Lake Shore, Fort Weyr
The lake's shore is a broad crescent of golden-hued sand, stretching from the southwest wall near the feeding grounds and around to the southeast where the sand gives way to soil and leaf detritus from a cluster of hardy mountain trees. Where the lake deepens, clear blue water darkens to murky teal, hiding stony depths. Dragons often sun here and riders use the lake for dragonwashing in the warmer seasons, while all of the Weyr's denizens may enjoy walks and picnics among the large, smooth boulders that interrupt the smooth flow of sand. Many of the Weyr's children also play at skipping stones with the wide variety of rocks available along the water's edge.
« Laaaaaurienth... » Arekoth, letting his voice project those deep, almost honeyed tones that they can manage (when he's minded to try), that resonate right at the back of the brain. No overt aura or colours from him today, not yet. The dragon is still airborne, broad wings stretched out over the foreign Weyr as he circles, picks his place. Calls, « Laurienth, » again. « We'll run out of light, soon. Pity. This whiskey's got such a nice colour to it. And there's such nice boulders here, for them to sit on. » A flash of his reflection on the lake's surface as he choses a place to land.
Those who are treated to the sight of the shadowy green barrelling out of her weyr like an overexcited canine risk their personal safety by stopping to stare, for Laurienth doesn't care whether they're in her way or not - she's got somewhere to be. Another bound, and another, then she's launching herself skywards, too wound up to realise that, « Arekooooooth! » is, in-fact, landing. If she could fly loops around him, she would, but she settles for circling over him instead. From the mouth of that same weyr, Ebeny emerges, shielding her eyes from the glare of the already sinking sun, and towards the shore of the lake she begins to trudge, shrugging into a too-big, battered leather jacket as she goes.
Well that was prompt. Certainly, H'kon's observation to Arekoth is something along those lines, his eyes widening, and the task of freeing himself from those straps suddenly quite hurried. Arekoth is all too ready to ride the wave of the green's excitement, and a little, half-hop risks upsetting H'kon's own landing as the brownrider evacuates. Boots hit the ground, and he ducks to avoid sweeping wings, tucking the bottle in hand up against belly for protection. « Hiding! » would sound more chiding without the flare of yellow as he makes right for the centre of the circles the green is describing. H'kon stays crouched even once his dragon is clear; crouched, and watching for that woman, without much thinking if others at the lake might think oddly of him. Perhaps he's grown past that.
« Never! » Laurienth claims with a twang of strings, waiting for Arekoth to find the centre of those circles. Once he does, she completes another circuit, then abruptly aims for the height of the bowl walls and the skies beyond. « Up, up, up! » She probably could simply fling herself in that direction, yet she waits, just enough, to make sure that they can keep company. Otherwise, why bother? From the dirt of the bowl floor to the finer sand of the lake shore, Ben keeps on going until she reaches the crouched figure of H'kon and can smile down at him, then sidestep to settle on the nearest, flattest boulder to offer a place to perch. "Long time," she murmurs, her gaze on him, rather than where she steps to seat herself.
Just enough really isn't all that long. « And away! » Arekoth finishes for the green, propelling himself through the air, higher, higher, and only once he's cleared the rim, tucking for a quick spin before resuming his climb. He trusts they won't be separated, by instinct rather than memory. Besides, tricks are fun. H'kon offers a smile back up, a bit drawn and crooked, as most of his are. He straightens only as Ebeny goes to seat herself, that he might follow. "It has been," has a note of regret, if not apology. The bottle, unopened yet, is offered her way. "Koth has the glasses." An upward squint, toward the dwindling draconic forms. "Of course." And he takes a part of that flat boulder for his own.
"Of course," Ben echoes, not without a ripple of unsurprised amusement, angling a long look of her own towards those winged shadows in the sky. She accepts the bottle and cradles it carefully, enough study given the bottle to favour it with a thoughtful kind of distant stare. "Well, I promise not to sneeze into it. How's that?" It would be deadpan, were it not for the hint of a silly smile playing about her lips. Another look towards their dragons in the sky. "You might have some priceless shards of glass in not so long." And then she goes to crack the bottle open and offer it back. "How are you?"
"I got over Arekoth breaking the things I'd packed long ago," H'kon intones most solemnly, though the corners of his eyes crease, hinted amusement. He accepts the bottle back, lifting it to his nose (though not for the sake of sneezing), and allowing a moment's contemplation. "It might have been better from glasses. You'll need keep the remainder and drink it properly." Then, bottle meets lips, and as he hands it back over, the man gives a content enough sort of nod. "Older. There are those of us who do indeed change." It's more a nod toward the dragons racing about the sky than a look.
"I guess I should say the same of Laurienth breaking herself." Ebeny accepts the bottle back and takes a drink, that first mouthful prompting a screwing up of her features as the burn settles in and down to a warm hum. She props the whiskey against her thigh, sat between them where they might both reach the bottle, and curls loose fingers at its base to keep glassware from tumbling away and spilling out onto the sand. "Am I not to send you looping home, blind drunk?" It's not really a question, tease delivered little above a murmur. "Older," she agrees readily enough. "Wiser? As the saying goes."
H'kon makes some sort of chuffing sound in his throat, what for others would be an easy laugh. "Knowing less than ever before, perhaps. That is the sensation. Though I've come to suspect that the two really are one in the same." He turns his head to Ebeny, now, and gives her a proper study, one that ends with a sigh. "And you? Do things move so quickly in your life as mine?" A neat contrast to Arekoth diving down to skim the rim at top speeds, mind tugging at his companion.
"I promise I won't tell anyone that you're knowing less," Ben solemnly declares. "Unless you ever get lost somewhere. Then, I might have to." A moment's silence, then she lifts the bottle and offers it towards him. "Why less?" It's a gentle, careful enquiry. She hunches over a bit, as though she might wrap one arm around her knees, but straightens almost as soon as she starts to curl up. A deep breath, as she squares her shoulders, before she says, "I think I prefer quickly right now. It looks like both of my youngest will live; I can start to hope for that. Maybe believe it once the turn passes." It's honest, if paired with a half-grimace, half-smile. It doesn't stop Laurienth from tearing after Arekoth, that bit too reckless in how she throws herself too close to rock.
"They might not believe you, at any rate. I endeavour to act quite knowingly." Another drawn pull of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "It's... a matter of complexity, I think. Arekoth and I had become quite practiced at it being just us, as wingriders." It's an afterthought that brings, "Though you'd not know we'd gone beyond that, to ask him." Then comes the apologetic wince, with the need to ask, "Your youngest?"
"Is he... happy with it?" Though, from how she glances at him rather than the brown and green in the sky, that question might not be so much about Arekoth. "Or is it a point of contention?" Ben doesn't miss that wince, nor its apologetic quality, and she's quick to reach out with the intent of brushing gentle fingers against his closest knee, as if she could soothe away the need for any apology. "I've lived under a rock or in my weyr for half a turn," she jokes. "I forget who knows of them and who doesn't, if I'm honest. Girls: Eden and Eryn. Small still, but not so small."
H'kon chuffs and nods, first, with little elaboration. Ebeny's news, however, gets a more careful incliniation of his head. "Ah. Good, then, that they are doing... better." It has the uncertainty behind it of assumption, but is sincere nonetheless. He shifts a bit on the rock, and reaches for the bottle, not to take it, but rather to push at it a bit, more into those fingers that steady it, invitation. Still cautious, he even offers in return, "Arekoth quite likes the chaotic factor that comes with the children. The hero worship, also." Elaboration at last, albeit of a H'kon degree. "And the rest."
It doesn't take so much encouragement for Ben to take another drink from the bottle, though she's more careful in steadying its weight this time. She doesn't wince this time around, but makes a quiet, pleased note in the back of her throat before offering the bottle over again, her lift of brows all but saying 'keep up'. "They've that in common then." A nod towards the skies. If she's surprised by any of what he shares, she's not letting on, yet there is a certain content affection to be found in the steady gaze of muddy-green eyes. "Who?" she asks, voice soft. She's not pressed that far before.
H'kon does not need to have it suggested all too loudly to take another drink, either. The bottle lifts, drops, and flavours and vapours are allowed their time to work over his palate. "Our Weyrhealer." He presses his lips into a line, and slowly settles the bottle fully back in place, this time taking on the task himself of keeping it from tipping. Eyes are up again to catch whatever game carries on in the sky. "The children are not by me. Two she had already, ten, five. The third has only come in the past months, already over a turn." A vague nod to go with the vague description, though after a moment, he allows, "I suspect she's been stealing my socks," with a warmth that can't solely be blamed on the alcohol.
Ben blinks, but then easily supplies, "Madilla." So, she knows that much of her old home. For a moment, she seems conflicted, yet not in an entirely bad way, a frown that's barely a frown at all there and gone. Perhaps she's trying to do some mathematics there about that last child and fails to come up with any sort of answer that works without further questioning. If that's the case, that line of questioning is not pursued, for now, and instead she leans to gently nudge her shoulder against his. "Well, someone should. Be glad that it's socks. And be glad that it's your socks. Untold affection there."
"Mm," confirms the name. The brownrider offers another of those tight smiles for the bump of shoulders, nods, thoughtfully. Above, Arekoth has taken to a glide, scoping out the Weyr he knows but doesn't, and no doubt regaling Laurienth with tales of how he's put either the wingriders now under his command, or those weyrlings who think they can match him, through their paces. So much to glorify the impressiveness that is Arekoth. "I wonder if you didn't have the right of it, sometimes," H'kon muses further. "Throwing yourself into all this straight from graduation. Wisdom there also, perhaps." An eyebrow lifts.
Laurienth has only... weyrlings. Distant, stolen memories of weyrlings and the dawn of those soon to arrive, who are, after all, fun. She swoops above, across familiar skies, a shadow in the wrong place, casting a shadow down onto brown hide. When the ones that are only ideas yet are old enough, Arekoth will have to visit and show off to them too. As for Ben? She quirks an odd, funny little grin. "Less wisdom, more throwing," she declares, and not a hint of regret to go with it. Then? Then she reaches for the bottle.
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