Logs:Wander
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| RL Date: 3 July, 2014 |
| Who: S'kel, Nala |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: S'kel is 'helping' a harper, when he meets Nala. She challenges him. |
| Where: Records Room |
| When: Day 23, Month 2, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
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| One voice rings true, disturbing the quiet of the records. "You've given me a great, great opportunity. I am so very thankful. You can't imagine how long I've been.." Its owner is a middle aged man with gray hair and a rounded belly that falls over the front of the waistband of his utilitarian trousers. He's gesturing wildly - the harper's knot on his shoulder bouncing with every movement - and speaking to a much younger man who swaggers behind him. "Don't mention it. No, really, don't." Sarcasm is lost on the harper, who keeps blabbering away, and earns him an exaggerated eye roll from the bronzerider walking in his wake. "Goodness me, if I had known Fortians talked as much," S'kel growls under his breath, ignoring his predecessor in favor of perusing the great cavern he's meandering around in. The harper plants himself at a desk, spreading out a scroll with a detailed drawing of Ista Weyr's environs; side notes scribble the parchment, blank spaces left here and there, obviously meant to be filled in. "You've missed the stable pens, just there." S'kel points flippantly with a hand to a spot on the drawing and the harper near-squeals with delight, setting charcoal to paper, "Magnificent, my thanks!" But the bronzerider is already striding off in an idle sort of way, bumping into this chair here, flipping over a book there, all in the manner of someone so supremely /bored/. For as long as all that chattering has been going on, Nala has been keeping herself as far away from it as possible, even if it has meant her wandering from aisle to aisle and so on as voices get nearer and subsequently become more distant. She's collected two books on her travels, one of which she has balanced on the other and ready for reading, though she's still at the stage of flipping through pages to find what she wants. The scrape of chair legs against the floor and the dull thud of books being moved almost has her turning back to the depths of the records just when it sounds like it might be safe to head back out to the collections of tables, yet the bluerider stops at the head of one aisle, as far from the Harper as she can get. "Are you /quite/ finished yet?" she accuses S'kel, lifting her dark gaze from the text before her. One more book is overturned, hitting the table it's been resting on with a resounding thump. S'kel doesn't look the least bit perturbed as he lazily raises his eyes to the bluerider. He stares for longer than would be considered polite, without response, and even then, when he does deign to speak, his voice carries with it the tone of someone utterly apathetic. "No, I thought I might knock over some chairs and topple a few bookcases while I was at it. Do /you/ mind?" His green eyes are steady, one eyebrow lifted in casual defiance of anyone else's feelings on the matter. "If you break any chairs, I will be claiming them for firewood, so I suppose you should weigh up what it is that you hope to gain from such an endeavour," Nala coolly replies, staring right back, evidently quite unconcerned by the span of time for which his gaze rests upon her. "Unless, of course, you wish to leave evidence and a witness at the scene of the crime, which I am told is rather unwise." Rather than move towards or past the bronzerider, she takes a half-step to the left and leans against the bookcase. "I am sure that you do not need to be told that we do not have much left, so I would not put breaking things on your agenda." Another long stint of silence ensues in response, one in which S'kel sizes up the other dragonrider, with a sweeping glance from her toes to the top of her head. "It would seem to me that Fort Weyr needs to invest in a better way to get some capital, wouldn't it?" He doesn't admit to any wrong-doing on his part, just an off-the-cuff redirection of the conversation. "I, for one, am for the less favored idea of pilfering. What do those Holders need all those supplies for. It's like they're saving up to feed a bunch of people or something." Though he doesn't so much as smile, his sardonic humor is evidence there in the gentle caress of his voice. "Agenda? Who says I have an agenda? That guy over there," with a condescending head-jerk towards the harper who is talking to himself, "he's got an agenda. But me? Nope, nada, never." Nala continues to be quite dismissive of staring, in that she doesn't really react at all, and just keeps her dark, somewhat impassive gaze fixed on him. "I am sure that it is very easy to wander in and decide that everything you see going on is inadequate," she remarks. "If you wish to consider capital and earning or losing your own, you might consider a visit to Dice." That top book on her pile of two gets closed. "If you truly have no other agenda, that might occupy your time for a while. And they will not let you smash their furniture." Not that any furniture has been smashed here. "The Holders throw better parties than us, don't you know? They need the marks for pretty things and trinkets to give away at weddings." "I didn't wander in," S'kel corrects her, "I purposefully landed here. And as for inadequacy, I don't care, as long as my belly is full and I can break a chair from time to time." He taps the top of the nearest one with a finger, for emphasis. "Dice and games? What, are you Bitran?" Looking doubtful, he says, "I don't have time for losing marks in that kind of market. Never mind the girls that come with the dice." Wink wink, hint hint, whatever that means. "Oh, I well know. Fort especially. Tell me the weyrleaders couldn't manage to negotiate a little better with the tithes? I would think Fort would be willing, with as free as they are at their gathers with the wine." For someone not in the business of running a Weyr - much less any place - he sounds so sure.. and foolish. Somewhere behind him, the harper gets frustrated and cusses, making S'kel's lips quirk in a ghost of a smile. "You appear to very much be wandering now." As for S'kel's accusation concerning Bitra, all Nala does is narrow her eyes the faintest bit and not say so much as a word to address it, though her demeanour noticeably cools even further when he moves to comment about women and gambling games. "If that is the only way some," when 'some' sounds just a little too much like 'you', "are capable of securing a woman, it speaks volumes." Pushing away from the bookcase, she finally heads towards the tables, moving past the bronzerider and only as near as she must. "I am sure that the Weyrleaders would be thrilled to hear your ideas. The Weyrleader loves hearing suggestions as to how he can better serve us." It's a bit difficult to tell whether she's being earnest or sarcastic there. "I'm helping that guy." Helpfully, S'kel points to the harper, who is oblivious to their back-and-forth, so intent is he on his doodling. As for the bronzerider's ability to secure women - well, he'll just shrug and leave it at that. Who cares how he gets his women outside of flights? Certainly not him. Less choosy. "Come on - are all you Fortians so wordsy and uptight? You haven't even told me your name." He stands, arms akimbo, his lean body angled towards Nala and his green eyes dancing with mirth. "Or am I supposed to guess?" said as he takes a step forward, holding one hand out to her in a conciliatory gesture. "Yes, he does seem desperate for your assistance right now," Nala drawls with a glance in the direction of the doodling Harper, tipping her chosen books up to cradle them against her chest. She looks S'kel up and down again, her expression unchanging. "From my experience, they," not we, "are predominantly uptight when being accused of being so, but, if you like, I will speak more slowly and aim my vocabulary at the level of a ten turn old. Do tell me if you struggle to understand." Though, for all that, she does eventually and slowly extend a hand towards him, shifting her books to the crook of her other arm. "Nala, blue Jynth's. Your turn." "Doesn't he though?" S'kel looks back at the harper, who is bent, drawing feverishly. "Now I have someone who understands my needs. Maybe you can just show me pictures of what you mean. I do better with visuals." He smiles without teeth, his eyes crinkling at the corners, but once Nala places her hand in his, he clasps his other on top and gives her hand a gentle shake with both of his. "Well met, Nala of Jynth. I'm S'kel, transplant from Ista, bronze Dieudoneth's." His hands drop from hers after a few beats and crossover his chest, as he stands a bit straighter. "I will bring a burnt stick next time and draw on the walls for you. Little stick men and stick dragons. Stick firelizards." Though she may not really smile, Nala's reply sounds to be in good humour, rather than scathing, yet she walks a fine line between dry and mocking. She tenses just a little more when both of his hands close around hers, but when she isn't yanked every which way by an overenthusiastic handshake, that appears to ease away quickly enough, and, for whatever reason, she gives S'kel another appraising once over. "Well met," she echoes, securing both arms back around her books. "The last person I met transplanted from more tropical climes, I had to march off to buy a winter coat. I do not expect that I will have to do the same again?" "Ah, there you have it. Makes thinking easier on my head," as he thumps himself in the side of the head with a finger, and winks. S'kel, though he be annoyingly so, is also in good, dry humor. He's rocking back on his heels, his hands tucked up under his arms that are crossed tightly across his chest. "While I do prefer the bluff - because it got hot as a dragon's arse - or lesser clothes, I'm from around Tillek way so I do know how to dress for the weather. But if you've a mind to dress me, or the reverse, just say so." And there he goes again, probably shattering whatever small ground they had gained, though he looks anything but dismayed, his smile widening to show a whole mouth full of gleaming teeth and little sense. Nala considers his last comment with the (perhaps familiar) eerie silence of one wondering whether they've heard right and whether or not it's worth taking offense. Or so it might seem, until her humour transforms into a low, deadpan thing that isn't necessarily humour at all. "You would not like me undressing you," she informs him, a certain sharpness focusing her gaze. "I leave marks." If it's a challenge, a warning or otherwise, the bluerider doesn't hang around to clarify, and she turns to head out into the bowl and the winter weather, all without logging that she's removed the books she's carrying. S'kel just grins, a wide and wild thing. Challenge accepted. Then he wanders back to the harper, whistling. |
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