Assume Nothing

Xanadu Weyr - Beach


The unerring range of subdued white rises and falls in a multitude of sandy dunes, creating an endless amount of tiny valleys constantly demolished and rebuilt by the frequent arrival or departure of a dragon. Smoothing out as it slopes gently to the edge of the deep blue water, the sand darkens and a shell here and there stands out for children to collect. The beach itself is set along a low cliff - the height lessoning as one heads eastwards, blocking a portion of the beach from direct access.

The wide wide stretch of water opens up to the east, the far distant shore way beyond the horizon and the beach curves ever so slowly round to east and west, distant arms of land embracing the wind-ruffled Caspian Lake. East leads up to the mouth of the Rubicon River, where the protecting cliff is merely an arms length higher then the sand, and beyond that, a winding road leading out of Xanadu's territory. Westwards, the beach narrows as the cliff swings out, leaving a path wide enough for dragons in single file before cutting in to the sheltered cove designated the Weyrling Beach. However, cut in the cliff face to the north are a variety of rough, wide staircases, providing access to the clearing and to the meadow.

It is early evening at Xanadu, in that lazy halfway light where no true source is apparent. The fading crimson of Rukbat has only just dipped beneath the horizon, while only the faintest first bits of starlight and only the initial rays of light from Belior and Timor are left to pull the slack. The weather at least has managed to decide what route to take. It is hot, with a faint haze in the air as the world begins to cool from the more oppressing heat of the late to mid afternoon. Oddly though, the beach is rather quiet with the exception of a rather large lump on the sand. This proves to be the shape of a bronze! A foreign one at that, though his rider is initially not yet found. A closer look reveals him resting languidly on his lifemate's neck — arms and legs hanging down on other side of it, eyes cast towards the sky expectantly. Given that he has discarded his knot, his origin is unknown — though the bronze is defenatly not an Xanadu occupant.

The beach at this time of day being less populated as the Weyr children are being fed and put to bed often draws those seeking a bit of solitude and peace. This particular evening one of Xanadu's Junior weyrwomen strolls along the water's edge. She rounds the bend from the Weyrling Beach, but isn't noticing the bronze, at least right away, for her eyes are cast out over the water. Several paces more, her eyes swing in and she stops, hands lifting to get the wind-tossed hair away from her face so she can see him better. She hesitates, almost appearing as though she'll turn back the way she came, then continues on up the beach. It's only as she draws near that she makes out the form of the rider atop the neck and she frowns slightly. An expression carefully smoothed to pleasant neutrality. "Must be more comfortable places to spend the night, Rider." An undercurrent of amusement ripples her voice, "We've a guest weyr if you need it."

As the woman drifts closer, it becomes obvious that the foreign visitor is not asleep for his posture alters. Bringing his legs up in a comfortable stretch he then folds his hands over his belly. From this comfortable pose he continues his vigil until she speaks to him, whereupon his head turns to face her with an eyebrow upraised. The smile that follows is not neutral at all. Not friendly either, but certainly accomodating and plesant without showing too much of his mood. "Well, hello." He says. The voice is interesting as well. Modulated, practiced even. "I appreciate your concern, but I wasn't actually asleep. We were stargazing. I take the time in my busy . . " There is an edge to 'busy' as though it amused him to say so. " . . life to do it sometimes. It interests me to muse some, and it is rather neat that the stars are different every place I go to on this fair ball of rock."

"Oh, I see." There's a dry note to this woman's voice, a skeptical eye cast towards the dusky sky before returning to the man atop the dragon and her lips twitch, "Waiting for them to come out, then?" Because she can only see a faint few. Her head inclines slightly, "Welcome to Xanadu, then Bronzerider. Enjoy the stars when they do show." There's a cordial note to her voice, ice-green eyes fleetingly meet his and she offers a small, polite smile as she tosses a casual salute to him, "Have a good evening, then." She turns to resume her trek up the beach, the breeze catching both her dark hair and the knot upon her shoulder, fluttering them. It is quite possible that there is not enough light for him to see it clearly, but she doesn't seem to be concerned with that at all.

Y'dan raises his left eyebrow a few notches beneath his hairline at the fleeting look and studies the other for a few seconds as she continues on her way. "I thought you might like to know . . " He says, continuing to talk to her retreating back. "Why I came to Xanadu. I am an artist, you see, and I was told that the sand upon the beaches sculpts well and is particularialy beautiful. And upon the same lines that the women here are well-sculpted and more beautiful still." It comes out in a quiet tone that manages to carry, and he returns her salute slightly. "And this is relevant, of course, because all of these things have just been confirmed. Not that I'm making a pass at you, don't worry, but I gather from the unwillingness to meet my eyes and, more convincingly that you are out here on a charming beach on a beautiful evening alone that a few kind and ultimately honest words could be helpful." The corners of his mouth twist upwards, just slightly. "You should try smiling. It'd be a pretty one. And I'm an artist. I'd know." It blossoms into a grin of his own, then he stretches out again to let her continue on her way if she is convinced to or remain if she shall.

The woman stops as the bronzerider speaks, but she doesn't turn around, not at first. He might notice her back stiffen just a bit. A warning to most who know her. She's listening, for her head tilts, considering the words. With her back still turned, she speaks and when she does it is not about sand or women sculpted to perfection. Her voice is neither hesitant nor timid, although it is spoken clearly enough to carry, the words are smooth and gracious in tone, "Artist, hmm? Better see Fiara up at the Weyr. She's our resident Harper." She takes one further step, "Unwilling. Hmm, you misunderstand. Uninterested would better suffice." She resumes her walk, turning her head speaking over her shoulder in a mild tone, "Kind and honest do not always pair genuinely, but I came to find solitude rather than flattery."

Y'dan is not the least bit bothered; quite comfortable in his pose and poise. There is something in the way he has managed to fit himself perfectly into the contours of Scylanath's neck that suggests this is a usual activity for him. "That is most certainly true." He agrees with her, still peering towards her back. "If in your quest for solitude you should find it wanting, do return. I should be here until the moons are high at the very least. I have found sometimes, talking to one that you are never going to see again is occasionally helpful. If simply to hear yourself think. But these are my methods; and it is your issue that you seem to be trying to defeat." Sinking lower into his lifemate's neck he yawns, faintly. "However. I don't think that going to be alone at a time and place such as this has ever done more than depress someone."

The woman swings 'round at this and by what little light there is, should Y'dan be looking her way, he'll be seeing a tiny flash of annoyance to those pale eyes. "You assume." Her fingers flick the thought away as she continues, "I quite enjoy my time alone, furthermore should I have any issue," slight sarcasm lacing the last word. "There is someone who understands me well and listens when I need it." A glance around the deserted beach before her eyes return to him, "Your comments might make one wonder whether sitting out here on a lonely beach in a Weyr that is not your home, that it may be you with an issue to air?" It's casually said, with a tinge of boredom to which she adds a shrug.

"Perhaps so?" He inquires as to her. "One never knows, I may be speaking from experience. Which would further make me worth listening to. Besides, I know where you are coming from but there are times a dragon's perspective can be . . simplistic, or stilted. Scylanath never could figure out . . " A pause. "Things." He gives her a halfway smile, but it is a sympathetic one. "Honestly." He says. "I think if you really wanted solitude, you'd have kept right on walking instead of feeling the need to continue the conversation and ask me what I'm doing here." This time, he gives an apologetic look. "I'm frustrating, I know." But there is a tiny bit of a smile with it. just a small one.

The woman actually chuckles dryly, "I did say you assume, didn't I?" Might be a clue he still is. "I wasn't speaking of my dragon." Irony in the words and without further explanation given. Her gaze slides along the bronze, there's a sympathetic tone to her words, "And you must forgive yours his communication lack, he can't help it if he's male." Her head tilts, she's considering something, then there's a bit of a headshake, "Not frustrated at all, bronzerider. I stopped because it is all any Weyrwoman would do when a guest arrives. And although I can forget some things, I'm fairly certain I didn't ask you what you what you were doing." There's an easy indifference in her tone, "Couple of folks up to the pub, gal named Vivian up there might just be the one to listen if you're needing an ear tonight. Tell her Thea sent you." Her lips quirk in a tiny smile of her own.

Y'dan is lounging in a relaxed posture on the neck of his bronze, who appears to be sleeping in the sand. It is early evening, not quite dark but not quite light either; and warm with only a slight wind. "No, you didn't." He says with a halfway upturn of the left corner of his mouth. "But it was implied, at least." Decent cheer shows in his face as he settles down anew. "I may take you up on that suggestion, though. Meeting new folk is one of the pleasures of travel."

"The only thing I implied is that you needn't sleep on the beach." Thea's voice is subtly amused as shakes her head. Men. Especially bronzers. "Good night, bronzerider." With a tiny wave, she turns and continues her walk down the beach. He could safely assume she has no interest in asking his name.

Amusement is twofold, for whilst one of the beach occupants is shaking her head at men the other is doing equally so at women. Fah! Insane things, the lot of them. "Good luck. I hope that you are fortunate enough to stumble upon a few less irritating disturbances." A faint look of amusement as he reaches down to pat Scylanth's neck. The bronze yawns, and stumbles to his feet — blearily heading up towards the Weyr itself as the rider at least aims to take the Weyrwoman up on her suggestion.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 License