Body swap?
It is a winter afternoon of day 13, month 13, turn 22 of Interval 10.
Corrals, Ista Weyr
Roughly a quarter of the western end of the bowl is enclosed by sturdy wooden fencing to contain the weyr's herd. The sounds and smells of the beasts permeate the entire area as the livestock jockey for prime real estate in sun or shade while others graze on long grass out in the vast field. The large metal doors of the stable are set into the bowl wall, often left open during the day to permit the beasts to come and go at will. Long and deep, four stone troughs occupy the area immediately in front of the stable and are kept filled with cool, clear water. A plateau spreads out to the north, where grass has overtaken the sprawling plain. Well-worn tracks lead back east toward the heavily trafficked bowl.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Plateau Stables
Dragons at a Weyr are nothing to blink at; neither are their riders. But the corrals are not exactly high on the list of places to visit - even at Ista - so when a man and a woman amble up to the fence it might lift a few brows. He's not wearing a jacket or a knot and the sleeves of his sweater are pushed up; a scowl may have just taken up permanent residence on his face though he's not aiming it at his companion. No, it's the fencing - or maybe the animals within - that he seems to have taken offense at.
Slightly tipsy girls with frou frou drink in hand here at Ista also nothing to blink at - usually. On the beach might seem the place for such a sight, but the corrals? Who knows? Certainly not this young woman with the hem of her skirt wet and sandals in the hand not holding her drink. They've been here awhile it seems for she's dressed for the tropics without jacket or knot as well, chattering easily with the scowling man until she notes where they are. "Now why're we checkin' the corrals again?" If he told her, she's forgotten.
Loping in long strides from the stables, a woman in calf-long trousers circles the inner side of the fence. A rope is loosely coiled over one shoulder; her aim appears the water troughs - or one of the beasts milling around it - as she comes 'round. Nevertheless, her strides slow as two more approach. Tipping back her chin, the stablehand scans the skies with shaded brown eyes. Failing to spot whatever it was she was looking for, her trajectory adjusts to head toward frou-frou girl and rugged boy. "Somethin' I could be helpin' y'with, folks?"
"Your idea," says he, not without some amusement, and leans an elbow on one of the posts. "Think we're waiting on you t' finish that," he adds, with a nod toward her drink. "You sure you're gonna be a'right t' get." 'Home', probably, though he doesn't say it. Instead he straightens at Edela's approach, arm falling off the wood to hang by his side and what lightness had been in his face likewise dropping away. He gives Edela a quick once-over and a curt, "No," by way of greeting.
Toasted coffee-brown from the sun, her complexion is a rich cocoa only a degree darker than her natural tone. Hair and eyes too are similarly dark, the latter, set wide and almond-tilted over a rounded nose. Her features all are wideset, broad, her lips full - giving her an open air; friendly, maybe. A thickly curled mane, whether plaited, pulled back or loose, manages stubbornly to dangle a stray tress or two along the straight lines of her jaw. Her hands are calloused and fingers short and stubby, nails chewed nearly to the quick. She moves easily, her wiry frame suited to long limbs.
The colourful, loose-fitting sarong she habitually wears off the shoulder complements her height; while on shift, however, she sports pliable and soft mid-calf trousers and a sensible if richly hued tunic.
Neratian accent thick thanks to the alcohol, although the words are clear enough, "Caught Hardin's beasts easier with a bucket of grain." The woman casually leans both elbows on the top rail of the fence, her smile at the other woman certainly sunny enough, so there's no criticism meant. The comment is given more in the manner of one sharing her laziness, if anything. Her companion's answer sees her head swiveling fluidly his way, a slow blink following, "Was it? Huh." She squints at the corral, shrugs and lifts the glass to her lips sipping while slow-brained thought is given as to just why she wanted to see a beast corral, of all things Ista has to offer. He says no, but her swallow and "Yes" follows on the heels of that. Confusing much?
Twist of rope slipping from shoulder, Edela catches it deftly in the hook of her thumb with a lingering, searching look over the fence. She pulls up short for the man's clipped reply, lips pursing; angling another shadowed glance skyward, she says, "if y'ain't riders lookin' t'feed your lifemates, can't imagine what you're doin' sight-seein' out here. Unless you're lost?" A look at Vanissa, leisurely, suddenly accompanied by a wide, white-toothed grin for the advice. "Cow's pregnant, and Faranth knows how long she's been without th'idiots 'round here noticing. But grain ain't necessary." The rope dangles between the loop of her thumb and forefinger. "Directions, then? Where're you headed? Market's busy this time a-day."
If B'kaiv's lost he doesn't admit to it, instead folding his arms over his middle. He, like Edela, checks over his shoulder: there are a few dragons basking in the sun of the bowl, as well as one or two weyrlings across the way. Whatever it is he's looking at is engrossing enough that he doesn't turn back to Edela for a while, and when he does, his scowl remains firmly in place. "Don't go t' th' market," he informs them both in a tight voice. A moment later, reluctantly, "K- B'kaiv. Green Chielyth's. Fort."
"Why were ya chasin' 'er then?" Nissa's had enough of that drink to make her less than tactful, though she sounds more curious than contradictory, her smile melting to slight confusion. "Actually we were headed here," she notes brightly, her afterthought with a feigned pout is, "If I could just remember why." Over the rim of her renewed sipping she rolls her eyes at B'kaiv's grumping, the look ending back to the woman in an apologetic he's-just-that-way sort of look. Lowering the glass, her breezy introduction is, "Heya, Nissa here an' I'm Liath's."
Pressing a cough - or a word bitten back - into her shoulder, Edela shifts her weight onto one foot and arches her brows across at B'kaiv. "Maybe th'Lucky Seven's more t'your tastes?" It's a fine line between irritation and amusement that creases her forehead and tweaks the curve of her mouth, giving way to a dip of her chin for Vanissa's unspoken apology. "Edela. Hope you're findin' Ista suitable?" They'll excuse her if she doesn't offer a hand over the fence? She doesn't smell too hot, either; her pants are smudges with something objectable and Ed's reply is a cheerful, "Weren't chasin' her. Only just found out now and was lookin' to rope her in."
It takes a special man to remain grumpy under the combined effects of Ista's beauty and a polite stranger, but Kai is just that sort of guy. "No," he says again to Edela's question - or questions, his jaw jutting stubbornly. He doesn't, at least, snarl at her, nor bite, but the bark is bad enough. He throws another look over his shoulder before scowling at the ground and scuffing a divot into the hard-packed dirt.
Eyes wide, "Huh, interesting. Can we watch? Cos I never learned how to rope." Grain. Bucket. Lazy. Another smile, "Nice to meecha Edela." Nissa's had that reminder of her task at hand - to finish her drink and so she does, although to Edela's question of Ista's suitability, she notes mildly, "Beach's nice. Drinks're too sweet." And then there's a sidelong look under lashes at B'kaiv, brows sliding up at the clod he's grinding into nothingness. "What eatin' ya (pause where 'this time' is left off) Kai?"
Edela touches free hand to her lips and murmurs sotto voce - neither to Vanissa or B'kaiv but directed upward with an expression begging patience, "Seven might do 'im some good, if y'end up headin' that way." Louder: "Sure, if you've got th'marks. Ain't running no dinner and a show down here." The twitch of her smile and the crinkle around the corners of her eyes might give lie to the joke; in either case, she lifts and lets fall one shoulder and hefts her rope. On the matter of too-sweet drinks, with the tone of one well aquainted with the local barkeeps and their habits, "Might b'able to score a free one if y'raise enough of a fuss."
"Don't like sharding Ista," B'kaiv says, loud enough to prove that he's not keeping his voice down. He glances at the other greenrider, then back at Edela as if vaguely surprised to find her still here. "You're a Istan, a'right, always after other people's marks. Worse'n Bitrans. C'mon," he adds with a jerk of his head to Vanissa, dropping Edela with an almost audible thump. "You done with that? 'll Walk you back t' th' bar. Dunno as you need no more, though."
Disbelief colors, "Ya want us to take the cow to the Seven?" Wait, no, that can't be right. Nissa waves a sheepish hand in the air like that might just erase words just spoken, shaking her head - which is a bad idea, incidentally, if one were to judge by the little side-step that follows. "Can't watch then. Used my last marks on this-" the glass is lifted once again towards her lips only to be paused on the way there in order to answer B'kaiv, "Almost," then to Edela, "Prefer ale." He says c'mon and her fingers reach to curl around the top rail of the fence as if he'd threatened to haul her away bodily. "But Kai, uh we can't yet."
"Then /why/," Edela crosses her arms and settles firmly into her wide-legged stance, sizing B'kaiv up, "'re you here?" Exasperation wins out over levity, which sputters back into a grin at the greenrider's tipsy query. "We ain't," stubbornly, almost sullenly, she returns. She won't quibble with B'kaiv, however she /will/ ignore him entirely with the slightest pout twisting her otherwise cheerful demeanor as she tilts brown eyes over to Vanissa. "For you then, free." Ed starts to turn on her heel, then pauses, unsure if Vanissa's last words are in part directed at her. "Was there somethin' else...?"
B'kaiv does reach out an arm to the other rider, it's true, but more to offer support than perform the aforementioned bodily hauling. "You ain't hardly fit t' fly," Vanissa's told, in a voice far warmer and less confrontational than anything he's said so far. He tries for her glass once, twice, only to stop and eye her, then Edela, with the exact same horrified disbelief. "Oh shells, no. She's a sharding /Istan/." Turning to Edela, he jerks an accusing thumb at Nissa. "/Liath/ wants t' -Search- you." This is where Edela bursts out into laughter, right?
"Ya don't like Ista?" Cue surprise from Nissa as she squints over at B'kaiv. "Sometime y'll have to tell me why." As to why he's here, she doesn't ask (she can't even recall why SHE'S here), instead she turns her attention back to Edela, nodding emphatically in agreement to both B'kaiv's statements and yes it's a good thing rider's arm is there when she does it. Yay - she maintains her feet while awaiting her reaction, beaming at the Istan with both relieved enlightenment (THAT's why she's here) and a (hopefully) shared joy. Congratulations? You could be seeing a lot of Grumpy.
"What?" It would be perhaps to B'kaiv's relief, then, that the sharding Istan's answer is a sharp "No." Then - wait for it - a breath behind that single word, accompanied by a steepling of her middle and index fingers and thumb against her forehead, Edela sighs, "-- maybe. Can I have some time t'think about it? I don't rightly know." Edela tucks that thumb against her lip, clips at the nail with her teeth and frowns faintly at Vanissa's hopeful expression. "Didn't work out so good for me last time, s'all, and I like it here." As if she needed to offer some sort of explanation. "And I gotta, y'know," she jerks her chin over her shoulder. Duty calls, and all.
Does Kai look relieved at that 'No'? He does, and he doesn't bother to hide it. "Fine," he grunts, and, "Good," and even gives Edela a nod. "Sure, take all th' sharding time you want."
There's a funny sort of expression on Nissa's face at that 'no' of Edela's. "Ha. S'what I said when they asked me, only I thought it was a joke-" Then the Istan is changing her answer, which causes momentary confusion and an uncertain look slid towards B'kaiv, "Sure can, they let me do it." Then, "I... should get home. And lie down." Before she falls down. Or worse.
Edela's hand flops to her side; the rope trails along the ground as she inhales, smiles vaguely for Vanissa. "Good." Two crooked fingers offer a salute (sort of) and then she adds, "Thanks? I guess. For th'honour, or whatever. Might be seein' you real soon again, dependin'." And there's a curve to her lips that encompasses B'kaiv, too: doesn't he just relish the thought? More formally still: "Hope y'enjoy your stay at Ista, dragonriders. I should be gettin' back, then."
If Kai relishes the thought, it looks a lot like his 'I hate sharding Ista' face. Maybe Edela will have lots of time to winkle out all his nuances, though. "Sure," he agrees, able to be agreeable now that Fort is (temporarily) safe. "Sure, one of us'll be back in a few days." He even goes so far as to drop Edela a nod before escorting Vanissa away from the pens.
Shells. Sharding Istans. Serve 'em right, though, she Impresses to Fort. Wonder if they'd transfer her back and give us Vyshani?
Corrals, Ista Weyr
Roughly a quarter of the western end of the bowl is enclosed by sturdy wooden fencing to contain the weyr's herd. The sounds and smells of the beasts permeate the entire area as the livestock jockey for prime real estate in sun or shade while others graze on long grass out in the vast field. The large metal doors of the stable are set into the bowl wall, often left open during the day to permit the beasts to come and go at will. Long and deep, four stone troughs occupy the area immediately in front of the stable and are kept filled with cool, clear water. A plateau spreads out to the north, where grass has overtaken the sprawling plain. Well-worn tracks lead back east toward the heavily trafficked bowl.
Obvious exits:
Bowl Plateau Stables
Dragons at a Weyr are nothing to blink at; neither are their riders. But the corrals are not exactly high on the list of places to visit - even at Ista - so when a man and a woman amble up to the fence it might lift a few brows. He's not wearing a jacket or a knot and the sleeves of his sweater are pushed up; a scowl may have just taken up permanent residence on his face though he's not aiming it at his companion. No, it's the fencing - or maybe the animals within - that he seems to have taken offense at.
Slightly tipsy girls with frou frou drink in hand here at Ista also nothing to blink at - usually. On the beach might seem the place for such a sight, but the corrals? Who knows? Certainly not this young woman with the hem of her skirt wet and sandals in the hand not holding her drink. They've been here awhile it seems for she's dressed for the tropics without jacket or knot as well, chattering easily with the scowling man until she notes where they are. "Now why're we checkin' the corrals again?" If he told her, she's forgotten.
Loping in long strides from the stables, a woman in calf-long trousers circles the inner side of the fence. A rope is loosely coiled over one shoulder; her aim appears the water troughs - or one of the beasts milling around it - as she comes 'round. Nevertheless, her strides slow as two more approach. Tipping back her chin, the stablehand scans the skies with shaded brown eyes. Failing to spot whatever it was she was looking for, her trajectory adjusts to head toward frou-frou girl and rugged boy. "Somethin' I could be helpin' y'with, folks?"
"Your idea," says he, not without some amusement, and leans an elbow on one of the posts. "Think we're waiting on you t' finish that," he adds, with a nod toward her drink. "You sure you're gonna be a'right t' get." 'Home', probably, though he doesn't say it. Instead he straightens at Edela's approach, arm falling off the wood to hang by his side and what lightness had been in his face likewise dropping away. He gives Edela a quick once-over and a curt, "No," by way of greeting.
Toasted coffee-brown from the sun, her complexion is a rich cocoa only a degree darker than her natural tone. Hair and eyes too are similarly dark, the latter, set wide and almond-tilted over a rounded nose. Her features all are wideset, broad, her lips full - giving her an open air; friendly, maybe. A thickly curled mane, whether plaited, pulled back or loose, manages stubbornly to dangle a stray tress or two along the straight lines of her jaw. Her hands are calloused and fingers short and stubby, nails chewed nearly to the quick. She moves easily, her wiry frame suited to long limbs.
The colourful, loose-fitting sarong she habitually wears off the shoulder complements her height; while on shift, however, she sports pliable and soft mid-calf trousers and a sensible if richly hued tunic.
Neratian accent thick thanks to the alcohol, although the words are clear enough, "Caught Hardin's beasts easier with a bucket of grain." The woman casually leans both elbows on the top rail of the fence, her smile at the other woman certainly sunny enough, so there's no criticism meant. The comment is given more in the manner of one sharing her laziness, if anything. Her companion's answer sees her head swiveling fluidly his way, a slow blink following, "Was it? Huh." She squints at the corral, shrugs and lifts the glass to her lips sipping while slow-brained thought is given as to just why she wanted to see a beast corral, of all things Ista has to offer. He says no, but her swallow and "Yes" follows on the heels of that. Confusing much?
Twist of rope slipping from shoulder, Edela catches it deftly in the hook of her thumb with a lingering, searching look over the fence. She pulls up short for the man's clipped reply, lips pursing; angling another shadowed glance skyward, she says, "if y'ain't riders lookin' t'feed your lifemates, can't imagine what you're doin' sight-seein' out here. Unless you're lost?" A look at Vanissa, leisurely, suddenly accompanied by a wide, white-toothed grin for the advice. "Cow's pregnant, and Faranth knows how long she's been without th'idiots 'round here noticing. But grain ain't necessary." The rope dangles between the loop of her thumb and forefinger. "Directions, then? Where're you headed? Market's busy this time a-day."
If B'kaiv's lost he doesn't admit to it, instead folding his arms over his middle. He, like Edela, checks over his shoulder: there are a few dragons basking in the sun of the bowl, as well as one or two weyrlings across the way. Whatever it is he's looking at is engrossing enough that he doesn't turn back to Edela for a while, and when he does, his scowl remains firmly in place. "Don't go t' th' market," he informs them both in a tight voice. A moment later, reluctantly, "K- B'kaiv. Green Chielyth's. Fort."
"Why were ya chasin' 'er then?" Nissa's had enough of that drink to make her less than tactful, though she sounds more curious than contradictory, her smile melting to slight confusion. "Actually we were headed here," she notes brightly, her afterthought with a feigned pout is, "If I could just remember why." Over the rim of her renewed sipping she rolls her eyes at B'kaiv's grumping, the look ending back to the woman in an apologetic he's-just-that-way sort of look. Lowering the glass, her breezy introduction is, "Heya, Nissa here an' I'm Liath's."
Pressing a cough - or a word bitten back - into her shoulder, Edela shifts her weight onto one foot and arches her brows across at B'kaiv. "Maybe th'Lucky Seven's more t'your tastes?" It's a fine line between irritation and amusement that creases her forehead and tweaks the curve of her mouth, giving way to a dip of her chin for Vanissa's unspoken apology. "Edela. Hope you're findin' Ista suitable?" They'll excuse her if she doesn't offer a hand over the fence? She doesn't smell too hot, either; her pants are smudges with something objectable and Ed's reply is a cheerful, "Weren't chasin' her. Only just found out now and was lookin' to rope her in."
It takes a special man to remain grumpy under the combined effects of Ista's beauty and a polite stranger, but Kai is just that sort of guy. "No," he says again to Edela's question - or questions, his jaw jutting stubbornly. He doesn't, at least, snarl at her, nor bite, but the bark is bad enough. He throws another look over his shoulder before scowling at the ground and scuffing a divot into the hard-packed dirt.
Eyes wide, "Huh, interesting. Can we watch? Cos I never learned how to rope." Grain. Bucket. Lazy. Another smile, "Nice to meecha Edela." Nissa's had that reminder of her task at hand - to finish her drink and so she does, although to Edela's question of Ista's suitability, she notes mildly, "Beach's nice. Drinks're too sweet." And then there's a sidelong look under lashes at B'kaiv, brows sliding up at the clod he's grinding into nothingness. "What eatin' ya (pause where 'this time' is left off) Kai?"
Edela touches free hand to her lips and murmurs sotto voce - neither to Vanissa or B'kaiv but directed upward with an expression begging patience, "Seven might do 'im some good, if y'end up headin' that way." Louder: "Sure, if you've got th'marks. Ain't running no dinner and a show down here." The twitch of her smile and the crinkle around the corners of her eyes might give lie to the joke; in either case, she lifts and lets fall one shoulder and hefts her rope. On the matter of too-sweet drinks, with the tone of one well aquainted with the local barkeeps and their habits, "Might b'able to score a free one if y'raise enough of a fuss."
"Don't like sharding Ista," B'kaiv says, loud enough to prove that he's not keeping his voice down. He glances at the other greenrider, then back at Edela as if vaguely surprised to find her still here. "You're a Istan, a'right, always after other people's marks. Worse'n Bitrans. C'mon," he adds with a jerk of his head to Vanissa, dropping Edela with an almost audible thump. "You done with that? 'll Walk you back t' th' bar. Dunno as you need no more, though."
Disbelief colors, "Ya want us to take the cow to the Seven?" Wait, no, that can't be right. Nissa waves a sheepish hand in the air like that might just erase words just spoken, shaking her head - which is a bad idea, incidentally, if one were to judge by the little side-step that follows. "Can't watch then. Used my last marks on this-" the glass is lifted once again towards her lips only to be paused on the way there in order to answer B'kaiv, "Almost," then to Edela, "Prefer ale." He says c'mon and her fingers reach to curl around the top rail of the fence as if he'd threatened to haul her away bodily. "But Kai, uh we can't yet."
"Then /why/," Edela crosses her arms and settles firmly into her wide-legged stance, sizing B'kaiv up, "'re you here?" Exasperation wins out over levity, which sputters back into a grin at the greenrider's tipsy query. "We ain't," stubbornly, almost sullenly, she returns. She won't quibble with B'kaiv, however she /will/ ignore him entirely with the slightest pout twisting her otherwise cheerful demeanor as she tilts brown eyes over to Vanissa. "For you then, free." Ed starts to turn on her heel, then pauses, unsure if Vanissa's last words are in part directed at her. "Was there somethin' else...?"
B'kaiv does reach out an arm to the other rider, it's true, but more to offer support than perform the aforementioned bodily hauling. "You ain't hardly fit t' fly," Vanissa's told, in a voice far warmer and less confrontational than anything he's said so far. He tries for her glass once, twice, only to stop and eye her, then Edela, with the exact same horrified disbelief. "Oh shells, no. She's a sharding /Istan/." Turning to Edela, he jerks an accusing thumb at Nissa. "/Liath/ wants t' -Search- you." This is where Edela bursts out into laughter, right?
"Ya don't like Ista?" Cue surprise from Nissa as she squints over at B'kaiv. "Sometime y'll have to tell me why." As to why he's here, she doesn't ask (she can't even recall why SHE'S here), instead she turns her attention back to Edela, nodding emphatically in agreement to both B'kaiv's statements and yes it's a good thing rider's arm is there when she does it. Yay - she maintains her feet while awaiting her reaction, beaming at the Istan with both relieved enlightenment (THAT's why she's here) and a (hopefully) shared joy. Congratulations? You could be seeing a lot of Grumpy.
"What?" It would be perhaps to B'kaiv's relief, then, that the sharding Istan's answer is a sharp "No." Then - wait for it - a breath behind that single word, accompanied by a steepling of her middle and index fingers and thumb against her forehead, Edela sighs, "-- maybe. Can I have some time t'think about it? I don't rightly know." Edela tucks that thumb against her lip, clips at the nail with her teeth and frowns faintly at Vanissa's hopeful expression. "Didn't work out so good for me last time, s'all, and I like it here." As if she needed to offer some sort of explanation. "And I gotta, y'know," she jerks her chin over her shoulder. Duty calls, and all.
Does Kai look relieved at that 'No'? He does, and he doesn't bother to hide it. "Fine," he grunts, and, "Good," and even gives Edela a nod. "Sure, take all th' sharding time you want."
There's a funny sort of expression on Nissa's face at that 'no' of Edela's. "Ha. S'what I said when they asked me, only I thought it was a joke-" Then the Istan is changing her answer, which causes momentary confusion and an uncertain look slid towards B'kaiv, "Sure can, they let me do it." Then, "I... should get home. And lie down." Before she falls down. Or worse.
Edela's hand flops to her side; the rope trails along the ground as she inhales, smiles vaguely for Vanissa. "Good." Two crooked fingers offer a salute (sort of) and then she adds, "Thanks? I guess. For th'honour, or whatever. Might be seein' you real soon again, dependin'." And there's a curve to her lips that encompasses B'kaiv, too: doesn't he just relish the thought? More formally still: "Hope y'enjoy your stay at Ista, dragonriders. I should be gettin' back, then."
If Kai relishes the thought, it looks a lot like his 'I hate sharding Ista' face. Maybe Edela will have lots of time to winkle out all his nuances, though. "Sure," he agrees, able to be agreeable now that Fort is (temporarily) safe. "Sure, one of us'll be back in a few days." He even goes so far as to drop Edela a nod before escorting Vanissa away from the pens.
Shells. Sharding Istans. Serve 'em right, though, she Impresses to Fort. Wonder if they'd transfer her back and give us Vyshani?