Shiloh is Searched!
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Xanadu Weyr - Shore of Lake Caspian
The cliffs that run along the shore come and go, various weyrs nestled along the tops of them or dug into the walls, but eventually they recede enough to expose a beach. The white sand echoes the rise and fall of the cliffs with a multitude of sandy dunes, endlessly creating tiny valleys that are constantly demolished and rebuilt by the frequent arrival or departure of dragons. The dunes smooth out as the gentle slope approaches the edge of the deep blue water. The sand darkens, and a shell here and there stands out for children to collect.
The beach narrows to the southwest, leaving a path barely wide enough for dragons in single file before cutting in to a smaller, more sheltered cove. The sands are the same white, the waters the same blue, but they're calmer and more tranquil, more protected from the winds that ruffle Lake Caspian and the currents that tug beneath the surface.
Rough, wide stairs lead up to the meadow above and the road that runs along the top of the cliffs, passing through the fields and heading for the river mouth that can be just barely seen from here. The largest of the staircases up the cliff is located near the docks that jut out onto the peaceful blue waters.


Summer! Sun! Sand! Surf! Runners? This time, at least, Shiloh is sans any four-legged friends he might have otherwise brought to the beach and is going solo. He's not quite dressed for it, given he's still got the boots, and the pants, and the shirt, and the hat. Like maybe he's supposed to be on a ranch but found a beach instead. He didn't even bring a towel! But he's found himself a dune and he's perched himself on top, and he's staring out into the great blue beyond that is both sea (lake) and sky, and definitely practicing his 'brooding face'. It's a little spoiled by the fact that he's not the only one with the idea of visiting the beach in the summer (imagine that!), even if the rest of the crowd might be doing normal beach-things (like enjoying themselves), providing a bit of laughter and gaiety to totally rain on Shiloh's little pity-parade. Woe is he.

YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE SHILOH HAS FOUND, HOWEVER UNWITTINGLY? Leirith. He found Leirith. He's looking out toward the sea, majestic and broody and Shiloh-y and there, from the deeps, like a kraken risen from a decades long slumber to terrorize the denizens of Xanadu Weyr where they partake, unassuming and unaware, like so much prey scattered amongst the shore. Water pours from the hulking maw that rises from the surface of Xanadu's lake (OR IS THAT SEA?), seaweed trapped between xanthous-maw and the wrongness of her up-tilted headknob in a bid to make her seem significantly less insidious than what she might otherwise be. AND OKAY, SHE'S NOT TERRIFYING AT ALL, PROBABLY, UNLESS YOU DON'T KNOW DRAGONS. AND OKAY, MAYBE KNOWING DRAGONS DOESN'T MAKE THAT ANY LESS (POTENTIALLY) JARRINGLY ALARMING, BUT THIS IS LEIRITH. It's LEIRITH, WITH HER WHIRLING BLUE EYES, AND HER STUPID HEAD KNOBS, AND HER, « WHATCHA THINKIN' ABOUT? » INVASIVE BOMBASTICISM THAT CARRIES ONLY DEPTHLESS GLEE AND KNOWS NO DAUNTS. Even for broody men. Specifically when it hits broody men at MAX DECIBELS. Which it does. Always. So, yeah. Enjoy that, Shiloh. One minute you're sitting there, looking all mysterious and contemplative, and suddenly, BOOM: LEIRITH. FROM THE WATER. RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE. WAITING FOR YOUR SECRETS. Where is Risali even? IS THIS EVEN ALLOWED?

It's super hard to be broody when that 'gazing into the distance' is broken by kraken-like-Leiriths. Shiloh tries. He does. But that broody-bubble is burst the moment that bombastic voice bounces around in his head. Is he shocked? Probably. But not as shocked as he could be. He has, alas, liven in Xanadu long enough to become somewhat familiar with, if not altogether accustomed too, these odd creatures that insist upon speaking when he's probably trying really dang hard to think about deep, dark, brood-worthy things. The twitch of the eye says it all, really. So does the twitch of the mouth, which remains stubbornly down-turned despite all that depthless, dauntless glee. HIS COOL IS BROKEN. THE BROOD IS SHATTERED. Even SHILOH can't pretend he doesn't see that behemoth of a queen rising from the depths. Not when she's all IN HIS FACE and he's RECOILING BECAUSE HE'S A SANE INDIVIDUAL AND HAS SOME SEMBLENCE OF SELF-PRESERVATION. Nor can he pretend not to hear her (especially after he's all wincing from the volumn. RIP Shiloh's brain-ears). So he might as well answer her. "Things." So eloquent. Much words. IT WOULD SOUND BETTER IF HE WAS STILL ALL MAJESTICALLY BROODING but no. Now he's just… a weird man on the beach, looking a little storm-tossed and skeptical of this bold, bombastic creature all up in his business. Squint. "What are you thinking about?" Clever comebacks. Not his forte.

LOOK. LISTEN. LOOK. … We got nothing. Except for one question: IS THIS DUNE EVEN BIG ENOUGH FOR TWO PEOPLE? Because suddenly, Risali. Yes, the queenrider seems, much like her lifemate, to materialize from somewhere she shouldn't technically be materializing from, but perhaps she's just taking advantage of the overwhelming (and loud) distraction that her lifemate proves to be on a regular basis to disguise her approach. EITHER WAY, there she is at Shiloh's side, sinking down into a crouch that puts her below his level (don't worry, she's mad about it) and finds grey eyes going from her lifemate to the beastcrafter's face. "You don't want to know," comes dry, but no less riddled with humor, no less a sanctuary harboring a hint of her usual mischief in the pull at the corner of her lips. But laughter comes on a soft huff of breath expelled from her lungs, dispersed before her eye are back out to sea or, more accurately, on the REALLY BIG BLOCKADE OF LEIRITH, RUINING EVERYTHING. « OF COURSE HE WANTS TO KNOW, MINION. I WAS JUUUUUUST THINKING ABOUT WHAT YOU MUST BE THINKING, WHICH OF COURSE MEANS NOW YOU'RE THINKING ABOUT WHAT I'M THINKING, SO I'M THINKING ONLY ABOUT WHATEVER IT IS THAT YOU ARE THINKING. » … Is Risali biting back laughter, bottom lip finding its way between her teeth in order to maintain some semblance of dignity? Yes. Yes she is. Which might also be why there's still a hint of humor in her voice when she breathes, "I told you." That he didn't want to know. Still, she tilts her head toward him without looking away from Leirith. "Are they sad things?" The things he's thinking about, she means. Here she turns her attention back onto him, that smile maybe apologetic despite the fact that she lingers.

Dignity has been lost. At least, Shiloh's dignity has been lost. It is an alarmingly common occurrence for one who likes to believe he is immune, having that composure repeatedly shattered by the unexpected. Shouldn't he be used to it by now? Maybe he is. Leirith is booming. Risali is materializing. And while Shiloh definitely reacts to both (with a wince and a withdraw from the former, and a little surprised squint for the latter), he can also… well, he can try to regain the essence of that brood, but it is a fairly difficult feat given gleeful golds and laughing ladies. Even Shiloh is confused about what Leirith is talking about, though isn't she technically talking about him? MAYBE THAT IS WHY HE IS CONFUSED. A moment. Two. And then "Huh," is his contribution to the conversation. The slant of dark eyes toward Risali might have been more meaningful if they didn't snap right back to Leirith (whom he incorrectly assumes is the greater threat. To his sanity. To his already-lost dignity, if not his person). The question gets a frown, little furrowing of dark brows and down-turned lips (classic BROOD FACE) as he gives it a good think. "Not happy," he decides. "But not… sad, really." SO MYSTERIOUS. He's not even trying. "Complicated."

To be fair, it's when Leirith starts making sense that one needs to worry (about their sanity in particular, though surely that might bring their dignity into question too). But Leirith aside (impossible to ignore though she might be), Risali's answer for Shiloh's admission is a wry pull of her lips, the drop of her gaze to the hands she's folded in between her thighs one, two, three seconds before she looks back out to sea. "Yeah," comes soft, too soft. "I know about complicated." Too well, or so the sudden tired quality of her voice might suggest. But this isn't about Risali and, quite frankly, the goldrider has no desire to take the focus off of him and turn it onto her. So instead she continues with, "I'm sorry," that it's complicated, and, "I hope that your complicated gets less complicated soon." If such a thing is possible. But where another might pry or leave Shiloh to his broody-ruminations, Risali remains. And so, unfortunately, does Leirith. « DO YOU KNOW WHAT'S NOT COMPLICATED? PARTIES. AND DANCING. AND FIRE. OR — GASP — DANCING FIRE PARTIES. WE COULD GET HATS. » There's another huff of what might have been laughter; some approximation of amusement certainly lingers in the set of Risali's lips, but, she ultimately ignores the opines of her gold and opts instead to ask, "What's your name?" Because for all that Leirith might be an infamous landmark in Xanadu Weyr, Risali doesn't know every face with whom she's (potentially) crossed paths.

Shiloh may have (definitely) welcomed that shift in focus, though he's managed not to squirm under either scrutiny. But there's still squinty eyes, pointed at Leirith since she's definitely blocking the view, and a shrug of his shoulder that doesn't quite dismiss that apology so much as say 'what can you do?' for the complications that life brings. To him. To her. "Same to you," might be lacking in words but not sentiment, for all that he doesn't know what her complications might be. She has them, and he can recognize the weight of it even if he, likewise, will not try to pry into the depths of them. She's welcome to stay, or go, as she pleases (s'not like Shiloh could tell her what to do!) and he'll be comfortable enough with it. Just two strangers on the beach, sharing some woes while Leirith ruins their broodings with discussions of parties and dancing and fire and hats. "I've gotta hat," comes with a quirk of lips that might have been a smile if only he'd tried a little harder at it, his hand lifting to pinch the brim of the item in question to tip it all gallantly toward Leirith. "Dancin' fire parties sounds a bit dangerous," is probably not the deterrence he thinks it is for all that his voice tries to convey caution and doubt. The ask of his name gets another almost-smile, this one a little bit dry for some private thought. "Apologies. My manners are…" Missing. "…usually better. It's Shiloh." A beat. Two. "Pleasure to meet you."

« YES, BUT I MEANT SLIGHTLY LESS DISAPPOINTING HATS. A LOT LESS DISAPPOINTING HATS. » Cue the laughter. Cue the insults that are alarmingly rife with insult even though Leirith somehow manages to impart them without sounding insulting. It's all that good-natured cheer, that warmth, that hint of ever-present humor that contradicts every word she says. IT'S STILL PROBABLY A GOOD HAT, SHILOH. IT'S JUST NOT A DANCING FIRE PARTY HAT. But curbing the potential sting might be why Risali is reaching out to tap the brim of Shiloh's hat with two fingers anyway, why a quiet smile accompanies, "It's a good hat," even as she lingers in that space and listens to what words he imparts upon her. His apologies are met with a hint of a smile, a scrunch of her nose, the drop of her hand, and his name finds her breathing, "Well met, Shiloh," around a hint of canines. "I feel like I probably don't have to introduce Leirith," on account of the fact that you'd have to be deaf, blind, or incredibly lucky to have never met the Xanadian queen, "but I'm Risali." THE LADY SANS HER KNOT, THE LADY WHO DOES NOT INTRODUCE HERSELF WITH HER TITLE, AND THE LADY WHO DOES ALL OF THAT ON PURPOSE (even though it's kind of hard to hide in your own weyr, try as she might). "There. Now we both dabbled in manners. What's your favorite color, Shiloh?" It's an odd question, maybe, but name one thing about the duo invading broody-contemplation that's been normal.

-GASP- Straight to the jugular! The only thing worse would be to insult his boots! (Well, no. There are probably a bajillion things that are worse than insulting his hat, or his boots, but still. SHILOH WILL FEIGN THE GREATEST AFFRONT! HOW DARE!) "Well. That's just rude." Except he might be almost-smiling when he says it so how upset can he really be?? "I ain't sharing this hat, anyways." The tap of it brings a snort, and the sort of instant 'adjustment' that comes when one prizes a thing far beyond what they probably should prize it; that quick grab with his hand that seeks to intercept any sort of attempt at theft and put a halt to it. HIS HAT IS A PIECE OF HIS SOUL, PROBABLY. "Serves me well enough," is agreed as he tips it back up so he can see things. Like Leirith. "Keeps the sun off my face." SO WHY ARE YOU STILL SQUINTING ALL THE TIME, HMM?? But anyways. "Nah," is another agreement, coupled with another almost-but-not smile, that little tick at the side of his mouth that could be, but isn't. "Seems pretty good at introducing herself." EVEN IF SHE KINDA DIDN'T REALLY DO THAT. He made assumptions. THIS TIME, those assumptions proved to be true. "Risali," is returned, sans the title even if he knows it, because that's how she gave it to him. BUT DON'T YOU WORRY — He'll definitely ma'am her at some point. Maybe it's just the question that catches him off guard. A beat. Two. And then a quirk of his lips in a little smirk for some private thought. "Cyan." Another beat. "Why?"

"Keeping the sun off is important," Risali breathes with another hint of amusement, while Leirith booms, « CLEVER MINION, KNOWING MY WEAKNESS. NOW I MUST HAVE IT. » But don't worry, Shiloh, she's joking. That booming laughter should be enough of a hint to clue him in if the fact that she doesn't IMMEDIATELY BOWL HIM OVER to steal it does not. She remains at a distance, whirling eyes blue, while Risali draws in a deep breath and rolls her shoulders. "Depends on who you're talking to, really," comes dry. See, some people can't stand Leirith, while others enjoy her in a way even Risali isn't entirely sure is healthy. Either way, the bombastic gold has a polarizing personality, and that doesn't really seem to change (or affect her) no matter which end of the spectrum people wind up aligning with. She's just Leirith. She will always be Leirith, the one who is undaunted, the one whose good nature permeates and seems to endure even when facing the worst kind of personalities. Shiloh, despite all the majestic brood, is a very far cry from the worst. He's not EVEN A LITTLE BAD. HE'S JUST SHILOH. WHO APPARENTLY FAVORS CYAN. And while Risali observes that smirk, understands that there is something to his preference, she's one too used to jokes with PROBABLY DIRTY CONNOTATIONS to invite the explanation. Well, except for the almost-laughed, "I see," that says, 'It sounds like there's a story behind that.' Instead she follows up with, "Cyan is a good color. I think I saw one of the eggs on the sands with a hint of that in its shell. What do you think, Leirith?" « THERE DEFINITELY IS. AND IF NOT, WE CAN ALWAYS PRETEND HARD ENOUGH. » But as for why. "For the hats," of course. Risali's lips quirk again, humor pulling at her lips as Risali reaches into a pocket and produces the (slightly smashed) pristine white of a candidate's knot. "To celebrate when you accept this, in order to go find that cyan-colored egg." A beat, as Risali inspects corded rope and then, slowly, extends it out to him. "Assuming you are going to accept. I'd hate to have to disappoint Leirith, on account of the hats and all." And, you know, the fact that she'll probably lament it REALLY LOUDLY, SO THE ENTIRE WEYR KNOWS ABOUT IT.

Shiloh would probably be glad of that — to not be counted among the worst; or even near the worst. Really. He's not trying to be bad, even if he broods. It is not really a bad-boy brood, for all that it is definitely a broody-brood. Now, though, there are almost-smirks and almost-smiles and enough almost-amusement that the brood is a very far cry from what it was. Probably because it is hard to be broody with Leirith in his face. Maybe he is one that likes her!? Or at least, does not mind her, even if she is threatening to steal his soul hat. Cyan-smirks aside, he will agree that, "It is," without offering anything more. Because she didn't ask (which he is probably grateful for!). Even if mention of the eggs might have him looking a little shifty-eyed because he HASN'T GONE TO SEE THEM YET (FOR SHAME). Ahem. Aha. And then, "Oh." Because yeah, he was definitely not expecting that. There's a squint of his eyes down at the knot, then a slant of that gaze at Leirith, before he's eyeing Risali. If he had a question, it's been answered, but he does take a moment or two before picking it up. "On account-a the hats," is repeated with just enough dryness to make it clear he's teasing just a little. "Wouldn't wanna disappoint her— You," he adds, offering a tip of his head toward Leirith since she's right there and it's probably rude to talk about her like she isn't. "Right then. I guess… Yeah. Okay." Beat. Two. Three. "Sure. I'll do it." SO ENTHUSED. CALM DOWN SHILOH OR YOU MIGHT HURT YOURSELF.

« I KNEW YOU WERE A BADASS ALL ALONG. » SEE? And Shiloh just WENT AND PROVED HER RIGHT. It's Risali who laughs this time, a soft sound that never quite reaches a pitch that might carry, soft and short-lived except that it lingers in the corners of her eyes and lips. "Good. Congratulations, then. When you have a chance, you'll want to check in with the Weyrlingmaster and his assistants. They'll give you the rundown of the rules and find you somewhere to sleep if you're planning to stay in the barracks." Which he doesn't have to (for now) seeming to be implied even as the tiny woman rises to her full, insubstantial height and wipes sand from where it clings to her clothes. But when she's done those grey eyes come back up to dark hues, her smile growing, nose scrunching, that mischief and genuine joy hitting the corners of her eyes as she takes one step back, and then another. "Good luck, Shiloh. I have a meeting that I can't put off any longer — and so do you, I think." Though he can, realistically, put it off as long as he wants. "The barracks are by the sands, but they have a few people out looking for lost lambs to direct them." You know. If he doesn't already know the way. Either way, Risali salutes him, and Leirith… WELL. Leirith rises from the water completely and brings herself to shore, that massive head dipping to bunt against Shiloh (and playfully nip at his hat), probably getting him a little wet as she nuzzles and goes past.


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