Logs:Laylia Would Call Satiet Sir
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| RL Date: 28 February, 2008 |
| Who: Satiet, N'thei, Laylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 16, Month 6, Turn 15 (Interval 10) |
| It being summer, most people have better ways to enjoy the weather than to sit in the slightly muggy galleries watching eggs harden. There are a few people on the tiers of course, mostly candidates ranged about with the pensive look that candidates tend to wear, one or two aunties enjoying what the hot cavern does for their arthritis-- and the weyrleader, on the far edge of the room at about the middle height. By himself, drinking quietly, watching a couple of girls while they braid each others' hair and make predictions about the hatching. Having completed enough mending and laundry to be considered 'done' work for the day, Laylia makes her way towards the galleries with that same pensive expression that other candidates that come here with and wearing a skirt rather than the trousers she's been more often wearing during chores. She gives the stands a glance over, noting the candidates she recognizes with a quick smile - but her path leads towards the rails where she leans on them to stare out towards the sands. The lurking Weyrleader drinking and watching girls braid eachother's hairs is either pointedly ignored, or innocuously missed. But being ignored never sits well. Quietly pouring himself off the seat, N'thei slinks down the tiers toward the rails and toward the redhead leaning on them. Why he picks on Laylia and no one else? Who knows. "Do you want a bit of advice?" Inquired mildly, pleasantly, just when he arrives within low-voice range of the woman; the braiding girls pause, peer, giggle, and go back to work with renewed zeal. Laylia doesn't even look away from the sands as N'thei nears, fully aware that of all people gathered on the stands - it'd probably be him that's the one approaching. However, the girls giggling does cause her to look over her shoulder and give them a bit of a glower. She glances across N'thei and back towards the sands, to answer the question, "Whatever could you care to give me advice on, sir?" She inquires just as lowly. N'thei takes hold of the top rail with both hands, stretches his arms out to it, leans against it with his weight perched on to his toes. He presents his back to the giggling girls, hides from them any glimpse of his expression; probably wise since now he's wearing an easily misread smirk while he looks across the sands, not really at Laylia. "I have the nagging feeling there's an insult implied in that response, miss. We're still not friendly then?" So pleasant a tone! "I never said that, sir." Laylia says with a much more polite tone than she had before, and then adds, "My apologies, I guess I'm a little more stressed than I care to admit even to myself. I didn't mean to snap." She offers warmly, and lifts her hands to pull her hair back from her face and up into a runner tail that it wasn't in before. "Really, though. What advice do you want to give to me? I'm curious, now." The charitable moment has passed? N'thei maintains the same smirking expression, the smile bleeding into his tone; "Stressed? Because of those?" Chin raised, the wobble of his jaw gestures toward the eggs, made even clearer by the unreadable glance he passes over the lot of them then brings back around to land upon Laylia. Quiet gray eyes do pry. On the sands, Those eggs N'thei indicates sit, still, while their watchful mother is curled a distance away from them. Turning her attention to the clutch of eggs, Laylia falls silent for a long moment before even answering the question. "Yes, mostly because of those." She says, drawing in a long breath and then letting it out slowly. "So, are you going to give me that advice, now?" She asks, turning her slate blue eyes to meet his inquringly. Oh, let's just be honest; "Probably not." N'thei can smile, can shrug an apology, can't hide the merry flicker that tinges his expression. "Rumor has it that you were a little shaken up after 'fall in one breath and accepted search in the next. Strike you as strange at all?" He sounds plainly curious, unaccusing. He's gone back to looking at the sands in the process, hard to say if that's a look at the eggs now or Teonath or just nothing. Laylia sighs at him, truly expecting that he wouldn't be offering her any help. She just looks away from him and towards the gold hoarding over her brood, and remains silent for such a long time he might wonder if she was going to answer at all. "Perhaps it pleases me to stay here a little longer, and accepting candidacy is a way of doing that." She says, and then adds a moment later, "I'm getting too old, you know, and was left standing on the sands once before. It's unlikely there's a dragon shelled out there for me." She adds in a tone that is practically hopeful of that fact. On the sands, There's a shadow lingering about the exit off the sands, preceded by the sound of boot heels, and after that pause where the shaded figure seems uncertain whether to step out or not, Satiet emerges, dressed in the loose garb of a humid Istan summer; a color sarong dress that's slung over one shoulder. Pale eyes drift across the sands, from queen to eggs, and then eggs to the galleries, dancing over each of the visitors and halting at the sight of N'thei and Laylia. A hand lifts in acknowledgement. "If you expect me to have a pep-talk about fate and luck and maybe your lifemate is out there..." N'thei files his teeth across his lower lip in the recess between his opener and the inevitable follow-up, a thoughtful tell. "You could have stayed anyway, you know. As long as you can do something useful." Said while he tosses a look back to where he left his mended jacket folded over the bench. Right as he looks back, Satiet-in-sarong comes into frame and he adds, "Suppose everyone has their reasons though. What will you do if you don't Impress?" No gesture returns the Weyrwoman's greeting but it would take a blind man to miss the way his eyes attach to the woman on the sands. Laylia rolls her eyes at the first statement, shaking her head. "No, I don't want a pep-talk. I don't even need one. Perhaps there is a small part of me that's hopeful, but it's not something I've dreamed about - and after that 'fall?.." She says, lifting a hand to Satiet in return for the acknowledgement in their direction, she murmurs, "It's actually pretty frighting to think about." She then shrugs her shoulders. "I'm not sure yet what I'll do; chances are I'll go back home to Rocky Flats." For N'thei's locking of eyes on Satiet, she doesn't pay too much attention to it. On the sands, Honing in on the hand Laylia lifts, the slender woman traipses across in her high-fashion of utilitarian boots and summer dress, making imprints in the sands until she reaches the bottom of the stone-carved steps into the galleries. It's when she reaches the base that a slim hand rests on the railing and her sharpish chin lifts to precede a low, cool greeting: "Good evening." Casually, Satiet's feet wriggle out of her boots one at a time, until she's standing barefoot on the first step up from the heated sand. Derision; "Go back home and be a seamstress at Rocky Flats?" N'thei really doesn't need to add the little snort at the end of that question to convey his mockery, but he tosses it on just to seal the deal. "Hanged if that wouldn't scare me more than a few thread scars. Just as likely these rogue 'falls will be over before they see a fight." 'They' with a nod to the sands, with a smile that flashes-and-dies along with the arrival of a certain pair of bare feet. A quiet finish for Laylia-- "Shouldn't worry your pretty head over-much about it. --Evening." Watching Satiet cross the sands with far more interest than she has for her chatting companion, Laylia adverts her eyes once in a while from her so she won't appear like she's staring. "Perhaps. Are you growing to enjoy having me around? You almost sound disappointed, in your own way." She inquires, pushing herself up to a more proper standing position as the Weyrwoman makes her way up the steps from the sands. "Good evening. Should I be calling you sir, too?" She asks, arching a brow at the other woman before scrunching her nose a little at N'thei. "Thank you for that wonderful advice." She says in a partially defeated tone. On the sands, The pace of her approach allows for the fact that she must have heard some of the conversation. But whether it's out of polite regard of their private conversation, or just utter apathy on her part for the trials and tribulations of candidacy, Satiet doesn't broach or inquire further than a simple lift of her brows at Laylia, that segues into a look of askance for the Weyrleader. When she speaks, it's simple and cool, "If you must. But if I look like a sir to you, perhaps we should ramp up your remedial harper lessons, Laylia." N'thei sounds disappointed? "Do I." A nod responds to Laylia's defeated gratitude, so pleasant and helpful that he must have missed and/or ignored her sarcasm. "Don't mention it. I like to impart a little wisdom where I can." The gender-specific address belonging to the weyrwoman will have to be decided without his input, not even a raised eyebrow or tricked smile while he follows the conversation with his eyes. Laylia lowers her gaze to the flooring of the stands, drawing out a short sigh and adding, "Ma'am, I meant no disrespect. Some female riders prefer one over the other, or so I've noticed." She clasps her hands behind her back, and adds while lifting her gaze to look between both the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman. "Remedial lessons are not required, and my head isn't full of air; it's full of imparted wisdom." She says and offers a quirk of a grin at N'thei's comment. On the sands, "Good then. Imparted nuggets of wisdom, even from fools, is still worth something to someone, yes?" Pleasant enough, if still cool, Satiet twists a thin smile to the candidate. Not that the Weyrleader is a fool, of course not. Pleasantries dry into a light sarcasm. "And congratulations on the happy occasion of your acceptance of Search. I'm sure your sister is pleased?" But whether Shanlee's pleased or not, a light dances bright in the weyrwoman's blue eyes, amused. A deep, silent nod agrees; imparted wisdom. N'thei looks the sage part while he's quiet, while he wears a light smile that's elevated to imperviousness. Like Laylia, he gives the ground a glance when words like fool come into play, raises them back to the candidate with a helpless-looking shrug-- and not a word. Silence is the better part of valor? "Thank you, ma'am. However, if she is or not, I'm uncertain. I haven't had much opportunity to meet up with her since then." Laylia says earnestly, her lips upturning a little more at the Weyrwoman's pleasant comment her gaze flickering to the Weyrleader for a moment. She looks out to the sands once more, and then thumbs in the direction of the stairs leading back to the bowl. "If you both will excuse me, I think I should tuck in before it gets too late. I do like to be well rested for the days activities." She says, and without further ado, heads off to leave. On the sands, Laylia leaves, Satiet leans, the wooden rail that lines the sides of the steps creaks slightly. The weyrwoman watches the candidate exit, waiting until the young woman is out of sight before her attention pins briefly on the Weyrleader. The silence is broken by low, thoughtful words, the sharply defined face tilting to observe N'thei. "You're better at the Weyrleadering thing than I'd imagined." There's a long moment after Laylia leaves, after Satiet speaks where N'thei could say something clever, could express gratitude for the back-handed compliment, could do just about anything but lean against the rail and look at the goldrider. The moment is allowed to exist unmolested, just the tranquil eyes to rove across the sharp features then away when he finally straightens up and pulls his weight off the rail. Finally; "Praise for fools now?" On the sands, "Perhaps." Unapologetic for what was said earlier, Satiet pivots at the waist from N'thei to the sands. But for all the backhanded comments that trip off her tongue, a glance casts back, palely observant, coupled the briefest, crooked lift of her lips. Two backward steps allow her to drop onto the top of the short staircase, legs stretching downward. "But is it more foolish to assume you are the fool being spoken of, or to be oblivious?" A beat. "How are you?" N'thei answers the first question carelessly-- "Matters?" Dismissive, shrugging, bland, he thinks it doesn't. How-are-you: "Small-talk question or do you want the truth?" A new stance, shoulders squared toward the sands and arms crossed loosely, only permit him to look at Satiet from the edge of his eyes, like the alcoholic who only has a drink after dinner. "I like that one, Shanlee's sister. Bit too pleasant, pretty though." On the sands, The stretched legs reach further down, feet arching into smooth lines down from her shins to try and touch the sands below. "The truth," decides Satiet, a flicker of fingers over her shoulder dismissing any need for small talk, then ironically indulging in it with her own appraisal of Laylia in light of N'thei's 'pleasant' comment. "Nothing like her sister then." There's faint pride there for the Weyrsecond, rather than flattery for the elder of the siblings. N'thei's truth is sparse. "Unhappy." He would have to graze a look from the top of Satiet's dark-haired head to the tips of her bare toes while confessing it too. "Enough like her. Both hate me. Not that uncommon but I'm chalking it up to family ties. I love your feet, but don't they burn?" Proximity between toes and sands given a dubious glance. On the sands, Satiet's slim shoulders rise with N'thei's answer, silent as what he says of both his state of being and Laylia sink in. "With?" The alto, pitched quiet, is leading in its one-worded inquiry. As for her toes, they only stretch further towards the warmth. So few things bring joy like opening a can of worms then failing to explain why. N'thei smiles broadly down at Satiet like he's quite happy she asked, then replies simply, "Not your business." He leads a few steps away, not so far really, and collects his repaired jacket to fold it over his forearm. Almost like he'd actually do anything about it; "Do you need anything?" On the sands, With her back to N'thei, his joy is only conveyed in his simple response and the steps that sound behind her, but it's enough for the weyrwoman to pause, then deliberately return to her frigid roots. "No." With little regard for her toes, or the bottoms of her feet, Satiet slides down the stairs to stand at the bottom. Stoic to the heat, but not so impervious to N'thei's response, the slender woman stands, waiting, perhaps, for the Weyrleader to depart. N'thei gets down those steps without incident, gets to the bottom with his hand on the rail and there looks back at Satiet with what just might be a pang. An uncharacteristic attempt to explain follows after an aborted sigh. "We can't be friends. Just not where all this?" He indicates between the two of them with a waved index finger. "Winds up." I'm-sorry comes across in the shrug before he turns. On the sands, Driven to respond, against all sorts of better judgment, Satiet's alto rises, "It's something you shou-," then aborts into thin-pressed lips. Perhaps it's the heat that finally gets to her, or merely the only defeat she's willing to cede, that propels the slight woman from being barefoot on the sands to standing on the steps again, looking long enough at N'thei's turned back to bore holes, then turning herself to exit into the bowl, leaving her boots behind. That went well. On the sands, As it always does. |
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