Who Sephany, Fioreyla, Z'ki
What Fire does what she does best: best clumsy. Sephany is having a bad day. Z'ki is shirtless.
When Autumn 2715.
Where Lake Shore, Igen Weyr

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Igen Weyr - Lake Shore
It is sometimes hard to tell where the bowl ends and the lake shore begins. Fine grains of gold, tan and orange hued sand layer much as the bowl walls in the distance beyond. The sand only gives way to thin patches of grass where the tall fence of the feeding grounds intersects the lake to the south and the smooth curve of the bowl wall rises on the opposite shore. At that intersection one can make out a small building and colorful fabrics where the Weyr's residents go to relax. The shallow lake waters shimmer invitingly, day and night, lapping at the fine grain sands. Engineered pipes are hidden beneath the bowl landscape and feed the lake as well as the grasses of the feeding grounds to keep the water levels from dropping past a certain point which is marked by a waist high obelisk.


The summer head of Igen has started to fade away, though this afternoon's been just as warm as if it were still so. The signs of autumn are that the cool wind that begins to kick in as the sun begins to set, lending a chilly air by the lake. Most weyrfolk are clearing away from the lake and heading into the warmer caverns already, but one particular rider is still out here, standing in the shallows in his rolled-up pants. Jizunoth is half-sunk into the water, the bronze's snout bobbing just above the waterline, as Z'ki leans over to scrub at his side.

YOU MEAN IT'S NOT STRAIGHT WINTER? Somebody forgot to send Fioreyla the memo, because the objectively tiny redhead is also trekking along the usually over-hot sands of Igen's beach, in a peacoat, a scarf, and gloves. It might not seem like much, but it's the same gear she wears to protect her from the violent cold of Fort's frigid climes in their chilly months, and so is probably a little too heavy for Igen. WHATEVER. LISTEN. Much-too-long hair has been tied up in a messy bun, leaving a freckled face to drink in what light remains from Rukbat's descent unhindered, but Fioreyla can't really see where she is going, can she? No, she can't; for all intents and purposes, she is a pile of books with a pair of violet eyes that occasionally try to peer over the top of the stack, or along one of the sides in order to mark her path. She's laden with thick medical texts and tomes, a curious sight given the woman seems much too small to be capable of such a feat. BUT HERE SHE IS, stumbling through sand in booted feet, moving on along with a… splish? "Ah…" And a splash? "T-That's… not good…" Fioreyla whispers to herself, looking down at her feet, trying to peer around her books to redirect herself towards shore, taking a step forward and - SMACK. RIGHT INTO Z'KI. Unless he's moved, of course. In which case, we'll just say she trips, because Fioreyla wouldn't know what to do with dignity if it slapped her in the ding dang face. EITHER WAY. There's a squeak, and then an explosion of books EVERYWHERE that has Fire, for just a moment, looking momentarily at ruined texts as though this is it, this is how it ends. If she's smacked into Z'ki? Well, her attention will go immediately to him so that she can apologize a thousand times with a halting stammer. If not? She will cover her mouth, stare for a long moment, and then quietly go about trying to pick NOW WET TEXTS back up. BOO.

Has Sephany been on the beach this whole time? Yes. Walking along the beach, leaving a crowd of fair-haired ladies in her wake as she seeks refuge from what can only be her family (judging from the fair hair and grey eyes they all seem to sport). Escape. Asylum. Alone-time. There's a rather stretched and stressed-out look to the young weaver; a tightness to her eyes and jaw that softens only a little as she comes within sight of other people. People that are suddenly exploding into clouds of books and flailing limbs, and splashing water and just… Disaster. "No, no!" and there is an immediate spring into action, a dive to save… not the young Healer, but the books. The BOOKS! Books that she is snatching out of the water as quickly as she possibly can and attempting to dry with whatever bit of clothing she has on her body that is sand-free. Is the effort in vain? Perhaps. But it doesn't stop her from trying. Z'ki? Fioreyla? Briefly ignored because… books. Dying books. Ruined books. And it's a damn shame.

Z'ki, while normally the most observant of observant guards, is distracted. And given he's not talking, but looking focused, he's probably distracted with Jizunoth, the bronze's eyes whirling speedily and gleaming where they're visible above the waterline of the lake. In contrast to Fioreyla, he's very under-dressed, currently shirtless — and when she bumps into him, he turns quickly, looking baffled as wet, sand-y hands reflexively dart out to steady the girl, brow furrowing at her stammering. "Is something the matter?" he asks, frowning. Because clearly something's gone wrong — bumping into something isn't normally something he's used to this sort of reaction with. "Seph?" is uttered with just as much surprise as he sees her lunge for the books. Apparently it's a night of surprises for him.

Is something wrong? Violet eyes are going wide, the healer's mouth parting as she tries to form words and manages a timid, "N-No. I just…" A helpless gesture made a fraction of a second before she places her hand over his in a squeeze that maybe is intended as reassurance before she pulls away. "… r-ran into you and I'm… Are you h-hurt? I'm s-so sorry. I just -" And there goes Sephany, diving for books that Fioreyla is only just turning her attention back to because picking them up out of the water means she doesn't have to look Z'ki in the face while she struggles with words that fit into reasonable sentences. There's a squeak from the healer that might be half protest when the weaver starts dabbing at ruined text with her own clothing, and then Fire is springing into action with the thoughts of a healer: she reaches out, stumbling through water to catch at Sephany's wrists with gloved hands. "Oh, n-no. Please they are j-just c-copies. There are m-more of these and -" Fire is letting Sephany go, to look at Z'ki as lips form words of, "Sir, c-could you p-please -" Violet eyes go wide, as if she's only just realized that the man she bumped into is sans a shirt, mouth gaping open, closing, gaping open again as if she doesn't know what to say, and then she's flushing a brilliant shade of red as she looks back to Sephany. "We c-can't replace you, and it's getting cold - you'll catch a chill. P-please stop." And Fire's pushing the books she retrieved to the side with one booted foot, shrugging out of her peacoat so that she can place it over the older girl's shoulders and then pull one of the books from the weaver's grasp. "P-please," she whispers, beseeching, and then she's looking back towards Z'ki, but not at Z'ki. See, her face is turned in her direction, but those violet eyes are squinting up at the colors Rukbat's bleeding into the world as it sinks below the horizon. "S-sir, you a-also should…" A strangled noise in her throat, and the healer is making a vague motion at her upper body (which is now in a long-sleeved, but loose shirt). "T-the water." Breathe, little Fire. "You will catch a cold." She aims for stern, but she falls painfully, painfully shy.

Sephany is of single focus! Of one mind! Of hopeless commitment to saving books that are unsaveable to the extent that shirtless bronzeriders and stuttering and stammering redheads are all but ignored. IGNORED! Until her name is announced as a question, and gloved hands are catching her wrists. But it serves to get her attention, and with a sound of resignation she turns from the ruined texts. "Yes," in answer to Z'ki's verbalization of her name. "No, I won't," which is all stubborn protest for Fioreyla's concern for her catching a chill, in clear defiance of the wind whipping across the lake. Fingers twitch, clutching to her chest the two or three books she managed to snag before her rescue efforts were put to a halt. "I'm alright," is a bit less snappish when peacoats find shoulders, and her expression just a bit. Tight shoulders; tight arms. Clutched books. A long sigh, and finally a glance toward Z'ki, then Fioreyla, then Z'ki again. "Hello, Z'ki," which… almost sounds like a normal greeting if one were to just ignore the books and the dripping and the awkwardness of the situation.
'expression softens just a bit'

"Hurt?" Z'ki's baffled expression only deepens. "You barely bumped me," because she's a tiny thing, especially in comparison to him, "I think I'll live," is added in assurance, with a brief smile, his hands dropping away once she seems steady. There's a slight shifting of the water, gentle bobs turning to something slightly bigger as Jizunoth slinks out towards the deeper water with a whip of his tail as he departs and dives underneath. The Igenite bronzerider only belated seems to notice, with an exhaled sigh of resignation, bending to wash sandy hands in the water before he straightens and regards the pair of Fortians again. "I think I'll be fine — the sun's barely down. But the concern is appreciated nonetheless. You, ah, look pretty rugged up," is observed to the healer, before his gaze flickers to Sephany with a clearing of throat. "Hi. Uh. Well, it's the pair of you that are in soggy, cold clothing, not me. Given Ji's decided it's time to rinse off, I can escort you both in towards the hearth and some cocoa…?"

Is Fire's face turning more red? It is. "Y-yes, but I had b-books," Fioreyla tries for Z'ki's sake, attempting to explain away her logic and failing splendidly. CUE SEPH. SEPHANY, DID YOU JUST GET SNAPPY WITH THE TIMID LITTLE MOUSE? Fioreyla, contrary to what one might expect, does not shrink away from the stubborn protests and challenges that Sephany emits; au contraire, the little healer's shoulders roll back, her spine goes a little straighter (as if she's used to people trying to argue with her, and she is), and Fire breathes out, "Y-Yes, you will." It's still soft, the tone a gentle admonishment, the firmness in her voice still utterly unimpressive because Fire has such a tiny voice. "And you a-are fine n-now." Because that can change with a quickness. But then Z'ki's protesting too, and Fire's opening her mouth as if she intends to refute the bronzerider's words, but she can't because - sure enough - those violet eyes are dropping to her own wet attire, to those books that are only going to make her more wet, and then she's leaning down to retrieve what she managed to save before Sephany gathered up some. "I-I think that would b-be a l-lovely idea," Fiore whispers, with a kind of resignation that says maybe it's the better solution as opposed to standing outside telling people they are liable to get sick until they are sick.

Sephany is just feeling ornery, maybe. There's a jut to her chin, and a spark in those grey eyes, and clearly she is gearing up for an argument with the little healer, because there is a deep inhale followed by a parting of her lips… only it stops before it's begun, and all of that preparatory inhaling goes the other direction as she sort of deflates and fizzles out. Because Z'ki is offering wisdom. And logic. And hot cocoa. And because being clothed in soggy, rapidly-cooling clothing is definitely not a desirable state of dress. "I…," comes the hesitant answer, and she twists to glance back at the gaggle of ladies down the beach; a bare speck against the stand from this distance, much too far to overhear or be overheard. "Yes," resolved now as she turns back around, shoulders hunched and her jaw set, the fire of defiance back in those grey eyes. "Cocoa would be nice. As would the hearth." But then, just there, another bit of hesitation before she makes to leave the surf and make for drier land; a flash of apology in expression and tone. "I am sorry that we interrupted Jizunoth's bath," even if she had nothing to do with the initial interruption.

Clearly still baffled by the redhead's words, Z'ki nonetheless seems to be bearing up well under the awkwardness. That's not to say he's not aware, so much as it doesn't visibly affect him in the way it does the other two. He starts to wade in from the water, pausing to offer a hand to each of the women — either in escort, or perhaps as a precautionary steadying move in case they need it. If he's aware of Sephany's impending near-almost explosion, it doesn't show in his steady expression that becomes a genuine smile at the weaver's question. "He said he was done anyway," the bronzerider says, with a brief chuckle. Behind them — far enough out into the water that they're safe — the bronze rears up, rising above the surface of the water, wings spreading and beating down hard to lift him up out of the lake, water shearing off him as he rises into the skies and circles up to the rim to catch the last of the sun before it completely disappears. Belatedly, the Igenite adds to the healer, "I'm Z'ki — that was Jizunoth. And this is Sephany," he introduces, since he seems uncertain whether the other two know each other.

Fiore can sense the impending argument; she looks ready for it. Maybe. Well, as ready as somebody as meek as Fire can be to face off with somebody whose personality is much larger and more pronounced. But it doesn't come, the wind sets course for different seas, and Fire's shoulders relax visibly under the weight of her retrieved books. Still, there's something in the expression that Fire fixes on Sephany that's… not unfriendly by any stretch of the imagination, but certainly seems to hold an unnecessary amount of worry coupled with wary reservation. Thankfully, Z'ki is snaring her attention back, first with his offered hand, and then with his introduction. Those violet eyes stare at that hand for a long moment, violet flickering up to the bronzerider's face and then fleeing to watch his dragon ascend before she looks back to the bronzerider with a muted, quiet smile. "Thank you," she whispers, stepping closer as if to acquiesce his offer for assistance, even if her hands are full of books that hinder her actually placing a hand on his. THIS IS THE POLITE THING TO DO, RIGHT? "W-well met, Z'ki," comes softly, Fire's gaze dropping as she leans to see Sephany from around the much taller rider. "W-we've met before," her and Sephany she means. "I d-don't remember if I got to i-introduce myself. But I'm Fioreyla." Fire hitches those books up a little higher, using her knee to assist, and then peers from over the top of them. "H-How old is he?" she asks suddenly, attention going back to the blot of Jizunoth in the sky as she waits to follow.

"Good," and there is genuine relief in the knowledge that the bronze was finished, his bath undisturbed by the explosion of books and the hasty attempt to rescue them. Sephany still has a book or two, even if Fioreyla managed to wrangle one of them away from her, but they are shuffled to the side and balanced on a hip (like a baby, only not a baby) as she takes Z'ki's offered hand; used to balance herself as she sloshes (much less spastically) out of the water and toward the beach. A glance, for the ascending bronze, and then grey eyes go to the ground as she carefully navigates her way out; attention for the seeking of safe ground and decidedly avoiding any sort of worry-resignation that might still linger in violet eyes. Met? They've met? This gets a glance, and a studious look as Sephany peers narrow-eyed toward the little healer. And then yup, there it is, that light-bulb of recognition. "Oh, yes. Ierne. Bonfire. You… dropped something…" it's hazy, and hesitant, the memory clouded because there was probably alcohol involved (definitely was) but clear enough for her to say, "And you were with that gentleman…" as recollection returns. "Sephany," she adds, which is needless considering Z'ki has already done the honors. "Pleasure to meet you, Fioreyla," which, well… maybe would sound more honest if they weren't both dripping wet and previously about to face off in heated debate over health and safety.

If Z'ki is pleased at staving off a potential argument well, he's too well trained to let it show in his expression. "Well met, Fioreyla. Who — Ji?" as if there could be anyone else the healer is referring to. "Hm. A bit over two Turns now," he says, with a flicker of a smile as if recalling some memory, abruptly. Stepping carefully, he provides a balance for the two Fortians out of the slippery rocks of the lack and onto the dry sand, before he takes back his hands, lengthening his stride towards the rock that his shirt — which he slips on immediately — and his shoes — which he just carries — are settled on. That done, he starts to take a step towards the caverns, then pauses, "Uh, how about I take those books?" that seems to be an offer to both of them.

Yep, little Fire just leans her weight on Z'ki when she needs to, and then falls back once they reach shore. Sephany's narrow-eyed stare has Fiore taking a step back, eyes falling to the ground as she waits and - recognition. Fiore's face turns red for the memory of her dropping something (it was her gentleman companion's plate), but instead of offering up the missing piece of that puzzle, Fire offers up the gentleman's name instead. "Ah - yes. His name is S-Sohzen." She doesn't elaborate on who he is. Saying he's her only friend would sound pathetic anyway, so she says nothing. A shift of her arms, laden with books as Z'ki takes off down the sand to retrieve his temporarily discarded shirt, and those violet eyes jump back to Sephany's face. "The p-pleasure is mine, I'm s-sure," Fire concedes, and there's a real smile on her face this time, despite Sephany's not-nearly-as-honest-as-it-could-be tones and arguments that almost took place. "You were v-very good at d-dancing from what I recall." Before, you know, she FELL OVER HER FEET and THREW ALL OF HER DIGNITY OUT THE WINDOW. But there's Z'ki again, attire in hand and offers to take books that… leave Fioreyla looking surprised? Certainly, and the healer shifts from one foot to the other, opening her mouth as if she's going to agree, and settling instead on, "T-Thank you for the offer, sir, but you are a-already carrying your boots." And she shifts again, as if holding the books a little tighter. HAVE TO SHOW PROPER RESPECT TO THEM DRAGONRIDERS.

"Has it really been that long?" That being for Jizunoth's age, which has Sephany looking briefly surprised and flashing another glance toward the bronze, ineffective against the growing shadows and the sheer distance between them. Onto the sandy shore, where copious amounts of dripping will ensue because Sephany has dressed for Igen, which means layers of billowing fabric that absorbed that lake water like a sponge. More studying of Fioreyla, and a soft 'Ah' for the name. "He seemed… nice." Which, roughly translated, means she can't quite remember a darn thing about him except that he was a person, who existed in the same space and time that she did, on a beach once. That mention of dancing though? That gets a bit of color to her cheeks, hopefully hidden by the quick duck and turn as she goes back to the critical analysis of where to place her feet next as she walks. "Um… thank you," is offered regardless. Steps taken, toward the cavern and the promise of cocoa, before chivalrous offers are made and denied; first my Fioreyla and then by Sephany, who offers her own brand of logic with a quick, "No, they're still wet, and will soak your shirt. At least one of us ought to remain dry tonight. But thank you."
Almost as an afterthought, Z'ki buttons his shirt and — after a beat — leans down to roll down the legs of his pants. Fioreyla's tightening hold on her books earn a lift of brows — undoubtedly a misinterpretation of the protective gesture — but he seems to concede, not pushing. After an equally, if perhaps wryly, accepting glance at Sephany, he says, "This way, then," with a gesture of his free hand towards the caverns. He's far too polite to draw attention to the embarrassment of anyone else though, pointedly staying out of the conversation about the fire-side event the two women are discussing. "I'm sure the headwoman has some spare clothes, if you're heading back to your homes tonight. Otherwise, there's plenty of room in the lower caverns if you want to spend the night until your things are dry." It's windy, away from the lake, the bowl largely empty and forlorn this time of evening except for the occasional person hurrying to get out of the cold wind.

There is irony in putting 'Sohzen' and the word 'nice' in a sentence together, but Fioreyla is oblivious to it. She smiles wide, as if it's not a compliment she hears too often about the shady-as-all-get-out-emotionless-man that she tends to shadow whenever he's around. "H-he is," Fire concedes, and perhaps somewhere in the world, Sohzen is plotting her death. WHO KNOWS. It doesn't matter; not here and not now, where Fioreyla is catching sight of that blush and - "You're w-welcome," she whispers. "I d-didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm s-sorry." And then she's looking at Z'ki again, a timid smile answering those lifted brows because surely her intentions are being misinterpreted (not that Fiore recognizes that; she more or less thinks perhaps he's surprised at her refusal because the books are almost obscuring her vision). So she answers with, "I-I'm okay. I'm s-strong." And another smile before the two start towards the caverns and Fioreyla adopts wide-steps to try and keep up, eyes mostly on her feet to try and avoid another mishap with her books (and/or her face) meeting the beachfloor again. "It's o-okay. I'm here with my j-journeyman for a couple of d-days, helping with a c-couple of trauma c-cases," Fire informs them. Yeah, she's a trauma healer. WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT. "I have a change of c-clothes." And then, almost as if she's only just remembered that she asked (and received an answer), "C-congratulations, by the way. On impressing, I mean." Two years later. GOOD JOB, FIRE.

And to the caverns they go, Sephany taking measured steps that attempt to be dignified but fall far short considering she's dripping half the weyr's lake water along the way and alternating between mild embarrassment for past recollections and polite interest for the maybe-ironic conversation regarding potentially shady mystery-men. Z'ki's manner of simply ignoring awkward blushes is much preferred to Fioreyla's blatant acknowledgement of it, the latter receiving a sideways glance and a quick, "It is fine, don't worry about it," in effort to just move right along, thanks. "I can borrow something from my sisters," and there's a glance, perhaps a little narrow-eyed glare, for the group she's apparently abandoning on the beach. "I have enough of them around these days. Nevermind that it is much easier that way; no need to try and return it." Which would make that 'stealing' and not 'borrowing', but alas. But oh, that wind tho… there's definitely a clenching of Sephany's jaw, a tightness in her shoulders and a clear hunch of shoulders, whether in response to the chill or in attempted rebellion against shivering. It's got her steps quickening all the more, seemingly without much thought being given to the already wide-striding Fioreyla attempting to keep up.

The caverns provide a warm contrast to the bowl, slowing Z'ki's maybe too-fast-steps to be more in line with the others. The congratulations befuddle him for a moment, but he clears his throat and recovers swiftly enough. "Uh. Thank you," he manages, gaze darting further into the caverns. "There should be some cocoa on the hearth — I'll get you each a mug, if you want to find somewhere warm to set up," he says, lengthening his steps to move away towards the hearth. It doesn't take him long to find pour a couple of mugs and bring them back towards the others, offering them up.

Fioreyla opens her mouth as if she intends to say something (it's probably another apology), but she closes her mouth before she says anything, focusing on her feet. This is probably why she works emergencies. People usually don't want to carry on a conversation when they are bleeding out or suffering from a head trauma. Fire hugs the books a little tighter, looking away from her feet only long enough to make sure that she's following the correct path and — yeah, she sees you shivering, Sephany. But Fiore is not the type to gloat or chide; she keeps her silence, following along behind weaver and dragonrider both (and probably falling behind, though she does eventually catch up) only to stop and look at Z'ki, listening to his words. A muted smile for his thanks, the kind that communicates she may or may not suck at people and recognizes that, and then she's nodding her head with another softly murmured word of thanks before moving towards the hearth - but not before she tells Sephany, "R-Rub your chest until you feel warm. Your arms will t-take care of themselves." With shivering, of course (TOTALLY DID NOT STEAL THAT LINE FROM BATMAN, WHO DAT WHO THIS). Still, Fire's setting her books down, looking at the sopping wet texts with the kind of forlorn look that says her Journeyman is probably going to tan her hide for their state. And Z'ki! With hot drinks! "T-thank you." Is she grasping for conversation? Absolutely. "W-was it scary? The dragon, I mean."

"Thank you," to Z'ki, honest and heartfelt, as he heads off for the acquisition of warm beverages. To the hearth with Sephany and Fioreyla, who gets a startled glance for the recommendation to rub her chest to combat the shivering. "Are you… is that really…" but even weyr-bred Sephany can't seem to wrap her brain around that one. Or maybe it is that weyrbred head of hers that has jumped to all the wrong sorts of conclusions there. But rather than take the sage advice from a trauma-trained healer, the weaver simply follows her actions and sets her book to the table, finds a chair, and slips into it. If she attempts any chest-rubbing, it is done in stealth and subtly. "I'm sure it'll be alright," which is probably meant ot be reassuring, even if Sephany is sporting a similarly devastated expression as she reviews just how damaged those books really are, now that there is proper light to see them by. Her hands immediately move across the table, reaching for the offered mug as soon as Z'ki has arrived with it, fingers curling around the clay as she works at leaching its heat. "Thank you," repeated, just as earnestly. A little blow across the hot liquid, and grey eyes glance from Fioreyla to Z'ki with mild confusion. "Do you mean Impression?" asks the totally unqualified-to-answer dragonless apprentice.

Once Z'ki hands over the mugs and is assured that they are both drinking, he retreats to one of the chairs near the hearth, setting his boots down nearby and reaching down to pull them on, then lace them up. He glances up halfway through the process, surprised at Fioreyla's question. "Scary? No," he says, after a moment. "I mean, especially not after. It made everything feel… right." Sephany gets a briefly surprised look — he clearly assumed it was, anyway — before he glances awkwardly at Fioreyla, too, seeking her answer. Now everyone's staring at her!

Maybe Fire gets that Sephany doesn't understand, but here is an area she seems to adopt confidence in. "Like this," she whispers, as if to keep it a secret between them. She crosses her arms over her chest, tucking them in under her armpits near her ribcage, and rubs. YOU DON'T HAVE TO FONDLE YOURSELF, SEPH. RELAX. But then it doesn't matter, because Z'ki is there with drinks that Fire accepts with what dignity and grace she can muster, warming her hands though gloves on the mug, listening to Z'ki's answer with intent before Sephany draws her attention back and - a blink. Fioreyla opens her mouth as if to speak, and then both of their eyes are on her expectantly and what she wouldn't give for somewhere to hide in this moment. "I -" Brows draw in. But her answer doesn't come; not when there's a dry asphalt rasp of a voice grating from behind them, setting Fioreyla into a rather stiff posture. "Little Fire," somehow manages to convey intense disapproval, and Fire's looking up at a Journeyman healer whose eyes are scouring those ruined texts. "I want to say I'm surprised, but…" Fire's mouth closes tight, eyes dropping down to her untouched mug of cocoa as she whispers out, "I'm s-sor-" "Sorry, yes, I've heard it before. We have patients in the infirmary. Get your books and come." And there Fioreyla goes, setting her mug down as she gathers up those books, doing a precarious dip for Z'ki and Sephany both. "T-thank you for your hospitality." And her name is being called again with impatience this time, Fire shifting to retrieve those extra books from Sephany but not her jacket. Probably so that she has at least one dry thing to venture outside in. Either way, Fire's stumbling her way towards the entrance, bumping into people and tables with countless apologies before she finally catches up with her disapproving Journeyman.

To be fair, it is a rather good assumption to make; that the inquiry is in regards to the experience on the sands and the Impression that resulted. But Sephany asked it anyways, even if the answer will never come. Timid sips of hot cocoa are taken, grey eyes watching over the rim as her mug as Z'ki explains and Fioreyla listens. Until such time as the little mouse is being scowlded; that earns a bit of a frown from the weaver, who might have some choice words hanging out on the tip of her tongue, a look of rising ire as that beach-begun annoyance rekindles and looks for an outlet. Thankfully, no words are actually spoken, at least not in the defense of the healer-lass. "Have a good evening, Fioreyla," is offered politely in response, even if it appears that she is being led to her doom (RIP Fire?). More sipping of cocoa, as grey eyes are politely averted from the site of stumbling retreat ."What was she doing with an armload of books out on the beach, anyways?" which comes out as a curious inquiry rather than an irritated huff, despite the nature of the words.

Mostly, Z'ki is confused by Fioreyla's hesitancy. And then she's being pulled away by her Journeyman, and Z'ki is — by habit — rising to her feet to murmur a farewell to the redhead. There might be a slight furrow of brow in response to the tone of her Journeyman's call, but he certainly doesn't intercede. Now that his boots are done up, he gives Sephany a rueful smile. "I have absolutely no idea. I don't even know how she bumped into me, either." With a brief shake of his head — and a momentarily distant look — he murmurs, "I've got some things to take care of — but we should have dinner later, before you go, Seph." And then he's hurrying out towards the door.


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