Difference between revisions of "Logs:Belladonnas"

Big Bay Hold

Arid heat creates unsavory conditions at the high points of the day, making the bleak landscape that surrounds Big Bay less desirable to those who inhabit it. With no clouds and no moisture in the air - unless one ventures farther down to the coast and the bay - there is little to save a person from suffering in the merciless climate. Big Bay's main Hold lies like a hulking beast amongst various outbuildings, its architecture more modern than other Holds, but lacking somewhat in finesse. Windows along the front of the Hold are kept closed to block out the sun's insistence during the day and the swirling sand the wind kicks up at intervals. But by an ingenious design of some master smith, the Hold's precious commodity is the shaded patio, that stays in shadow no matter the time of day. Large stones make up the rounded courtyard, blanching out towards the sparsely-shrubbed sand garden. Colored sand - red, black, gold, and white - create striated patterns throughout, in lines and whorls, interspersed by large black rocks, narrow cobbled walkways, and stringy foliage. Clumps of night jasmine bolster the otherwise lackluster garden, filling the air with rich fragrance that wafts throughout the entire Hold when the doors and windows are left open.

In the patio itself, long strips of white gauze-y fabric hang from the wooden support beams arching above the stones, buffeted here and there by the breeze. Long couches over-crowded with colorful pillows and luxurious blankets serve their guests with comfortable seating, as well as richly-appointed chaise lounges spread around the circular venue. Off to the side - in case such a person has a predilection - a red-and-green striped cotton hammock swings invitingly from the rafters.

Late afternoon sees the usual goings on of the Hold in full effect. Both Pavrol and Korek are down at the docks, and in their stead, Anatolia is taking charge of the staff. Drudges are sweeping the sand from the doorways, others are stripping beds, polishing the furniture, and preparing dinner's repast. It is just another day at Big Bay Hold - where the days are hot and the nights are full of revelry. Except, unlike most days, the eldest daughter of Korek has graced them with her presence; mostly to allow her mother the requisite time with her granddaughter. That leaves the lithe blonde to repose, artfully, on one of the chairs out on the patio, dressed in a thin white dress with slitted sleeves and golden-patterned underskirt. Her blonde hair has been done up in curls and an elaborate coiffure, all designed to highlight her high cheekbones and limpid, bambi-like eyes. She's resting on her side, flicking a fan open and closed, while she watches the others walk the garden and chatter on of trivialities. Two women are strolling arm-in-arm along the stone walkways, shielded from the sunlight by a large turquoise parasol with golden tassels. They're dressed of a kind in shallow bodices with square necklines in mellow, pastel shades, with free-flowing skirts that allow more movement than stricture. On the couches, more women lounge with languid expressions, discussing this or that, Lord and Lady Ista's wedding, the upcoming engagement of the future Lord Benden. A few children dance between the furniture pieces and then run off, chasing each other through the sand. It all has the feel of entitled indulgence.

J'taryn had brought them, of course. He and the curiously focused Njebrith. Teoma wouldn't have noticed, since it was always thus when she was around, but it gave the Igen bronzerider more mental room and relaxation than he was used to to have the bronze so fascinated. He didn't like her, exactly, but he was trying to figure it out whenever her presence produced the feelings in his rider. He could've gone back to the Weyr, surely, but he stayed, unobtrusively in the background while Njebrith had been encouraged to go aloft to play with the clouds (and not the sheep who looked a little bit like clouds and smelled much tastier). His light gaze ranges over the open space where he leans against the wall of the patio, hands tucked behind him, eschewing the chaise lounge only paces to his left. It is easier, for him, for now, if he stood. He can act like he is waiting for something other than an excuse to speak more to her than the few words he ever does. Ever her servant. Dragonmen weren't supposed to be so, but... here he is... doing favors for her husband, again. His eyes return to Teoma and her fan, trying to focus more on the thing than the woman.

A young redhead, wearing her hair in curls held back by a filigree headband, leans over the back of the couch, giving the Igen dragonrider a cheeky grin. Her seat-mates try to pull her back amid giggles and sly looks at J'taryn, but there's no staunching the flow of intrigued words that spill from the girl's lips. "Rider," because they hardly ever address the handsome blonde by his real name, "what are your thoughts on brazen women?" Youthful arrogance bolsters her words, whilst some of the older maids scoff and flutter their fans in disbelief. "Lorya, please calm yourself. How inappropriate, someone whispers, loud enough for J'taryn to hear, behind her hand with a bubbling giggle. But, all eyes fall on the bronzerider, even Teoma's. She flicks her fan closed and touches it to her chin as she angles her body towards the Igenite man, her blue eyes eyes showing little curiosity. "Girls, do show some discretion," she says with a gusty sigh, but she won't call off the question or rebuke anyone for asking it; he's here as much for their amusement as anything - at her husband's word.

J'taryn is a quiet sort by nature, so it might not be surprising that with so many eyes-- especially when several are part of attractive faces-- are turned on him, that he blushes and blinks in his surprise to be so addressed. He rarely speaks without thinking first, so it's a moment before he clears his throat, straightening and leaving the wall, though not advancing toward the grouping beyond that single act. "I think you might have to define that for me in order for me to give you a proper answer." He starts, but, shifting his weight, he adds, "I think women have a right to the life they want." Do his eyes take in Teoma when he says it? Obviously it's coincidence. "I'm not one to judge when they do." Get it. If that's the kind of thing that makes a woman brazen.

No one pays any attention to the dragonrider's discomfort; they're all too busy laughing and whispering hurriedly in the wake of his answer. "How mundane," one woman says with an eye roll, while another cannot stop giggling behind her pink-scalloped fan. "Come now, you do not have to play dumb with us. We can take it," one daring (brazen!) girl says, bearing the stare of several pairs of eyes and judgemental looks. It is the redhead who clarifies with a nervous twitter, nestling her head in the crook of one of her elbows; her eyes might have a dreamy look as she addresses J'taryn. "Oh, brazen women. The ones who act out of step. Go against the rules. They speak crudely and --" she sucks in a nervous breath, blushing, "lie with whatever man. Women like that. Like Teoma's--" Her words are caught off and someone slaps her over the head with a fan, and all those eyes turn back to Teoma, who smiles indulgently. "You lot are quite useless," she says after an awkward silence, turning back to her side and flipping open her fan, which she moves slowly back and forth. Whispering has commenced amongst the girls, but the redhead, though she has turned as red in the face as her hair, awaits a reply.

Is her look dreamy? Clearly J'taryn hasn't noticed. It's possible he hasn't even noticed she's a rather pretty girl herself, not with... His brow furrows as he follows other eyes to Teoma. He swallows and looks to the ground. His answer comes as nearly a mutter, "Well, I-- things are different in a Weyr, you know. No handfasting for dragonriders, so--" women who lie with whatever men are a lot more common. Or something. He seems reticent to say so though.

"Romantic," a brunette sighs, and that just breaks them out into squabbles and laughing again. They get up from the couch, one by one, and chase each other out into the sand garden, or stroll purposefully forward with arms linked. Time for questioning is over, even if the redhead looks particularly glum as she gets up and flounces after the others. That leaves J'taryn and a lounging Teoma on the patio by themselves. She pays no extra mind to the bronzerider, and keeps fanning herself with lazy strokes of her fan. "Rider," she says, peeking at him over one exposed shoulder, "Has my husband really heard nothing of my sister? I cannot trust him to be honest always." Her tone reads blandly, as if they were talking of the weather or the newest runner in the stables.

Surely J'taryn would like to tell Teoma he saw Farideh not two days past in 'Reaches, but though he may have a foolish heart, his head is sound enough. "He's had some of us looking, m'lady." His tone is one of apology. He's silent a moment, and then, "If it would please you, you might pen a note for me to give to her should I come across her?" He would so like to please her.

Slim fingers ply the fan without hurry, and it makes a faint swishing sound when the giggles and calls of the girls in the garden grow quiet. "I have nothing to say to her, so I do not wish it." Teoma snaps her fan closed again, in a fit of sudden agitation, and slides her slippered feet to the stone floor. She stands and glances aside, taking in J'taryn's standby position. "Would you be a dear and carry my shade while I take a turn around?" Basically, be her parasol-holder while she walks off her frustrations; it would, however, provide him the closeness he so desires. Whether she is aware of his intentions, it is not clear, for her expression is as bland as the air is dry.

J'taryn's eyes find the floor after Teoma's first words. They stay there, expression troubled, until she's asking him the favor. At 6'3" and built muscularly if not broadly, he could practically be her shade. "Of course," comes as naturally as breathing and he moves to take the parasol from where it's kept, gently sliding the wooden toggle to open it. His movements hold a certain subtle reverence, taking the utmost care with Teoma's things, as much as he does with the woman herself as he draws near and waits for her to ready herself for the turn. "I'm not one to pry," he says once they've begun walking, and the phrase doesn't seem to be just words the way it is when some others say it, "but I was under the impression that you and your sister were close? That you'd want to find her?" He sounds genuinely confused, though surely Teoma could silence his vocal curiosity with a word.

Dainty steps carry the woman over the patio and into the garden, where she sticks close to J'taryn in the shade of the frilly apparatus. Small breezes waft by, stirring up her curls, but she does not lift a hand to tuck or arrange. "If you do not mean to pry, then do not," Teoma says guilelessly, blue eyes slanted at him from underneath half-lowered lashes. She walks a few paces, fan dangling from her fingers, before she deigns to speak again, this time with a more conversational edge to her lilting voice. "I do want to find my sister," she says at last, "but sometimes, it is better to stay in the harbour than to waste your energy weathering the storm. As they say." She stops some lengths behind a group of three of the other women, making a pretense of looking over a flowering shrub. "Farideh does not want to be found. My sister's reasoning is.. childish, but, she is not a loss. She will come back, I am sure of it." But there, a small frown pops out, turning the corners of her pink lips downwards.

That's all it takes for her to suitably chastise him into silence. If J'taryn is supposed to be upholding any big bad bronzerider stereotypes, he's probably failing miserably. It doesn't have a physical impact on him beyond the drop of his eyes and his lack of words. Apparently, he takes her suggestion. There's a slight incline of his head to serve as a nod to acknowledge Teoma's words about Farideh, but otherwise, he's the epitome of the strong silent type (carrying a parasol).

Up ahead, the girls are chattering and giggling, and eyeing the large bronzerider. It is hard to ignore their carrying-on, and Teoma taps J'taryn's forearm with her fan to catch his attention. "You have admirers." Her tone has resumed its bland quality, keeping her thoughts on that topic veiled.

The blonde's head comes up and those pale blue eyes focus on the knot briefly before he's angling his gaze back to the path his feet are taking, careful not to place a foot wrong. "That's not the kind of trouble I'd like to invite." Really, J'taryn doesn't seem the type to like to invite trouble at all, but his words leave the possibility. "Can you imagine what would be said of them if one of them took up with me? A brazen woman." The last he whispers so it has a conspiratorial quality to it.

Curious though they may be, they are highly skittish and once the man's attention, along with his charge, find them, the group runs off amid flying skirts, giggling screams, and twirling parasols. "It would not suit, no." Teoma starts walking once the path is clear, her fingers lightly clasped in front of her dress. "We mustn't encourage their behavior. They should endeavor to succeed in the things that are important." They round one bend in the garden, and the blonde woman tries to catch J'taryn's eye. "What life could you offer them? Living amongst dragonriders? Spoiling what precious blood the Holds have."

It takes a moment for Teoma to catch the bronzerider's eye, but as ever, once caught, it's hers; the spell is cast and he's helplessly (hopelessly?) enchanted, even if his expression remains quietly (carefully) neutral. "It wouldn't be so grand as any of this, to be sure," J'taryn gestures about the courtyard. "I don't come from any Blood worth noting to this lot," this lot, that he doesn't seem to include Teoma in, "my means are modest, but what I have is my own and I've the freedom to go where I like, to do as I choose." One might just get to questioning why he's here, doing this, but that's a question that shouldn't be asked or answered. "I'm happy with my lot. Perhaps a woman might find it so too, if she gave it a chance." His brow creases for a moment but then the muscles are forced to relax.

"Rider," Teoma says on a whispery breath, "do remember your place." One would think she had asked him the questions simply to scold him, and that is as much as she does. Dragonmen and Hold Blood were not meant to mix, but by their very definition, be as apart as South from the North. Her voice carries the weight of tolerance in it, her lovely blue eyes glancing off to the side where they can just view a couple of blonde heads from the other side. "There are women in your Weyr for that. Our.." she smiles, a maternal smile, as she continues to look upon the girls barely viewable through the dry trees in the garden, "delicate flowers are impressionable. Do take care in your.. handling of them." The blonde stops walking and lifts her eyes to the upper windows of the Hold, then drops her gaze to J'taryn. "I believe my husband has returned." That is her cue for his dismissal, as she begins walking down the path leading her to the other women, mindless of the lack of shade.

J'taryn holds her gaze a moment longer and then drops to the ground. It's almost certain that the bronzerider has some sort of response to that, but he doesn't do more than mumble, "I'm allergic to flowers," as the holder woman is moving away from him. Once she's clear of the parasol he shifts it to lean on one of his shoulders, watching her go, but only for a moment, because then he has the shade to return to its usual place and a pull of his eyes toward the sky indicates that he, too, is needed elsewhere. There's one last look in the direction Teoma vanished before he, too, is heading away. There can be no doubt that it is better for him to be with Njebrith than these belladonnas.