Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Pair of Star-Crossed Lovers"

Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr(#634RJ)

Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.

Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off.

An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.

The sun is high in the sky and there is not a cloud in sight. There's a breeze that tempers the heat with no humidity lingering in the air.

To Wyaeth, Chielyth reaches out, as she's done so many times before, whether or not the bronze actually responds to her or not. « Wyaeth? Are you awake? » This time? Or pretending to be asleep?

There's altitude in the response, not just loftiness but actual physical height, and he pries himself away from whatever it is about that elevation to blow dust Chielyth's way. « I'm awake. Whatcha need? » (Wyaeth to Chielyth)

It's a sad fact, but this is as warm and sunny and bright as the Reaches are liable to get for months yet. Which means half the Weyr's fallen out from indoors, littering the bowl with industry-- the suckers. From weyrlings down washing dragons to laundresses drying sheets to whatever other crap people think they need to do, they're out doing it. Not N'thei. He's found some place nice to sit, with the sun on his face, with a mug at hand, with his feet propped up, doing one of his most favoritest things: watching girls re-pot the plants on the ledge. It's uncannily fascinating.

To Wyaeth, Chielyth might just as well have been given a winning lottery ticket, that's how excited Wyaeth's response makes her, with bright shiny sunshine and happy birdies. « Yay! I'm here! And there's sunshine! We can cuddle now! » Yay! Always helpful, she sketches out the Reachian bowl (still in crayon), with herself squished between a brown and a blue. It's possible, after all, that he didn't take any notice of a small green invading his Weyr's airspace.

Out of all that productivity climbs one broad-shouldered man, no knot to mark his allegiance. Still, he came from the direction of a bunch of dragons, so maybe he belongs to one of them? He gives the gardening girls a nod, drops the same vague 'hey' gesture to Mr. Feet-Up, and bypasses them all to disappear into the Snowasis. Maybe he's someone Anvori hired to lug boxes around, especially with those shoulders.

To Chielyth, Wyaeth didn't notice. Or, well, one little green isn't the sort of thing that would excite his swaggery who-the-hell-are-you response. « What're you doing here? » comes the bemused response, no indication beyond *altitude* as to where the bronze roosts, though now he sends down a second, questioning thought: this little green, this one he just watched arrive, this one's Chielyth?

The girls, who have long since come to terms with being watched by lazy over there, give B'kaiv a twittery, confused response for his presence. Who? What? But, since N'thei doesn't seem likely to spring up and choke him out, he must not be someone worth worrying about. They go back to potting geraniums, he looks up and over with his eyes rather than all the trouble of turning his head, and no one comes to any harm. There could be 10,000 broad-shouldered lads carting boxes around for all N'thei knows, and he's not going to rouse himself to say 'hi' to every last one of them.

To Wyaeth, Chielyth is pretty damn inoffensive, anyway - and who wants to chase /more/ greens out of the Weyr? « I'm visiting! » she chirps brightly. « Corvinth and Xadovith but mostly you! Where are you? Are you up? Should I come up? » And way down there one teeny green, the one he just watched arrive, she wriggles out from between her male protectors and looks up, searching the walls and sky. « It's sunny! »

Shoulders must not be there to lug boxes after all - he comes back out of the bar with a mug in one hand and nothing at all thrown at his head. There's a muttered something that could be, "That's great," or something else entirely before he drowns the rest in his drink; a few seconds later he ambles over to the railing, well out of the way of the planters and thus somewhere behind N'thei's back. All he does there, though, is stare out at the bowl and occasionally up at the sky, and drink. Maybe he's working on his tan.

It's sunny. « Yep. » He seems happy about that. Maybe not has happy as Chielyth, but has anyone ever been as happy as Chielyth? Ever? « You could come up if you wanna. Ain't much to look at today. Some Istan blue came by a coupla hours ago, but he didn't land. » Wonder why. « Don't you got better things to do than visit? » It's not as cruel a question as it sounds, not with the honest confusion that fuels it. (Wyaeth to Chielyth)

As mentioned, the girls have come to terms with one person just out here, loitering, but two? And B'kaiv's not exactly the sort that puts a girl at her ease, so they keep flickering looks and spilling potting soil until, finally, their tittering gets to be bothersome enough that N'thei turns his head, brings the greenrider into his eyeline. "Need something?" Stranger.

To Wyaeth, Chielyth is, quite possibly, the most cheerful green in the history of dragonkind. « OK! » she cheers for the invitation to come up and cuddle with Wyaeth - he did offer the cuddle, right? Right! Yay! It doesn't take her long to test the Reaches' thermals, even if her lazy spiraling path along the walls gets thwarted by ledges and other dragons getting in her way. Still, she's having fun, and isn't that the point? « Nope! I like visiting. Kai and I went visiting to *scribbly Nabol* and I went flying with Corvinth and that was lots of fun and now I'm visiting here and I can cuddle with you! »

B'kaiv's just drinking beer, honest, loitering at the edge of the ledge and watching a green make the climb to the Reaches' far reaches. Every so often he glances over at those titters, which coax out yet more giggles, so he can't be that surprised when N'thei finally deigns to address him. "Huh? Nah, I'm all right." There's a jerk of his head to where Chielyth's come into view across the bowl and well up. "Just waiting on her."

To Chielyth, Wyaeth's a nice guy, generally, so long as the dragon on the receiving end isn't bronze-- occasionally brown, sometimes blue-- but cuddling? He contains a mental sigh, a feeling like he ought to be pinching the bridge of his nose in a pained expression about now. « Cain't cuddle, sweetheart. Star Stones just ain't for cuddling. But you can sit up here'n... » Do whatever the hell it is he does up there all day. Look at stuff. Feel important. He'll even make room, having kicked out the actual watchdragon long ago.

To Wyaeth, Chielyth projects, « I'm small! I can slip under your wing and then we can cuddle. » See how easy that is? But hey, Star Stones, now she has a target instead of just flying aimlessly, and her last spiral straightens out to a path to take her there. One the bronze in question is actually in sight, « Hi! I like sitting up high. We can look together! »

While his dragon cannot physically pinch the bridge of his nose, N'thei can. Briefly. A shared pang. Two and two put together and make four, that hand lowered away from his face to indicate the climbing green with a zigging finger that traces her path. "Chielyth's, then?" he deduces, not unhappily, not happily, not surprised, not anything. Just a 'well, so much for that' tone.

To Chielyth, Wyaeth, in all his lordly possession of everything Reachian, has scooted himself far far far over to one edge of the Star Stones. Look how much room there is for Chielyth! Not underneath his wing! He's fantastically smart, huh? « Ain't much to look at today, » he reiterates, a little forlorn. Aww.

Bridge-pinching doesn't get a reaction from Shoulders, but the tracing finger? A little surprise, and more surprise when the green's named. Correctly, even. "Yeah," he says slowly, with a look past the older man to see if there's someone else suddenly arrived to whisper sweet nothings and identification into his ear. "That's her. You're... N'thei? Wyaeth's?" Such a cheerful meeting requires more beer, and after a second, his mug shifted and the previously beer-holding hand thrust out. "Kai. B'kaiv. She's real excited."

To Wyaeth, Chielyth doesn't need lots of room, not that she won't use it for a perfectly compact landing; flips her wings to her back and comes over with neck extended to offer nose touches. « There's lots to look at, » she corrects happily. « There's lots of people and dragons in the bowl, and lots of dragons flying, and lots of clouds and sunshine and things. Oh! We should go flying! »

"Occasionally," N'thei answers to his name flippantly, glances around the immediate vicinity in case there's anyone around to whom he does not care to admit his name. It happens occasionally, but not at the moment. "I can tell," to his last, the same hand shading his eyes a second to catch a glimpse of bronze-and-green outline way up on high. The hand is given a thorough inspection before being grasped in turn, nod over handshake. Mystified; "Really just let her go visiting?"

To Chielyth, Wyaeth swings his head on around, obliges with a quick bump of muzzle to muzzle, but physical affection's not his forte. Some dragons and riders really are two-of-a-kind, yes. Her suggestion totally throws him, even has his head pull away to peer doubtfully at the littl'un. « Why? We can see just fine from up here. »

/Is/ there anyone? Only if N'thei suspects the gardeners of being spies. Maybe from Half Circle, oooh. Kai doesn't try to crush fingers, though his grip is firm, and he's just as happy to return his right to its previous job of keeping hold of his beer. "--Yeah?" he answers, like somehow it's wrong even though it's true. "She makes friends everywhere we go, seems like. And it don't hurt me none. She's been trying t' meet Wyaeth for... shells. Close t' a turn now, maybe. He ever tell you about her?"

To Wyaeth, Chielyth accepts the bump, rough as it is, and flops down onto one hip beside the bronze. Not touching, but she -could-, if she wanted to wriggle a little. Or if Wyaeth wanted to drape his wing over, or something. « 'Cause there's different things to see when you fly, and sometimes it's fun to just fly! » She twists her head around to blink at him upside down. « Don't you ever go flying to fly? »

The gardeners could be spies, shapely spies, good spies. But they're just happy someone's come along to distract N'thei and they can work in relative peace, happy with their geraniums. There are three empty chairs at the bronzerider's table; none of them get offered. "Might have," with a shrug, neither here nor there. "But let me rephrase that. Why do you just let her go visiting? Doesn't seem productive." Accuses a man sitting on his ass in the middle of the day with his feet up.

To Chielyth, Wyaeth wants to maintain his dignity, if he has such a thing, and sticks to turning an attentive look back across the busy bowl. All Reaches dragons, just going here-and-there, none of them any more fussed by him than he is by them. « When I gotta, sure, but for the hell of it? Ain't nothing different as needs to be seen, figure, since anybody coming'd have to pass by here. »

B'kaiv doesn't make a move for any of those empty chairs, though he does shuffle over so N'thei doesn't have to crank his neck back to look at him. So thoughtful. After a second, "Why not?" complete with shrug. "Done with sweeps t'day, and it makes her happy. S'good t' get out of the Weyr, too, an'," which is when he shuts up. There's beer that needs drinking. When he's done: "Ain't nothing productive about her. She's a green."

To Wyaeth, Chielyth hasn't gone for the silly hats, yet, at least, so Wyaeth gets to keep his dignity (or as much as he has with a wee green snuggled up beside). « For the hell of it! » she agrees, spangling the why-not with more sunshiny approval, yay. « Don't you like to fly? I went flying with Corvinth! » And promptly shares the wing-tucked, daredevil-speed feel of their slalom through the rocks (not in crayons, thank goodness). « It was fun! »

Why not? "Because it doesn't seem productive." In a very purposeful repeat of exactly the same tone he used the first time he framed his argument. N'thei makes damn sure the repeating-himself part is conveyed thickly. The rest of what B'kaiv says hardly sinks in, though the part about her being agree, that does lift his brows pretty highly. "Why don't you clarify exactly what you mean by that."

To Chielyth, Wyaeth's still hung in his land of confusion and buh?-ness. « I don't mind flying. I mean, I gotta do it and it ain't so bad, but just flying around for no good reason seems like... well, like flyin' around for no good reason. From here-- » From here! His demesne stretches out before him! Behold! He even twitches his wings a little, but does /not/ land one around Chielyth afterward. Sorry.

"What's got t' be productive about it?" Kai returns, gesturing to N'thei, to the rest of the slackers in the bowl who, even if they're nominally working, are doing it outside in the sunshine. "'M just going places. Having a beer." Remember? Beer? Which he (presumably) bought? "Making Chielyth happy." With N'thei's dragon. And when the bronzerider's eyebrows go up, Kai's go down. "Whadda I mean by what? About her being a green?"

To Wyaeth, Chielyth politely regards Wyaeth's demesne from one rock wall to the other, not yawning with boredom or anything. « It's a very nice view, » she agrees politely, and hitches just a little bit backwards, la di da. « Kai says you are very smart, like Mecaith. » Even if it's threaded through with the teeniest bit of uncertainty: how can you be smart if you don't like flying? « The sunshine is very nice. »

"Seems like a lot of trouble to go to only to not accomplish anything." Except annoying Wyaeth, and that's not hard, hah! N'thei has a mug, yes, and he glances at it along about the time that beer comes into play, but his smile is more dull than agreeable. "Nothing productive about her, you said. She's a green, you said. Not a useful green at Fort?" /Fort,/ said with a certain antipathy, all implication that it wouldn't surprise him if Fort was just that kinda bass-ackward.

"'M making Chielyth happy," B'kaiv repeats - are they trapped in an echo chamber? - like it's good enough reason that productive doesn't enter in. "No, 'scause she's... it ain't like that." Frustrated at himself, not necessarily the line of questioning. "She's a green, an' there ain't no Thread. Fort ain't got nothing t' do with it. I'd say th' same as she were hatched here, or Benden."

To Chielyth, Wyaeth, to be agreeable, « Sunshine's pretty all right. Don't get so much of it up here, seems like. Your Fort has some all right sunshine. » Like he knows, pff. « Mecaith ain't so damn smart. » Knee-jerk. Accompanied by a snort, so much for being agreeable. « He shows up here sometimes. Druther he didn't. »

To Wyaeth, Chielyth pounces on that very smart idea: « You should come to Fort! Then there would be more sunshine, and we could cuddle more! » Betcha Mecaith'd never have that idea. « Why not? Does he sit in your sun? »

The brows stay hiked up, comfortable there. "Can't say from Benden, but you would not say it if she was shelled here. Not if you wanted to last a half-hour without getting lynched." N'thei even looks around a moment, like he might be worried on B'kaiv's behalf that some uppity greenrider's going to turn up with a noose any minute. "Fair few greenriders have done something with themselves." Whether or not he approves, says the sniff that follows.

To Chielyth, Wyaeth supplies, friendly-like, « I been to Fort. Was there... » Time. Memory. It all turns into a hazy dim recollection of having seen Fort sometime in the recent past. In the twilight. « No cuddling, though, went and seen those eggs. Kinda sparse-looking, ain't they? Them eggs. » No answer about Mecaith, though the disparaging of the bronze's eggs at least hearkens back to the frank dislike.

B'kaiv gestures with his mug, all theoretical discussion with no worry of someone taking it the wrong way. "Can't have it both ways. Either there ain't many greenriders as is done something with themselves, or there are an' they're gonna come after me." Which way is N'thei picking? "She could do fancy flying, maybe, lead a wing as does only that. In a few turns."

To Wyaeth, Chielyth projects, « You -were-? » Hoorah! Wyaeth came to Fort! And there's no nagging 'why didn't you come see me' anywhere to be found either. « Are they? I have not seen the eggs. I should see them. Kai says Peirith is my dam but I don't remember and these are her eggs. Kai says Zaiventh is my sire but he is here now, not at Fort and ooh! Which is his ledge? Can we see him from here? »

N'thei's picking the way that leaves him lowering one brow but leaving the other one quirked a touch, a lingering puzzlement on those usually immobile features. "Don't sound so excited about it," is his bland suggestion. Which he goes on to clarify by offering a rare explanation; "Never before met a greenrider who didn't take it upon themselves to prove they weren't /just/ a greenrider."

What? Does she just sit around planning subjects that are likely to piss off Wyaeth, or it just comes naturally? « Zaiventh lives with Iovniath. » And to hell with both of 'em for all his distaste of their living arrangements-- not to mention the presence of that bronze, period. Stretching, searching for some less distasteful subject... « Think I mighta been there when you hatched out. If you came from Zaiventh and Peirith. » Again, history is hazy. (Wyaeth to Chielyth)

B'kaiv doesn't, perhaps, understand the subtle difference that N'thei's trying to draw for him - or maybe he does, and is just digging in his heels about acknowledging it. "You were a Weyrleader," and there's an unspoken 'sir' sloshing about in another gesture of his beer mug, "Would -you-'ve put her in charge of some wing? Or even 'second one? She's too small t' last more'n a couple hours, flying, even if she weren't so young. She ain't got no experience, me /or/ her."

To Wyaeth, Chielyth has a gift. « Iovniath... Oh! Kai says Iovniath is a gold! » And isn't she just so wriggly-proud of herself for figuring that out? « Were you? Did you see me? Kai says I used to be really really small even if I am bigger than him now and were you small when you hatched? Do you remember, Wyaeth?"

"Her?" N'thei glances up toward the Star Stones at that, then back over to B'kaiv with a flat shake of his head. "Not really about her though, is it. You?" No attempt at no-offense, just a convinced negative in the follow up head-shake. "Man needs to believe in himself if anyone else is expected to do it. She's remarkably charming, though." That, even though he does no more with it than to fold his arms and rearrange the cross of his ankles, than to cast it with a shruggable tone, is high praise.

To Chielyth, Wyaeth twitters one wingbone in the vague direction of the queens' weyrs way off yonder on the far edge of the bowl. « Iovniath's a gold, she's our gold. » Strangely lacking personal possession, considering he professes to own all and sundry. « I dunno about if I saw you hatched. Long time ago, idn'it? But I'm pretty sure I was never small. » With a glance over at Chielyth, /certainly/ not as small as she is, even now.

"I ain't no Wingleader material," Kai says with a shrug, no offense taken. "Anyway, there ain't no blue or greenriders as Wingleaders at Fort. There any here?" Faint curiosity, perhaps. And with the compliment to Chielyth, high praise or not, there's an equally faint smile that ghosts here and gone from her rider. "Thanks. Hope she ain't bothering him or nothing. If she is, I can see about getting her t' look up Corvinth, leave him alone."

To Wyaeth, Chielyth projects, « Kai says months and months, » with her own vague understanding of how long a 'month' is, save that it has to be a really long span of time. « You weren't? Kai remembers he could pick me up. » Not now, of course. Pay no attention to the sneaky hitch backwards again, even if they're still not quite touching. « It's very nice here, Wyaeth. I like you. »

N'thei casts back through his memory to answer, "Have been some. Had a greenrider as a second for a time, and she pretty much ran the fighting Wing." /And/ it was a girl, will wonders never cease. "Not as much as some do," to answer for Wyaeth's level of irritation. Added with candid bemusement; "He likes her, evidently. Though I imagine that's not so uncommon for her?" Look at that, he's even trying to make conversation that isn't likely to lead to fisticuffs!

The mind boggles. « Why'd he wanna remember a thing like that? Shells, why'd you want him carry you around like that? Walked for yourself, didn't you? » In case her willingness to be carried is contagious, he scoots a little away from charming Chielyth, eyes her worriedly for a spell. It's nice here, she likes him, « Good. Just-- don't go letting this Kai fellow tell other folks he carried you around. » (Wyaeth to Chielyth)

B'kaiv studies N'thei's face around his mug, scars and lines and all, finally comes up with, "Huh," once his immediate thirst is satisfied. "There was some at Fort too, only not, you know, recent. S'all bronzes and browns now." Wyaeth likes her and Kai grimaces more than smiles, more rue than actual pleasure. "Yeah. Like I said, she makes friends everywhere. Can't think of more'n one or two as she -don't- like. She don't even much mind if they don't like her back, so long as they ain't mean about it."

To Wyaeth, Chielyth pulls back from his derision with lip-chewing uncertainty. Her world has been rocked, and not in a good way! « But he's /Kai/, » she tries to explain: Kai, /her/ Kai, does she need a better reason? « Kai says lots of times, only I didn't when I was tired. How come I can't tell that Kai carried me? »

"Not that it means much these days, leading a Wing. Unless you happen to like flying in circles and playing games for no damn reason all day." Which he doesn't, obviously. Hence sitting on his ass instead of, y'know, changing the world and stuff. N'thei listens to the bit about Chielyth and all her friends with that same edge of confusion behind his eyes, the one thing he just cannot wrap his head around. "And you just go around and let her visit all these friends she made." Speaking of, "Huh."

"Keeps her happy," B'kaiv says yet again, with yet another shrug. They haven't really gotten into snorts or grunts yet, so the depths of his conversational repertoire remain unplumbed. "All of it - she likes drilling, likes going places, likes flying. I ain't got nothing better t' do, so why not? Things I wanna do I ain't gonna get to, not so long as I fly with Flint, so..." Until that happy day arrives, why not keep Chielyth happy?

W'chek rides bronze Zhikath at High Reaches Weyr, Flurry Wing.

To Chielyth, Wyaeth goes to all the trouble of fanning her with a rush of wind from his wings, a little brush even, wingtip to shoulder, like he doesn't /want/ to hurt her feelings and this will take it back? « It just don't seem right, somehow. Letting yourself be carried around. Just ain't... » Something he can explain rightly. So-- shiny distraction! « W'chek-- that's Zhikath's rider-- don't have no teeth. Ever heard of a thing like that? »

To Wyaeth, Chielyth doesn't break into sobs, at least, or go rushing off in a huff? She does pull back from the dust-and-grit, just a little, and sends up a burst of sunshine for his almost-apology. « I liked it, » she says again, a hint of stubbornness showing through at last. Wyaeth may not, but tough cookies for him, so there. « ... No -teeth-? » Good guess, cranky bronze, at what would snap her out of her funk. « How does he eat?! » She tries and fails to imagine what a toothless W'chek might look like.

"What things." N'thei leaves that suspended there for a few seconds, looks from the fold of his arms to the greenrider, failing to qualify until it occurs even to him that maybe it doesn't really come across as a fully-formed question as it is. "Do you want to do? That Flint keeps you from doing?" Not that he's fishing for further reasons to dislike Fort's new Weyrleader but... yeah, he is.

Oh good, Wyaeth might just have to jump if she started weeping like a little girl. Sticking to happier, more fictional topics, he gives her question a good thunk. « Dunno. Though I think N'thei said he's got wood teeth, which still don't seem like it'd do much for proper chewing, does it? » (Wyaeth to Chielyth)

Things dangle and B'kaiv blinks through them at the bronzerider, not recognizing that no, that was supposed to be a question. Until he elaborates, hoorah, and the light blossoms. "Oh - well, want t' open a bar," mug gestures toward the opening of the Snowasis, just over there. "/Real/ bar, not that flouncy floozy place they got now. But Flint drills mornings, and there ain't no profit if I got t' shut down early t' get up for drills." Logical? Logical. "Used t' be a place like that there, but they went an' made it all. Uh. Fancy."

To Wyaeth, Chielyth knows what else is made out of wood: trees! « That's /silly/, » she declares, giggling, and shows Wyaeth a stick figure with itty bitty trees coming out of his mouth like mini (and leafy) fangs. « That can't be right! » Funny, maybe, but not right.

A glance follows the gesture, a snort follows the glance. "Fuck-load of work, that is. Least if you want to turn more than a few marks' profit. Not to mention the headache of finding girls as can actually serve drinks and look pretty doing it." N'thei ends with shaking his head, a sagely warning look cast back to B'kaiv. "If you're just in it for the money, there's more in distributing liquor than peddling it."

To Chielyth, Wyaeth's mind tilts and tilts and tilts till he can make sense of what Chielyth's trying to show him. « No, that ain't quite it. More like-- » He has absolutely no real understanding of how teeth work for people, so there's a blurry imagine that's presumably sorta similar to W'chek with big wooden chompers clopping around in his mouth. Clack clack clack, while he flaps his jaws. « They gotta fit in his mouth so he can eat, see. »

"I know," says Kai about running a bar, and with an air that suggests he actually does. "Anyway, ain't looking to make /lots/ of profit, just some." Which he can't do in Flint, yadda yadda. "Figured I'd put it up in one of th' empty weyrs. Ain't gonna be real big, ain't gonna need lots in th' way of help. Anyway, I got a girl as is a Vintner, and once she's a journeyman I figure she'll be a in t' getting booze cheap." See? Easy-peasy! ...Wait. Curious: "You run a place before?"

To Wyaeth, Chielyth tilts and tilts and tilts while she tries to make sense of blurry clacky chompers. « They aren't trees? » Because trees would be funner. « Oh! Maybe they are little bitty trees! Like me! » And since all you can see of little bitty trees are the leaves, she gives stick-man a wide, green smile. Ta-da!

"That ought to be put a damper on your walk-in clientele," N'thei notes, some amusement bleeding through, at the mention of putting a bar in an empty weyr. Tellingly, his attention lights on some of the gaping caves high, high up on the bowl, then another corner-of-the-eye look to the Snowasis entrance right there, in walking distance. "You need girls, if you want the advice, even if just two or three. Something to look at." Though they've wandered off, the gardeners, the memory of them is still there in spilled potting soil. "That place," to his last, head tipped back to indicate the Snowasis once more. "Don't recommend it as a way to pass the time."

To Chielyth, Wyaeth draws back from that image, mentally and physically, just so not what he was trying to convey here. « Nah, not like trees, » he insists, stubborn for no real reason. They're talking about some weyrling's fictional wooden teeth, after all. « They're carved out so they kinda look like real teeth. Only the fall out sometimes, and then he starts flappin' his gums. »

"Don't /want/," Kai starts, but doesn't bother to finish the protest - looks away instead and has more beer. "Might. I'll think about it. Gonna have lots of time t' plan it, any road." See also: Flint. 'That place' and he looks back just in time to catch the head tip which sends his eyebrows up. "Yeah? How come? You ever run one before? My family runs a waystation." Which is a lot like a bar, only more.

To Wyaeth, Chielyth pouts, just a little, at poopie-head Wyaeth being all negative. /Fine/. She makes the teeth brown instead. Like trees. « Kai says people flap their gums all the time - it's like yammering. Do you think they all have tree-teeth too? Maybe I should ask! »

The nice thing about giving advice instead of just offering it: too late to worry about whether or not it's wanted. N'thei looks perversely pleased, in a small way, at what B'kaiv doesn't finish, and inspects his boots for a second so as not to let it show overmuch. How come? "Wanted to." Duh. "You have money already to sink into this, or just pipe dreams for now?"

To Chielyth, Wyaeth's preeeeeetty sure, « Nope. I ain't never heard about wooden teeth except W'chek. You might oughta ask Zhikath about 'em sometime, bet he could tell you more rightly what they look like and how they work. I think Vrianth knows some about 'em, too. She's seen 'em, pretty sure. »

There is a fine line between giving advice and shoving it at people - sort of like the line between shaking hands and punching them in the nose. N'thei just needs more practice to see where that line is, honest. "Don't really matter," B'kaiv says, managing to sound more dismissive than sulky. "Could have all th' marks in th' Weyr, but unless I got th' time t' put in, might as well just be throwin' all them marks out an' pourin' th' beer down some drain."

To Wyaeth, Chielyth thinks that over for a really long time: seconds, at least. « Huh, » she finally offers, and rolls off her hip (and away from the bronze) to peer over the edge. « I will! Which ones are they? Zhikath and Vrianth? »

There's also a fine line between recognizing a fine line and caring about it. N'thei stays firmly on the side where he's bigger than everyone else so they can piss off if they don't like what he has to say. It's cozy over here. "So. Your Wingleader-- Weyrleader, even, has this kid with energy and ideas and puts them to use with drills for thread that's not coming back for a hundred and eighty years, give or take?" He ought to not grin like that, but see above re: piss off.

To Chielyth, Wyaeth is arranged such that he need never move to see the expanse of /his/ bowl, only barely lift his chin so he can see it spread out in all its totally great best-place-ever glory. « They ain't down there. Vrianth's probably off on her ledge-- » Rumble rumble, disapproval. « --and Zhikath... Who knows. He's a weyrling, so probably off doing something stupid this time of day. »

B'kaiv takes a bit to follow that, frowns a few seconds after to try and get it all straight. When he finally works out who N'thei's talking about - that is, him - he shrugs again. "S'just a bar." And he's just a greenrider. "Ain't my lookout. Anyway, th' bar ain't going no where." And neither is N'thei, probably.

To Wyaeth, Chielyth considers the vast expanse of Wyaeth's bowl, all the dragons in it, and the itty-bitty shapes of Kai-and-N'thei ohhhh so far away. « Wyaeth? Can I go look for them? And Kai says we have to go back home, » more Kai-says, « But I'll come back later and then we can cuddle or you can come to Fort too! »

N'thei nods slowly, no arguments, just the echo; "Just a bar." He casts a look back at the Snowasis once more, doing its usual bit of afternoon custom, the occasional laugh spilling out as far as the patio, and ends with a shrug. So much for ambitious youth.

Leave? And not try any more to surreptitiously cuddle? « Well, sure you can. You go'n look all you wanna. » No mention made of future plans for snuggling, just, « I'll nudge you when we come to Fort next time. Likely 'bout once a month, seems like. » She doesn't know how long a month is, neither does he, but it sounds good. (Wyaeth to Chielyth)

There's nothing more to be really said to that, so Kai doesn't, only finishes off what's left of his beer. "Nice talking t' you - lemme know if you ever come t' Fort. Can buy you a drink, maybe." From the flouncy floozy place. What fun. There's no salute, save for a hoisted mug for farewell, and Chielyth makes a nice gentle gliding landing as Kai comes out from the Snowasis, empty-handed. Neither one of them give the bronzerider another look as they leave, though Chielyth's already prancing eagerness at getting to fly, yay!