Logs:Nearly Irresponsible
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| RL Date: 19 January, 2016 |
| Who: A'sran, Dahlia, Leczuth, Taeliyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A'sran and Dahlia attend Southern Hold's gather for a little while. |
| Where: Southern Hold |
| When: Day 13, Month 11, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Estanei/Mentions, Litora/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions |
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| Gathers hosted by those Southern heathens are a shade different than the typical gather at a northern Hold, but alike enough not to rattle the sensibilities too much. The heat of the climate invites scantier fashions, the presence of chilled fruit juices and slushy alcoholic mixtures, and open-air tents. Dahlia might have chosen to wear shorts and a bikini top were it not for for the fact that she comes with an escort. As such, she's opted for simple, loose-fitting, white sundress that stops mid-thigh and a wide-brimmed sun hat. As ever, she's without jewelry or other adornment, but perhaps the brilliance of her smile as she steps away from Taeliyth in the designated landing area to survey from that distance the spread of tents will make up for any lack. "Have you been to many gathers down south?" She asks, stepping toward A'sran and placing her hat on her head, fingers adjusting a few strands of her short hair here and there. Southern's sun rays are not forgiving today, and for its unforgiving harsh light, the weyrwoman's companion only looks that much more fair and red headed. It has not stopped him from sporting short-sleeves and pants of breathable fabric, though once they have touched down and he has seen to Leczuth's straps, he opts to wear a short-brimmed hat of his own in contrast to Dahlia's. "Hm? Me? I have, but not in many months now. I favor Lemos and Keroon," A'sran tells her, offering his customary, but now bare, arm. "You must miss it." He is not angling to dig, and yet he does not seem opposed to talking about her former home either as he steps towards the other gathering folk. Though it's uncharacteristic for Taeliyth not to want to be where she can best observe the action, today she seems inclined to take flight again, a restlessness in her Wood that rustles the leaves in time with her slow, deep breaths. It's sand she's seeking, and lots of it. If she weren't definitely still weeks away from clutching, there might be cause for concern with that sort of want: it wouldn't do to have the Fortian gold clutch on Southern sands. (To Leczuth from Taeliyth) Dahlia's reach for his arm is familiar, though with it bare her fingers play just a little more than usual across his skin. It's easier here to be familiar with him, not that she keeps a great distance at home, but certainly she has lines that keep them in the realm of 'good friends' rather than overtly lovers at home. Here, it seems she's prepared to be seen, at least for these hours, to be seen as something other than just good friends. "Sometimes I miss the beaches, but I can visit when there's free time." She considers as she strolls along with him, "I missed it more once, but coming home again wasn't coming home again, if that makes sense. Things had changed there as much as they had with me." She glances up at him, having to tilt her head a little funny to peek out from under her wide brim. "What about you? Does your home before Leczuth still feel like home?" For Leczuth to leave the weyr, to quit his brooding form high above the weyr, it must have taken a hard sell from his rider, and certainly that his mate also attends has to sweeten the deal. Still, the bronze is watchful, and protective of the gold, even when she takes to the skies and he stays grounded. In his presence is a question, an underlying chill. (To Taeliyth from Leczuth) A'sran's stride is relaxed as he leads the way into the gather, with Dahlia tucked to his side and, in gentlemanly manner, keep most of the jostling against his own lean frame from less conscientious gather goers. "Everything always changes," he muses, and then inclines his head, his eyes forward under the shady brim of his hat. "Greystones ceased to be my home a long time ago. It must have been when I stood at Benden first, but Benden was never my home either. Fort is, more than any other, but.." He turns his head to give the goldrider an easy smile. "Home to me is wherever Leczuth is. Wherever he takes us, wherever that will be." To Leczuth, Taeliyth's circles take her higher and higher, wheaten hide warmed by the sun and cooled by the wind. It's a pleasant combination, pleasant enough that she's not in a rush to find that sandy spot, though she still certainly holds it in her mind as her aim. A beach, somewhere nearby but not too near, somewhere without people. Leczuth's silent question seems like it might go unanswered until she spares him a fleeting glance and there's a tendril of invitation; she'd like his company. It's probably a good sign for the eggs that will be that she's managed to maintain some connection to their sire (though not that of a doting mate, of course) after the memory of egg-making events is long gone. The goldrider's bright smile lingers as her eyes drink in the sights through the crowd. "Change is one of the few guarantees in life. It's easier not to linger on the not so good when you know that. Harder, I find, to attach to the good, though." Dahlia keeps pace with A'sran, her height making it less of a chore than it might be for others. "Sounds like it was good for you that he found you. Did you always want to be a dragonrider?" There's curiosity in her tone, but no driving 'dig' for information, just as there wasn't from his words about her missing her home. "Have you known only not good experiences with change?" A'sran asks, his eyes dipping to her face before they flit off again, into the crowd and the stalls. There are people aplenty, vendors and wares, and the bronzerider seems to not have any particular direction in mind, as he ambles through the thoroughfare. "I would not say always, but from young. Dragonriders were.. illusive, radical, free. Everything I wanted to be when I was a young man, especially since my family was opposed." He tells her in simple tone, and gives her another one of his boyish grins at the end. "What about you? I heard you were an apprentice before? Tannercraft?" Almost, A'sran.. almost. The suggestion of an invitation is enough to launch Leczuth from his perch into the sky, to seek out the gold's hide and join her in respite, on that southern beach that is near and yet far, in solitude. Wherever.. that may be. (To Taeliyth from Leczuth) "My most recent experiences, perhaps. Or those which at first seemed not good but turned out for the best," Dahlia admits with mild chagrin. "At least if I don't get attached, I'm not disappointed when things don't work out. Things stay easy, uncomplicated," perhaps less meaningful. She seems happy to peruse the tents from a distance for the time being. Maybe she's just here for the atmosphere, or maybe she's just looking for something particular. "Elusive, radical and free," she repeats with some small amusement. "Did it turn out to be everything you thought it would be?" The last is a little cryptic, but there's humor in her tone as she says, "You're a good reminder that I'm not nearly so important as I sometimes get to thinking I am. Farmcraft. I didn't want to be a dragonrider, but I'm Weyrbred and Standing is a duty as real as marriage might be to a Holder." They'll find it. Taeliyth seems sure. They can go higher and higher until the world unfolds beneath them like a map. From there she'll be able to see, won't she? She hopes. (To Leczuth from Taeliyth) "I cannot fathom living my whole life guarded from what could possibly hurt me," is A'sran's answer, his eyes flicking to the goldrider at the corners, without disrupting his smile. "There is sweetness in the bad experiences too. You learn." He stops suddenly and makes a point of losing her hand off his arm, and reaching down to grab her hand, holding it up so that she can see. Not scary. Then, he continues to move, tugging her along with him through the crowd, towards the closest drinks booth it would seem. "That and then some," he says, laughing. "I am as free as I could ever want to be, and elusive to holders. Radical.. to those with traditional values." At the drinks tent, he stops to look down at Dahlia, his golden-red eyebrows raised in question. "On the contrary. You are one of Fort's most important assets." Dahlia doesn't quite manage to completely hide a deeply sad look in time for it not to be seen, but her lips carry the smile, if diminished. It might be that she's all the more willing to entwine her fingers with his in the moment that follows for that moment of unpleasant memory. She goes willingly with him to that drink booth and she's recovered enough to meet his look with one of her own. "Do you remember the day we talked at the lake shore? Before Leczuth caught Taeliyth. Long before." Only, then, she's requesting, "Tell me more about your radical views, won't you please?" She looks to the drink vendor but orders something mundane, wholly alcohol-less, and has only a brief look of apology toward A'sran. "Did I-- happen to remember to mention that I might have to head back to work anytime today?" Oops? The look likely is not missed, but drinks fix everything, right!? A'sran makes an order of ale for himself, leaning his shoulder against the nearest tent post. "I remember it. I do not think you thought much of me then," he replies, his lips drawn up in another smile, as he regards her face in mirthful contemplation. "I cannot say they are radical, just that they would anger a traditionalist. Bronzeriders have long held the role of wingleaders, and men. I cannot see any reason women should not, or blueriders, or greenriders. Why not a female weyrleader? Brown? Why not.." But he stops himself and blows out a breath, his eyes flicking between the vendor and the goldrider. "No. You did not." "Yes, well," Dahlia's cheeks are tinged with a little blush. "It's just that we got word that Fort's tithes would be in sometime today. And everything's ready, so I didn't see the harm in coming for a little while as we'd planned," only the blushing says she feels a little guilty about this jaunt far from home when there might be responsibilities looking for her back at Fort. "I thought we could just enjoy ourselves for a little while. I don't know when the next Southern Hold gather will be. And Taeliyth was feeling restless again, still, always." She has many reasons, of course, that excuse this slight lapse in being The Perfect Little Junior, only she can't seem, now, to meet his eye and the rest is temporarily forgotten, though it must not anger her since there's no trace of that in her demeanor. The drink vendor hands over a dug, scratched mug of ale to A'sran, who accepts it with genuine thanks and payment for both their drinks. "I am not mad," he says, watching her over the rim of his froth-topped tankard. "It is your duty to do." He lifts one shoulder to gesture out to the grounds and the other booths that line the dance square. "Anything in particular that you would like to see? Buy? Sample?" "The next ones are on me," Dahlia murmurs, lest she become any kind of burden on A'sran or his markpouch. Still, there's a grateful smile for him for his gentlemanly behavior. "Mostly, I just wanted to be here, with you." How that fits with keeping a distance from that which could hurt them? Well, women are known to be paradoxical in expressed opinion and action. "Do you mind just strolling along and talking? I've been enjoying that. I think you're right, by the by. A female brownrider, or a brownrider at all. I can understand why some don't champion it, but though I like some bronzeriders quite well, I don't see them as inherently better at running a Weyr any more than I'm inherently suited to being a weyrwoman. I obviously still have some less than responsible impulses to curb." She does look like she's doing well enough chastising herself for that even without whatever Mirinda might say. "One day, I might want to come down here to commission furniture in this style, but that might rub our posted woodcrafters the wrong way." Everything is so political, really, when one has a shiny dragon. "Nonsense." It is nothing as frivolous as pride, but his own deep-set proclivities that make it easy for him to deny the weyrwoman's offer. "We can stroll, talk, fly, sleep.. whatever you want." A'sran steps out of the drink tent at that, glancing forward and behind. "We, bronzeriders, are supposed to be the epitome of everything that is grand. Handsome, strong, smart. It does not always work out that way, of course," he says, "but that is the general sense, and somehow that means we should be in charge? I am sure it has much to do with how often bronzes shell, as golds. Rarity." He sounds bemused by it all, even as he takes sips of his ale and glances aside to Dahlia. "I can name plenty of female brownriders that would make wonderful weyrleaders. N'rov holds his own, too." Let them not forget their formidable leader, for all his bronze lifemate. "Tell them it was a gift. How can they argue?" Dahlia laughs, lightly, the sound easing what tension had come to her in admitting her small act of irresponsibility. "There's a thought. It wouldn't have occurred to me," to lie. Though now that he's suggested it, it certainly doesn't seem something she's entirely opposed to. She doesn't, presently, protest the matter of drinks, but perhaps that balances out what she must spend to replenish her own stores when they've enjoyed themselves for a nightcap or two. "It's interesting how some imbue rarity with other enviable traits even if it mightn't be so. When I visit the children in the caverns, there are always a few little girls that want to make goldriding out to be some sort of dream instead of a lot of hard work." Doubtless, this goldrider does what she can to dispel the fantasy. "Which brownriders would you want to see as Weyrleader?" It might be idle curiosity, but she does seem to take A'sran's opinions to heart. A'sran follows the sound of her laughter, but keeps them moving through the gather crowd, along the perimeter and past booths of all types of wares. "There are plenty of bronzeriders and goldriders who perpetuate the ideal." He does not name names, of course. That would be impolite. "Estanei would be a good choice, though some would say she is too.. aggressive," he says, and then considers it. Litora, from Jasper." And then he stops talking, his brow creased as he contemplates the choices out there. Estanei gets a smothered giggle, but probably only because, "Well, she did accuse Mirinda of feeling her up in the lunch line," and despite the giggle, Dahlia seems to be serious about that. "I'm not sure I know Litora. I'll have to make her acq-" and then she breaks off. It's the same moment that high above Taeliyth starts spiraling down, with a little frustration vented to Leczuth for never finding that wanted spot. "Oh, the watchdragon tells Taeliyth he can see the tithe train. "I'd better go if I want to get back before Mirinda looks for me." It doesn't stop her from placing her drink into the hand she previously held and leaning up to kiss him. "It's going to be a couple long days, I think, but I'll see you when this tithe stuff is settled." They might even be able to make up for lost time. And with that, and little propriety, Dahlia's starting off at a jog back toward the landing field, her short dress... well, doing just what one would expect a short dress to do when put under the duress of jogging. |
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