What Kind of Tasty

Firelizard Theater
A natural clearing in the forest has grown a different sort of tree. The Courtyard of the Firelizard holds grass trampled into dirt around the wooden play structures.
In the northern part of this field lies a jungle-gym like fort, with two towers that soar to fifteen feet of height. One of them adjoins a large open deck with spiral staircase up and a metal slide down. That aside, the structure's made almost entirely of wood, the boards locked together either by being interlocked or by huge wooden bolts hammered into the boards. The towers are studded with uneven boards and rough spots, various climbing challenges on each of their faces. A swaying rope bridge with wooden slats connects the towers, and beneath it there's a sealed tunnel to run through or play minecraft.

Just past the fort, there are wooden sit-toys carved and painted into the likeness of dragons. They're about two feet high and four feet long, though the green is smaller than the blue. There's a place for a child to sit on the dragon's back, with their feet resting on the dragon's paws and hands on the bars bars attached to the neck of the dragon. Pushing with hands or feet will make the dragon rock and writhe.
In the middle of the field are two sets of swings, suspended by rope from from a wooden beam that's held up by crossbraces on either side. There's a set of monkey bars, made entirely out of wood but carefully polished until the dark bars glow, and a set of seesaws. The sandbox is set back a little from the rest, filled with sand from Xanadu's beach and scattered with buckets and shovels.
Trees border the area, including a massive Lemosian ironwood that has beneath its branches wooden benches with a view of the playground.

It's early evening at the playground, plenty of light still to be had before most people go about their supper plans. The curly-haired trader is sitting on the ground in front of a bench beneath the ironwood with a young girl sitting on the bench behind him, her elbows on his shoulders as they watch the people passing by. She points out one in particular to him, a boy a little older than her, and after a moment of consideration, he says something to her. Delighted, she leaps off of the bench and heads in the boy's direction, while Khavro grins after her.

And WHAT IS THIS? Xanadu's Senior Weyrwoman exactly where she probably has no business (at the moment) being? OF COURSE. But she isn't sporting her knot, and the heat of Xanadu's summer-climes means that she isn't even in her riding leathers to denote herself as anything more than one more unsuspecting weyrfolk here to partake in the festivities. Those grey eyes take in the strange duo of boy and girl; Risali even watches as the female companion goes to approach that slightly older boy and Risali, picking her away across the ground with careful, measured steps, brings herself up on that bench behind that curly-haired trader and settles into a crouch. Her elbows find her thighs, her chin finds her hands, and she's smiling the worst kind of smile (the one that shows too many teeth and scrunches up her eyes and her nose// when she breathes out, "Is she confessing her love?" BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE CUTE.

For what it's worth, Khavro doesn't jump but there's just enough tension to betray some measure of surprise at the sound of the woman's voice behind him. There's a beat before he glances back at her, all relaxed again. "She might be," he offers up with an almost wistful shrug. But as they watch the potential drama play out, the younger girl only taps the boy on the arm, then takes off giggling and running the other way. "Children are weird, aren't they?"

Risali watches the interaction between strange girl and unknown boy, curious, brows rising as she taps and then flees, but — "They are good teachers," Risali disagrees softly. "They see the good in everybody and the wonder in everything. They trust readily, they forgive faster, and they love without exception and expectation. Sometimes I wish the rest of us were still seeing the world the way it was before we realized that some people just want to watch the world burn, and you with it." Be that emotionally, physically, taking-advantage-of-youally. "I like the thought of it being blooming romance." Because it's SWEET, and it's INNOCENT, and clearly the weyrwoman doesn't think there's enough of that in this world. "Why do you think they're strange?"

Those pale green eyes look up at the woman when Khavro twists to get a bit better look at the stranger he's striking up such a deep conversation with. He settles back the way he was, pulling his knees up to rest his forearms on. "You can love and trust and find wonder in all sorts of things without being gullible and short-sighted." He says it fondly, granted. He holds no ill will against children or anything. "It's a little too romantic for me to ignore the fact that some of them are still giant assholes."

Risali throws her head back to laugh, a huff of breathy air that's short-lived before she slips down from the bench to settle herself beside Khavro on the floor, pulling her own legs up to her chest, pressing her cheek into her knees as greys find that stranger and she scrunches her nose in a mix of mischief and amusement. "That's fair. Some of them are. But," because there is ALWAYS A BUT, and does Risali even know Khavro enough to tip sideways and shoulderbump him? No, but she does. She also makes a strange sound in her throat and shivers after, then SCOOTS to put some distance between them. A beat, Risali is just about to say something else, but what escapes instead is — "Faranth." BECAUSE HERE SHE COMES. THERE, THERE IS A GIANT GOLDEN HEAD SHOVING HER SNOUT IN WHERE IT LITERALLY DOESN'T BELONG AND ASSUREDLY DOES NOT FIT. Ladies and Khavro-men: Leirith. And as if that were not enough, that giddy, sunbright, effervescent queen is BROADCASTING TO EVERY POOR UNFORTUNATE SOUL WITH BRAIN CELLS. To MURDER THEM. The brain cells, we mean. Not the actual people. Maybe close though, because her mindvoice is just BASS and DRUMS and a RATTLESHAKEVIBRAAAAATEEEBBBRRRRRR that's not unpleasant, but is certainly TOO DAMN LOUD. « WAHEY, MINIONS. SHOW ME TRICKS. WHO IS THE TRICKIEST ONE. I HAVE — DISAPPOINTMENT. WHAT DO WE HAVE FOR THEM? » "Not now." « NEVERMIND. THE DISAPPOINTING ONE IS BEING DISAPPOINTING. » A beat, and that blue eye SEES YOU OVER THERE, KHAVRO. RUN. « MINION. HE LOOKS TASTY. » Risali's just going to slowly sink behind her hands and hide her face, thankyou.

He might be comfortable enough around dragons to hang out at Weyrs he doesn't belong to, but that sort of voice in a head that rarely experiences such is different. Khavro tips slightly to the side like he's gone a bit unbalanced, but a hand gropes out to steady himself against the solid ground. "Faranth." The word doesn't completely capture the tone he uses. "Is that one yours?" Then the rest processes, "Wait, what kind of tasty?" Considering he doesn't seem very worried about being eaten by a giant apex predator, he side-eyes the woman as though she might be the one to watch.

WHAT KIND OF TASTY INDEED. "We don't even know anything about him," Risali hisses — something she surely could have said aloud. ALAS. She has just enough decency to look slightly chagrined when Khavro asks if Leirith is hers and — « NO. SHE IS MINE. » LAUGHTER. BOOMBOOMBOOM. "We are each other's. She's Leirith. I'm…" A beat, "Risali." And then Risa is digging in a pocket to produce a white knot, staring at it for a long moment, looking long after her dragon, and then extending it sideways to the person she really doesn't know. "Maybe we can remedy the not knowing each other thing, though. Slowly. Leirith says…" What does she say, without announcing it to the world? "Leirith says there's a potential in you. She… wants to see what it becomes. You can't fight, it's against the rules. But you can drink, so long as you don't get drunk, and you can even pursue your craft if you're a crafter outside of mandatory lessons and other things." An exhale, then softer, "What do you say? Do you want to stand for Ilyscaeth and Xermiltoth's clutch?"

Surely he knows who he's speaking to now, but his expression doesn't give anything away. Maybe it's the dragon's voice just making his harder to process what's going on. He might wait a moment or two too long, eyeing the knot in earnest thought, before he says while taking the knot between his fingertips, "Why not. Sure. Seems rude to say no to the Weyrwoman, anyway." That's clearly wry, in good spirits. "Thank you," he adds, more to the dragon than the woman.

« YOU ARE PROBABLY WELCOME. UNLESS YOU ARE A DISAPPOINTMENT. THEN I WILL REGRET THIS. DO NOT MAKE ME. » But while the words might be cruel, there is nothing in the queen to suggest cruelty as the intent — she is giddy, bombastic, unerring joy. It's like he's the greatest thing and she just has no filter. Which. She doesn't. It's not important. Important except that he's taking that knot and Risali is giving him a quiet smile. "What's your name?" BECAUSE IT IS IMPORTANT. "So I can let the Weyrlingmasters know that you're coming." And she will wait just long enough to get it before she's on her feet. She moves towards Leirith then, backwards, so that she can wave to the STRANGER. THEN SHE'S GONE. PROBABLY OFF TO DO WEYRWOMAN THINGS.

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