaches might appreciate my back, and I might appreciate a change, we are stuck with each other." That said, he takes off towards his selected part of the couch.
And if Roa caught J'cor by surprise, J'cor has just gotten even. Her eyes widen a little as she pads after the Weyrleader and settles on the less-busy corner of the couch. "Do you...I mean...I'm sure something could be arranged if you wished to leave. Something that didn't entail walking. If you wished it. If you don't, that's another thing entirely." A fork is lifted and a bit of the raisin paste is scooped up and studied before it is popped into her mouth.
Tiny explosion. In the mouth. The raisin paste, so hideously named, is not (as promised) hideously flavored: the taste of cinnamon marks the first wave, followed by the sweetness of raisins; and it's warm, surprisingly soft and not at all ... pasty. The aftertaste is somehow, mysteriously, almost spicy. J'cor, for his part starts off with the ham, resting the plate in his lap while he saws off some of it and dips it in some kind of squash concoction - squash paste, perhaps. "I honestly have not given the idea a great deal of my time. You'd have to ask Karth his preferences - he has the leisure for that sort of thing, and I think it's counter-productive to encourage such thoughts while I am, still, the Weyrleader of High Reaches." If he should be lowering his voice for such a conversation in such a crowd, he doesn't make any effort towards it; indeed, though a few of their couch-mates glanced their way, none seem to have any interest in listening.
The weyrwoman's brows arch high at the unexpected flavor and consistenc, and she gives a slow and deep nod of approval, swallowing down the one bite and forking up another as J'cor speaks. "I suppose that's so," she agrees. "Better to think on the day to day. When things change, then, I suppose, you can breathe and worry about the future. I find I travel in the opposite direction. It's equally perplexing."
J'cor considers her comments in silence for a moment or two, chewing over his mouthful of squash and ham. Then, gulping it down, he raises a finger. "Karth is not here." Obviously. "But if he were, I imagine he'd tell you that you must expect that: for your future holds promise of a beginning, mine of an end. You prepare to reconstruct yourself, I to deconstruct." The Weyrleader looks down at his plate sharply, and saws off another slice of ham. "He would also say that life is always changing and any kind of change is difficult." This last he almost mutters; then he cuts it off by stuffing food in his mouth.
Roa follows suit, contenting herself with eating quietly and, from the way she does so, everything meets with her approval. It doesn't hurt that she missed lunch, either. After she swallows down a bite of that yellow chicken, blue eyes lift to regard J'cor. "I don't need Karth here to hear your words, sir," is all she says softly.
J'cor closes his eyes - those ever so subtly reddened eyes - and takes a hard swallow, leaning back against the couch cushions behind him. His answer is quiet, and almost philosophical in tone: "He is, at times, a useful shill." Then silence, on his end.
It is Roa's turn for quiet, and she uses the silence to eat a bit more. "I don't suppose...would it be rude, do you think, to enquire whether Shaya might teach me how to dance the way the women do here?" she asks finally.
J'cor cracks an eye open again, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. "Roa, she would adore you for asking. As would any other woman here, whether she knew your name or not." He lets out a low chuckle, leaning forward in his seat and returning to his food. "Although I do warn you - Shaya's talent is exceptional. Few ever achieve the level she has at fifteen turns, though in a night, I imagine she could teach you some of the basics."
A slow shake of Roa's head. "I didn't mean tonight. I meant regular lessons. Once a seven, maybe. It's later, here. I could, possibly, arrange to meet her in the Reaches early morning, which would be a decent waking hour for Gezzah. Do you think she'd oblige? Would it be rude to ask?"
J'cor's eyebrows go up at that, and his eyes go searching the room - ostensibly for Shaya, who is no doubt wandering out there somewhere, but not visible from their current angle. "By early morning here, she would already be at work - she is the lady of Gezzah, more or less." His fork drops to the plate and starts to stir squash paste while he thinks, a faint frown forming on his features. "She must have her own hours free for practicing, however, and I expect she would happily clear one of those sessions to teach you. It is possible she is already teaching her sister - if you do not mind splitting time with a seven turn old," he adds with a short smile.
"I'm not very good with children, so I suppose I would be getting two lessons at once." A bit more chicken is speared and eaten, and Roa studies her near-empty plate as she speaks next. "It would be improper, I suspect, for me to arrive without an escort."
J'cor's smile fades slightly, briefly; then it's back. "It would not, but I would insist upon it anyway. Purely as a favor, you understand - it does me a great deal of good, coming here." Spearing a piece of ham on his fork, he lifts it for a quick, admonishing shake at her. "And I would also require that the children be allowed to gawk at Tialith, at the very least. Mostly because there is no way to stop them, and they will only resort to dangerous, evasive measures if disallowed." This time, he does not cut off his low chuckle.
"Sir, she will never forgive me for confessing this but..." and Roa does glance quickly from side to side before leaning forward to share her deep, dark secret, "Tialith adores children." A small nod and a rather artificed sigh. "So if I denied her access, they would not be the only ones attempting clandestine meetings in the dunes."
J'cor's eyebrows raise when she leans forward, and he tilts his ear towards her to better help the passing along of conspiratorial messages. Her words, however, bring another smile to his lips. "That's an easy guess, actually." His eyes roll up, the picture of innocence to go along with his suddenly quirked smile, and then he shoots Roa a quick wink. She is, after all, child-sized.
Blink. And then a small snicker. "Yes. Well. I suppose there is that," Roa murmurs a mite sheepishly. "I don't know what happened. I ate my vegetables. I drank my milk. I did all of my chores. All the things the adults insisted would get me growth spurts. And yet..." Her feet, unable to touch the ground from the height of the couch, swing out and then in once.
J'cor makes an uncertain hemming sound in his throat, then slowly shakes his head. "Those things? Pure superstition. The only true way to grow tall is to swallow a cup of oasis water at midnight when the moon is full and you are hanging upside down." Dropping the fork, he raises a hand to his chin and strokes it thoughtfully. "I believe Yosset tried it, but he found it unexpectedly difficult to swallow while our cousins swung him by the ankles." J'cor gives a little shrug - fancy that, how silly - and reclaims his fork.
"I imagine the ankle swinging, while essential, adds a special sort of challenge," Roa supplies solemnly. After quiet consideration she adds, "He should have used a straw."
J'cor raises his eyes to the crowd, getting luckier this time in that he happens to spot Yosset passing by at a fast walk, his arm thrown over some other man's shoulder while he chatters away in his ear. He watches his brother off-stage, as it were, but doesn't comment; once Yosset has left his vision, he hmms over Roa's suggestion. "The moon is full tonight, and I know of a few women cruel enough to dangle you by your feet if you'd like to try it, Roa. We could even find the water seller, and spare you the trek to the oasis."
"Tempting as it is," the little weyrwoman ponders, "I wouldn't wish to put Tialith off. Besides. None of my clothes would fit." Nod. "But thank you, sir. You're very generous to offer."
J'cor, having no handy cup to raise in toast to her, instead tilts his fork graciously. "The people of Gezzah have always prided themselves on their hospitality," he notes generously.
"And their elbows," Roa rejoins solemnly. Her own fork is lifted, her tines tapped against his so they make a faint *plink* sound.
J'cor returns solemn rejoinder with solemn nod; "And their elbows," he confirms, just before the sounding of that plink. Glass-less toast completed, he returns to his food: the ham now done, he starts in on what he must have been anticipating for some time now: raisin paste. "Is it really so odd?" he asks, the forkful of paste hovering in front of his mouth. "The elbows," he clarifies, raising his own as a demonstration before he treats himself to delicious, delicious raisin paste.
"Not if you grew up with it as part of your culture," Roa says with a shrug. "For me, hands are tools. Means of greeting and grabbing and taking and giving. There is no great intimacy to them. I think the elbow, less noticed, is a more private place to be touched. It intimates more. And yet here, it is just the opposite. I find it interesting." Roa took less food, and the las of her raisin paste has eben gone for some time. The final bits of squash are eaten and then her fork s set down on the empty plate.
J'cor has a great deal of raisin paste left, and he's in no great hurry to finish it. "Ah," he greets her answer slowly, nodding once (and forking up raisin paste). "I have been trying to imagine what, about this festival, might strike a vistor as - unique," he allows the word with a small smile. "The elbows simply never occurred to me."
"Everywhere is unique to everywhere else. I've never had raisin paste before. Your yellow meat. The dancing and the sound the women make while dancing. And, well, we've already covered the elbows." Roa pauses and queries back, "and the Reaches? What struck you as different when you first came? Besides the weather, obviously."
J'cor, still somewhat in his role as a guide to this festival, compulsively educates: "The yellow is just lemon seasoning, along with a few other things." But he is also buying time with his education, time to think. "It's hard to remember, now. The armchairs - a comfortable chair for just one person. And I do remember Karth complaining that people spent less time outside, I would guess because the cold kept them in. Also, to be quite honest, the informality. That, of course, is more a change from Igen than from Gezzah."
"I noticed that, coming here," Roa notes "That there were more little rules here. And at Igen Weyr, it is the same?"
J'cor gets down to the end of his raisin paste, pausing to let the last morsel dissolve in his mouth while he thinks over his reply. A swallow, and then, "It is the same, to an extent. It is a weyr, so it is naturally less -" he waves his fork-holding hand, trying to describe his thought. "Ah, I read a book once suggesting that weyrs had adopted a much more 'flowing' culture due to the constant influx of people from different regions necessary for search. That is a long way of saying that Igen has many rules of its own, but that it is, at the same time, very differently a product of its own traditions, perhaps more influenced by the hierachies of dragonriders than of constant tradition built up over time." Pausing here, he clears his throat and sets the gesturing fork down on his plate, summing up a quick, wry smile to shoot sideways at Roa. "Which is - an even longer way of saying yes and no."
Roa laughs softly. "Longer, but more informative. So you think that overall, each area might not even agree on what traditional Traditions are. That an Igenite could be affroned by Reaches cultural mores and vice versa. Weyrs are autonomous in more than just their laws."
J'cor no longer has his toasting-fork, so he just inclines his head, allowing the wryness to slip out of his smile. "An excellent summary. Your Caucus courses have taught you well, Roa. Speaking of-" he lifts his empty plate, demonstrative, and raises an eyebrow at her before looking out at the crowd of celebrants outside. "I ought to be showing you around the festival still, for your report."
"Ah. My report does scold me quietly that it is being ignored. So." Roa shifts in preparation for sliding down onto the ground again. "Let's get these set away" her empty plate is lifted "and then I would very much enjoy a tour, sir. Thank you."