Logs:There Will Be Paws
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| RL Date: 7 September, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, Yesia, Arone, Tacuseth, Aeaeth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo invites Yesia out to pick some canine pups from her uncle's pens. Later on, Uncle Arone confronts Jo about the past. |
| Where: Canine Training Pens, outside Crom Hold |
| When: Day 1, Month 10, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Jothan/Mentions, Averin/Mentions, Mielline/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions, Canie/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Edyis/Mentions, H'vier/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, Alida/Mentions |
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| It's a few days or so before Tacuseth sends out his touch for the trip. The bluepair had just arrived at the pens on a cool late morning, the blue sending the visuals of a fairly active place. It's a large fenced-in square with small fenced in areas within it, and even from the sky the canines - both big and small and in all shapes and breeds - can be seen running around the feet of men. It's not crowded, but there's certainly people about all bundled up against the Cromese chill. There's even the smell of rain in the air, as if it's coming around the corner.The blue will even send such sensations of the weather in suggestion for Aeaeth's rider to bundle up. The absolute worst thing about the weather is that it really is unreasonable for the light, airy numbers Yesia prefers. Plus, there will be paws. Good news though: she has long since decided on buying her own set of nice leathers (she'll be paying them off for turns) and deemed her graduation jacket fashionable enough to keep and wear as the cold begins to settle in. Aeaeth appears with a cheerful bugle to the watchrider pair in short order and descends as a pink-and-green confection in those custom straps that have no doubt warranted plenty of bemused looks from everyone. Including the holders. But Aeaeth simply preens - all attention is good attention! - as Yesia strides curiously across the area, pulling a knit cap down over her hair and shoving her hands into her pockets. When Aeaeth arrives, Tacuseth can be suddenly seen in the sky with a shadowy touch towards her in greeting. « This way! » he calls to her, landing some ways from the pens and lowering himself only long enough for Jo to dismount before launching back into the sky and winging a little further away towards drier ground. His call is for the green to follow, and Jo - wrapped up in black leather, including gloves, and fastened up to the neck to reveal nothing underneath - watches the greenpair's arrival with an intensity that can't be named. Slowly unfastening her black gloves but not taking them off, she stands by and waits for Yesia with the sound of yapping canines and the humdrum of talk heard easily in the distance. By quick notice, it's also clear that the majority of those at the pens are men with a very few smattering of women running about. Oh, but people are looking at her! Ah, well. Next time. Aeaeth is nimble after him once relieved of her burden, and happy to follow the same way Yesia seems content to meander towards Jo. Fashionable being what it is, she is not as entirely buttoned as her companion, but at least seems used to the weather in her home quarter. She breathes deeply of the ionized air, her eyes bright for the puppies as they scamper, drifting past the men with a certain indifference. She smiles though, as she stops an arm's length away. "Do you think a puppy is something you can commit to? I mean. You can't commit to...much." Hello, Jo. Indeed, people are certainly watching the green dragon with the pink straps, and there might be some finger pointing from the much younger crowd, too. Tacuseth - his desert shadows still subdued, but thicker with his amusement - settles on dry land where the pens could still be seen. Jo angles her body towards the pens as Yesia approaches her dark gaze flickering over those in the pens once before the greenrider gets the most of her attention. Nodding her greeting once she's within speaking distance, "Thanks for comin', darlin'," she gives that uncharacteristic greet, the smile wane but there nonetheless as she looks her over. Ending up meeting her gaze as her hands gets shoved into the outer pockets of her leather jacket, "I saw the straps on her," she notes with a touch of wryness. "They look good on her. Y'all must get stared at everywhere, though." Some of that smile slips on Yesia's own words about commitment, her brows furrowing just a bit at that as the silence seems to serve as answer. Then, she gestures with her head for them to go on, her steps slow enough for Yesia to flank her before she finally answers with a rather subdued, "When I do commit, I'm loyal to a fault," admitting with a slight frown. "I'm not gettin' them for me. They're for the kids over in Greenfields." There's not even the usual touch of innuendo or suggestion where there likely should be from her, her tone a bit hollow but neutral. "They make her happy," Yesia replies shortly of the straps, a fond smile crossing her lips. "I think they look gaudy, but if she likes them and they don't break while I'm flying, then why not let her wear them?" For all her words might hold insult, she's not trying to; these are facts that she delivers the exact same way people deliver obvious weather observations. Thankfully, she doesn't engage in that. Instead, the greenrider cuts Jo a sidelong look, her pockets closing in on one another as they keep moving through the chill. She doesn't argue loyalty or commitment; it's not even been ten minutes, it would be a shame to fight now. "Oh. Aeaeth didn't say that." Aeaeth, who settles in the dry and cuddles right up to Tacuseth. "Because of...what happened? To K'del?" There's a grin for Yesia as they walk, hearing those words about the straps. "Tac's been askin' for purple straps," Jo notes, a touch wry. "I think yer Aeaeth's influencin' my dragon. He never cared 'bout colors before her." They reach near the edge of the fenced-in pen as she nods on the reason they're here, answering as she opens the gate for the redhead to proceed, "The Hold's heir, Averin, was killed," she tells her briefly. "That's why K'del'n them were there in the first place. I sweepride by that way, so, I was told. They're good kids'n a lot of 'em were there when K'del got stabbed. Just thought I could help out a lil', y'know? Arone!" she calls out, raising a gloved hand to get the attention of a stout-looking man with thinning hair. Tacuseth heaves a sigh as he drapes a blue wing over Aeaeth as she cuddles close. His peace in having her near is palpable without words, those shadows lingering in her mind with the peace of morning dew behind it. That fond smile grows. "All she thinks about is color. And music. I can't play any instruments. I don't know how she does it. She's beautiful." Yesia laughs aloud at the thought of purple straps, although they can't be more absurd than her pink ones. The reason comes later, with, "They'd match his hide. But you," pointedly, "would be weird." In purple straps, not always. "I know," she says softly of Jo's explanation, but only after she's let the bluerider get through it entirely. "Mielline is acting weyrleader. She told us." Beat. "I don't know K'del very well. Aeaeth was worried about it, because Cadejoth, she says he's -- she's part of a pack. And she was worried, but K'del's okay now." Something, though, softens her expression in the explanation she's given, even if she simply looks for the tell-tale sign of someone responding to Jo's call. Aeaeth is comfortable, even still in full straps, to be exactly there, and she fits so very well against Tacuseth's side. « Yours seems better. » When Yesia talks - that smile - it seems to catch Jo off-guard seeing her speak about her dragon, and it briefly shows. Dark eyes flick from those eyes to those lips before skittering away as her lips curve into something tentative. "Tac loves how she sounds," she relates since she hasn't heard Aeaeth. "She seems to calm him. I can see ya with one of those string instruments, though," and she lifts her gloved hands to imitate playing the harp or the oboe. "Or singin'." As for those purple straps, there's a huff of laughter along with, "I could style purple," she notes, straightening up her jacket. "Yellow's my favorite color, though. His straps would be yellow." She nods on the acting Weyrleader, lips pressing together on hearing about K'del. She's oddly quiet, but maybe it's more of a companionable one. "Yeah," she says, seemingly in agreement to what's said. "Tac feels the same. I haven' gone to see him." By then, Arone has turned towards them and runs their way, slowing once he's peering at both their faces...and then Jo's more. "Lil' Jolie?" he guesses his recognition, to which the convict rider grins at him and nods. "It's Jo now. Hey, uncle." « She's gotten good at hidin' it, » Tacuseth sends Aeaeth's way ruefully, showing his displeasure at such subterfuge. « I dunno why appearances like that are important for her. » When her physical appearance isn't. "I sing like someone shoving a wild feline through a flamethrower," Yesia laughs as objection to any requisite or latent musical talent. The oboe does not get addressed, because frankly what is an oboe? The younger rider tuts at Jo, shaking her head. "He'd look fine in yellow. Aeaeth insists--" She stops to eye the man who comes their way her eyebrows raising at his use of Jo's first name, one corner of her mouth twitching up. Yesia, for once, is quiet: listening and trying to detect any familial resemblance, given the last time Jo called someone family there was no resemblance at all. « Scared, » determines the young green. « If anyone sees, they have nowhere to hide. » And there is a snort, the wry touch of, yes, an oboe to be contrary, « It is not better when they do. Masks are masks. Yesia's is just prettier. » Sparkle. With a soft snicker to come, "Better that than singin' so bad that all the canines in the hold started to howl right with ya," Jo relates. "One of my brothers used to joke that he swore he saw tears streamin' down one of the pup's eyes when I was tryin' to practice. I don' think canines cry." The memory seems to bright her face up a bit, the low laughter raspy before addressing her uncle Arone. The man - resembling Jo in skin tone and around the eyes, at least - is still peering up at her, by the way, shaking his head as if he's seeing a ghost. "Great Faranth," he utters. "You are Jothan's kid! Ain't so scrawny anymore, are you? How long has it even been? Ten turns? Fifteen?" Jo's waving at that with a quick look at Yesia for his comments, shaking her head before she answers him with, "Ha-ha, uncle. Yeah, it's been some turns. Not surprised my father didn' tell ya anythin'. This is Yesia," she turns to introduce her, gesturing her way. "She's a greenrider. I ride blue, Tacuseth. Yesia, this is my uncle, Arone," she gestures now to the man still gawking at her. "He sorta runs this place with his sons." Getting the formalities out of the way, "We're here to see 'bout some pups." « She doesn' want to cry, » Tacuseth is in agreement, his mindtone honest. « I don' want her to. Does yers like to hide often? Do we have masks? I always feel what I feel. » Humans are strange. Yesia's laugh is stifled behind a glove, her eyes bright with amusement though she has turned her attention mostly on Jo's uncle, whose disbelief at seeing her now seems to amuse her further. It's not until Jo introduces her that Yesia stops her giggling and issues Arone a pretty curtsy despite her lack of skirts. "Green Aeaeth's," she amends softly, because what rider could ever be introduced without their other half? "Nice to meet you. I'm in charge of finding the cutest one." And the way she smiles, the dimples, must be stolen from Telavi they're so cute. « Would she cry? » is almost a whisper. « Yesia cries, sometimes, » is definitely a whisper, but Aeaeth doesn't like this strain. Her notes strum discordantly. « She spends hours putting it on, all those ribbons, all that makeup. » Jo's twist of lips hide her own smile from Yesia and Arone for her laughter as her uncles steps forward with a little bow for Yesia's curtsy. "Ahh, that's far more pleasantry than I've ever gotten," he remarks on her curtsy, openly pleased. "I'm surrounded by impolite ingrates most of the time. Present company included," and he nods his head right at Jo. Jo delivers a frown that's nowhere near serious at him before saying to them both, "Cutest one, eh? Well, ya might have some stiff competition. Ya happen to be lookin' at Keogh's finest cutest canine pup picker extraordinaire, hailin' from the innocent tender age of six, darlin'." - "Jothan used to send her'n her brothers over here to buy some pups to train for the guards," Arone explains, shaking his head at Jo's dramatics. "She'd play with them more than pick one to buy. I remember that much." Jo's giving a meaningful glare. They might hear her grumble, "I was," under her breath as he gestures for them to follow him. "Come on. Might have quite a bit for you to choose from so take your time. I've got some trainers from Nabol here lookin' at the other ones so I'll be mindin' over there." As he goes for the gate into the pen they're to be, the bluerider murmurs to Yesia, "Nice dimples," and will follow on towards the pens before the other could respond or maybe toss something at her. It's a little flirty, but not quite with the heat. « She has been, » Tacuseth admits on crying, his shadows thinning out a little while his rider is distracted. « She doesn', usually. She always says that she used to cry a lot more until she found me. That's a lot for a mask, yers, » but he's curious, certainly. « Jo is in...what she shows people than what she puts on. She has many faces. » "She's pretty much a heathen," Yesia confirms, preening. All those etiquette lessons and diplomatic expectations in weyrlinghood have paid off outside of the weyr, at least, and that's the important part, even if everyone inside must still suffer. "Well. You did figure me," she says of competition. "I guess you might be able to figure some of it out." Yesia laughs aloud for Arone's addendum, clasping her hands together just blow her chin with a barely suppressed glee. "You don't take the cute ones for guarding, anyways; you take them for pampering." She says it with much more gravity than is necessary, but not enough to undermine the look on her face, even when she converts it all into a little sneer at Jo for the compliment. She's happy and willing to be directed to puppies though. Aeaeth's definition of masks was so much more literal, and there is a twang as a guitar string snaps in realization and understanding. « Yesia does that, too, » not of the crying - the showing. « I wish she would be more careful, though; everyone has them. She can be mean, when they slip. Hurtful. » But, in case he's concerned, « I think she would be more careful with yours, since she's already seen her cry. » Carefully selected wording: not made her cry, even though it would be true. "She is her father's daughter," Arone seems to agree with Yesia readily on the heathen front, to which case Jo is staring hard at both of them as she grates out, "The 'heathen' is standin' right here'n can hear ya." The man laughs at that, nodding on pampering pups as suppose to guarding them as he answers them with a wry, "Lucky enough, they all could be trained. Some better'n others. Proper girl like you would probably pick'em better. The Jolie I knew always picked the ugliest ones, anyway. Good luck." He's gone as Jo lobs a "Hey!" in his direction, his laughter falling in their wake as he closes the gate behind him. Both dragonriders would now find themselves surrounded by canine pups of all sizes and colors, fighting and running and rolling around and sending them curious looks as some of the braver ones sniff around their feet. There's a long bench to the edge of the pen, but the bluerider looks about them at the pups first once she's done glaring at Arone's wake. « Nah, she wasn' cryin', » Tacuseth is casual and content in saying as he moves his head aboves Aeaeth's. « She was very sad, though. I dunno if yers has seen her cry yet. She cares more than she lets on. » He seems perfectly fine with spilling some of his rider's secrets with Aeaeth. « Jo should be careful, too, » he agrees on being mean and hurtful. « She can get 'scary'. She's makin' an effort not to be that way around yours, sweets. » Baby steps. Yesia's grin is utterly disarming for Jo as the bluerider glares, but she is more interested in the puppies now anyways, especially if it comes down to arguing with Jo, making fun of anyone, or baby dogs. "Thank you," she calls after Arone, and immediately steps forward a few curious steps before she crosses her legs at the ankle and folds down into a crosslegged sit on the ground like a collapsing accordion. "How many?" is for Jo, as the younger woman reaches out to hold her hand out and test the puppies bravery. If her eyes glaze briefly, and her return gaze after is a little melancholy, it's probably because all that cute actually causes her pain. « We haven't. We would rather not. » It is a consensus. « They're fine, though. » This is more private, shared like a secret behind all those pops of color and a pretty soprano songbird. « They are fine now, not even fighting. » With her uncle (real as he is this time) gone, Jo follows suit and drops down to sit near Yesia amongst all the puppies. She plucks one of the canine pups with a smooshed-up face from the group to hold to her chest with arm while doing so, answering the greenrider's question with, "Two. Just one would pro'bly leave the lil' thing dogged-tired with those lil' brats." There's no disdain in her tone though, and once she's grounded on the ground she's lifting her first-chosen pup up to examine his face. The one that ventures forward towards Yesia's hand is petite and orange-furred with a puffy little tail, giving her hand a curious sniff before deeming her okay to proceed forward on....to plant his dirty paws on her lap. Stealing a glance at her, "Don' believe anythin' he says," the convict rider tells her with a snort. "I wasn' scrawny nor did I pick any ugly pups. Must be gettin' memory lapses since I last saw him." Which must have been several turns, by the look he was giving her. Tacuseth blends his shadows in through all those pops of color, the songbird sound buoyed by the gentle desert winds playing through them as he sends, « They are, » he agrees, seeming openly pleased by this. « Mine took what she said to heart. She doesn't want to fight with her. Not if she can help it. » Then, since they're sharing secrets and all, there's the touch of amusement for « She still really likes her. » Nothing gets to put mud on Yesia, except... "You're adorable!" All it takes is one little orange-furred mongrel to melt the greenrider into a puddle of babytalking ridiculousness. She reaches out and pulls it into her lap, bundling it into a her lap and leaning over it gently in a hug. "I wish we could have puppies," she says at once, rubbing her face into his soft - if dirty - fur. "We live on ledges," she imparts, in case Jo doesn't know. "All it would take is one ball rolling too far, and then you'd be falling all over the place and it would be so scary and how would Aeaeth catch you you little ball of fluff?" It's easy to tell exactly where she digresses to talking to her chosen puppy, who wriggles and tries to nip her, playful. « Yesia thinks about it, sometimes. Liking yours. » Equally secret, Aeaeth notes, « It's in there. It's less about Jo, now. It's easier now, because I think she is attracted to our wingleader, too. Weyrleader? It is all very confusing. » The pup Jo has is squirming around in her arms before he starts licking what he can of her fingers. Hugging him close, she watches Yesia melt to the little orange-furred mongrel that tries to prance around on her lap. Maybe she won't notice the quiet chuckling from the bluerider's direction as she says, "Didn' know ya were into canines." Her own suddenly nips one of her fingers hard, to which she plucks him up by the neck to look at him before she coos, "Alright ya lil' scamp. There'll be none of that, eh?" He just looks at her with his big eyes of innocence. Setting him down for a slender brown furred one that was busy digging into the dirt with his paws, "Ya can have one, though," she tells Yesia, grinning her way. There's even something gentle in that grin, not lingering. "Just not in yer weyr. I bet Pracor or some of the lower caverns kids wouldn' mind mindin' one for ya." Dirty paws and all on her black leathers, she sets to wiggling her fingers over the brown pup as he tries to grab one. While doing so, "Ya ever had one growin' up in Crom?" she asks now, looking the redhead's way while Tacuseth gives Aeaeth a gentle nudge. « Yours has nothing to fear from her, » he sends, his shadows taking on a more brilliant shade of blue. « Less about Jo. Girls? Yours is not upset by them? » It's a concept a male dragon like himself is trying to comprehend like she is. « Wingleader. Weyrleader. Corobith's? » Because the dragon matters more, it seems. "I had a brother. And every turnday, I would ask if we could trade him for a puppy. And every year, we couldn't." Yesia is still exasperated by this, sighing and taking a pause to kiss the top of her puppy's head loudly. It goes a little cross-eyed trying to look at her while she does, but soon enough is released to pounce on its nearest littermate. "Isn't half the point to have a furball keep your feet warm, though? I'd just be giving them a puppy I get to see barely." Far away, Aeaeth does not like this line of conversation, and she complains immediately, « I can't even go in the weyr. She cannot have a puppy. She can find us another weyr first. » And that is that. « Corobith's, » confirmed, after a thinking stretch and a flash of a different blue, for confirmation. "Had," Jo echoes that word with a curious glance going towards Yesia while her brown pup chases after her moving (and wiggling) fingers. Still, the rest of that gets an amused snort and a, "That hardly works. I've tried that on my oldest a few times. I was tradin' everythin' but my life to get him outta Keogh. Pro'bly still has that stick up his ass even now. Canines're good to have around, though. I got to train'em growin' up for some of the guards. Even thought 'bout makin' career outta it, out here with my uncle. Before." The brown pup leaps between them as her fingers wiggle close, grinning at his antics before she scoops him up. "They do keep ya feet warm," she agrees, "but my father never let us have'em to play with. All the pups we got were meant to be trained for trackin'. Huntin'. All I could do was give'em these cute names that they stuck to. Like this one," and she lifts the brown pup towards her chest, "I could name him Paws since he likes to play a lot." Of course, Tacuseth is amused by the pups. « What else does she like? » he wonders to Aeaeth, which could also be interchanged with 'who'. « That she wouldn' admit? Have ya been looking at weyrs? Bigger ones? » He takes that blue flashed and plays with it, the color muddying to different shades closer to grey as he sends back, « We don' know them well. We know of them cuz of Tsanth's, » and there's a unique shade of bronze placed over Corobith's muted hue. "Have," amends Yesia. "But he's stupid and I'm not really... there, and he's not here. It's all past now, I think. Paws. Or Scamp." She is watching the brown puppy with a little smile, and when another orange one comes around, with more white than the others and an interest in what might be in her pockets, Yesia snorts to turn her attention. "I don't need one to guard anything, though. She would just be there to pet and cuddle and teach tricks. Ow, you little..." She shakes the orange puppy who has bit her off her hand, bopping him on the nose with a finger. "No." Aeaeth is the worst at secrets. « She thinks Akluseth's is alright. And she is jealous of Roszadyth's even though I don't know why. She is happier now, we're not weyrlings, but I think she misses it a little, and I know she doesn't hate it here like she says. » Then again, she's been much less vocal about it lately anyways. Maybe these aren't secrets at all. « No. Not yet. Maybe never. It really is just the ledge that is strange. » "Thought ya visited them some," Jo says as she looks her brown pup over more favorably. "Yer family. I...don'. Haven' long before Tacuseth, 'til lately. I see one of my brothers sometimes. Jolan. Pro'bly the nicest one outta all of us. Scamp." She lifts the tough pup by the scruff of the neck, peering into his eyes for a moment before a slow nod is given. "Hmm. I can see Scamp bein' it. Scamp the Proud. Scamp of the Brown Fur. Scrappy Scamp?" The names might get worse, and she laughs at the bop given to the puppy for the bite. "We should pro'bly get one that doesn' seem to bite as much," she muses to that, stealing a glance towards the greenrider as 'Scamp' crawls up Jo's front to place his dirty paws on her left shoulder so that he could look behind her. As for Tacuseth, he sends in response, « She likes Reisoth's and....Leiventh's. » It's like a small hiccup, that pause, but the blue seems to continue on as if it wasn't. « Akluseth's and Ilicaeth's. » A bigger pause than the first. « Niahvth's, » he concludes, though it's evident that he's not so pleased by this one. « She doesn' let anyone get too close, » he admits to the green - since what else are dragons to do but gossip about their riders? « But few do. Leiventh's. Ilicaeth's. Yours. Inviting yours here.... » A step. Secrets. As for that poor ledge, he sends her an image of a big sponge-thing that's pinkish, landing on the problematic ledge and soaking up the puddle before it flops over the edge. « That's okay, sweets, » he sends to her. « Ya can always hang on mine. » "Not so much, anymore. They don't understand," dragonriding is implied, or maybe the changes it's brought in their daughter and sister, which are many and varied. "I miss them, but now when I think of going home, it's my weyr, with Aeaeth. I'm not sure I fit in Crom, anymore." And Scamp gets a critical look, then a logical turn: "Well, that means we're taking Scamp with us. He's proud and scrappy and has not bitten us once." All this, while Yesia is pushing the orange puppy to go terrorize someone else, and taking his little teeth with him. "Why do you care so much about Greenfields? Enough to buy them puppies. Did your wingleader ask you to?" Aeaeth listens to the names carefully, with the airs of one who will try to remember them because it's important...but she'll forget. Tacuseth, already, is an odd exception to her green memory, and like as not it has to do with how much or little Jo crosses Yesia's mind. « We try, now. Yesia has made friends in our wing, now that we're there. It's easier, when nobody knows how mean we were. » We, as if Aeaeth was ever deliberately cruel; as if she has the capacity for the careful planning that saw some people destroyed with a few words. « All winter, you'd let me? » she asks, around tinkling laughter for the sponge that is not, as such, a real thing. When Yesia speaks, Jo listens as she holds Scamp to herself, the gesture probably at odds with all the black leather and her usual demeanor. "Guess they can't relate to what yer goin' through," she says to family, shaking her head. "Some end up regardin' the Weyr as home. Or their wing." There's quiet now, the bluerider watching her with the pup before she says, "Yer different." It's an assessment, a soft one, and when Yesia speaks on Scamp, there's a firm nod and a firm, "Right. I think he'll do well. What 'bout that white one over there?" gesturing further ahead of them in the pen. The question on Greenfields gets a pause from her as she shifts on the ground to contain a squirming canine pup in her clutches, the woman dipping her head towards his warm hide briefly before answering with, "Gotta history with Greenfields, darlin'. When I was down'n out, they took me in for awhile. They take in lots of folks like that'n I'm grateful. I had no food, no marks. Couldn' go back home with my tail between m'legs, but, I guess that's pride talkin'," and there's a grin for that when she looks Yesia's way. "I didn' wanna be anyone's burden anymore. Those kids're lot like me, so, I look in on them sometimes. Most of 'em don' even have a family to hate or forget about." Perhaps she feels like she's getting too sentimental, for there's a shrug as she looks back to Scamp. « Have ya talked to Cissoth? » Tacuseth is asking, sending an image of the brown's rider: Canie. « They're a good sort. In your wing. This is good, making' friends. Jo says your wing is like another family. » That he's pleased in their progress is evident, even though there's a twitching of his shadows to negate her opinion on how mean they were. As for her coming on his ledge all winter, « Gotta spot already picked out for ya towards the sun, sweets, » is his answer, the desert wings he sends warming against the Crom chill. "What do you mean?" Yesia asks, and there her guard is - like she forgot it, or it was on a delayed timer. Being different, however soft, seems to have triggered it. "I'm not different." This, even as she reaches out to make kissing sounds at the little white one in order to draw it closer. It comes, clumsily, but her kissing gets several others too, who climb over one another to get to her. The white one, in the fray, winds up last in the running. Even so, she listens about Greenfields while she tries to wrangle them. "That's nice of you," she concludes, sounding notably surprised. "If they're so nice, I wonder why they stabbed K'del, though." « Cissoth. Cissoth....Cisss....oth. » Aeaeth is contemplative, trying to determine who they're talking about, and her flashes of colors are unclear. Green, green, green, blue, green, brown, brown, green.... « No, » she concludes, though it can't possibly be true if they're in the same wing; more likely, Yesia's dismissed the pair in question without committing them to memory. « I don't think I have. Yesia doesn't think so. » There is nothing but warmth for the idea of sunlight in the winter, so long as she's not in stagnant water for it -- and a little shudder of delight. "It's not a bad thing, baby," Jo tells her, looking Yesia over as she can feel that guard coming. Pausing as if choosing her words, "Seems like, lettin' things in a bit. Before ya wanted to leave. Before ya wanted to go back to Crom. 'N, ya seem....happier." She watches her entice the white pup as the other crawl up to her, and she holds Scamp closer as he starts playing in her hair. On Greenfields, there's a slight snort from her as she shifts the pup to her lap. "I care 'bout things. Folks," gets remarked to the surprise she hears in Yesia's voice. "Just cuz I'm horny'n scary half the time don' mean that I don' care." Pause. "A lot of problems goin' on over there," she says that hollowly, stealing a brief look her way. "When some folks ain' happy, they make a fuss. Doubt it was even K'del they were really aimin' for. The Weyr ain' involved in Hold business. Everyone has their agenda." Tacuseth is easy in sending Aeaeth's Cissoth's particular shade of brown along with a visual of Canie. « She's around, » he sends as the visuals dissipate. « Give'em a chat sometime. Cissoth likes to make up games for us to play. » That warmth is intensified when the green shudders, and the blue's bulk is firmly against her even more as he watches the sky. On that, Yesia is simply quiet - or as quiet as one can be while wrangling three puppies at once, while a fourth chases the tail of the one clambering into her lap. Too much kissing. A black and grey one ends up tucked under an elbow, squeaking his objection. "Not you," she scolds him, his fate sealed or being a wriggling, bitey mess. Though maybe that's actually for Jo's explanation instead. It is easily interchanged. "K'del is who they got, though. Shouldn't be stabbing anyone. I never did, and I was miserable." There's at least some answer to her happiness, if not an expansive one, so all that's left to add is, "It's not that I don't get homesick all the time. It's just that I can't go back. Not for long. And Aeaeth loves the Reaches. She's looking forward to winter." The wretch. Colors are filed summarily, and with ease. She remembers those, and with a certainty notes, « We will find them. If they are part of our new family, that is. » She seems to have her doubts. Easily interchanged, and Jo might be off her game right now, but she doesn't seem fazed by it. Grinning and shaking her head as she wrangles Scamp on her lap, "Maybe he's just lookin' for a lil' lovin'," she teases Yesia on the wriggling, biting pup. Maybe the words are meant beyond him, too. There's maybe a little bit of heat like the old Jo, but it's even for the most part. She nods toward one that's black and brown furred as she says on stabbings, "That's cuz yer a good person. Ya don' think 'bout that sort of thing. It's good yer in touch with yer folks though. Winter, huh? What's so good 'bout the winter? Besides the obvious, I don' like freezin' my ass off. No wonder she gets along with Tacuseth." Tacuseth, who is at ease himself. He sees the colors and tucks in Cissoth's as he sends towards the doubt he detects, « Yers would like Cissoth's. She likes to do the same things yers do. She really tries to fix Jo's hair, but she won' let her. » Commonality. « Tried to put her in a dress, too. She keeps tryin'. I think it's funny that she doesn't give up. » Yesia's sneer at Jo lacks any seriousness. It's quick and reactionary, an ambiguous habit. "Well, then he shouldn't bite the hands that might feed him," she retorts archly, reaching for the brown and black one, but only so she can pair the two she's got off and they can roll away growling playfully into the mud. Only then can she get her target: the white one, who has demurely lain down against her leg and seems frankly overjoyed to no longer be stomped by her peers. "Gentle," Yesia says of her after a few moments stroking through her soft fur. "Like a proper lady." Demonstrably, she picks the white dog up and holds it out to Jo, where her fluffy tail wags back and forth and her tongue lolls, perfectly complacent in her handling. "Snowmen, and snow dragons, and ice skating," Yesia ticks off, pulling the puppy back. "We used to spend lots of time near the lake in the snow. When we didn't want to be in the barracks." « Jo's hair is a travesty, » Aeaeth points out helpfully, with the same tone her rider would use. « It wouldn't hurt to do something with it. Just one ribbon, Tacuseth. Just one blouse. All that leather, how does she even... » It's the sneer that draws a wider smile and a warmer chuckle from Jo as she watches the pups at play around Yesia. "Perhaps," she drawls, the word lingering longer than it should as she rolls Scamp on his belly, "he could be taught how not to be so rough with those he wants to feed'em." Another stolen glance given to her before it transfers to the white-furred pup. When the pup is offered, "If that's yer choice, give her a name'n take her to the kids with me. Scamp's enough of a handful." It's probably to spend more time with her, too, since she's already getting to her feet with her chosen. Brushing off the dirt on her leathers with one hand, "I've never ice skated," she admits while doing so. "I'm pretty sure walkin' on ice is dangerous." « She likes it like that, » is Tacuseth's comment on his lady's hair. « She straightens it out sometimes. She says it naturally gets that way when I ask her. » Yeah, right. Even on her choice of clothes, « She says that it protects her skin, like our hides, » is likely another one of Jo's 'reasons'. « She has other stuff to wear, but.... Cissoth's calls it a 'make-over'. » He's not sure, really. Girl stuff. "Perhaps," allows the greenrider at length, echoing it with the same lingering drawl, a fair mimicry by all estimations. "Princess. Snowflake. Snowball." They're names she's trying, looking in the puppy's blue eyes like they might light for the right name. "Snowdrift," she tries, then laughs, tucking the puppy closer and continuing with a certain ease to list off names as she follows Jo's lead. "Lady. Queenie...." Certainly she'll have it named by the time they move on, even if she'll continue to annoy Jo with name after name until something sticks. She does take a moment to interject, about ice, "That's why you don't walk on it, stupid. You skate. Ice. Icy? No." Aeaeth snorts dismissively. « It's just because she doesn't know better, Tacuseth. You know who's great at makeovers? » Meaningful pause. « Yesia. I bet she and Canie could do the best things. » "Lackin' the pizzaz I have," Jo scores the echo with a look, "but extra points for makin' it a touche moment." And each name gets a snort from her as she leads the way carefully out of the pen without stepping on any canine pups, every now and then tossing in a name of her own like 'Deathtrap' and 'Scab' and 'Pastry' (and even 'Pasty' right after it). Arone meets them outside the pens, and he looks them over with a nod of approval and a, "Don't worry 'bout the cost," he waves away what he sees Jo struggling to pull out one-handed. "Come back for dinner. That's all I'll ask for a price. Somethin' tells me the cost'll be worth it." It's obvious Jo wants to protest it, but in the end she reluctantly nods and says, "Tonight." To Yesia for her last, "I don' skate. Seems worse than walkin' to me." Tacuseth seems to consider this, his amusement nearly tangible at it. « Better hope you a plan a good trap where she can't run, » he sends easily. « Last time she got cornered with somethin' called 'nail polish' near the kitchen. I don' remember her ever running so fast. » "She looks nothing like a Deathtrap," Yesia protests, indignant. "I thought you wanted to learn how to not be so rough, even if it's just around the edges." And so their metaphors marry, with Yesia looking down at her white puppy again and trying more names, quieter while Jo talks to her uncle. It's only appropriate she goes through all the names of the wings, since she's tried one: "Iceberg. Taiga. Alpine. Flurry. Icicle. Glacier." It barely matters. Whitey is staring delightedly around, and then burrowing her face into Yesia's jacket for warmth. She knows what's up, even if Yesia only checks into the conversation late enough to catch tonight, without the context. That'll be for later. For now: "You're no fun at all." Aeaeth knows the best trap, as it were, and when she stretches out it's tantalizing, with a delicate curve to her neck. « I bet we could come up with something, to keep her, » the green says, sounding delightfully suggestive. In moments like this, it's hard to tell who influences whom in this pair. The images she sends must be plucked from somewhere -- but they're definitely suggestive, at least for their riders. « Yesia says, sometimes promises are better used as promises. » And, in fairness, « Nail polish smells horrible. Maybe that was it. » To that protest, Jo lifts a hand to ward off Yesia's protests as she says, "Fine, but I dunno what ya got against the name Deathtrap. It would've been a fine name in Keogh. There's a sentimentality to it. No Deathtrap. Teach me." The heat this time is unmistakeable in those last two words - a wild Jo cannot be completely tamed after all. Arone has her attention then as he grunts to her acquiesce for her coming to dinner. "Mel and Maron'll be there. They'll be glad to see ya. Bring your friend if ya want," nodding respectfully towards Yesia. Yesia's last from the convict rider, "'Less we have plans." That is for the greenrider, and the tease is lightly there as if she already knows the answer. Oh, that green neck. Tacuseth flips through those suggestive images, and it's the crowds of a arena that sends his laughter. « Cissoth's definitely wasn' offerin' that, » he seems to pick up a particular image, sharpened. « If anyone could convince her, though, it'd be yours. Yesia. » The way it's said, it's as if he's really trying to commit it to memory. « This makeover sounds interestin', » he sends now. He's all for it, of course. "Don't get cocky," Yesia undertones. She'd cross her arms if there weren't already a puppy bundled in them, but there is a very respectul nod for Arone, one of her sweet-as-pie smiles that eventually stopped working in the weyr, when her reputation got the better of her. "Thank you. I'll make sure she has time to show up." Take that, Jo. But then she's unzipping her jacket to bundle the puppy inside, again with very little protest; it's warm inside, after all, and even short trips can get chilly. « Makeovers, » Aeaeth says pointedly, « are...um, » fishing, searching for it, « a bread and butter, if you're any sort of girl. That's what Yesia says. At the very least, it would be fun. » Or, possibly, just funny. Hard to tell. « She is going to do Akluseth's too, one day, » and that might sweeten the pot, but, moreover it seems everyone is getting ready to leave. Aeaeth is reluctant in her rising, even so. "Uh-huh," is the only comeback Jo has for Yesia's, that smile a touch knowing - well, it was there until Yesia confirms that she will be at that dinner. With Arone there, the fake smile is plastered prominently as she says to the greenrider, "Thank ya so much." It's even monotoned. "Good," Arone states, looking between the two of them with a frown. "Make sure your dragon doesn' park too close to the pens or we'll be up all night. Be careful with them." He nods towards the pups as he steps away, just in time to have one of the many hands working for him run up to him with the next order of business. "Come on," Jo nods Yesia along, back towards their dragons as she follows suit in bundling up Scamp within her jacket. « Do I need one of those? » Tacuseth asks of makeovers - because dragons must need them too, right? The idea seems to have him curious about it. And since they're leaving, he reluctantly straightens up in preparation as he sends her, « Soon, sweets. I'll follow yer lead. » But for now, there's Greenfields. If Yesia looks any more smug, she'll explode with it. As it is, she curbs some of it by scritching the top of the soft white head poking out of her jacket, and gives Jo the most triumphant smile of the day. "Your uncle is very nice," she says carefully, trying not to laugh aloud at the promise made. "Maybe I can get one later," a puppy, not an uncle. Equally smug in her task, Aeaeth spreads her wings and glides to a safe landing a distance away, as requested and relayed, to wait. « You, » she imparts, sweetly, « are perfect, Tacuseth. Except maybe your straps. » But then she's attentive, less to Yesia and more to that silly white thing in her jacket. « I don't get it, » she grumbles, not unkindly, as she waits to follow for Greenfields. Yeah, Jo eyes that smug look like it owes her some marks. Tasked with keeping Scamp from slipping down her jacket as she murmurs on her uncle, "Someone has to be, in my family." More to Yesia now, "Yer a minx. Ya should get one." With Arone off on his way, she leads them off on theirs back towards their dragons for their next stop. Really, Tacuseth seems to bask in Aeaeth's sweetness. A dragon - even a male one - likes compliments. « I'll convince her, » he sends, though it's probably really needle her like he did that pink linen he had her give up. As the ladies mount, « Yeah. They're not even food. » He understands in the simplest forms as he spreads his wings and head for the sky.
"Glad you came back," Arone steps out of the shadows of his hut, chewing on a piece of hay as he watches her approach him. "Just wanted to see ya again for dinner before I head back, uncle." They turn together, flanking each other to watch the pen-hands running around with the canines in companionable silence. It's during this that Arone says, "Thought you were dead, you know." Jo doesn't look his way. "I know," she says. "As in, in the mines," he clarifies, because he should. "Up 'til you vanished into thin air." Pause. "I know, uncle." Long pause. "Don't you ever make me think that again. Jolie." That makes Jo look at him, and she finds Arone's hard stare already on her. "Unc-" "Don't you 'uncle' me," Arone cuts her off, turning to address the convict rider fully. "You know why I'm pissed off. Wasn't about to say all this in front of your lovely friend earlier. You knew where I was. If you were in trouble, you should've came to me. You should've-" "And had'ja add one more mouth to feed?" There's a cold laugh to that before Jo thrusts a hand out towards the pens. "This place was doin' shit back in those days! Ya barely had any marks comin' through this place! 'N what, huh? Ya'd send me back to him?" "Aye, I would've," Arone won't even lie about that, breathing heavily. "Out here ain't no place for a girl on her own. Even a crafty lil' scrawny shit like you." "So yer just like Jothan, yer sayin'?" It's more of a statement than a question, Jo already close to shouting him down. "Ya'd have married me off like some chained-up runner-" "Aye, and I would've talked him down, Jolie! If ya would've just given me more time with him instead of runnin' off-" "Ya've been away from yer brother, out here for far too long, uncle," and there's a bitter chuckle for Arone by Jo. "He doesn' cave. He believes he's right. He believes he's always fuckin' right!" "Oh, aye, and I wonder where you get that from, huh?" Arone tosses right back, undaunted by her as he puffs himself up. "Being always right. You're just like him. You're both too stubborn and foolish to even see it." Something gets Jo to clamp her mouth shut on the next set of words, turning to look back over the pens with her fingers digging into the post. The silence lengthens between them and Arone slowly turns back to watch the hands at work before he mentions, quietly, "You won't even ask about him." Not a question. Silence. "I ran into Jolan 'bout several months back," Jo answers stubbornly, her chin lifting as she refuses to look his way. "He says Jothan's fine. He leans heavily on his cane more, turn after turn." Happy? Frowning, "That's not what I said," Arone alerts in disapproval and he stares hard at her. Jo looks exasperated when she finally looks his way again, and says, "Did he even ask 'bout me when I was locked up?" "You know what?" and Arone rounds up on her, looking proud and indignant for a mere canine trainer. "I'm gonna tell you what you should've been told before you ran off with that boy. I may not have been around, but I've heard enough of what was going on in that Hold. Jolie, you're a selfish bitch." He lets that sink in, glaring down the furious shock on her face. "At least your father owns what he is. When things got tough and your mother got out, he stayed. He made sure Keogh took care of you all. What did you do when things got too tough, huh?" Arone's words stung and it was visible on Jo's face for a moment before she regains her composure. She turns and starts heading back towards Tacuseth, shucking over her shoulder, "I ain' stayin' for dinner. Tell Mel'n Maron I'm sorry." "Yeah, go on," Arone calls after her retreating back. "Run like you always do. Good to see some things haven' changed after all." When she gets far enough away and still in speaking distance, "He asked 'bout you," he adds, the words lower. Sober from his temper. "Guess that don' matter now, does it?" That gets Jo to stop, and her head turns to the side as if to see him in the dim light. "If I stay," the convict rider tells him, her voice guarded, "I will punch ya in the face." Then she's out of there before she could hear another word from him. |
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