Sandbar Reunion
Who: Noemie, Dalanor, T'mic
What: Noemie runs into Dalanor and T'mic at the sandbar, and realizes she's reunited with an old fellow apprentice.
Where: Sandbar, Ista Weyr
Mic hops down, only belatedly realizing his guest might need a bit of help
with the straps or dismounting. "So, here we are. The Sandbar. I used to
work here a bit before I Impressed. They're letting apprentices drink now,
huh? Or are you off restrictions, like I'm a weyrling but I can still do
pretty much whatever?"
Dalanor dismounts with a little delicacy. "Ahh. My duty to you Aath. Thank you
so much for the ease of our travel." He smirks at the mention of drinking.
"There is always a matter of tact, T'mic. A single glass would harm no one.
On the other hand, if I were to make a shame of myself... welll..." He
shrugs idly. "I could kiss my chances of walking the tables goodbye. Since
I've no designs on failing the Master, I think you'll be safe in my
company."
T'mic's smile only broadens. "Your secret's safe with me. I won't make you
drink some of the sneakier ones they have here either. Stick with wine and
you'll be safe. --Hey, Kip!" he calls to the 'keep behind the bar. "You're
working? Bring a bottle of white over, will you?"
Noemie enters the Sandbar, searching for a bit of relaxation and a Proddy
Greenrider or two. She orders her customary drink, stopping a moment to chat
with Kip, before taking it away from the bar to find lively company. Just
then, she hears T'mic call for a bottle of wine, and she decides to join
this group, whoever they are. Looking about to find the source of the call,
she grins broadly at her fellow greenrider. "A bottle of white wine? I
already have a drink, but I'd be happy to toast with whoever has such good
taste."
Dalanor regards the bottle thoughtfully before giving a look about the place.
"Open air? Interesting. Definately something to get used to. Of course this
close to a weyr I don't imagine folk get overnervous." Smiling, he looks to
the arrived woman and smiles. "That would be, T'mic. His order. Kindly, he
did offer me a drink albeit I must repay his generosity." He muses a moment.
"Perhaps a draconic epic? Though I imagine you hear them often enough. A sea
shanty then?"
"From what I understand, this place was running even before the end of
Threadfall. The /first/ Threadfall. --Evening, greenrider. I don't mind
company if the Harper doesn't." Dalanor's murmuring earns a confused
doubletake from the man. "Huh, what?"
Noemie sits down gaily, taking a sip of her drink. "Sing that song of the
Tillek lass that loves a trader," she says. "I can't remember the name, but
I used to love it--" Suddenly, something occurs to her. "You're a Harper?
Certainly you've been there five turns or more?" She peers closely at the
Apprentice, as if trying to place him in her memory. "I apprenticed there
myself, up until I left for Ista. Born and raised at Harper Hall." She sets
down her glass, full attention on Dalanor. "Who /are/ you? I must have known
you then!"
Dalanor lifts a bemused brow at the explication of the other rider. "Ahh, hmm.
Give me a moment and I'll recall it I think. But afore song, the
introduction you so desire. Apologetically, I must offer that I am Dalanor,
roguish fellow that I was then. Now I'm a senior apprentice and hoping for
the tables soon." He laughs brightly. "Ahh for the irony that brought me to
this pass hmm?" He regards Noemie appraisingly then. "I have to say that
your voice, at least, is familiar to me."
"I'll get something to eat," Mic says, rising while Noemie and Dalanor trade
histories. He lingers at the bar, exchanging laughs with Kip, then wanders
back with a bowl of roasted tuber chips just in time to hear Dalanor's last
words. "Just like a Harper - recognize someone's voice before their face."
He offers the bowl to each of them in turn as he slides back into his chair.
"/Dalanor?/" Noemie's eyes grow wide. "No! It can't be! The last time I saw
you..." she trails off. "But congratulations! You must still know my sister
Emmi, then. She's a Senior Apprentice as well, also preparing to walk the
tables. And my sister Avelie-- she's a bit younger, but also an apprentice."
She takes another sip of her drink before saying, "Just what I was thinking,
T'mic. In case your memory fails as mine did, I'm Noemie, now green
Naijath's. Mmm, those look delicious." She helps herself to a handful,
munching contentedly.
Dalanor blinks. "Noemie. I'd wondered what happened to you. I mean we knew
you'd been searched but somehow the news of your impression slipped my ears.
Naijath..." He makes a mental note. "So then. Food." Returning his attention
to Tmic, he chuckles. "Would you fault a rider for knowing the dragon before
the man? I'm trained of ear, T'mic, albeit the eyes are learning."
"Then there's Nolee, who can't remember a rider's name period," Mic says as he
pours himself a generous glass of the pale yellow wine. "Me, I learn 'em
both. Can't talk to the dragon, after all. Not and expect a reply back,
anyway." A toast first to greenrider, then harper, and he takes a swig. "How
long's it going to be before you, uh, walk the tables? Or do they keep you
in suspense like the Wingleaders do us?"
Noemie laughs between chips and sips of her drink. ""Well here you go! This is
whatever became of Noemie. She became a greenrider at Ista." She nods at
Mic's words. "Nolee relies on Nala for even the names of her dragon's
offspring! I've stopped being the slightest bit offended. I was even her
mentee. I try to remember as many as I can, but there are /so/ many of us
here at Ista."
Dalanor smiles slyly. "I imagine that's the case, T'mic. Its always a matter
of festivity when someone's surprised by the masters that way. Just thinking
about it gives me goosebumps." Sampling the chips, he chews thoughtfully.
"Mmm. Tasty. Baked are they?" He glances to the barkeep. "But then I'm sure
the cook won't reveal his secret."
"Why should she remember the names of Nalaieth's offspring, if she doesn't
remember anything else?" Mic wonders with a shrug. He tries a tuber chip,
then grimaces and has another slug of wine instead. "Yeah, baked. Or
roasted. Something like. Kip's got this spice mixture he puts on 'em. Don't
go with wine, though." Which is why he gives the bowl a little push toward
the others. "I'd rather see Nik as senior before Nolee. Not that I want
something to happen to Griere, 'course."
Noemie shakes her head. "Not really, but it goes with a Proddy Green pretty
well." And she reaches for more chips as she speaks. "I admit, I'm a fan of
Nolee. She was a great mentor through Weyrlinghood, even if she couldn't
remember my name. She's a little scatterbrained, sure, but golds know when
they choose their weyrmates. And she's been around much longer. Of course, I
don't think Griere's going anywhere anytime soon." To Dalanor, she says,
"Best of luck! I remember how nervous I was when I started contemplating
walking the tables... and in the end, decided that I couldn't see it
happening." She grimaces a little. "Of course, that was me... I'm sure it's
different for you."
Dalanor listens to the debate over weyr politics with a faint smile on his
face. Pouring himself a glass of wine, he samples it thoughtfully. "We'll
see. I've come a long way from the gangly youth. I only hope the masters
think fondly of me sooner than later." He smiles then and rises. "I think
maybe I'll have a quick swim. The beaches are so close that I'm sorely
tempted.
"Swim over there," Mic suggests, gesturing to the side -away- from the docks
as he rises too. "'Scuse me, Noemie - Aath's getting pouty about not getting
her bath today." He studies Dalanor for a second, then catches up the
bottle. "Don't want your masters catching wind, hey? Maybe I'll see you out
and about. Clear skies," and he's out, swinging over the threshold and
across the porch.
What: Noemie runs into Dalanor and T'mic at the sandbar, and realizes she's reunited with an old fellow apprentice.
Where: Sandbar, Ista Weyr
Mic hops down, only belatedly realizing his guest might need a bit of help
with the straps or dismounting. "So, here we are. The Sandbar. I used to
work here a bit before I Impressed. They're letting apprentices drink now,
huh? Or are you off restrictions, like I'm a weyrling but I can still do
pretty much whatever?"
Dalanor dismounts with a little delicacy. "Ahh. My duty to you Aath. Thank you
so much for the ease of our travel." He smirks at the mention of drinking.
"There is always a matter of tact, T'mic. A single glass would harm no one.
On the other hand, if I were to make a shame of myself... welll..." He
shrugs idly. "I could kiss my chances of walking the tables goodbye. Since
I've no designs on failing the Master, I think you'll be safe in my
company."
T'mic's smile only broadens. "Your secret's safe with me. I won't make you
drink some of the sneakier ones they have here either. Stick with wine and
you'll be safe. --Hey, Kip!" he calls to the 'keep behind the bar. "You're
working? Bring a bottle of white over, will you?"
Noemie enters the Sandbar, searching for a bit of relaxation and a Proddy
Greenrider or two. She orders her customary drink, stopping a moment to chat
with Kip, before taking it away from the bar to find lively company. Just
then, she hears T'mic call for a bottle of wine, and she decides to join
this group, whoever they are. Looking about to find the source of the call,
she grins broadly at her fellow greenrider. "A bottle of white wine? I
already have a drink, but I'd be happy to toast with whoever has such good
taste."
Dalanor regards the bottle thoughtfully before giving a look about the place.
"Open air? Interesting. Definately something to get used to. Of course this
close to a weyr I don't imagine folk get overnervous." Smiling, he looks to
the arrived woman and smiles. "That would be, T'mic. His order. Kindly, he
did offer me a drink albeit I must repay his generosity." He muses a moment.
"Perhaps a draconic epic? Though I imagine you hear them often enough. A sea
shanty then?"
"From what I understand, this place was running even before the end of
Threadfall. The /first/ Threadfall. --Evening, greenrider. I don't mind
company if the Harper doesn't." Dalanor's murmuring earns a confused
doubletake from the man. "Huh, what?"
Noemie sits down gaily, taking a sip of her drink. "Sing that song of the
Tillek lass that loves a trader," she says. "I can't remember the name, but
I used to love it--" Suddenly, something occurs to her. "You're a Harper?
Certainly you've been there five turns or more?" She peers closely at the
Apprentice, as if trying to place him in her memory. "I apprenticed there
myself, up until I left for Ista. Born and raised at Harper Hall." She sets
down her glass, full attention on Dalanor. "Who /are/ you? I must have known
you then!"
Dalanor lifts a bemused brow at the explication of the other rider. "Ahh, hmm.
Give me a moment and I'll recall it I think. But afore song, the
introduction you so desire. Apologetically, I must offer that I am Dalanor,
roguish fellow that I was then. Now I'm a senior apprentice and hoping for
the tables soon." He laughs brightly. "Ahh for the irony that brought me to
this pass hmm?" He regards Noemie appraisingly then. "I have to say that
your voice, at least, is familiar to me."
"I'll get something to eat," Mic says, rising while Noemie and Dalanor trade
histories. He lingers at the bar, exchanging laughs with Kip, then wanders
back with a bowl of roasted tuber chips just in time to hear Dalanor's last
words. "Just like a Harper - recognize someone's voice before their face."
He offers the bowl to each of them in turn as he slides back into his chair.
"/Dalanor?/" Noemie's eyes grow wide. "No! It can't be! The last time I saw
you..." she trails off. "But congratulations! You must still know my sister
Emmi, then. She's a Senior Apprentice as well, also preparing to walk the
tables. And my sister Avelie-- she's a bit younger, but also an apprentice."
She takes another sip of her drink before saying, "Just what I was thinking,
T'mic. In case your memory fails as mine did, I'm Noemie, now green
Naijath's. Mmm, those look delicious." She helps herself to a handful,
munching contentedly.
Dalanor blinks. "Noemie. I'd wondered what happened to you. I mean we knew
you'd been searched but somehow the news of your impression slipped my ears.
Naijath..." He makes a mental note. "So then. Food." Returning his attention
to Tmic, he chuckles. "Would you fault a rider for knowing the dragon before
the man? I'm trained of ear, T'mic, albeit the eyes are learning."
"Then there's Nolee, who can't remember a rider's name period," Mic says as he
pours himself a generous glass of the pale yellow wine. "Me, I learn 'em
both. Can't talk to the dragon, after all. Not and expect a reply back,
anyway." A toast first to greenrider, then harper, and he takes a swig. "How
long's it going to be before you, uh, walk the tables? Or do they keep you
in suspense like the Wingleaders do us?"
Noemie laughs between chips and sips of her drink. ""Well here you go! This is
whatever became of Noemie. She became a greenrider at Ista." She nods at
Mic's words. "Nolee relies on Nala for even the names of her dragon's
offspring! I've stopped being the slightest bit offended. I was even her
mentee. I try to remember as many as I can, but there are /so/ many of us
here at Ista."
Dalanor smiles slyly. "I imagine that's the case, T'mic. Its always a matter
of festivity when someone's surprised by the masters that way. Just thinking
about it gives me goosebumps." Sampling the chips, he chews thoughtfully.
"Mmm. Tasty. Baked are they?" He glances to the barkeep. "But then I'm sure
the cook won't reveal his secret."
"Why should she remember the names of Nalaieth's offspring, if she doesn't
remember anything else?" Mic wonders with a shrug. He tries a tuber chip,
then grimaces and has another slug of wine instead. "Yeah, baked. Or
roasted. Something like. Kip's got this spice mixture he puts on 'em. Don't
go with wine, though." Which is why he gives the bowl a little push toward
the others. "I'd rather see Nik as senior before Nolee. Not that I want
something to happen to Griere, 'course."
Noemie shakes her head. "Not really, but it goes with a Proddy Green pretty
well." And she reaches for more chips as she speaks. "I admit, I'm a fan of
Nolee. She was a great mentor through Weyrlinghood, even if she couldn't
remember my name. She's a little scatterbrained, sure, but golds know when
they choose their weyrmates. And she's been around much longer. Of course, I
don't think Griere's going anywhere anytime soon." To Dalanor, she says,
"Best of luck! I remember how nervous I was when I started contemplating
walking the tables... and in the end, decided that I couldn't see it
happening." She grimaces a little. "Of course, that was me... I'm sure it's
different for you."
Dalanor listens to the debate over weyr politics with a faint smile on his
face. Pouring himself a glass of wine, he samples it thoughtfully. "We'll
see. I've come a long way from the gangly youth. I only hope the masters
think fondly of me sooner than later." He smiles then and rises. "I think
maybe I'll have a quick swim. The beaches are so close that I'm sorely
tempted.
"Swim over there," Mic suggests, gesturing to the side -away- from the docks
as he rises too. "'Scuse me, Noemie - Aath's getting pouty about not getting
her bath today." He studies Dalanor for a second, then catches up the
bottle. "Don't want your masters catching wind, hey? Maybe I'll see you out
and about. Clear skies," and he's out, swinging over the threshold and
across the porch.