Let's Make A Deal (Ligeia is Searched)

Characters Ligeia, T'syn
Synopsis T'syn has a deal for Ligeia and she takes it.
Out-of-Character Date August 30, 2022
ligeia_001.jpg talisyn-amused.jpg

Igen Weyr - Hydroponic Gardens
Vibrant sights and smells greet visitors to a lush desert oasis that oughtn't exist here in the crater of Igen Weyr. Everywhere one looks, lush greenery waves lazily, hiding growing lights and the fixtures which give off the subtle lighting. The cavern, a natural bubble in the rock, is mostly round - there is no closure to the outside, and there's a tapering off at the back before exploding into another bubble further back. One can just see that the next "room" leads to yet another room even further back.
There is no set aisle through the plants. Walkways meander here and there, sand heaped along the floor and kept warm by whatever device gives the Hatching Grounds their warmth. The heat is not as intense here, but the mist generated by clever automatic sprayers lends humidity to the air. Tubs of various depths and sizes are scattered higgeldy piggeldy, and the plants in them seem to have no rhyme or reason. Aromatic scents give the hint that kitchen herbs and useful vegetables have been scattered among the decorative flowers and trees.
The chain of rooms are obviously a newer addition, perhaps onyl a few decades old. Insects buzz about everywhere, and there is a quiet twitter of avains and firelizards, who seem quite at home here among the vegetation. Near the door, a wooden rack holds a few pairs of shoes, encouraging visitors to go barefoot.


The muggy warmth of these gardens is often too much for the average Igenite; after more than a half-hour exposure, they often find elsewhere to be. Hence why T'syn tends to frequent the area when trying to avoid anyone else - a transplant, the humidity rarely bothers him as it does others. What exactly has chased the greenrider into hiding today is an unknown - but if one were to guess Oddisa, they'd probably be correct. Absently stroking the green firelizard wrapped around his wrist while a small blue lazily drifts overhead, the harper-rider slips into the gardens and begins to wander along the sandy paths, meandering with no obvious destination in mind.

For a child who was raised in the desert, she still has some Southern sensibilities; blame it on her Iernian roots, if blame must be placed at all. Ligeia drifts amidst the humid haze and the occasional veil of VTOLs or other fluttery insects that occupy this space. A trio of greens seem to have joined her, the firelizards nattering at one another as if engaging in a spirited debate while the young writer is quiet and tangled up in her thoughts. She rubs absently at one of her arms - freshly bandaged from the look of it, though there's no healer here to tease her, mend her, and send her on her way with a laugh and a smile. It's one of her firelizards that spots T'syn first and offers a trilled greeting for man and 'lizardly companions alike.

Laugh and a smile, or something else besides - but indeed, there's no healer here, only a harper masquerading as a greenrider. As Ligeia's green trills, Sappho lifts her head, chittering brightly before unwinding herself from her human's arm and launching herself at the others, followed quickly by Frost. Bemused, T'syn shoves his hands in his pockets as he abandoned by his firelizards and slowly follows in their wake, nodding a greeting to his former classmate. "You're back," he remarks by way of greeting. "Been a while." Been a while since she's been back too, but he doesn't mention that part.

Does Sappho want to start a flurry of firelizards? Because that's how a flurry of firelizards starts. It's not long before Newt and Herb and Frog are all aflutter, trying to tempt the other two into a game of tag. "Hey," is a sheepish grin gone lopsided, with Ligeia's nose scrunching a bit before smoothing out. "Yeah, I guess it has been, huh?" Orbits are aligned and she drifts closer to his, arms folded loosely around her middle while she studies him. "Time flies, doesn't it? Like- faster than dragons darting between, it feels like. And still-" she shrugs, the gesture shallow and one-shouldered. "How are you and, um- Qherakketh?"

"Good." Laconic as always, T'syn falls in beside her, tilting his head to study the plants with every evidence of interest. His firelizards, significantly more energetic than he, are easily tempted into that game of tag, and their squeals and chirps echo through the caverns as they mingle happily with Ligeia's own. Moments drift by lazily before he finally speaks up again. "She's stalking a wherry buck in the pens. Not to eat, just to stalk." His gaze drifts down, moss-green and carefully blank. "You still haven't been found." Neither condemnation but commiseration color his words, but a simple statement of fact.

She started out unhurried and so it persists, with the added bonus of comfortable company to converse with. Ligeia ambles about - perhaps following his cues, perhaps testing to see if he'll follow hers - with her head tipped a bit as if to better listen to the chattering of firelizards as they engage in aerial shenanigans. "My mom's dragon does that sometimes," she muses, "I think she thinks it makes them taste better to her." Or maybe she's a horrible dragon. Either way. "Does she- yours, I mean- do that a lot for fun?" That observation meets with a further scrunch of her nose, a sigh, and a forced flattening of her expression as she pulls those still raw threads together. "I guess not. But, maybe I'm not actually supposed to be found." Half-laughed, the self-deprecating edge is still a little sharper than she intended. "I just know I don't really want to go anywhere for a little while." Or a long while.

Silence follows her in the form of T'syn, content to amble along in her wake, at her side, quiet company for enjoying the gardens. "Fun? Perhaps. She has a wicked sense of humor. But she prefers to consider it practice." For what, only Qherakketh knows; the hotshot green is forever pushing the limits of her capabilities and dragging her rider along for the ride. "She never eats them afterwards, unless the herders yell at her for scaring the meat off the bone." He lapses into silence again, his eyes glinting with understanding even as his face remains an even mask. "There is more to you than dragonbait." Is that supposed to be comforting? From him, it's nearly impossible to tell.

"Weird," is an observation rather than a complete judgment call; Ligeia's no stranger to strange things and her tone is more thoughtful than anything. "Weird and fascinating. That'd be something, yeah? To see the meat scared right off the bones of a beast?" For a moment, her thoughts skew toward horror, a genre that clearly needs some exploration in the scope of Pern. She might well be lost in thought again, but more words rein her in and a half-smile is offered to T'syn in turn. "I know. I know. I have some stories I'm working on, anyway." More than usual, from the sound of it. "My dad wants to try to teach me baking again, now that I'm a little older - though, I mean, I'm not any less clumsy. So."

You want horror? Go look at the Sands. "You need a pocket-healer," T'syn remarks, his eyes drifting down towards her arm. "Then it won't matter how clumsy you are." He absently thumbs at his ear as his gaze drifts off into the greenery, distant and thoughtful. "You think my comment hyperbole," he's such a harper, "but I've seen her scare a beast near enough to death that when she did put it out of its misery, it was as tender as a calf." Ew. "Fear does strange things to a person." Gaze sharpening, he drops those pale green eyes back to her, narrowing them. "Make you a deal."

"I have one. Well- had? Still have, I guess, but he Impressed." Will Ky'zai still want to heal her? Uncertainty sits there, but is quickly shoved away. "The healers here are fine, though." Ligeia briefly offers up her bandaged arm for a look, but it betrays precious little beyond a pinprick stipple of blood here and there. "And a pocket-healer can't protect against accidental amputation." Clumsiness still matters! But she leaves that for now, at least on her side, while she snorts a soft laugh at the mental image that's given. It's terrible and she shouldn't laugh, but here we are. "Maybe that's what she- my mom's dragon - means by it tasting better. That's terrible." And she still laughed, so what does that make her? A monster, probably. It's a laugh that thins out, frays, and fades, with humor - gallows or otherwise - bleeding out to allow seriousness to ooze in. "It does. Fear's funny like that." Her mouth pulls to a side, teeth working at her lower lip to pin it for a long, long moment. Silence is drawn out in the wake of his sharpening gaze and the offer of a deal that seems to have teeth. Finally, finally, she exhales. "Sure. What's the deal?"

She should ask him. She might be surprised by the answer. T'syn, however, knows naught of Ky'zai - or, if he does, he's playing his cards close to the vest. Who knows what the harper is aware of; it's not like he'll ever tell. "Impression only changes relationships if you let it." But there's compassion buried deep beneath the matter-of-fact words; he understands. "There is a reason that the herders sell large amounts of veal and lamb - not that I'm inclined to eat anything so young." His nose wrinkles; a rare expression of emotion beyond just the surface he allows to be seen. "One more time. Though I hesitate to gift Odi with such a prize," he mutters, briefly allowing her a glimpse of irritation, "it would be criminal not to ask. And if fate chooses a different course, let it be to me, as my apprentice."

"Maybe," but that's a fickle nerve to touch and Ligeia leans away from it, tone gone indifferent as she looks away. She rubs her arm again, winces, and is further chastised by a squawk from Herb; she folds her arms again. "That would make sense," she muses, tipping a look to T'syn again. "I'm surprised they aren't hiring dragons in droves to terrify older beasts for the same kind of tenderness." His reaction is noted, though; noted with a slight nod of acknowledgement, of understanding. It's a nod that's pulled short when he ventures into tricky territory and her stride - ambling and slow - finally grinds to a halt. Maybe walking would be better- but given the clench of her jaw, perhaps not. She chews her tongue and falls silent again, with a slight jump and spasm of the tendon in her jaw. "Why?" is what slips out in the end, thick-tongued and low-uttered. There is no context for the question, its very shapelessness likely serving a purpose.

Green eyes meet hers without hesitation. "Because." It is an answer - even a complete answer - but it is not the only answer. "You have potential and potential should never be wasted." An answer that suffices to answer two questions - why Stand, why apprentice. "She likes you, and she likes few and far between; pickier than I am, is my lady." Syne tucks his hands in his pockets and leans back on his heels, studying her. "But mostly, it is a dream, and one should always follow one's dreams, even when the path leads us to unexpected places. Should you wish to say no, I will not gainsay you - but I wish you would take the deal." His smile is slow and unexpected, a flash of sunlight through gray clouds, fleeting and quickly spent. "Either way, I win."

If that one word was his answer, then it might well have spiralled into a maddening mess of one word answers all the way down. Fortunately, it doesn't, but there might be some sense of that quickness, that glibness, sitting at the tip of her tongue. Ligeia groans in the end, with her head tipping back as if the burden is jus too much. Shoulders go slack and slump, with a guttural sound rattling in her throat. He might be a stoic mask; she is anything but in this moment. "You don't know," she says when she pulls herself together after that minor outburst, "I could be an absolutely terrible apprentice." Teeth work at the inside of her cheek. "I don't- I don't really know if that's a dream of mine any more," she admits, words hushed, "but I won't say no because I don't want her to try to scare the meat off of me, either." Would Qherakketh do such a thing? Best not to risk it. "I'll take the deal, but only because she likes me - and because- well, I don't have anything else to lose, right? That's kind of like winning." Kinda. "Annnd," she adds, "you smiled and I'm not about to squander that, either." Priorities.

"Chance is ever worth taking." For a brief moment, triumph glints in T'syn's gaze; he allows her to see it, that brief moment of pleasure at her agreement before his face fades once more to facade; a pleasant mask, pleased and nothing more. "I will not deny that Qherakketh is not beyond allowing one to know when one has displeased her." He might have continued with some kind of reassurance - but he doesn't, merely allows the words to linger in the air around them. "Come then, and allow me to escort you home." He pauses, quite deliberately, then smiles again - brief, fleeting, but real. "Candidate."

"Maybe, maybe, maybe." Yet, she's taking this one, even if Ligeia's left chewing at the inside of her cheek again. Even with that shining look of triumph on his face, even with that pleasure, there's a dull flicker of doubt in her visage that's quickly quashed with a shiver and shake. There and gone, like a goose on the grave. Reassurances aren't necessary here; she's not likely to believe them, all things considered. And with that second smile - that flicker-flash and fade - she finally reaches, if only to briefly touch his arm and give a tug before she presses onward. "Thank you, T'syn. Lead the way." And never mind that she knows that path all-too-well already.

"My pleasure." It might even be true. Certainly, T'syn has smiled more in these past few moments than he like has in a month - conversations with Qherakketh notwithstanding. "Come," he says again, gently, and leads her on, towards home.

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