Difference between revisions of "Logs:Run-Ins"

>---< The Sandbar, Ista Weyr(#447RJ) >---------------------------------------<

  Standing on stilts over the water's edge with a broad ramp leading up from
  the beach, the thatch-roofed building sits well above the highest tide    
  line. The walls of the structure are nothing but timber frames, open to   
  the cooling sea breezes but equipped with hinged panels of woven grass    
  that can be lowered during inclement weather. Within, supporting pillars  
  are draped in cast-off nets and shells and myriad tables provide seating  
  with spectacular panoramic views of the ocean, beach, and the bustling    
  activity of the docks to the west. A finely polished, sparkling slab of   
  obsidian serves as the bar and it's smooth surface is etched with         
  decorative carvings of shipfish and flowers and other emblems of the      
  tropical location. Shelves behind the bar are lined with bottles and      
  glasses of various shapes and sizes and hanging in prominent view are     
  slates listing the menu, beverages both alcoholic and not as well as a    
  handful of greasy appetizers provided by the kitchen to the rear of the   
  bar.

 ----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
                                 Docks  Beach                               
>-----------------------------------------< 8D 2M 41T I10, spring afternoon >---<

It's cold, up north -- not just in High Reaches, but in Benden, also. That's likely why there's a cluster of Benden riders taking up a table at the Sandbar, chatting brightly and earnestly. It doesn't quite explain why a younger Benden rider is seated at the bar, half a glass of something not-quite-bright-enough for the Sandbar's usual customers in his hand, staring over at the group sidelong now and then. The young man's frowning whenever he turns back towards the bar, exhaling. Out on the beach, dragons -- Istan, foreign and alike -- are enjoying the afternoon sun, though there's a dark bronze that's settled instead in the shade, unmoving.

The number of out-of-weyr visitors increases by one; Aidavanth's burnished orange-gold is difficult to miss as she appears in Istan airspace and circles down toward the beach, presence pleasant and warm as she descends to the dark sands. Although it takes her rider a moment before she dismounts, Jocelyn's quick to shed helmet and jacket, revealing a casually laced blouse atop dark slacks before leaving a trail of boot prints behind her on the way toward the Sandbar's entrance. And Aidavanth? She seeks to join those who are sunning, settling not far from the shade to partially unfold her wings and bask with a gusty little sigh, content.

The arriving queen receives welcoming greetings from those other dragons, though not all -- that dark bronze in the shade stirs momentarily, the gleam of his gaze felt more through the momentary touch of his mind: velvety blackness, cold -- especially in comparison to Rukbat's warmth -- with just the hint of movement, edging closer for a moment for study. The rider at the bar, meanwhile, knocks back the rest of that drink, exhales, and pushes upwards, tugging a hand through loose, artfully unkempt hair. There's still that distracted air about him as he heads for the entrance -- perhaps because he's glancing sidelong at that group that occupies a table across the way -- such that he's stepping abruptly into Jocelyn's path as she enters.

Jocelyn's purposeful stride leaves little room for course correction when combined with the Benden rider's unexpected appearance; out go her hands automatically to push quickly toward his arms in a move that could as much seek to push him away as to steady them both - when she collides, expression going from startled to annoyed in seconds. Her, "Watch yourself!" escapes in a high-pitched, surprised hiss, gray eyes sharp. In graceful contrast, Aidavanth is happy to exchange greetings, to remark upon how very nice the sun feels here when it's been sleeting practically all day at High Reaches. That chilled, if otherwise silent sense of dark study draws first a polite sense of 'hello?' followed by a small shift in her position so that she might better turn that wedge-shaped head to blink briefly in the direction of that movement in the shade.

The huff of breath from the Benden rider is more startled than anything, reaching out to grip her in turn -- he has a height on her -- pale blue eyes staring down in a mixture of consternation and amusement. "I'm, uh," he clears his throat, turning up a grin that is both full of charm and well-practiced at the same time, "My apologies, m'lady," as he releases his hands, a half-bow sketched. "I wasn't looking where I was going. Perhaps," a darted look is given over his shoulder, as if to assess if they're being watched -- it doesn't seem so, and yet, "Let me buy you a drink in apology. I insist," he says, fixed on that idea now with a gallant gesture towards the bar. The cold of that regard doesn't recede, exactly -- but it does still at Aidavanth's regard. The bronze doesn't give his name, and yet it is known, in that touch -- Tziveth, he is, of Benden. And she?

The look the goldrider scrutinizes him with is a measuring one, arms crossing after his apology with a huff of her own that loses some of its sharpness as the line of her mouth softens a trifle. Wryly, "That much is clear, unless you make a habit out of crashing into people." The offer of the drink, well - her lips purse, considering, before a short, "Fine, although it's quite unnecessary, " signals her acquiescence, preceding her movement toward the bar. To Tziveth, Aidavanth's name might well be conveyed in the ripple of thought that floats his way, accompanied by a glimpse of spindled caldera and mountains, but being a dragon of words, she pronounces hers in a warm, clear alto. « Our best, » hers and Jocelyn's, « to your queens, Tziveth of Benden. »

The Benden rider squints a bit, pale eyes staring as if determining whether the comment is humor or not; apparently he decides it is, because a grin soon follows. "Try not to, but my mother always said she could never get me to form good habits, either," as if aware of the change in mood of his new acquaintance, the bronzerider relaxes marginally, falling into step with her. "I'm T'zur, of Benden." There's movement from the shade; not quite skittering, but that thought might come to mind, given the bronze's skeletal, whipcord-lean structure. Tziveth resettles within the shade, to better regard the Reachian queen, ivory talons flexing for a moment in the black of the sand. There's acknowledgement of the exchange, the expected politeness, but it isn't lingered on by the Bendenite. Instead, he wonders: why, the thought floating amongst the shadows of his dark thoughts, honed, shone and finally produced for her regard.

"I hope your weyrlingmaster had better success than your mother. T'zur." It's only once she reaches the bar and can settle an arm on the counter that she turns to add, "Jocelyn, Aidavanth's. High Reaches' duties. And I suppose you came down for the sun, too." It's not quite a question, even if the lift of her eyebrows afterward seems expectant enough. Aidavanth's thoughts are, by contrast, bright and well-lit like the natural light of sun filtered through glass, conveying words and feelings that flow and ripple like water along smooth surfaces. Why be present here, now? Why choose to speak to him? Why sit in the sun? « Why not? » comes her bemused reply, warm with the pleasure of absorbing the sunlight.

T'zur's squinted expression admits readily what comes a little more reluctantly verbally: "Well. It was a difficult time for us all -- let's put it like that," there's something wry in the grin that follows. "Learnt to run real well. Oh -- and stand dawn watch like a champion, so there's that." He steps closer to the bar, leaning on it to bring them to a more -- but not quite -- even eye level. "So, Jocelyn. Fruity? Colorful?" he's talking about the drinks, though with no lead in it might be a fairly sharp segue. "Oh, the sun, yes," comes his glib answer -- nevermind the slight turn of head he gives in the direction of the table of Benden riders over there. "Tziveth loves the sun," another glib response, well-practiced aside. The dragon, meantime, is silent throughout the queen's musings, though the shadow of his thoughts follow the flows of water with just as much interest as her eventual response, which -- judging by the slight retreat, disappoints. It does, however, prompt him to speak, his voice bassy of timbre, underscored by a distant sort of sibilant echo. « A life without purpose is wasted. »

There's an agreeable sort of noise from Jocelyn, whose mouth twitches briefly upward. "Habits we'll probably never lose, to our benefit. Harder to keep up with the running now, but I've never needed a wake-up reminder." She certainly appears to be giving the bottles behind the bar serious consideration while he speaks, but the look she wears afterward belies that impression in short order. "Dry and white, usually. But fruity, on occasion, can be interesting." Her eyes follow that little turn of his head, jaw setting briefly. "Most dragons do." Love the sun. "Unless I misunderstand, however, he isn't actually sunning. Or perhaps, the sun is more for your benefit?" There's the sense of a small smile from Aidavanth; he speaks, and that enables the flow of her mind to slow for a better study of his. « So is a life with unfulfilled purpose, » is her quick return as the speed of her thoughts resumes. « What is yours? » Somehow, she manages to infuse that with the gravity of his monosyllabic, earlier inquiry.

"Well, " T'zur leans closer, pseudo whispering: "I've heard they threaten to throw you out if you order something plain. I've never actually seen them do it, but," he gestures, as if challenging Jocelyn to do just that, since the bartender is finally meandering their way. His hand rubs over his head -- an old habit, neither good or bad -- doubtless from when it was shaved close and not loose and unkempt like it is now, "Tziveth he -- uh, oh. Right," the bartender's querying look saves him from making up an answer: "The lady's drink is on me. And I'll have one of those red ones, the sunset ones?" And it's with a solemnity that he answers in kind: « To learn about others. What they want. » The shadows advance again, infusing the flow of her thoughts with tiny divergences as it progresses. What does she want?

>---< 1. Sunset Punch >------------------------------------------------------<

A deep and mellow red concoction that looks sweet, but tastes quite tart. This blend of currant extract, vodka, citrus liqueur and lime juice is served shaken into a cold cocktail glass and dressed with a cherry.

Drink Credit: Ch'val Name Credit: Satiet

>---------------------------------------------< Inspiration: Cosmo Katie >---<

"Plain tends to suit me fine." And yet, after T'zur orders, Jocelyn spares the menu an almost dismissive glance, before: "I'll have - a Greenrider." Amused, she permits herself a little snort before her expression smooths afterward. "You were about to say something hopefully more illuminating than 'uh.'" That's a definite prompt for the bronzerider. « There's much we can learn from others, » the orange-gold says agreeably, a curl of hazel winding its way through shadow and light. What does she want? There must be an answer, somewhere, but what she offers is instead, « And? What have you learned from others? »

>---< 8. Greenrider >--------------------------------------------------------<

A naturally occurring seltzer water is collected from a mineral spring in a secret Istan cavern and is used as an additive in this minty drink. Sprigs of the fresh flavorful herb are crushed and muddied with a mix of sweetening, green citron juice, and ice chips flown in from High Reaches, resulting in a tangy and tart palate pleaser.

Drink Credit: Nolee Name Credit: T'mic

>--------------------------------------------------< Inspiration: Mojito >---<

"I forget," T'zur says with all the glibness of a bronzerider -- although given he likely hasn't been one for all that long, probably only partly to blame. "So, High Reaches. What's it like?" the way he tilts his head, and watches her avidly suggests he's more than passingly interested or making idle conversation. "I don't get out that way much, myself." Tziveth is distracted, or -- more accurately -- retreating from words as the shadows stretch, seeking out that elusive answer. Words are words, but thoughts are truisms.

"You forget, " Jocelyn repeats with all the skepticism of one who's already taken his measure - and found something lacking, more than likely. "Apparently, you've also forgotten your geography." Pushing out an exhale, she shifts the set of her shoulders, begins again with knitted brow. "High Reaches is - at least now, cold. Snowy. It's also resilient, remarkably viewed from above, and my home. Not too different from yours, I would think." While her tone is still as dry as the wine she prefers, it's at least light enough by her conclusion. Tziveth's search draws the queen's attention; the flow of her mind stills briefly, long enough to pass on the firm resolution of duty-honor-homeland-security from which she augments her sense of will. It's all he's getting - for now, but it's concrete and very much a tenet of her identity. If there's a silent, passionate curiosity that's buried beneath it all, it's a hardly discernible thing, a whisper of a feeling that clearly takes a backseat to her surface considerations.

"I know it's in the mountains, I know what it looks like," the Bendenite replies, momentary exasperation showing, "But that doesn't tell me what it's like to live there. What the people are like, the leadership, the day to day, the--" T'zur says, getting on a roll -- stopped only by the arrival of their drinks. The brilliant colors of the drink only marginally offset the exhale that follows. "Benden is... very, mm, there are wings who are friendly, and moreover friends, but there are many more wings for whom it is a job, and nothing more, and for whom they wouldn't tell you where the nearest toilet is if it delayed them for more than a minute or two." This time, he's definitely not looking over his shoulder, pulling his drink towards him and gulping a good half of it in one hit. The shadows of Tziveth's thoughts coil briefly around that tenet of core-Aidavanth, exploring it in depth, drinking it in, before flowing off to toil after that more elusive goal beneath.

Jocelyn takes the smallest of sips from her glass, observing the other rider silently in the wake of his enthusiasm. Drolly, then, to disguise her surprise: "Not visiting somewhere you wonder about is a strange way to assuage your curiosity." There's a glance for the speed of his consumption, and her expression relents a little. "The people are hardy, resilient, much like the mountains in which we live. Some are more trusting of outsiders than others. If I told you that your day-to-day probably isn't all that different from those with whom I went through weyrlinghood, I imagine you would say something along the lines of, 'but it's different because it wouldn't be Benden.'" If he won't look over his shoulder, she will. She's frowning faintly when she turns back to the bar. "Comparatively speaking, you've considerably more freedom when it comes to where you ride and for whom. Surely you could transfer to a wing where you have friends, if yours isn't - " Pause. " - adequately comfortable." It remains elusive, that curiosity, particularly as Aidavanth allows the enjoyment of sunbathing to come to the fore in silent, pleased satisfaction. Or is that a purposeful echo of a connection back to what's hidden? It's difficult to tell.

"I'm a strange person," T'zur readily admits, without a hint of embarrassment. "You hear a lot of stories over the Turns, you start to wonder." While Jocelyn might drink sparingly, he gulps down another couple of mouthfuls in the completely wrong way to express appreciation for such carefully crafted drinks. He is, however, listening closely, glancing at her sidelong for the most part, but certainly taking it in and filing it away. As to her latter suggestion: "Ah, well," the Bendenite grimaces and runs his hand through his hair. "Politics, you know?" He says it in that blithe way of someone used to those simple words deferring any further conversation on that score. And still, Tziveth persists: where there is sunlight, after all, there is evermore shadow. Certainly the feel of him, as the queen enjoys the sun, fades from attention, becoming far fainter and subtle, but still there, retaining that connection between them.

Jocelyn does know, and the way she turns her attention to watching condensation bead along her glass might be all too telling of her sentiments on that topic if her tersely repeated, "Politics, " isn't enough. At some length, she pushes her mostly untouched glass away and straightens to give him a crisp, little nod. "I should be getting back, " although it's just past mid-evening in the northern hemisphere. "Thank you for the unnecessary drink. T'zur." For someone who came to a relaxing place, she holds herself stiffly. "Visit the High Reaches at some point so that you don't expire of curiosity. Our holds do have gathers from time to time." Aidavanth's focus moves - first to better take in those around her, then to diverge toward her lifemate. And yet, there's a subtle lingering of her brightness to meet that hint of shadow, a balance that remains long after her presence fades further still once she and Jocelyn prepare to depart.

"The drink you didn't even drink?" T'zur replies, blithely, eyeing it for a moment before reaching for it, lifting it up as if toasting her, and taking a deep and appreciative gulp. Clearly he doesn't intend it to go to waste. He's not unaware of her stiff posture, and while it holds his gaze, it's not until she encourages him to visit and satisfy his curiosity that he chuckles. "Perhaps I will. Then again, perhaps not. Clear skies, weyrwoman," he adds. And yes, he's going to watch her walk away, because, he can. Plus those at the table in the corner might be watching. There's no farewell from Tziveth, no sense of departure when they leave -- his presence simply fades away as if it never was, the bronze remaining still within his shaded patch of Ista.