Difference between revisions of "Logs:Welcome To The Reaches"

Ezalea and Nahalith's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr,

A short tunnel and a shorter set of stairs leading up from the ledge, reveal a weyr that has not long been abandoned, much of the furniture situated in it still in good shape. Spotless, from a brick-ornamented hearth located near the entrance to the round stone table at the opposite end of the room, the austerity is tempered by little touches of welcome added here and there. A thick sunny yellow shag rug before the hearth breaks the monotony of the stone floors and offsets the ruddy tint of the bricks while two glass ornaments, matched shipfish rising out of the surf, have been set at opposite ends of the mantel. The hearth itself is inlaid with a square pattern of bricks along the floor that also rise to provide a decorative arc around its outline. While hardly new, a comfortably looking olivine couch sits on the rug's border. Rounding out the furniture in the main room is a utilitarian bookshelf near the table, with a set of hides labeled 'History of High Reaches Weyr' and a richly covered crimson writing box resting on its middle shelf. To the east is a tunnel that leads down towards the Weyrleaders' complex.

Interestingly enough, there are no separate chambers in this weyrwoman's weyr, and bedroom and bath are only made distinct by two walls that rise three-quarters to the ceiling. Behind one of these walls near the back of the weyr, lies a finely crafted canopy bed, void of anything other than a simple mattress, and a wardrobe. Both made of fine broomwood, the decorative carvings along the posts that spiral upward into patterned leaves and wood roses also are reflected on the double-doored closet; clearly the work of an experienced carpenter. Behind the other, located just across from the bedroom, is a small, elevated stone bath that is built into the walls. Ancient plumbing makes sure there will be hot water when needed and though no vanity exists, a single built-in shelf is carved out just above the tub. Three sets of lavender towels with an assortment of ceramic jars filled with bath oils, shampoo, soaps, and scented soap sand already fill that shelf. Hung on the half-finished wall is a slightly warped mirror.

It is a weyr, much like any other weyr, one without tenant for how long now? This one in particular sits barren of most adornments; a leaf blown in by the autumn breeze, a table left by a former occupant or replaced once they were gone. Only, now there is a dragon decorating the ledge, and trunks and totes neatly aligned on the floor, and the stone table is set with two places. A slight woman is busying herself sweeping at those few last leaves, brushing them off the short flight of steps towards the ledge, and only when her back is turned while she neatens this, that, or nestles the teapot deeper into its cozy do they drift lightly back in on a puff of dragon's breath. Ezalea murmurs softly, reaching again for the broom, "Nahalith. We have guests arriving. Please, behave."

Cadejoth made his presence known as soon as the pair arrived in High Reaches airspace, a silvery clink of chains marking her out as part of his pack immediately: she belongs now, she's theirs, and maybe hello, too, and later, the indication that they would visit later. Now that it is later, K'del's footsteps can be heard upon the stairs leading up to the weyr, and there's Cadejoth's mental touch again, though he remains on his own ledge, a few ledges over from hers. Reaching the weir itself, K'del hesitates for only a moment, then draws himself further in, carrying a bottle in one hand, whilst the other smooths back damp, recently-washed hair. "Ezalea? Welcome to the Reaches."

Those leaves go fluttering down the stairs and this time Nahalith doesn't send them spiralling back up, preoccupied as she is entwining a silk scarf amidst those heavy links. Theirs? His? Does he insist on this? Ezalea, meanwhile, pauses, and brown eyes flick towards the mouth of her weyr, towards Nahalith, and the man beyond. Now that it is later, she'll replace her broom and instead lift the teapot free, resettle it again. Adjust the cups again, just so, and as she does so, greet warmly to her arriving guest: "Weyrleader K'del, thank you. You are as welcome to my weyr as I have felt thus far to yours. Tea?"

Cadejoth explores this silk scarf, and the way it polishes his own chain links, intrigued and delighted by it. Insist? He shares only his view of the world: this pack, that they all belong to, his... but only in some ways. « We belong, » he explains, enthusiasm writ large in his words. « A greater whole! Like--» Links in his chain. Their chain. Everyone's chain. "K'del," says his rider, warmly, as he crosses the distance between the entrance at Ezalea. "We've no need for titles, here. Hope you mean that to say that I am, indeed, welcome; you've everything you need?" For tea, he inclines his head forward, graciously, as he sets his bottle down upon the table: peach brandy from a local hold. "A weyr warming gift. Though," and he looks awkward. "If you now tell me you don't drink, I'll find you something else."

Nahalith threads her curiosity into Cadejoth's mind, the whisper of sheer cloth against steel, coy. And she, too, she belongs in his neat little parade? Her glib laughter is palatable, a waft of saffron and ginger: « Truly? Even from afar, it has been so? » From afar: Igen. Home. "K'del, then," Ezalea is entirely agreeable to his informality. "Indeed, your staff have been nothing but accommodating. I've yet to finish -" her hand hovers a beat over the tea as she passes him the delicate cup, and follows to motion her baggage, "- and there's some items for which I'll have to speak with your Headwoman, but otherwise the transition has been most smooth. Thank you." The warmth in eyes turns up from the brandy to K'del and his awkward look. "No, it's lovely. I do," her laugh is bright, "drink. Shall I open it now?"

« No! » Actually, Cadejoth seems somehow proud of this, his delight akin to a howl, the buzz of metal almost strong enough to be tasted in his thoughts. « Only now. Now that you belong here, for as long as you do. » Crisp and cold - that's the Reaches. And with it a correction, however subtle: this is home, now. Here, not Igen. Accepting the cup with another tip of his head, K'del adjusts his hands around it until they're settled comfortably; his relief is visible, at her admission that she does indeed drink. "Only if you care to - it's yours, drink as you will. Glad to hear you're settling, though. Know that Milani - our Headwoman - will be delighted to help you out, too." Beat. "Hope you'll be happy here. That-- you're not too upset about leaving Igen? Must feel strange." Awkward. He is, still.

For all that Nahalith's mind is washed in brilliant color - rich reds and glistening golds, embroidered with neat, exotic motifs - she shies from that metallic tang, dampening his enthusiasm under deeper layers of silk. « Only under your reach, then. » The reach of the Reaches. His correction earns her dismay, a moment hesitated. Then, coolly: « I prefer ... the warmth. » Narrowed brown eyes stray for a moment past K'del, towards the ledge beyond, but soon enough Ezalea is smiling again, softly, at the bronzerider. "Later, then, perhaps." She tips her chin, a short nod. "It's nothing pressing. Upset?" Again, she laughs. "Please, don't. It was a voluntary transfer. Did you know my family is in Balen? It is strange, yes, but nice to be so close to home once again."

Cadejoth can, at least, take a hint, and withdraws just enough to be-- well, a little more polite. At least a little. « The cold grows on you, » he offers, maybe slightly sad that she is not so instantly amenable to the Reaches and all that they stand for. « And our summers are lovely. You will grow to love it, I'm sure! » He can't help it: he's enthusiastic. K'del's gaze follows Ezalea's for just a moment, seeking out the queen on the ledge, but return quickly to the goldrider's face, as he nods. "They are? Perhaps I knew that, and I forgot. Glad, though. Hope... Well." He looks down at his tea cup, lips quirking into a rueful smile, if still warm. "That it all works out. Should, though. And it's nice to have a Weyrwoman of the area; people like that, I think."

Nahalith ... appreciates his deference, with a brush of earthy turmeric and cardamom, and creeps her satin tendrils nearer again, deigning to respond, « I shall wait and see. » With her words comes a sense of concession, as though she'll indulge him until such things prove different. And: « Yes. Summer. Summer is ever so lovely. » Nahalith has some enthusiasm of her own, it seems, as swathed in muted tones of crimson as it might be. "She does not intend offense," Ezalea bids with a slight upward lift at the corner of her mouth, noting K'del's own gaze. Then: "Yes, I rather expect it should. I will only have to remember how to dress for the cold. Would you like a seat?" As if she only remembered now, the goldrider motions for K'del to sit should he like, and she herself folds neatly onto the edge of a chair to sip at her tea. "Or is this only a brief visit?"