Who Lhiannon, Orrion
What Hana travels to Monaco on late-night business; Orrion hitchhikes for sand. Neither expects to run into a hatching.
Takes place just before the hatching of Kiyaszaeth's and Elsvruth's eggs.
When Winter (Southern Hemisphere), 2726
Where Main Clearing, Monaco Bay Weyr

 

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Monaco Bay Weyr - Main Clearing
The main clearing of Monaco Bay Weyr is immense, a sprawling space carved out from the verdant jungle that is constantly threatening to encroach from the north and east. There are a few pathways paved with dark stone; otherwise, the ground is full of dust — or worse, mud, during the rainy season — due to the constant churn from dragons taking off and landing. The trees tend to be enormous affairs, sweeping the skies far above the heads of any dragons, with trunks bigger than a dragonlength around. Shaded by the surrounding foliage is the single feature that makes this area suitable for habitation: a series of large bubble caverns provide permanence and shelter for the inhabitants of this tropical Weyr.


"You did once say it would be nice to have someone take you to collect exotic materials, " is Hana's out-of-the-blue, late night greeting after Orrion's familiar frame is espied in the bowl while she's crossing it to meet Fjainoith with a tube suitable for document transport carefully held against her chest. The pair's destination? Monaco Bay, which she shares with lifted eyebrows in interest, providing other relevant details as she mounts and secures her cargo such as when they're leaving (it's an unusual timetable, to be sure, but she volunteered for the shift; there's enough time to dash back to quarters for a jacket which she recommends for 'the chill at high altitudes' even if winter in the south is hardly anything like a winter in Fort) and how long her delivery should take (not very, which frees up time for her glass-obsessed friend to look around afterward if he would like to tag along for a brief trip — assuming his schedule allows and if he isn't too tired for a little jaunt). This time, she's easily able to give him a hand up if it's needed and they're soon aloft once safely astride, the caldera shrinking below them until they're high enough for the greenrider to warn him, "Here we go." A breath later, they're suspended between; three breaths later, they emerge into what passes for a southern winter night, spiraling down into environs so unlike the ones they left. "Comfortable, isn't it?" the harper says with satisfaction of the temperature as they descend, half-turning to check on her friend as the trees grow taller and the ground, closer.

Her friend is red-faced and coughing, more of a splutter really, as he clutches for one of her shoulders; even the press of his knees on Fjainoith's neck is shaky, heels completely neglecting to tuck in. It shouldn't take a harper to translate those garbled expletives.

That half-turn becomes as full of a one as Hana's present position allows while Fjainoith glides ever-lower, landing them with a minimal thump as her feet touch then settle on the ground. "Ori?" It's almost a reflex, really; a hand reaches up to cover the one that contacts her shoulder, blue eyes wide with concern while she hastily unfastens her portion of the straps to free more space for motion. Swinging around so that she's more-or-less in a side-saddle posture, it's easier this way to cautiously scoot closer to him with what's hopefully a reassuring pat to his hand while her free one tugs her riding goggles up and off. "Is it always this jarring for you?" There's no judgment, here, but part-worry, part-curiosity. (Now that they're settled, her nose twitches briefly, followed a cautious throat-clearing. The air is somehow thicker than her last visit.)

If the noises are any indication, Orrion manages to survive all the way down to the ground; eventually — maybe it's that pat — he tilts his head to her, eyes watering, and manages to reply… if only, "What? That? 'Jarring'?"

"You — " The greenrider pauses, assesses Orrion's expression more closely. "You've never gone between before, " she guesses with a furrowing frown that draws her brows briefly inward, teeth catching briefly at her lower lip in an old, nervous habit before it's released. "Not even - once?" That note of worry spreads to turn her expression contrite, all Hana in a way that isn't always so, these days (but more-often-than-not so, for him). A breath, then: "Are you alright?" Beneath them, Fjainoith moves to a sitting position more slowly than she usually might, likely in answer to a silent request.

"No. No-o." Orrion thumps at his sternum, twice with his fist, then with the heel of his hand. "Like I swallowed something funny," with a couple more thunks for good measure. "Expect I am." But, of the few times they have flown together, this is the first time he unbuckles and (tiredly, still awkwardly, with the help of a flashlight to augment the hazy stars) clambers down without a cue.

As long as he isn't expectorating or expecting to need a new pair of pants. Hana lets her hand fall as he moves to undo his own restraints, watching carefully until he's solidly on the ground before she secures her riding helmet, unties the document-holder and (more nimbly) drops down to join him. "I've heard they have some really beautiful, relaxing places, " she says casually while shedding her gloves, "regardless of the hour one views them in. I have to drop this, " a tap for the sealed tube under her arm, "off to someone waiting in their caverns, but if you feel up to explore a little, " or need to catch his breath, "we could meet back here in about a half-hour, unless you wanted to see the inside first." A hand runs quickly over her hair, smoothing out any bumps that may have arisen from helmet-wear.

No sign (no smell) of that. She is casual; he can be casual too. "Let's… talk about how to do that right, before we go back," Orrion says, not so casually. "Go do your thing," is more so, and the high color is even subsiding into his warm brown skin, though he rubs his ears a moment or two later. "I'll poke around. Find some sand, maybe. Those trees are huge." Huge! He suits actions to words by wandering towards some of them, initially choosing the paved pathways, though some of the more interesting specimens risk the mud. Surely he won't get lost. In the dark.

There's a little noise from the woman that's probably meant to agree with talking before their next jump while she gives herself a last once-over; the nod she aims his way supports it, certainly, followed by a little grin for his remark on the trees. Lhiannon's shoulders square seconds later and she's striding across the clearing, gait purposeful in the way of one who is on a mission with a destination (even if she has to ask anyone who might be awake along the way to confirm that she's headed for the correct entrance). At length, Fjainoith gives a little huff and flares her wings slightly as if she might like very much to get away from the dust that kicks up and settles again in the wake of other occasional departures and arrivals that may happen in the vicinity. Whirling eyes track Orrion's progress in the meantime while he's within view, perhaps in an attempt to help make sure that he doesn't get lost.

Initially, Orrion even stays in view; his light bobs up and down, then further upward as he examines one of the huge trunks more closely, followed by another, even extricating a pen and his little notebook to jot something down. Graffiti (aided by clearer air) leads him further into the jungle, but eventually the flashlight clicks off and he's just standing there in a space between trees, thin hood pulled down about his face — this place may feel familiar, but that also means bugs — and arms a little away from his sides, breathing slowly and evenly with eyes half-closed. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. (Air, not bugs.) More time can pass this way than an ordinarily hard-at-work man might realize.

Time enough for Lhiannon to complete her delivery and remove her jacket to more comfortably hike back in his general direction; long sleeves are good for keeping one's visit to tropical environments less filled with bug-bites, but better when they're of lighter weight like the button-down shirts of which she's been fond for turns. Bright, blue eyes study what she can make out of him briefly in his nature communion before she calls a gentle, "Hey, I'm back. I might need to get some klah before we return, though, " punctuated with a smile that's only a little tired. What's not so gentle is the unmistakably joyous vibration that suddenly builds to radiate throughout the vicinity, causing the greenrider to inhale sharply. There's even a moment where her expression comes to full alertness, almost glows the way it did the day she met Fjainoith, who must surely still be nearby. It takes her a moment to gather herself, then: "How do you feel about delaying further exploration a little to watch another hatching?" She has good control over the modulation of pitch in her voice, but it's still evident that she's clearly excited by the idea.

The way he blinks his way back into the here and now speaks not only of confusion but something more complex even than yearning; he's quick to smile, though, especially under whatever of that joyousness can reach him. Only, delaying — but (now that he's blinked the light back on too) look, listen to her. Orrion doesn't hesitate longer; "Get water, and we're good. Lead on!" (Not that he waits for her, to head back to where they'd been; thanks to klah acquired with the jacket, it might even be a race, as much as mud and muggy weather allow.) Entertainment (non-apprentice-protecting entertainment) awaits.


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