View source for Logs:Verbal Dancing, Catfish Holes, and Other Reachian Affairs

{{Log
|who=Devaki, Irianke,
|what=Day one of the birthday celebrations finds Irianke touring a boat and meeting Devaki.
|where=The Maddy, High Reaches Hold
|day=8
|month=13
|turn=36
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.02.06
|quote=A lover? Surely, even Lords aren't so audacious.
|weather=Light snow.
|mentions=Issedi, Madilla, Nimae
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon devaki.jpg, Face-Irianke.jpg,
|desc=>---< High Reaches Hold(#1190RAJ) >------------------------------------------<

  Isolated on its westward-jutting peninsula, from the landward side High   
  Reaches Hold appears burrowed deep into the mountain, with only a few     
  shuttered windows overlooking the rows of cotholds that line the river    
  road. Its double courtyards appear designed more for transportation or    
  defense than for welcoming visitors. From the seaward side, the slant of  
  the windows overlooking the fine deep bay attempts to ward off the sea    
  winds, the higher stories evading the less pleasant odors prevalent at low
  tide.                                                                     
                                                                            
  However cold and bleak the Hold's setting may be, inside, its colors of   
  dark blue and tan act as neutrals for the warmer, brighter hues of its    
  llama-wool tapestries and rugs. Below the Hold, oval caverns house lengths
  of seasoned wood for its shipbuilders, and to its outskirts are several   
  minor Crafthalls including a glass-smith's shop.                          
                                                                            
  Though the Hold's main access is by sea, the river road leads to its Weyr 
  and the rest of Pern, while minor roads lead to a few outlying Holds and  
  the distant lighthouse.                                                   
  The snowfall is light and intermittent throughout the day until it tapers 
  off completely into a frigid night. The ground is damp, though very little
  sticks.                                                                   

 -----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
  Devaki       M   34 5'11  trim, blond hair, blue eyes                   4m 
  Irianke      F   36 5'7"  slender, dark curly hair, stone blue eyes     0s
 ----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
                 Orchards  Lighthouse Deck  High Reaches Area               
>-----------------------------------------< 8D 13M 36T I10, winter night >---<
|log=Although the snowfall has been falling on and off for most of the day, it's relatively light, enough that small groups of people, here and there, make the trek down the rocky path from the Hold to the docks. High Reaches' flagship, the "Maddy" is moored there, towering impressively upwards. The crew roam around, alternately talking to curious visitors, or going about their work. Devaki is perhaps notable for the fact that he's ''not'' wearing a furred cloak to protect him against the cold, as if perhaps he doesn't intend to be here long, standing near the gangplank, talking to the dockmaster.

A fur coat, a size too large, hangs off of Irianke's shoulders, loosely tenting her body. All that's visible of her cute celebration outfit is the gold pins taming the her hair curls. She's already picked her way over the rocky path and slips herself onto the periphery of a cluster of folks headed up for a tour of the boat, listening in to conversations and all too clearly standing out as not belonging, in spite of her physical proximity. For one, the entire group she's with are seacrafters who speak of seaworthiness and the like. For another, she's the only she, though that may have been a deliberate choice as she flashes one of the aging sailors a quick smile and overtly friendly wink.

The dockmaster straightens, and as the group of seacrafters arrives, steps forward to greet them, one or two by name. There's a flurry of exchanges of handshakes, and then the dockmaster's leading the way up onto the gangplank, talking about buoyancy and cargo storage and other riveting topics. Devaki, apparently, isn't so thrilled by the idea, lingering dockside. Also too, that sailor that Irianke winked at is apparently lingering, grinning at the goldrider. Maybe Devaki notices, or maybe the Lord is just plain nosy, intervening with an easy, "Have you been on a ship before, ma'am?" The ''ma'am'' seems deliberate, an address due her age -- not that there's a great deal of difference in age between them.

Far too used to the title, Irianke doesn't react to it, which is indicative enough. But the interruption? A regretful look, a little faux a little genuine, flashes to the old sailor who ends up joining his group. They can nerd out together over the type of wood used, and how tall that mast is, and jokes of the phallic symbols all over boats named after women. "No, is it really that obvious? I did try to leave my land legs at home, but they insisted on coming along for the ride because dancing. Dancing must be done, and they were willing I make the sacrifice of looking like a landlubber. You? You boat often, Lord Reaches?"

His suspicion confirmed by the woman's easy acceptance of the address, Devaki's smiling just a little, though there's no secret delight at having broken up that moment, just his mask of polite interest. "Not many have. Even amongst my holders, and many of them shipbuilders to boot. It's a tradition I'd like to air out a little." He stretches out an arm for her in offer of escort, "Some find the roll of the boat unnerving, but it's little bothersome this close to land." It's her latter comment that has the blond chuckling, a more genuine sentiment. "I try to get out on the sea as much as my duties allow. Which," with a grimace, "Is not nearly as often as I'd like."

The smile doesn't go unnoticed, and is returned in kind, even if the sentiment behind it isn't the same. The "ma'am" is smiling nonetheless; a dimpled, charming and charmed affair as she reaches to place her hand delicately on his arm. "Tell me about your hardships and I'll tell you mine," is uttered rhetorically. "I learned a long time ago the people who look like they get to do whatever they want to in life rarely get the chance."

"I would, but, ma'am," Devaki gives her a sidelong look, one of utter sincerity and joviality at the same time, "You would be forced to listen to me ''all day'', and you'd miss out on the delights of seeing all my Hold has to offer. I couldn't in good conscience subject you to that, as tempting an offer as it is." His smile is genuine, guiding them up the gangplank, easy steps taken to account for their slight difference in height. And ''now'' she has his interest, at that last, a measured, thoughtful look given the dark-haired woman. "Spoken," he muses, "Like something of personal experience?" the lilt at the end turns it into question as much as his curious look.

"I'm surprised you don't already know my life story," Irianke returns, the words arch even if her mild intonation isn't. Interest in her surroundings, the water that the plank bridges, the ship itself, and the view behind them, distracts her from focusing entirely on the Reaches Blood. "This doesn't seem so bad," she says of the gangplank, "I don't know what people... Oh." The first step onto the boat itself as her "delicate" hold of Devaki's arm tighten reflexivey. "

"I'm surprised you don't already know my life story," Irianke returns, the words arch even if her mild intonation isn't. Interest in her surroundings, the water that the plank bridges, the ship itself, and the view behind them, distracts her from focusing entirely on the Reaches Blood. "This doesn't seem so bad," she says of the gangplank, "I don't know what people... Oh." The first step onto the boat itself as her "delicate" hold of Devaki's arm tighten reflexively. "Well then. There goes my boat cherry."

By habit, Devaki plants his stance wide, the roll of the ship gentle but noticeable to those used to the solidity of land. Ahead, the group of seacrafters are gathered around the mast, looking up towards the rigging while the dockmaster explains something in great detail. "The stories people tell, and the truth are ''rarely'' one and the same," Devaki replies to Irianke, with an easy smile. Her turn of phrase has him staring at her for a beat, flummoxed but for a moment before he gives a hearty laugh. One of the crewmembers stands nearby, winding rope, staring curiously in their direction, too, perhaps more at the Lord than the woman with him.

"Did I read Maddy correctly?" Irianke asks after an indulgent smile for his laughter. "Let me guess, your daughter? Your aunt? Your mother. No, it's too cute of a name to be anything other than your daughter." Decisive. But then. Her eyelids drop and the look she slants side ways is accompanied by a considering head tilt. Her smile turns impishy sly and the richness of her voice teases "A lover? Surely, even Lords aren't so audacious."

Her guessing earns a smile, and then a laugh, the Lord letting her go through the many guesses with easy expression giving away nothing. "It's a shame we didn't bet on it. My eldest son named it, after his mother." Not, notably, Devaki's ''heir'' or his ''wife'', but then if she knows his name, she may well know ''that'' story, too. Then again, technically her last guess is correct, though the islander doesn't linger on that point, instead: "Shall we take a stroll to the bow? Let you get a feel for your sea legs?"

"Romance stories always make it seem this precise moment. This moment right here," Irianke points to where she stands, where he stands, and the space in between them, "Is where the heroine and the hero fall in love, but don't discover that until chapter three. I would take my first step." Her fur-trimmed booted foot makes a reenacted first step. "Then I'd wobble and fall forward and the dashing sailor pirate would catch me up in his arms." Now. Now, the Igenite woman laughs, an airy melodious sound that catches the briefest attention from those sailors, who are quick to refocus on their nerding out.

That crewmate over there by the ropes is ''indeed'' squinting at them, so maybe he overhead and is preparing to rush in that direction? Devaki, for that matter, is staring, too, chuckling under his breath. "My life is ''enough'' the subject of harper tales without it becoming one of ''those'' stories. Is that what you like?" There's no judgement, but hazel eyes are weighing his companion's response heavily. The first step, and the second step, and the third appear to happen without mishap or love at first sight, and the Lord guides them towards the bow. To do so, they pass both that crewmember and that group of sailors, and one of them curses, abruptly, slipping over ''something'', much to the delighted catcalls of his fellows. Flat on his back, the man clutches at his leg, face contorted with pain. "What in the catfish's fuckin'--" his mouth snaps closed as he seems to remember they're not alone on the ship.

"I will read just about anything that isn't work related at the end of the day. I hear the judgment," even if there isn't any, "But at the end of the day, curled up in front of a hearth, a bottle of wine, and only old familiar friends by your side, a good sordid tale does much to ease a lonely soul." Mirth and a touch of over dramaticism colors the word as the pair walks past the man clutching at his leg. Irianke doesn't draw attention to it herself, but once they've walked a little distance away, she leans in murmuring, "I confess, I ''need'' to know how he was going to end that statement. Do you need to go check on him?"

"If you're after some new stories," Devaki leans closer for a moment, voice dropping to murmur with secret amusement, "My lady wife does like to indulge now and then. Just don't let her know I let ''you'' know." You know? That Irianke's pace remains unchanged makes ''his'' unchanged, even if his head ''does'' turn in that direction, a brief frown crossing his features. Perhaps his lack of coat is a rather less practical reason for keeping them moving. No, his fellows seem to have it well in hand." Even if the ''in hand'' involves ''laughter'', the dockmaster at least is crouching beside the fellow one while of his friends leans down to begin to assist him to his feet. The yelp (and the more colorful curse, this time about a sailor's wife and a fish's mouth), suggests this isn't a very successful venture. "I suspect you might enjoy an evening at the docks bar, though," with a rueful smile, "I wouldn't recommend it for your own safety. At least, not where I might have to take responsibility," he says, with a spread of his spare hand.

"When a woman of my rank goes knotless, the responsibility lies squarely in her own hands. Trust, my Lord Reaches," there's a squeeze just two notches above firm for his arm she holds, "That I can handle myself when it comes down to it. If I must." Irianke slips a glance backwards, the casual glance taking in as much as she can in her stone blue eyes of what happened, how it might have happened, who it happened to, and who else is around. It's a quick look though, before's leaning into Devaki again bracing for the next step. "What in the catfish's fuckin'... blow hole?" The suggestion is made with a hand cutting upward in the air, decisive.

"Knotless or not, I'm sure the bulk of the Weyr will find some way to name me as the culprit. It seems to be par for the course." Devaki's tone seems genuinely light about this, though -- so either he's long since grown used to the ''rumors'', or he's playing it off quite successfully, indeed. The group around the fallen seacrafter are now hoisting him up, ''still'' laughing and joking and making fun of him (and cursing, colorfully), the dockmaster's not looking too happy, and that rope-coiling crewmember is nowhere to be seen in the quick look. "Mm," with a shake of his head, Devaki correcting, "Catfish don't have blowholes. It's more, uh," he looks like he's ''trying'' to be delicate about it, but... eh. "The ''other'' hole."

"The asshole," she says, matter-of-factly. "Oh, come now, Lord Holder. If we let our inability to speak the words we were meant to speak dictate how we speak with whom, then surely, we let words win." Whatever any of that means, and it's clear, from the sudden bright, winsome smile on her lips, she doesn't mean any of it at all. Or rather, any seriousness therein at all. "Irianke. Though," she pauses both her words and steps to turn and reclaim her hand to place demurely over the other over her waist. "I've gathered you suspected from the start. Recently of Igen."

"When you have four children, six and under, that repeat ''everything'' you say, you-- ah," Devaki's chuckling, if ruefully, now, "Learn to be cautious with what words are used. Isse was horrified when Sealene was obsessed with ''doofus'', let alone when she latched onto ''Vinny's peepee'', and then proceeded to tell everyone at dinner about it one night." The memory of makes the Lord's expression bright, eyes warm as his gaze turns back towards the goldrider. "Irianke," he repeats, playing along, giving an easy shake of head. "The affairs of the Weyr don't interest me much, other than how they affect me. Igen," however, makes him, unaccountably, snort. "There seems to be many desert transplants making their way north of late. Was it," he settles his hand, now released, against the railing that lines the ship, "Was it your choice, or were you... not ''given the chance''?"

Irianke laughs again, and the broad smile that creases lines into her face turns away, finding the side of the boat to look off of. Out into the waters of the Reaches' cove. She drops those demure hands onto the side, pressing down into it and twisting her body as if to follow the winter winds, the currents, or the flow of the lightly drifting snow. A loud exhale expels a visible cloud into the air. "Oh, ''my'' Lord Holder, you've played the political game too well for too long now to think I'd honestly answer that question on our first date. We'll have time enough to get to know one another. I promise. Now," changing the subject, she points out into the snowy, dark yonder, "Tell me more of what's out there. And if you'd like to share my coat, I won't tell anyone you turned in your man card for a few hours."

"Oh?" Devaki's brows rise in a mixture of surprise and interest. "You're staying, then? I hadn't heard that." With a wave of his hand, "If that's the case: forgive me, then, for rushing it. One never likes to miss an opportunity, you understand." His gaze follows her pointing gesture, towards the sea, and he... goes still, breath stopping for a moment. With a sudden, inadvertantly secretive smile, he says, "That's the beauty of it... you never know what's out there, until you go out. Far be it for me to pop your sea exploration cherry ''and'' your ship cherry on the same night; you'll give me a far worse reputation than I already have, weyrwoman." The offer of a coat is deferred with an easy, unbothered wave of his hand.

"For a little while. My Niahvth is due to rise as part of the arrangement." That much she'll let him know, and the fact that this is her ''letting'' him know is clear from the all too contrived nonchalance radiating in her relaxed form. "But, we've talked of harpers, reading, flirted behind the safety of our respective positions, now, I need to request something far more base. Could you escort me to your lavatories? We may ride gold, but we don't shit gold bricks, much to the chagrin of my family. And then, perhaps one dance to commemorate the occasion of our first unofficial meeting and hope our official one goes just as well."

Dragon> To Niahvth, Irianke projects, << My ass is frozen even under this giant monstrosity of a coat. >>

Dragon> To Irianke, Niahvth projects, << I told you to wear pants. >>

Dragon> To Niahvth, Irianke projects, << Pants are not any fun at all. >>

Dragon> To Irianke, Niahvth projects, << But they keep you warm. What is it you are doing over there anyway? >>

Devaki gives her a steady look, and there's a lengthy pause before he replies, with super-serious expression, contrasted with amusement flickering in the gleam of eye: "''Ship'' lavatory? Or do you want to keep ''that'' a mystery of the ages?"

Dragon> To Niahvth, Irianke projects, << I'm making friends. >>

Dragon> To Irianke, Niahvth projects, << If that's what they call it these days. Friends. I'm sure. >>

Dragon> After a while, Niahvth inserts slyly, << W-W-N-D? >> (Niahvth to Irianke)

Dragon> To Niahvth, Irianke is quizzical.

Dragon> To Irianke, Niahvth spells it out in images: Nimae's rider standing imposing ontop of a tiny litte Irianke under her heel.

Dragon> To Niahvth, Irianke shoots one back of a larger than life Breilith squashing a baby Niahvth into a pancake.

Touche gleams in those bright eyes. "The Hold one, please. I doubt a ship's lavatory is on my list of must see places to visit." Irianke steps back, unsteady after bracing herself against the ship itself for so long and reaches instinctively for Devaki's hand. "Will my legs be jelly on land now? It will make aiming difficult."

"You may regret it, later in life. Remember ''this'' moment," Devaki implores her, with a lifted finger, "As the time when your entire life could've changed dramatically, if only you'd..." a group of sailors passes them, leering suggestively at the goldrider, and the holder corrects, ruefully, "Well, perhaps not. The hold, then." He's offering his elbow again, out of habitual politeness as much for the unsteady motion of the ship. A grin, for her: "You adjust quicker going back to land, then to the sea. Other way around for sailors. S'why they drink so much, makes them forget being land-sick." He ''might'' be stretching the truth here.

"I thought it was to forget that they're out at sea without anything to screw other than the holes in the mast over there." Irianke is unfazed by the leers or suggestive gestures, but does tighten her grip of Devaki's arm. "To the toilet then, Lord Holder. Lead the way."

"You forgot about the catfish's--" Devaki stops, just short of voicing that loud, deliberately, laughing. That he sets a quick pace could be due as much to his wish to lead her away from those sailors as it could be to get out of the cold; he hands her off, with a promise of a dance later, into the care of one of his Lady's assistants to lead the way to the female's lavatories.
|involves=High Reaches Weyr, High Reaches Hold

|Categories=The Igen Exchange Logs
}}
[[Category:General_Logs]]
[[Category:Party_Logs]]