Half Moon Bay Weyr - Tidal Pools

Up a path from the lagoon sits a plateau of tidal pools. The shallowness of the pools combined with the dark stone they're made up of means that Rukbat beating on the pools in the daytime keeps them warm. The rock has been hewn gently on most of the pools to allow for ledges to sit on while still in the water. The pools allow for a more private, relaxed atmosphere than the beach below. When they are occupied, it is not uncommon to see a waitress or waiter come up from the Tiki Lounge to serve drinks to the occupants.

(language warning)

The sun is still up, but it's on it's downward descent. The first golden rays of evening cast long shadows, distorting the shape and texture of the tidal pools. It's late enough that, presumably, chores have finished and dinner is done. Or maybe Sevran is just skipping his meal, in favor of some alone time. He's chosen to coast this time, maybe for a change of scenery. Maybe because the last time he went walking he got threatened and is hoping to avoid such a fate this time. He's sitting, carefully perched on one of those convenient ledges, looking out over the ocean with a distant, solemn look. His knot is in his fingers, rather than on his shoulder, and he plays with the silken material in an absentminded way, not really seeing it.

It must be Sevran's the unluckiest butcher to ever walk beneath Pernese skies, because guess who comes wandering down the beach to the tidal pools? Yes, it's none other than J'en. He's dressed in black knee length swim trunks and woven bamboo flip flops on his feet, a large deep red towel tossed over one broad shoulder, but guarded this time if that stony look on his face had anything to say about it. Golden eyes instantly fall upon the solemn candidate as he stops short, seeming to consider an about face that would take him right back the way he'd arrived. Chin lifting, arms are crossed over his chest. Something is muttered, quietly to himself, before dark lashes drift downwards."If yer that unhappy, quit." he says in that toneless way of his, no matter what words he's chosen to speak aloud.

Sevran almost misses it. Almost. But really, that voice is not one he's likely to forget. Grey eyes flash to gold, and there's a slight shift in his frame, as if his muscles have suddenly seized up. A pause. A lifetime. And then very slowly Sev offers the bronzerider a salute. That's the right thing to do, right? Though given his luck, probably not. The grumbly, "who says I'm unhappy," probably doesn't help him any. He averts his eyes away from the bronzerider, going back to the ocean. Knot is fiddled with, then clutched tightly for a moment before it's shoved forcefully into his pocket. At least he didn't fling it into the ocean.

There is no change in position or expression for the bronzerider and for once he appears to have all the patience in the world, maybe just waiting for Sevran to mess up again, then the salute comes. No pat on the head or flicker of disappointment that the candidate remembered, "Dun forget the sir, candidate." J'en rumbles back, on the ragged edge of growly but not quite there yet. Who says that the butcher is unhappy? "Yer face, ya should work on that and yer tone if ya wanna do somethin' other than scrappin' the side of shit holes." Even if this sounds like he might be threatening more latrine duty, surprisingly enough the flatness of his tenor is delivered softly rather an attack with volume or irritation. Jae's gaze remains on him though, long after he's dismissed in favor of the ocean and shoving that knot away and out of site. Silence stretches into an eternity or perhaps it only feels that way given the bronzerider's constant consideration.

"Sir," offers Sevran, in a flat, even tone. No sarcasm. He probably, genuinely, forgot. "Yeah, I'll work on that," he decides about his face, only a hint of sarcasm. The sentiment doesn't touch his expression, though, which remains rather wary. He's looking at the ocean so intently, one might wonder if he's just trying to avoid looking elsewhere. Last time they met, he got saddled with more chores, though a soft snort is emitted for J'en's helpful advice. "Cleaning latrine's isn't the worst thing in the world," he decides. But again, there's no real sarcasm there. It's just an honest sentiment, with a heavy tone that says he may know worse things. Silence? Sevran can do silence. He does, however, dare a quick, fleeting glance at the bronzerider, so fast it may have been imagined. But then back to the ocean. The safe, silent ocean. He sits back, crossing his arms resolutely over his chest, hands tucked under arms to avoid fidgeting.

"Right." J'en doesn't even twitch, calmly and collectedly, tossing his towel onto a nearby boulder before he ascends the ledge that Sevran is on with little effort which leaves no question as to his level of athleticism. Not that all those ridiculous muscles of his didn't at least suggest it. Suffice to say that when Sevran glances the direction of where he once stood, he's obviously no longer there. Soundlessly he lowers himself into a crouch behind the younger boy, having disgarded his footwear along the way somewhere, resting his chin in the palm of one hand held aloft by an elbow on his knee. The candidate could watch the silent ocean as much as he liked, but at some point J'en wordlessly shoves his free hand against his back with just enough force to launch the butcher forward to drop him safely into the water below. It was deep enough that he wouldn't hit bottom and shallow enough that he can't drown, but the heat of the day appears to have failed in transfering itself there, so its a particularly chilly reception. This done, Jae drapes his candidate-launching arm across his lap and meerly watches with all that expressionlessness.

"Fuck!" is the only sound that escapes Sevran before he plunges into the cold water below. Good thing he knows how to swim, right? The froth and bubbles and general churning of the water obscure the view, as Sevran fails a bit on his way up. A moment later, and his head breaks the surface, and he coughs a bit to expel some water from nose and mouth. There's an angry swipe of his hand across his brow, pushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes and rendering him decidedly disheveled. An icy look is leveled at the bronzerider, whom he finds with ease if he's still in Sevran's spot. "Great. Thanks. Just want I needed." Total sarcasm now. Scowl.

The bronzerider was still there all right, lashes lowered and looking somewhat…bored? It was hard to tell what J'en was thinking because his face continued to lack any emotion. "Ya, it was." Sighing, he scoots forward and perfectly settles himself into the exact spot that the eighteen turn old once occupied, but instead of giving all his attention to the ocean it remains on the butcher below. Both arms now folded over his lap, he leans over minutely. "Ya dun wanna be meh kid, cheer the fuck up and make yerself some friends. Enjoy yer candidacy. Dun mope about glarin' 'oles into the 'orizon. Never ends well." It might be flatly delivered, his expression unchanging, but the softness with which he entered into the inital conversion remained and might suggest that he was attempting to give the candidate some genuine advice here rather than just being a complete asshole.

Sevran has a biting, scathing, totally bad-language blush-worthy comment on the tip of his tongue… but he bites it back and settles for a cold look. Cold. Like the water. He reaches out, grasps the rocky edge of the pool, and hauls himself out of it with a bit of effort. He may not have the physical fitness of the bronzerider, but he's not flabby; hacking and hauling herdbeasts will do wonders for musculature. With a pinch of his fingers, he plucks his soaked shift away from his skin and tries, although in vain, to wring it out. Another swipe of his hand to knock back his hair. Another quick, fleeting glare. But there's something, maybe in the words, maybe in the tone, that gets Sevran's attention. "I have friends," he counters, a bit too defensively. He steps gingerly around the pool, squishing and dripping as he goes, to find another ledge to sit at. This time, the bronzerider is eyed outride, cause like hell is Sev getting pushed in again.

Given who Sevran was planning to give that biting, scathing, totally bad-language blush-worthy comment to, it's perhaps best that he decides against it, though J'en has zero reaction to the coldness of the look he gets instead. Golden eyes merely follow the candidate as he pulls himself free of that icy water, tracing along lines revealed by soaked and clingy fabric, moving on seamlessly to the attempt at wringing and hair swiping. Effortlessly he weathers the glare, "Oh yeah, where they at?" he asks, coolly. The bronzerider makes no attempt to relocate himself, sending his gaze to chase after the butcher instead and remains even as a new perch is claimed well out of his reach. "All I see is a kid off on 'is own instead of havin' the time of his life." A dismissive 'che' sound bounces off the back of his teeth, pushing himself up to standing while Sevran freely drips in his supposed misery, brushing his hands against one another. He'd come here to swim and so he dives from the edge down into the very same depths that he'd sent Sevran, appearing a bit further out without a single complaint for the temperature.

The stab hits home, and grey eyes briefly fly around the vicinity, as if friend will magically appear to make his argument for him. Nope. Sevran stands alone. "Somewhere," he mutters. He's a butcher, not a Harper. Eloquent he is not. "Kid?" His nose wrinkles in distaste. "You can't be that much older than me," he surmises , giving the bronzerider an apprising look. He scowls and looks away, feigning anger, and going back to trying to wring himself dry (fails) to mask anything else he may think or feel. He pretends to ignore J'en then, as if his attention is totally upon his attempt to wring out another bit of clinging shirt. He betrays himself when his gaze and head snap back in the bronzeriders direction when J'en stands. But his shoulders relax and he allows himself to sit back a bit when it's clear that he's not the target of another attack. Instead, he'll just watch the bronzerider closely. For safety reasons, of course. He may just become paranoid after this.

With no friend summoned to prove the butcher's arguement, J'en brushes it aside and goes for a bit of a swim alone, doing the backstroke to return him to where he started from soon enough. He'd just wanted to cool off, wearing leather in the kind of weather this region had was like challenging death to a duel. Legs push him upwards to standing, sliding long fingers through his short crop of black hair in a slow rubbing motion which leaves the top just as spikey as it had been dry. Water flows in rivets over his lightly tanned and throughly tattooed hide, droplets racing one another to the now drenched and lowslung swim trunks that barely cling to the narrowness of his hips of the 'v' they create with the flatness of his muscular belly. "I'm nineteen." he finally answers without looking up, turning his back to the candidate as he lugs himself out of the pool entirely. They're faint, but the paleness of the variable lengthed scars that marr his stong back, dozens and dozens of them. They could only be lash marks and they can even be seen at the very crest of his backside before he manages to pull his trunks up. Another scar (six inches in length) is revealed on the upper portion of the arm with the tree etched on it, this one much more recent as it's still very pink.

Sevran is not ogling. He's just watching. Cause J'en is dangerous and Sevran has to protect himself. Or so he'll argue. Stupid bronzeriders and their stupid muscles. He glares, in any direction other than J'en's. The ocean. The sky. To the extreme west. Watching the sun set. But it's only a moment, and his gaze returns, studious. Maybe it's the tattoos that attract his attention first. Or maybe it's the fact that, for a moment at least, the dragonrider is facing away from him, and Sevran feels safe enough to stare and size up the other teen. The scars have him frowning, and his eyes slowly trace over them. First confused, and then understanding dawns. Calculates. His frown deepens but he'll hide it with a cough and a fake scowl before J'en turns around. He won't ask. At least not yet. "We're almost the same age." So there.

Whatever it was that Sevran was doing doesn't seem to be noticed by J'en at all, retrieving his flipflops from where ever he'd stashed them and jams his feet back into them, snagging his towel and using it to sop up all that desperately clingy water right off of him. There were bigger bronzerider's for sure, this one's frame more closely relatable to a swimmer's than a body builder, but there didn't appear to be a single part of him that contained an ounce of useless flab. It's the cough that draws his gaze briefly back up to the ledge that the butcher had claimed for himself after his surprise dip, losing interest instantly at the scowl that was waiting for him and it falls away as he starts to set a path back towards the main beach. "Then be better…" he says as he departs, flicking his towel back onto the same shoulder it had rested upon when he'd show up in the first place.

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