Logs:Dueling Guitars
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| RL Date: 30 October, 2014 |
| Who: Edyis, Alida |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Alida introduces Edyis to Erinye, and the once scribe learns more about the bluerider. |
| Where: Gypsy Camp - Igen Desert |
| When: Day 19, Month 2, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Edeline/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: As usual feel free to add/edit/correct anything I may have missed. |
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| Gypsy Camp - Igen Desert(#1636R)
This small, somewhat rockier area of Igen's perpetual sands sports a few small caves and a natural spring that forms a natural cistern in granite and sandstone, and a few, hardy desert plants. At various times of the Turn, this special place is home to one or another of Igen's gypsy families, who circulate freely, and in time with their own traditions and routines. This time, the trip Ilicaeth takes them on isn't into some remote location to practice in a cave. No; this time, Alida has less simple reasons than working out to tug her towards the Igen deserts, and their rarified contents. When the blue blink out from Between, he doesn't starting circling to land. Instead, his eye-marked wings stroke the sunset desert air languidly for the next hour, the silent rider and her dragon perhaps on a scouting mission, though why Edyis is along, who knows. Alida isn't saying anything. It's only when small orange lights unfold into the burgeoning dark 500 feet below them that the burly blue finally shifts from steady flying and sometimes soaring on leftover updrafts to a lazy, swirling descent. Not too many minutes after such, 'caeth is backwinging to the still-sizzling sands, his wingtips coaxing small, gritty sand whorls into temporary being. With only hints of the dusk staining the western horizon, it's still not very difficult to see what the pair landed for: a small, but somewhat opulent campout area set up near some rocky outcroppings that boast a small, natural spring somewhere within it. And there's people within the camp, which is about 100 yards beyond them, their forms still moving about even now, after a rider's suddenly nearby. At least Edyis was dressed somewhat appropriately, though the desert heat fades quickly once rukbat sinks beneath the horizon. She huddles into the borrowed flight jacket as Ilicaeth bears them over the seemingly vast stretch of desert. Dark brown eyes scan the ground below with acuity, mind quickly racing through the possibilities. She's learned not to ask openly at least, but studies what she can see of Alida's outline in the dimming light. She opts for silence, expecting instruction, if not verbal, then by following her trainer's lead. The campsite is given equal scrutiny, though her fingers rest, waiting to release the straps until told. Ilicaeth offers a low, soft rumble of what might sound like mellow greeting just after landing, and near-immediately, a handful of the most adventerous children begin to race towards him, the lots grinning madly, though they do slow down to heed the call of an elder: "Respect!" A slow, deep dip of his shoulder should encourage his passengers to dismount, and Alida does so with the smooth ease of one who's been accustomed to such for Turns, the blonde looking up to see how Edyis handles her own descent. The folk that tend their fires beyond are mostly low sound, motion and shadow at this point, but - as Ilicaeth steps aside to fold up his wings - the women get a closer look as the kids pelt towards them. Light brown skin from their chosen habitation, with a naturally olive cast beneath it; their clothing a mix of bright and subdued, in many colors mixed with blacks and browns, whites. The raiments are characteristic of wandering gypsy folk, and the eyes of the children are mostly brown or black, a few of them hazel...and their expressions are as artless and frisky as any country-born 5 to 10 year old's. As individuals, they come to sandy halts a respectful 15 feet away from the three outsiders, those darker eyes taking quick measure of Alida, longer eyefulls of Edyis. "Bratlings..." the pale-headed woman murmurs almost formally to the small mob, who snicker and note aloud to her in slightly pompous, yet humored and eager tones, "Bluerider..." It's their eldest spokes'woman' who steps a pace forward, bows just a hint, then notes with as much restraint as she can muster, "Permission, ma'am?" What permission? After a moment of thought, Alida gravely nods...and then the youngest child quickly bubbles forth a giggly, "May we attend you, dragon?" directly to Ilicaeth. The blue's great head with bright, slowly-whirling aqua eyes fixes on the 5 Turn old, and - after his own span of moments spared for judicious thought *and* a settling of his form onto the sand - finally offer the boy his own nod. Suddenly squealing and laughing, the whole group of them rush past the humans to converge upon the dragon, Alida shaking her head a little as she paces towards the camp. Her practice must be showing, because the straps are easily escaped and she slips fairly gracefully from the blue's neck, with an attempted thank you pat offered to his neck, presumably for deigning not to lick or drop her or perhaps some other thing left to the imagination. A very telling grin spreads as the horde of children charges, spread perhaps even wider at noting their clothing, and then watching as they move much like insects on a spot of syrup to attend Ilicaeth. Her sudden good humor does not fade in the least as she falls into step next to Alida, laughing. "Is it always like that when you visit?" Still serious, quiet of expression and manner, Alida answers Edyis in soft aside, "Most times when *any* rider comes." Leaving the children to spread fragrant oils on him where his hide might be drier, or pets and scritches for other places he indicates with motions, the blue is soon sighing in pleasure as he cautiously splays, kids almost literally crawling all over him like flies. This is the *life*. The gypsies give polite nods or dips of their dark or bandana-covered heads when the Weyrfolk near, their expressions indicating more curiosity over Edyis than the rider before they go about their nightly chores...one of them moving to tend to cooking dinner in various pots, as well as klah. Each person here gets a grave little nod from Alida, in turn, her green eyes meeting each eye turned to her, the bluerider murmuring soft and simple greetings to those few who choose to address her likewise. The camp itself isn't loud, but neither is it quiet, the sounds of simple living rife on the heated air. When the pair reach what looks like the biggest wagon out of four, a woman and a man that look to be in their 50's emerge from the vehicle's far side, the woman noting in mellow, easy tones to the Weyr-pair, "Bluerider...and her friend. Welcome to our fires." The man simply nods a few times, then ushers them towards the main cook place. From the woman: "We have wherry stew and bread tonight, if you wish." The man: "And, of course, more brisk fare..." This comment inspires some gay and rowdy laughs from many of the other folk. The scribe lacks the somberness of expression that the bluerider maintains, all warm smiles and polite, respectful nods. Dark eyes scanning each face as though committing it to memory, ears sharp for names, or other sounds. Her posture seems very relaxed though there is a subtle tension there just beneath the surface, "Thank you for your welcome." Her soft soprano carries, though she says nothing further without the blonde's lead. There's not much formality beyond the usual, here, Alida bobbing her head to the pair of leaders, murmuring to them, "Thank you, Braeda, Ruyen." The blonde lets her gaze flick from the two gypsies out to a certain wagon, green returning to present company again. The look doesn't go unnoticed, for Ruyen smiles to the bluerider, confides openly, "They are fine, now. We have much to th..." At this point, Braeda shakes her dark head quickly at the man, makes a subduing gesture on the air which quiets him instantly, a shrug of his broad shoulders given - along with a grin and wink - before he moves off to tend to the burden beasts. "All is well..." the gypsy women in divided skirts murmurs, her eyes bright with pleasure. "And now that we're all finished with propriety, please have a seat, both of you, and tell us how the world spins beyond our desert." It seems Edyis is included in this, as well as Alida, for Braeda's eyes are settling on the former-scribe in steady fashion. "What are we to call you, young woman?" the matron asks pleasantly as she observes Ed. Her own gaze rests reflexively on that wagon when she notices the reactions, but the invitation to sit is regarded with a large smile. "Edyis, and thank you Braeda." Finding a spot upon which to alight, maintaining that relaxed demeanor. "Seems like we both owe this woman for something." She comments studying the bluerider for a moment with fondness in her tone, but it's after she's comfortably settled that she seems to think a moment. "It spins on much the same as ever, I've heard Telgar Weyr has had some strange turns of events with their new Weyrleader staging what appears to be a coup, Reaches - Lost a queen in service to Tillek, during a major storm at sea. Ista Hold had a marriage, and it seems Igen Hold's Lord is still under fire for the outbreak of illness before the turn's end. However, I am sure this probably is not much in the way of new news to you folks. How have you faired?" She returns politely. As they're shown to their fold-away seats around the main cook fire, Braeda serves up a some klah to the Weyrfolk and herself, the gypsy woman then settling into her own chair with a sigh of relief, her eyes fixed on Edyis as the former-scribe 'edifies' her of business around the world. The matron looks curious, knowing, cautious, scandalized, and mournful at turns given the various news, her head shaking slowly at word of a queen's loss. "Sad tidings, indeed. The loss of any dragon is painful, but of a mother to a Weyr?" A gentle sigh flows through Braeda's lungs, though - as a few folk step to the fire to grab some restorative klah - one man murmurs, "Tillek's still got Edeline, I hear. Stone cold bitch, that woman." The others with him variously snort or nod, while Braeda remains neutral, though a hint of laughter is seen in her eyes. To Edyis is offered a crackling alto, "We've been well, this six-month." Are her dark eyes sliding just a hint aside to note the quiet bluerider who sips at her klah? "Our trading is good, our friends close...and our enemies closer." The low bit of a laugh that spills from her is both dark and humored, but she continues more equitably, "We have two new babies, and drink and dance and song enough to last us at least until third month. Life is good!" Edyis chuckles a little at the mention of Edeline, nodding somberly. "She's as clipped as ever, but the Weyrwoman's sacrifice isn't something Tillek can truly ignore either. She may have been many things, but Aishani Vijay went out as a hero. At the sea craft hasn't reported the loss of anymore ships either, other than the storms, so hopefully your trade should vastly improve in the next few months." Klah held between her hands, "It's good to hear. Friend of mine came from Igen, about the time of the scare, she was worried about her family but she's had news that they are fine as well." She grins at mention of babies. "Now that is cause for celebration." She too glances at Alida for a moment, smiling, though her attention returns to the gypsy matron. "How quickly the Holds forget Dragonrider sacrifices after Thread goes away..." Braeda murmurs in tsking fashion of Edeline - of them all - the matron making a soft 'o' of her mouth after finding out from Edyis it was Aishani who passed. One of the men about the fire murmurs a soft, "The Vijay..." another one, "Bad blood 'tween 'em, I heard..." Noting her folk with wizened eyes - the two men and one silent woman quieting under it - Braeda again looks to her guests with a smile, Alida finally venturing a muted alto, "Is Paulin still around?" Who? Braeda immediately chuckles, and responds amicably, "Yes, good Erinye...and still spoiling to duel with you...though I see you've not brought your weapon, this night." Huh? The un-corded, very plainly (and not regionally) dressed blonde appears to be sporting her usual knives. "Bad blood?" Dark eyes lifting as she catches the words, before Alida's comment and Braeda's response in turn, and causes a very slow blink at Alida who wears her usual knives. Is that unarmed? Her eyes wide as they go back to her klah, before lifting again with a furrow of her brow. "She doesn't have her weapon?" She is very confused now, Edyis looks between the two women hoping for an explanation. Alida gives Edyis a subtle wave-off signal to the side of her body, indicating not to bother with Weyr politics here and now, while Braeda simply shrugs, and moves on to the other topic with a rich laugh. "I see you glancing at Erinye's knives, Edyis, but she wields other 'weapons' just as potent..." There's a faint inflection to that word, this time, and while one of the men sipping klah at the fires belts off a joyful sounding bellow of "Oiy! Paulin! Erinye's back!" to one of the farther-away wagons, the falsely-wincing matron sotto-whispers to Edyis, "We'll 'arm' her with the family weapon, so they may duel again before us." This inspires a roll of eyes from Alida, though - for perhaps the first time in weeks - she almost smirks, and green eyes flare with a little fire. Not long after the bellow, an older man with greyed, thinning hair and a sour look on his seamed face emerges from aformentioned wagon, and bellows back to the cookfire area, "You'll not leave without my permission, this time, Wher!" Perhaps strangely, Aida doesn't take affront to the descriptor, the woman instead only snorking loudly to no-one in particular. "She doesn't need weapons to be potent." Edyis asserts, with conviction. Giving the bluerider a look, "She's dangerous all on her own." Firmly nodding. At least one question gets answered when Erinye's name comes up again, with a slight wrinkle of her nose. At least Edyis is figuring where her mistakes are being made, and making a note to treat Alida's outings like Savannah outings from now on. The Wher is apparently an apt descriptor in Edyis's opinion as well from the way she chuckles. "I'd like to see that I think." There's only a quirk of head, and a perhaps knowing little smile and look from Braeda at Edyis' word of Alida, the matron subsiding back into a lazy-looking sit upon her chair and shaking her head lightly to herself as elderly Paulin strides strongly towards, then up to the cookfire, his manner rather imperious as he gazes down upon Alida like a hawk ready to stoop. "No weapon is *not* an excuse, Wher," his low tenor notes in thick gypsy accent, a small scowl decorating his features. In one hand, a well-tended, old guitar of stained hardwood is held out slowly towards the blonde, while another one of wood that's nearly black remains in his other hand. A Guitar as a weapon? Clearly the young scribe is now very lost and very curious. Getting comfortable, in her chair and pulling one knee up to her chest. This should be interesting. "You sure you wanna' do this, ol' man?" Alida drawls lazily to Paulin, her greens moving from the fire over and up to the thinner, tall man who all-but-hovers beside her. "I will be your downfall, whelp..." the man mutters with bluster to his opponent, then snagging up a seat, and settling himself at a 90 degree angle from her. "*You* go first, this time, pup." One of his long fingers points authoritatively at Alida before he settled back into his chair to start fine-tuning his 'weapon.' "Whatever makes ya happy..." the bluerider murmurs around a faint smirk, her eyes both narrowing slightly and flashing as she too tucks her borrowed weapon into proper place, and tunes it up. With dinnertime upon the camp, the children (of who there are now more than 8) tending a softly groaning, lolling Ilicaeth are gathered up and returned to wash up, while the adults gather trays, utensils, cups...and themselves nearby. And when dinner is indeed 'served' from various huge pots and pans, Alida - unannounced and without preamble - begins to finger notes from no ballad or song ever heard by an audience before. It is, in fact, many various snippets of guitar music, one passage or twenty, melded in various ways - whether smoothly or brokenly - into one another. While her fingers flash and strum, pick and flicker nimbly over strings, various moods and mental images are conjured by the palest-blonde who leans so intently over her 'weapon.' The first of her accumulated 'works' conjures the very image of where they sit: a gypsy camp...a throbbing beat and wildly joyous atmosphere of celebration of the Romany called up by unlikely fingers. A halt and then flicker of fingers switches Alida's 'portraiture' into something more smokey and yet precise, the flamenco guitars of old picked and rollingly strummed into being. A few of the gypsies about manage to quickly set down their meal and break into clapping stamps and complex footwork when the melody emerges, but soon enough, 'lida's moving smoothly into a sea-shanty, her alto joining the guitar to sing decently enough a mariner's lament. If there's a faint hint of a shimmer about her green eyes once or twice, it never truly manifests. Whatever else she had been expecting, it hadn't been the thrum of the notes skillfully played. Both knees drawn now leaning her mug of klah forgotten on the ground beside her as she listens and watches. Chin perched atop her knees, and arms wrapped loosely around her legs. Just content to listen, and watch, completely entranced. Give Alida about 15 minutes, and she's concluding a set up that consists of folk, ballad, scottish-based, and some odd, growly stuff that might be related to Earth's rock and roll, the blonde ceasing her efforts suddenly, then setting the guitar down upon her lap so she can lightly massage her hands and fingers. No warm-up and not enough practice can be a bitch on the tendons. It's only when the bluerider's clearly done that the gypsies applaud as they see fit, some clicking their tongues, others stamping their feet to show their feelings. Even old Paulin is clicking his own tongue, grinning at his opponent. He waits for the expressions of pleasure to fade before he settles into his own strums and fingerings of his personal instrument, the old man's eyes taking on a faintly dreaming cast at some points in his own performance...while his people laugh, dance, eat, and sometimes sing all about. His own picking, though perhaps less innately 'talented' than Alida's, is more well-rounded and better steeped in proper and intricate fingerwork, his voice - though somewhat roughened by the Turns - one more suited to the work of intricate vocals. One might just get the feeling that this is, or was, his profession, given his skills, his breath support, his way of feeding the feeling of music at *all* levels into his audience...where Alida's emotional impact through her work was more bourne of gut-level impact worked into her music. In the end - with Paulin laying down his 'axe' to gently flex his own hands and fingers - the gypsies and their two leaders - Braeda and Ruyen - judge Paulin to have 'defeated' his 'enemy' by a small margin, the old man grinning broadly, then benevolently noting to Alida, "You are better than last time, Wher. You've been working on those picking skills I showed you." Pause. "Give it another decade, and you might come near my level." Cue laughter from everyone about them, while Alida just siiighs dramatically, and smirks at the man. Edyis joins in the applause, and watches Paulin with equal fascination and applause. The judging brings a smirk too but at length she's just enjoying the atmosphere. "I had no idea you played Erinye. I'd seen the guitar, but -" Edyis shrugs from her chair, chin still atop her knees. "Did you study at harper hall Paulin? Or learn as you went?" 'Erinye' nods once to Edyis, then murmurs in her typical fashion, "Mother was a scribe, but Harper, still. Learned at her knee." Paulin bobs his head and beams approval, the old man answering Edyis with a thickly-accented, "Hall, youngin'. Got journeymaned before I handed in my knot. Buncha' addlepated old traditionalists." He still sounds angry about whatever happened to him, but the man soon enough notes proudly, "Don't need a title 'r permission to teach my people, so fuck them! Haaaahahaha!" His laughter is raucous, fingers striking a sudden sound chord to his guitar in emphasis. Some other gypsies reply loudly, "That's tellin' those daft Crafters!" "We don't need them!" as well as hooting or applauding their personal Harper. Edyis laughs, "And to think I almost wasted precious turns there." Looking to Erinye with a soft if tired smile. Good music and good company making for a somewhat sleepy scribe, "That is the one thing to be said for hall, even if you choose a specialty, you still have to cover the groundwork for the other areas. " The rest of the time they're there is spent making music, dance, and eating simply, but well...sharing an hour or so with the gypsies, well away from civilization. And between when Alida takes time out to return the sleepy once-scribe to her dorm and her own return to the encampment to continue her night 'away from it all,' the blonde quietly notes to her padawan, "Think about what'cha experienced t'night. I'll have some questions for ya later t'morrow." Pause. "Sleep well." |
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