Company Kept

Winter - Month 1 of Turn 2717
Half Moon Bay Weyr - Rooftop Garden
Soft grasses form a lawn central to this open air garden, producing a pleasant picnic space. Surrounding this greenery is a sanded and bordered path that wends around it and continues toward the front of the roof, where the pleasant aromas of cultivated herbs waft on the breeze. Rock gardens and low-hanging tropical trees form shelter from the elements, combined with an overhanging jut of the caldera wall, underneath which benches and sun chairs have been arrayed, rather like a natural gazebo.


Nassir had taken the first opportunity to accompany one of Igen's riders to Half Moon Bay. Arriving early, he's spent most of the day roaming around, trying not to let it show that he finds the area beautiful. Having found his way to the garden, he's settled on the grass, his shoulders braced against the trunk of one of the trees. At the moment, the bit of embroidery he had been working on is resting atop one green and gold clad thigh, his head tilted back, dark eyes staring absently around the cavern. Still, there is a ghost of smile on his lips, the expression most assuredly being his default resting face.

It is peace and quiet that R'sner seeks, and while he might find more of it within the stone walls of his and Toith's weyr, it is the garden that he's retreated to. Perhaps the dragon-half is less inclined to take him 'home' than leave him stranded, though more likely than not it is the necessity of being available (and findable) that has the weyrlingmaster ground-bound at the moment. He is, after all, responsible for the hoard of candidates running amok around Half Moon Bay Weyr. Thankfully, it appears that said white-knots are busy with chores, and not apt to appear in the vicinity any time soon. However, the wandering of the weyrlingmaster is interrupted upon discovery that he is not, in fact, the solitary occupant of the garden. There is first hesitation (should he retreat? Flee before he is seen?!), then contemplation, and finally resignation as he continues doggedly forward despite the inevitable necessity of socialization. Recognition comes in his opening statement, that being a rather flat, "You're rather far from home," followed by the ridiculously obvious declaration that, "this isn't Igen." He comes to a halt a few meters from the reclining Nassir, arms crossed over his chest out of habit rather than malice. A drop of his gaze to the work-in-progress resting upon his thigh; a flicker of curiosity that goes unvoiced.

While Nassir makes no attempt to sway the weyrlingmaster one way or another, there is an almost immediate twinkle of humor in his eyes at the resolve with which the girds himself before approaching. By the time R'sner is close enough to speak comfortably, Nassir has sat up a bit more, the embroidery on his thigh kept from spilling off by a deft twist of long fingers. "No," he murmurs in husky tones. "This is most assuredly not Igen." Letting his gaze sweep the garden in the wake of the words, his smile warming as he tilts his chin toward the grass beside. "How long since has it been since you have reclined on the grass and simply laughed, R'sner? Join me, eh? We can be in 'Not Igen' together for a bit." In the wake of the invitation, he turns the embroidery to be more easily seen, a neatly stitched border of silver dolpins leaping from tossing waves coming into view. "Odd the things that inspire, eh?"

A pause and a glance of his own, cobalt-blue eyes drifting lazily over the greenery of the garden before they return to the tailor. R'sner appears to take that question as rhetorical, as the only answer Nassir gets is a downward twitch to the corner of his mouth. It might have been a frown, if he'd put a bit more effort into it. The invitation is briefly considered, gaze going distant in the tell-tale sign that he is bespeaking his dragon, before he moves the few feet required of him to take up residence on the spot indicated. A folding and organizing of long limbs before he's quite settled and while perhaps not /relaxed/, at least putting up the pretense of it. A tip of his head as the embroidery comes within view, and he can't help the somewhat surprised, "Dolphins? Really?" that slips past his lips. But a half-second later and he decides, "It is nicely done."

Nassir exhales a quietly husky laugh watching the weyrlingmaster settle himself somewhat stiffly on the grass. "You've my word, R'sner," he teases. "I've never tried to rob a man of his virtue without invitation." Winking, he flashes a bawdy smile, dark brows rising in a teasing twitch before his attention sweeps back down to his embroidery. "Hrm? Ah, well.. Yes. Although I've never seen them, myself," he admits. "A bronze rider from Xanadu was telling me about them." Turning the bit of linen, his expression warms at the compliment, a flick of his head sending dark curls over one shoulder. "Thank you. I was considering designing a tapestry around them, but I need to research into sea life, I think." Pausing a beat, he slants a glance at R'sner's face before twisting around to pull a sealed bottle out of his satchel. "Klah? It's cool and unsweetened, but it does the trick."

Dark brows lift at the 'assurance' that his virtue is safe, and though silence reigns from the greenrider, there's the faintest twitch of his mouth that might have been a smile! Or might have been nothing. Who knows. Either way, R'sner is moving right along and avoiding that train of thought in favor of… dolphins apparently. "Really?" comes for the knowledge that the Igen tailor has never seen one. "Half Moon is home to at least one pod," he offers. "They often assist with the Search and Rescue wing." A heartbeat. Two, and then, "If you really wanted to see one, I am sure it could be arranged." He considers the embroidery a bit longer. "Have you ever made a tapestry before?" is skeptical at best, though not outright discourteous. More so… that perhaps R'sner has never met someone who has /ever/ made a tapestry, and isn't so sure he has met one now. "I… sure." For the Klah.

"So I have heard," Nassir admits with a nod of his head as he hands over the bottle of klah. If he saw the hint of a smile, he gives no indication of it, choosing instead to twist one arm to pillow his head against the tree. "I admit, the lessons I had had far less to do with swimming then… other things, but the notion was placed all the same." Exhaling a wry snort, his smile fades into a frown that looks entirely out of place on his face. Fortunately it is there and gone in an instant, banished with a quick shake of his head. "I would like that," he admits in response to the invitation. "To see them, I mean." It is the last, however, that inspires a broader smile, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "A few," he admits readily. "While I love embroidery best, there is little time with mending and sewing garments for the Weyr. But," he adds with a tilt of his chin toward the piece on his thigh. "I do it now in bits and pieces."

There is a bit of confusion, and a healthy dose of curiosity despite an attempt to curb it, coming from the greenrider. "Why haven't you?" Gone to see the dolphins. Whatever other questions might be hovering at the edge of R'sner's mind, he curbs them with an acceptance and subsequent swallow of the offered Klah. But his gaze settles on Nassir all the same, consideration and silent curiosity before his gaze is darting for the green of the garden instead. The bottle is set upon the ground between them, hands falling back to the grass in the approximation of a lean. The longer silence stretches after the answer to his question is given, but eventually the greenrider's attention and gaze returns when he asks, "What sort of tapestries have you completed? Is there a particular subject matter, that you gravitate toward?"

Nassir considers the question for a long moment, long legs, clad in light, billowing linen stretching out on the grass, booted ankles crossing lightly. "I can't swim," he reminds. "Seems foolish to take unnecessary risks. Besides, gawking has always struck me as pointedly unattractive." Unless, of course, it involves tight leather pants, then all bets are off. It is the last, however, that inspires a warm laugh to spilling past his lips. "I fancy landscapes," he admits. "The last tapestry I did was a likeness of Igen just as the fingers of dawn began to color the sky. I can't remember who bought it," he notes with a frown. "Some rider for his weyrmate, I believe." Exhalings a snort, he shifts, squirming into a more comfortable position. It is only once he is half sprawled on his side in the grass that he grins up at R'sner. "So where are your charges? I'd have thought they would be following you around eager for attention?"

"Oh." For not being able to swim. Cue awkward shifting and a definitive absence of his gaze as R'sner stares at something innocuous for a while. Like that tree over there. So interesting. He doesn't /blush/, because Res doesn't blush. But there's certainly a restrained sort of shifting that might suggest a subtle embarrassment, the drawing in of legs that are (alas) not leather-clad at the moment, if just because R'sner has dressed down for the day. If he knew, or didn't know, forgot or didn't forget, he's apologetic all the same. Even if the apology isn't verbalized. Of gawking, he seems to have no answer. Or perhaps he's decided silence is a better option in this moment. There are certainly arguments that /could/ be made, suggestions given, opportunities offered, but they remain unspoken. He will, however, comment upon the tapestry with a low but earnest, "It sounds lovely." The squirming around at least gets his gaze back, off of that (totally fascinating) tree and focused on Nassir for a moment. "Charges?" It's only a half-second before he understands the question, frowning as the brief distraction of thought to answer with a dry, "Busy. And not at all inclined to be in my presence, actually. Much more interested in how to avoid my attention than seek it out. Likely getting into the sort of mischief I would have to discipline them for." But though there's a resigned, almost longsuffering sort of tone, it can't quite mask the deeper fondness he has for the candidates that fall within his purview.

"Then they are fools," Nassir states frankly. "Every last one of them." Certainly, the weyrlingmaster has a measure of intimidation about him, but that sort of thing has never phased the tailor. Instead, he focuses his attention on studying the man who is so intent on not looking at him. That his eyes are warm and brazenly interested? He's utterly unapologetic about that simple fact. "Discipline can be a great deal of fun," he purrs in teasing tones. Of course, it's clear in a blink that the sort of discipline he's thinking about is not the sort that weyrlings and candidates are likely to inspire. Realizing belatedly that the comment might have gone to far, he draws in a shallow breath, lightly clearing his throat before affording. "My apologies if that was to off-color, eh? I sometimes speak my mind before considering how others might take my words." Everyone has flaws after all.

"They are children." Not quite accurate, as the youngest among them is likely in their late teens. But it is the sentiment R'sner has for those in his care; those that he must teach and train and somehow prepare for the Hatching or life as a dragonrider, should they Impress. A weighty task, but it is not what's got his attention at the moment. The weyrlingmaster is not unaware of that study. It's clear enough in the staunch refusal to meet that gaze, in the slow tightening of his shoulders; the subtle change from 'almost relaxed' to 'not even close to relaxed' as muscles contract in readiness. Readiness for what, though? To flee? To attack? Apparently, to do nothing at all besides sit there and continue to pretend he doesn't feel those dark eyes on him. But those cobalt eyes flash to Nassir at his declaration, out of sheer surprise. For a moment, he's just sort of sitting there, tense and at a complete loss for how to respond to such a thing, though the twitching of muscles along his jaw might suggest that words want to come but he can't quite form them. Eventually, there is a sort of frown; a deep consideration for the Igenite in the grass and, rather than outright confirmation or dismissal of the apology, a question. "How old /are/ you, Nassir?"

Nassir tilts his head, watching the tensing of muscles, the subtle twitch and testing of the weyrlingmaster's jaw. Oh there is danger there, to be certain, he knows that. But then violence has never been a thing he has indulged in. Not real violence, at least. Anger is simply an emotion that is, for the most part, a stranger to him. It is the question, however, that inspires a smile, slender shoulders rolling in a fluid shrug. "I'll be nineteen turns soon enough," he admits. In the wake of the admission, he falls silent for a time, again studying the body language of the man to whom he is talking. "Has no one ever had the balls to openly admire you, R'sner?" The curiousity in his tones hold a measure of disbelief spiced with a hint of sorrow over the thought. "You're a fine looking man easy on the eyes and pleasant to talk to," he provides frankly. "Ah, don't mistake me, though? I am boldly open in my admiring of men that take my fancy, but I'm also well aware of the fact that such sentiments are rarely returned." Shifting on the grass, he pushes braces his chin atop the curled fingers of one hand. "I can try to be less…" At a loss for words, he twists the wrist of the other hand, his fingers gesturing airly. "More…" He really doesn't know how to finish that.

R'sner is not a violent person. Reserved. Broken, perhaps. But not dangerous. More prone to flee than to fight. Though he is doing neither, at the moment. Just sitting. And staring, in a manner that might be impolite, as the answer comes. Whatever he thinks of it is very carefully kept from his expression, though there's a subtle nod of his head in acknowledgement. As for those questions posed to him? Hm. "If they have, I hadn't noticed," is said honestly enough, and with a dry sort of dismissal. He is not to be admired; that is clearly his opinion on the matter. "Pleasant?" Him? Disbelief for that, though not outright argument. He appears more surprised than anything else, caught between frowning at the tailor and peering into the trees; either meeting his gaze or avoiding it entirely. All of this darting around of his eyes and the tension of his form certainly doesn't assist in the appearance of confidence, though there's not much about R'sner that is confident in this moment. A quick enough "No," for the offer to be either 'less' of what he is or 'more' of what he isn't. "That's not the issue." So then, what is? "I don't generally… seek company."

"Why?" As the question leaves Nassir's lips, he lets the waving hand drop, long fingers smoothing the voluminous linen girding his thighs. From the tone of the question and the intentness of his gaze, he's truly curious about why the weyrlingmaster choses to remain apart. Of course, in the same moment, he is acutely aware of the fact that the question could be considered prying and he's just as prepared to let it go as pursue. "You know," he murmurs as he twists around and stretches out on his back. "I used to pretend that I fancied no one," he admits. "It was easier, you see, to do that then deal with the reactions my tastes tend to inspire. There'd been more then an instance, or two, of unpleasantness with the boys from Igen Hold. But then, I decided why bother? Why care what others think of me? It's been considerably better," he admits. "Since moving to the weyr, but there are still some who look at me like I've lost my mind." Flashing a wry smile, he winks playfully, one arm twisting up to pillow his head. "I haven't lost my mind, but I am good deal happier in being me."

R'sner may just envy Nassir's ability to be so relaxed just now, observing with keen focus his stretching out upon the grass and the general tranquility of the position elected. But despite it, he can't seem to bring himself to ease the tightness of his frame much beyond the dropping of shoulders and deepening of breath. That potentially invasive 'why' hangs in the air between them, a rather long pause stretching out as Res debates whether or not he will answer it. But the silence is filled, not by his voice, but Nassir's as he speaks of his own history. He listens, offering no verbal commentary, but paying attention nonetheless. A rueful sort of almost-smile; the barest curl to the corner of his mouth that would indicate an expression to come, and he offers, "I am weyrbred. My preferences were never… disputed," he decides. "And when Toith came alone, well…" and the mention of his lifemate at least earns a softening of his expression, an almost genuine smile for the green that is out of sight but certainly never out of mind. "I am… sorry that it was hard for you. I admit; I've never had to endure that particular struggle. I do occasionally come across a candidate or two that are…" but whatever they are, he doesn't say, settling on a simple shrug of his shoulders instead. "No, you haven't lost your mind."

Nassir's head lolls to the side, full lips turning up in a warm smile as he takes a few moments to simply regard the weyrlingmaster. "I should like to meet your Toith," he admits quietly. In the wake of the words, his free hand stretches out, long nails attempting to lightly whisper over the back of R'sner's hand before coming to rest on the grass. "As impertinent as it may sound? You still need a partner in your life, R'sner. Someone to miss you when you are busy tending to weyrlings and snot-nosed candidates, someone to comfort you when stresses are high. I have never," he admits. "Understood why some people try so very hard to be alone." Falling silent for a time, a faint, warm smile traces over his lips, dark lashes sweeping down to a half lidded expression. "Weyrbred is easier," he admits and then adds with a dry chuckle. "My parents were, /are/, mortified."

"That can be arranged," for meeting Toith. "Though I feel I ought to warn you… she is the least /green/ -like green to grace Pern's skies. And do not call her pretty." R'sner could continue, as discussion of his lifemate is one topic he can converse at length about. But there is a whisper of nails against the back of his hand, that steals away his words and his train of thought, turning him once more to silence and steel-like tautness in the grass. He doesn't flinch away, but then again he doesn't do much of anything besides sit there like a living statue. "I had a partner," comes almost unbidden, sharp and quick in delivery. Past-tense. Had. Which is why there's a brief tightening of his jaw to fight against a swell of emotion. "That is because you are young," as for why Nassir does not understand why some people try so hard to be alone. It is not said contemptuously, in an attempt to brush aside or dismiss the words. Rather, it is resigned. An observation, and a conclusion reached based on that observation. Whether R'sner's conclusion is accurate is uncertain. And weyrbred might be easier, but only by necessity. "Does that make it difficult for you? That they don't approve?"

Nassir exhales a mellow laugh, dark eyes twinkling at the description of Toith."She sounds a great deal like her rider," he admits with a broad smile. That smile, however, fades in response to what follows, his gaze softening as he affords a slow nod of his head. "It was not my intention to pry," he offers in quieter tones. For a while, he is quiet, both contemplating the statements made and the question at the last. "Yes," he finally offers. "It changes nothing, but it has made my circumstances a good deal more lonely then they had been." Thinking about his parents inspires another faint frown to tracing over Nassir's lips, a sigh exhaled before he lightly clears his throat. "My mother laments that I will spend my life alone. My father? I suspect he hopes desperately that that proves to be the case." And, after a moment of silent contemplation, he gives a shallow shake of his head and twists back on his side to regard R'sner. "Tell me about it? I know there are eggs on the sands and candidates in the barracks, what do you do with them beyond chores and herding?"

"It's fine." It's not. But it was R'sner's decision to disclose that bit of his history, when he could have just as easily remained quiet on the subject. That silence results on both sides for a time, at least gives him the opportunity to gather thoughts, rein in emotions and compose himself once again. Or as composed as he possible can be. He seems to have no advice to offer on the subject of parents, and the difficulties they pose, but he can be sympathetic toward the situation; a frown once more touching his expression. But perhaps the subject of candidates and weyrlings is safer, for he latches onto the topic once it is offered. His gaze drops at the shift of position, his own remaining somewhat stiff and statue-like where he remains sitting cross-legged on the grass. "You haven't been in Igen for a Hatching?" he wonders before acquiescing to the request to discuss the details his job. Or, at least the overview of it. "The chores are important," he notes. "And ensuring they aren't skipping out on them is, sadly, a larger part of my job than I would like to admit. However, aside from that, it is about preparing candidates for the eventuality that they will Impress; making sure they are… healthy enough, physically and mentally. As well as… emotionally prepared for it. There are aspects of a dragonrider's life that can be difficult for some."

"I have not," Nassir admits with a wry smile. "Somehow I've always had my own work to attend to and could never find the time. Oh, I've seen them bustling about, dodging the weyrlingmaster as well as they can, but really? They're far more interested in chatting up the riders then bothering with a tailor." It's not said bitterly, however. Simply a statement of fact. Falling silent to listen to the rest of what R'sner has to say, Nassir affords a slow nod. "I suppose I understand that. It cannot be an easy transition to go from being an 'I' to a 'We'." After a few moments of consideration, he draws in a slow breath and admits. "I cannot imagine. I suppose it's harder for some then others, but still." Of course, as he speaks, his gaze remains on R'sner, the return of the weyrlingmaster's stiffness met with a faintly worried frown. "R'sner, you do know that I have no intention of forcing myself on you, aye? I mean, clearly I fancy you, but I would not do anything to make you uncomfortable or unhappy." Which, he admits to himself, might have been easier if he'd kept his mouth shut rather then addressing it. But then, Nassir has never been very good at keeping his mouth shut.

R'sner seems to find this news, that Nassir has not seen a hatching (if that is, indeed, the truth of things) surprising. "You should find the time," he decides. "The Hatching itself is…" indescribable for a dragonrider, it seems, as Res can't quite find the words to finish his sentence. And so he simply starts a new one. "There is a Feast afterwards." Because perhaps the lure of food and drink will convince him. But he will lapse into silence as well, with no defense for the habits of weyrlings to trailing riders rather than tailors. "It is an entirely new life," he agrees. "More than simply another… mind. No dragonrider would begrudge his dragon, but Impression closes a lot of doors." And now the words flow freely; the greenrider falling easily into the role of instructor as he speaks about a subject he knows intimately. "As such, there are… challenges to being a dragonrider that must be accepted early on to avoid distress." A pause comes, a hesitation in the stream of dialogue as he seems to consider his audience. "Regardless," moving right along. "It can be challenging for some." What else seems to be a challenge, is adjusting to the change in conversation back to /him/ and his apparent distress. Which just seems to cause more of it. "That… no. You're misinterpreting… I am not /afraid/ of you," he asserts, despite appearances.

Nassir exhales a quiet laugh, one hand reaching out in an attempt to momentarily cover R'sner's— unless, of course, he evades that touch. "I did not think you afraid of me," he assures. "I rather suspect you could beat me to insensibility before I could suss what to do. I only meant that, despite my freeness of speech and thought… Eh, unwelcome advances are unpleasant things even on the best of days." As for the matter of hatchings, he shrugs his shoulders, his smile turning easier. "I'll make a point then. Perhaps I'll come down to watch Half Moon Bays?" Again, he shifts his position, stretching out on his back and repillowing his head on his arm. "I should make you a shirt.. No," he decides. "A vest. Forest green leather, a neat, precisely crafted trim. Something lovely and stark all in the same moment."

As the greenrider is currently not /moving/, Nassir's hand would land upon his easily enough. It draws his eyes as well, R'sner's gaze dropping to fix prominently on that point of contact that he allows a moment longer before he withdraws his hand from beneath. "What is it you want?" he queries, gaze lifted to frown apprehensively at the Igen tailor. "I am not afraid of you, but I admit I am /confused/ by you." As for Hatchings, and visiting them? "Ilyscaeth's clutch is very near to Hatching. It should not be difficult to find a ride, if you want to witness it. It should be… interesting," given the state of the Hatching Grounds. Of vests? Well, now he's definitely confused. "Why?" make a vest for him. His gaze drops to his current shirt, something rather neutral in tone but clearly well-made and tailored to fit him.

"Why not," Nassir states, addressing R'sner's last, first. "Because you've made an impression on me, I suppose," he finally admits. "Perhaps it's my way of courting you." Flashing another easy smile, he draws his hand back to rest upon the wide leather belt girding his abdomen. "I shall certain come then, to witness the hatching. You are a very suspicious man," he observes in wry tones. Falling silent for a beat, he lets his gaze trail away, dark eyes tracing the edges of the garden. "I can't imagine what you find confusing," he finally states. "I doubt it is possible to be any more direct then I have been."

Hatchings. Impressions. Vests. Suspicious natures and flashing smiles. R'sner is silent through them all, though the latter gets a brief aversion of his gaze; darting off for the nearest bit of greenery before just as quickly returning to stare, somewhat impolitely, at the lounging tailor. It is a long span of silence that stretches out before he states bluntly enough, "I am thirty turns older than you are. /That/ is what is confusing me."

Blinking once, Nassir finally tosses his head back and laughs. The sound is low and mellow and truely surprised. "Oh," he finally gasps, the hand on his stomach pressing firmer in hopes of allowing him a breath. "Oh my…" Coughing a bit, he pushes up on his elbows, dark curls falling in wild disarray around his face and shoulders. "I did tell you that I like men, R'sner. Men," he repeats. "Not boys." Finally getting a hold of his laughter, he lets his head loll to the side, his expression softening as he watches the Weyrlingmaster's face. "You must not realize the impressive figure that you cut. And you've charm, a good deal of it, if you hadn't realized. Eh," he finally adds. "Age means very little."

Laughter is not the anticipated reaction, and as it rolls forth with sincerity and surprise, leaves R'sner to sit in silent and startled contemplation. He is very clearly skeptical, and somewhat at a miss for how to handle this strange turn of events, staring at Nassir as though he were an odd and puzzling sort of creature. Fascinating, but confusing. There is a veritable range of expressions flashing across his face;, unreadable but clearly conflicted. It's awkwardness that descends as the tailor rises, repeating his assertion as to his preferences. "I have charm?" Clearly, he hadn't realized it. But it is not a question he expects an answer from, having already brushed aside the compliment. And rather than assuage that confusion, the assertion that age means little seems to only compound it. Or, at the very least, it does very little to alleviate the deep furrow wrought across his forehead, as if in deep thought. Silence; perhaps of the uncomfortable sort, abounds.

Watching the Weyrlingmaster, Nassir's smile remains steadfast, his chin dipping in a firm nod. And despite the fact that no answer is expected, he still offers one up. "Charm enough that I am eager for your company whether I stand a candle's chance in a snow storm, R'sner. Is it so odd to have another seek out your company?" Tilting his head, he pushes himself up to sitting, one knee drawing up to allow him to wrap his arms around his calve. "I have very few friends that are my own age," he admits. "Well none, truth be told. Those I have had… well, most of them have been whisked off to stand and eventually impressed. After that? Well, even the best of friendships fade in comparison. Besides, people my own age tend to be… I don't know… immature?" Shrugging he drops his chin on his knee, absently plucking a blade of grass. Falling silent, he slants a glance at R'sner's face, admitting to himself, at least, that the fact that the man has not readily succumbed to his charms is also quite appealing.

"It is, yes," asserts the greenrider. But after that quick confirmation, R'sner falls into silence once again. At least it is a listening silence, and one that sees the eventual release of long-held tension as shoulders roll and he inevitably leans back on the hands pressed to the ground. Relaxing, if not quite /relaxed/. "Immature," he repeats, and there's enough amusement there that it might be heard if not seen in his expression. He offers neither dispute nor agreement with that assessment, but rather falls into quiet contemplation of the Igen tailor. A selfish sort of indulgence, that drift of cobalt blue eyes over the grass-plucking tailor, before he moves his gaze away to the surroundings once again. "Did you intentionally elect Igen Weyr as your posting?"

"/I/," Nassir laughs. "Am flamboyant, R'sner. It's a vastly different thing then immature." Winking, he flashes a ready smile, pleased to see the green rider relaxing at least a little bit. It is the last that inspires another quiet smile, his chin sliding against his knee as he nods. "I did. Foolish perhaps, but I hold out hope that my family will eventually tire of their judgemental dismissal. Probably as foolish as it is futile, but that was the reasoning behind the choice." Still, there is a part of him that regrets the decision, the sparse population of the weyr leaving him spending the vast majority of his time alone. "Unfortunately," he sighs in more subdued tones. "Eh…" Whatever he was going to say is dismissed with a smile that is entirely forced. "Just typical nonsense. You? You said you where weyrbred? Half Moon Bay or…?"

"I did not say that you were," he argues, but the implication was there, and that is what has R'sner looking briefly chastised by the laugh and the correction. He recovers quick enough, and even manages a hint of a smile for the softer expression that his question brings. "How long ago…" but he seems to reconsider the question. "I don't want to offer false hope," he prefaces, "But there are occasions when… time helps to bring understanding." But just as often, it does not. /That/ is not something he will say, but there's a sort of pained expression; sympathy for a plight he has not had to endure but can imagine well enough. He won't press when Nassir aborts his initial thought and poses a question instead, but there's a lingering of his gaze on the forced expression that, even now, R'sner recognizes as out of place on the tailor. "Yes," weyrbred. "Fort Weyr. My father was a dragonrider, and my mother worked as a barmaid at the local establishment. I was not surprised to be asked to Stand, but I was very surprised with Toith found me. She… well," and there goes that expression again, drifting into almost silly-affection for his lifemate, though he schools himself promptly enough. "She gave me purpose."

"She's wise," Nassir decides. "Toith, I mean." It is the expression on R'sner's face that transforms his smile into one that is entirely unforced, dark eyes crinkling at the corners. "I am glad you found one another, that sort of love is a rare and wonderful thing." Raising his chin off his knee, he pushes his curls back off his face, his shoulders rolling in a slow stretch. "I have not lost hope that they will come around," he admits in reference to his parents. "But really? That is on them, not me. I am not about to pretend to be something I am not just to please another. Even a parent." He simply cannot imagine living his life in such a fashion. "How long have you been with Toith," he asks curiously.

"She would agree with you," declares R'sner with enough dryness of tone to imply that perhaps he does /not/. But there can be only fondness for his dragon, so even the rueful suggestion otherwise melts into affection for the green. "It is, and it is why I highly encourage you to attend the Hatching. Everyone ought to witness an Impression; if just to better understand why the risk is worth taking." At least, the risk of standing for a dragon; of other sort of risks, R'sner will not speak. The discussion of parents, and the choices they will or won't make, is sobering enough to see the hint of smile vanish and that somber expression return. "That is a very… mature opinion to take," and yes, his word choice is entirely intentional, and were this not a rather serious subject, may have been delivered somewhat differently. As is, he's being entirely earnest in that sentiment. "A long time," comes his next answer, gaze briefly distant as he reaches toward the presence of his dragon. "I was sixteen when I Impressed her."

"I'll definitely attend the hatching," Nassir assures in serious tones. After a moment, he winks and adds far more wryly. "How could I resist seeing the batch of new riders that will likely have you tearing your hair out in clumps?" Exhaling a warm laugh, he leans over just enough to lightly bump R'sner's shoulder with his own. "It was mature of me, wasn't it? Shocking, I know." Comfortable and relaxed, he doesn't think twice about settling into the closed distance, his expression transformed into something more thoughtful at the last. "Sixteen? I cannot even imagine. It suits you, though, that much is a certainty. I imagine they all have to be very nervous with it being so close to time."

"You have no idea," for the hair-tearing atrocities that are likely to come from this bunch. R'sner's grimace is only half-feigned; a true wiggle of concern behind those blue eyes of his. Shoulder bumps and close proximity; it is allowed, but comes with a moment of tension. An internal debate and then a conscious decision to loosen up. At least enough that he doesn't look like he's about to pull a muscle just because Nassir is within his personal-space-bubble. "Some have Impressed as young as twelve," he notes, as though to defend his past-self and the age at which Toith found him. "How did settle on being a tailor?" wondered suddenly, explained a moment later by his confession of, "I did not have a craft or a calling. I am not certain what I would have done with my life…" but that is a moot point. Toith found him, and put an end to the debate. "I have no doubt of that," for the nerves of his candidate class. "This close, they are sure to be itching for the event to be over. Tempers will be short, and anticipation high."

"My parents," Nassir admits. "My father is a leather worker, makes the most splendid leathers you could possibly find. My mother is a weaver. I guess it just came naturally to me." Noting that the rider does not pull away, he smiles a bit more, settling comfortably on the grass at R'sner's side. "Fortunately, I love to sew," he admits. "I'm good at it. Particularly embroidery." At the mention of people impressing as young as twelve, he nods slowly, his expression growing thoughtful. "Your calling found you," he provides. "You've found the other part of yourself in a way most of us will never know. You, and those you train, have something special." It's the last, however, that inspires a mellow laugh to humming in his throat. "I can imagine they are as tense and anxious as one can be. How many are there?" He has not seen many candidates on his visits to the weyr and his curiosity is clear.

"Fortunate, indeed," R'sner agrees. There is a conscious decision to observe the garden rather than the tailor, but he's clearly attuned to the conversation and the question that comes. "Candidates, or eggs?" he wonders briefly, not wait for clarification before he continues on with, "Seven eggs. Presently about… twenty candidates." The odds are clearly not in their favor. "Half of which are craft- or holdbred and-" but whatever else he may have said on the subject is interrupted by Toith, R'sner's gaze goes distant and then resigned. "Speaking of…" and he's pushing himself upright even before he's finished offering an explanation, moving with a fluidity that belies the earlier stiffness that had racked his frame. Distracted now, there's a pause to consider the Igenite and a hesitation before he offers, "When you are in Half Moon again… Toith would like to meet you." It is as close to an invitation as he is likely to extend.

The invitation takes Nassir completely by surprise, a broad smile tracing over full lips. "You see," he laughs with a dramatic wink. "I knew she was wise." with R'sner taking his leave, the tailor gathers up his embroidery, stretching slowly as he gets to his feet. "It was good seeing you, R'sner. I will look forward to meeting Toith." That it is true is clear in the easy smile and the humor that is, once more twinkling in dark eyes. "Have fun corraling your canditates, you'll likely see me tomorrow." He's grown fond of Half Moon Bay after all.


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