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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.

Midday, and what a day it's been. With the resident dorms being emptied out due to the bed bug invasion, the occupants have been scattered to the four winds. Rather than pester her brother, Desri has decided to be self-sufficient and entertain herself for the afternoon. This has led her to the beach where, unfortunately, the pale dunes compare unfavorably to those of Ista. Why, the wind rolling off of the water is /cold/. Had she realized that would be the case, she'd have grabbed a jacket or a shawl. Instead the nanny is trudging along the beach with her arms wrapped around herself, eyes narrowed against the breeze and jaw set in stubborn fashion. This was her idea and she's going to see it through, shardit.

After a morning's adventure, a long talk, a bath, and a pleasant lunch, Nicca was left on her own for the afternoon while O'ric took care of some of his own errands. For a while, the young woman lingered, flipping through the pages on his desk and making herself quite at home for the duration of the bedbug relocation, before boredness overtook her, and she's cutting her way across the weyr, walking with no particular destination in mind, feet eventually carrying her to the beach where she's now settled, facing the water, with her arms wrapped around her legs, hair caught by the wind as she watches the waves come in.

The crunch crunch of sandals over sand heralds Desri's approach. She hesitates and might have walked on, except for recognizing Nicca. Even then she might have carried on; the young woman's posture isn't one that invites chumminess and such behaviour is beyond Desri in any case. But she can and does sink to a seat some few feet away, curling her own arms around her knees before casting a sidelong look at Nicca. "Hello again." She pauses for a beat before adding, "I thought I was the only one dumb enough to come out here in this weather." It's clearly meant to be a light-hearted sort of greeting, seeing as how she's smiling, but…well, hello unintended insult.

Nicca continues to stare at the waves that lap against the sand, leaving little ripples behind, before the footsteps stop, and it seems that the visitor has chosen to remain. Blinking a few times, she pushes her windblown hair from her face, twisting it in a rough knot at the back of her neck, trying to get it to stay put. Glancing over Desri carefully, she shakes her head, glancing back at the water then. "Its a good place to think." A pause, and Nicca shakes her head. "Or, at least it was."

Later this evening, it may occur to Desri that she will want to reconsider how she says hello. The implication of what she said may even dawn on her. For now, the nanny is left to look puzzled and slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…it is a good place to…I mean." She looks down for a moment, fiercely chewing on the inside of her cheek before glancing again at the other girl. "You're Nicca, right? The…reporter? I was going to ask if you'd found out anything else. About the…the murder. I looked in your paper. Earlier. There…it was…there wasn't a lot in there."

A little snort escapes Nicca, the Weyrwoman's daughter clearly amused by the young woman's reaction, lips slipping into an easy smirk as she glances at her side-long. "Its a good place for other things, too. That are also better without an audience. Unless you're into that." Quick remark aside, she does nod, verifying her identity, before she huffs a little, and shakes her head. "All I found was a nasty little Holder girl." The long pause that follows is likely full of inappropriate names being assigned in her thoughts, distracted from the question of the Newes's content.

"I, ah…no." After a blink intended to express her surprise at the retort, Desri transfers her gaze to the water. There is a sense of the young woman sifting through her mental library of possible answers, conversation starters, segues. In the end, she settles for an expression of sympathy and a question, both of which the Istan judges to be safe enough. "I'm sorry it wasn't a…that you didn't learn more. Is the news always so…dry?" Thereby proving that Desri's judgment is not sound in such matters. "I thought…if you write about things like murders it might be more interesting, that's all."

"Don't worry, even if you were, I'd not tell your brother. Though, from what my sister said, he has some interesting habits of his own." She winks, teasing the young woman even more, and apparently getting quite a kick from making Desri uncomfortable. Nicca slowly stretches out, leaning back on her elbows then, glancing up at the sky. "Oh, it used to be. Before we got Mr.." And the young woman stalls when it comes to an insulting name. "Mr Grumpy as Weyrleader. And now Oz is afraid of him throwing us both out." And that makes for boring.

It's true, Desri's ears go a satisfying shade of dark pink, a color which can't entirely be attributed to the chill in the air. She stubbornly continues to look out over the water though. It's a shame that makes it so obvious that she continues to chew on the inside of her cheek when not speaking. "I don't think he ever mentioned your sister to me," she says with an ever so brief look at Nicca, "But we…don't really talk about that aspect of his life. Ah…G'ene?" That explains a few overheard remarks and one made to her face. Her forehead rumples in thought. "He's been making a lot of changes," she says after a brief pause. This is what counts for diplomacy with the nanny, stranger in a strange land that she is.

A soft chuckle lingers in the back of Nicca's throat as Desri colors, looking quite satisfied with herself as she sits there, mming softly. "Not surprised. After all, she's only the Weyrwoman's daughter, just some girl he spent a lot of time with." A hint of bitterness lingers in Nicca's voice for her sister, before Desri's comment has her snapping even more quickly. "Changes he has no right to make! My mother's been Weyrwoman since before I was born, and things were -just fine- before he stuck his nose in here." Ouch. Sore spot indeed.

Desri upgrades from cheek-chewing to lip-gnawing as things get heated over on that side of the conversation. She'd meant to placate and not anticipated the venting. Nicca is eyed in silence for a long, long period before she ventures a second attempt. "I…understand it must be…difficult to accept. That it happens that way sometimes. Especially with your mother having…served for so long, so well." While she waits to see how /that/ goes down, the Istan shifts in the sand; her ankles cross and her knees lower until she's sitting cross-legged, elbows braced for comfort.

Nicca rolls her eyes at the younger woman's attempt to placate her, Nicca dismissing the words with a wave of her hand, before its held there between them, as if to forestall any attempt at speaking for the moment. "M'iri was a -fine- Wingleader. Has been for turns, but now? She's gone. Just like that." She snorts, rolling her eyes. "Though, I wouldn't be surprised if women avoid him, and that's why he has such a wherry up his.." She trails off, frowning at the young woman. "Besides, what would you know about it. Not like he can get rid of the nannies."

Ohhh, this is going to get her into trouble. Desri knows it and yet still feels compelled to point it out, even as her head turtles towards her shoulders. "If that were the case then he'd have cheered up after the flight," she observes. It's like picking at a scab; you /know/ you shouldn't but you just can't help yourself. "I suppose I…don't really know much about it though, no. I'm only helping out in the nursery, I could go back to Ista," she adds, if only to keep Nicca from reaching out and snatching her bald-headed for her presumption.

"Heard he's already been hitting the bottle before it. Wouldn't be surprised if he was too drunk to even realize what happened." Nicca rolls her eyes, shaking her head hurriedly and rubbing at her arms and then her forehead, grimacing. "Now I can't get that image out of my mind, thanks." She grumbles, looking displeased as she closes her eyes to think of something - anything - other than her mother and that man. "Maybe he'll get tired of Mother and leave." Even if Niva hasn't actually driven off a Weyrleader - yet.

A bit of grumbling is infinitely preferable to having her eyes plucked out, a fact which Desri is wise enough to appear grateful for. "I'm sorry," she says responsibly, "If he is as bad as you think he is, maybe he will. But…" And there's always a but, hesitantly spoken though it may be. "If he's already making all of these changes, maybe…it might be that he…he likes being Weyrleader and will want to stay. In which case…" Desri honestly isn't sure of what's to be done, really. But under the guise of attempting to be friendly, she feels she should offer something. "Maybe you just need to…find a way to work with what he's been doing."

"Please, please don't say that." Nicca murmurs without opening her eyes, still rubbing slowly at her temples, shaking her head before she takes a deep breath. Slowly, her eyes unlid and she glances over at Desri, lifting her chin and sticking her nose in the air just a bit. "We're going to see what we can find out about him. Where he was, before Ierne. There's got to be somethere there, to work on our side."

"I'm sorry." Desri adopts a smile, encouraged by Nicca's reply in spite of the need to repeat her apology. "That's a good idea, actually. He's…well…I mean, bronzeriders don't just appear from nowhere." Except when they do. The nanny shifts again to hug her knees to her chest. "If you could find something…useful. There's…ah. I'm not sure what you /could/ find that would help but…" This time she has the sense not to complete the thought, catching her lower lip between her teeth rather than continue on.

"He has to have something more than a couple of turns at Ierne behind him. He's hardly young." Nicca says harshly, laughing softly at the thought, and then glances back at the water. "Maybe we'll find something good, and Oz and I can go back to writing -real- news." News, of course, being subjective. "Maybe he did something horrible. Or, maybe something good." And that's said in a tone that implies how unlikely she thinks -that- is.

"I'd read that. I mean…articles about him. Maybe even others. But I don't really know people here yet." Which explains why Desri subjected poor Nicca to unexpected company. She rocks a little in the sandy wallow hollowed out by her rump and adds, in musing fashion, "Really, that would be an interesting series, wouldn't it? Find out the things a lot of people don't know about others and then write about it. You could do a collection." The revery is broken when she thinks to glance at the other girl. "I mean…maybe after. When you know more about him."

"You and half the Weyr, I'm certain. Even the ones who like him for some reason." She smirks, rolling her eyes. "Wager if we titled it outrageous enough, he'd get a kick from it too." Nicca's gaze wanders to the sky, and the silhouette of a dragon with a slightly odd… gait?… catches her attention, and she's hurriedly scrambling to her feet. "That's what the Newes is about… Best make sure you don't let anything out, that you won't want spread." Threat or warning, no one can be sure, but Nicca's already turning to cut down the beach, watching the dragon's flight pattern overhead to determine his destination.

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