[Log] Romance and a romantic
Who: X'lar, P'draig, Suizen, Avey, T'mic, Sunniva, P'traul
What: Suizen, P'traul, and Avey come upon P'draig, T'mic, X'lar and Sunniva in the Sanbar where they are all escaping the torrential rain outside! A few may come and go, but talk of towels is forever.
Where: The Sandbar, Ista Weyr
"I don't think I've ever actually /seen/ her work before," X'lar notes of Javeri's beads. "I just know she's good people. And likes raw fish. And /lots/ of sailors." He chuckles softly at the latter description of the weyrling before taking another drink of his wine. At Paddy's comments, Xie nods, asking the brownrider rhetorically, "Well, I guess I'm feeling better about it if I can say that, huh?" X'lar, P'draig, T'mic and Sunniva sit near the view of the ocean. It's been raining for a few hours and the storm doesn't look like it's going to let up any time soon. He wrinkles his nose at T'mic and nods, saying, "I haven't seen Millie in a while either, actually."
"Still recovering," P'draig says quietly of Paige and pokes his fork at his rivergrains some more. "She's a trooper," he says with a grin. "That's because she's busy doing the whole headwoman thing," the brownrider reminds his weyrmate with a fond, sideways grin. "Mm, swing by the nursery end of day sometime, X'lar, I usually pick up Palia for some playtime, can see her bracelet. She wears it almost every day she loves it that much."
Suizen enters the Sandbar at a bit of a fast trot, not that that saved her any from the rain. A drowned feline comes to mind - and nevermind what P'traul looks like, the weyrling have entered in with her. Slicking back wet hair, the potter wipes her face clear of the water, then looks around. "Much better. Can actually be listenin' to the rain out here, instead of the grumblin'."
There's a nod for that, a nod that's one bob too long and, thus, results in a slightly puzzled expression from Sunniva. That's probably the sign she needed to prompt her to suck in a deep breath and let it out slow, then to push herself unsteadily to her feet. Fingers steeple on the tabletop, her head bowed. "I ought to go," she says after a moment of gathering herself. "Too much of- of that, too fast." Apologetic. "Do take care." And she smiles a bit, that smile soon shifting to one side before falling away completely, even as she half-turns slowly in preparation to take her egress.
P'traul fair bedraggled himself, his own hair plastered to his skull and his expression not entirely pleased with the whole situation. The brownriding weyrling shakes once all over and quirks a half-hearted smile to Suizen as he kicks the toes of his shoes against the floor; he says a bit wryly, "Not that it'll make much of a difference, if it doesn't let up. It will be a wet run back to the Weyr, but I suppose there could be worse places to wait it out."
T'mic blinks at Paddy as though he's just sprouted horns. "She's headwoman? --Oh wait, I knew that. I think." His confusion can be neatly set aside when Sunniva blearily gets to her feet, though, and is. He's up only a second later, an arm reaching across to try and catch her elbow. "Whoa - better sit down again. How much've you been drinking? Better sit and let it pass a little than try and walk it off in that." There's a nod to the torrent outside. He hasn't yet noticed Suizen or P'traul in his concern for Sunniva.
Avey's sandals slapslapslap on the ramp as she runs up it and into the bar. She's not just a little bit wet, but soaked through, with water dripping from her hair and clothes. She's wearing her running outfit, a little shirt and short pants, of light fabric which, when wet, is probably more transparent than she realizes. She takes no notice of it or of her wet condition in general, but just waves to P'traul. "Hi," she says brightly to him and Suizen. "What's up?"
"Assistant headwoman thing," X'lar corrects P'draig. "Last time I checked she was an assistant headwoman." He nods once more to the brownrider, offering: "That sounds good. Could probably see my mom at the same time, too." Xie frowns faintly again, reminiscent of that same frown from when Sunniva arrived, watching the infirmary aide leave. He takes a deep breath and looks to the new arrivals. Then after a moment, X'lar offers to T'mic: "If you all excuse me, I'm going to make sure she gets home fine. I figure one more glass of wine and I'd likely be the same way." He notes toward the decanter for both brownrider and greenrider, telling the pair: "Feel free to finish it off after your meal, you two." And with that, the Istan teen follows after Sunniva, a little less tipsy.
P'draig eyes Sunniva's shift in posture, looking faintly concerned. "You okay, Sunni?" he asks solicitously from his seat beside Mic, chair flipped around back to front against the table. The weyrlings' entrance draws a brief look and a wave of his fork, still speckled with rivergrains. X'lar's statement earns a shake of his head. "Headwoman," he says firmly. "Three months now." X'lar's rising though earns a bob of his head. "Good idea, see you around X'lar."
"I- oh. Just the one, but Kip-" Pause. "Oh, no, I think the rain- the rain will help," Sunniva begins, eyelashes fluttering just a bit for T'mic's hand at her elbow. The frown is a fleeting one, transmuted into a sudden and bright smile. "I shall be alright, thank you," she tries to reassure -- only to look incredibly confused for X'lar's offer to walk her out. But, not being in much of a mood to fight much further, she just ducks her head, murmurs another, "Do take care. And thank you." and then she heads on out with as much steadiness as she can muster. For appearances, she can manage that /quite/ well, if just long enough to get outside.
X'lar heads toward the beach.
X'lar has left.
"Oh -- /oh/," P'traul turns to greet Avey and takes in her condition with a widening of his eyes and a quick blink. A thin and short-sleeved coat is swiftly tugged off his shoulders, and the brownriding weyrling averts his gaze for a moment as he offers it to the girl. "Please." Rather than waiting to see if she'll accept it or not, he angles his head over towards Suizen, curling his lips to P'draig for his greeting beyond her and bringing his hand to his forehead in a neat salute, taking in X'lar as well as he and Sunni depart.
Sunniva heads toward the beach.
Sunniva has left.
Suizen blinks after Sunniva and X'lar, then over at Paddy and Mic. There is a hestitation, especially as Avey comes in, before the potter shakes her head. "I just realized I'd forgotten somethin'. I'll owe you a drink next time?" she offers to P'traul.
T'mic looks like he'll protest Sunniva's plan further, but there's X'lar helping her out and the greenrider sinks back into his chair, still frowning after them. "Hope they're all right." A blink and he refocuses on a host of new faces; the greenrider stands again, waving the youngsters over to their newly-open table. "Hey! Rotten weather, huh? Come sit if you want."
"What, do I have a booger on my shirt?" Avey asks P'traul, and looks down. Then she, too, ohs, and accepts the jacket with a lopsided grin. "Haha, thanks. Um, yeah, so..." she squints at Suizen. "You're going? That quick? I was just hoping we'd have a chance to catch up." She wraps P'traul's coat around her.
P'draig watches Sunniva and X'lar out, brow faintly wrinkled then he's focusing back on the weyrlings more closely and as P'traul offers Avey his jacket, he winces at the girl's state. "Everyone's getting soaked," he murmurs under his breath, reaches for his ale mug and waves the weyrlings over too, echoing Mic's gesture.
Suizen grins. "I'll try to be comin' back, but it's fairly important, as such things be doin'.." she offers a bit apologetically, before dashing back out into the weather.
Suizen has left.
"A boo--" P'traul begins, halts, and then coughs a laugh. "No. But you're welcome regardless. I'll hold you to that, Suizen," the lad nods as she darts back out into the rain, cringing at the prospect but happy enough to take T'mic up on his offer, motioning for Avey to precede him if she will. "Do you want anything from the bar? Something warming? I'm thinking cider, myself."
"S'what happens in the rain," Mic tells Paddy brightly, and after considering X'lar's offer for a moment, swaps his ale for the decanter of wine. He grins over his shoulder for the weyrlings but doesn't offer them the newly-unclaimed ale. Meanie. "Busy night. Busier'n I'd've thought, with this weather."
"Ooooh, yes, cider," Avey says brightly, meandering her way toward the bar. "That'll be just the thing. What were you doing out in the rain?" she asks P'traul, never mind that she's even wetter than he is.
P'draig re-settles in his seat and eyes T'mic sidelong. "Mm. Umbrellas. Next time we should grab umbrellas before ducking out into the rain," he points out and skims a hand through his own damp hair, gets back to the serious business of emptying out his plate. "Interesting about X'lar and Lujayn," he remarks after a moment while the other two are up at the bar. "Last time I talked to X'lar, he seemed pretty 'off' of her and was talking about a candidate."
"Suizen and I, we were out and about until it really started coming down. Yjimeth's still out there in the rain, though. Says he wants to know why it comes down from the sky like that." P'traul sighs a long-suffering sigh and slides his marks across the bar, and one of the resulting mugs over to Avey before he's picking his way back to T'mic and P'draig's table.
"Leisath is safely inside, fortunately," Avey says as she follows P'traul over toward the table. "Or else she'd be having a fit. She hates rain almost as much as she hates baths. Hi, P'draig! Hi, T'mic!" she greets the other two riders cheerfully.
"Rain never hurt anyone," Mic protests, though he's grinning as he says it. "Besides, gives me a chance to towel you off later." Then there are weyrlings and the greenrider turns the same grin on them. "Long walk from the barracks in this weather. How are Yjimeth and Leisath? --Besides wet and dry, in that order?"
"No but damp clothing can be so --" P'draig breaks off and bursts out laughing. "I like the way you think, greenrider," he notes in a lower, slightly suggestive voice, then he's sitting up a little as the weyrlings draw near. "P'traul, Avey. Good evening."
"Pleased as anything, sir," P'traul answers for T'mic's inquiry after Yjimeth, after turning a sharp look between the two weyrlingmasters and then dropping his gaze -- and his mug -- to the table and neatly folding himself into his seat. "That's so odd, Avey. She's not getting any better?"
Avey frowns at P'traul, immediately defensive. "There's nothing /wrong/ with her," she says firmly. "She just doesn't like water is all!"
T'mic's turns sly as he aims it sidelong at Paddy and bumps his arm into the brownrider again. "There's a difference between not liking water and throwing tantrums when you try to give her a bath, though," he points out to Avey. "Think you should talk to Bali...nne or P'draig about it. Or Fadra." Another beat. "Or me, in a couple of days." Reminded, he reaches out an arm and pulls the ale away from the weyrlings and closer to P'draig.
"Some dragons are just cut out that way," Paddy says with an easy shrug. "Though there's the whole, drawing a line thing too, because baths are baths," he continues after a moment. THere's just a /look/ for Mic, brows waggled briefly then it's back to lifting his mug, grinning jovially all around.
Avey takes a gulp of her cider. "Exactly," she says on the heels of P'draig's statement. "And I do make her bathe. She just doesn't like it. She's allowed not to like things." She frowns, as if daring anyone to contradict her.
"Baths are baths," agrees P'traul, "But rain is different. One certainly can't help baths, but you can stay inside when the rain comes around." Perhaps that's his attempt at mollification for Avey, because he tilts his mug towards the girl with a courtly nod. T'mic and P'draig? He does his best to ignore the Looks being passed between them.
"Rains a lot at Ista," the older greenrider points out, and has a slug of wine straight from the decanter. "All summer, mostly. Going to be pretty miserable if she stays inside all the time." He tips the decanter to P'traul's attempt at diplomacy and folds one arm over the back of his chair, letting his chin rest on the arm. Not in the mood to wrangle tonight, apparently.
"True, summer months are the wettest," P'draig agrees and then shoots another look over at T'mic. "You sure snow is all that bad compared to all this /wet/?" he teases the greenrider and has another sip from his mug of ale, downs the last bite of food off his plate. "Maybe a little convincing might be good Avey. There's going to be times she's going to have to fly duty in the rain when she gets bigger."
Avey wilts a bit. "Really?" she says. "We're going to have to fly in the rain?" She sighs. "Well. I keep convincing her. I mean, I do. She'll probably just get over it when she's older," she says: nothing like wishful thinking. "But.. oh boy. She's awake now, I have to go. Thanks for the cider, P'traul, I'll get you back next time." She takes off his jacket, hangs it on a nearby empty chair, and dashes out into the rain.
Avey has left.
P'traul briefly presses his lips together before bringing his mug up to them and taking a long draught of his drink. He comments lightly as Avey goes, "Oh, good. I'm earning drinks like I'm in business, now." Spending a moment straightening his jacket and wringing out a sleeve, he glances over to P'draig and T'mic and offers: "I would still rather the snow. It's much prettier."
T'mic answers P'draig simply, smugly, "Towels," and sends a wave after Avey as she dashes. "Got a lot of work to do, that one." Then it's back to P'traul with a grimace and shake of his head. "Nah - no one's ever died from being caught out in the rain and lost. Snow gets all down your boots and under your coat. Give me a good rain any day. Only thing snow's good for is coming in from."
"Yeaaaaah," P'draig drawls out with a look over at Mic. "Fireplace," he tosses back then, chuckles at P'traul's comment. "Hey being helpful has its benefits, doesn't it?" He's chipper he is. "And yeah, I'm from Reaches and then Fort myself, like having the even seasons. But Mic can't take the cold, so." An easy shrug follows.
"Unless you're kissing someone in the rain," which it seems as though someone isn't so far off from, really, and P'traul even lightly lifts an eyebrow as he says it, "there's nothing nice about it. Snow is terribly romantic, when it's all fresh and clean and white. Oh, I meant to ask, then --" this, with a snap of his fingers towards P'draig, and a nod towards T'mic, "how do you handle the heat, sir? I was told you'd be the one to ask."
"Fireplace -with- towels," Mic retorts back to P'draig, still grinning, and has another swig. Then to P'traul, "If you need -snow- to be romantic, you've got a lot of work to do too." Again to Paddy, only half-teasing, "See? -Told- you we needed to teach a class on that."
"That has its merits too," P'draig agrees with P'traul, sneaks a peek over at Mic and dissolves into laughter. He sits up a little, makes his face more serious after shooting Mic another /look/. "Um. Well, not well, not yet anyway," Paddy confesses. "Wear little, nap in the hottest part of the day, swim a lot and keep a cool cloth on the back of your neck."
The Southerner puts in, his lips twitching at his success in making Paddy laugh, "Drink lots of water, too. Or juice."
P'traul answers, almost indignantly: "Not /for/ romance, sir. Romantic. There's such a difference. One is --" the brownriding weyrling leans forward to place his mug on the table, flicks his fingers in demonstration, "Between two people! The other is so much bigger than that. Moreta's tale, and -- and being whisked away a-dragonback and nice harper songs." And not looking all sweaty and running laps and things is implied, of course. "Wear a cool cloth," he repeats, faintly. "See, that's not romantic at all."
"Depends on where you wear the cool cloth," Mic grins back, brushing off the rest of it. "And snow can be romantic, so long as it's romantic up on some mountain somewhere and I never have to get any closer to it. You ought to talk to Sunniva, though," he nods to the empty spot where the ex-Candidate once sat. "She seems the one to be all for romantic things like that." Mic, on the other hand... he clambers to his feet, one fist firmly around the neck of the decanter. "I prefer romance."
"Nope, but it'll keep you cooler," P'draig says with unadulterated pragmatism. "Me I just like to have fun out in the snow, though there is something nice about a fresh coat of the stuff, all sparkly and white," he agrees, drains the last of his ale and piles up dirty dishes. "I don't know if what you prefer is /romance/ either," Paddy teases Mic and gets to his feet, grabbing Mics dirty dishes too. "About that time though," he says casually and nods P'traul's way. "Don't stay out too late," he reminds the weyrling and carries the dishes back to the bar, then returns to try to collect Mic by looping his arm through the greenrider's.
"That's unfortunate, sir; it can be a wonderful thing," P'traul responds a bit dreamily, stacking his own empty mug helpfully atop P'draig's pile and casting a slow, contemplative look outside. "Yjimeth's going to catch the death of him, sitting out there in the rain. I should go fetch him and head in, myself. Thank you for the company, sirs." And with that, along with yet another salute for the older riders, P'traul hooks his coat over his shoulder, bows his head in anticipation of ducking out into all that rain, and sets out.
T'mic keeps hold of his wine, though he lets Paddy clear his plate and fork. "Maybe some day you can show it to me," he tells P'traul politely, one corner of his mouth quirking at the boy. "But yes, better get in." He watches the younger man go before moving to intercept P'draig, his arm curling gladly into the taller man's. He grins up, "Better go see about those towels," as they head for the door.
"Clear skies, P'traul," P'draig wishes sincerely, which can apply to rain as much as that other thing that no longer falls on Pern. But then Paddy's smiling down at Mic fondly. "Uh-huh. Towels." Affirmed, he steers the pair of them back out into the rain to waiting dragons and that lift home.