Who Ava, Dahj
What Ruminating over the future, Ava and Esoireth's rider have a brief run-in post-hatching. Takes place after Holding Patterns.
When Winter, 2735
Where Inner Caverns, Igen Weyr

 


Igen Weyr - Inner Caverns
Igen's inner cavern is smaller than the main living cavern, but isn't small by any stretch of the imagination. Tables and comfortable chairs are placed about the room, clustered together, and often-occupied spinning wheels and a large loom sit in one corner. A small corner-table holds klah and various crudites and appetizers, refreshed constantly by the kitchen's staff. The walls and much of the floor are covered with a mosaic of colorful rugs, many handcrafted by Igen residents, dampening noises and giving the cavern a more intimate feel than its size immediately would suggest.


The early morning is as brisk as Ava's trot from the barracks down the Weyr halls, her arms tucking into a warmer sweater that she's midway through pulling over her head now. She had been on the way to breakfast with another friend but the desert cold sent her back for warmer clothing. Especially after the heat of the hatching grounds the night air bites just a little harder. She's the last tonight, last off the sands and last to breakfast, no one, for the moment is around and only the distant noise of chattering from the caverns and a screeching, proddy, green.

There might still be guests lingering yet in the living cavern; the warmly-dressed woman exchanging a cheery farewell over her shoulder before ducking around the entryway into the smaller, quieter common area nearby may well be one of them — or not, perhaps? Folding herself into a seat at an otherwise unoccupied table, there's a relieved, small exhale as the brunette hunches over her klah, a hand lifting to rub away the sleepy furrow that keeps appearing at her brow. Gray-green eyes lift in time to catch sight of the person mid-pull into their sweater, features crinkling with silent amusement before her attention drops to the next pull from her mug. Her cream-colored sweater falls neatly over the waist of her dark pants, hair pulled half-back with a brightly-hued tie. For someone who's either trying to get sober or the equivalent of caffeinated, she's remarkably put-together, given the hour.

Everything just seems /wrong/ as Ava squirms into her sweater. It's the late hour, it's the exhaustion, the dehydration and perhaps, yes, the hunger too. She's late and a plate and a mug are quickly filled with light breakfast food and klah because, really, she wouldn't be going back to sleep after the night its been. With no interest in being targeted as a failed candidate or otherwise engaged the healer is quick to slink off into the side room that, blessedly for the moment, holds only one other person. Ava all but sinks into the chair, plate and mug finding the table top with an all too audible thud and, for a moment, she just sits there and stares at her plate, a heap of a human before a thought clearly dons on her. She worms once more, hand snaking up the sleeve of her other arm and, with a wiggle the white knot is dragged free and tossed unceremoniously on the table. There, that's better. Ava's eyes lift to the other woman and shes gives a tight, apologetic grin for her disturbance before turning to her own food and drink.

Something akin to recognition alights in the other young woman's face as Ava passes through and back again with her own repast, gaze resettling thoughtfully on the healer upon her return before flicking down to where the white knot lands post-toss. "Long night, " she remarks casually, soprano not quite so strongly Igen, but the lilt is subtly there for the observant. "What was it like, your experience? Standing."

Ava's attention lifts from the bread treat she holds in her left hand, the right covering her lifts as she chews the bite she had already taken. /Oh./ "S'cuse me." Ava brushes her face, fingers flicking crumbs free as she drops her right hand and the pastry back to the plate. "Very long night." And its evidenced in the bags under her eyes though as the young woman continues her brows lift and her eyes narrow, slightly, the smallest tilt in her head, something was familiar here. "The actual hatching? Chaotic is the only word I have for it at the moment." A tired smile as her expression eases. "I think I will be processing the experience for a long time. How was yours? The evening, that is." Ava specifies, taking the moment to indulge in another bite, though her gaze doesn't leave the woman now, studying.

"They are chaotic, aren't they, " muses Dahj sympathetically. "But you survived. At least, you don't look like someone who needs to visit the infirmary." A yawn is stifled with the back of one hand, and the slender woman shifts in her seat to better face the redhead. "Interrupted, " is her description of her evening, smile audible before it illuminates her features, "but I couldn't miss Oriapeth's eggs hatching." Her attention turns briefly to the doorway, gaze distancing momentarily. "What do you think you'll do next while you're processing? There are those who might suggest that at this point, the world is still yours." Is she studying Ava curiously now, in return?

"No, thankfully, nor am I needed there tonight myself." There is relief there on both sides but that curiosity persists even beyond another bite. "Well, I am presented with a few options in regards to my next choices, whether staying or moving form here on or perhaps pursuing more in my craft but- Im sorry, you seem terribly familiar. Have we met?" Ava may be tired but something wiggles and nags at the back of her mind.

If there's something that overshadows Dahj's expression at the mention of options, it's visible and gone between one moment and the next, lingering only in the way her reply of, "We have, " might seem weary, accompanied as it is by a self-conscious rub to the back of her neck. "Cand — healer Ava. Dahjari, Esoireth's rider, but everyone outside of my family really just calls me Dahj." Gray-green eyes look to some distant point again, then refocus on her conversation partner. "Oriapeth — and her rider — Searched me, I suppose you could say, several turns ago, " and the wryness that creeps in to her relation of that bit of her history might at least partially explain why this particular hatching wasn't one to be missed. She doesn't exactly fidget, but one leg folds over the other so she can peer back at the journeyman over the rim of her cup as it lifts for a long swallow.

"The lake when I was still new to Igen." The statement, at least, confirms things in her own mind and dredged the conversation back to the forefront of her mind. A soft breath presses through her nostrils before with a quieter tone,"My duties to you and yours then, and best wishes to Inri. Going off of our previous interactions, I can assume there is some discretion you want to keep?" There's no ulterior tone in that question, instead seeking only simple confirmation of her need for discretion. Ava takes a turn with her klah, eyes closing as the warmth sinks in before she nods shallowly. Her hazel eyes open with her own glance over the rim of her mug. "I hope it was a good hatching and visit." Ava offers and then expands a little more in her direction, "I'll be heading back to Xanadu to continue my posting."

"Thank you, " says Dahj reflexively for what's probably becoming a habitual receipt these days of duties and wishes for her mentor's good health offered hand-in-hand. Draining what's left in her mug, the goldrider tilts a measuring look for Ava's bald inquiry. Discretion. "Wouldn't you?" Drawing herself to her feet in the wake of that rhetorical reply, she hooks fingers around the handle of her now-empty cup, mouth curving slightly upward. More lightly, "And that's Igen's loss and Xanadu's gain, I'm sure. Good night, Ava, and good luck." With enough klah (finally) on-board to safely jump back across the continent, she offers the healer a two-fingered, casual salute in apparent farewell, even if her path seems first for the kitchens rather than the bowl without.

Well, that answers that. Avas departing salute is just just as casual. Her gaze does not even follow the rider as she departs the room nor does she call after her to answer the goodnight. The gesture is enough if the woman cares to see it. She's left to sit in silence now, brooding over thoughts and klah and half eaten pastries, the knuckles at her fingertips paling and reddening as her grip on the cup cinches tighter as the day's events fill that silence. Abruptly it ceases as the cries of green and victor echo distantly and the disavowed groans of lovers full adjacent halls. Her mug finds its place on the table top and without a second thought that white knot is shoved in a pocket and she rises to follow those frustrated grumblings.


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