Western Weyr - Roof Garden
This roof garden is being planted with medicinal herbs. Even in its current, unfinished state, patients are often brought up here to get some fresh air and sun.
C'yr is up here at near dusk, which is a time when most aren't bothered about the garden at all. The tall, older bronzerider doesn't have much of a green thumb in that respect either, but he does enjoy the scents of the herbs that waft around the area and so it is here that he comes to exercise. A large heavy looking sack is being held in his hands and he is repeatedly squatting with it, the strain on his muscles easily seen.
Rhysanna does not come up here to exercise - no, she's dressed for work in and old dress that is less likely to stain, and an apron covering it besides, though she's removing that as she climbs up towards the garden. Evidently, she hasn't really expected C'yr's presence— she pauses, letting out a little 'oh!' sound that isn't really a word, and then stops, short: a slender statue in the evening light.
The glows placed in convenient spots around the garden tend to give the place a soft etheral glow in this light. C'yr hears the 'oh!' sound and turns and places the large sack over his right shoulder. His twin blue eyes, one pale from the long scar that disappears down his face and into his tunic and the other bright blue seek out the origin of the sound before landing on the young woman. "Sorry, didn't mean to give you a fright." He waves with his free hand. "Hello."
"Oh, no, it's fine. It isn't as though I shouldn't expect people up here at this time. It's so lovely." Rhysanna finishes removing her apron and folds it, carefully, setting it down upon the ground near the top of the stairs. "In any case, I won't bother you, I promise. I just want to enjoy the evening for a little while."
"Please, I was just finishing up." C'yr moves over to get a towel and a small sack next to his belongings. "I'm C'yr." He offers up the winesack towards Rhysanna. "Care for something to drink? It's Benden.. not all that old, but." He shrugs as if to say, ' what can you do…'
Rhysanna's pause is long, and perhaps even meaningful. "You bring wine," she says, slowly, "with you when you go out to exercise. Doesn't that rather defeat the point?" It doesn't stop her from accepting it, however, or from taking a careful sip: she, after all, has not been exercising. "Not bad," she adds, extending her arm to return it.
"I bring wine for the dinner I had earlier. I had some extra." C'yr gives a soft laugh. "And instead of having Vesukith fly me back over to my weyr to put it up, I decided to just keep it with." He admits before he sits on the large sack. "Never told me your name. Trying to mysterious?"
This time, Rhysanna's 'oh' comes with the faintest of flushes beneath her bronzed skin. "That was rude of me, wasn't it? You introduced yourself, and I got myself distracted with your wine. Rhysanna. It's a pleasure to meet you, C'yr." Having recovered her manners, she adds, "I suppose that's reasonable. With the wine, I mean. I'm relieved you don't regularly exercise with alcohol."
"No, that would be quite dangerous." C'yr gives a small laugh as he takes a drink of the wine and hands it back towards the young woman. "Come and sit, relax. What do you do here, Rhysanna?"
Rhysanna hesitates, but with the wine in hand again, she seems to make a decision - and takes a seat on a nearby bench. "Oh, I just work in the caverns. Nothing special, really. Whatever needs doing that won't ruin my hands or my skin." She may still have the wine, but she balances it, spreading her hands out so that she can examine them for herself. "Mother says a woman should always have lovely hands."
"Let me see your hands." C'yr says as he looks towards the young woman. "I'm a pretty good judge at such things, I'd like to think." He grins at her. "And lets see if you've been heeding your mothers words."
"Oh? And what makes you a good judge? Lots of practice?" Rhysanna nonetheless offers out her hands, which are perhaps not as pale as those of a fine lady, but are still soft enough, with well-manicured nails. "I do the best I can, anyway. I don't know if any of it will be good enough, but I try."
"You do well." C'yr grins at that before he gives a small laugh. "I'm a bronzerider lass. I've seen plenty of hands." He tells her, grinning again. "Perhaps some moisturizer." He offers.
"Bronzeriders," says Rhysanna with a laugh, as she draws her hands back and takes up the wine instead - sipping from it gives her a moment to frame the rest of her answer. "Mother always said I should stay away from bronzeriders, at least until—" she pauses. "Well, she has certain ideas about things, never mind. I forget, sometimes, to moisturize. I'll try harder."
"Try doing it later in the evening to let it sink in…and what does your mother say about that?" C'yr asks. "Until what? I'm all ears." C'yr tilts his head to the side as he watches the young woman speak. A dab of his towel dries off any lingering sweat.
Before answering, Rhysanna offers back the wine; she seems embarrassed. "Oh, Mother has this belief, always has, that one day I am going to be someone important: a weyrwoman, maybe, or a Lord Holder will fall in love with me, or something. But I should avoid bronzeriders until such time, because if it is to be a Lord Holder, he won't want— well, you know. There's a certain reputation."
"Lord Holders don't handfast outside their station. I've never met any person on Pern that had a bigger stick up their asses than Holder leaders." A snort there. "That bronzeriders are lecherous? Course we are. All Weyrfolk are like that generally. It comes from when Thread fell." He admits "You didn't live long as a rider then, so you got what joy out of life you could."
"I know that," says Rhysanna, with an exaggeratedly teenage sigh. "You know that. Does Mother? She pretends not to. I wouldn't mind having all those pretty things, though… I've seen them at gathers." Of bronzeriders, she gives a graceful little shrug. "I've lived in this Weyr all my life. I do know what weyrfolk are like. I am weyrfolk."
"Forgive me then, Rhysanna." C'yr holds his hands up and takes another drink of the wine before holding it out towards her. "From the way your mother spoke it seemed as if she were from a Hold." He reaches up and scratches at his chin and gives a small laugh. "Pretty things are nice, yes. It's nice having marks saved up. It's also nice being one of the senior bronzes and having a weyr with a heated spring."
Rhysanna's nod confirms that, yes, "She is from a Hold. She came here on Search when she was a teenager, and I'm not sure if she's ever truly forgotten." She takes another drink, gaze dropping to consider the skin for long moments before she allows, "I can see the benefits of that. I wouldn't ''mind'' ending up in a position like that… though I don't know that I would be a terribly good weyrwoman. Better," she allows, after a moment, "than Liora."
"You would be your own werywoman, period. Don't judge yourself by others." C'yr offers as he gives a soft laugh there. "I don't let people judge me.." He motions to his face. "See the scar? That happened when I was just shy of your age. goes all the way down." He motions to his lap. "Didn't stop me."
Rhysanna has, surely, noticed that scar before now; even so, she gives a little half-shudder at the thought of it - and then turns pink again. "I'm sorry. Even if… you don't let people judge you. In any case," she adds, more firmly. "It scarcely matters. It doesn't seem likely, and really, I'm quite happy working my little job, and having plenty of time to enjoy other things. Like… a skin of wine with a new acquaintance."
C'yr nods his head at Rhysanna at that compliment before he smiles. "You don't have to be embarassed about it. The explosion killed a friend, wounded me." He shrugs. "Left it's mark, that's for sure. I was lucky. It embedded in my leg, here." He motions to his thigh about half way down. "Thankfully it grazed something near and dear and that moved it from hitting my artery here." He motions about a half inch from his leg. "Here."
Quietly, but genuinely: "I'm sorry to hear that. I suppose you were… lucky." From the perspective of the young, however, it leaves Rhysanna hesitant, and just short of wrinkling her nose in distaste. "It's funny. That's the second time today someone has reminded me, if in a roundabout kind of way, that life is short, and we're supposed to live it while we can, just in case."
"It is short." C'yr says, looking wistful for a few moments. "So many friends gone." C'yr turns and grins at the young woman. "How old do you think I am?" He doesn't look a turn more than forty, even with the grey hair. "Be honest, and lucky is one way to put it." A laugh.
Rhysanna opens her mouth, and then stops. "I honestly have no idea," she admits. "Mother would tell me to be flattering and tell you that you must be… no more than thirty-five, perhaps. But if I'm to be honest, I'll admit that everyone over a certain age just looks… kind of the same to me, until they become truly old. You look old enough to be my father; that would be about right, wouldn't it?"
A soft laugh comes to C'yr's throat before he grins at her, "You are a darling, truly." C'yr admits before he drinks some more wine and hands it off to her. "I'm your age again over thirty five."
"Old enough to be my—" But Rhysanna stops, pink-cheeked, and changes her mind. "Well, you seem to be relatively well-preserved for that, to my untrained eye. The exercise no doubt helps, mm?"
"Your what, grandfather?" C'yr gives a small laugh. "And I'm very well preserved and still function as well as any teen or twenty year old male… that's for sure."
Rhysanna gives C'yr a look over the wineskin, amusement visible in her dark eyes. "I'll take your word for it," she says. "I'm glad to hear it, though. I don't much like the idea of getting old, if it means losing the ability to enjoy the things you've always enjoyed. Mother always reminds me to think before I speak; I'm afraid I tend to think after I've started, but before I've finished."
"There is nothing wrong with that. Age helps with that, but I still do it." C'yr grins a bit at that. "What, don't think I can?" he teases the young woman, reaching out to try and poke her in the knee.
Rhysanna's knee, just barely covered by her light cotton dress, barely reacts to the poking - though the girl herself is laughing. "I didn't say that," she assures him. "Although I don't know how we precisely got onto that subject. Do you often tell near-strangers such things?"
"I'm an open sort of person. And I'm a bit proud, to be honest." C'yr shrugs. "Comes with being a bronzerider, I guess." He winks at her there. "I've worked very hard to stay like this."
"Bronzeriders," repeats Rhysanna, but at least she sounds amused. The wineskin gets handed back, but this time, it's so that she can stand. "I suppose that's reason enough. in any case, I have to get back to work - this is only supposed to be a break, and I really shouldn't have been drinking. It was nice to meet you, though."
"Nice to meet you as well, Rhysanna. Hope to run into you again." C'yr offers as he stands when she does. Afterall, a gentleman stands when a lady does. "You were relaxing. And if you need a job, let me know. I'm always on the lookouts for people to help me with paperwork." He makes a face.
Rhysanna makes a face that matches C'yr's. "Paperwork. Not exactly my favorite. I will keep that in mind, though. Good night, C'yr." She reclaims her apron as she passes, shortly thereafter disappearing down the stairs and back into the caverns.