Butting Heads at Xanadu

Xanadu Weyr - Shore of Lake Caspian
The cliffs that run along the shore come and go, various weyrs nestled along the tops of them or dug into the walls, but eventually they recede enough to expose a beach. The white sand echoes the rise and fall of the cliffs with a multitude of sandy dunes, endlessly creating tiny valleys that are constantly demolished and rebuilt by the frequent arrival or departure of dragons. The dunes smooth out as the gentle slope approaches the edge of the deep blue water. The sand darkens, and a shell here and there stands out for children to collect.
The beach narrows to the southwest, leaving a path barely wide enough for dragons in single file before cutting in to a smaller, more sheltered cove. The sands are the same white, the waters the same blue, but they're calmer and more tranquil, more protected from the winds that ruffle Lake Caspian and the currents that tug beneath the surface.
Rough, wide stairs lead up to the meadow above and the road that runs along the top of the cliffs, passing through the fields and heading for the river mouth that can be just barely seen from here. The largest of the staircases up the cliff is located near the docks that jut out onto the peaceful blue waters.


Once again, the Harper-dancer Kaitlyn is on the move, this time giving a performance or three in the Xanadu region of Pern. It's after one of these that the tall, sophisticated woman with the long red hair is found wandering the shores of lake Caspian, a content, easy smile upon her lips as she and her pair of firelizards walk and swirl in the sky, taking in the lovely day.

Nessalyn doesn't stride as much as she stomps her way down the beach, apparently deeply invested in an argument with… herself? Indeed, there's no one else around, nor any knot on her shoulder to indicate that she's anything other than a ranting lunatic wandering the local lake shores. She's muttering to herself, huffing out the occasional aggravated 'yes,' or 'no,' or 'that will never work, they'll catch on immediately.' "Move," she grits out as she passes by Kaitlyn. She makes it about two steps before she turns around, offering a sweeping bow and a ground out, "I'm sorry, please move."

And the day was being *so* lovely…until now. At the mutters and stompings — and finally the ground out 'move' followed by the 'sorry,' Kaitlyn draws her brows into a definite frown as she pivots to stare at the unknown woman down her aristocratic nose. Her throaty alto notes flatly, "Do you have an honestly valid reason for such rudeness?" Or… or else? Or what?

Nessalyn arches a brow as she retorts, "What rudeness? I said please." After the fact, but that seems to matter little to the woman. She shrugs, undaunted by the fact that this stranger has nearly a foot on her in height. "Also, 'honestly valid reason' is a pretty subjective standard."

Kaitlyn doesn't look terribly pleased with this response, her irritation perhaps showing in the absent flick of long fingers at her senior journeyman's knot…and the now-flat look of her features. Staaare. Just as flatly, her voice notes again, "So, then…what *is* your 'reason?' Try her.

A shrug. There's a flicker of irritation, a slight downturn of her lips as she turns her head to the side and mumbles something over her shoulder. It's possible that she's even staring at a particular point off in the distance, but that intense focus is shortly lost in favor of an expression of nonchalance. "I needed to walk there. You were in the way," she states in a dry tone. "Obviously."

Okay…this isn't going to reslove itself easily or well. Kaitlyn's own lips thin, her hand now going to the sarong about her hips, tugging at it irritably. Up overhead, her firelizards chitter in shared emotion, though remaining distantly observant. "I don't see this patch — nor *any* patch — of beach here with your name on it." Stare, think. "If you're a 'rider and your lifemate's proddy, I might be inspired to give you a pass, even though you're acting rudely."

Nessalyn tilts her head, seemingly perplexed. "How do you know?" she asks, and it almost sounds like a genuine question. "You don't know my name, so how would you know if it's here or not? Have you inspected every item on this beach? How much time have you invested into searching for my name to confidently claim that it isn't here?" The thought of a proddy lifemate is waved off with a flick of her hand, dismissive of the idea.

This time, at Nessalyn's 'answer,' Kaitlyn full-out *scowls* at the other female. Up overhead, bronze and gold firelizards shrill out a warning sound, though they remain aloft. "Unless Pern and Xanadu have changed radically since I've been here, *public places* aren't open to pre-claiming of any particular space."

In the face of that scowl, Nessalyn grins toothily. "Any space is open to pre-claiming. The fact that you're not enterprising enough to do so really isn't my fault." She shrugs, before just… plopping down in the sand. Sure, this means that she has to really crane her neck to look up at Kaitlyn, but it doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest. The sound of aggravated firelizards causes her to tilt her head and glance in their direction once, brows raised. "You should think about getting a handle on that," she comments, grinning up at the other woman once more.

Okay…Nessalyn's going to play 'that' game. After the other woman speaks again, gets cocky, Kaitlyn's demeanor smooths out, becomes coolly and subtly arrogant. "Only if you can enforce your imagined 'right' to that space, though, eh?" Smirk. While Nessalyn sits, Kait remains in 'the' area that was supposedly *the8 piece of turf currently squabbled over. As for those pets above, "Oh, darling… *Believe me*, if I wasn't in full control of them, you might find yourself sporting some large scratches." Twinkle. "Apparently, *you* aren't in full self-control, nor in full possession of what might stand in for a mind."

"I mean, I could enforce it, but I've been told that punching other people is a no-no. Also, setting them on fire." Nessalyn heaves a heavy sigh, as though deeply put-upon. "There are so many rules, you know? So many rules when we could just descend into chaos and light anything on fire that gets in our way." She scoops up a handful of sand, beginning to gradually sculpt into something that looks like… well, it's just a lump. But it's a growing lump. "Then I guess you're just not in full control of yourself. You don't see any firelizards screeching around me, do you? So… which one of us is the one with the self-control?"

Kaitlyn LOOKS like she could be on fire, either within or without - the woman as bright, intense, and undulating as a lick of flame. Grey eyes smudge a shade colder — into diamond hardness — with the rest of Nessalyn's words. She's watching not her now-silent firelizards, but that growing lump of sand under the other woman's hand…and Nessalyn herself. "Rules for good reason, yes, since punching others with either of our hands would be frowned upon." Is she suggesting she'd be willing to brawl, if not for propriety's sake? "Oh, don't you worry about *me*, darling. You need no firelizards to give away the screeching you're doing with your posture, your mouth, your eyes."

For someone who's mouthing off quite a bit, Nessalyn has the outward appearance of calm. Her little pile of sand isn't exactly a castle of any kind, but it might take some form other than a small hill, given more time, and the effort she's not currently putting into the sculpting of it. "Yeah, that's what they keep telling me. Diplomacy, blah blah." She waves one sandy hand in the air, illustrating these things she's being told with vague, meaningless motions. "I hardly think I'm screeching. I mean, I could be screeching, I'm just pretty sure I'm not. Can you screech when you're sitting on the ground? That really seems more like a thing you do when you're tall, and standing up."

It's a subtle thing, this eminating of 'screechiness,' and Kaitlyn only finds herself smirking a little more as Nessalyn perhaps buries herself deeper…in Kait's mind, anyway. "What you're certainly doing is blathering…and once that starts, the real stupidity typically begins." Zing. It's at this point that the tall redhead finds a blue firelizard winking in from Between not far above her, the woman's own pair chirruping a greeting to him. After a few moments, the Harper nods once, offers the blue a bare forearm to land upon, Kait soon freeing the little message from the leather leg carrier on the foreign firelizard. If Nessalyn speaks during the time she's reading the missive, Kait ignores her utterly, the Crafter soon offering the blue a bit of dry tack from a pouch at her side, writing on the back of the rolled up strip of paper, finally sending him back to his owner with her reply. The regal woman quite suddenly looks rather pleased, her gaze skirting over Nessalyn like a pair of icy razors. "Fortunately, I've now much more worthy and desirable things to attend to, so I'll 'allow' you your false bit of sand." A slightly derisive dusting off of her sarong is followed by the dancer and her retinue of two pivoting about, ready to leave.

"Am I screeching, or blathering?" Nessalyn asks, tilting her head to look up at Kaitlyn with feigned, wide-eyed confusion. "You seem to have some trouble deciding what you think I'm doing. Have you seen healers about that? I hear they can help the weak-minded." Her tower of sand having reached its peak, she sends one fist into it with the sound effects of an explosion, toppling the structure in seconds. Poor, poor not-castle. "Yikes. I feel sorry for those worthy and desirable things, then." A shrug, before the goldrider gets to her feet, using one foot to return the last of her pile to the sand from whence it came. Further down the beach, Tineangrath comes in for a landing, and Nessalyn visibly flinches as the gold's disappointment hits her in the gut. Ugh. Still, the damage is already done, so she adds a bright, "Enjoy the view from up there. It makes it that much easier for everyone else to cut you down." And then she turns on her heel to head off to her (very unhappy) waiting dragon.


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