Difference between revisions of "Logs:Colorful People"

>---< Traders' Encampment, Igen Area >---------------------------------------<

  Wide and beaten down from turns of caravans passing through, this traders'
  encampment sees a multitude of caravans and families throughout the turn. 
  Very few linger here for longer than it takes to catch up on news, trade  
  goods between the east and west caravans, and then move on. One of the    
  families that's encamped here permanently has banners of sandy brown upon 
  which a deep green serpent twists.

The sudden departure from their bayside Hold that morning had been an unexpected venture for both of Korek and Anatolia's daughters, and they had made their upset known the whole way to Igen Hold; which is only a quick blip between with the help of visiting riders. When they get to the bigger Hold, it isn't much better. Everyone is in such a somber mood, and keeps whispering things that they don't want either of the young girls to hear. It is such that they shoo them off fairly quickly, to find other pursuits, perhaps in the gardens, and beg them not to bother either Lord Wulfan or Lady Daroda with their inane prattling. Teoma takes it with the same calm demeanor she always does, but Farideh pouts and flounces her way down the halls, sighing to make sure her older, blonder sister knows her annoyance.

"Will you cease, hen?" Teoma reprimands her younger sister, grabbing her arm and bending down so they are on eye level with each other. Being two turns older, and of a certain demure disposition, Teoma with her blonde curls and angelic face, always thought it her responsibility to enlighten her sister on how thing's should be. And Farideh, a wild child by definition, always saw to it that she broke those molds. "No. They dragged us out here, when I could be playing at home with Arjun and Jacinthe, and for what? They're probably just planning your wedding to Joremy," the skinny brunette says, sticking out her tongue.

They roam through the Hold proper and eventually, Teoma relents enough to her sister's whining about fresh air, and they start down the road that leads away from Igen. One in a rose and cream-striped walking gown, golden hair brushed to a luster, looking the epitome of what a lady should be, and the other in a pale grass-green dress, her formerly perfectly-coiffed hair a mess of fly-aways and errant curls around her moon-round face. They're halfway between the Hold and trader encampment when the younger espies the colorful banner and stops, pointing. "Look! Traders!" her high-pitched voice picking up over the wind. But her sister has no time to respond, because Farideh's picking up her skirts above her knees and making a run for it. Literally leaving her sister in the dust that her feet kicks up as she runs.

Unlike the rest of the world, winter is the best time to be stuck in a hot desert climate. The consistency of temperature, makes for a great wintering ground for many caravans. In the trading encampment just outside Igen Hold, colorful banners fly, indicating not just one family, but several having gathered here for the interim. There's laughing, music, and a communal living spirit that keeps things jaunty. Of course, there's always friendly competition, and the spontaneous sand pit dug out is holding one of those competitive entertainment shows. Irianke stands near the front, her hands holding fast to the ropes that have sectioned the fighting area off, and when her man gets a punch in, she cheers!

There's many things to see. Colorful banners and colorful people, the latter the likes of which Farideh doesn't often get to experience. Her timid steps are slow, her eyes filled with wonder, now that she's dropped her skirts to where they're supposed to be and she's wandering aimlessly amongst the traders. Naturally, her curiosity pulls her in the direction of the sand pit, her slight, short frame easily slipping through the crush. She sidles up next to Irianke, not giving the older woman a single glance, because her wide eyes are for the fighters. "Wow," she gushes, her fingers wrapping around the rope reflexively. It's like she's never seen such a thing; really, she hasn't, at barely twelve turns.

"Wow," agrees Irianke, a happy sigh exhaling in her great view of the fighters. There's something about the way they move, shirtless and glistening of sweat, that looks like graceful dangers. Up until the movement one swings his arm up and slams his fist beneath the other one's chin and there's an audible wince from the older woman. "Oh, hopefully granny's on hand to make sure his jaw isn't all out of pl..." That's when the woman catches sight of just who she was sharing this view with, sizes up the clothing with one sweepingly keen glance, and a casual arm suddenly swings up around Farideh's shoulders. Is she trying to cover the girl's eyes? "Didn't see you come in here," she says cheerfully. "You lost? You want to see something even cooler?"

The chin-punch has the short girl bouncing up on her toes, body taut with tension about what's going to happen next. Her stance relaxes, miraculously, when Irianke puts an arm around her shoulders, and her face turns to look up. "I'm small," Farideh replies glumly, but then her eyes light up and she nods her head, her now-loose bun bobbing up-and-down comically. "Yes!"

"Come on, doll," says the Igenite, steering her through the crowds and away from the place where really hot men are doing really hot things in front of a PG-13 crowd, now minus the PG and the 13, but plus an R. "Over this way." She guides Farideh towards a set of tents near enough to hear, but not near enough to see. "If we sit here and wait, we'll see the when they come over here to get repaired. Jaymon's nose looks like someone needs to punch it from the other side to get it back into place and Nestor's jaw." Well, Irianke just shakes her head, tsking. "You'd think grown men have better things to do." A massive WOOOOT from the crowds around the fighters gains her attention and then another sigh. "Been here before? Can't say I've seen you around." Farideh's attire gets another look.

Moving docilely along like someone used to being led, Farideh watches the woman's face from her vantage point, staring in an impolite way. "How do you punch a nose out? Or fix a jaw? Can they be unbroken?" she asks naively, her hazel eyes still wide with wonder; many new experiences. "Do they fight often? Does everyone? Do you?" Her gaze leaves the goldrider, glancing back over her shoulder from whence they came. "No. I have never been here. We are visiting Lord Wulfan and Lady Daroda, except they don't want us there. They told us to occupy ourselves, so we did," sounding vaguely, childishly pleased with herself as her eyes flick back up to Irianke's face.

Irianke glances at another whooping and then the counting of numbers. "They'll be done soon and headed this way," she says, distracted by the prospect, but suddenly righting herself to look at Farideh at the mention of the Igen Holders. A gleam sparkles in her blue eyes and she takes in the girl and her attire once more. "We?" This is what she latches on, this above all the other things. The crowd starts to break apart to make way for a man, walking triumphant but with a very skewed nose, and another one being carried on someone's back towards the tent. "Nestor's good looks. I'm glad I knew them once well before today."

"Are you going to fix them?" Farideh looks mildly horrified by the prospect, even for a preteen, even while her eyes track the path of the winner and the loser. "My sister." Her eyes wander farther afield, out towards the crowd and then even further. "I ran here, but she doesn't run. It's not ladylike. She might not get here until sun's set," she says with a mischievous grin, turning back to Irianke and raking fingers through her scalp. "Are they your family? Is one of them your husband?" and she's back to ogling the two sweaty men, in a curious rather than avaricious way.

"Oh," Irianke looks down, startled, "Heavens' no! I just like to look at them and dream of a life I might have had." Farideh might be twelve, but it doesn't mean Irianke's not going to wink at the girl as if she knows exactly what she speaks of. "I don't have a husband, sweetheart. I'm a rider, but some of the people here used to be part of my family." A vague gesture encompasses one side of the camp, the one with brown and blue banners and a funny looking bird insignia squiggled on them. "Did you say that the Holders asked you to occupy yourself? I was... hmm..." The note of Wulfan and Daroda's behavior has the Igenite distracted once more. "Here, let's see some other sights while granny patches the up."

The wink is received with wide-eyed innocence, her probing eyes searching, but by the quizzical look, any intent Irianke might mean in the gesture is lost on her. Someone's due for the talk about the Birds and the Bees, obvs. "You're a rider? Are you from Igen or somewhere else? What color's your dragon? How do you like having a dragon? Is it as fun as it looks?" is Farideh's barrage of questions, her fingers knitting together and her shoulders tipping forward, her posture conveying her obvious interest. Her shoulders slump when the woman mentions Igen's Lord and Lady. "Yes. They've got business, or something. I think they're just trying to plan Teoma, that's my sister, and Joremy's wedding." Now, she looks plain sulky, but willing goes if Irianke leads.

Dubious lines score themselves across Irianke's forehead at Farideh's response. "Teoma's your sister, so you must be, Farideh?" Knowledge of the families that hold Igen's holds comes in handy once in a while. So does studying. The more you know... (complete with rainbow star). "Come, I'll show you my Niahvth," the young woman says, walking a few steps ahead of Big Bay Holder's niece. "And I ride for Igen Weyr. I was actually here on business but dropped by to see family instead as... you're right," Iri's nose wrinkles, "The main Hold is a gloomfest and a half." They are headed northward, closer to the Hold, and the number of colorful tents starts to diminish the longer they walk.

"You know my name!" Farideh sounds pleased as punch about that. Her smile is wide and sunny, her stare still on Irianke's face in unseemly impoliteness; it's likely she's just admiring. "Niavhth. Niav-hth. Niiia-v-hth. That's a lovely name." She holds her skirts above her ankles, so they don't get tangled between her legs, and tries to keep up with the taller woman. "They're like this a lot. Serious this, serious that. It's soooo boring," the preteen whines, rolling her eyes towards the sky. Clearly, Irianke will understand! Surely! "At least, at weddings, everyone's happy."

Irianke pushes away the clouds of distraction and concern that look at far away Igen Hold and refocuses on Farideh. A bright smile that masks all the trivial concerns of adulthood flashes at the young girl. "I've never been to a Holder wedding before. Is it something you imagine yourself doing? In my family, when we got married, girls would leap over the fire and dance until morning and the new-made couple would," her words stop short just at the good parts. "There, there's Niahvth." Before then is a broad, buttery melting puddle of gold laying redolently on one patch of sparse grass in the midst of all the desert.

"I have to get married. Teoma has to get married too. I don't want to get married." The wild-haired girl makes sure to specify, continuing to look sulky about that matter. "It's what you do, and then you have a bunch of messy, fat babies and get fat yourself." Farideh pulls a face, like little girls do. "And then your husband sleeps in another room and you don't have any time to yourself and then-- and then-- one day you die." She's just a ball of positivity. "But if I could, I would--" Her words stop when she sees the gold lounging in the grass and her mouth forms a small 'o'. "You're a goldrider. I should've known. You're too pretty to be anything else," she says cheerfully, giving Irianke a smile, before striking out for her dragon. Fearlessly so.

Irianke chokes back and then just gives into the bursting laughter. "I've never known that to be a criterion for being a goldrider. I don't know that I've honestly met any unattractive people in general, but it helps to always be on the look out for something or some way someone is attractive. You know? Living an optimistic life and all." The goldrider might, just might be teasing the not quite teenager. "Come say hi, she's well fed and don't believe those rumors that dragons will eat anything." Niahvth sighs, wistful, for having to get up, but once she's up there's a vibrant energy that shimmies her massive body from the tail tip to the tip of her blunt nose. Sudden motion brings her bounding like a very large puppy to gap the distance between her and her rider and a giant, herdbeast smelling whuff blows wind and some sand Farideh-ward.

"Goldriders are always attractive." Beat. "Aren't they? I haven't met one that wasn't, but I've only met you and Nimae now." Farideh's not as focused on Irianke now, but stares eagerly at the gold dragon, with that mesmerized quality only children possess. "Oh, I know dragons don't eat people. That's silly," she says, covering her mouth and the giggle that bubbles up from the goldrider's words. "Hi." Her hands comes up to block out the sand and wind that flies her way, but she's laughing, again. "You're a very, very pretty dragon," she says, holding her hand out farther, like she's aiming to touch Niavhth. "Perhaps the prettiest. I won't tell Nimae if you don't," in a conspiratorial whisper.

Flattery will get girls anywhere, dragons are no exception. Niahvth melts, all that buttery golden hide, and leans in with a more gentle effort to nudge the middle of her muzzle against Farideh's hand. "You can be a little rough, use your finger tips. She likes that sensation the best and it's hard for human hands to do much damage to a dragon." Irianke watches Farideh, the wonderment of imagining what it must look like for the girl bright in her eyes. "I could whisk you away to the Weyr. Though I'm sure both Nimae and your parents wouldn't be entirely happy with either of us."

A single look over her shoulder, to affirm Irianke's position and advice, and then she's kneading the supple dragon hide with her fingers. "What was it like? When you Impressed? Was it the best feeling in the word?" Farideh's obviously speaking from someone else's experience, probably from a different dragonrider, from a different time, or something she'd heard in conversation. She laughs, her gentle kneading turning to a little harder pressure, as instructed. "I would like that very much, but you're right-- that would cause an incident. My mother gets the vapors if I even suggest joining a craft. She's says, "Farideh, you don't need a brain when you've got a pretty face and lineage." It's much more important to wear the latest weaver designs and know who's who and practice the perfect polite expression."

"Show me your perfect polite expression," requests the goldrider. "Mine is a little rusty and I'm sure Nimae will see through it some day." As for the rest, Irianke's cheeks flush oddly, and casts a quick look at her dragon. Her own hand lifts to run idle circles underneath Niahvth's jaw. "It was terrifying. It still sometimes is," the woman confesses frankly to the girl. "It's both the best feeling in the world, the most thrilling thing ever, and the scariest. But, I'd make the same decision again any time, any day."

There's a brief pause, and Farideh turns to face Irianke, schooling her girlish features into neutrality, with the tiniest hint of a smile curving her lips. "Mother says that my eyes give me away," she says woefully, and it's true, despite the carefully bland cast of her face, her eyes shine bright with youthful energy. "I'll get it some day." They always do. Her fingers go back to buttery hide, in an almost reverent caress. "I've only seen one hatching. My uncle Pavrol took me. I don't remember much, but I do remember the hatchling were kind of terrifying, and that was from way up high."

Irianke pretends to take notes, "writing" on the back of her hand and schooling her expression just so, keeping the spark of life alive in her bright grey-blue eyes. "Those who can hide lies with their eyes are the most devious people in the world. You'll never know what they're thinking, unless you can find other tells." Niahvth settles herself down, turning her muzzle away from Farideh and presenting a rounded paw, flat on the ground, but juuuuuuuuuuust within reach. Indulgently, "Demanding. Look, she thinks you might like to touch her talons to see how smooth they are and possibly reach right here," Irianke shows her exactly by kneeling in the sands and getting her brightly wrapped sari dress dusty. She reaches in the space just between the talon and the hide and "tickles" by wiggling her finger in a scratching motion. "Like me," continuing the prior thread, "One of my tells is I can never keep my hands still when I'm nervous. I give myself away with that sometimes, so I've learned to train myself to do it at all times."

The weyrwoman's imitation of her expression earns a lilting laugh, one dimple forming in the center of one cheek from her smile. "Do you think so?" But Farideh's already reaching down to slide a hand over one of the smooth talons, indulging the good and herself. Her smile just stretches, wider, with her ever-growing glee. "Right-- here--" as she, too, aims to scratch the gold in the preferred spot. "Fidget all the time? That's probably hard to keep up. I talk a lot, especially when I'm lying, but Teoma says she can always see it in my face."

"Better than constantly having my knuckles rapped for giving away my nerves." Goldrider, teenager, who knew they'd have the same problems with etiquette. "I've just learned to flutter them a bit here and there, and now you have to pay really close attention to know when it's a nervous flutter and a normal flutter. Shall we go find your sister?" Irianke gets up off her knees and brushes sand particles away. "Given how Lady Igen's feeling, I have no doubts you will likely not be missed until bed time. Perhaps we'll get some food back at the camp and I can give both of you a ride home."

A resigned sigh leaves the girl, and she too rises from her bent-over position, running her hands down her dress like it could somehow get rid of all the dust and sand settled in the folds. "I suppose we should. She'll run to mother and tattle all about how I left her." Farideh then smooths back her hair and gives Irianke a frown, complete with brow furrowing; it disappear soon after, replaced by another happy smile. "What does trader food taste like?" because clearly, she's a sheltered thing, and even as she's turning to let the goldrider lead the way, she's anxiously awaiting the answer.

"She can't tattle if she's not really supposed to be out here too, right?" Irianke throws some more gasoline on the fire of teenage rebellion, all with a bright smile. "Trader food is the most delicious thing in the world after a long day of travel and a busy day of selling wares. Tonight, if I don't miss my guess, will be some sort of stew with the most delicious crusty, pan fried bread. Come on, I'll show you. I promise, it won't kill you. It's in no one's best interest in this camp to see the daughter of Big Bay's brother sick or ill."

"I suppose not," Farideh agrees speculatively, slanting a look at Irianke from beneath her eyelashes. Her skirts are, once more, picked up as she walks besides the goldrider. "I trust you." And that is spoken emphatically, a genuine statement from a young girl who, suddenly, idolizes a woman much, much different than herself.