Kai goes to Ista
It is a spring morning of day 3, month 2, turn 22 of Interval 10.
Market, Ista Weyr
Clustered around the path leading between the beach and the jungle stands a diamond of eight wooden stalls, two to a side. Staffed by a kaleidoscope of Istans from around the island, the market features a changing array of local products from ubiquitous shell jewelry to season-conscious umbrellas and surfboards. It's Buyer Beware, though: the quality of the products varies, but then again so does the quality of salesmanship, and it's just as likely to find a overvalued rip-off as an underpriced treasure.
Open to the air when the weather is good, the market has several tools at its disposal to deal with less genial conditions. The round pit in the center of the stalls, which visitors may choose to skirt or gather around, can be used for a small bonfire on the rare cold days. A big, heavy stretch of oilcloth and a thinner gauze material have been bundled up and nailed to the trees just behind the market, ready to be stretched out for shelter or shade on days that are too rainy or too hot.
Obvious exits:
Plateau
It's a pleasant early spring morning at Ista, which translates into 'muggy, with a decent chance of rain later'. The earlier haze has burned off, and the view from the top of the plateau is simply spectacular: with good enough vision, a watcher can track a single ship from the docks nearly to the horizon. The market is hopping today - a trio of ships docked in the past day and a half, which brings fresh blood to investigate the fresh goods. One of the browsers is a solidly-built man with a Fortian greenrider's knot on his shoulder. He almost seems more interested in taking the air than shopping, for he moves from booth to stall without ever reaching for his marks.
Early, yes, but L'hai's been out even earlier. His stance is loose but confident as he squares off with a seller; their conversation is in enough of a state to suggest they've been at it a while. "--I see it," he's in the midst of insisting, "Here," in his hands is the strap of a functional but ornately decorated satchel and he turns it about, "Here," thumbs smoothing expertly over the leather, pushing it on places, "And here." After the last, he passes the whole item experimentally around, making sure that's really it, though his eyes are already drifting upwards to the other man's nervous face. "Structural weakness. I do believe this would fall apart with even three books' weight inside it. Would you care to test?" It's a curious question, not meant to be cruel, but the seller waves frantically to stop the bronzerider from turning around and picking up said books from off the table behind them. Mid-turn, though, that Fort knot is spotted in the crowd and the other rider gets distracted watching this progress instead.
Maybe loitering around a toy stall isn't where anyone would expect to find a young male, but that's where B'kaiv stops, politely pausing behind a woman and her two waist-high children as the latter go into ecstasies over painted wooden pull-toys. Who'da thunk? Maybe he has kids of his own somewhere? ...Or not, for when the woman nearly takes a step back into him he excuses himself and moves on, heading for the man selling structurally unsound bags. He offers a, "Hey," and a nod to L'hai and the seller in turn before tacking a, "Just looking for now - ain't gonna interrupt." His accent is distinct but not unintelligibly so, but definitely not from around here.
"That's fine, I've got to, uh, one moment." So says the seller, shuffling off to attend to another person looking at his goods with less scrutiny than the rider. Apparently, he has no qualms leaving the bag in L'hai's hands. And, appropriately, the bronzerider sets the merchandise down, tucked away with the others. "Well, I /was/ going to say we could fix it..." A half-hearted shrug. Then, hands diving into pockets to let his arms hang casually, he eyes B'kaiv with the exact same intent as if he were still eyeing the leather. "Duties to Fort. Curious fact, saying you're not going to interrupt is an interruption in itself." The More You Know. He doesn't seem to be accusing the other rider of anything, purely stating for the fun of stating.
Here is average height, fairly broad shoulders - a lean, fit shape... though there's definitely no rippling muscles. He's pale-skinned, with a long face and high forehead with light brown hair cut short and layered. His nose is a bit crooked and his wide lips form a mouth that looks always slightly perturbed. Brown eyes are clear... but there's almost as if something's missing from there. His most expressive features are actually his hands; he has long, nimble fingers.
He has a tan, lightweight shirt with sleeves to the elbows that clings in all the right places and breathes in the others. His long black pants hang loose, creating a small billow where they're tucked into his much tighter boots. They are also black, though worn lighter in several places, and, despite these markings, appear very hardy. Notable accessories are a braided leather belt for the pants and the colorful collection of strands in his bronze rider knot.
B'kaiv squints after the seller - come back, Shane, come back! - but since the man appears to have found less discerning customers at the other end of his booth, the greenrider shrugs and turns to consider L'hai. Rather, to frown at L'hai like the other man is speaking backwards. "Huh, what? --Fort's duties t' Ista and her queens." The return pleasantry is delivered by rote. "Sorry," he gestures to where the bag now lurks for other unwary customers, "was you gonna buy that? Didn't mean t' spoil th' dicker. B'kaiv. Chielyth's."
L'hai may still be speaking backwards, or maybe B'kaiv is. The bronzerider gives an idle sniff, gaze moving back to the bag he's put away. "Were I. Were. Speculation on an event that didn't happen. Wasn't going to, actually. I thought about it, but, really, what's the point of buying something that I could've made, myself. No, she deserves better." He tilts his head contemplatively to either side, that grimace a much more severe expression than one satchel deserves: even as a present. But the moment passes and he juts a hand from out of his pocket to offer it. "L'hai. Kolniveth's. Well met, B'kaiv. You said you were looking-- anything in particular?"
No one has ever accused Kai of being either highly educated or horribly tactful. His face shifts through a number of expressions as the bronzerider speaks, from irritation, to confusion, to resignation and he doesn't bother (or isn't able to) disguise a one. He glances back at the bag to make sure that yes, they're still talking about the same thing; crosses palms much more easily than he followed the monologue. "Nah. Just - got my stipend, and needed t' get out of Fort for a bit. Heard as Ista had some things, and figured I'd come see. Warm, ain't it," he adds conversationally. "Figured as I'd get down t' th' bar, after."
All of those reactions L'hai watches, but gives absolutely no outward reaction to beyond the sort of casualness that's easily becoming a familiar air around him. "Ista does have some things," he replies nonspecifically, though once his hand is his again he describes the market around them with a gesture. "And the weather to show it off." His gaze goes squinty, but without judgment. "Since you came to the market before the bar, I think I might know which one of the two you're referring to. Unless you had a very generous stipend. Or you're shy." All of these observations come out like he's still referring to the color of the sky. "Why get out of Fort?"
B'kaiv scratches casually at his jawline, paying only the barest amount of attention to the lively market around them. A sudden bright laugh does snag his eyes for a moment, but though he gives the slim redheaded girl a quick once-over, he looks back to L'hai soon enough. "Huh? Yeah, came t' look at th' market. Then t' th' bar t' cool off." He waves absently more or less in the direction of the beach, in case that wasn't clear, and likewise squints at the older man, honestly curious. "What's... what's -shy- got t' do with nothing?" And tacked on to the very end, "Th' weather. Tired of snow."
"It's got to do with the /other/ bar," L'hai responds as if that answers everything; it's the first time he's been less than too wordy. Instead, the thoughtful twitch of the eyebrow is for mentions of snow. "Hm. Miss it myself. The, ah, the snow. Or maybe just the way the snow makes you dress. Monotony does wear on the mind some, though, so any place doing one thing too long is probably escape-worthy. I almost transferred once, myself," another little sniff causes him to raise a hand and brush this thumb against his nose. Then the thumb folds in and pointer finger comes out to indicate the sky off into the distance, "To the Reaches." Which must be off /thatta/ way. (If anyone checked a map right then, he'd be exact to the degree.)
"Th' other bar?" B'kaiv repeats, still baffled. "Which one you talking about? Th' bar, or th' whorehouse?" Perhaps 'shy' isn't the right word for him or maybe he really doesn't see a problem with mentioning 'that sort of place' in the middle of a crowded market. "Shells, you can come t' Fort any time. /Or/ th' Reaches," he adds, a corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Know what you mean, though. Just come back from Monaco, an' th' place is pretty, but shells, all that pretty gets dull, don't it? So how come?" He shakes his head, irritated at himself before L'hai can answer, and elaborates: "You was going t' th' Reaches?"
That does clear up the possibility of shyness, which L'hai had never really clarified. Nor, by his briefly up-shot eyebrows, did he care to have it. The rest, though, he accepts with a smooth, long nod of the head. Contemplating the final question, his mouth screws off to one side before he replies, "Were. I studied trade near there before this whole dragonriding bit came up, ruined that. Hrm, no, to be fair-- that'd be Gran ruining it first. But the dragons helped. Anyway, I've been thinking about Fort. Though, I believe if I visited now I'd be spending a good deal more time with my face," his hand comes up to press near his nose, "buried in charts." When the hand pulls away, said face is whimsical, pleased with this imagined past-time despite.
That's B'kaiv, always ready to share. Such a helpful guy. "Trade? You was gonna be a crafter? Or - you was one, and got Searched?" Either alternative is pretty gosh-darn impressive. When L'hai's hand drops Kai answers his whimsey with a amused - if small - smile. "Hah. You and Hattie. Don't hardly never see her without a hide or something. She's our junior, Impressed with me," he adds helpfully. "Me an' here, we come t' Ista before, t'gether. Didn't take her t' th' wh-. Bar, though."
"Not a craft, a trade. A little business of my own," L'hai's gaze flickers absently to the seller's table, lighting up when they realize they've hit on something relevant, "Leathers, actually." And he points out the satchel decisively. His hands don't make it fully back to his pockets, hanging on his belt-loops as he works visibly around choosing his next words. "Hattie, yes. When I saw her she, indeed, had a hide. Taking records. And, no, I don't imagine that's really what they do at /those/ kinds of places. Not really congruent to getting a lot of work done. Either of them."
B'kaiv says, "Huh," with an undertone of 'isn't that nifty'. "So you got, I mean, you probably was teaching th' class when it come t' making straps," he jokes. "When you was a weyrling." The satchel-seller looks over at the movement, but seeing only Mr. Structural Defects and Mr. Browsing, doesn't bother to so much as look hopeful, much less come over. "Oh, you met Hattie? She can be nice. 'Course, she can be a real, uh." Coming just barely-in-time to the realization that perhaps one should not badmouth one's junior in public, Kai finishes lamely, "Depends on what kinda work?"
"Mostly I just took it upon myself to do the work," L'hai admits, tilting his head allowing, "Fellow weyrlings had a variety of responses-- but, yes, Hattie." He studies B'kaiv, perhaps waiting to see if the answer is said after all. "I think I know what you mean. It's alright. She's also not a big fan of ours, either. No, uh, you're right-- I didn't specify work, but I prefer paperwork, myself. Also, I was thinking about taking the leathers back up, as it were. Teaching the class, you said..." He trails off to envision this one in his head, glancing back at the shape of Weyr, "We're all diving a bit more back into it. The old trades, to supplement the dragonriding."
B'kaiv is not going to elaborate, thanks, even with that tempting pause L'hai lays in front of him. "Dunno what she'd be mad at you for. Usually it's only people as ain't doing th' work she thinks they oughta." His mouth curves up ruefully: and how many times has the goldrider called him to the carpet? "Doing something like that back t' Fort, too. Well, best we can with all th' raiders, an' all. Been on pretty short rations for... shells. Since I Impressed, I think. There's been Crafters as has left 'cause we can't provide for 'em or nothing. Look," here's a happier subject, "you wanna go get a beer, or something?"
"I can't say for sure, either," L'hai admits with a one-shouldered shrug of non-commitment, "I only gleaned it from behavior." He side-steps, acknowledging the table of scattered books and specialized quills that's next to the bag-seller. "A lot's been tough with the raiders," he expresses, a hand pulling consciously to his body then raising to rub along his chin and he picks briefly at a scar along his lip. "But economies don't stay bad forever; it'll work itself out, I think." His lips pinch into an imitation of a smile, attempting to be bashful, when he shakes a hand at B'kaiv. "I don't drink."
"Hah," says B'kaiv, like something L'hai's said suddenly made sense, but he doesn't follow up with an explanation. He doesn't have to, strictly speaking, move with the other man but he does, rather than turn to keep the Istan in his sights. "Dunno about 'economies', but th' rest is true. Ain't nothing gonna be bad forever. Even weyrlinghood." See? Another joke, even if it's one that quickly dissolves into frank confusion. "Don't drink? Well, they got other things, ain't they? Juice, an' all? Or you saying you don't wanna go nowhere with no greenrider?" He lays that out very deliberately, a Navajo blanket on the dusty trail of life. Of course there's no reason to step carefully to the side!
The tight smile is repeated for the quip about weyrlinghood, but then L'hai's face evens out blandly at the rest of it. "I don't believe I even said the word 'greenrider," he mentions, utterly sincere about this point, not mocking. "And you said beer. Admittedly, you then said 'something', but I took the implication for what it was worth. Anyway, it might as well be true. I'm not a fan of the locale, even if I were of its offerings." Either of them, apparently. If there were watches, he'd be checking his right about now. "And I've a few things yet I've got down to get done today. I, ah, hope you enjoy Ista, however..."
B'kaiv's chin jerks up as L'hai explains, but either the bronzerider does a really good job of covering his butt or B'kaiv wasn't that interested in jerking his chain anyway. "There's that other place you got, but if you're gonna - if you ain't going, guess I might as well have some fun." He doesn't have a watch either, but a look around the market serves the same function: time to leave this party before the cops get called. "Yeah. An' you can come t' Fort any time you like. We got a bar you'll probably like just fine." Eyes slide back to L'hai just in time for a thin, quick not-smile and the appropriate pleasantries: "Nice meeting you. Regards t' your... Kolniveth, yeah?"
"Oh, I meant every bar," L'hai puts in as explanation, apparently never tired of giving them, "As in, the locale that they all seem to create. Atmosphere, perhaps that's better. I'll use atmosphere next time. But for what it is, Ista's is top-notch. Do enjoy." And he doesn't really smile, either, but manages to look friendly enough when inclining his head in acknowledgment. "You as well. Kolniveth," a hazy pause where he both hears words and decides to reshape them, "hopes you make a wise investment." Whatever /that/ refers to, someone else can suss out, because, a last raise of hand in parting, and the bronzerider turns about and strolls off.
Snobby bastard, ain't he. Wonder what he meant about knowing Hattie, though? Can't see her coming here and bringing her hidework with her. ...Then again, just the sort of thing she might do. Huh. Might have to ask her, next time I see her.
Market, Ista Weyr
Clustered around the path leading between the beach and the jungle stands a diamond of eight wooden stalls, two to a side. Staffed by a kaleidoscope of Istans from around the island, the market features a changing array of local products from ubiquitous shell jewelry to season-conscious umbrellas and surfboards. It's Buyer Beware, though: the quality of the products varies, but then again so does the quality of salesmanship, and it's just as likely to find a overvalued rip-off as an underpriced treasure.
Open to the air when the weather is good, the market has several tools at its disposal to deal with less genial conditions. The round pit in the center of the stalls, which visitors may choose to skirt or gather around, can be used for a small bonfire on the rare cold days. A big, heavy stretch of oilcloth and a thinner gauze material have been bundled up and nailed to the trees just behind the market, ready to be stretched out for shelter or shade on days that are too rainy or too hot.
Obvious exits:
Plateau
It's a pleasant early spring morning at Ista, which translates into 'muggy, with a decent chance of rain later'. The earlier haze has burned off, and the view from the top of the plateau is simply spectacular: with good enough vision, a watcher can track a single ship from the docks nearly to the horizon. The market is hopping today - a trio of ships docked in the past day and a half, which brings fresh blood to investigate the fresh goods. One of the browsers is a solidly-built man with a Fortian greenrider's knot on his shoulder. He almost seems more interested in taking the air than shopping, for he moves from booth to stall without ever reaching for his marks.
Early, yes, but L'hai's been out even earlier. His stance is loose but confident as he squares off with a seller; their conversation is in enough of a state to suggest they've been at it a while. "--I see it," he's in the midst of insisting, "Here," in his hands is the strap of a functional but ornately decorated satchel and he turns it about, "Here," thumbs smoothing expertly over the leather, pushing it on places, "And here." After the last, he passes the whole item experimentally around, making sure that's really it, though his eyes are already drifting upwards to the other man's nervous face. "Structural weakness. I do believe this would fall apart with even three books' weight inside it. Would you care to test?" It's a curious question, not meant to be cruel, but the seller waves frantically to stop the bronzerider from turning around and picking up said books from off the table behind them. Mid-turn, though, that Fort knot is spotted in the crowd and the other rider gets distracted watching this progress instead.
Maybe loitering around a toy stall isn't where anyone would expect to find a young male, but that's where B'kaiv stops, politely pausing behind a woman and her two waist-high children as the latter go into ecstasies over painted wooden pull-toys. Who'da thunk? Maybe he has kids of his own somewhere? ...Or not, for when the woman nearly takes a step back into him he excuses himself and moves on, heading for the man selling structurally unsound bags. He offers a, "Hey," and a nod to L'hai and the seller in turn before tacking a, "Just looking for now - ain't gonna interrupt." His accent is distinct but not unintelligibly so, but definitely not from around here.
"That's fine, I've got to, uh, one moment." So says the seller, shuffling off to attend to another person looking at his goods with less scrutiny than the rider. Apparently, he has no qualms leaving the bag in L'hai's hands. And, appropriately, the bronzerider sets the merchandise down, tucked away with the others. "Well, I /was/ going to say we could fix it..." A half-hearted shrug. Then, hands diving into pockets to let his arms hang casually, he eyes B'kaiv with the exact same intent as if he were still eyeing the leather. "Duties to Fort. Curious fact, saying you're not going to interrupt is an interruption in itself." The More You Know. He doesn't seem to be accusing the other rider of anything, purely stating for the fun of stating.
Here is average height, fairly broad shoulders - a lean, fit shape... though there's definitely no rippling muscles. He's pale-skinned, with a long face and high forehead with light brown hair cut short and layered. His nose is a bit crooked and his wide lips form a mouth that looks always slightly perturbed. Brown eyes are clear... but there's almost as if something's missing from there. His most expressive features are actually his hands; he has long, nimble fingers.
He has a tan, lightweight shirt with sleeves to the elbows that clings in all the right places and breathes in the others. His long black pants hang loose, creating a small billow where they're tucked into his much tighter boots. They are also black, though worn lighter in several places, and, despite these markings, appear very hardy. Notable accessories are a braided leather belt for the pants and the colorful collection of strands in his bronze rider knot.
B'kaiv squints after the seller - come back, Shane, come back! - but since the man appears to have found less discerning customers at the other end of his booth, the greenrider shrugs and turns to consider L'hai. Rather, to frown at L'hai like the other man is speaking backwards. "Huh, what? --Fort's duties t' Ista and her queens." The return pleasantry is delivered by rote. "Sorry," he gestures to where the bag now lurks for other unwary customers, "was you gonna buy that? Didn't mean t' spoil th' dicker. B'kaiv. Chielyth's."
L'hai may still be speaking backwards, or maybe B'kaiv is. The bronzerider gives an idle sniff, gaze moving back to the bag he's put away. "Were I. Were. Speculation on an event that didn't happen. Wasn't going to, actually. I thought about it, but, really, what's the point of buying something that I could've made, myself. No, she deserves better." He tilts his head contemplatively to either side, that grimace a much more severe expression than one satchel deserves: even as a present. But the moment passes and he juts a hand from out of his pocket to offer it. "L'hai. Kolniveth's. Well met, B'kaiv. You said you were looking-- anything in particular?"
No one has ever accused Kai of being either highly educated or horribly tactful. His face shifts through a number of expressions as the bronzerider speaks, from irritation, to confusion, to resignation and he doesn't bother (or isn't able to) disguise a one. He glances back at the bag to make sure that yes, they're still talking about the same thing; crosses palms much more easily than he followed the monologue. "Nah. Just - got my stipend, and needed t' get out of Fort for a bit. Heard as Ista had some things, and figured I'd come see. Warm, ain't it," he adds conversationally. "Figured as I'd get down t' th' bar, after."
All of those reactions L'hai watches, but gives absolutely no outward reaction to beyond the sort of casualness that's easily becoming a familiar air around him. "Ista does have some things," he replies nonspecifically, though once his hand is his again he describes the market around them with a gesture. "And the weather to show it off." His gaze goes squinty, but without judgment. "Since you came to the market before the bar, I think I might know which one of the two you're referring to. Unless you had a very generous stipend. Or you're shy." All of these observations come out like he's still referring to the color of the sky. "Why get out of Fort?"
B'kaiv scratches casually at his jawline, paying only the barest amount of attention to the lively market around them. A sudden bright laugh does snag his eyes for a moment, but though he gives the slim redheaded girl a quick once-over, he looks back to L'hai soon enough. "Huh? Yeah, came t' look at th' market. Then t' th' bar t' cool off." He waves absently more or less in the direction of the beach, in case that wasn't clear, and likewise squints at the older man, honestly curious. "What's... what's -shy- got t' do with nothing?" And tacked on to the very end, "Th' weather. Tired of snow."
"It's got to do with the /other/ bar," L'hai responds as if that answers everything; it's the first time he's been less than too wordy. Instead, the thoughtful twitch of the eyebrow is for mentions of snow. "Hm. Miss it myself. The, ah, the snow. Or maybe just the way the snow makes you dress. Monotony does wear on the mind some, though, so any place doing one thing too long is probably escape-worthy. I almost transferred once, myself," another little sniff causes him to raise a hand and brush this thumb against his nose. Then the thumb folds in and pointer finger comes out to indicate the sky off into the distance, "To the Reaches." Which must be off /thatta/ way. (If anyone checked a map right then, he'd be exact to the degree.)
"Th' other bar?" B'kaiv repeats, still baffled. "Which one you talking about? Th' bar, or th' whorehouse?" Perhaps 'shy' isn't the right word for him or maybe he really doesn't see a problem with mentioning 'that sort of place' in the middle of a crowded market. "Shells, you can come t' Fort any time. /Or/ th' Reaches," he adds, a corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Know what you mean, though. Just come back from Monaco, an' th' place is pretty, but shells, all that pretty gets dull, don't it? So how come?" He shakes his head, irritated at himself before L'hai can answer, and elaborates: "You was going t' th' Reaches?"
That does clear up the possibility of shyness, which L'hai had never really clarified. Nor, by his briefly up-shot eyebrows, did he care to have it. The rest, though, he accepts with a smooth, long nod of the head. Contemplating the final question, his mouth screws off to one side before he replies, "Were. I studied trade near there before this whole dragonriding bit came up, ruined that. Hrm, no, to be fair-- that'd be Gran ruining it first. But the dragons helped. Anyway, I've been thinking about Fort. Though, I believe if I visited now I'd be spending a good deal more time with my face," his hand comes up to press near his nose, "buried in charts." When the hand pulls away, said face is whimsical, pleased with this imagined past-time despite.
That's B'kaiv, always ready to share. Such a helpful guy. "Trade? You was gonna be a crafter? Or - you was one, and got Searched?" Either alternative is pretty gosh-darn impressive. When L'hai's hand drops Kai answers his whimsey with a amused - if small - smile. "Hah. You and Hattie. Don't hardly never see her without a hide or something. She's our junior, Impressed with me," he adds helpfully. "Me an' here, we come t' Ista before, t'gether. Didn't take her t' th' wh-. Bar, though."
"Not a craft, a trade. A little business of my own," L'hai's gaze flickers absently to the seller's table, lighting up when they realize they've hit on something relevant, "Leathers, actually." And he points out the satchel decisively. His hands don't make it fully back to his pockets, hanging on his belt-loops as he works visibly around choosing his next words. "Hattie, yes. When I saw her she, indeed, had a hide. Taking records. And, no, I don't imagine that's really what they do at /those/ kinds of places. Not really congruent to getting a lot of work done. Either of them."
B'kaiv says, "Huh," with an undertone of 'isn't that nifty'. "So you got, I mean, you probably was teaching th' class when it come t' making straps," he jokes. "When you was a weyrling." The satchel-seller looks over at the movement, but seeing only Mr. Structural Defects and Mr. Browsing, doesn't bother to so much as look hopeful, much less come over. "Oh, you met Hattie? She can be nice. 'Course, she can be a real, uh." Coming just barely-in-time to the realization that perhaps one should not badmouth one's junior in public, Kai finishes lamely, "Depends on what kinda work?"
"Mostly I just took it upon myself to do the work," L'hai admits, tilting his head allowing, "Fellow weyrlings had a variety of responses-- but, yes, Hattie." He studies B'kaiv, perhaps waiting to see if the answer is said after all. "I think I know what you mean. It's alright. She's also not a big fan of ours, either. No, uh, you're right-- I didn't specify work, but I prefer paperwork, myself. Also, I was thinking about taking the leathers back up, as it were. Teaching the class, you said..." He trails off to envision this one in his head, glancing back at the shape of Weyr, "We're all diving a bit more back into it. The old trades, to supplement the dragonriding."
B'kaiv is not going to elaborate, thanks, even with that tempting pause L'hai lays in front of him. "Dunno what she'd be mad at you for. Usually it's only people as ain't doing th' work she thinks they oughta." His mouth curves up ruefully: and how many times has the goldrider called him to the carpet? "Doing something like that back t' Fort, too. Well, best we can with all th' raiders, an' all. Been on pretty short rations for... shells. Since I Impressed, I think. There's been Crafters as has left 'cause we can't provide for 'em or nothing. Look," here's a happier subject, "you wanna go get a beer, or something?"
"I can't say for sure, either," L'hai admits with a one-shouldered shrug of non-commitment, "I only gleaned it from behavior." He side-steps, acknowledging the table of scattered books and specialized quills that's next to the bag-seller. "A lot's been tough with the raiders," he expresses, a hand pulling consciously to his body then raising to rub along his chin and he picks briefly at a scar along his lip. "But economies don't stay bad forever; it'll work itself out, I think." His lips pinch into an imitation of a smile, attempting to be bashful, when he shakes a hand at B'kaiv. "I don't drink."
"Hah," says B'kaiv, like something L'hai's said suddenly made sense, but he doesn't follow up with an explanation. He doesn't have to, strictly speaking, move with the other man but he does, rather than turn to keep the Istan in his sights. "Dunno about 'economies', but th' rest is true. Ain't nothing gonna be bad forever. Even weyrlinghood." See? Another joke, even if it's one that quickly dissolves into frank confusion. "Don't drink? Well, they got other things, ain't they? Juice, an' all? Or you saying you don't wanna go nowhere with no greenrider?" He lays that out very deliberately, a Navajo blanket on the dusty trail of life. Of course there's no reason to step carefully to the side!
The tight smile is repeated for the quip about weyrlinghood, but then L'hai's face evens out blandly at the rest of it. "I don't believe I even said the word 'greenrider," he mentions, utterly sincere about this point, not mocking. "And you said beer. Admittedly, you then said 'something', but I took the implication for what it was worth. Anyway, it might as well be true. I'm not a fan of the locale, even if I were of its offerings." Either of them, apparently. If there were watches, he'd be checking his right about now. "And I've a few things yet I've got down to get done today. I, ah, hope you enjoy Ista, however..."
B'kaiv's chin jerks up as L'hai explains, but either the bronzerider does a really good job of covering his butt or B'kaiv wasn't that interested in jerking his chain anyway. "There's that other place you got, but if you're gonna - if you ain't going, guess I might as well have some fun." He doesn't have a watch either, but a look around the market serves the same function: time to leave this party before the cops get called. "Yeah. An' you can come t' Fort any time you like. We got a bar you'll probably like just fine." Eyes slide back to L'hai just in time for a thin, quick not-smile and the appropriate pleasantries: "Nice meeting you. Regards t' your... Kolniveth, yeah?"
"Oh, I meant every bar," L'hai puts in as explanation, apparently never tired of giving them, "As in, the locale that they all seem to create. Atmosphere, perhaps that's better. I'll use atmosphere next time. But for what it is, Ista's is top-notch. Do enjoy." And he doesn't really smile, either, but manages to look friendly enough when inclining his head in acknowledgment. "You as well. Kolniveth," a hazy pause where he both hears words and decides to reshape them, "hopes you make a wise investment." Whatever /that/ refers to, someone else can suss out, because, a last raise of hand in parting, and the bronzerider turns about and strolls off.
Snobby bastard, ain't he. Wonder what he meant about knowing Hattie, though? Can't see her coming here and bringing her hidework with her. ...Then again, just the sort of thing she might do. Huh. Might have to ask her, next time I see her.