Don't Eat The Bubblies

Igen Weyr - Galleries
From this vantage point, you can look over the balcony to the Sands below. The seating here stretches out around the perimeter of the Sands, the rows of seating rising high above. The benches are wooden, simple bleachers, and the stone steps have been worn down along their center from turns of foot-traffic. Above the bleachers, the ledge of the galleries is pocked and marked from dragonclaws where dragons have perched to watch the hatchings as well.

It's late morning, the air still cool and far from the stifling heat of Igen in summer that'll come later in the day. It's the perfect time to visit the eggs before it gets too stifling within the galleries, which is probably why Zevuki is here, standing stiff-backed halfway up the galleries. There's a handful more people looking, talking in quiet tones at the lowest level right next to the sands, but the guard-turned-candidate seems content with his position all the way up there, hands clasped loosely behind his back.

And then there is Risali, who is coming from the winter landscape of Xanadu Weyr carried by a stride that speaks of confidence; the goldrider's chin is lifted, those grey eyes are alert - aware - of her surroundings, and there's a subtle sway of hips that says don't mess with me in complement to the air she gives off: unapproachable, further communicated by the downward pull of her lips in a scowl and the set of her brows inward that surely sent people out of her way as she hunted down Zevuki. She's pulling at the heavy weight of her jacket as she goes, tying it off around her hips while pulling her hair up into a quick, messy bun at the back of her head because it's still damn hot and she's only dressed down in leathers because between is always cold. Still, her focal point settles on Zevuki, the only reason she's in Igen Weyr now, the man who's inspiring the large (but not large enough) steps to carry Risali through the galleries, up halfway, and right before him. And there's something in her arms, a bundle wrapped in soft leathers that she's hugging to her chest until she's right in front of Zevuki and that bundle is being shoved into his chest without ceremony, without warning. Lips part, preceding an exhale that comes in lieu of words, and then Risali is finally managing a breathy, "Congratulations, sir." And there is the softening of her features, the hint of a smile that threatens at the corners of her lips without becoming something full-blown and wild, a smile that falters as she keeps her hand in place against that bundle she's shoved at Zevuki until he takes it himself or pushes it back. "And I'm sorry." But she's meeting his eyes when he says it; there's nothing timid or meek or hesitant - she means it. Because she is sorry. She may not expect him to understand, or even to forgive her, but she's here because it needed to be said, and Risali is a fighter in every sense of the word. She is undaunted, she doesn't cower, and she waits.

It's a lot to take in. The goldrider's approach, the demeanor that fairly radiates off her, and her deliberate stride towards him. As a trained guard, however, Zevuki's gaze absorbs it all, a bare increment of back straightening even further, if possible, prior to her approach, gaze neutral. "Good morning, ma'a—." The rest of that welcome is cut off as she shoves the bundle at him, though with his hands clasped behind his back his first reaction isn't to claim what's offered, but shift his weight so that, while she's still pressing the bundle against him, the shove isn't enough to put him off balance. "-m," comes his flippant-seeming finish, though there's no trace of amusement in steely, serious gaze of light green eyes. "Thank you," follows soon enough, though he falters to silence at her apology, regarding her silently a moment. "It is hardly something to apologize for, ma'am. Your friend was correct; I didn't belong there."

"You're welcome," comes readily enough from the goldrider, from Risali who stands there under a lack of amusement, who takes the brunt of steely seriousness and doesn't back down because Risali isn't the type. And still, her arm remains extended between the subtle space between them, the bundle of something pressed to the guard's chest and held in place by a reaching hand with fingers splayed in contact, and - the silent regard, the words that come next. Risali closes those grey eyes, those lips part again as she breathes, and when they open again, there's a hint of some kind of emotion that's hard to place. It's not good, but it's certainly not bad (and it's not aimed at Zevuki). "He wasn't correct," comes almost vicious in Risali's conviction, the smile dissipating on the heels of the downward pull of lips and the inward pull of brows. "He was wrong, but I'm not here to apologize for him. I'm not responsible for him; I am responsible for me, and I - " Words. Those troublesome things that Risali has never been good with and are the reason she'd rather scuffle than speak. She's good at one; she's not so great at the other. "I'm sorry, sir. For… for what I did, for what I said. There's no excuse," except that she was proddy and under the influence of a queen, "and I will do my damndest to make sure you never have to see me like that again. But I didn't feel right letting that be our goodbye, so here I am, making myself look more like a fool, and telling you that I'm sorry." Despite how words could be misconstrued, her tone leaves no room for argument: there's no desperation, no pleading hints of please forgive me; it's simply honesty, and the stunted words of a woman who's not the best with the things she says. And then, softly: "Take this, please. I have no use for it."

Zevuki is the steady rock as Risali moves through various emotions, his own expression largely unchanged. "I accept your apology," the guard says, readily. Perhaps as much to avert this awkward moment as anything — they're getting curious looks from others in the gallery. "I am told this happens to gold-and-greenriders." His gaze drops from her expression, going to the bundle, then back up to the goldrider's face, then past to those onlookers. There's something tight in his gaze, definitely not amusement, but his hands at least, finally unclasp from behind his back to accept the bundle. "Am I the home for your cast-offs then, ma'am?" he asks, evenly, at her latter words.

"Good," Risali says, emphatic despite the evident relief; the tiny goldrider has enough enemies (and is it any wonder why?). She's in no rush to acquire yet another one because of her… her-ness. But, softer: "Thank you." It's the comment about her predicament coming at the behest of the color she rides that has Risali shifting uncomfortably and then dipping her head in a nod, though the dry tone she delivers, "Lucky me," on is riddled with sarcasm (and a hint of amusement to curb the otherwise scathing self-deprecation). Zevuki's gaze to the onlookers has Risali tilting her head to look too, and then there's more determination on her face as the candidate takes the lumpy bundle from her and allows her to drop her arm back to her side. A beat, and then there's amusement on her lips for his question as she moves to stand beside him and leans in to give him a gentle shoulder-bump. "I would never do anything of that sort." A beat, more amusement. "To you." And then she's gesturing at the bundle. "Actually, it's a bubbly. I made it myself. You probably shouldn't eat it; I can't promise my skills didn't make it poisonous, but I have it on good authority that handmade things are more sincere than things that can be bought. You didn't seem the type who would want a song of apology." A beat, and then Risali's lifting her brows as if she's just realized something. "Unless you are, sir," she delivers on a conspirator's whisper. "Are you?" She's teasing him.

The lift of Zevuki's brow might suggest he's not all that convinced that Risali wouldn't dump her cast-offs onto him. When she reveals the bundle's contents, he pulls the covering free to regard it. "So… I shouldn't eat it. I should, what, admire it?" he sounds dubious. "Throw it at someone?" he adds, with a hint of amusement, if brief. "I… no. A bubbly pie I shouldn't eat is sufficient apology," he states, very clearly, since obviously this is a less-worse situation than being serenaded by a foreign goldrider.

The lift of unconvinced brows has Risali biting down on her bottom lip to keep herself from laughing; a move that she manages to execute with a quickly somber expression as she rises her chin in playful challenge because how dare he silently attack her character. The covering is pulled free, and the box is lumpy and ruined and has Risali covering her mouth because she might have squished it in her enthusiastic application of it to his chest. And possibly to her person when she got on a dragon and carried it between. Risali leans into Zevuki's space, but it's not in a manner meant to be invasive; she's getting a better look at the horrifying box he's unveiled and reaching out gentle fingers to pull back the lid to see the not-nearly-as-smooshed-as-she-expected treat inside. Still, those grey eyes stay focused on the quasi-mash for a moment longer, and then she's flicking those grey eyes back up to Zevuki. "I was going to say it'd be rude to not at least try it, but it's certainly looking better suited for a weapon at this point." Don't mind her. She's just reaching in with one finger to swipe up some of the gook and - yep. She sticks the finger in her mouth, tastes her own creation, and fights off more laughter as she pulls her finger free. "Definitely don't eat it." A beat, and then another gentle shoulder-bump. "Are you sure?" she inquires, feigning seriousness. "I was a harper before I became a dragonrider. It can hear it now: Sir, so full of mystery; with this bubbly I beseech thee, please forgive this travesty, and my proddy transgressies." SHE JUST MADE UP THAT WORD. Kind of. And at least she whispered it to spare him embarrassment - even if she's fighting back her own laughter. "Is it better now? I've made you a song and a killer bubbly. I don't think you appreciate the effort both of those things took, sir."

"I've seen worse," is all Zevuki can manage to say after a few moments of regarding the bubbly. "There was once this cart trying to get up this winding road on a cliff — the cart broke free and slid over the side. Bubbly splattered everywhere. It was traumatic." He might be putting it on, but he certainly seems deadly serious about the whole event. His brow draws down further as she breaks into song — even if perhaps a whispered one — mouth transforming into a briefly thin line. Maybe he's offended by the making up of a word. "And why exactly did you to go that effort, ma'am? I'm little more than a lowly guard — a lowly candidate," he self-corrects, after a moment. Clearly he's still not used to that.

"Must have been dreadful," Risali breathes, feigning an air of seriousness. "I imagine the mindhealers were busy for months afterwards." And then there's another smile, a hiccup of laughter that she can't quite catch. "Though easy with the compliments, sir. You wouldn't want me to get the wrong idea." Still, a whispered song (that's less sing-song and more lyrical verse) ends on a serious note that has even Risali coming up short. Because Zevuki is asking a question that doesn't seem playful; it's the kind of question that has Risali's smile faltering, that sees the goldrider leaning back so that grey eyes can find the guard's face and jump between green eyes in silent question. Whatever she finds there, it's probably not an answer, because Risali's drawing her brows together and lapsing into a silence that stretches, knocking at the border of awkward as she tries to find words that aren't stupid and… "Guard, candidate - Does it matter? You are important, sir," comes carefully, as if Risali is wary of the reaction he will have to her admittance because the goldrider is aware that her regards may be one-sided. And that's fine. "And because I'm not very good with people - or words. Maybe because saying that I'm sorry is something I've never been very good at, but one day I hope that I will get to call you friend." And there goes Risali's chin, up just so, a challenge for him to make fun of her admittance because she is a fighter and perhaps embarrassed, and maybe that is why she's suddenly staring forward and looking out at the sands, watching the eggs with the kind of regard of a woman who's trying to will the ground swallow her whole while also observing a sight that will be her future soon. Her queen is gravid, after all.

"Terrible," Zevuki agrees, with barely a pause. His brow furrows briefly for a moment, glancing briefly sidelong. "You have a very strange interpretation of the term 'important', ma'am," the guard corrects her, not unkindly, and yet kind of firmly. Because she's clearly wrong. He's silent for long moments after, and while she regards the eggs on the sands, he returns to habits — studying the others in the galleries, thankfully no longer looking their way — the Igen queen on the sands, the goldrider at his side, and finally the apology present he's still holding. "I see," he finally murmurs. "Well, perhaps you could practice the baking a little more."

Risali has a strange interpretation of what's important? Risali's grey eyes are back on Zevuki then, lacking in pity, but harboring something else that's just as intense, punctuated by the fact that Risali's expression disagrees with him. She doesn't pry, it's not in her nature, but that doesn't mean she lets it go either. "Sir," she says softly, turning to face him after her mental recess and feigned interest in the eggs on the sands. Gentle fingers reach out to grip the fabric at his shoulder, an anchor of sorts (or perhaps a physical manifestation of her wish for him to hear her out) as she struggles with those stupid words and finally manages, "Who said you're not important?" But it's a rhetorical question, one that she doesn't give him time to answer because she's continuing with, "Fuck them. I've been alive for twenty turns, sir, and do you know? In twenty turns, I've never met anyone who wasn't important." And then she's giving him a quiet smile - muted, preceding the gentle (very gentle) punch that she applies to his shoulder for his jab at her cooking as she breathes, "Shut up, sir," in quiet, gentle tones.

Maybe she can see a hint of tension briefly visible in Zevuki's posture, a visible disagreement with her sentiment, or perhaps a subtle reaction as she reaches for the material of his shirt. "While a nice thought, ma'am, the reality is everyone has their place, and some of us are content to serve." He's respectfully disagreeing. Or maybe just determinedly disagreeing, since there's a tone to his voice. After she punches him, there's a brief exhale, and he does as bid. He shuts up.

There's genuine confusion on Risali's face for Zevuki's response, and despite the fact that he shuts up, despite the fact that he's determined to disagree with her, Risali steps down and turns so that she can face the younger man again. "My father," she begins softly, as if unsure of how much she wants to share even as she opens herself up regardless. "Was a renegade." And up come those grey eyes again, finding green to hold as she continues with, "He wasn't a killer, or… violent. He was orphaned by traders, and found his way to a camp, and did what he had to do to survive. But what do you think, sir? Do you think he is unimportant? Do you think his story doesn't matter because he grew up with the holdless - because he lived a life that people look down on because they don't understand anything beyond their own prejudices?" A beat, and then Risali's hands are coming out before her, fingers splayed. "I don't expect to change your mind, sir, but my father became a dragonrider. He became a dragonrider that became a weyrsecond and then a weyrleader. Nobody is unimportant, just because their circumstances or their stations don't lend them authority. A weyr cannot function without every person in it. Every person. I like to fight, but look at me." An exhale, as she gestures to her smallness and maybe looks a little furious at having to admit her own handicaps. "I couldn't do what you do, sir. You keep people safe. You're the reason people can sleep at night. And now look at you. You're a candidate; you could become a dragonrider, and a weyrsecond, and a weyrleader." Brows knit, and there's a half-step backwards. "Is that why you're always so formal with me? Is it because I'm a goldrider? Is it because you think that I think less of you?"

"Everyone's important in their own way," Zevuki allows, holding up a hand to try and defray her torrent of words. "But importance is relative, too. Can a kitchen maid affect the lives of an entire Weyr by saying the wrong thing at the wrong diplomatic meeting? Can a renegade," he grimaces briefly expression darkening, "Choose to travel across the continent and dine at a foreign location just because whimsy or whim allows?" He shakes his head. "Just because everyone could become someone important, doesn't inherently mean their importance is held above others. You cannot hold every single person up in a Weyr and tell them, 'you could be a Werywoman or a Weyrleader', because it is not inherently feasible. If that were the case, who would clean out the latrines? Get up before dawn to make food? Ensure the animal's stables are cleaned?" He shakes his head, sharply, at the latter words, but doesn't respond to her assumptions. "Some must lead, and some must serve. Surely you understand that?"

Everyone is important in their own way - a sentiment Risali can agree with. Still, the tiny woman (aside from a dip of her head in concession), is silent while Zevuki continues speaking. She waits with patience as he expresses his own view-point, and then she exhales when he reaches his conclusion. "My point, sir," comes very softly, "is that everybody is important - not just because of who they could become, but because they are people and their roles - what they do - what they endure to keep the weyr running is important." Another shift, Risali bringing her arms up over her chest as grey eyes study the guard's face and then her attention drops back to the misshapen box of bubbly she delivered at the beginning of their meeting. "But not everybody is important." And there's something there, a story that has Risali's brows drawing in, that have her jaw going tight for a moment, ticking before she looks up again to meet his eyes. "I'm not a fool, sir, but you don't strike me as the kind of man who simply wants to hurt others, or watch the world burn. So even if you don't agree with me, to me you are important. To someone else, you are probably the sun." And then maybe Risali is aiming for humor, because she's whispering, "You're not going to kill me with my own bubbly, are you? That'd be awfully rude. I worked hard on it."

"I don't think we disagree with the generalities, ma'am, only the semantics. Not unless you're pitching for a Weyrleader without a dragon. I, myself, am content in my role, nor do I think I particularly warrant either a song, a dance, or certainly not a bubbly pie," Zevuki regards the rather sad and untouched bundle he holds, "In honor of anything I do." He and Risali are standing halfway up the galleries — it's early morning, cool enough that it's not unpleasantly hot here yet. He seems to consider Risali's words for a moment, "Not yet, ma'am. Not with witnesses, anyway." A flicker of a smile, there and gone.

If it is early morning in Igen, it is likely still dark in Fort. So why is Sephany here? Unknown. But her fingers are curled around a mug of Klah, clutching it close as though it is extremely precious. She stifles a yawn as she heads into the Hatching Caverns, and is partway up the stairs before she even seems to see, let alone recognize, the pair conversing. "Risa?" Yes. She is surprised. Though she does not let it stop her from offering a quick and polite, "good morning," to both.

"Well lucky for both of us, the bubbly and the song were in apology for the terrible things that I've done," Risali offers with more of that dry humor, a quirk of a smile threatening once more at the corners of her lips. "I wouldn't want to offend you with honor, sir. Dreadful stuff, honor." The tension in Risali's body eases, sinking her shoulders as she steps back up to stand beside the guard and leans sideways with another shoulder-bump, raising her brows as he makes a joke at her and she answers it with a somberly-feigned, "Good thing, sir. I wouldn't want to hurt you. Of course, you could just offer some to them too, and then there wouldn't be any witnesses. Or me, for that matter." Another flicker of her own smile. And then those grey eyes are back out on the sands, on the eggs sitting, baking baby dragons that will someday claw their way free of shell and goop, and find their lifemates waiting in robes of white and sandaled feet on that stretch of hothothot. "Are you nervous?" she asks then, anticipating Zevuki might realize she's talking about dragons because of where her attention is (and because nobody ever suffered from a change of topics) without looking back in his direction - though she does gesture towards the sands just in case. Risali's attention is pulled to Sephany then, grey eyes lingering on the Fortian's mug of Klah (and perhaps on her surprise, though it doesn't faze the goldrider) before she lifts her hand and waggles fingers with subtle movement. "Good morning," she echoes around a quiet, amicable smile. "Are you alright?"

Zevuki seems to be bearing up well under Risali's relentless optimism, enthusiasm and shoulder-bumping. "I won't be party to mass-poisoning fellow Igenites." Which implies just maybe he'd be on board somewhere else! A little narrowing of his gaze at the goldrider's question. "I'm more nervous about the prospect of trying your home made pie than the sands, for the time being. Perhaps that will change the closer we get," he concedes. "More than that, the frustration of no one being able to clearly tell me what to expect outweighs any nerves." He regards Risali, then, brows rising as if in challenge. "Perhaps you can try?" The guard is, perhaps, equally surprised to see Sephany here so early. "Good morning," is returned to her, rote greeting at best, still recovering from his surprise as he regards her with an unspoken question in his gaze.

Klah is life right now. That is what the curled fingers clutching the mug says. Sephany lifts it, takes a long sip that seems to infuse both warmth and caffeine straight to her bloodstream. At least she perks up just a little. "I am alright," she answers, offering a smile to back up her statement. "Tired. It is still very, very early in Igen, and although I am a fan of mornings… this is a bit extreme." A glance between the pair, a brief peek at that suspect peace-offering, and she wonders, "Is that food?" unspoken questions get reassuring smiles, and she tells them both, "I am actually here on craft business, believe it or not, though apparently there was a miscommunication regarding the hour of the appointment." Someone screwed up. "So I have decided to wait it out."

JUST THE IGENITES, ZEVUKI? Risali caught that, and she's leaning forward as if trying to see his face because that sounded an awful lot like another joke. Still, she doesn't comment on it, she just gives him a (playfully) suspicious look as she leans back into her own space and allows the topic to flow back to Zevuki's answer for her question. "Fair," Risali answers, fighting back laughter around another smile. "My bubbly probably maims and mauls with the same indiscriminate viciousness as a newly hatched dragon." As for the guard's frustration, well… Risali tilts her head to meet his regard, and then turns her gaze back forward when he opens the floor for her to try to explain something that's indescribable. "It's…" an exhale, brows knitting in a physical manifestation of Risali's attempts to find the right words. "Hot." And there's another pull at the corners of her mouth, a quiet smile that remains as she stares at the eggs and shifts as if remembering the heat of Xanadu's sands under her feet. "Maybe nobody can tell you what to expect because words will never be enough to describe what it's like to stand out there and watch; and it's even harder to explain to somebody what impression is like. I could say it's like finding a part of yourself that you never realized you were looking for, but that wouldn't make sense. You just…" An exhale, a gesture with her hands towards the sands as she tilts her head up to seek green eyes with grey and, "Have to experience it to know. And if I'm wrong, then you can tell me all about the proper way to describe it after you've been on those sands, watching dragons find the rest of their lives." And then Sephany asks that dreaded question about whether or not that's food, and Risali bites down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing as the Fortian becomes her focal point. "It's an attempt at food. I wouldn't eat it." BECAUSE RISALI MADE IT. "Have you been waiting long already?"

Zevuki all-but-shoves the half-wrapped bubbly pie towards Sephany the second she shows the least bit of interest in it. "I wouldn't really recommend it, but feel free," he offers, with a flickered smile. It fades at Risali's attempt to explain, brow drawing down as mouth is pulled into a frown at her offering of 'hot'; only fading when she at least tries to continue, even if — to judge by the grimace — it isn't precisely satisfactory to the guard. Still, he seems to be taking it in, and seems to be still contemplating it, since he's silent when Risali makes her inquiries of Sephany, gaze shifting away from the pair.

There's a suspiciously 'knowing' look on Sephany's face as Risali attempts to describe the indescribable of Impression. A look that is cast towards Zevuki because… well. Maybe they had this conversation already. "Good try," she offers the visiting goldie. "But it is best to stay away from things like 'you must experience it for yourself'." Helpful tips. For next time. The bubbly being shoved her direction is hastily accepted, Klah relocated to one hand as the other goes to the clutching and grasping and general unwrapping of the item. "I am hungry enough, I think I shall take my chances." Even then, she sort of hesitates looking between Risali and Zevuki. That they both recommend she avoids it? Hm. "About an hour," she admits. "They had me running around in the tunnels on a fools errand until I finally found someone who could point me in the proper direction." And the bubbly is summarily re-wrapped and set somewhere? else. "I suppose I will go collect a proper breakfast at some point, but I wanted a moment of quiet before I… lost my temper and bit someone's head off."

"You haven't even tried it," Risali breathes around a laugh, grey eyes watching the offering and totally catching the grimace he offers for her explanation - an expression that has her smiling again as she rolls up her shoulders and turns her attention back onto Sephany. Fair point. "Okay, how about this: It was nerve-wracking, sir. It was… it was intense, like the anticipation I felt the first time my weyrmate's hands were on me and I realized I wanted them there." A lick of her lips as grey eyes go back out to the sands, "And I don't mean that sexually. I hated him and he hated me; that it was suddenly electric was terrifying. It was the unknown; that shaky instability when you know that something is coming, but you aren't sure what - where your lungs seize, and you can't breathe, and you're suddenly clumsy because your feet are trying to obey two separate commands at once: stay and run. Because you're scared that the news is bad, but you're paralyzed by the giddiness that it might be good. And it's.. wonder. It's the heart-in-my-throat admiration I felt when I met my baby sister for the first time, and it's… so much more than that. All of that magnified immeasurably." Grey eyes flicker back to Zevuki again. "But maybe what you experience - what you feel - will be different. Maybe you can give me insight when you're done." And back to Sephany those grey eyes go, humor evident when the weaver sets aside her bubbly before grey eyes jump to the Fortian's face and she offers her another smile. "You could always feed them the bubbly. It might be good revenge." A beat, and then, "My mother was a baker before she became a rider. She tried to teach me, but it never really took." An exhales, and then a shift as she turns her attention back onto the sands. "Am I intruding?" she asks suddenly, softly, without looking at either Sephany or Zevuki.

"I don't think I've ever seen you loose your temper," Zevuki puts in, with a brief smile, at Sephany. "If you do, tip me off beforehand? I think I'd like to watch." He gives an approving nod when the Fortian puts aside the bubbly pie, probably for the best. And, when Risali tries again, she has the guard's full attention. There's little changes of his expression throughout, brow furrowing, lips pressing into something thoughtful, but when she's done, he nods, and murmurs, "Thank you, for explaining, ma'am. Trying to, anyway." Her latter comment about interrupting receives a puzzled look, and a glance towards Sephany, as if she might have a better idea why Risali suggests that.

"It is rare, but it does happen," says Sephany of her temper-losing, followed by a mischievous grin and a quick, "Deal" for tipping him off. "Though I am not sure how amusing it will be. I have been told it is rather the equivalent of an angry kitten." But then there is Risali, and she is attempting to once more explain the unexplainable, and Zevuki is not the only one giving the goldrider full and complete attention. Sephany is just as intent on this; a small furrow between her pale eyebrows as she considers each and every word. There are small expressions throughout; a lift of her eyebrows at the description of hands-on-bodies, another frown at the 'stay or run' idea, and a little bit more understanding at the idea of 'wonder' and 'heart in throat'. Some of this resonates. Some of it does not. But Sephany does not ask any follow-up questions. Just a small "Hmm," for the information. As for interrupting? "No…?" with a fleeting look towards Zevuki. Is she as baffled by the suggestion as he is? Hard to say, though very quickly she is giving Risa a look. It's one of those girl-to-girl looks that says SO MUCH but nothing at all, at the same time.

"You're welcome, sir. It's also like jumping from a high cliff into the water - those seconds of weightless freefall when everything is in your throat, and you're screaming because people aren't made to fly, but how could you not jump? And then you're submerged by water, and you're fighting to the surface, and that first breath of air in your burning lungs - it's like that." Not that Risali expects any of it to make sense. Still, Risali is turning to face Sephany in just enough time to get that look, and brows furrow before the goldrider turns to Zevuki, bringing her hand up in a salute that's playful in nature and perhaps ridiculous because Risali's probably the one who should be afforded that level of respect. So says her rank, anyway, not that Risali has her knot on because she's really good about not putting it on ever, and not that Risali wants it. "I'm sorry again, sir," comes more softly, but Risali's already pulling her jacket from around her hips and pulling her arms into it as she tilts sideways for another shoulder bump. "Take care of yourself. Don't eat the bubbly." It's delivered with another of those soft, quiet smiles, and then Risali is making her way down the steps, zipping up her leathers as she gives Sephany a smile in passing. "Really, don't eat the bubbly. Don't let him eat it either." It's a faux-whisper. "Unless you need to physically harm him. Because then definitely feed it to him." And there Risali goes, a sideways bump for the younger girl's shoulder as she heads past with an equally soft, "Be safe, Sephany," on her way out.

Zevuki's brows definitely go up at Sephany's description of a 'angry kitten', obviously trying to picture this and largely failing. "I suspect it is something best witnessed," is all he says. Risali's addition has him regarding her again, thoughtfully. "I'm, at least, passing familiar with the concept, though we don't exactly have lots of lakes and water around here that I'm frequently jumping off cliffs," he says, a little ruefully. Her abrupt departure, however, earns a further confused furrow of brow. "Good morning, ma'am," is finally added on, as she's already making her departure.

Truly, Angry-Kitten-Sephany is one of those things that must be experienced to be understood. Bring popcorn. But in this moment, there is no anger. There is just a bit of general confusion for the suddenly departing goldrider. "I didn't mean…" because maybe that girl-to-girl look was misinterpreted and she's now run off her friend? But she is leaving, and Sephany is left with inedible bubblies, shoulder bumps and guard-turned-candidates. And Klah. Thank Faranth for Klah. "I will," be safe. "You as well. Give Leirith a scratch for me," because that sounds like something nice to do, right? A glance to Zevuki, a smile and a quick, "I am going to sit down. Either here, or in the Living Caverns with some breakfast. Do you want to joint me?" For either. For both. It is an open invitation.

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