Logs:About The Boy
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| RL Date: 30 June, 2012 |
| Who: Ali, E'ten, N'rov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Talk of Larentia and Lucas, and there's some plans for the future in regards to Boll. |
| Where: Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 2, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| It's E'ten's last evening with Hematite with another wing soon starting bright and early tomorrow, but the weyrling isn't joining those trying to get past the day's earlier events. The murmurings of what happened combined with just everything overall that has happened either to or around him, places him at a table off to himself but with a second chair brought over by one foot. Stretching out as it were, his attention is still alert in roaming about the room but falls just short of accepting any invitation to join any other rider. With it being evening, his jacket is still worn but the goggles, gloves and anything that denotes just coming off duty are tucked away and invisible to the first and second glance. Despite the cold weather and, indeed, the light dusting of snow that floats down over the Weyr, Isyath is in her usual place above Fort's skies - which is probably a surprise to some, given the junior's proclivities to leaving after a terrible event. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Hattie has stepped back into the role of senior? In either case, the dark-haired goldrider enters the bar - a place she isn't often seen - pausing at the entrance to brush off some remnants of snow as her gaze sweeps the cavern. Would Adiulth have passed on that subtle inquiry of the fire-touched queen? Either way, Ali makes her destination obvious as she moves between tables, a murmured greeting answering the occasional surprised acknowledgement of other riders and residents, but it is to E'ten's table that she heads. "May I?" she pauses, one hand resting on the back of the empty chair, manner unsettled and hesitant. Adiulth? Where both man and dragon are similar, they also have their differences. Especially when one is wrapped into his thoughts and the other is not prone to taking to the skies. Rather, he's been listening to the other dragons while perched along the bowl with their views of what happened and why. The vibrant touch of the queen adoring the skies which matches her appearance is met with just a hint of the winter's frost to direct where his rider can be found. Along with a warning that he's not the best company, unsettled as he is. As for the unknowing weyrling, it's not until the voice that has him sitting up abruptly reaches his ears that his feet quickly lower to the ground with a ready remark of formality until noting the hesitation on her part. Whatever he might have said dissipates with brief nod of his head in assent. "Of course. Is everything alright?" He'd likely ask: Has anything else happened if given the chance. While Isyath acknowledges the warning, she either doesn't pass it on, or does and it has little effect. There's a gratitude in Ali's voice as he accepts the invitation, and she sinks into the chair, shucking the shawl from around her shoulders in deference to the warmer room. "No," she replies, as heated as he's probably ever heard her, "He should've listened to me and sent them all /away/." A breath, her cheeks flushed, and the junior drops her gaze, "Not that it would've done any good. I- why does this keep happening?" It's a metaphorical question, borne of frustration, but her gaze is still on E'ten as she says it, like somehow he'll have the answer. It would be nice if E'ten did magically have the answer. It would make finding the culprits all the more easier and leave him with less bouts of frowning. With both arms folded across his chest, they both remain in the same fixed position as he leans forward onto the table that is at least shared between himself and the goldrider across from him. "I don't know /why/ it's happening, Ali," he says, being informal as long as the title 'weyrling' isn't being used. "I'm more concerned by what I've found out and that thank goodness there are no riders involved, to my knowledge." The suggestion of sending them away draws his brows up and then down in one fluid action as his gaze shifts towards the glass fixtures with a sigh. Not heard but seen by the lowering of his shoulders underneath his jacket. "Keeping them here isn't helping but at least it's contained. Can you imagine if they went to some other Weyr," he poses as only a suggestion and nothing else. "But, you have the ability to at least make suggestions and be heard." "I wanted to send them to a hold. The boy, certainly. Make sure he had a good education, a welcoming family. Get him away from whatever influence that was- was making him do-" Ali falters, and falls silent. The rowdy noise of the other patrons, perhaps, covers the awkwardness of the silence on the goldrider's part, and she exhales, leaning forward as well, her gaze resting on the weyrling. "The Weyrleader said he'd rather see them dead than sent away." It's shared with a breathy quiet, not solely because she doesn't want others to hear, but because part of her still doesn't quite believe it. "What would you have done, E'ten? If you- you had to decide?" "I don't know," E'ten replies first, attention shifting back to Ali as the situation is thrown back to his side of the table before closing his eyes. "I don't think that we need to go to that extreme, but it has to be kept as a possibility. It's better than presuming all of the weyrfolk as a whole as our problem, unless that's what they want." It may sound reasonable but he doesn't have to like it. "If the boy was sent away for his own benefit, then that might have been good. On the other hand, has anyone tried to reach out to him since? It's not a problem with an easy fix. It's not just one person, but rather multiples doing the work as directed. You'd think, that people live at a Weyr willingly. If they disliked it or dragons, they would have left. Especially as we're in an Interval." "He won't talk to us, or anyone. Not even his parents - not that he's close with them, they haven't been involved at all, in his upbringing." Ali sounds, oddly, sad about that, and it's echoed in the sigh that follows. Her gaze is on E'ten as he speaks, and his latter words earn a faint, if honest, smile. "I would've thought so, too. Maybe... I don't know, maybe people are still unsettled by the Comet Pass. Wondering if they'll be another? I don't- I don't think I understand why. Don't think I ever /will/." Her gaze drifts over towards the Hematite riders as they raise a toast to the Weyrleader, and by habit, she starts to reach unthinkingly for a glass, before realizing she doesn't have one to hand. "I could get you a glass." Remarked as he catches the reach for a drink that just isn't there, it's something that brings a hint of a smile to E'ten's lips as he lifts his fingers a bit higher to catch the attention of a passing person. It's a questioning glance that he sends to Ali, but before anyone draws closer, he takes the intervening moments to suggest, "Then he really is sorry about his actions. The lad, that is. It might bear some worth in reaching out to him, letting him know that everything is alright. We can't watch everyone in the Weyr, but those truly unhappy should stick out like badly painted tapestry." A slight pause, from Ali, but by the time she looks, he's already caught the attention of the barstaff, and so she doesn't protest, fingers folding together as if to hide anymore such obvious tells. "If only they /did/, but that resident that- I mean, I wouldn't have picked it. The boy... well, it's the Weyrleaders' decision now." There's probably more than a little hint of relief in that statement. "Did you- what do you think of Larentia?" She's looking at him, still leaning forward, placing an obvious weight on the importance of his answer. Until the barstaff arrives at their table, there's always time. The silence and the fingers that fold together are noted, causing the weyrling to think about that as the young man approaches. Gesturing to his own mug, now empty, E'ten requests a refill for himself and a matching drink for Ali before waiting for them to be alone again before addressing the latter question. The mere mention of Larentia's name draws both brows closer together and an unfolding of both arms against his chest. "She worries me. Not because of our talk but what we learned, Adiulth and I. If you want to know if I trust her, then the answer is no. Not when she's the same person who was around when N'rov got punched." Despite the opportunity, Ali doesn't interrupt, and there's a faint nod of head in confirmation of E'ten's order, though her gaze remains on him throughout. "That- that had worried me as well. And that she was posing as 'Renni'. I've told N'rov he's not to be alone for the time being. If I have to arrange for you to be put in the same wing for the rest of your weyrlinghood- would you, keep an eye on him? You both seem to get /into/ trouble together, so I'd hope you'd be able to keep each other /out/ of trouble," her lips twitch upwards, warmth and humor briefly audible in her voice before it fades it something more serious, troubled. "Just- just in case." Cider. That's what the barkeeper is going to bring back for both himself and Ali. It might be a pleasant surprise but one that the soon to be bronzerder offers as his lips twitch and almost smirk at the suggestion of keeping N'rov out of trouble. Until the suggestion of being in the same wing until graduation. That's enough to bring the smirk off of his features and settle into something more serious. "At least we know when we're getting into trouble. So far, it's been for good causes, I hope." If that's him and N'rov or him and Adiulth, he doesn't tell, the corners of his lips twitching for a moment. "I meant to see how N'rov is doing, after that panicked call from Vhaeryth. I did for a little while but duties keep us in different groups." There's a faint hint of surprise as she notices the mug, and she looks pleased at the selection, too, giving a grateful nod to the barkeep before picking up the mug and taking an appreciative sip. "I think it has been- the Weyrleader might disagree," there's a hint of amusement in her gaze, before she exhales and nods. "I'm- I've kept him busy. Trying to." To keep him out of trouble, one could presume. Or maybe to keep him safe. "So it doesn't surprise me. In any case- it won't be for that much longer. I'd imagine graduation isn't that far off." "He might," E'ten replies far too easily as he recalls a particular talk between himself and the non-present Weyrleader - the reason behind the amusement that he catches from the goldrider. Picking up the mug with one hand, he maintains the lean against the table before lifting his drink higher in salute, since the toast has briefly passed by. "And once we graduate, he's.. we're going to be the problem of our respective Wingleaders, I suspect. Not that you won't be involved, of course." Quick to add the latter, he adds, "I think that there's a dragonhealing knot in my post Graduation future, regardless of wing. At least, I hope so. Unless the current trend of putting my and Adiulth's nose into questionable matters forestalls that. N'rov would do well in any wing, not that I know if he has a preference." The dark-haired woman echoes the gesture, Ali lifting her mug briefly, gaze on E'ten light as she takes another gulp from the mug, before setting it down. A smile lights her lips at his description of them being a 'problem', to which she says, "I'm sure they're well used to problem children, by now. As for dragonhealing- I'd suspect so, yes. Your inclination for troubles aside. Do you have a preference, so far?" she tilts her head, questioningly. N'rov heads in from the inner caverns. N'rov has arrived. Presently, E'ten and Ali are seated at a table with each holding a mug and conversing in a manner that has one of not both smiling at times. It had once been occupied by the former, whose expression is less thoughtful in light of the question with the rim of his mug poised just at his lips with the longer sip forestalled. For the moment. For all of being indoors, he still has his jacket on and leaning onto the table with one arm in a conversational set to his posture. "Flint might be good for obvious reasons." Hold outreach anyone? "Hematite? well, that would be a mixed thought there. It's a good wing but.." Answering to N'muir is something he's still debating, obviously. "I should see how my tenure with Jasper goes before making a decision. Then again, it might not be anything I can do to influence the choice." Ali's shawl is hanging over the back of her chair, and she looks comfortable enough, leaning forward across the little table to watch E'ten. She bites her lips slightly at his mention of Hematite, as if in silent agreement about it being a mixed answer, though she wouldn't ever dare say that aloud. Finally, she says, "I would've thought that you'd have fit into Sandstone nicely. N'rov, definitely. They're- a bit more flexible. Open to ideas. And- you could, you know. Influence the decision, by talking to the Wingleader directly and expressing your interest. That holds a lot of weight with them, I think, if you show personal interest." The bar is slightly more subdued than usual tonight, although there is still plenty of rowdy weyrfolk here and there to present a convivial atmosphere. Loitering by the entrance to the Glass Fountain, N'rov's got /his/ jacket off, slung over his shoulder with one hand keeping it from falling all the way off... while with his free hand, he's dabbling his fingers now and again in the water, making it splash and dance that much more in the glowlight. Perhaps it's another's nudge that finally has him sauntering further into the cavern, fingers still wet as he nods here and there to people he knows for all that there's many more he still doesn't, and when he sees E'ten and Ali... well, if there isn't a chair handy, at least it's easy enough to co-opt a stool and plonk it down on one side of the table, between them. And perch. "/Hel/-lo." E'ten has the tendency to be ambitious. Apparently. As for being pegged into one wing, it's met with an amused grin after he takes a long swallow from his mug as it's set onto the table with a shake of his head. "I'd rather be in a wing more focused, to be honest. If none of those wings, Malachite seems to want to go towards search and rescue. Another good place for a dragonhealer," is the beginning explanation, the rest halted as he looks to N'rov with a wry expression as room is easily made. He didn't abscond with a small table to be all brooding and thoughtful at. It at least seats four normally as he replies in greeting, "Hey, N'rov. I'm guessing it's been a good evening for you so far?" Ali's never been that great at concealing her expression, especially when surprised - so when N'rov settles himself down at the table there's something that's, for a moment, vaguely guilty in the way her gaze cuts towards N'rov and back to E'ten. "N'rov- hi," she says, a flush of color touching her cheeks as she hooks her hands around her mug. "We were- just talking about which wings you might be suitable in. And- Malachite sounds like it'd be good for you, E'ten," she agrees, finally. "Given that nobody's tried to knife /me/, pretty good so far," N'rov returns to E'ten from his crane's perch, boots slung on the rung of the stool like the rail of the feeding pen's fence. He wipes his fingers off on his knee, then slides his own glance towards Ali, pausing there for a moment with his head cocked as though to listen... and then, why, he's back to grinning at his clutchmate. "Taria, yeah? You like a lot of greens?" Vhaeryth notes /so/ cheerfully, if unnecessarily, « Found them. » Just like she wanted. And then, abruptly, there's the overt question for all that it's more loose concept than words: does she like /her/ wing? Would she rather another, given her choice? (Vhaeryth to Isyath) For a few moments, E'ten regards Ali, somewhat thoughtful and a fair chunk considering her reaction before his eyes cut right back to N'rov with an eye roll upwards to the dimmer ceiling. "You would think of that, but no that's not the reason. Search and rescue." Easily turning the question around, the mug is turned about face with the handle on the opposite side before asking, "What about you? What wings are you seriously considering or hoping you get tapped into after graduation?" "So /far/," comes Ali's pointed mutter on the heels of N'rov's casualness. E'ten's study - the length of it, anyway - evokes a discomforted shifting of posture, focusing on her drink for a moment to give her enough time to come up with words. "I like Taria," she adds, finally. "She's not as strict as J'bar, but then, I think things have to relax a bit, now that we're in Interval." To Vhaeryth, Isyath acknowledges that cheerful note, wordlessly, if nothing else, a hint of satisfaction light within her tone. She doesn't answering immediately- long enough, in fact, that it might seem she's forgotten. Then finally, « I like flying with many other dragons. » It's a wistful answer that suggests fairly clearly own predilection, given the choice. N'rov deadpans, "Hematite, of course. Got to spy on N'muir." But his grin has reappeared, broader now, as he leans to reach for E'ten's mug since his clutchmate's so kindly turned the handle around. "Thanks," with success leading to a sniff to identifying its contents and failure a gotta-try shrug. For E'ten, round-eyed: "So you want to Search a lot of candidates?" He doesn't look at Ali just now, though his glance slips briefly to her shawl. "If that's the case, what am I rescuing them from," comes the bemused quip, eyes being drawn to his mug with a sidelong glance to N'rov. Again? Seriously? They've been through this before and last time E'ten didn't keep his hands on the wineskin. This time, he relents to allow the contents to be sniffed as cider. No additions. Just good, non spiked cider. "No other wings?" It seems to be a surprise to him, but one that vies with the mug. Keep or release? To Ali, he remarks, "I enjoyed and learned a lot while with Taria's wing. Being strict has its time and place though. I'm not sure if we should fully relax, even if we don't have to worry about Thread." Ali, too, seems surprised by N'rov's choice, her gaze resting on him for a beat or two. "Are you sure that's not the other way around, N'rov?" she finally ventures, with a little smile. The talk of Thread has her tugging a hand through her hair, long again now- but no doubt remembering the discussions of Thread and the hair-cutting that happens inevitably in weyrlinghood. "I doubt the Weyrleader would ever let us forget what we've learnt," she says, her tone pitched halfway between respect and rueful. Non-spiked spider. N'rov sighs, and takes a long pull anyway, holding it in his mouth for a moment or two so he can peer back at Ali with an admittedly restricted smile: maybe it /is/ the other way around! And then he swallows. "I've been thinking, a little," call the harpers! But then the senior weyrling goes on. "The question is, should we try for wings where we really buy into what they're doing, what they're like, as close a match as we can find? If we /can/ find one. Or, should we look for a wing where we can get by well enough, but one that gives us time to do whatever else we want. It is Interval." It's subtly devoid of emphasis, that last, when he sets E'ten's mug down and neatly turns it around so he, now, can take its handle. There's an odd empathy from Vhaeryth: many other dragons, and yet, so often she flies alone. Around and around and around... for a moment, an image flickers, a rosy fish with tiny white-gold fins, swimming around and around in a pail. And then he's winging upward, and she might feel the way he reaches out to Zihanth: perhaps she might join them, and an elderly but spry brown he'd flown with last wing-shadowing. « Perhaps, » he mentions after a moment, « you could change that, Isyath. » Get out of the pail. (Vhaeryth to Isyath) Given the coldness of the winter's evening, and the light dusting of snow starting to fall, it's not surprising that she is unaccompanied in the air tonight. On any other night, Isyath herself would likely be tucked up in the warmth of her weyr by now. But tonight is /not/ normal, and there's an underlying hint of watchfulness that is not normally a part of the gold's easy demeanor. « I fly with many, when I wish. » The pail is suddenly full of other fish, swimming, darting and diving over one another. « But for wings, it is Tradition. » Her voice is heavy with the word, more Ali's than hers. (Isyath to Vhaeryth) "I agree." Spoken on the heels of Ali's words, even if his brows are rising on hearing that N'rov had been thinking. Even a little is a good thing. "And we may as well like the wing, whatever wing taps us. I mean, we're going to be with them for awhile. Turns even, unless we put in for a transfer request later," he offers picking up the mug before looking down at the contents of the mug as if expecting the limited beverage within. And it's touched with N'rov's understanding more than his own: « It is Interval. » He's known no Fall. « Traditions can be changed, » although there's a fraction of hesitancy: could she, would she change hers? (Vhaeryth to Isyath) Ali seems rather content with her own drink, sipping on it a moment before there's a brief cough, and her gaze flickers towards N'rov, before shifting to see who is nearby enough to hear the comment. "What would you /do/, if you could do anything you want?" there's curiosity light in her tone. "Both of you?" Then, to E'ten, reassuring, "You can transfer, if it doesn't suit you. Or you don't... get on with the Wingleader, or whatever." Traditions can be changed, yes. But /this/? Isyath doesn't sound convinced, although she muses over the possibility anyway. (Isyath to Vhaeryth) He doesn't seek to convince her, his instinct already leaping onward even as he ascends: does she... mind, asking? When she wishes? (Vhaeryth to Isyath) "Go places," N'rov says simply. "For starters. Luckily that part should be easy, anyway... I don't /know/ what there is out there, I only thought I did." Gray eyes have turned reflective, tipped from Ali to E'ten and his mug, out of which nothing jumps up to startle them. Even he is silent now, there on his stool, unmoving and uncreaking. To Vhaeryth, Isyath's answer is something a bit more nebulous. Above, in the dark, she plays hide-and-seek, a hint of her glinting, pale form visible. She'll think on it. But in the meantime? The skies call them. And they'll answer, however shadowed by a thread of distant drumming. (Vhaeryth to Isyath) "Something of what N'rov said," E'ten replies, taking a moment to finish draining the contents of the mug - or rather, what's left as he begins to prepare for standing and an imminent departure. "I'd always thought about seeing what's in the South. I know enough of what's here in the North between what I've heard and seen already on limited errands." The prospect of not getting along with the Wingleader draws his head to tilt to one side before lifting both shoulders in a shrug. "It's the worse case, if anything, should I not get along with the wingleader. I'd more likely not find the wing a good fit first." "Go... places?" Ali echoes, bemused, looking towards E'ten like he might have a better idea of what N'rov means. When he starts to explain, she smiles, inadvertantly. "We went to a lot of places, after we graduated. I suppose it's nice just being able to go /anywhere/ you want, /when/ you want. At least," she adds, with an impish smile, now, "Remember to take off your knot first. Just in case." In case they get into trouble? If N'rov had seemed pensive, it's passed, the young man sliding to the edge of his stool as E'ten rises but not likewise standing. "You'll get on if you want to," he tells his fellow weyrling affably. "And you'll make do if you want to. It's Adiulth who'll be awful to live with if they don't do things /right/." At least, what passes for /right/ in that world of Adiulth's, which intersects Vhaeryth's without fully overlapping. He does nod towards Ali, pats his knotted shoulder with a quick smile, even, but his focus is on seeing E'ten off. That little reminder is enough to elicit a laugh from E'ten as he offers a bow, while giving his knot a an overt glance and gesture with his free hand. "Trouble finds us, Ali. But, I think we can remember to disguise it somehow," he remarks, adding to N'rov after hearing his dragon described to a perfect tee. "Not for long. He'll set things right if it goes on too long." Much to his chargin. He's lived with it. "I'll see you both later. I need to be ready for tomorrow's wing rotation." For him at least, it means needing to be clear headed. "Good," Ali says, decisively, smile shifting from N'rov to E'ten as he prepares to leave. "Thank you- for the company," she says, fingers tapping the mug briefly. "Sleep well, E'ten." And then her gaze fixes on N'rov, biting her lower lip for a moment, as she studies him wordlessly in turn. "And /that'll/ win you friends with your wingleader," N'rov calls after E'ten, laughing. When his clutchmate's gone, though he glances at his seat, he doesn't take it. Rather, he swivels on the stool, bringing up his knees so he can rest his elbows on them and peer down at Ali: yes? "You seem," Ali answers his silent query, slowly, "I don't know. Was there somewhere in /particular/ you wanted to go? Something you wanted time to /do/? If you don't mind me asking?" She's finished her cider, and she pushes the mug away, glancing past him towards the group of Hematite riders, then back. It summons N'rov's smile, these questions much like those he'd asked her, a contemplative gentleness to his mouth for moments before it hardens. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following hers but slowly, nodding should he catch anyone's gaze before turning back. "Yes," he says, not too loud, and also not entirely steady but almost, almost. "When I have your leave to go there." The easy posture which had steeled over her in the presence of the two weyrlings fades by measures at his words, Ali stiffening as her gaze fixes on N'rov. "Fort Sea?" she guesses, with a frown. "N'rov..." there's something warning in that tone. "You asked me what I want." N'rov has to meet her eyes, his shoulders squared. "Nothing's being done. That I know of, anyway. Sooner or later, they'll say it's too late to bother rousting the wherry from its nest." The exhale that the junior gives suggests she concedes the point, non-verbally anyway. "I know it's important to you. Because it's Boll." She leans forward, stretches a hand towards him, "I promise. /I/ won't forget. But-" a grimace, brief, "-we can't afford to damage our relationship with them at the moment. /Them/, or Fort Sea." "You're saying that now, then." But can N'rov hold it against her? He reaches out for her hand with both of his. "I like sailing. I do. Even if E'ten's provisions aren't nearly as good... I like the sunshine, I like the flying, I like all that, and then I remember." "Yes. There's a /reason/ you, /and/ E'ten are doing those sailing lessons. It's not punishment. Not /just/ punishment," Ali concedes, with the faintest of smiles that suggests truth. Her fingers tighten against his, briefly. "My brother Reyvar had a term for it. It's when you lose, and you lose, and you lose... and you watch everyone else. You see how they react. Their tells. And then when you're /sure/, you bet big. With everything you have." Her fingers catch on his, and his curl deliberately. And if it puts on a show for those Hematite riders, as well as making it less easy to slip free... N'rov watches her closely as she speaks, his breath held very bit as much. Until, "You'd put us on a ship? Away from," but he stops there, the whites of his eyes showing now, Vhaeryth suddenly very much on the alert. Oh, there's no doubt that Ali's very much oblivious to whatever picture they're painting right now. She's fixed on him, aware of his sudden reaction, and she exhales. "I hope it would never come to that. I'd /hope/- it's just about you talking the talk, so to speak. But, in /case/..." It's his hands that slip free instead, and flatten against the cool tabletop before they can clench. "In case we're tossed in the hold and roped to the oars once we're out to sea," N'rov says like he's exaggerating, but anxiety's riding him palpably harder, amplified by the day's earlier events. Vhaeryth's descending now, the warm metal of his thoughts within Isyath's turned somehow brittle. Ali takes a sharp breath at his comment, exaggerating or not. "I wouldn't-" she stops, hesitates, looking anguished. She wants to say she wouldn't put him in that situation, but then, doesn't, which is perhaps telling in and of itself. She swallows sharply. "It's fine. We'll call the lessons just something to occupy you, and you never need think of it again." She folder her hands into her lap, concentrating on them, not him. Isyath continues to listen, soothing faintly, but not overtly. Just easing the pressure off - there's nothing to be alarmed about, after all. It's just words. Human words. A muscle works in N'rov's jaw. "You'll do what you have to do," he says with his mere human words, but there's a subtle undercurrent of pride there nonetheless. More rueful now, Vhaeryth gradually leveling out, "As though I'm so good at forgetting, Ali, you know me. Except maybe if you bake my head in the sun some more. Or get that man to knock me out again," and won't that reassure her? What might is his brief smile and attempt at explanation: "I know you won't do it on a whim. That means a lot." "Vhaeryth doesn't like the idea much," Ali says, as if that's reason enough to hesitate. "But," she adds, after a pause, "You /could/ do with a bit more color, in the meantime." She glances again, at some of the other riders, then says abruptly, "The next round is on me. And then you'd best go soothe your dragon." Either she's unaware or she's pretending to be unaware of Isyath's involvement on that score. True, and N'rov's wry nod acknowledges it. "I suppose I'll have to bring myself to visit another beach, then," he says, affecting a tone almost as dramatic as his dragon. "And drink another drink, with you no less, and then... yes." More carefully, "She's... calming. It makes it easier." Whatever she's doing, the specifics of which may go /un/acknowledged. Ali's certainly all for not acknowledging it. Instead, she's signaling for the bartender to refill their drinks, and she'll work to turn the conversation something far lighter and casual for the remainder of the night until they part ways. |
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