Logs:First Friend
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| RL Date: 5 May, 2013 |
| Who: Tayte, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tayte's new. She sits at Taiga Wing's table. K'del informs her of the local seating chart and they get to talking. A friendship is evidently born. |
| Where: Living Cavern |
| When: Day 15, Month 9, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: N'rov/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions, Anvori/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions |
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| Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr Stalactites hang high above this enormous cavern like a jagged chandelier or an inversion of the Spires themselves, but shadows cling to them instead of light. Below lie great tables arranged in rows, each large enough to serve a fighting wing, while in the nooks and alcoves around the cavern's edge sit more sensibly-sized tables, from six- and eight-seaters down to intimate spots for just a couple of diners. The only really open space is around the kitchen entrance, smelling of food and rarely quiet, and by the nearby serving tables with their long buffet of the day's offerings. Tapestries on the smooth walls -- some faded and others newly woven -- only slightly mute the sea of sound when a meal is in full swing, but they add cheerfulness augmented by the glowlight from wall sconces and the centerpieces of each table. Still, shadows always creep along the ceiling and into the mouths of the exits -- the myriad small hallways at one end of the cavern and, at the other, the twisting tunnel to the bowl near an array of coathooks and and hatracks -- and late at night, when the glows are allowed to dim, the chamber can seem very dark indeed.
That there's no one at the Taiga table already to raise their eyebrows at the presence of a stranger is mostly thanks to the surprisingly intensive drills that F'manis has instituted since pulling his wing out of the mock threadfalls. Exactly why his Wingsecond is not with the rest of the wing is explained by that particular rider's bruised face, and the gingerly-careful way he crosses the caverns with his breakfast. Half the Weyr has no doubt heard about his misadventure at Fort, but the bronzerider nonetheless holds his head high, ignoring his present appearance. Besides-- there's a stranger at the table, a table he must have expected to be empty. Surprised, but not rude, he offers a careful, cautious, "Good morning," to the vintner, as he slides his plate onto the table, and moves to sit across from her. Lack of a connection to the rumor mill is one of the things Tayte would say she misses most about Ista, were she asked. Being a bartender is practically a guarantee of a near-direct link to most of the runners mouths for any of the good gossip. As is, she might be one of the only people in the entire Weyr to either not have heard, or at least not previously had a face to put with the rumors. So when K'del's voice intrudes into her focus on the map, it's with a look of mild surprise that she takes in his battered face. Blonde brows lift, and a little smile curls just the corners of her full lips. There's no time wasted blinking at him or searching for something nice to say, her words roll off her tongue as easily as if she'd seen him coming and prepared for his greeting, "You should tell whoever prettied up you face they hit like a girl." Her alto is warm and constraining some mirth that makes it all the friendlier. "Unless it was a girl, in which case..." It'd be pointless, her shrug tells him. She shifts the hides a little, and pulls her plate more front and center. "How long ago?" She makes a gesture to her own freckled face to indicate the injury on his own before taking another bite of her roll. Actually, it pleases K'del an awful lot - or so it seems - to have his assailant compared to a girl. Even if he's still sort of staring at Tayte with that uncertain wariness of his; even if he's finding her bemusing at best. "Four days," he answers, carefully. "The healers assure me the swelling will go down any day now, and I'm certainly hoping so. My nose hurts. Wish someone would tell the guy he hits like a girl-- sharding Fortians. Did you realise that you were sitting at Taiga's table?" It's perfectly politely said - even friendly. Certainly, he doesn't seem bothered, something that is further noted when he adds, "Which is not to say that I'm telling you to leave. Breakfast's more interesting with company." The uncertain wariness is met with a single brow lift and the brushing the fingers of one hand on a napkin that had found it's way to beside the hides. Those fingers then bring the napkin up to brush across her lips, "Do I have something on my face?" She queries, again, easy, "You'd tell me if I did, wouldn't you?" The napkin hovers just below her chin now, hand ready to direct it into action. "A Fortian, eh?" She licks her lips, as though clearing a bitter taste. She leans a little forward, "Rider?" She questions with another brow lift. It's not an interrogation, just an inquiry. "You direct him my way and I'll be sure to tell him. I've seen worse than that after four days. Count yourself lucky it was a dame in britches that swung at you." Her continued and increasing amusement steals its way to the edges of her lips and tugs them yet a little wider. Then there's the matter of just where she's sitting. A quick glance around the unpopulated cavern has ocean blue-eyes returning to K'del, "Taiga... that's a wing around here, right?" Though she's not wearing a knot or a badge that says: 'I'm new!' Her question certainly gives that away. "There's almost never anyone around when I'm here for breakfast, so... in short, no. I had no idea. Are there many assigned seats here? Where should I be sitting, for future reference?" These questions are delivered with a marriage of bemusement and sincerity. She certainly doesn't seem to be about to jump up. "I'd tell you," promises K'del, with an easy smile-- one that would no doubt be brighter, and less awkward, if he were less bruised. "Mm," he confirms, drawing one hand away from the table so that he can use it to indicate around the cavern: "Basically, the tables over here are wing tables, more or less. So the ones over there-- they're free for anyone. Not that everyone sits with their wing at all times, but-- just so you're aware. Anyway, yeah. Fortian rider. N'rov. Sleeps with our Acting Weyrwoman, so he's around a bit. Thinks he's prettier than he is. It's not my fault Ali kissed me instead of him." It probably makes more sense in context. He's probably even aware of that, too, because his mouth twists and he adds, "Anyway. You must be new. Welcome to High Reaches." With that assurance given, the napkin retires to the tabletop once more. This frees up her fingers to once again pull apart the roll, and none-too-soon, for she has need to transfer the thing from one hand to the other to suck the icing off her fingertips where it melted in holding it too long. The act is casual, if not an example of the best manners. Isn't this kind of thing why they make forks and knives? She follows his hand as he indicates, giving a nod. "I'll make sure I find the right place next time." The explanation he gives for his injury, but moreso the way in which he delivers it earns a little laugh from the woman opposite him. "Clearly, he was trying to level the playing field, then. I don't blame this 'Ali' at all. I'd definitely have kissed the prettier man if I had a choice and was of a mind to kiss someone." Her bright gaze sweeps over K'del's face again, perhaps trying to pick out just what his degree of prettiness was before the bruising took hold. "I am. I've given up on trying to hide it. Apparently, when you end up in the laundry when you're looking for the nursery, it's sort of a dead give away. I'm Tayte. And you are the wingsecond to Taiga," At least she knows her knots, "Your lifemate is a bronze, you've been here a while, you're kind to a stranger, and you can take a punch. Now all I'm missing is a name to make a new friend of you. Unless you're the type who is friendly enough but doesn't make new friends over breakfast?" Her words continue their congenial lilt, and there's an openness in her expression that suggests she really is the type to do just that. K'del's mouth opens, and something about his expression suggests he's simply not used to having to actually give his name. His sigh says something (though what, exacty, that something is is not necessarily obvious), and so, finally, do his words: "K'del. Reckon I make new friends whenever and wherever I can-- I'm just not used to having to introduce myself. But despite that, you can stay. I'd have chosen me to kiss, too, whatever the circumstances. Welcome to High Reaches, Tayte. I think you can stay." He has dimples, and despite the rest of his face, messed up as it is, they're showing beautifully. "Not used to introducing yourself," Tayte's murmur echoes his words and she studies him astutely. "Which tells me you're a local celebrity. Forgive me. I'm most recently of Ista Weyr and this is my first time in 'Reaches." She reaches up to tuck a loose lock behind her ear, hair in a messy up-do that leaves many strands in an attractive ordered chaos to frame her face. She does not elect to tell him what his words of kissing tell her about him, but her expression becomes a touch more amused. "I'm glad you think I can stay, because the craft is of that opinion, too. It'd be a shame if Wingsecond K'del had to bring it to their attention that I wasn't a good fit. But I'm guessing that you might have enough sway to influence them? Either that, or you're famous for something else entirely. Going to tell me or just wait to see if I can sort it out on my own?" If K'del is unused to having to introduce himself, he's even more unused to his name meaning nothing to someone-- and that much is plainly obvious in his expression, which shades from quiet disbelief to something rather more uncomfortable. "Oh," he says. "Well, that's awkward." One hand lifts to run through his hair, while the other plays with the fork he's set down beside his plate. "Used to be Weyrleader, here." Pause. "For the better part of ten turns. Guess you're not the type who pays much attention to that kind of thing, though. Which is-- fine. Honestly." He picks up that fork properly, now, and stabs at the eggs on his plate (they go squish). "Kind of refreshing, maybe, even if I'm not presently looking my best." Tayte takes the time to rend roll-fluff from the remaining bulk and pop it in her mouth, Chewing in what's almost a dainty manner and swallowing before she leans forward, "Might I suggest, former Weyrleader K'del now Wingsecond of Taiga, that for you, a meeting with a total stranger who hasn't yet had the chance to hear your no-doubt thrilling history from the ever-avid rumor mill this Weyr is sure to have, should be embraced as a chance to drop all of the titles and all of the great-" Or terrible, "-deeds of your past and just savor this meeting where you're afforded the opportunity to be just K'del? I'm imagining that this is a rare situation for you. And one that isn't going to come twice with me, because, of course, I'll have to ask after you now and see what the Weyr at large would like to tell me." She sits back, setting the roll back on her plate and pinching her fingers clean on her napkin. "Would you like first crack at telling me what I should know about you? Other than that you were Weyrleader here for ten years and then--" Her tone changes from amused and confident to questioning, "-- lost a goldflight? I'm guessing. I did hear even at Ista that there was some hubbub here about two golds rising at once and both getting caught by browns." So some word does travel far, at any rate. "Guess I'll have to try and keep that in mind," says K'del, abruptly rueful, but smiling despite it. "Usually I'm at least known by name--" But he's said that. It's old news. Awkward news, though, given the way he hesitates, then, as if having to work really hard to figure out how, exactly, to explain his past. "Became Weyrleader on my seventeenth turnday - the boy Weyrleader, they called me. Some people, anyway. Cadejoth caught Iovniath three times before I had Tiriana banished... and, uh, then he caught Ysavaeth. I stepped down after Iolene was murdered." She's probably heard about that, too, and it's obvious from the dark seriousness of his expression that these are not happy memories. "And then the two browns, yes, and so now I'm a Wingsecond. That's... the sum of it. Unless you're Aishani, and want to harp on how I executed her father." Tayte's expression starts out amused and as he goes on, it becomes less amused and less readily readable. "Well," She murmurs when he's finished the story, "I'll have to give you that life at 'Reaches sounds like it's anything but dull. Is yours the typical experience?" Faranth help the poor people of this Weyr if it is. From the way she gave a slight nod to the mention of Iolene, that big news did make it to where she was at the time. She busies herself with her breakfast, using a fork this time to deal with the heartier parts while she processes the tale. "Sounds like you've been through some shit," is her final assessment. If nothing else, K'del's tale of woe doesn't seem to have impacted his appetite, because having finished explaining it all, he's quick to dig into his eggs - with relish. Around a mouthful, he laughs, answering, "Life at High Reaches is rarely straightforward and simple, but I promise, my experience is worse than most. Guess I've just got one of those faces: the kind that attracts every kind of bad luck you can imagine. It's been--" He shrugs his shoulders, surprisingly philosophical about it, this morning. "This is my life. Reckon being merely a Wingsecond is an improvement in some ways, though I could do without our present leadership. And a certain bronzerider at Fort who decided I needed a new nose." The fact that his mood hasn't become morose helps Tayte return to her usual good humor. Her lips curl into a light smirk that lacks the harshness that it might on a face less naturally 'warm' than her own, "A bad luck magnet," She muses softly, "That being the case, perhaps I ought to have avoided acquaintance with you. But it seems my thoughtless choice of seat meant for us to meet, here, now, like this and become friends." Since she did say all she needed was his name to pronounce him such. "Guess my lot's now thrown in with yours. Or at least with 'Reaches for the foreseeable future. Hey, what can you tell me about the bar here?" This is asked with sudden intensified interest. As to his nose and Wingsecond being an improvement she smiles more widely. "Perhaps your luck is starting to change then. Maybe I've met you at just the right moment after all. After all, a good broken nose adds a touch of character. You can ask anyone who's ever spent much time where bar fights break out." Which she, evidently, is. "My bad luck doesn't usually spre-- actually, maybe I can't say that." His girlfriend did get murdered, after all, and things haven't exactly been rosy for everyone else. "But, well, maybe you're right: things aren't so bad at the moment, and you're kind of stuck with me - and us - now. Maybe it's time for that string of bad luck to end for good." K'del certainly sounds hopeful of that, if not entirely convinced, as though he doubts anything can be quite that simple. "Never really been in fights until about a turn ago. And now-- well, this wasn't my first. The bar? The Snowasis. Nice place. Anvori runs a tight ship, it seems, but he does a good job of it. Not usually the kind of place fights break out, though. People want that kind of atmosphere, they tend to go outside the weyr." He leans back in his chair, studying the vintner, eyes dropping towards her knotless shoulder, then meandering back up towards her face. "Get the impression you spend a reasonable amount of time in bars." Tayte's interest in her breakfast lingers as he provides the information she requested, but then when he speaks of his impression of her, as she has been of him for so much of this conversation, the breakfast is forgotten entirely. Her expressions are so subtle, really. Her expression almost always some shade of open and amused, but there are delicate shifts that betray depths and colors of other emotion. It's keen curiosity that sneaks in at her eyes, her elbows going to the tabletop. Fingers interlace and create a bridge for her chin to rest on. Her eyes practically sparkle her interest (though more likely that's just the way the glows hit them when she tilts just so to rest chin to fingers). "Oh, is it your turn?" Like it's a game. "For you to tell me what you've gathered of me so far?" If it's a game, she certainly seems willing to play. "Are you at least throwing more punches that land than the reverse?" She questions then, as an aside, going back to one of the previous topics, briefly. K'del flattens some of his scrambled egg, then scoops it up onto his fork. "Reckon I'm doing okay, punch-wise," he says, looking rather pleased with himself for it, too. "For the most part, anyway. Hmm--" Abandoning his fork so that he can cross his arms and go back to studying the vintner, he tilts his head to the side. "You're not wearing a knot, which makes this all rather more difficult. Not fair. But. You're a crafter, presumably a Journeyman, recently posted here, and posted to Ista beforehand. You use a map rather than let yourself get lost all the time, which is probably fair: the caverns around here can be complicated. You like people. I'd probably guess that whatever it is you do, it's the kind of job that involves working with people. Talking. My guess would be... Harper, maybe, but a surprisingly unstuffy one? Or Vintner, maybe. That'd explain the interest in the bar. Not Smith, or Tanner. Weaver? But - mm, not sure." If one had to guess, they might say Tayte probably has a good poker face, but if she does, she's not using it now. She locks eyes on his as he speaks, interjecting only, "I don't think I have to tell you that life isn't fair," as he cites her lack of knot's impact on the game. It's obvious that she's pleased with his answers, because with each new revelation, her lips spread just a little more until a small smile shows her white teeth and has the smile reaching her eyes. "I can tell you're a friend worth having after all, even with the added risk of a change in fortune." She lifts her chin off her fingers, and reaches for her fork again. "Vintner," She confirms for him, "And I used to bartend at Ista." So he gets points for all his answer, though only half credit for what kind of crafter she is. "I'm not sure I'd've made it in Harper. It's so much easier to ply a person with a bit of alcohol, then the secrets flow like a river. Why waste careful words when a little well-mixed drink will do the trick? Not that it's the secrets I'm interested in." No, truly, K'del has already seen the heart of her attraction for her profession and avocation: it's this game and interest in discerning the stories of others. "If you weren't holding your own in fights, I'd have to reconsider your worthiness as a friend. Doesn't do to collect a lot of friends who can't handle themselves. Makes for a lot of losses if push comes to shove." It's not said with calculation or cruelty, simply the facts of how brawls go down - the team with less capable hands can't succeed against superior numbers. Lightly, "I'll keep that in mind." Which part? It's hard to tell from K'del's expression - which is pleased, but not especially explanatory - or from when he comes up with the words. "Vintner. Do you ever do much with grapes, I wonder? Wine, or any variation on it?" There's a subtle lean forward as he asks this, as though he's very, very interested in her answer, for all that he follows it up with, "My family grow grapes. I've a brother who's a Vintner, even, though mostly the family just does the actual growing, nothing to do with the wine part. It's probably no wonder I've no especial like for wine, these days." "Don't all vintners do at least a little with grapes?" Tayte answers the question with a question, mimicking his subtle lean with one of her own. There's a widening of her smile, "It is part of the basic education, and I do do some things with grapes. What's your brother's name? Maybe I know him?" An assessment looks the rider over, "We can't be so many turns apart. Maybe I even apprenticed with him?" If he's younger. "Or knew him as a teacher?" If he's older. "Where is your family's vineyard?" She might know of that too. "I was given a fair few skins of very good wine as a parting gift from Ista. Mayhaps-" She begins and her smile becomes a touch shy, "-if you can help me learn my way around here sometime," A flick of her fingers indicates the map still on the top of her papers, "I could see my way to sharing some with such a useful sort of friend with my thanks." Does she mean to share a drink with him? Or to give him a skin in exchange for his guide services? There's no clear indication one way or the other. "Caderin," is the answer. "He's nearly a decade older than I am, though, and did most of his Apprenticeship at Tillek, so it's probably less likely you know him. He's still there-- married, with a family, all settled down. Still deciding if he wants to bother chasing after Mastery or whether he's happy enough as he is. We're inland of Tillek, just a little place. I-- may ask if you can help me with something at some point. So it's entirely fair that you ask me to help you, too, whether you decide to share that wine or not." His smile is genuine, and the kind that gives a good indication of how attractive he could be if his face weren't all messed up. "Anyway, even if there weren't that possibility, I'd be delighted to help you out. Reckon I know this place nearly as well as a native does, and it's not like I've so much on my plate, these days. It'd be a pleasure." "A decade." Tayte has a way of repeating certain details to give herself a moment to take everything in. There's a laugh from the woman, "Well, then, surely not apprenticed with him. And in Tillek. I spent all my life at least half a world away." She doesn't volunteer exactly where that is, "But I can certainly understand his hesitation over advancement." All too well. "You know, I wouldn't tell just anyone this, but-" The blonde is leaning forward once more in a conspiratorial fashion, and her lips pull into an attractive smile, flashing teeth - a smile for a smile, though hers likely a little nicer than his just because she lacks the bruising he's sporting. "-since we're friends." She explains, before going on, "I think the Craft posting me here was their way of trying to focus me towards advancement." Blue-green eyes roll, tolerantly, "Apparently, I liked bartending a bit too much, and Crafting a little not enough. I'm sure I'd be glad to help you, if it's within my skill set. And if it pertains to grapes, then I'm certain the craft would approve, even. I might even get bonus points for helping the former and possibly future Weyrleader." He's got a bronze, it's possible, certainly. "I'm afraid Crafters aren't quite as easy to track down as dragonmen, but when you have time to show me around, you might try looking for me in the Vintner's workroom or otherwise in the nursery or in my room. Perhaps soon enough in Snowasis." A sly twist to her smile says she's got plans, though she doesn't explain. Those plans, at least, should be obvious. The amused dubiousness in K'del's expression is surely only because of the combination of having just met and now being friends, and Tayte's insistence that she wouldn't tell just anyone. 'Really' says his expression, but oh, not in a bad way: no, he's quite amused. And sympathetic, answering her story with a nod. "How could you enjoy something like that," he says, lightly sarcastic. "Guess it's all about chasing the fun out of things, sometimes. Hopefully you'll still get to do some of that here, though, and if you're lucky, this little project of mine will-- help. We'll see. It's a ways off still, and I really can't get into details. You've children?" He did pick up on that 'nursery' reference, yes. "Might run into you there quite by chance, then. The nurseries. I've two boys, myself. And I know where the workrooms are, at least. And the Snowasis. Shouldn't be too difficult." He's evidently not going to remark on the possibility of his future Weyrleadership, though something in his expression implies that - for better or for worse - it's a thought that exists at least in the periphery of his worldview. "Oh, I know," Tayte's pitch soars lightly, catching the thread of his sarcasm and carrying it along as she speaks, her expression turning playfully reproachful of her own admission. "It's a character defect. A dreadful one, to be sure, to enjoy the aspects that have me working with interesting people in an interesting place over a workroom with scattered apprentices and so on." Then she's laughing softly, "Oh, will it? Then I'm certainly all ears when the time is ripe." Since his vagueness on his idea has indicated to her that here and now is not that time. But there's her encouraging smile for when that time does come. "Child," She offers the correction easily, "A daughter. She's just about to be four. What about your sons?" There's a pleased smile for finding yet another thing in common with her new friend, "I'm sure you can give me all the insider information about which nannies can help me out after hours. I'd imagine raising sons and Weyrleading would have you using those sort of services on a regular basis?" Not that she's ever had charge of a Weyr or seems to really have any real concept of what it takes. There's a nod for the mention of Snowasis. "I can be very persuasive," It's not surprising, is it? Not with her easy demeanor and friendly smile. She seems the sort that could get along with just about anyone. "I'd bet by the next time you see me, I'll be back to slinging bottles." She times that statement with a twirl of her fork between forefingers and thumb. It's a nimble simple move that is executed so swiftly and expertly that he might miss it if he blinks at the wrong moment. K'del's smirk for her earlier remarks is unrestrained; his smile in reply to her references to his unnamed project is enigmatic. It's his sons that really capture his expression: it's instantly obvious how much he cares for them. "They're eight. Well-- Kasey is. Nikalas will be in another two sevens or so. Different mothers." Because it's confusing, otherwise. "Reckon I can, though mostly their mothers keep up with that-- but some of the other crafters may be of use to you, too. There's a few crafter children around, from memory." He's caught the twirl of that fork, but just barely, and seems impressed by it, though all he says is, "Don't doubt it, not for a second. Seems like you'd be a good person to have on board there, though my opinion doesn't count for much on that." "I'll have to ask around then. With the Crafters, I mean. Any thoughts who I might start with?" Any advice is better than no advice at all. "That is one downside to starting over," The way Tayte says the last two words seems to have extra significance; for her, it's more than just moving to a new place. She's starting over. "You have to make all new contacts before things can start to feel a little more normal." She doesn't say more of her daughter, but being a proud papa himself, he might've caught the way her eyes looked both softer and more tender when she briefly spoke of the girl. There's amusement for the words about the mothers of the children, "Well, I did learn once that dragonmen keep busy. Weyrleader for ten turns. I'm surprised you're only a father twice over. But I suppose that's better, easier to devote your time and love." They might've gone on this way, talking so companionably were in not for the appearance of a teen with an apprentice vintner's knot. The pimply youth zeroes in on the blonde woman, eyes widening when he sees where she's sitting and then even more when he sees who she's sitting with. There's a gulp as he approaches; proof that K'del is well known. A shadow passes K'del's expression briefly at her comment on only being a father twice, but he's quick to recover from it-- no doubt it helps that that vintner apprentice interrupts. He gives the young man a smile, not nearly so warm as the ones he's been sending in Tayte's direction, and then turns back to the Journeyman. "Let me guess: we're about to be interrupted. Madilla-- the Weyrhealer. That's who I'd recommend you talk to, first. If she can't help you, I'd almost guarantee she can find someone who can." Certainly no offense was meant, Tayte doesn't seem the type for that. She is, however, aware of the expression, despite the distraction of the approaching apprentice. "I meant," She murmurs as he arrives, "More about flight babies. I hear they're common. I'm one." The roll of her shoulders and the look she gives him speaks her apology if she hit a nerve. Then she gives her attention to the apprentice. "Yes, Neyan?" She greets the lad by name. "Um, excuse me, ma'am?" Neyan's voice breaks almost immediately, expression anxious as his eyes dart from rider to crafter. "Journeyman Markarin suggested you might have-- um-- forgotten this?" A Journeyman Vintner's knot is offered to the woman, "And he'd like to know if you 'might be troubled to join him in the workroom'?" If K'del's ever met that particularly ornery Vintner, he'd know the tone in which the original request was made was dripping with sarcasm. Tayte seems to know this too, for she's sliding to her feet, giving the apprentice an easy smile. To K'del, "I'm glad to have a friend about this place. Sometimes it's nice to have just one." Since apparently she's not doing so well making "friends" with those of her own ilk. "Duty calls. I'll see you soon though, for my tour?" She raises brows at the bronzerider as she slides out of her seat, picking up her papers and plate. "Of course, of course," says K'del, hastily, using his abrupt smile to cover any lingering emotions, whether they're related to flight babies or not. He goes silent as the apprentice speaks, though his mouth twitches about the corners, amusement not quite entirely held at bay. "Glad I can help out," he tells Tayte, gaze following her up. "Don't let them wear you down. Soon, though-- definitely." And that smile will follow her away. It's subtle, but the following eyes of the bronzerider would likely catch a glance over Tayte's shoulders and a slight curl to her lips for the sight of the watching. Her hips seem to sway just a touch more after, maybe she doesn't even realize she's doing it, but it might be just enough to keep that smile going moments after she's headed into the bowl, knot in hand but not on shoulder. |
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