R'uen and Zaiventh

Bags packed, ready to go

Thu, 06 Aug 2009 17:41:10 GMT

Who: T'rev and R'uen
Where: Rev's old weyr and T'rev's new one
What: The teary goodbye. Only without tears because they're men.

So the weyr, it looks much as it always has. Nearly all the furniture is right where it's always been but today everything looks neater, more sparse. All the the little bits and pieces have either been removed or tucked away. The writing desk is there but clear, the couch is there in front of the hearth but missing its throws. The shelve have been emptied but for those papers and books and such that belong to Fort and not to the man who's been living here for the past few turns. All that's left of him are a few bags and boxes by the ledge. R'uen himself stands by the archway to the bedroom, leaning against the stone and looking things over.

There's a polite whisper of sand from Mecaith to Zaiventh and on its heels, T'rev comes to lean in the doorway between wallow and weyr. "Hey Rev," the current Weyrleader says to the former. "All packed up ... ready?" is the quiet question. And when R'uen turns around, he'll find his friend holding two bottles of beer, one in each hand, maybe predictably so, a familiar cock-eyed grin on his face.

R'uen turns to look toward T'rev with a bit of relief in his smile, particularly when he sees those beers. "Is this all some sort of fucked up or what? It's like reality has had a few too many and is playing tricks on me." He pushes off the doorframe, heading toward the Weyrleader. "Everything is yours if you want it. Or we can ask someone to clear it all out if you want to start with a blank slate. Most of it was here when I got here," he adds with a shrug. "How about you? All packed and ready?"

T'rev holds up beer the first, cap already off for the older bronzerider. "Fucked up? Maybe. Two homes in three ... four turns ..." the Weyrleader grins full on. "Maybe this next one'll stick?" he teases a little and let his gaze roam the space. "Feels strange to be moving in here. Ground weyr. It's been so long since I lived on the ground, y'know? And sure, always did want a couch and never got one. I'll just bring my stuff down, fit it in around this. Only thing I'll ask Shevena to clear out is the bed. I'm bringin' my bed down." There his grin turns cheeky. "My bed's a good sturdy thing," he jokes, then heads for the couch itself to flop down into it, kind of test out the cushions though he's sat there before. "Yeah. All my stuff's ready to go. It's hard though. Really loved that weyr. Lots of good memories."

"And weird to... dream about leaving a place for so long only to have the time come and then feel sad about it." Rev takes the beer, lifts it in a little toast, salute, whatever, and drinks. "I always thought it wasn't home. I guess it was and I just didn't realize it." Drink again. "It's nice on the ground, actually. Easier. Convenient. I'd give them all up to be back in that loft weyr at Telgar, though. Didn't even have a bed, just a shelf." But he does take another nostalgic look around.

"Kind of the way of things ain't it?" T'rev jokes and tilts his bottle towards R'uen too. "Mmm, Fort actually feels more like home now than Telgar ever did to be honest," the Weyrleader says slowly. About the same number of turns in each, but ...." he trails off, ducks his head. "I hope I'll be toasting the arrival of your first-born sooner rather than later, Rev. Could be possible now, with you headin' on up there to be with Tiriana."

"You and my mother both," R'uen laughs, shaking his head first-borns. "Can you imagine Ti knocked up? She'd skin people alive, just for being there, and then beat me with their hides." Considering the ugliness of such a vision, Rev seems to find the prospect entirely entertaining. "Watch, I'll get there and she'll be instantly bored with me." He drinks again, unbothered by that idea either. "So how's the knot treating you? Helping you out with the ladies? Not that I ever thought you'd need it."

Laughing, T'rev tilts his beer up for a drink. "Unfortunately, all too well," he drawls out and adopts a faux-higher voice. "R'uen! I'm going to /kill you dead/ and then I'm going to punch you out. Look at what you did to me! This had better be worth it." Another swig of beer goes down easy and T'rev grins widely at the unbotheredness of his friend. "Well, before you knock Ti up, here's a parting gift and weyr warming all in one." He digs into his pocket and comes out with a pouch of weed. Go figure. "To keep her mellow." And the pouch is flicked underhanded over to Rev. "I am ... getting a fair bit of attention, yeah," T'rev admits. "And ignoring it." Something almost wry in his voice.

"Yes. Something exactly like that. I suppose it makes me one twisted man that I look forward to it, huh?" R'uen takes another drink and then, with his bottle, gestures out toward the ledge. "Wanna sit out? Nice d-" He has to stop short because a gift is coming out of Trev's pocket. "Ho! -Nice-," he says, with emphasis. "Thank you." That pouch can go right in his waiting bags. "Ignoring it altogether? Or just ignoring the extra?"

"Better you than me," T'rev quips merrily and sinks a little more beer. The pouch goes to R'uen and he smirks just a little, nods. "You bet. Got that last time I was at Nerat. I figure if it won't cause a diplomatic incident, I'll come up sometimes, keep you stocked," te Weyrleader says with a grin and eyeballs the weather outside. "Sure, c'mon." And he pushes to is feet, lingers to let Rev catch up with him. "Both," T'rev says. "Mostly. Definitely the extra." Beat. "Can't be with Jae. For a bit there, couldn't be with anyone else either without seein' her face and I ain't in the business of usin' a woman like that," he notes quietly. "Ain't so -- keen now. That edge. Got a friend over at Ista. Figure that ought to be low-key enough for a Weyrleader, mm?"

"I'd like that," R'uen says. "Whether your keeping me stocked or not," he adds on, tipping his head toward the ledge as Trev gets to his feet and then joining him to head out and take a seat on the ledge's rim, the Fort bowl all spread out before them. "So you're real serious about her, huh? Whatever happened with you and Leova?"

"Yeah, ain't /not/ going to visit and you're always welcome to come down, of course. If she's drivin' you nuts," T'rev jokes and tags along, waiting a half beat before folding down onto that ledge edge himself, beer set down beside him. The breeze blows a little, ruffles through hair and skips away. "Yeah, I am," T'rev says quietly, watching a pair of chatting laundresses go by with baskets of stuff to hang out on a line that's been strung down along the Bowl wall a ways. "She's ... with someone," is said carefully.

"Think I'd get in trouble if I actually tied her to the bed and ran away for the day?" R'uen snerks, shaking his head as he picks a little something off the knee of his jeans and flicks it out at the bowl. News about Leova's love life comes as something of a surprise. "She is? Really? Huh. Anyone I've heard of?" Not that Rev seems to expect a name he'll be familiar with. "So she... broke it off?" He twists his mouth to the side, inferring some understanding of how those sorts of things could play out.

"Probably hear her yellin' as far as Ierne if you did," T'rev teases, feet kicking a little, like he's still only twelve instead of twice that. "Don't know who he is," the Weyrleader answers about Leova. "Figure it ain't rightly none of my business if she's choosin' not to share," T'rev continues then blinks once at R'uen, shakes his head slowly. "Rev ... there weren't ever anything /to/ break off. We were and are, just friends."

"Just friends and you madly in love with her," R'uen corrects, tipping the bottle back again. "So that's all over now? But you can't be with the baker either and so you're with some girl from Ista? How's Jaeyi about all that? And about, you know, the knot."

"Mmm. It'd be hard to explain, Rev," T'rev says thoughtfully, feet still kicking as he looks out across the Bowl. It was a nice dream ... had to let it go. But ... when one door closes, another one opens." He tilts his face up to the spring sunshine, closes his eyes. "If we make it, Rev, Jae and I won't ever be the kind of couple you n' Tiriana are. Fidelity just don't figure in it," he notes amiably. "The knot's tough for both of us. But at the same time, seen how she's workin' hard? She's determined about that Journeyman's knot in a whole new way," the Weyrleader says with a laugh.

"Hey, that's a good thing, huh? Inspiring her to focus, get stuff done," R'uen grins, starting to bounce his heels against the stone. "I mean, she could have said to hell with all of it, dropped out of the craft and just been happy making pastries in the kitchen without the recognition, you know? It's good that she really wants it. Really wants to make it happen. Or at least, it seems like a good thing. Plus, well, she's awful young and all."

"Yep. Inspirational ain't a bad way to be," T'rev quips with a bright grin, nods, accepting what Rev says. "Could've. Wouldn't have let her though, not to mention Cirse'd probably have had ten cows," the Weyrleader adds with a low chuckle. "Yeah. I want her to be happy, whatever she decides. But I don't want her to make some rash decision 'bout droppin' the craft and then bein' unhappy about it the rest of her life when she realizes she should've stuck with it," T'rev says candidly and reaches for his beer, takes a long drink. "Would you believe I didn't realize just /how/ young until way too long after we started sleepin' together?"

"Well, it's certainly not the kind of decision you want to make in the heat of the moment," R'uen agrees with a smirk and a laugh. "And yeah, I believe it. That kind of detail can get overlooked sometimes." For a moment, though, Rev's expression grows distant while he eyes pick over the bowl and all the familiar details there, committing them to memory.

"No," T'rev agrees about decision-making, turns his beer bottle to and fro between his hands. "Makes me a but more careful about things. Because that young, you still have your whole life ahead of you, y'know? But bad decisions can be a serious smack to the head." He slants a look over at R'uen a little smile on his face. "You're gonna miss it." Quiet, not a question.

"I really am. More than I thought," R'uen says, just as quiet. "These people and this weyr and the job and the weather. The view from this spot right here. The look in Cirse's face when I do something she doesn't like." So many things to list. "And K'del is probably going to use me as a doormat for a while. I'd probably be tempted to if I were him." So that can't be something Rev is looking forward to.

"Places sometimes have a way of gettin' under a person's skin," T'rev agrees musingly, squinting out at the view. "Me I'm going to have to get used to the ground level view instead of the one from up over yonder," the Weyrleader answers with another kick of one foot. "A doormat? What, you mean pickin' your brain on how to be Weyrleader and keep Tiriana happy?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of giving me all the shittiest jobs he can think of, just because he can," R'uen laughs. "Maybe he should. I'm not going to say that I don't think of that morning sometimes and wish unsavory things for him. I just... try not to think about it." He tips the beer back again. "I don't think I know much about being a Weyrleader. I think you're all on your own with that one."

"Granted I've only met him a couple of times ... K'del don't seem like the type," T'rev drawls out, grinning and tilts his beer bottle way up, drinks deep, adam's apple bobbing with each swallow. And down again with an ahhhh. "Enh, flights're flights." T'rev notes with a little shrug. "Not thinking about it is probably best." Beat. "Think Zaiventh'll chase next time she goes up?"

"Well, you and I will just have to disagree there." Flight being flights. For that last question, R'uen will quirk a wry smile. "Thought you just said it best not to think about that stuff?" And then he's pushing to his feet, stretching his back and brushing his trousers clean.
"Just the way it is for riders. Just imagine if Mecaith and Zaiventh chased more. We're just lucky we don't have randy dragons," T'rev points out and finishes off his beer. "Not thinking about other people winning, isn't the same as thinking abou throwin' your hat in the ring," the Weyrleader points out with a grin, then looks over his shoulder at the weyr. "Need help loadin' up?"

"Well, I suppose that's true," R'uen will conceded with the dip of his head. he empties the beer bottle and thumps a fist against his chest to coax out burp. "I think I've got it. Not much left. Enjoy the weyr, Trev," he says, thumb poked toward it. "And thanks, you know, for everything."

T'rev reaches out for the empty bottle and nods, pushing up to his feet. "You bet, Rev. Clear skies, man." He shuffles the empty bottles into one hand to shake the other man's hand, then aims to pull Rev in for a brief, one-armed, back-patting man-hug, then steps back. "Good luck up there, man. I'll be seein' you."

News

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 07:51:21 GMT

Who: Cirse and R'uen
Where: R'uen's weyr
What: Cirse comes to give R'uen some warning.

It's turning out to be a pretty nice day. Cold still, of course, but the sky is clear and the sun is bright and the wings scheduled for morning sweeps have been sent off to do their flying. R'uen is only just back from seeing everyone off into the sky. He's recently fed and bathed and now just sitting down to add his little notes to his records about the preparedness of the wings, which is identical to yesterday's notes, word for word with the wing names changed. Exciting life, this is. He's got a mug of klah beside him at least.

It's routine to meet up in the mornings, his weyr or hers, the records room, the council chamber and pretty well nowhere else, for the also-routine incidentals of Weyr and wing management. Today isn't like the time Fort Sea reported in about their new and smelly decorations, though. Today, Cirse enters less quickly, her writing board tucked under one arm while she trails fingers against the stone of the weyr, as though they could find her way. Rather than immediately interrupt, she watches him from those dark, quiet eyes.

Routine as it is, R'uen is expecting that if Cirse doesn't show up soon, it'll be his turn to go find her, but that doesn't mean he's quick to notice the woman lingering with her writing board and her wall-tickling fingers. He finishes up what he's writing, drops the pen and takes up his klah, sitting back and ready to take a sip. That's when he sees her. No surprise, just recognition. "Hey. Morning." He gives her a quick, easy smile and goes on to take that drink.

"Good morning." Cirse takes her accustomed seat, remembers to smile back, and looks around the cavern for a few moments. In lieu of the wall, her fingers trace the edge of the desk, back and forth, before finally fixing upon her still-capped pen. "Is all well?" she asks him. "What news?"

"All's well. Not a blip of excitement," R'uen remarks, smile wry as he looks over at the woman sitting so neatly beside his desk. If a brow is arched, it's only barely so. His eyes watch Cirse's hand go back and forth and then to her pen, at which point he lifts his glance to her face again. "You? Can I get you anything?" He lifts his mug. That sort of anything.

"Please." Cirse sits back in her seat, not a backward lean, just something of a slide that keeps her spine as straight as it ordinarily is. While he might be presumed busy with the pouring, her head dips and her pen uncaps, sketching. This time it's a row of fine zigzag lines, the brief strokes crossed at their ends where each zig becomes a zag. Suddenly, "Perhaps it is spring."

"That's what they're saying." Spring. That time after winter. R'uen is up from his chair, mug left behind as he moves toward the hearth where the pot of klah is keeping warm. A second mug is poured and then he's coming back. "Still a bit cold. The sun is good, though. Nice day for flying." The mug is handed to her before he sits down again with his own.

"It hadn't felt like it." Cirse looks out towards the ledge, eyes very focused, and adds a gloss of clouds of the fluffy white variety, not a storm-precursor in the bunch. But she has to set down her pen to properly take the mug, and she adds before she sips, "I think you are right. It looks as though it should be." Afterward, she smiles again, this time nothing she has to remember to do but something at once tremulous and wry. "You look comfortable. I am sorry to have news." A very different woman, in a very different relationship, would be announcing a pregnancy just now.

"You should go out. See if you can find any crocuses coming up in the valleys." It could be a nice way to spend a bit of a spring day. R'uen smile at her over the rim of his cup, takes another drink and then holds the thing in both hands, rested in his lap. He does seem comfortable, but mention of it has a brow cocking. Maybe it her tremulous wryness. "What's up?" He's so comfortable this new doesn't seem to have him on edge at all.

"I should," Cirse says. "I would, Peirith would like that. It is only that," and she sips, but afterward continues as though she had never paused, "I do not feel I should leave the Weyr just now." Perhaps it's her own pregnancy after all, if with a very different man, except that it's not that she only can't go between. The lines of her pen are wavy, indeterminate, or perhaps an ocean's growing swells. "It is too early, I know. It is not planned. You do understand? R'uen?"

That 'not leaving the Weyr' bit catches R'uen's attention more fully, sombers his affable expression. He looks at her, looks toward the ledge and back at her again. "What?" This could just as easily be a lack of understanding as it could a lack of belief. There's a quick glance at her moving pen, but wavy lines are no help at all.

"I know." Cirse curls her fingers about the mug, the three fingers that aren't looped about its handle, the hand that is not holding her pen. Softly, more so than her level wont, "I believe Peirith will rise, sooner than we thought. In some ways I question myself, I must, because she has only risen twice and perhaps I am not myself, and because it is Interval and not Pass, and all the other reasons beside. But you know now too, and it is for you to choose."

R'uen draws in a long breath, watching his cup down, not that it does a thing other than tip barely toward him. His foot twitches, enough that one leg bounces. "Maybe she's just happy here. Just... feeling good." That's all he can think to say, since he's no less surprised that the gold is rising again so soon. As for the last part, "I made a promise." One that has him avoiding her eye.

She doesn't call on him to look at her, but neither does she look away, for longer than a blink's fall and rise of the dark lashes. "It is possible. I found myself hoping so, in some part." But Cirse says then, "I would not keep you against your will, R'uen. When she rises again, your time will be up, your promise will be released, whether it is tomorrow or the day after tomorrow or the turn after that. It is your choice to make."

"Well, I don't think they're apt to rise often when they aren't in good health, so that's something. Hopefully that's it. Not that she knows something, instinctively, that we should know." R'uen rolls a shoulder, hard enough that he shifts his back against the chair. He's not the only one in the room who remembers when Thread decided to reappear one day. "I promised I wouldn't let him chase again. Promised myself. Promised her. I promised to take care of Fort, too." He flexes his jaw, uneasy. "It'd be better off in the hands of someone who isn't torn in two directions all the time."

At his first words, Cirse cups the mug more closely and with both hands now, the pen leaving the pad of paper, still caught tightly in her grip with a too-loud clink. She stays otherwise silent until, "I did not know of all of those promises, but on another day I would not be surprised. R'uen...." She breathes inward only to let it out again. "Fort will survive without you, without me, without any one person at its helm. When one departs, another appears, it is the way of things. I do not wish you to believe that I wish to be rid of you, that you have not served Fort again and again during troubling times, or that I wish you anything but well. I cannot leave without great cause. You have... more freedom."

"I've been waiting a long time, before Peirith rose, before Zibeth, before I came to Fort at all, for my life to be mine again. I can't leave it all up to fate this time." R'uen's eyes do find her now, dark and thoughtful. "I don't wish to be rid of you either," he adds, smile quirked and a hand uncurling from his mug to extend toward her, palm up, ready for her had. "Even if you've drive me crazy sometimes. I hope the next guy..." He blinks, like he can't believe he's really talking about a next guy. "I hope the next guy is good to you." That much is heartfelt. "I really appreciate you giving me this warning."

She might draw him that way, if her hands weren't so caught up in his mug and her pen so as to be unable to release either. Instead Cirse replies, "It is fated, I often think, but a fate we are meant to shape." It takes her a little while more to realize more, and then she's able to set down mug and pen together where she couldn't either alone, to take R'uen's hand and even smile a little. "Thank you. You know it is Fort he must be good for, but it... would help." To show that the appreciation's welcome, she even clasps his hand somewhat more closely before seeking to draw hers back. "Would you visit your parents, perhaps? Somewhere that is not a Weyr, if it will not be this Weyr."

"That goes without saying," R'uen puts in on the subject of being good for Fort, smiling twisting up wryly again. He gives her hand a squeeze. "But I'm not talking to Fort. I'm talking to you. And I hope he'll have your back." Then he'll give her her hand. "Yeah, I'll go to the Woodcraft. Have a little family time. I've been meaning to get up there anyway. I won't be hiding out at Reaches. And I'll be home, here, after." He glances around the space that's been such a comfortable refuge, now destined to belong to someone else.

"Thank you," is what Cirse can say again. "Thank you." She looks away from him finally, but to pick up her pen and cap it before taking her notes as well. The mug stays. "Please say hello to them for me. And I will see you afterward, then. I should go now, there is not enough time and too much room, and she will feel better if she is oiled. Good day, R'uen, good day." She knows the way out of this room, at least.

"I will." R'uen promises that too, with a smile. "The greetings of Fort's Weyrwoman from just another bronzerider." He's only half teasing - the other half is a mix of fondness and a smidge of regret. For the idea of it. For her. "Good day, Cirse," he tells her, watching her move away. "And good luck, too."

She smiles, and shakes her head. She sees herself out. And as Cirse does this, as she goes to her own weyr to prepare, Peirith herself has something to say. At once warm and light as the sunlit ocean, far above the dark fathomless deep, she doesn't bother with words just now... just a sense of flight that's as yet but a glide, and valleys, and flowers enough to make a woman laugh.

Maybe you're the one who's weird.

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 07:48:26 GMT

Who: Rhoyda, B'kaiv and R'uen
Where: The bowl
What: Rho's caught in the rain when R'uen finishes his jog. They talk a bit about weyrlinghood and dreams and B'kaiv swings by in the midst of his elevator duties.

It might be spring, but it doesn't feel at all warm today, particularly when that drizzling rain still hangs in the air and makes everything damp as well as chilly. It's not a great day for hanging around outside, but R'uen isn't hanging around. He's just finishing up a jog, coming back toward his ledge with his shirt soaked through - a combination of rain and sweat.

Rhodya /is/ hanging around, but she has a dragon wing to shield her. Of course, it's still damp and chilly, so she's huddled up as close to his ribs as she can get, chin resting on her knee. Gedroth's just watching the rain, as simply and wholly fascinated as a child, until he notices and recognizes the figure jogging through it. He bugles a welcome, and apparently tells Rhodya who he's seen, because she hops to her feet.

Gedroth and Rhodya are close enough to the end of the run that R'uen supposed it would be alright to pull up here by them and so that's what he does, letting his strides bounces to a walk, breathing hard. His cheeks are brightly pink, his hair is wet, but at least he's got a smile on. "Hey." It's always a good start.

"Morning, Wingleader," Rhodya says, but she pairs it with a smile as well, so perhaps she can be forgiven her continued enthusiasm at being part of a real wing at last. Gedroth shivers his wing, sending a cascade of captured drops down, and stretches it further out so Rev has more room to walk around and, hey, not stink up the place with his sweat. "Have a good run?"

"Yes. Wingrider." R'uen flashes her a grin for that totally unnecessary title getting thrown around all special just for her. "How about you? Having a good... what are you doing out here anyway? Isn't is sort of miserable to just stand around in this?" He goes about stretching, pulling a foot up behind him, and wobbling as he looks up at the drizzly sky while trying to balance.

Rhodya sighs, gesturing limply at the sky. Technically Gedroth's wing is in the way, but shhh. "Well, it stopped for a bit, so I thought I'd try and run home while I could. But wouldn't you know it, as soon as I got to Gedroth, it started up again." She smacks the brown's side, blaming him. His skin twitches but he doesn't move, otherwise. "Bad luck. I was hopin' it'd just be an on-and-off thing, but so far, it ain't gone off yet, and I been out here like ten minutes."

"So you're just standing here, waiting it out? What if it rains all day and doesn't stop?" R'uen wobbles a little again and then pulls up the other leg. The wobbling doesn't seem to put him in any real danger of tipping over, at least none that he bothers to pay attention to. "You know, even if it stops long enough for you to mount up, as soon as you're in the air it'll downpour. That's how rain works."

Rhodya grimaces at him. She seems to recognize how silly it is to wait, but here she is! "Oh, sooner or later I'd have to risk it. But for every minute it keeps raining, I'm thinkin' to myself, 'well, maybe the next minute is when it'll stop.' So I stay." Gedroth cranes his neck around and sets his head down where he can watch the two riders, unbothered by the rain glancing off his jeweled eye. He has a lid down. "And y'know, rain works just the opposite, too. Soon as I give up and mount up in the rain, it'll clear. Probably with a rainbow and a songbird." She snorts.

"Exactly. It does whatever is most inconvenient." Stretching. He's still stretching. It's one of those things a good rider learns in weyrlinghood and does dutifuly for the rest of his life. And R'uen does try to be the dutiful sort. Try being, perhaps, the operative word. "So how's he like the rain? Doesn't seem to be a big baby like you are." Teasing, teasing. And grinning.

Rhodya laughs and puts a hand out, only to pull it back. He's stretching. Not the best time for a friendly shove. "Well, he didn't get his hair all nice this morning, so what's he got to complain about?" That hand goes up to pat said hair, though she's only wearing a ponytail today. "But no, he doesn't mind. It gives him somethin' to watch, the way the drops fall and that. He's impressed you're out jogging in it." Gedroth blinks his second lid and rumbles quietly.

R'uen wipes a bit of trickling wetness off his brow as it runs down from his soaked hair. "I don't do it as often as I should, I have to admit. Your hair looks lovely, by the way. But sometimes it just seems like the thing to do. Go and run. And get tired. You know, the real tired instead of just drained. I could use a solid night's sleep. Do you?" Which? "Run?"

Rhodya preens when he compliments her hair, giving the ponytail an entirely unnecessary fluff. "I used to run with Gedroth for a while, but he forgot about it. 'Course now we've reminded him." She looks out at her brown, whose eyes, indeed, just started whirling faster. Jogging! What a concept! "But we just did it for the exercise, and spending time together. Both sleep pretty heavy already. You havin' trouble with that?" she wonders, tilting her head.

"Yeah, the exercise. That's why I wish I did it a little more often. Staying fit and all that." R'uen pats his middle, which is no less lean no matter how he says he should be exercising more. "I sleep. I'm out as soon as my head hits the pillow, but I don't always feel rested when I get up. Like something, I don't know if it's my head or my muscles or what, but something is still awake all night, even if I'm sleeping." He eyes the brow, who's looking so inspired. "So he likes running? Not often you meet a dragon who still likes it much after he's flying. Not running for running's sake at least."

Rhodya flicks a glance at R'uen's lean middle, then returns her eyes to him with an arched brow and a crooked smile. "That's why he likes it." She taps her lips, then points at Gedroth. Apparently she's speaking directly for him. "When a dragon starts to rely on flying alone, they neglect the natural muscles in their legs and forearms. It makes them unbalanced because they're less aware of their /whole/ bodies. So it's a good thing to move on the ground."

"I can't argue with that," R'uen laughs. Now he's got his feet wide and he's reaching overhead to one side. A good abdominal stretch that makes his voice a bit tight. "So how's it feel to be a wingrider? Happy to be done with weyrlinghood or do you think you'll miss it?" The end of that stretch comes with a puff of air, but then he's leaning the other way.

"No, we're /done/," Rhodya says firmly, with a sort of karate chop to punctuate it. She immediately looks contrite, sending R'uen a guilty look. "Er, I mean, not to..." She lets her sentence trail off and wrinkles her nose. Then she shrugs. "We didn't like being weyrlings. I appreciate you got to keep a tight handle on weyrlings so they don't hurt themselves, but Faranth forbid anyone show any initiative or nothin'. Or that anything be interesting. See, I can appreciate you runnin' to quiet your brain, 'cause me and Gedroth did that a lot to keep from arguin' with folks. Else we'd be in the barracks same as Kai, I guess."

R'uen chuckles for the karate chop, and then a little more when she gets so apologetic about it. "I don't think there are many riders who look back and say 'oh, I wish I were a weyrling again'. I don't blame you for being glad it's over. All that... confinement. Even when you're out of the barracks it's still not quite free I'd imagine. I didn't end up getting my own weyr until... I think I was just graduated. It was a long wait." Running to keep with arguing with folks? Rev's expression brightens a bit at that, just because he agrees. "I think that's what kept me sane during weyrlinghood. Being too damn bone tired to worry about much. Of course, now I can't imagine what I had to worry about back then."

"Mostly other people's problems," Rhodya admits, relaxing considerably when she finds that Rev agrees with her. "Like I said, me and him kept busy, so we didn't get into too much trouble. Except about the whole," she taps her temple, "thing, and Jantha wasn't too upset about that. But I do like my - what do you even call the people who Impressed with you? Clutch-fellows or something. Anyway, that got me through."

"Clutchmates? Extended family forged through the rigors of weyrlinghood? That might be a bit too long." Now that he's cooling down, stretching drifting into half-unconcious shifts in posture, R'uen rolls his shoulders and shiver a bit. "Mind if I...?" He points to Gedroth's wing: shelter to share? "Wait, what was Jantha not too upset about?" He narrows an eye, trying to remember.

It's a cold, rainy day, the kind that sane people will do their best to stay inside and avoid. So of course, R'uen and Rhodya have been out here for a while, chatting under Gedroth's wing. "Uh," Rhodya says, looking at her dragon's head. The brown's eyes have started whirling again, that same excitment he showed when Rev reminded him of jogging. His rider shrugs, and beckons R'uen to go ahead and crowd in. "Too late, guess he remembers. He did this thing where he studied other weyrlings in their sleep, sort of seeing what he could do with their dreams and all. They asked us to stop until after we graduated, so..." she lets the sentence trail off, looking at R'uen. Gedroth is staring at him too. It's creepy.

Cold, rainy, and yet people still need to get up and down the walls. Good thing Kai's still on punishment duty so Fort doesn't have to haul out the big ladders. Chielyth lands not far from her brother in a splash of mud, all gleeful despite the rain. On her back Kai looks around for more passengers before sliding down and jogging over to, "Hey, Gedroth, Rho. I was gonna ask..." but here's R'uen, and Kai skids to a stop just under the brown's wing, his face going weyrling-neutral as he tosses out a salute. "Afternoon, sir."

To Gedroth, Chielyth's as exuberant as ever, perhaps even more so since the snow's started melting and the signs of spring have appeared. << Hi Gedroth! Isn't this fun? >> Squishing her toes into the mud, she means, with the cool-squelchy noise-feel that's as much seen as heard as felt.

Studying sleeping weyrlings. R'uen might step closer, but he's no nearer to understanding just what Gedroth has up his sleeve. Beside this pair of riders now huddling out of the rain. "He was doing what?" Yes he heard, he just needs more explanation. And then Chielyth is landing and Kai is trotting up. When the stil-weyrling's face goes blank, R'uen steps back a bit, though still under Gedroth's wing. "Go ahead and ask," he invites B'kaiv, even if he's not the person who's being asked anything at all. And he also chances a small smile, a polite one.

Rhodya's brow's go up at Kai's switch over to weyrling neutral, and she glances from him to R'uen once before she adds her own, slightly confused, smile to the mix. "Yeah, ask. I was just tellin' Rev about Gedroth's old dream experiment. Kai wound up being' a sort of accidental victim, because Gedroth was watchin' Chielyth's dreams, and it sort of bled over -" she stops holds up her hands, shakes her head. "Let me start over. See, I was havin' these bad dreams, and Gedroth figured, since he's tied into my head, maybe he could make 'em go away. And then he figured he could do it for other dragons, too, 'cause they're tied in also. So he started watching, to see what we were all dreamin' about, and then he started tryin' to do something about it, which is where it sort of went wrong, and he kind of -" she flicks a look at Kai, color rising in her cheeks - "shared some dreams around, or caused nightmares he didn't mean to, and so on." Gedroth seems to have forgotten all about the subject, his head whipping around to look at Chielyth. He makes a curious cooing sound at her.

To Chielyth, Gedroth's mind snaps onto yours, but the river is still full of burbling noises that talk about dreams and running. << It looks fun, >> he agrees. That's when he makes that odd cooing noise, a sort of envy. << But I'm keeping Rho and these others dry. One of them is my wingleader, >> he adds after a moment, proud of himself.

"Yes, sir," Kai repeats, with a nod for his mentor, but he doesn't before Rhodya launches into her explanation. "Yeah, I remember them," he says to her quick look with a queer, stiff smile. "S'prob'ly a good thing he stopped when he did. I weren't mad or nothing, though." Just in case they worried of a long-harbored grudge. He steps a bit farther beneath brown wing when the wind tosses a bit of water down his neck, and steadfastly ignores Chielyth squelching happily in the mud and crooning - to it and to Gedroth. Someone's going to need a bath later. "How come you're out here in th' wet?" The question asked to both of them.

To Gedroth, Chielyth splish-splashes along the river's edge, watching the ripples. << That's very good of you, Gedroth. I want to play, but Kai says No and says we are flying instead. >> Only they aren't flying just now. << Oh! What if I came over and sat under your other wing and then we could play in the mud -and- you could keep them dry? >>

"He watches the dreams of dragons while they sleep?" R'uen -- it might be sad for Rhodya to see -- seems to balk a bit at the prospect. "Yeah, I can see why people might get a bit out of sorts about that. I mean, who hasn't had a dirty dream about some random person? That sort of thing gets out and gets all blown out of proportion and before you know it, someone's heartbroken and someone's pissed and some poor unsuspecting person is getting all sorts of attention about a dream someone else randomly had..." He turns to wag a finger at Gedroth, which is of course, in jest. It's an empty threat anyway, since he doesn't bother adding words to it. For B'kaiv, the weyrleader makes a general gesture to his soaked shirt. "Running. It's not all rain, this." Thankfully the rain keeps him from being too stinky.

Rhodya does purse her lips a bit when she notices R'uen's reluctance, and she adds quickly, "Oh, but he wouldn't do it /now/ without askin' first. And... he'd be more careful?" she offers hopefully. She's got no back-up in this. Gedroth's too busy stretching his neck towards Chielyth to offer support arguments, much less notice his wingleader's wagging finger. So Rhodya retreats, for the moment, to a safer subject. "I just got caught in this," she tells Kai, waving her hand. "It stopped for a minute and I thought I'd run up to my weyr, but nope. Started again, and it ain't quit since."

To Chielyth, Gedroth stretches his neck out to investigate the splishy-splashy, not minding when some of it gets all the way onto his nose. << That's a good idea, >> he says, stretching his other wing out. << It feels better, too. I didn't think about it, but it's a little strange to sit here with only one wing stretched. >> He pauses to luxuriate in the balance of having both wings stretched, then bobs his nose at Chielyth. Come on!

B'kaiv glances not-as-surreptitiously-as-he-thinks at Rhodya when the Weyrleader mentions naughty dreams, but he's not going to jump into that puddle of mud, not on anyone's side. Chielyth takes this opportunity to abandon her puddle to galumph around Gedroth (stopping to touch noses with him first) and tuck herself under the brown's other wing, happy as a pig in slop. Kai watches her for a second before nodding understanding at both of the others. "Yeah. I ain't really been dry since I come out here after lunch. Which is what I was gonna ask: you wanna get something t' eat, later?" He starts asking of Rho, but includes R'uen with a polite nod. "Unless you're eating with your wing or something, I understand an' all."

"You asking for my permission? If someone wants to let him go rooting around their heads while they sleep, that's between you guys. Just don't go poking where you're not invited." Simple as that. R'uen gives an easy shrug, or it would be easy if the wet shirt didn't stick so. He gives it a tug at his chest trying to loosen the fabric from his skin. "It's a nice hot bath for me after this," R'uen adds to Kai with a quirk of a more natural smile. End even though Rev hasn't seemed too thrilled with the idea, he's curious anyway: "What did Gedroth find?"

Maybe Rhodya notices Kai's look, maybe she doesn't. Maybe she just blushes randomly. Who knows! "Yeah, after standing in this so long I could use some hot food, Kai. You got it." She looks back at her dragon, whose head has now returned to watch them, though his full attention doesn't seem to be here anymore. Probably that's because, on the other side, he's tilting his wing, sending all the water he's collected there splashing first onto Chielyth's nose, then her butt. He keeps her guessing. "He found a way to change what people dream by suggesting things to them while they sleep, but he didn't have time to perfect it. Apparently, if somebody's unhappy and dreamin' of rainstorms, you can't just make it better by suggesting sunshine 'cause they might then have a dream about being stuck in the desert." She looks at him to confirm, and Gedroth spares enough attention from Chielyth to bob his head. Yes, exactly.

Chielyth squeals happily and whaps at Gedroth's wing just in time to get a soggy tush. Her, << Gedroth!! >> of mock-protest is probably loud enough to be heard at the Reaches. "That's kinda, uh. Interesting. Dunno as Chielyth'd think t' do nothing like that. I still got..." He leans out to peer at the sky, though the grey and rain do nothing to let him judge the time. "Couple hours, maybe. We'll let you know." Speaking of letting him know: a portly gentleman limps out from the infirmary and looks around; his glare can nearly dry clothing from here. "Shells, that's us." He's got another hasty salute for both of the riders before he trots around to retrieve a soggy green and return them both to duty.

"So what do you do? Just make rain something else? Waterfall? Water pouring into a glass?" R'uen thinks on this for a moment and then he has to laugh. "Sounds like we're trying to make someone have to get up and empty their bladder." He's still chuckling at that as B'kaiv has to run off and he tosses a wave after the greenrider, even if he isn't really looking back.

Rhodya shoots Kai a sympathetic grimace for the job he's stuck doing (and the weather he's stuck doing it in). "See you then!" She speaks cheerfully, though, to add a little hope to his dreary day. "See, that's the part where he's got to do some more work. He figures it depends on the person, and you gotta feel around carefully to find out what works and what doesn't. Start small, like less rain or something, and if that doesn't turn into a nightmare right away just keep goin' with it. --No," she adds sharply, looking at her dragon. Gedroth snorts and shakes his head. Rhodya explains, "He was wonderin' if he really could make somebody do somethin', like get up to use the restroom, because of a dream."

R'uen is looking between dragon and rider, considering all of what Rhodya's saying with a thoughtful frown held on his face. And then she gets to the end, the quick 'no' that Gedroth received, and he frowns more deeply and dubiously. "Well..." He rub his cheek, knowing full well that enough waterfalls can make a person want to wake up. And other dreams can have some pretty effective results as well. "I supposed you just don't want exploring those options. Besides, I don't know how well it would work for dragons anyway. What do imagery makes a dragon think about that sort of thing? I have no idea. I suppose with enough water in a dragon's mind, it might leak over to their rider and -they- would get up in the middle of the night..." Not that he's trying to give the brow any ideas. Of course.

Even if he's not trying, Gedroth is listening with interest. No doubt he's storing it all away for later; one can only hope he doesn't revisit the idea often enough to remember it for long. "It does leak over into the rider's mind, sometimes. And the other way around, that the dragon passes on tastes of the rider's dreams." She sticks a hand under that pony tail of hers and rubs the back of her neck. "It's kind of creepy when you talk about it like that. Sounds like some kind of mind control."

"You're the one who brought it up. He's the one who wants to toy with it." These are very important facts. Facts that leave R'uen completely innocent, thank you very much. "Just don't go poking around Zaiventh's head. First off, there isn't much in there, and second, anything that is probably isn't stuff anyone should have to witness"

"You're the one who started talkin' about bladders," Rhodya retorts, pointing the accusatory finger. She's grinning, though. "Don't worry. He wouldn't go into Zaiventh's head without askin', remember? And Zaiventh'd say no. 'Sides, I'm pretty sure it ain't fair to know what your wingleader or his dragon're dreamin' about. Especially not if you can influence 'em." Widening her eyes, Rhodya begins to weave her hands through the air like a she's hypnotizing him. "Gedroth is the best dragon ever. Make him your second." She grins.

R'uen grins, because he did come up with the bladder thing and Rhodya is pointing and accusing and smiling like that. And then hypnotizing him. The bronzerider holds his hands up, half-dead puppet-hands. "Gedroth is the best dragon ever. I will make him my second," he echoes back in half-dead zombie monotone. "And get a glance up Rhodya's skirt." That part gets tacked on just to be an ass.

See, he's not stretching any more, so there's nothing to prevent Rhodya from smacking him on the shoulder this time. Which she does, but less affectionately than she would have done the first time. "Now, you watch yourself," she says, but gently enough to allow for some chance of redemption. Provided he drops it there. "I know Gedroth wouldn't ask nothin' like that. Guards my vitrue, don't you, baby?" she croons at him. Gedroth rumbles agreeably, and bares his fangs to prove it. He's a fearsome guardian.

And the smack makes R'uen grin even more broadly. He must be a glutton for punishment. That's not the smile of a man seeking redemption. "I like that. Gedroth looking out for your honor. I like that you've got some. It's classy of you," he says with an easy bob of his head. "Not me. I think I'm about done being honorable. Or maybe I'm just starting to be. Can't tell anymore. That can't be a good sign, huh?"

Rhodya tilts her head at him, confused. Honorable she may be, bright she's not. After a moment's hesitation, she says, "Ain't sure what you mean, to be honest. You okay?" And she's very timid about asking that question, like she's not sure she's allowed to ask. Gedroth snicks his teeth at them one last time, then puts his fangs away. His rider may be concerned; he's just curious. Not involved.

"No, not about her," R'uen says when he gets dragon teeth snicked at him, just in case the brown thinks this man has some untoward intention. "Always honorable toward dear Rhodya." He bows his head toward her in dramatic deference, a smirk tugging his mouth. "I just mean... eh, I don't know what I mean. Either way, I'm okay. Like I said, I could really use a decent night's sleep." Or at least, that makes a nice excuse.

The bow is enough to reassure Rhodya, who chuckles at his gallantry. She's wearing pants today, but she pinches the pockets and pulls them out, offering the best cursty she can. "You're weird," she tells him anyway, and the shoulder-push this time is entirely friendly. "You and your sleepin' fine, but not sleepin' fine. Got a real complicated head, haven't you?" she asks with a grin, knocking her noggin. Gedroth sets his chin down on the wet bowl floor and whuffs placidly.

R'uen likes the curtsy. See the smile? He lets his shoulder swing further away that her push would necessitate, just so she can feel big and strong. "I don't know. I doubt it's more complicated than most. I try to keep it empty, but it has a tendency to fill up with stuff anyway. Maybe you're the one who's weird. Ever consider that? Maybe sniffing around people's dreams did it." That's a very cheeky grin he flashes then.

Rhodya can't help but laugh along with that grin, though she rolls her eyes at him. "Well, I know I'm weird. I got honor in the middle of a weyr, believe me, I heard it before." She winks at him. "But don't you pin the dream-stuff on me. That's all his doing." Speaking of him. Gedroth picks his chin up with a sudden grunt, tilting his head up and unlidding his eye. It gleams much brighter when he does. "Oh, shoot!" Rhodya says, looking up as well. "He says it stopped raining. I'm gonna make a run for it. See you, Rev." Rev! Not 'Wingleader.' Gedroth tilts his wing, like he did with Chielyth, but this time he's careful to make sure the run-off doesn't hit any body. Then he folds it up and exposes the two riders beneath him to the gray, cloudy day. Or rather, the one rider beneath it, because Rhodya's already dashed off and climbed halfway up his strap-less shoulder. "You have a good one!" She sends R'uen a final wave before Gedroth goes trotting off, in search of a Weyrleader-less space to take off from.

It stopped raining? "Did it?" R'uen asks, peeking out from under Gedroth's wing. "We should be quick about it. Hot bath, here I come! I'll see you later, Rho. Good luck getting home before it picks up again!" He gives her a wave as a few steps toward the weyr turn into another light job, just in case this absense of rain is only temporary. And if he minds that she called him Rev instead of something else, it certainly doesn't show.

The culprit confesses

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 16:54:41 GMT

Who: B'kaiv and R'uen
Where: R'uen's weyr
What: B'kaiv comes to see the Weyrleader with a confession.

It's been a few days since the 'offishul' note arrived for R'uen, but finally his schedule has cleared. Or perhaps he's enjoyed letting Kai dangle. Or maybe he only just today unearthed the note from his desk. However it happened, the summons arrived, and so, an hour or two after supper, does B'kaiv. Chielyth's perfectly happy to sit out on the ledge and watch little bitty snowflakes fall through the darkness, which leaves her rider alone to come into the Weyrleader's weyr, loosening his scarf and stuffing gloves into pockets as he goes.

R'uen's weyr is tidy, though the fire is dying low already and the Weyrleader is standing there with an arm on the mantle just watching it, at least until this expected visitor arrives. Then he lifts his head expectantly and turns away from the hearth. "B'kaiv. Got your note. Sorry about the delay. I found it in a stack of... Anyway, no idea when you sent it by." He's missing table and chairs, so instead he gestures toward the couch and chair by the fireplace. "Is this a sit down conversation or a standing one?" he laughs easily.

"S'alright," Kai shrugs, his eyes flicking around the room rather than remaining on the bronzerider. "It's nice," he adds, with a chin lift to indicate the rest of the space. And in case that wasn't enough, "Big." Which ought to be compliment enough for anyone. Sitting, though... he glances at the couch and chair and back to R'uen. "Uh. Whatever you want, sir. R'uen. --Sir."

"It is nice," R'uen agrees, looking around as if he hasn't really noticed the space in a while. "I have to say, though, it doesn't beat the little place I had at Telgar. Just one little room with a fireplace and a loft cut out of the wall for sleeping in." He turns to gesture toward the far wall, drawing his hand to mimic the line of that well-remembered loft. "Anyway." He turns back. "You're the one with the official business. What's going on?"

"Nice," Kai agrees of that cozier space, more enthusiastic about it than R'uen's current digs. He takes a couple of steps toward the hearth and stops with a grimace, finally crosses to lurk behind the chair with his hands on its back. "It's th' - Fort Sea, sir. That were me. Was me. An' I... I just wanna say it were real stupid, an' I'm sorry I done it."

Well, there are a couple of things that R'uen might have expected, trouble with weyrlinghood, maybe trouble with Sulisah or someone else, but this admission has R'uen, well, surprised and silent. He just looks at B'kaiv for a long moment. His eyes are all dark and his mouth forms a firm line. And then, slowly, "That was you." He's still wrapping his brain around it.

To be sure, Kai hasn't had the smoothest of turns since Chielyth broke shell. Yet he doesn't drop his eyes, just sets his jaw and nods, once. "Yes sir. Me an' Chielyth." Out on the ledge she turns to look, her tailtip flipping idly.

Zaiventh rumbles warningly to the green, let she get any ideas about going in and sticking her nose in all this rider business. "You and Chielyth. You and Chielyth did what, exactly." Because R'uen needs to hear it. He hasn't moved, nor has the dark expression changed.

Chielyth rumbles back, her voice at least an octave above Zaiventh's, and rolls onto her side where she can look at the bronze /and/ the snow. Well, if she sort of twists her neck like this. Plus now she can watch Kai too, if she only lifts her head a little. "Me an' Chielyth," Kai starts, grimaces and folds his arms. Just as quickly unfolds them and replaces them on the chair. "Got her loaded up with some bags of shit, like they was firestone. An' we went down t' Fort Sea. Dumped 'em."

"There wasn't anyone else with you? This wasn't some -brilliant-" R'uen sharpens that word to a sarcastic point. "Plan to... to what? To undermine the Weyr? To make us all look like children and animals?" He lets out a disgusted noise and turns away.

Brilliant? No, not if Kai's wince is to be believed. "No sir. I was just..." Trailing off? Rev won't believe that, so Kai carefully watches as he resettles his hands on the chair. "Dunno why I done it, sir," he tells the chair (and his hands). "Guess I just weren't thinkin'. Realized that soon as I heard you had t' 'pologize t' them."

"What did you think I was going to do? Point and laugh? This," R'uen's turned back again and now he points sharply at the space between them. "This isn't weyrlinghood. This isn't a fun prank and you all get a slap on the wrist and an extra lap around the fucking bowl. You weren't thinking? That's your excuse? You weren't thinking?"

B'kaiv says, "No, sir," and doesn't look up, not even when Chielyth lifts her head curiously to see. "I ain't - it ain't no excuse. I done it, an' I ain't tryin' t' excuse myself." He glances up, then, to place the Weyrleader and immediately look down again. "S'why it happened: I weren't thinkin'. Was stupid, an' I wish I ain't done it."

When B'kaiv glances up, R'uen's face is still a dark mask with the calm fraying around the edges. His hands come up, the curl of his fingers stiff, though they're nowhere near the weyrling. "I should put my fucking fist through your face," he gets out through tense breath. "And T'rev's ledge? What the fuck was that about? Were you giggling like a shit-faced idiot? Having a grand old time? Oh how funny?" And again he has to turn away to exhale.

This time Kai says, "Yes, sir," and promptly swings his hands behind his back as if clearing the way. He lifts his chin, too, presenting a lovely target, while his eyes search out the wall over the Weyrleader's head. "No sir, I weren't laughin'. I were - I was mad at him. Thought if he was gonna give me shit, I'd give him some back. Shouldn't'a done that, neither. Wanted t' tell you 'bout it first, though." Give R'uen bigger pieces to rake over the coals.

"I'm not going to hit you!" R'uen says when the weyrling strikes that hit-me pose. "You see, that's the thing about being a rider. You don't get to just fly off on a whim and do something stupid. And you, Kai. You. I've been your mentor. Me. The Weyrleader. How do you think that looks? All the times I've cut you slack and let you bend the fucking rules and you do this to -me-. And you do this to Jantha. And her staff. And your clutchmates. And every other person in this Weyr. You didn't dump shit on Fort Sea. You dumped it all on us." He has to reitterate that noise of disgust.

R'uen's... not? It takes the greenrider a few seconds to process that, and then he's frowning - actually frowning - at Rev. "I," he starts, shuts up. Nods instead. "Yes, sir." See how well he's learned from the Weyrlingmasters? When you get in over your head, stop digging.

"You want me to hit you? So you can feel like you got what you deserved?" R'uens eyes narrow and he shakes his head. And hopefully that is enough to let B'kaiv know that -that- is exactly why he hasn't gotten a fist in his face. Calmer now: "Go to your weyr. There will be someone to escort you to drills and meals, whatever. You're not to leave it otherwise until I figure out what the hell we're going to do." And that 'we'? That is not him and B'kaiv. Oh no.

The greenrider tries to say things a couple of times, but words fail him so all he has to fall back on is a mumbled, "No sir. That wouldn't - it wouldn't fix nothin'. F'r Fort Sea. Might make you feel better, though." His chin lifts again, enticingly. But... grounded? /Weyr/bound? That gets a grimace swiftly followed by a nod. "Yes sir. I'm only t' leave my weyr f'r drills an' meals. Or," here's something to tentatively test how thin that ice is, "If th' weyrlingmasters or you or th' Weyrwoman says?"

"Yes." B'kaiv's got it right. "You'll be supervised whenever you aren't in your weyr. Until you hear otherwise." R'uen holds a look on the weyrling for a moment longer and then, "You're dismissed."

Kai says, "Yes sir," once more (though Rev probably isn't tired of hearing it, not tonight, not from this particular weyrling) and salutes, nice and crisp. Even if he didn't get a smack to the jaw. That done, he turns on one heel and heads for the ledge and Chielyth, not even bothering to slow to retrieve his gloves from their cozy pockets. It's up onto his green's back and off with nary a wave for Zaiventh, just away to Chielyth's teeny tiny ledge.

'Kick Each Other in the Ass' Day

Thu, 11 Jun 2009 00:00:14 GMT

Who: Sulisah and R'uen
Where: Glass Fountain
What: They talk about Fort Sea, new holidays and romance.

Just after lunch, the majority of the rush cleared, the bar filled only with the most salwart of drinkers and one apprentice intent on ignoring everyone else. Sulisah is tucked up in one of the booths, a book laid out on the table in front of her though it is a letter that she appears to be paying more attention to. The look on her face has a hint of grumpiness mixed in with her usual cheer - just enough to be noticeable, but not quite a scowl.

With Sulisah so occupied, it's probably at all unlikely that R'uen would slip in without much notice, get himself a drink and then turn to see the apprentice sitting all by her lonesome with a book and... is that a letter? "Good news or bad?" R'uen wonders as she approaches and slips uninvited into the seat across from her.

Sulisah startles slightly, looking up and smiling brightly when she sees who's joined her, "Depends on your point of view really. News from home." She gives the note a little wave, but doesn't elaborate on the contents just yet. "So what brings you to our little den of iniquity? Or should I guess?" She pauses, just for a moment, "You've come in search of some magical drink that will stop you from aging forever and make every other man in the weyr suddenly sprout green hair from their noses?"

"Funny," R'uen says just after a sip of his ale. "I thought it just made the women prettier. Present company excluded on the basis of impossiblity, of course." The glass gets a little tip toward her, the present company, as he flashes a cheeky smile. "So, what's the news from home? Or is it personal." He seems ready to accept either answer with equal good humor.

"On behalf of all other Fortian women, I'm insulted." Sulisah giggles, though adds quickly, "On behalf of myself, thank you." There's a tiny hing of grouchiness creeps back into her expression as he asks once more about home, but she shrugs it off relatively quickly, "Nothing too interesting. There's been some trouble and they... well they're not too happy at the moment but there's nothing I can do about it so..." She trails off shrugs again, adding by way of explanation "My folks are at Fort Sea."

R'uen is grinning right up until her expression goes back to grumpy and then it falls further for the mention of Fort Sea Hold. "What do they expect you to do? Personally beat up whoever... did the deed? If you find out who it was, just let me know and I'll do the beating for you. Don't need you getting your hands dirty." It's all levied so lightly over the rim of his glass that he's probably teasing.

Sulisah laughs, expression ligtening a little, though there's an edge to the laughter that's not usually there. "Actually, they want me to go home." The laugh that follows that particular statement is a little too bright, a little too fake, but her next comment is genuine enough, "About as much chance of that as me fly without a dragon." She pauses, shrugs, grin resurfacing as she teases, "But I promise if I ever do find out who did it I'll not harm a hair on their heads. I might jump up and bite them on the kneecaps, but I won't actually harm their heads."

"Yeah, they'd rather you be part of the people getting shit rained on them than the people, well, supposedly doing the raining? Nice family." If there was question before, R'uen is definitely teasing with that. "I guess we'll see if they show up to collect you in person." And more seriously, "The whole thing is an embarrassment. If you find them, do as much harm as you like -- kneecaps, hair, whatever -- just bring them to me after so I can do my own. And extend my apologies to your family, if you think it'll help any."

"They just want me away from all the bad influences." Sulisah replies with perhaps a touch too much honesty despite her grin. "If they do turn up to collect me you'd best keep an eye out for my Grandma, she has a way of making people apologise for anything she balmes them for. Even if they weren't alive at the time." When he turns more serious her grin drops a notch, less amused more grateful and pleased, "I'm not really the screeching and hair pulling type, but if I do find out, you'll be the second to know." She pauses, head tilted to one side, then grins, "You know now I feel like I should be giving you a hug and apologising for making you feel bad."

"Nah, it's nothing -you- did," R'uen says with an exaggerated down-turn of his mouth and a shake of his head for emphasis. His eyes are on the water-ring his glass is leaving on the table -- a glass he moves with undue concern. "Maybe I should be apologizing to you, huh?" he asks this with a lift of his dark gaze and a returning quirk of a grin. "If I kept my riders in line, they wouldn't go dropping manure on Holds and getting poor innocent brewers saddled with unhappy letters from home."

Sulisah taps a finger against her lips, deliberately making a show of thinking that would have any decently trained harper cringing at how fake it is - actress she is not. "Apology accepted, now don't do it again." She giggles, smile returning to full brightness, "Dont' worry about home, they'll be okay. I mean it's not teh first time they've had rooms decorated in fish guts, though usually that was us kids having fun and maybe not quite as insulting. But it wasnt' everyone here, same as it wasn't everyone there that... with the fabric." A slight apologetic look slips in, but it's fleeting.

R'uen waits with one brow up and a smile forming when he realizes that what she's doing is -acting-, because it takes him a moment to catch on. "I will try my best," he promises. Or maybe he's still teasing. Whichever. "If it was everyone, I'd have to line up the whole Weyr and walk down behind them giving everyone a swift boot in the ass. I'd probably have to hire someone to take over when my foot got sore."

Sulisah resists for a full three seconds, looking almost like she'd explode before the giggles at that particular image burst forth in one steady stream, "I would /pay/ to see that. In fact I bet everyone back home would pay to see that. Or even take their turn. Couldn't you do that anyway, just to see if it's possible? Or maybe take it in turns?"

"Maybe I'll let you do the replacement kicking then. We'll be even. That can be your payment," R'uen chuckles, mostly entertained that Sulisah is so very entertained. "We could do it on the sands, invite Fort Sea to fill the galleries and watch. You know, except for that whole fabric thing. Not sure I want to go -that- far the other way, you know?" His smile is such that it looks like he's about to wink at her, but it's a wink that doesn't come.

"Well we can leave out the ones that were mean then and then we'd be even?" Sulisah offers, then amends, "Or we could just line up everyone who's done something dumb lately and have a mass kicking. Though who would decide the level of dumbness that needs kicking?" There's a pause, but her smile never falters, "This is sounding less and less of a good plan, and that's almost disappointing." Which means... change of topic! "How's Zaiventh? You must be nearly free from your mentoring now?"

"Or an official 'Kick Each Other in the Ass' Day. If you know someone who needs a swift boot, or you know you've done something deserving of one, then, well, we'll all just walk around kicking each other in the back ends and when the day is done, we'll all be even. How's that sound?" R'uen seems rather please with the notion, enough to give himself another drink and sit back from the table with it. "Zaiventh's good. And yep, the weyrlings are getting all... grown up." He taps a finger to the corner of his eye, where a tear would be, as he pouts appropriately. Then he's done with that. "I heard you and B'kaiv got some stuff sorted out? Should I offer congratulations or anything like that?"

Sulisah grins, "Oh I can think of a few people. Maybe we could do it as part of the turnover celebrations? Get rid of the old grudges, build up some new ones?" At the mentio nof B'kaiv she blushes a little, ducking her head for a second and then glancing back up once she's collected herself. "I don't know about congratulations, but.. yes. We're good. Really good."

"New grudges? I can hear it now: 'You didn't have to kick me -that- hard'." R'uen chuckles again, shaking his head at what could come of all this. "Now you're gonna blush about it? Like there hasn't been something between the two of you for a good while now. I'm just happy to hear you guys worked something out. Seemed a little hairy for a while there. Weyrlinghood can do that, though. It can be murder on relationships."

Sulisah laughs, "If that's the only grudges we have around I think we'd all be a lot happier." His next makes her nod, still faintly amused, "Actually we nearly split up which is what sort of fixed things. It got a bit... complicated. Misunderstandings." She pauses, nods, "And I'm not blushing about it. Much. Just... you know, rules and things. Don't want either of us getting into trouble for it. He's a good guy, for all people don't really seem to understand him."

"Good point." R'uen will tip his head to her for a world without deeper grudges. And while it's tipped, this is a good chance for his hand to come up and rub the back of his hair. "Yeah, well. I know already so I'm thinking you're safe from... trouble. From me at least. And sometimes, yeah, you have to fall apart a bit in order to rebuild. Sometimes it needs to punch you in the face before you get your head on straight." And for that, punching and all, he smirks a bit more broadly.

"I was with you right up till the punching bit." Sulisah grins, "I'm a bleeder, not a fighter." She does get his point, though, and nods, "He said someone spoke to him, made him think about it all while I was away. I'm guessing that was you?" She doesn't really give enough time for confirmation, just adds a quiet, "Thank you. I mean it. He's... very special to me."

"Aw Su. A bleeder? Not you!" R'uen puts a hand to his heart as if this news wounds him, though of course he's smiling all the while. "Doubt it was me. Not that I wasn't pulling for you. Whatever it was, whoever it was, if you're happy, I'm happy." He even gives a short nod to support it. "So now what? You moving in there or are you guys taking it slow?"

Sulisah nods, trying her best to look semi-ashamed. "I know, such a shame." When he denies it was his doing she does look a little shocked, "It... wasn't? I... oh." A blink is followed quickly by another blink, then her jaw drops. "Moving? Oh. Um... no, I... no. Not in. I don't do in. And we can't anyway, he's stilla weyrling and I'm still an apprentice, it would look bad."

"Oh that's right. You're still an apprentice!" He laughs, and then is immediately apologetic, turning it to a cough to try, lamely, to cover it up. "Sorry, I forgot about that. So you'll just be... carrying on in secret, then. How old are you again?"

"Is anything secret in the weyr?" Sulisah asks with a grin, though there's just a tinge of embarassment, "I'm nineteen. Old enough to know better, young enough to not care. Allegedly." She winks, clearly teasing, "Hopefully not an apprentice for too much longer either. Project's over, exams and things to go."

"No, not much," R'uen admits with yet another chuckle, brighter for that hint of shyness. Seeming rather satisfied with himself, he knocks back the last of his ale. "He'll graduate, you'll get promoted and you'll live happily ever after just like a storybook." He raps knuckles on the table and stands. "Back to work for me. Good luck with your exams, huh?"

Sulisah smiles and nods, "I think I already learned the hard way that storybook endings don't actually happen, but... it's a nice thought. Who knows maybe we'll be the first." As he makes to leave she nods, "Thank you! I don't know how soon they'll be but you'll know if I pass when the Masters come looking for you to get permission for me to stay." A quick pause and she waves, "Clear skies, R'uen! Give Zaiventh a hug for me!"

Saftey First

Fri, 29 May 2009 20:30:45 GMT

Who: Hattie and R'uen
Where: Lakeshore
What: Hattie's grumpy, which R'uen rather enjoys. They talk of bludgeonings and poetry.

Lakeshore, Fort Weyr

The lake's shore is a broad crescent of golden-hued sand, stretching from the southwest wall near the feeding grounds and arcing toward the southeast and overlooking the blue waters of the lake. Where the lake deepens, that water turns a murkier blue-green, hiding an untold number of perils in its depths. It is an oft-used location for dragons seeking a place to sun or for residents and riders who feel a need to take a stroll; the sand is generally kept pretty clean and while there are no shells, there are periodic bits of obsidian and other volcanic stones to be found if one feels like picking around.

Lunchtime is generally when people eat lunch - funny, that - and whilst Hattie has generally been good about this sort of thing for the past few sevens, today finds her perched on a rock, staring blankly ahead at the lake. Or watching Elaruth pad happily along the shore, who sinks her paws into wet sand and turns back on herself to make odd patterns with said paws and the line of her tail. Whatever the weyrling is doing, she doesn't move much, just sits with her elbows propped on her knees and head propped on her hands in turn.

It seems that R'uen has already tended lunch -- or rather, he's tending it now, strolling along with a sandwich in his hand, taking a bite now and then as he path carries him toward the lakeshore. There's a beer bottle swinging from his other hand, and he tastes that intermittently as well. The young gold, certainly, catches his eye first as she plays in the sand, and then his glance hunts around for the weyrling who is likely nearby. Ah there she is on the rock. R'uen lifts his sandwich to give her a salute. With the sandwich.

Movement makes Hattie glance in R'uen's direction, and once she's looked at him and noticed him, there's not much un-noticing that can be done without being rude. So whilst she doesn't look away and ignore him, there's a long pause and a wary once-over given the Weyrleader, resulting in only a nod. Silence otherwise, but not from Elaruth, who pauses in her pattern-making to peer over her shoulder and shatter perfectly good quiet with her usual clattering greeting. At which Hattie goes deliberately blank and absent.

Well now that is not the greeting R'uen was expecting. He frowns, chews the inside of his cheek and shifts from aimless ambling to purposely heading in Hattie's direction. "Did I do something?" he has to wonder, giving the beer bottle a more dramatic swing toward the young goldrider and lifting a questioning brow.

Hattie shrugs one shoulder. "No. I just thought one way to stay out of more trouble was to shut up for once and eliminate the risk of falling over my own mouth." She sighs and rolls her eyes. "As you can see, it was the more intelligent course of action, because now I sound flippant. But to cut all that and return to my first point: no, you haven't done anything."

R'uen listens to all that with a quirked smile slowly forming. He settles his stance there beside her rock, takes another slug of his beer. "Well, you don't sound flippant. You sound frustrated. And not with me, with yourself. So. No trouble as far as I can see." But he squints one eye like he's looking for it. "I'm not easy to offend, either." A jerk of his chin encourages her to go on, "Let it out."

Hattie raises one eyebrow. "So, you won't be offended when I tell you that I think a good eight-five percent of the people this place you're in charge of has as its population are moronic?" Somehow, she manages to make that sound like a genuine question. "No. Look, I've said my apologies and given my reasoning for what went on a million times over and saying it all again ain't going to do you or me any favours. But I'd bet you'd be frustrated too, if people had you caught in a loop like that."

Would he be offended? R'uen gives it some thought, lips pursed to one side, eyes rolled skyward in consideration. And then she shakes his head at her, slowly, with his gaze steady on her. "Nope." Not 'no', not 'nah', but 'nope'. "I know a thing or two about being caught, stuck, frustrated," he says with the shrug of one shoulder and another swig of beer. "Do you wanna tell me what's going on?" Even though she's made it pretty clear she doesn't want to say anything at all. He's patient though, and he has a sandwich to munch on.

"You have to assume that I'm including you in the fifteen percent who /aren't/ moronic," Hattie remarks, with another little shrug. She watches the growing trail of paw prints along the shore that keep getting washed away when Elaruth steps into the water too heavily. "Elaruth and I went Between. So we were grounded and we still can't go anywhere on our own. And there's this idiot Journeyman healer who thinks I'm out to end up dead one way or another, watching my every move. And I'm just fed up. Because it's not as if I'm one of the real lazy ones who does nothing and yet everyone thinks /I'm/ wrong."

"Even if I'm one of the morons," R'uen assures with crumbs on his smirk. But more seriously, as he brushes them away with the back of a hand, he says, "I heard about that, about the two of you going Between. I can't say I got all of the details though. People tend to leave things out; I only get the broad strokes." He eyes her, once up and down. "You don't seem to me like you're about to keel over dead, but what do I know."

"Who said anything about 'if'?" Hattie shoots back, leaning more towards joking even if her smile doesn't quite get there. "I'm not about to keel over dead," she agrees. "But try telling that to him. Man's a nutjob. Anyhow, best stop complaining, otherwise that means I'm having trouble with it all and if anyone says /that/, then I'll find a heavy book and bludgeon them unconscious." Just a warning. "So, what's going on in the outside world? I'm beginning to forget what it looks like."

R'uen probably shouldn't look so amused by her frustration and her threats. Despite having the beer and the sandwich, he mimes picking up a book and bringing it down repeatedly. "Just don't over-extend your elbows. Keep 'em bent, see? Saftey first." With that, his smirk goes broad and puckish. But ah, the rest of the world, that makes him sigh and not in a wistful way. "The outside world... winter's coming? Everything getting brown and naked and ready for it. Eggs are getting ready to hatch at Reaches. My mother baked a really nice currant cheese cake? And... that's all I've got, really. Anything in particular you think you're missing out on?"

The weyrling feigns disapproval. "Why is it that men manage to work getting naked into any question you ask them? Is it a skill? Do you all attend a seminar or something and receive the proper training?" Of course, her version of disapproval involves a grin and a sigh and an unspoken 'typical'. "And thanks for the tip: I'll be sure to tell people you instructed me in the art of knocking people unconscious with library material." Hattie shrugs again. "Don't think I'm missing out on much. Just wondered."

"Naked. of. leaves," R'uen says very clearly, his exasperation balanced by a bright smile and the teasing light in his eye. "What's with you goldriders making everything dirty? And then the men get blamed!" He shakes his head and takes a big, decisive bite of his sandwich. Thus, he can't talk when she goes on thanking him for his helpful pointers, but he can give her a big, food-deformed smile as he chews. The mouthful gets smaller of course, and eventually he can say around it, "You miss whatever you can't have. If you were stuck out there, you'd just be wondering what's going on around here." It's the sort of cold reality that makes his sniff in mild displeasure.

"It's what we're trained to do," Hattie answers, theatrically mournful. "And now you know our secret. All those lessons and meetings and such? Basically just how to blame men for sleaze, when it's really us." She smirks. "But you have to admit, you're all pretty damn good at making references to nakedness without any encouragement." Her smirk only has to change its lines a little to become a grimace. "True enough, I guess. Do I have to send round a message that you're getting philosophical, now?"

"It wouldn't surprise me in the least," R'uen says of all those meetings. "It had to be something like that. I know you're not taking lessons on how to be -sane-." Is he in trouble for that one? The lift of his brow and the smug smirk say he might just like to be. And as for philosophizing, "It's not a new development." One last bite and he's done with his sandwich and brushing the last crumbs from his hand on the side of his trousers.

If that actually struck a nerve, Hattie hides it quick enough for it to be only a flash in her eyes that has nothing to do with humour. She flashes an overly bright grin his way instead and says, "Because you give those lessons, right? What's the pass rate?" She leans back and plants her hands behind her on the rock. "Don't tell me, when you're not Weyrleadering, you write philosophical discourse and poetry in a darkened room." Just to clarify. "I /am/ kidding with that, and if it's true I'd rather not know, because then I might just have to laugh."

"Oh no. Not me. I'll keep you all crazy as the day is long. Makes life much more exciting. Plus, then I get to pretend I'm sensible by comparison. So see, it really works out pretty well for me." R'uen's big smile is overly bright too, though in jest instead of possibly compsensation. "And I do, actually. Well, not the philosophy. But the poetry. Bad, bad lovesick poetry. Technically songs. The dark isn't necessary, just as long as no one can hear it." He doesn't seem like he's joking, not with that sheepish touch to his grin. "You can go ahead and laugh."

Brown eyes blink once or twice and Hattie just watches R'uen, likely trying to decide whether he really is joking or not. "You just killed the laughter, right there," she declares, disappointed and mournful again. A few more moments of study produces, "I don't know. It's kind of sweet on you. Only on you. If it's true. So I shan't laugh." She shoves herself to her feet. "But Faranth help us if the rest of the male population do the same, because then I might just have to go Between and stay there." Along the shore, Elaruth begins to romp back towards the bowl proper whilst she's not stuck walking on stone, and Hattie begins to trail after. "We're up on the star stones all afternoon. I promise not to try and eliminate the idiotic eighty-five percent whilst we're up there, Sir." Oh, so she does finally remember rank. Rank as goodbye, it seems, for then she's running after the young queen to catch up.

Desensitized

Fri, 29 May 2009 07:00:52 GMT

Who: Whitchek, Tiriana and R'uen
Where: HRW's galleries
What: R'uen drops in on his girl and gets to help torture a candidate.

"Smart," says Tiriana, and so, obligingly, she finishes writing out her name for him in her left-handed scrawl. "There. Two i's, just for you," she says, holding the paper at arm's length to eye her signature for a moment. Then she leans over to pass it to Whitchek, where he sits just a little ways from her in the galleries. "A memento," she says then. "Of... me kicking him in the balls. Take it you two aren't friends, then."

The candidate takes the paper back, looks at it admiringly, folds it carefully again and puts it away. "Not so much friends as... sort of the opposite of friends," reflects Whitchek. "Only not exactly enemies because that would require more effort than it's worth. I avoid him. He likes to be vaguely obnoxious at meals." A shrug. "But that was worth being there for, yeah."

Now, if someone was paying attention, she might be aware that the frequently visiting Fortian bronze has arrived, but that someone might be too busy with eggs. And even if that someone was paying attention, that doesn't mean she would necessarily clue other someone's in. And so, whether or not Tiriana is at all prepared, R'uen appears at the entrance to the galleries, pausing just a moment to see that she's actually in here before he takes to the steps. It's enough time to overhear just a smidge. "What about balls?" It's a classy entrance.

"What, he chew with his mouth open or something?" Tiriana asks, skeptical. She shoots a sideways look at Whitchek, then asks, "Are you going to go around bragging about how you outsmarted me or something? So the next clever wannabe tries to pull the same stunt. I'm just waiting for one of them to try Betegal's thing, get a fake black eye with kohl. Going to write F-U-C-K-M-E across their forehead and send 'em out into--the world." She breaks off abruptly as she catches sight of R'uen, surprised expression declaring her lack of forewarning. "Rev!" she calls, mouth quirking into a broad, pleased grin. "I kicked one of the candidates in them."

"Wasn't planning on it," says Whitchek with slightly quirked eyebrows. "Hardly think of it as outsmarting. Figure if you wanted to hit me, you'd have done it already. Or," he adds, "may yet." Just to cover all the bases, there. He notes the arrival of the bronzerider with a nod but not much else; that kind of pleasure from Tiriana is not apt to be found often, and a reasonable person might question whether it's a good thing.

"Ah, that's one of my favorite faces," R'uen grins right back when he sees her surpise turn to that smug smile. With his boots heavy on the stairs under his lazy stride, he reaches the pair. "You kicked..." He laughs. Nice. "Not this one here, right?" A hand goes out to the young man who does not appear doubled over in debilitating pain and thus is probably not the candidate she's been abusing. "R'uen."

"No, the other one," says Tiriana, beaming as much as Whitchek was earlier. "Probably passed him on the way in. The big limping one. Wimp. He tried flirting with me." And she turns an expectant look on R'uen, like she expects him to go finish beating up on poor Isziyo for her. To Whitchek, "I figure either they need to man up and just ask for one, or come up with some way around it if they're not man enough to take that." Which Whitchek apparently isn't, to judge by the look she casts over him now. "So I won't hit you. For now."

Point of pride for Whitchek: "Madilla--that's my girl," he adds for R'uen's benefit, Whitchek now finally at the point where he can properly remember that oh, yes, he does have a girl, "Madilla wasn't so hot on the idea of hitting." Shrug. What can you do? Women. Only as obvious as the gesture is, it doesn't seen to encompass the Weyrwoman anymore. "Hell of a thing," he offers up. "Joy to see it. He's an ass." A shake of the offered hand. "Whitchek."

R'uen knows he's supposed to want to go beat up that Isziyo fellow just for flirting with Tiriana, which is exactly why he says: "Who could blame him? And he takes one in the nuts. Poor guy." Not that he seems at all broken up about it. "Whitchek. Nice to meet you. So you're not a fan of his either?" He eyes the candidate and then takes himself a comfortable seat, offering a different sort of hand toward Tiriana as he asks the young man, "What would you do if he was flirting with your girl. Madilla, you said."

Tiriana narrows her eyes at R'uen's lack of support for her, but when he sits down, she's still quick to slide over that way and lean up against him. Wiggling around to make herself comfortable, if not him necessarily, she turns another look on Whitchek and then snickers. "Nothing, I bet," she answers for him. "It's not like he's doing anything else for her now, am I right?"

"I think we have an understanding," muses Whitchek, still a little smile, but voice surprisingly flat. "Isziyo and I. He doesn't try to talk to her, I don't have to turn in my knot." But then the smile broadens again. "But that, of course, is us. Madilla and me, we're *Holders*, you understand," to R'uen. Implied, of course, that Tiriana obviously doesn't. Never mind the candidate's knot.

"Really?" R'uen asks Whitchek with some surprise, seeming rather unaware that Tiriana's cozying up to his side. "He looked pretty big, if that was the guy I passed. Does he... need an understanding with you?" As opposed to just taking the girl and squashing Whitchek into a pulp. But the bronzerider makes a big show of understanding, oh yes he does. "Ahh. Holders. Of course. I come from the Woodcraft myself," he adds in, putting a hand on Tiriana's knee. "Not quite the same, though, I'd imagine."

"Weyrbred," says Tiriana. And as if to prove it, or maybe just to get attention since R'uen's trying to pretend not to notice her cuddling up, she twists around to make him kiss her instead. Demanding woman, she is. "And I can take care of myself. Should teach Madilla how to, too, so she's not stuck relying on /you/ to defend her honor. Not that that's a bad plan, because I don't think you're ever going to do anything to... you know. Besmirch it, or whatever you people say." She makes an airy gesture for the word.

Funny how people always bring that up. Whitchek lets out a small sigh. "You know, height isn't everything," he says with a scowl. "Not that I have the least thought that she'd be taken in by such a thing," added, trying to avoid looking much at this whole kissing business. Look, hey, eggs. "No, I don't imagine it's the same. And I really don't want Madilla turning into..." Anything like Tiriana whatsoever?

R'uen goes from surprised, to pleased and letting a hand tug Tiriana's neck, to gently pushing her away. "Hey, hey," he scolds without any real meaning. "Not in front of the Holder." He turns to give her his cheek, or rather, to tap the side of his head. "Just whisper filthy things in my ear so he doesn't have to listen." Though he might smirk deeply for all of Tiriana's brazen behavior, when he turns back to Whitchek it's with a more serious expresson. "I understand that. Don't want her running around like a hussy, making you worry, stuff like that. That much I understand." But wait... Rev looks back at the goldrider and snerks. "You said 'besmirch'." He shakes his head at her and tries not to crack up.

"True," Tiriana will give that point to Whitchek, regarding the size difference. "And he's not that tough. I took him out fast. Usually they put up a little more fight than that." But then, how quickly she goes from kissing to punching, digging her fist in against R'uen's side. "Shut up, I don't know what holders say," she says, pouting for a moment. "And don't you push /me/ away. He ought to see it, get.. desensitized. It's not like we're fucking right here in front of him." Beat. "Although we /could/," and she shoots another smirk at Whitchek, just to see what kind of reaction she can goad.

That's Whitchek's cue not to hang around too long. Just in case. "Besmirch is a perfectly good word," he offers up. "I don't think she's going to be running around like a... hussy. I just don't want her getting jaded." A glance back at the two riders. But just a glance; obviously what they *are* doing is plenty. Hey, as far as public behavior goes, for Whitchek, holding hands is racy. "I think I'd best be headed back. I think it's stopped raining, finally."

"Ow!" R'uen makes a big show of his pained face when Tiriana puts her fist in his side. He reaches to snag her wrist and hold her back a bit. "She's just trying to push your buttons, you know," he tells the candidate with a sigh, rather disappointed to see him chased off so quickly. "And, well, she might be a filthy weyrbrat, but I'm not." He's totally going to get beat up for that, and so he does try to have control of both those fists, while he grins in anticipation of her reaction.

"Oh, did we scare you off, Whitchek?" Tiriana wonders, head tilting oh-so-innocently. "I should stop in and see her again sometime. Madilla I haven't been by in a while." And not nearly so subtly, and with a pasted-on sweet smile, she tries elbowing R'uen while he holds on to her. In a loud whisper, "Shut up, you don't go telling people that. Then it doesn't work."

The response sounds almost surprised. "I know," says Whitchek. "Doesn't make it appropriate behavior, though." He stands, pats his pocket to be sure that bit of paper is still there, nods to them both. "Nice to meet you, R'uen," first. Then: "Thank you, Weyrwoman." Presumably not for the talk of Madilla, of course. He heads for the exit, then, and the ending of a terrific day.

Whitchek goes home.
Whitchek has left.

"Good to meet you, too. And hey, I am sorry about this one here," R'uen calls as Whitchek moves away. "Stick with your Holder girl. These weyrbrats are too much trouble." Of course, then he turns back to Tiriana to let out one of those bright boyish laughs. "You kill me," he tells her, still not letting go of her hands.

For that, Tiriana tries elbowing again, still pouty-faced. "I do not," she says, as she leans back against him again, even as he holds her back from hitting. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Stone cold dump-you-between dead. I haven't done anything to you."

"Not that kind of killing." His smile is so bright and so big and his eyes are now focused on her face to the exclusion of all else. "You're the most remarkable creature," R'uen tells her. "Kiss me again. I promise this time I'll let you." Which is probably going to get another rise out of her, a non-kissing sort, but he's grinning like an idiot anyway.

"No," says Tiriana, with a sniff. "Don't try to make up /now/. What do I do that's so remarkable." And she twists her head to give him a flat look, eyes narrowed.

"Torturing that poor kid. Climbing all over me. That was hot," R'uen tells her, trying to tug her closer and maybe get that kiss. "That was really hot."

"He makes it too easy," says Tiriana. She pulls away from him then, but only for a moment; because her next move is to climb in his lap and straddle it. He /did/ mention climbing all over him, after all. "Really? You think so?" Her head tilts slightly, like she's thinking about it. The verdict must be good, because she does lean in then to kiss him as asked.

R'uen will let her hands go, then. After all, climbing on him is a good sign, plus he needs to put his own hands on her waist when she straddles his lap and bends to kiss him. It's a kiss he accepts very happily for as long as she deigns to give it. "Mmm," he sounds at the end. "I'm glad you're not a fussy holder girl."

"Yeah," agrees Tiriana, with a smirk pulling at her mouth. She pauses a beat, leans in close again. Then, "We still can't really do it here, though."

R'uen snorts. "Bullshit." But nevermind that. "How are your eggs? Nearly cooked?" he asks, jerking his chin toward the sands.

Tiriana casts a glance back over her shoulder at the eggs for a moment, half-nods. "Nearly," she tells him. "Took a few of them out to touch them. Iovniath..." She just shrugs, eyes the gold who's dozed off now, curled around her eggs. "Think even she's ready to be done with them."

"They're good enough to be let out on the sands? Touching the eggs? Must be quite a group. Even that guy you kneed in the balls?" R'uen's hands come up to run over her arms. "Promise me, Ti. No matter how pissed you get at me, you won't kick me in the balls. I want to make babies someday."

Tiriana snorts. "Not him yet. He'll probably stay out of my way a good long while now," she answers, smug. "But a handful of them. Betegal--he's good. I like him. He's about the only one. Though Whitchek's all right if he ever stops just going on and on about how we're all evil people." Which just makes her roll her eyes now. "Rest of them... They're okay, as a group. I guess. I don't know. I don't want any of them to get our eggs, though." She frowns, just for a moment, gives the eggs another long look before she lets R'uen distract her. With a lift of her brows, she wonders, "Oh, really. And have you taken this up with your girl yet?"

"I don't know why they bother involving dragons in searching candidates. They should just parade them past you for inspection, let you give them a quick interview, punch them a few times to see how they hold up..." R'uen isn't serious, at least probably not. "My girl? Yeah, I think she's amenable. She wants me pretty badly."

Tiriana, for all he's not serious, looks like she's pondering that herself. But then there's that bit about his girl, and her eyes narrow. "You think so, do you," she retorts, poking a finger in his chest. "Maybe she doesn't want to share you with a bunch of stupid wailing brats, hmm?"

"Well, I don't want to share her with a bunch of brats either. I just want to train a little army to worship her," R'uen grins confidently, knowing, maybe guessing, how lovely that might sound. "But I don't want to share her. I want to share it all with her, but there's bit of her I want to part with."

"And you want her to get fat and ugly," continues Tiriana, as though not hearing R'uen at all. "You know you never get skinny again after you pop out two or three of those things. And they don't worship you, either, not unless you completely fuck 'em up in the head and you're too normal for that. Me, maybe, but you?"

"She couldn't be fat, even if she tried. And she'd probably make it look incredibly sexy anyway." It doesn't seem to matter than she's not listening to him. R'uen just gazes up at her and puts in his two cents all along anyway. "They'll worship you when they're small and when they get big, we'll kick 'em out the door."

"Nuh-uh," Tiriana does not agree, glowering at him. But after a moment, she shifts around, to sit in his lap more than across it, and she presses back against his shoulder. Her lips purse thoughtfully. "Not a whole army," she finally says. "I mean, a couple, maybe--/maybe/--three if anything." With a pointed look, "And then I cut your balls off for sure, if not earlier."

When she settles in his lap, he's quick to start kissing her neck. "Now you want three, huh? Can I request that we resort to some other method rather than cutting off my balls? Like, just about any other method. Trev said he had some... I don't know what it was, like a salve of something. And we could go between. But I want to keep my balls." If R'uen were really nervous about his testicles, he probably wouldn't be nipping at her ear. "Three, huh?"

"I'm trying to compromise," Tiriana says, with a push at him, though it's hardly a rough one. More for show than anything else. "I don't want any, you want a whole damn army. So... a couple and--maybe three if you push it. You're not the one that has to carry the things around for nine months and then get them out." She twists half around to give him a long, flat look, though it's somewhat ruined when he keeps just trying to kiss her like that.

R'uen makes a quiet, "Hm," that is perfectly audible with his mouth so close to her ear. "So you don't want any? Not even one?" Those words come out between his teeth, which have taken gentle hold of hear lobe.

"No," says Tiriana, trying her best to pout. It's not half-working this time, no matter how much she crosses her arms and juts out her lower lip. "I don't like kids. I don't know why /you're/ so desperate to have a shitload of them, either."

R'uen lets her ear go, plants one more kiss on her throat before he settles his head more comfortably against her shoulder. "I'm not desperate. I just figure it'll take me years to convince you, so I might as well get started. Right now, all I want is to be here with you. To have the four of us together, the way it was supposed to be."

Tiriana, settled in against him, gives up sulking in favor of pulling his arms around her. After all, there's nobody around but Iovniath to see if she gets a little mushy now. "Yeah, well. It's been... five or something?" she says, casting a glance sideways at him. "But I refuse to go any higher, ever. Okay? Just how many /is/ a damn army, anyway?"

Tonight, feeling her arms around him and the way she softens with no one looking, R'uen is ready to give up on kids altogether. "I don't care. You know that, right? Kids or no kids, one, three, ten kids. I don't care." His own arms close snugly about her waist, drawing her against him.

"None? One?" says Tiriana, and--does she sound almost a little disappointed that he gives in just like that? "You'd really settle for just one." She frowns at him, skeptical.

"I want you," R'uen tries to explain. "I want you, I've got you. Everything else is just icing. You figure out what you want, what you really want, and that's what we'll do. I just don't want you say no just because you think that's what a tough girl would do or because it would make your daddy proud. If you want three, we'll have three. And hopefully they'll all look like me, so we know they're mine, you wild hussy." See, somewhere along the line, he started to smirk again, and now he bites playfully at her shoulder.

"Fuck you," Tiriana retorts, and what might be a nice, quiet, intimate moment is ruined by her shoving away from him, trying to get to her feet on her own again. Of course, she's also smiling the whole time, so make of that what you will. "Let's go home."

R'uen lets her up, and he gets up too. "Does this mean you -do- want three kids? Or a whole army? You just prefer to hide behind me wanting them?" They could walk home hand in hand, or he could sweep her off her feet, but instead, he turns his back toward her and hunkers down with is arms back, the universal piggy-back position. "Hop on."

"No!" says Tiriana, punching at him one more time. "I don't. You just said you did, and... I try to be a nice, agreeable sort of person." Even her ego won't let her say that with a straight fact, though, and her mouth twitches until ducks her head, steps around him to eye that position. "That is not befitting of a Weyrwoman."

"Neither are any of the positions you'll be in when we get home. Just hop on already." R'uen does make a good point. "I do want kids. I hope you'll want them. As long as you don't love them more than me."

"That doesn't involve traipsing across the bowl, either," Tiriana says, with a stubborn little scowl. But nevertheless, she sighs and caves, climbing onto his back with her arms wrapping tight on his throat. "I won't."

R'uen hefts her up, and as soon as they're clear of the benches, spins her around. It's a threat, you see, so that she'll give the right answer. "Promise?"

That, of course, just makes Tiriana clutch tighter, face buried against his shoulder. "Stop, stop! Stop iiit," she whines. "Somebody's going to walk in, I know it. I /promise/."

"If they do, and they say anything, I'll haul you over so you can punch them. Or kick 'em in the nuts. Okay?" But R'uen doesn't really wait for an answer. He's on his way toward the sands with every intention of cutting through and sparing her the public trek across the bowl. He turns his head try to catch a glimpse of her over his shoulder. "Maybe three." Maybe she's talked him into it.

Begrudgingly, Tiriana agrees, "Okay. I'll kick 'em all." She sighs again, but doesn't sound too put out as they set off toward home. Except-- "How many did you /really/ want? Seriously, R'uen."

Seriously, R'uen? Who is this girl on his back? "I can't say I've ever really thought about having more than one," Rev admits. "What would we do with another one? What would we do with the first one if we had another one? But it could be fun. I'm game if you are. We can have as many as you want. We'll just figure it out as we go."

And that, of course, just makes Tiriana dig her fist into his side again, nevermind he's the one holding her up. "You never even fucking /thought/ about it?" she exclaims, glaring. "Reeev!" And thus echo her cries, all the way back to the weyr.

Aren't we lucky

Fri, 29 May 2009 06:58:05 GMT

Who: B'kaiv and R'uen
Where: Meadow
What: R'uen takes his mentee out to find out why he was a bum about his duties.

B'kaiv might have his weyr - finally - but that doesn't stop him from getting into trouble. After missing the day's drills he's been put on punishment duty, and only the Weyrleader's arrival sufficed to get him out of laps. The flight down to the Hold went easily enough, though Chielyth wouldn't settle into place beside the bronze until after literally flying loops about him.

Finally, though, the foursome settle into an open field perhaps half an hour's walk from the Hold, where Chielyth immediately starts nosing at the furrows and ridges left from the planting. Kai tugs his scarf a little closer and squints at the sky, then over at the Weyrleader. "You ain't gonna chew my ear off too, are you?" he asks without his usual sullenness.

Zaiventh isn't so rambunctious, but he'll take this time to sprawl out on the meadow and enjoy the expanse of soft bedding while he has the chance. It leaves R'uen to stand nearby with B'kaiv and stuff his gloved hands in his pockets. "I might ask you what's going on, first. Chew you out after."

Kai doesn't... does he? - he does! - grin crookedly and hunch his shoulders against the wind, shift to present his back and shoulders to the wind. "Ain't nothin', really," he answers lightly. "Just - Weyrlingmaster wants Chielyth t' be awake in th' mornin's now. S'when she sleeps. Ain't she never noticed before?" He shrugs, just a little. "Anyway, she weren't in no temper t' drill t'day. Were cryin', an' acting out, so I took her home, let her sleep. Time she woke up, they was done." And that was his day.

R'uen gives his charge a look, one brow cocked, amused even as he's not buying it. "Yeah, I'd think by this point, you both know that you sleep on your own time and you drill when the Weyrlingmaster says so. You want to ask for time off to recouperate from something, you go right ahead but... You can't just decide to sleep because you or she feels like it. She's not a baby anymore." Even as he's laying out this calm bit of lecture, he's growing suspicious. "You know this." So why did it happen?

The greenrider shrugs again - he knows it - but his underlying good cheer isn't one bit ruffled, either by the punishment laps or by R'uen's not-lecture. "Yes sir. An' I shoulda. V'rel sent us off t' eat 'cause she were hungry. Guess I thought that meant we didn't got t' come back."

"You're in an awful good mood for someone who's been catching flack from the Weyrlingmaster," R'uen points out. "What's going on? Maybe I should haul you back, let her put you to work again." He's got that brow lifted still, curious; it's not really a threat.

B'kaiv closes one eye and squints at the bronzerider, squints at the dragons (where Chielyth is now tracing the plowlines), squints at a tree. "--If you want, sir," he finally says. "It's... private." Now he squints at R'uen again, this time adding, "I had company."

"What, now you don't tell me private things?" R'uen says with a laugh and a shake of his head. But he's waiting, and B'kaiv is delivering. "Ah, that kind of private. You finally sorted things out with Sulisah?"

"Yeah," the greenrider admits, probably not realizing just how dippy his face looks just now. "So you can make me run back t' Fort from here, an' I just don't care. Shells, I'd eat breakfast with Phara for a turn." But none of that would flatten his tailfeathers.

"Really? I thought for sure all that was going to shit. T'rev came to me all worried you guys were going to make a mess of things or something. I don't know what his stake in it was. I sort of figured he had an eye on Sulisah or something but... Damn, that's good news man. Congratulations." R'uen's words are heartful, honestly pleased for the greenrider. "You know I shold still kick your ass for skipping out, but I think I'd feel like a hypocrite for that. I've ducked my own duties enough for similar reasons." With that he'll share a guilty smile.

Kai echoes, "T'rev?" and fixes both eyes on his mentor, his good humor slowly ebbing for 'had his eye on Su'. Still, it's hard to keep a good grump going on a day like today. "How 'bout you take a swing at me an' I won't duck? Then you can tell everyone you beat me up." See how logical that is? "/Yeah/. Don't plan on makin' a habit of it, but /shells/. S'been too damn long."

"I couldn't figure any other reason for him to be... But eh, what do I know. He adopted a kid out of the bowl. The man gets involved in weird things..." R'uen says of his clutch brother with a shrug of shoulder and that usual shake of his head. "But, none of that matters much since it sounds like you guys have things pretty settled. No need to take a swing. Just, yeah, don't make a habit of it." No fists, his hands are still in his pockets.

B'kaiv looks, perhaps, a little disappointed at the denying of violence, but that wind's sharp enough for any knife. "Nah. Ain't gonna." Which he'd already said. "Just gotta figure out how t' get Chielyth t' sleep at night, I guess, an' things'll be all right. Phara's leavin' me alone, got my own weyr, finally..." He glances over to the dragons and whistles sharply; Chielyth lifts her head and tries to pretend that she wasn't either sneaking up on Zaiventh, honest. "Wasn't you sayin' somethin' like that? How he didn't sleep at night? How'd you get him t' stop?"

"I didn't really stop him so much as... he just grew out of it," R'uen admits, frowning since he doesn't have any real useful information. "Getting up for drills and lessons helped though. Left him tired enough to sleep at night. It won't kill her to get a little worn out, you know? You survive it all the time, so can she. And man..." A gloved hand comes out so he can rub the back of his head. "How old are they now?"

"Eight an' a half months," Kai answers promptly. "--Shells. See, she ain't. Growin' out of it. She's real regular - she sleeps heavy from just about dawn t' noon, naps a little before supper. I tried t' get her t' sleep at night when she was younger, only she never was havin' none of it. I thought..." He trails off with a shrug.

"You thought what?" R'uen presses. "You know her better than anyone else. Understand her better. If you think it's something... I don't know. Can you really not wake her up? Maybe focusing on keeping her up during the day would work better than just trying to make her sleep at night."

B'kaiv eyes the sky like the passing clouds will rain down thesauri. "She's /sleepin'/. I thought - shells, I dunno. I thought it was gonna be all right, since nobody said nothin' about it. You gotta have dragons who's up at night, don't you? F'r... standin' duty, an' all?"

"Only if they can get out weyrlinghood," R'uen reminds with a smirk spreading wide across his face. "The wings rotate for drills and sweeps, too. Everyone's gotta be up in the morning at least sometimes. Everyone has shit they don't want to do, but we suck it up and deal with it. Aren't we lucky," he laughs darkly.

Kai snorts equally dark amusement and keeps an eye on how Chielyth's inching up on Zaiventh again. "S'how you can tell you're alive. Shells. Guess I'll just keep tryin' with her, fly around a lot after supper, maybe. Zaiventh like t' fly? 'Cause keepin' up with him, with th' bigger dragons, that tires her out."

"Sure, yeah. We're not around much after dinner, though," R'uen says with a bit of a guilty wince. "But during the day, yeah. There's plenty of time that I'm stuck doing paperwork and they could do circles around the Weyr, see if that doesn't tucker her out, hm?" His hand is shoved back in his pocket and he kicks at the ground a bit, rather more boyish than the image of a Weyrleader would probably be.

The greenrider's shoulders hunch against the wind again. "Durin' th' day, we're in classes, drills. Or s'posed t' be." That today was -not- spent in classes or drilling is probably the reason for the return of his lopsided smile. "We started doin' rope drills few days ago. If all that flyin' don't wear her out..."

R'uen is at a bit of a loss. "You've just got to keep waking her up then, I guess. And don't let her whine her way out of it. She's not a baby anymore. She understands drills and classes, knows you've got to be there. She has responsiblities now, too." There is another little smirk, though, for the greenrider's lopsided smile.

B'kaiv swears under his breath, but it lacks the usual edge of his temper. "I'll try." It'll be about as much fun as shoving splinters under his fingernails, but he'll try. "Ain't easy t'... she's stubborn." Little Chielyth? Stubborn? Pshaw. "Ain't easy t' get her t' do thing she don't want t' do."

"Well, that's why dragons have riders," R'uen laughs. "So that they bother to do any of the crap they're supposed to do. Otherwise they'd play all day, make bad decisions, get into trouble, who knows what else. And anyway, you're tougher than her. You know you are. She just has you wrapped around her little finger. Talon. Whatever. You know what I mean."

B'kaiv says, "You say that like it's a bad thing. Like you wouldn't do anything he," a nod to the somnolent bronze, "Asked."

"It goes both ways, though. And, lucky for me, there isn't much he feels very passionate about. He's happy to roll with whatever is thrown at him, enjoy it while it's happening. That sort of thing." But now B'kaiv has got R'uen eyeing his lifemate, the mountain of colorful bronzen sprawled happily in the grass and watching the little green scamper all over the place. "I guess I got off easy there."

"S'alot like her, I guess," Kai remarks dubiously as Chielyth reaches out a careful foot to give one of the trees a shake. "Don't really matter what's happenin', or who she's with. She's just happy. She's been makin' friends places we ain't never been to," he adds as leaves drift down around his green and she bugles her delight.

"You sure it isn't -you- who hates mornings?" R'uen wonders with a smirk returning. He gives a jerk of his head to the bronze, who starts to get to his feet, shaking off the bit of grass that cling to his hide. "We should probably be getting back soon. Maybe Jantha won't notice you've been missing if you look like you've been... what was it you were supposed to be doing, again?"

B'kaiv snorts again and shoots the bronzerider an amused look. "I like mornings fine. Ain't never missed a morning class." Except, perhaps, for today. Chielyth bugles again and lollops across the field now that it looks like Zaiventh is going to play - yay! "Runnin'," he answers with a smirk. "Only dunno if she's gonna squall if -you- took me nowhere, though. I'll tell her you chewed me a new one."

"Chewed you a new one? How about... not that," R'uen snerks. "But yeah, tell her I did give you a stern talking to. And seriously, try to mess around with Sulisah on your own time. It just makes is easier all around. And try to get her up in the morning. And remember that soon enough you'll be graduating and you'll have more freetime and it will all get easier." How's that for a talking-to? Yeah, Rev isn't very good at it. At least, not when he isn't feeling it.

B'kaiv looks extremely contrite. Honest. Ignore the return of his grin at the mention of Su. "Yes, sir. I'll remember." Once he stops sobbing. "I'd say 'race you back', only Zaiventh ain't got no chance against Chielyth."

"I guess we'll just have to see about that," R'uen returns as he mounts up. "He can be pretty fast once he... gets going." Even if the getting going takes forever. And either way, the little green will at least burn off some more energy.

A little detail to be remembering

Fri, 01 May 2009 18:15:30 GMT

Who: Leova and R'uen
Where: Woodcraft
What: After birthday lunch with him family, R'uen runs into Leova. Vrianth blows grass up Zaiventh's nose.

Afternoon finds a certain green dragon rolling in the sunlit meadow, of all things, crushing the poor grass and wildflowers only to roll over again. They'll bounce back. Or, if not, grow back. Though her rider can't watch from her perch on the porch, she doesn't have to. She just sits back, lolls really, into the corner of the bench with a small chunk of the ice she'd brought for the kitchen floating in her drink. There's a small bowl of fruit next to her, sliced. Her eyes aren't quite closed, but they could be.

Zaiventh learns of the Reaches pair first, winging over from wherever he's been passing the time and spotting Vrianth rolling around on that lovely meadow. Rather than heading over to the courtyard to retrieve his rider, he sets down here on the soft grass with a rumbling greeting. << Vrianth. >> Saying her name much like she says his adds a rolling note of amusement to his voice and the play of colored light in his mind's touch.

Soft grass, soft dirt, it doesn't hurt Vrianth's neckridges when she arches just right to stop one of those rolls and peer upside down at the bronze, her paws gone floppy as a kitten's and her tail strewn out into the grass. And then her neck twists up and about so she can see him right-side-up, even if the rest of her isn't. << /Zaiventh/. >> It's a gravelly answer of a reward, as warm as though she'd been baking in that sun /all day/ instead of just the last hour or so. And amused. Very amused. << Look at you. >>

<< Yes, look at you, >> Zaiventh agrees with that rich amusement still present. << You're upside down. >> He glances over to consider Leova, sitting there like she might be asleep, and then he turns his great head toward the Hall, though there's no sign of his rider just yet.

She is, isn't she? << I do not think so. >> See? There's her head. Practically upright. The younger dragon's paws flex and relax, like she'd swim against the sky just for a moment before she gives it up, yawns, sinks back and /stretches/ hugely. The breeze picks up bits of grass, blowing them across her belly and across the other side. << /Now/ I am, >> Vrianth will now agree. << Are you... comfortable, Zaiventh? >> This, while her rider continues to lounge, in no hurry what-so-ever.

Zaiventh watches the whole production, entertained by the paws on the sky, the big yawn and stretch. But her question has him canting his head to eye her sidelong, perhaps even a little suspiciously. << I'm not uncomfortable? >>

<< Mmm. >> Another stretch, and a roll, this one with her wing tucked in just in time, has Vrianth more-or-less crouched. Sprawled, really. << You could, >> she allows, << Have it better. >> Surely. She idly scratches her chin against the grass, then lays her head down again, her wings expanding just enough to soak up more sun without, hopefully, risking those big bronze paws with big dark talons tramping all over them.

Zaiventh considers all this undignified rolling and takes another look toward the Hall, where now his rider can be seen just coming down the steps to cross the lawn. Then, well, Zaiventh doesn't often worried about dignified. He hunkers down to lay spread on his belly with his head and forelimbs stretched toward Vrianth, his wings spreading out to gleam multi-colored in the sun. She might be careful with her talons, but his rake rather ruthlessly as the soft ground, and then he sets his head low so that a great big exhale blows the shredded grass and bits of dirt at the green.

Brilliant green eyes, a bluer shade than her hide, reflect his own stretch from an admittedly foreshortened, big-nosed angle. Encouragement breathes over him as the breeze does, electricity that could /tickle/. Except. Except, then it /jolts/ instead as Vrianth hastily lids her eyes, twice-lidded at first but then just once, some of those dirty, grassy bits clinging atop her eyeridges, behind her headknobs and in other crevices, while others fall. She blinks at the bronze again. Once. Twice. Accusingly. And then Vrianth says, << Do it again. >>

Zaiventh watches with pleasure as that grass and dirt collect on Vrianth's face like so much confetti-au-naturale. When he commands him to make it happen again, the bronze hesitates as though he might not satisfy her request, but in short time there's another rending of the ground by his talons and another big exhale to blow the loose bits at her once again.

/This/ time, Vrianth stays single-lidded, leaning in so she can stare right /at/ the shredded vegetation while it's coming at her, much like flying through a swarm of insects but so much less messy. << Thank you, >> she says at last on a pleased draconic sigh. << And you want your own, Zaiventh? >> Since it was his own fine idea. And where is his rider by now, anyway?

By this time, R'uen's arrived on the meadow, wearing his white shoes as a little birthday gift to himself. The trousers are well tailored as ever, but the shirt is a casual one, light material button-down in soft sea green plaid. He comes up just as Zaiventh is setting his own head comfortably on the grass and lidding his eyes in a silent affirmative for Vrianth. The bronzerider just crosses his arms and shakes his head at the scene.

Which means, once Vrianth's bestirred herself to actually /move/ and scratch at the grass a few times, both man and beast get grass-and-dirt blown at them. Lucky them! Lucky shoes. Bright eyes.

"Oh, that's a nice way to treat a fella," R'uen remarks as the shoes get ground rained all over them. "Thanks for the warning." The last bit was for Vrianth, but this one is for Zaiventh, along with a lightly remonstrative look. He leans a hand on the bronze for balance as he shakes the grass and stuff from his trouser legs and shoes. "So this is what you guys do for fun. The most noble beasts of Pern." Teasing aside, his glance casts around to see Leova.

Brighter eyes, if that's possible, and a snort. Happy to. And then Vrianth tosses her head, with a swish-swish-swish of her tail. << /Noble/. You heard that? >> Her rider? Still up on the porch, comfortably out-of-sight if not-out-of-mind, where she'd been. Although... although she's sitting up now, and someone looking out from the kitchen could see a hesitant tilt to her head.

<< Aren't we? >> Zaiventh says that with a totally straight... tone. As if he's not laying there with his face full of grass and making the idea of noble somewhat ridiculous. R'uen, not actually able to see Leova hidden on the porch, gets ready to mount up, tugging the bronze's straps. "They're not snug, you're just laying on them," he scolds his dragon. Then to Vrianth: "She's probably busy with something, huh?" It's a half-question, half-guess posed to the green.

<< Very. >> Vrianth leans, aiming to blow some grass up Zaiventh's nose, because that would be even /more/ noble. And not that she actually looks at his rider, but, << Tell him that my Leova is very busy. If you count sitting and sometimes eating and sometimes sleeping, on that place where they sit when they meet. Which I do not. >>

It's surely passed on in some way, since R'uen pauses his tugging to look back toward the Hall. << Doesn't sound busy to me either, >> Zaiventh agrees, letting his breath come out in a series of short puffs to keep the grass from getting -up- his nose. Haha! Thwarted. << Is she waiting for him? >>

<< She was, >> Vrianth half-agrees, with an extra /snort/ at that grass just to make Zaiventh either keep with all that undignified puffing or else fall victim after all, << Sitting. In the place that she likes. Which happens to also be where she knows he knows where to look. >> She adds after a moment, << If he /wants/... >>

R'uen has cocked a brow at the two dragons, having stepped back to keep clear of the flying dirt. Zaiventh must be telling him something, thoug it's anyone's guess what that could be. He's also telling Vrianth, << That's an awful round about way to say yes. >> And he finds it rather funny. Now he's starting to blow harder, too. It's a grass blowing free for all! Of course, in order to blow, one must also inhale, and so up goes the grass, right in his nostrils, making him jerk his head up.

<< ...I might let her know that you would like company, >> Vrianth continues quite as though she'd never paused, and never mind his commentary. << If you will not be leaving too soon. And if he will see the dishes back where they belong. >> This last may be suddenly-gratified /Vrianth's/ addition as the trick succeeds. Still, poor Zaiventh's also setting an example of what not to do, and so she twists her head around so maybe she's not blowing at him either, but at least /her/ nose is safe. Probably.

She might be talking, but now Zainveht's head is jerking and twitching, his nostrils flared aseh tries to dislodge that very tickly little bit of grass. "I can linger a bit," R'uen answers for him, a brow cocked, questioning the green. He considers a moment longer before he gives the struggling bronze a hearty pat on the shoulder and turns back to for the hall. Finally, with something rather like a sneeze, Zaiventh blows that nose-grass at Vrianth.

Nose-grass. Grass that has been /up/ /Zaiventh's/ /nose/. Being blown at /Vrianth/. It's a good thing his rider's getting out of the way, because Vrianth's hastily backpedaling and it is not a pretty thing for a heretofore lounging dragon to be doing, especially with that particularly long tail of hers threatening to trip her up. << /Zaiventh/. >> Horror! Meanwhile, her rider? Tromping down those steps, after a stop by the kitchen to refill her drink, dish of fruit in hand. Because, apparently, connections live to be crossed.

At the first sign that she's running away, well, Zaiventh heaves to his feet to chase after her and keep blowing, even if there's nothing left up in his sinuses now. << You put it there! >> Thankfully, being rather bulky, he's not the quickest of creatures and at this moment, hardly any more graceful tha the scrambling Vrianth. As R'uen crosses the lawn and Leova comes down the steps, they finally come within sight of each other and he lifts a hand in a wave-free wave.

Running away, backing up... becomes bounding away, as Vrianth wastes time scrambling off her tail and around so she can run off faster, wings flicking back behind her. And if later on, the meadow winds up with a suspiciously barren patch? That might be where the nose-grass stopped sticking to her neck and fell. All of it has her rider laughing, eyes narrowed against the sun, without any sort of wave seeing as how her hands are full. "Afternoon!" she calls. And: "What is going /on/?"

In the midst of all that messy running, Zaiventh bows his head to swipe a bit of grass. He can't really spit it at her, but he blows it from his mouth to blast it on her rump as she's bouncing away. She might not even feel it. << Such a noble creature, >> he teases. And down on the path, R'uen is shaking his head, smiling as he puts his hands in his pockets. "They're blowing grass at each other and acting like idiots," he tells her fondly. "I almost missed you. I was just on my way out."

Vrianth can feel the /air/, the air that has been in his /mouth/, and isn't that enough? If grass can ricochet, this grass does, bouncing off her haunch to fall into the meadow, and a tail-flick's aimed to swipe /his/ muzzle if the other dragon's getting too close. << /Very/. >> "It's summer," Leova meanwhile has to say on a sigh, and then she gives him a second look that's less for his expression and more for his face. "Might as well enjoy the days as we have them, hm? You in much of a hurry? Wonder if there's anywhere safe to not get... trampled."

Zaiventh takes that tail to his muzzle, not jerking his head out of the way fast enough, and his warble laughs just as much as the dancing lights do. A paw comes up to try to catch that tail and pin it to the ground. R'uen turns to look over toward the meadow, whatever he can see of hit from here. "They're making the most of it," he chuckles lightly. "I have some time. Or, I'll make some time. Either way. What brings you out here today? Sunny meadows at Reaches aren't good enough?" He eyes all the stuff she's got in her hands and his own come out of his pockets. "Can I help you with any of that?"

If she hadn't bothered with that tail-swipe, maybe he wouldn't be able to slap her tail the way he does, but as it is... here's hoping he was careful with his talons /this/ time, because olive hide skids out of a closer pin, scraping, until with the next bound she's aloft. Flying. Let the riders talk down there. She'll just play up here. And if she sheds a few more blades of grass over their heads as she banks, so much the better. "Seen a lot of our sunny meadows," Leova says, only that last word gets a visible wince as bits of /this/ meadow flutters toward her drink. "Please. Here." She'll hand over both if he'll take them, even, so she can get a better look: "Besides. Wanted to see if your face survived." Those bruises were a few months ago, but still she eyes him like they could somehow be there still, beneath the skin.

Yes, it's the soft part of his paw that catches her tail, and gently enough that it's unlikely a wayward talon could come close to breaking dragon hide, even lovely olive green dragon hide. But oh, sadness, the tail slips away. So Zaiventh will just have to launch after her. It's a slower process for him, but he doesn't seem at all worried about that. As the rising dragons shed their bits of grass into Leova's drink, R'uen turns his gaze skyward to see them pass. "If my face survived?" He turns his glance to her, puzzled, but now distracted by unloading her things into his own arms.

"Seem to remember /someone/ getting all bruised up," Leova informs him, stepping back with her hands not above her hair, but above the her eyes like the brim of a cap, the better to scan the meadow for somewhere clear enough that... /that/ spot might do, a random hillock on the meadow's edge, not particularly torn-up-looking, with a downslope that might work for a backrest. She'll just pretend to ignore Vrianth for the moment, let the green play chase without her. "Remember that?"

"Right. With T'rev, yeah," R'uen laughs, readily remembering the bruises she's talking about. He turns his face this way and that, letting her see all sides. "How do I look?" Better than he has on other days, not seeming so worn and worried at the moment. He follows her glance. "Did you want to sit?" he asks with the jerk of his head toward that hillock.

Leova gives him a long look, a stern look, or at least one that can't quite stay stern because, "Better, actually." Surprise in her voice? Yes. Her fingers lift like they'd trace the air, the part-remembered glimpse: was it that eye? Maybe... no. And then the greenrider lets her hand fall, leads the way with a nod, and after all it's not far: just a place to sit and stretch out her legs and yawn into leaning back. She's looking more relaxed herself than she had been, these last few visits, though it would be hard not to. "/Amazing/ day. Look at that sky." And if Leova can watch her own dragon up there, so much the better.

"Mm. Good. Well, I the bruises have been gone for a while now." R'uen assumes that's the 'better' she's talking about, it seems. He watches that hand, but it falls without doing much. "Yeah, the weather's been good," he answers, following after her. "It's nice here, too. More... fresh? Sometimes it's a bit muggy at Fort."

"Before that." Leova adds after a moment, quieter, "Not to go back to old news. But. How I found out? Got a glimpse of you and /him/," a jerk of her chin upward, "Leaving the 'Reaches, back then. Or, Vrianth did. She asked." She reaches over, tugs at one of the thicker pieces of grass, pulls out a white-stemmed shoot and sticks it in her mouth, hayseed style, before sitting back.

"Yeah, I probably looked pretty bad that day," R'uen admits. He's probably rub his jaw, but all of Leova's things seem to be in the way. Instead he just turns to take a seat beside her on the grass. "I remember passing you on the way out. I went to talk to Milani." One by one, he sets her stuff in the grass between them.

Fruit! Reminded, Leova gives the stem of grass a last chew and then tosses it to her far side, the better to replace it with a slice of melon. She starts working on her bootlaces, then, with just a brief upturn to one corner of her mouth, and scruffs off them and her socks: bare toes! And a scrape through the grass gets rid of any sock lint. Even better. "A little detail to be remembering." She doesn't sit back this time, just in case. Yet. "Does feel fresh. Don't know. Something about the /trees/."

"Well, pretend I didn't remember it, then," R'uen says easily. He forgoes the fruit, instead putting his hands behind him to prop himself up when he leans back a bit. "Lots of trees," he agrees. "You've been doing all right?"

A quiet laugh's her comment to /that/, and she has another bite of melon without looking down, the sky reflected in her eyes. Now she sits back. "Pretty much," Leova says. "Better than it could've been." And: "Three months as of the day after tomorrow, and all. But look at them."

R'uen lets his own glance slip upward again, watching the sky over the hall, the tops of the trees. "Look at what?" he wonders with a confused twitch of his brow.

"Just flying. 'S nice." Leova idly toys with the grass through her toes, doesn't try to pluck it or even look at it. Lets it live. "You? How're you."

"Ah, them. That them." He turns his head to look more in the direction toward where the dragons play in the sky. R'uen skips over her question to ask instead, "Better than it could have been?"

"Just... hard to think anything bad could be happening, in the world. Just now." Leova can't help but smile up to the sky some more, and then a yawn brings down her eyes. She fingers the melon peel like the biggest decision in life is whether to take it back with her or just to chuck it. "Real nice day." Anyway. "How /are/ you."

"Kind of a dark way to put it, though. Looking at a day like this and thinking 'better than it could have been'. Like you're expecting it all to go sour." Now R'uen's dark eyes have cut sideways to watch her profile.

"Hm? No, no. More, after the months. The three months." Or seven and a half, depending on how they count. "Want some?" the greenrider thinks to ask. "S'good."

"Thanks, no. My mother stuffed me. I may never eat again. Birthday tradition. She actually made my brother throw up on Turn." R'uen lifts a brow in a 'can you believe that?' sort of way. "Does it feel ike three months?"

It surprises a laugh from her, a sideways look. "/Did/ she. And did she make him fill up all over again, or would that be... throwing good food after bad?" It's her own quip, and she really shouldn't laugh at it, but her mouth twitches with the struggle until she masters it, moves on. "Don't know about feeling like it. Maybe." Leova's quieter then. "Sometimes more, sometimes less. It swings."

There's a quirk of a smile from R'uen. "I think that would be throwing good food after bad, yeah." White shoes still on, he stetches his legs out, letting his ankles cross, one foot shifting back and forth over the other, just a little bit of movement. "Sounds like you're doing okay, though."

"Start thinking about the hard times, mine anyhow, I'll start feeling them, and..." Leova makes a cutthroat gesture with the side of her hand. Including the melon peel. "You know? Someone else's tragic cake-or-what-have-you story, that's a whole lot easier. How old did he Turn, anyhow?"

R'uen just gives a nod. No more questions about hard times. "I think he was thirteen or fourteen at the time. We have a bit more control now, don't let each other goad us into it so much."

"Was this..." Leova full-out turns. /Looks/ at him. "An /eating contest/?" And, "Are you saying he did and you didn't? Throw up." She thinks to add, "Thought you meant today, see."

"Nah, not like that. Just, when it's someone's turnday, my mother makes a lot of food and we try to make the birthday boy eat until he pukes." R'uen gives her such a wide grin. "And no, I didn't throw up today. I haven't. Just Larufus. Just that one time." He sits up, taking the weight off his hands and brushing the grass that sticks to his palms. In the sky Zaiventh wings back down to the meadow, landing like a mountain dropped out of the clouds.

She has to grin back, at that, though not without a shake of her head. "Better luck with that next time, then. /Larufus/. Hm." By then, Leova's leaning against the hillock again, though still turned his way. Their way, counting Zaiventh. The breeze keeps flickering through the grass, more audible in the momentary silence before, "Leaving? Already."

"What, you want me to throw up?" R'uen snort out a laugh. "Nice. Real nice thing to wish a guy on his birthday." He pushes himself up, taking some extra time to shake and brush the grass from his pants. "Probably should get back soon. Do a little bit of work before dinner." Standing as he is, he puts a hand to his stomach. "Though actually, I might be skipping dinner. No room."

"It's /your/ birthday? Didn't say that before." Leova aims to poke the toe of the nearest white shoe with /her/ grassy toe. "Well. Congratulations. And think of it this way, 'least you got a better name than your brother." It's a moment later before she adds in a lower tone of voice, "Don't reckon you ever said how you've been. Maybe next time, hm?" And in the meantime, Vrianth still hasn't come down.

"She says to a man called Ruin," Rev laughs, shaking his head again. "Larufus suits him. You've met him, surely. He's a cook with my mother. Looks a lot like her, too." He pauses, though, to let her try pointing out that question one last time. "I've been good. Or better. More... hopeful." Those brows go up again, asking 'how's that?'.

"I do. I really do." Leova has an airy lift-and-fall to her shoulder that leads into a flick of her fingers. The non-melon-peel fingers, thankfully. "And maybe I have. Just, not by name..." Her head's sunk back into the grass again, the better to look up and up at him, the fine muscles about those amber eyes relaxing as his shadow crosses back over her, and she listens. Eventually, genuinely, "I'm glad..." and then she /has/ to say it, recognized with a moment's added quirk to her smile, "Ruin. Hope it keeps up. Though /working/ on your Turnday, don't know what I have to say about that."

"I've skipped enough days in the past few months. I'll just have to hope that when they talk about me in the records, they'll say things like 'And he even worked on his birthday'. It'll make me look good. I probably need all the help I can get." While so often R'uen's expression just looks ready for a wink without ever actually producing one, he winks at Leova then. "I'll see you around, huh?"

"Could write it in there, try someone else's handwriting," the greenrider teases, and then says, "Reckon so. Happy Turnday, Master However-Old." Just that one last time, and then there's a long look for him and his dragon, before Leova settles in with what's left of the sun. And her dishes.

Weyrs, records and reading

Fri, 01 May 2009 18:06:34 GMT

Who: B'kaiv and R'uen
Where: Records Room
What: Making a mess of the records and talking about weyrlinghood.

A summer day is a terrible thing to waste, and yet here R'uen is, making a mess of the records. Now as long as Cirse doesn't come in to see him with various hides and journals and ledgers spread all over the table while he stands at the shelves pullling out yet more to add to the chaos, the weyrleader might just get to live.

At least the Weyrleader isn't covered in jam. Neither, for that matter, is B'kaiv as he ducks around a set of shelves to come across R'uen in his mayhem. "Shells - what're /you/ doing?" he wonders, half-concerned and half-impressed. Faranth only knows the number of times he's wanted to pull down all the hides and set fire to them, right? "You need help?" He's only got a pair of rolled hides under his arm; easy enough to set them down on a nearby shelf.

When R'uen looks up, there's no sign of trouble on his features, just the lifted, expectant eyebrows. "Hm? Oh, I read something and now I can't remember where and I can't find it again." He shakes his head at the mass of pages already hunted through, but hardly seems like a man possessed to find that information in a hurry at least. He pulls another book from the shelves. "How are you doing?"

"Oh," Kai says under this new information. Then, rallying, he offers the older man a shrug as he comes over to join him. "Pretty good. Had fun at th' Gather. Chielyth was so proud of herself - flew th' whole way, both times. Slept for hours after, a'course." He gives one of the as-yet untouched books an incurious glance. "What about you? Didn't see Zaiventh there - 'course, I weren't lookin', neither. You get t' dance?"

"Good. Wasn't too hard on her, was it? The flying?" With enough in his arms, R'uen turns back to the table to set them down. Instead of continuing his search right away he starts packing up some of the things he's left spread all over the table. "I was there, yeah. Did some shopping. There's a turnday coming up." The already-explored books are becoming a neatened pile, though one gets set aside for other purposes. "Feeling any better about things?"

B'kaiv shrugs don't-know-can't-know shoulders, but he doesn't seem too ruffled. "Don't think so. Jantha wouldn't'a let her go th' second time if it were too hard on her, yeah? An' she were tired, but I looked real hard for strains an' things, an' she didn't got none of those." The greenrider doesn't join R'uen in the straightening, but he does come over to keep the bronzerider company. That's almost as good! "Guess. W'ton's... shells." He breaks off to shake his head. "Even stupider'n usual. Dunno over what; ain't none of my business." Nor, says his tone, does he care. "Had a question, though."

A brow goes up at the mild remark on W'ton, but R'uen does press any further on that point, at least not at the moment. "You can sit if you want," he offers with a tip of his head toward the numerous unused chairs. Straightening continues, double checking titles and topics and organizing the pile in some fashion. "What's on your mind?"

Kai hesitates over taking that chair, at least until R'uen returns to - ugh - tidying reading material. "This... lottery thing. F'r the weyrs." He plants both elbows on the table, offers a thin book over for the bronzerider's perusal. "How's that work?"

"Lottery for the Weyrs?" R'uen asks with a thoughtful, memory-hunting frown. "I haven't heard about it, actually. Getting weyrs ready for you guys isn't really my area. What's going on?"

B'kaiv scowls for R'uen's lack of knowledge, but is willing enough to explain. Or at least, as much as he knows, which is only, "Dunno, exactly. Only V'rel said there'd be tickets, an' we'd put our name in t' get a weyr. But what happens if th' weyr - weyrs - you want go t' someone else? Then you got some people happy and some mad." He shrugs, then: not important. "What're you lookin' for, anyway?"

"Some people happy and some people mad... sound a bit like life, yeah? I mean, in actuality, we could just assign you some weyrs and not really bother with what you guys want or not. A place to live outside the barracks should be a step up no matter what you're moving into." R'uen's mouth pulls to the side in a wry smirk. "It sounds like they're making it a bit of a game for you." But the books and pages. "It was a passage this guy wrote, I really like the way it sounded and I can't quite remember the exact words. I remember it was on the left hand, upper half of the page, pretty early on." He shrugs easily; that's not important either.

"So how come they don't do that?" Kai asks, tossing the folio into Rev's to-be-sorted pile. "Mean, 'stead of gettin' people worked up, just tell 'em where t' go. Ain't like we ain't used t' that," he adds with a wry smirk. But then R'uen's going on about books and his face twists. Reading, ugh. "Ain't there Harpers or somethin' t' know that stuff?"

"Well, they probably want to accommodate a bit, but know they can't give everyone what they want. Trying to hit that happy medium, is what I'd guess." R'uen eyes the weyrling across the table without looking up from the books. "You worked up?" he asks, sketpical and amused. But ah, the books. "What am I going to say? Read through everything in the records and look for a passes on a lefthand page that talks about a field in the hills? Easier for me to look for it. I'm about done as it is. Speaking of harpers... how's that all coming along?"

B'kaiv doesn't -look- worked up, that's for certain. "Well, maybe they'd know th' words you're talkin' about, yeah?" Because Harpers read every single word that crosses their path. More: they -enjoy- it! Of course the question about his own harpering brings a scowl and a defensive crossing of his arms. "Fine." Not that he meets R'uen's eyes.

"So, not done with it yet, huh," R'uen can guess from the scowl, the monosyllabic reply. "What are they waiting for? It's not like you're gonna spend the rest of your life as a scribe anyway. Seems like you know it all well enough by now."

Out comes another one of Kai's all-purpose grunts. "Dunno. And I -ain't-. Can read plenty good; write, too." As he's maintained since before Chielyth cracked shell. "Dunno what Majawin's waitin' for. --Journeyman Majawin," he corrects sullenly, flicking a glance at the bronzerider to see if he'll be taken to task for the almost-forgotten rank. "Ain't like I'm gonna be no Weyrleader someday."

R'uen doesn't seem to notice the lapse in appropriate titles at all. "Must be soon. Maybe they're just hoping that eventually you'll blossom into an avid reader." The smirk is back, teasing. "You have any more trouble with that girl? The one with the..." he make a gesture toward his chest and cocks a brow to make sure the weyrling knows what he's talking about.

R'uen smirks and B'kaiv snorts, amused. "An' Chielyth's gonna lay eggs. --Who, Jaeyi?" His hands sketch a different shape in the air: hourglass. "Nah. Mean, saw her at th' Gather one day, with Su. She didn't stay long." And with Kai such a pleasant, charming companion, too! "I been stayin' away from her. Jaeyi, not Su."

"Right. Jaeyi." How easily we forget. "Sounds like all of that has calmed down at least. No more trouble with Phara, either?" Isn't that the real test? R'uen flips open the first of the next books, turning the pages rather idly. "It sounds like things are actually going pretty well."

"Pretty good," Kai agrees, breezing right past any mention of the bluerider, la la la. "You know, for bein' too tired t' think straight an' all." Which gets a half-smirk. "I just been keepin' my head down an' not makin' no trouble."

"That's how we keep you out of trouble, keep ya tired," R'uen is just saying, only half-seriously, when he stumbles on the excerpt he was looking for. "Ahah! Here it is. See? Left hand page, upper half." For a beat, he's distracted with reading it, and then nodding in satisfaction. That book, too, gets set aside. "Time to put the rest of this back on the shelves then. So you were saying things are good. I'm glad to hear everything is settling down, getting better."

B'kaiv snorts, good-natured. "Then some people ain't doin' enough work." He looks politely interested at the discovery, but not interested enough to try and catch a glimpse, or even ask what he's missing. "Yeah. An' - an' I don't think I'm gonna write that letter t' my family after all. I write an' don't say nothin' 'bout Chielyth, I got t' come up with some other reason I ain't gone back. An' I don't want t' lie t' em, not really."

"I still think waiting is the best way to go. Wait and then the two of you can just go home and face them and they'll see her, all lovely. And you can bring Sulisah so the know you still like girls. And then you don't have to worry about it for a while yet either." Because that's a good lesson to teach the weyrlings: put it off until later. That said, R'uen does make good progress returning the books to the shelves.

Procrastination, yay! "Maybe," Kai allows, tracing a section of woodgrain with one finger. "Ain't - s'gonna be a long time before that happens. Her goin' *between*, I mean." Reminded, he looks up with interest. "I tell you how she talked once t' this dragon from - well, dunno where he's from, but he weren't from Fort? Jantha wanted 'em t' practice reachin' out, an' 'parently she found this... shells, now I can't remember his name. But he were real friendly, she says. She likes him."

"A while off. Probably not as long as it seems, but you've got some time to not worry about going home." One by one the books slide back onto the shelves until finally R'uen's arms are empty again and he comes back to the table. "You don't remember who it was?" There's some surprise in his expression, but it fades quickly. "Sounds like she had a good time."

"She likes everybody," the greenrider agrees with a nod. "An'... shells. What'd she say about him?" His face squinches up as he tries to remember. "Smelled like... smoke, I guess. An' I think his name started with a 'W' Wie-somethin', maybe. I weren't really payin' attention, you know? --She talk t' Zaiventh much?"

R'uen doesn't seem to recognize a smokey Wie. He shakes his head a bit and gathers up those last two books that he'd set aside. "Not that I know of?" he remarks on the conversation between their own dragons. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't happen. All finished with his search, the bronzerider looks to the exit. "You all done in here?"

Thus reminded, Kai scowls again, pushes to his feet. "Yeah. Gotta get them hides Majawin wanted me t' read." They were over here somewhere, weren't they? A quick perusal of the table, then the surrounding shelves turns up nothing obvious. "She don't like Dasarth, though," he adds idly, prowling over to where he entered. "Don't think nobody likes Dasarth, 'cept maybe Gedroth."

"Well, there's no rule that says she has to," R'uen points out with a laugh and another shake of his head. "Anyway, I'm glad things are looking up. You'll have to keep me posted, huh? Good luck with your harper classes. Keep your chin up." He lifts his own chin a bit, as an example, and then R'uen is heading off for the fresh air and sunlight.

It is how rumors start

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 18:06:50 GMT

Who: Jaeyi and R'uen
Where: Glass Fountain
What: Hemlock pudding and boiled baker.

It's too hot at this time of day at this season for anyone to actually be expected to work, right? So Jaeyi, a little disheveled after a morning amid ovens and steamy dishwater (which is not sexy, for the record), has found refuge on a barstool. She must not have arrived so long ago, only enough time to collect a very cold looking drink and to sit, pressing it against her temple, leaning on her hand, sighing in theatric relief.

When it's hot like this, the best thing is a nice bath and a little lazy relaxing with drink, so that's what R'uen pursues. His hair is still damp, not in that sweaty way, and he's all freshly dressed with nary a wrinkle when he wanders into the bar and toward the counter. One look at Jaeyi, who appears to be not nearly so clean, and he pulls the stool beside her away a little bit before he sits. "The baker. Jaeyi, right?" He orders a pint with the lift of a finger.

It's a bar. She's a pretty girl. Jaeyi has to expect company, especially while she holds a cold glass to a warm cheek in a most fetching way. "Occasionally. Though the off-duty Baker at the moment," she responds importantly. "You're..." She narrows her eyes a little, tries hard to put a name to the face, finally comes up with, "The Weyrleader?"

It is fetching, that damp glass on her cheek, and R'uen quirks a smile, lets out a short laugh for picture she makes. "Give the girl a prize," he says when she guesses his identity. "Or maybe a cold bath before she overcooks."

"At this point, a cold bath would be ample reward." A breath blows across her forehead, and Jaeyi resolves not to sit and sweat and dissolve any further. Which is why she takes a very long, long, long drink out of whatever's in the glass; let's hope it's a non-alcoholic version of something. "I'm usually wittier, I assure you, but I am a little crisped, but let's have a go anyway. Do people call you R'uen or Weyrleader or sir?"

"I think crisp would be something a little less damp. You look steamed, maybe boiled." R'uen points out as his ale arrives and he gets to take his own long drink. "I'll forgive the lack of wit either way. People call me R'uen, mostly. Sir if the situation calls for it. Weyrleader is a bit of a mouthful I think." She did, however, promise to give the wittiness a try and so the bronzerider wears a rather expectant look, patiently waiting.

Considerably dryer than her person, Jaeyi asks, "You couldn't have thought of a nicer way to say that?" Really, boiled? "Wilting flower, prettily perspiring, oh you poor dear girl are you quite all right?" she suggests helpfully, a flourish of eyelashes as a bonus.

"Could have," R'uen admits, leaning back a little to take in the whole image of Jaeyi sitting there in all her disheveled glory. "But it wouldn't have been as accurate," he tells with a friendly smirk growing. "I can ask anyway, if you want. - Oh, you poor dear girl, are you quite all right?" He says it in a flat, stilted way, like poorly delivered lines, and then flashes her smile that's more genuine.

"Yes, thank you for asking. And may I inquire, do you enjoy hemlock with your breakfast or arsenic, sir?" The smile that Jaeyi sends over to sell the question makes it seem like this is just a perfectly normal thing to ask about-- one lump or two?

Wait, was her question not perfectly normal? R'uen just takes a beat to give the choice some actual consideration. "Hemlock." Cue the teasing smile. "But only if you really work with the flavor and don't just half-ass it to see me dead."

Seriously, all coy smiles gone and dark eyes gone very somber, Jaeyi says, "I'm a professional." As in, /of course/ he'll never know it's toxic till he's dead and, by then, it's not like he's in any position to care. "Threats-to-life are par for the course, then?" Less serious, leading into a less guzzly drink.

"Ah, how dare I suggest otherwise," R'uen chuckles, quietly though, like he's trying not to. He even bows his head in mea culpa deference. "My apologies." That playful spark is still in his eyes though, even if it's disappeared from hers. "Though I'd imagine it would be difficult to incorporate a new flavor without being able to taste it first. Just how much hemlock does it take to kill a man anyway?" It's all light to him. "If they are, then whoever is trying is doing a piss poor job, since I haven't noticed them at all and here I am, still kicking."

With renewed brightness, with childlike, Christmas-morning eagerness, Jaeyi asks, "Are you volunteering to help find out? You'd be amazed how difficult it is to get people willing to help put that question specifically to rest." Spinning a little on the stool, smiling in tooth-rotting sweetness, she just has to go on to point out, "That has the distinct ring of challenge, sir." God, if his corpse turns up any time soon, she is so going to the gallows.

R'uen just shakes his bowed head, even throws in a quiet tsk. He's seem more disappointed if he wasn't still smiling. "Now why would you want to poison a nice guy like me? Surely you can think of someone more deserving."

"You told me I look like I've been boiled," she answers with a remember? lilt, raise of brows, tilt of head.

"Oh is that all?" R'uen drinks his beer, utterly unworried. "I'm sure you clean up nice, if that makes it better. And really, the..." His eyes narrow as he looks at her, his hand raising to try to describe that dish-steam-and-sweat-induced halo of frizz as if it were on his own head. "Becoming in a 'recently exherted yourself' sort of way."

Offended right down to her vain little soul, Jaeyi notes, "Is that all? It's quite enough, sir. Quite." She sniffs delicately, charmingly, raises her chin like she's just oh-too-good to consort with-- "It doesn't actually look like that, does it?" With her fingers hastily smoothing across her forehead and temples. "I hate summer," with deflated tragedy.

Her hair might look just as he's said, but R'uen doesn't answer. He just eyes that frizz, imaginary or real, and smirks. "It won't last forever. The summer. You just hate it on behalf of your hair?"

"You're not making a very good first impression, sir. The Weyrwoman was much more..." Something. Some ineffable word that prompts Jaeyi to wave her fingers and expect that he, being a Weyrleader and all, will just understand what she's not saying.

A brow arches, surprised or skeptical. "Yes, well, she has a different way of..." R'uen struggles for the word. "...relating to people."

"Mhmn. It seems to involve." Jaeyi puts her glass on the edge of the bar, finds a smile that would forgive him his trespasses after just one more jab at them. "Not telling people they looked boiled. Stings, sir, it really does."

"Yes, well, I'm sure she learned early on that people prefer not to have those sorts of things pointed out to them." Cirse would likely have a more cut and dry take on it at least. R'uen is still amused. "How's this: maybe you usually look so gorgeous and put together that I've been intimated to speak to you until now. Would that be thick enough?"

"Without the addendum, it would have done very nicely." So Jaeyi allows herself the luxury of preening a little, of pretending she looks gorgeous and put together and not wilted, and then: "Do you eat custard?"

"Forget the addendum, then. We'll erase that part." That works, right? Just unsaying things? And R'uen does her the great service of watching while she preens. He even winces a little and sucks in a breath, as though her beauty, it has wounded him. Of course, it all fades too quickly to be real. "Custard, yes. Poisoned custard, no."

Jaeyi, narrowed eyes, "How do you know that? That you don't eat poisoned custard. Have you tried it before?" She surveys R'uen speculatively then, gives him a thorough once over as though looking for signs of long-term exposure to low-level toxins-- like that's the kind of thing she'd be able to eyeball. "Lemon?"

"Well, I'd have to guess that if I'd had poisoned custard, I'd be dead, or at least sick." Are there signs of long-term exposure to low-level toxins? R'uen lifts a brow at her, watching to see what her examination will reveal. "So no, I don't eat it. Or intend to eat it. On principle. I don't think I need to actually try it. Lemon, on the other hand, sound lovely."

It's fairly common for Jaeyi to be the center of attention, so it doesn't really get to her right away. Probably, being the man-in-charge, it's not so uncommon for R'uen to be there as well. But when a third person happens to shoot the pair a speculative glance, the girl finally leans over to lower her voice confidentially and say, "I think we better stop talking about poisoning you. It is how rumors start."

R'uen doesn't lean, but he will tips his head when Jaeyi does, to better hear her quieter words. In the end, they get a light exhale of a laugh. "And you're afraid of these rumors?"

Blinking-- because he's not leaning back? because that's an odd question? both? "Rumors that I'm going to poison the Weyrleader? Yes, a little bit. I don't think it will reflect very well on me, professionally speaking." But somehow this won't reflect on Jaeyi, personally speaking.

"You don't think it might be a little unbelievable that you would go talking to be about putting poison in my food if you really intended to do it" R'uen asks with a narrowed sidelong glance for the baker, and a smirk still sticking to his mouth. "Unless it becomes one of those things. Where it's unbelievable and so it's perfect, but then we know it's unbelieve and thus perfect, so then it doesn't work. But then we know it doesn't work and so on and so forth until someone turns out to be the cleverest by chance."

She starts to answer, starts to explain away why it wouldn't be so very unbelievable, but then R'uen keeps talking and Jaeyi shuts her mouth until he's quite finished. At the end, after a decent pause passes to ensure he's really quite done; "I'm sorry. Could you repeat that? I got lost somewhere along the way." Her finger skips through the air irregularly; somewhere-- along-- the way.

R'uen shakes his head again, turns back to his glass. "Don't fret your pretty head about it. I don't think anyone really thinks you're going to poison my custard. Is that what you working on today? Custard?"

"Oh, no. I'm supposed to be doing practical things like baking bread and stirring oatmeal." Which are not /pretty/ things, and the sigh, the way Jaeyi folds her hands tragically in between her knees shows it. "The custard, well, that would be special for you." Lucky dead-man-walking.

"Really? I was under the impression you made cookies and such. Mistaken?" The weyrleader looks over her again, something curious in his glance. "What sort of things would you like to be doing? Fancy cakes? Roasted meats? My mother's a cook, you know." Just so that she knows that R'uen is used to hearing about kitchen life.

Still looking tragic-- pretty, but tragic, Jaeyi clarifies, "I do make cookies-and-such. Though, really, way to over-simplify, hmn? But the i/dea/ is that I need to learn some more practical things, you see. --If your mother's a cook, wouldn't you be sort of... done with talking about the drama of the kitchen?"

"Is there a way to over-simplify cookies and such?" Dubious that. "Over-complicating, that I'd believe. But over-simplifying?" R'uen shrugs his shoulder though, drinks the last of his ale. And as for his explanation? "Maybe I'm just hungry," he grins puckishly. With the empty glass set on the bar, he's standing up from the stool.

Pained, so pained, "You're really--" Jaeyi has to sigh, to pull herself together, to unclasp one hand and lay it lightly over her heart. "Starting to hurt the very core of my being, sir. It's not just flour-and-sugar, it's..." Another of those ineffable things. "Perhaps you should eat then," she concludes, without offering to feed him. So there, she sniffs.

"Ah, but you're forgetting something," R'uen tells her, lifting a finger to stall her woeful complaints. "All the best things in life are simple. Simple doesn't mean less." Now he's smoothing out his clothes, getting everything back in order after all that time sitting. "You're right, though. It's time to check in and see if the food's ready yet."

Dubious; "That's a very. Nice. Philosophy you have. I'll keep it in mind." Jaeyi's smile is certainly a frail comparison to the pretty-little-sunny-crap she's been flouncing around so far, and the curl of her fingers is a simplified version of a wave at his imminent departure. "Good luck, sir."

That oddly frail smile gets a second look, but no comment. "Good to meet you, Jaeyi. I'll be looking forward to that custard. Lemon, not hemlock." She might have lost her sunny smile, but R'uen flashes another bright one to offer encouragement. "See you around."

One extra finger-curl is meant to bear R'uen on his way, missing the most charming of Jaeyi's smiles but she's not giving him the bird or anything.

How our perspective changes

Tue, 14 Apr 2009 17:26:39 GMT

Who: W'ton and R'uen
Where: Kitchens
What: W'ton wants food, R'uen wants food off his clothes. They talk about what weyrleaders do and the wild politics of Two Tree hold.

One of the hazards of being snappily dressed is that it's no little matter when you drop food on yourself during a meal. The offending item itself is nowhere to be see, but the brownish spots on R'uen's shirt and trousers attest that it once made a very unwelcome escape from his fork or mouth or whatever it was. Now the weyrleader is standing in the kitchen, worrying over the stains with a damp cloth and a bit of dish soap.

The perils of having a keen fashion sense! Thankfully W'ton's clothes are spiffy, but he also doesn't seem to have eaten yet. Sauntering in from the living cavern he looks around for someone and his eyes pass over R'uen along the way. Whatever task he was on, either for himself or someone else, he abandons it to head to the sink and soapy water. "Looks like trouble, sir, if I might say so," is his greeting followed by a charming smile and a gesture to the stains. "Anything I can do to be of assistance?"

"You don't happen to be an experienced laundress with magic powers of stain removal?" R'uen asks without looking up. He's managed to make one spot rather frothy with the soap - maybe it's fading a bit. "I hope it doesn't really stain. Cirse would probably kill me for wasting fabric." A concern he doesn't seem to share. But finally he glances up to see who he's talking to. "Ah, W'ton. How are things?"

"I am afraid I've no magical powers, but I do know a laundress who works wonders on stains," W'ton offers with a chuckle. There's a wink for the other man when he looks up as the weyrling adds, "She does owe me a favor or two still. Not that you need my help I imagine, but if need help with those just ask for Betti." With business out of the way he leans against the sink, careful of any water so as not to mess up his clothes. "Things are fine, sir, thank you for asking. I hope things are going well for you?" As well as they can anyway his voice seems to say.

R'uen's focus is down again, trying to get that next spot to turn white with suds. "You're suppose to wash them right away, yeah? So the stains don't set?" Oh, pretty clothes are such trouble to maintain. "Betti. I'll remember that." Scrub scrub, blot blot. And then the touch of something in W'ton's voice has the Weyrleader lifting his glance again, and cocking a curious brow too.

W'ton's nod is not seen since the recipient of it is looking down so he thinks to add, "Yes, sir. Right away." Since the laundress' name has been passed on and repeated she is allowed to leave the conversation. Alas she'd be so sad to know she was so easily dismissed. When eyes are on him again the weyrling grins and his shoulders shrug. "Busy all the time," he says as one arm gestures around. "Must make it hard on a man and then with the hassle of the fabric problem."

"Busy," R'uen agrees with an easy bob of his head. "But not -so- busy. It's not a scramble or anything. And really, there isn't much for me to do about the fabric problems. I don't grow fibers, I don't keep the records, I don't handle tithes. I just.. keep my ears open, ask the riders to do the same. Hopefully this season will be better and the delivery mix ups won't happen again." If that's really all it ever was. With the second spot on his shirt now soapy, he bends to continue the process on his trousers. "Generally, things are good. Wings are well, weyrlings in training. No catastrophes."

With a stretch W'ton can just reach a table to rap on it once with his knuckles at that last statement. "Don't go inviting trouble," he warns with a teasing grin meant to make light of his superstitious wood knocking. "Always a catastrophe around the bend, sir and best we just let it sit there. But tell me then how does a weyrleader spend his time? If you're not so busy as all that. I guess I always thought of it more like a holder running things and always having one more thing to do before the day is done. My father never did seem to rest so long as there was daylight." Back to leaning against the sink he's got a grin for one of the matronly cooks who passes by with a tray full of sandwiches. For his grin she lingers long enough for him to snag one.

"Probably true," R'uen laughs for that, pausing his scrubbing to bump a knuckle the cabinet next to him. There, the wood spirits of luck have been appeased. "How do I spend my time... Schedules to make, keep everything rotating so people don't get... bored." He makes a bit of a face that might say rotations are enough to waylay that particular reaction. "Drills as usual. I fly with some of the other wings now and then, just to see how things are going. Not the whole thing, just a bit. Reports, logs and such. It's a lot of checking in, really. Maintaining. But I don't need to do all of it every minute of every day," he adds with a shrug. His grin quirks. "I guess I pace myself." He watches the tray of sandwiches go by, but his hands are busy and he doesn't look terribly interested in the food.

"It all comes back to hidework in the end always I think, sir." W'ton grimaces at this and adds, "Which is dull as anything I suppose when its the same stuff over and over." Then he must, simply must, take a bite of his sandwich and admire the beauty of prepared food for a bit. When he can speak again he says, "What about traveling? Going out to visit the holds? Wave the flag? Or is that someone else's job?" Stopping there with the questions he grins. "I don't mean to pester, sir, but it's just nice to not be having to think about my own work for a bit. Suppose the opposite is true for you, huh? Let us change the subject then?"

"Nope, I do that. Well, everyone does that, really. Sweeps and watches, but I go too. Again, it's not something I do every day. They'd probably get sick of my face. 'Here's the Weyrleader again...'" He guesses with a wearied smirk put on for show. But for the offer to change subjects, he shakes his head. A thoughtful frown in thrown in, mostly for his stained trouser. "I don't mind. Really, this is what I do. Talking to people." That smirk returns, this time for W'ton.

In return for the smirk he gets a low chuckle. "Well, sure, but now I'm reminded of when my tutor made me interview people for an essay on Hold Structure and the Role of Everyone." W'ton grimaces in memory of the paper and finishes off his sandwich. "Guess," he says when done and fingers have been rinsed in the convenient sink nearby, "It's just a nice change from talking about how I am doing, sir. Everyone wants to know how Dasarth and I are getting along and I swear I've run out of ways to say everything's going fine. I don't know you well enough to ask about your personal life so I settled on your work."

That grimace is met with a bit of sympathy, agreement. Dull dull dull. "Aren't you glad then, that I didn't press about you and Dasarth? And now, even without pressing, I know enough to not have to ask anyway. Everything is fine." R'uen's smile gets cheeky with that and then fades again with his attention turning to his clothes once more. "Work, personal life... it's all a bit intertwined anyway. My family is at the woodcraft, so I'm there a good bit. Tiriana's at Reaches, obviously. Does this look like it's any lighter?" he asks then, righting himself from his pant-blotting to displace the whole getup, the relative neatness of stains now turned into large wet blotches.

"Huh. Family. Suppose I should go see mine when I can. If only to give em a hard time." W'ton scratches his cheek as he considers this option and whatever his decision he doesn't share. "Well, sir, I suppose too you can find out easy enough how things are going for any of us from the weyrlingmaster. We're likely mostly to complain horribly or go on about things being great. Even if neither's the truth. Nature of people I guess." Lots of guesses and supposes before he studies the stains and then shakes his head. "Think it looks lighter, but it might just be the water making the rest of it look darker, sir. Hate to hazard a guess on something as important as a man's wardrobe."

"A bit lighter." R'uen is still a touch distracted by this very important task of spot-cleaning. But he hasn't forgotten the rest of the conversation. "Where's your family at? Your father is... " Since W'ton's dad has come up a touch. "Yeah, I get the broad strokes from the Weyrlingmaster, but it doesn't mean I'm not interested in the details, getting to know my riders better." He shrug, pokes at the stains a bit more and the settles his weight back against the cabinets.

For mention of his father there's a light shrug from W'ton. "Ah, Two Trees, sir. Small hold down by Southern Boll. Not much of it to mention really. Right now I imagine he's trying to tear his hair up to get my brother to keep a thought in his head so he can not run the place into the ground when he takes over." It's all very dismissive really the talk of his family. Like they're of no consequence. "Although I suppose if it were still going to be mine I'd not be calling it so small," He does admit with a chuckle. "How our perspective changes, eh, sir?" Again he glances at the stains, but since he has no further observation he gives instead, "Ah. Details then, sir, are that Dasarth is a right pain in the behind already trying to boss around most anyone he meets. Doesn't have a charming bone in his body the poor fellow."

"Two Trees. Yes." Presumably R'uen would know such a place, being part of his responsibility and all, so he drops his head in a nod. "He must be pretty frustrated, if he spent all this time training you up only to have us steal you away." There's a grin for that, but also that curious brow raised again to check if his assumption is correct. And for Dasarth: "Is he dealing with lessons all right? You know, the part where he gets bossed around a bit?"

W'ton's laugh is not loud enough to be heard too far in the kitchen, but it is loud and his eyes sparkle as he says after, "Oh, I wasn't stolen away, sir. I was kicked out about three turns or so ago. So, if he's bemoaning his existence now I think that's all his own fault. His and my former betrothed's family. Her and I had no issues, but were not consulted." There's a thoughtful pause as he adds, "Not that it broke my heart not having to marry her and all. Nice enough girl. Poor thing got saddled with my brother, but I suppose she'll be happy enough running things in his name. And him being too stupid to catch on to her own extracurricular activities." The sordid life of a holder! "Oh, he doesn't speak out during lessons. He's keen on learning, sir. He'll only question em one on one at the end if he needs to. Got a strict idea of rank and all and our instructors do outrank him right now."

"Ah ha! Well, at least I'm cleared on that count," R'uen laughs richly, rubbing a hand across the scruff of his jaw. He's got a big scabbed-up gash on the side of that hand, not particularly new or notable, but there. "Sounds like things back home are pretty... exciting," that chuckle still lingering. "They know about Dasarth? Or is he going to be a surprise for them when you get around to swinging by?"

"Wrote them a letter, sir," W'ton says with a faint smile and nod. "Not that I got a reply. I suppose my brother's thankful although he ought to be careful since no matter the situation of his birth I do have a son." Shoulders shrug as he examines his clean fingernails. "Although I imagine he's safe enough since the boy's mother isn't too keen on me and all. Ah, but, yes, sir. Always exciting when you're not living there day in and day out. Was pretty happy to be moving on. Will be nice to see it again and know I can go back without looking like my hat's in my hand." One hand rubs over his stubbly bald head as he says, "Hats do hide my hair so I am forever without one." Before he can say much else his stomach rumbles and he gives the other man a sheepish grin. Well, he hasn't had but one sandwich after all.

A brow goes up for all that politicking in one little hold and the easy way W'ton lays it all out. R'uen laughs again, shakes his head for the lot of it. And then, "What hair?" he snorts good-naturedly, shifting his weight from against the cabinets to stand again. "I should be getting this stuff to the laundresses while everything is still wet. Betti, you said?"

"I did indeed say Betti," W'ton answers and touches his head again with a wink. "The ladies love it like this, sir," he confides with an easy chuckle. Then he straightens as well and nods his head. "I shall go then and lay the charm on a certain young lady who insists on hitting much too hard in self-defense lessons to go easy on me this time for the sake of our future together. It was a pleasure speaking with you, sir. I hope those stains come out and you can break up the tedium of your hidework soon without it being some unpleasant emergency."

R'uen tosses the weyrling a light salute, more in fun than in duty. "I'll manage," he assures. "Go charm the girls." With that he's off to take care of his precious clothes.

A Watchful Eye

Fri, 10 Apr 2009 18:05:42 GMT

Who: B'kaiv, Chielyth and R'uen
Where: Lakeshore
What: Rev is having an after dinner drink and B'kaiv takes advantage of him to let Chielyth do a little flying.

Lakeshore, Fort Weyr
The lake's shore is a broad crescent of golden-hued sand, stretching from the southwest wall near the feeding grounds and arcing toward the southeast and overlooking the blue waters of the lake. Where the lake deepens, that water turns a murkier blue-green, hiding an untold number of perils in its depths. It is an oft-used location for dragons seeking a place to sun or for residents and riders who feel a need to take a stroll; the sand is generally kept pretty clean and while there are no shells, there are periodic bits of obsidian and other volcanic stones to be found if one feels like picking around.

Ah, the lakeshore. A place where work doesn't normally get done. A place where a man can go and get some fresh air and digest his dinner, have a drink and not do much of anything else. That's what R'uen is up to as the sun goes down behind the bowl wall; he's just leaning against a rock and sipping a beer.

Ah, the lakeshore. A place where baby dragons can gallop and cavort and swim to rid themselves of excess energy before they keep everyone in the barracks up all night again. Chielyth leads the charge, wings spread wide for the best splash as she goes straight into the water. Kai's some twenty feet behind her, his jog slowing as he comes abreast of the bronzerider's rock. "Almost got you!" he calls after her; she squeals and dives under the water, plainly terrified of the 'monster'. "...Evening, sir," Kai adds, spotting R'uen, and salutes.

Chielyth? There goes the peace and quiet! At least her enthusiasm is so very adorable. The squealing and diving makes R'uen laugh to himself, perfectly prepared to let the weyrling carry on uninterrupted. As such, it's Kai that makes the first greeting and the bronzerider tosses back a light salute of his own. "Hey there. How are things?" Very casual.

"Goin' all right," the weyrling decides after a few seconds, and after checking on Chielyth, ambles the last few steps over to R'uen's rock. "She's only been up a few hours, so she's still all full of pep. They're flyin' now, you know that?" Because it's possible that the Weyrleader has been struck both deaf and blind over the past few days and not seen the babies airborne.

"Lucky you." R'uen's smirk may tease, but good-naturedly. "Is she the sort to just go and go until she drops?" he asks, or guesses perhaps, with a squinted, thoughtful glance toward what the green in question is up to out there in the water. "Flyin? Yeah, I saw something like that. Either it was you guys or one of the wings was doing a fine immitation. How's she doing with it?"

/Oh/ yes, Kai's head bob agrees. "An' she can't decide if she wants t' be up at night or durin' the day like everyone else, neither. She seems t' sleep during the morning, mostly, except sometimes that's when she's goin' t' sleep, and some times she's wakin' up." He turns a daffy gaze out to the green, who has found something to play with - a stick, perhaps. "Good. Real good. Stubbed her feet a few times, but she's... well. You want t' see?"

"I'd think she'd get bored at night. Less going on," R'uen muses, going on what he's seen of the little green. The little green with a stick. He cocks his brow then at the offer that comes unexpectedly. "See her fly? Sure, if you guys feel like showing off. Let's see what you've got," he grins, jerking his chin toward, well, out there where there's space to fly.

"More trouble for her t' get into," Kai corrects, but with nothing but fondness for his girl. "She ain't mean about it, though." As if Chielyth had a mean bone in her body. When R'uen accepts his face lightens; out in the lake Chielyth's head comes up and she's splashing to the shore but two seconds later. "Thanks, sir. D'kai, he said she could practice any time one of them or you was watching." So it wasn't -quite- a selfless offer.

"Ah hah," R'uen laughs, understanding now. "So you're just using us as a watchful eye." He takes a sip of his beer and rights himself from his lazy lean against the boulder. "Just, uh, tell her be careful. I don't want to get an earful from Jantha if she gets hurt on my watch. Does she need to..." His lips purse thoughtfully. "Stretch or anything before she starts?" Anything to avoid an injury that will get the big tough Weyrleader in trouble. As if big or tough really apply.

B'kaiv grins, just a little, but turns to watch Chielyth's dripping exit. "A little, yeah. But you got t' know how she's flyin', right? Important t' understand th' readiness of th' wings?" That's got to be quoted straight out of one of the basic weyr hierarchy lessons. The stretching suggestion gets a nod. "Yeah, show him." So Chielyth does: crouches low, flares out her wings (and doesn't chase after the droplets thus flung. She's concentrating!), rocks back onto her haunches. Lather, rinse, repeat.

"I think, when they talk about the readiness of the wings, they're referring to people who are done learning the basics," R'uen grins, a grin that turns terribly cheeky. "But! We'll call this a priliminary inspection." He watches her stretch, not able to keep the smirk off his face to see her concentrating so very earnestly. "Very good. Feeling loose and limber? Everything good?" he asks the weyrling, not managing to sound very serious. He's supposed to say these things, right?

Chielyth wriggles, unable to say so serious for so long, and bugles. "She says she's ready, sir," her walk-besider translates. "Remember your /knees/," he adds, presumably for her benefit, though R'uen could probably use the reminder as well. A last wing stretch and the green casts her gaze to the sky, checking for clearance. Crouches. And... up! She doesn't stay up for long, only a handful of wingbeats. She doesn't try to turn, either, though she manages to straighten out a wobbly path. /And/ she remembers to bend her knees on the landing, so that she lollops back to the men looking decidedly pleased with herself.

R'uen puts a forefinger to his head and the points it to B'kaiv. Good thinking, that knee thing. And, ever indulgent, he tucks the beer in his arm so that he can applaud the flight as the green bounds back toward them. "Beautifully done! And not a hitch on the landing!" The praise comes easily and with only a touch more enthusiasm than might be warranted. "Looking very good," he adds for B'kaiv. "Getting eager to fly with her now?"

B'kaiv's devoted grin for Chielyth is a sight rarely seen. "Yeah you done good," he tells her, sliding his hands down her neck before turning to Rev. "Thanks. Yeah, a little. I mean - I'm still gettin' used t' the idea of /her/ flying, much less bein' bigger'n me." Which she isn't, yet. "Suppose Zaiventh was her size for about two days right after he Hatched?"

"Yeah, something like that," R'uen laughs at the comparison on the green and his own lifemate. "He grew so fast, though, it was almost impossible for him to keep track of himself. He's not a gentle sort, either. Used to turn around and knock me on my ass." The beer is retrived from his arm-hold and he sucks down another gulp. "Does it make you nervous then? Her up in the air like that? She seems pretty comfortable."

"Gedroth's like that, sometimes. Don't know where his wings is goin' or where his tail's been." Kai lets out his breath and shoves Chielyth playfully back toward the lake, saying, "Go swim out some of them ya-yas." He watches her go, at least until her feet hit the water, before throwing a sidelong look at the older man. "First few times, yeah. Thought she was gonna... I dunno. Fall. Hit somethin'. Land bad. And she's had some bumps, but it ain't. It ain't been /bad/. An'... shells. She's /supposed/ t' fly. You can see it." Though extrapolating 'supposed to' from one wobbly-winged display might be pushing things.

It might be pushing things, but R'uen smiles encouragingly anyway. "Absolutely. Made to fly. And really, it's probably safer for her to burn her energy off up there, as long as she can make the landing. Less to bump into and all. Plenty of space." His glance flicks out to the green again as he drinks, then, "How about you, B'kaiv? Things going all right?"

"Long as someone's watching," Kai reminds wryly, his own eyes going up to the rapidly darkening sky. "Gonna be a while before she can go up by herself." The rest of the question have him lifting one shoulder. "...Yeah," he answers after a few seconds, sounding vaguely surprised by his answer. "The bag really helps, an' for once we're learnin' somethin' I already -know-, so I don't feel ten kinds of stupid. Which reminds me. W'ton suggested somethin' 'bout Phara, only I don't know if it's a good idea or not. You wanna hear it?"

"It'll go quickly. If you want, I can try to come by a bit more, give her some extra practice time?" R'uen offers, though he seems a bit dubious about just how much time he has to back it up. He grins again to hear the bag is getting some use. "Great," is all he says, though there is some recognition in his eye for the comments about stupidity. Rev doesn't remark on it, though. Instead he's distracted by the discussion of Phara. "What's that? Yeah, let's hear it."

B'kaiv nods and launches into it. "So we was - we were talkin' about somethin', an' he said th' way t' keep her off me is t' be nice. Not," he hurries to explain, "/Nice/-nice, but he says t' say somethin' about her hair, or dress, or somethin'. Only seems t' me as soon as she thinks I don't not like her no - anymore... shells? This makin' any sense? Ain't she just gonna be on me /more/ if she thinks I like her, which I don't?"

R'uen looks at him for a moment, his mouth open like he'd like to have a response ready, only instead he lifts a hand to rub over his head, and over his face just a little. "I have no idea. I... don't know what goes on in her head. I don't know why she's all worked up about what you think of her, either. You could try it?" Not that he sounds real confident. "I'd say just be respectful."

The younger man scowls and knots his arms for the non-answer, looks away toward his dragon. "Already am. I mean, I call her ma'am or bluerider an' everything. Guess I'll just keep thinkin' about it. I can try it, if things get... yanno. If they change or nothin'. She ain't as bad as she were," he adds, with a quick glance at the Weyrleader. "Maybe Jantha spoke t' her. I just don't want nothin' t' do with her outside of classes."

"Not saying you aren't," R'uen says after another sip. "I jsut don't know that there's much else you can do. Lying, being false about, doesn't seem like it could help much. If you're being respectful, then just keep at it and maybe... If it's not as bad as it was, maybe it's working already." Still, he frowns in sympathy for the weyrling.

B'kaiv nods dubiously, but he does nod. "Yeah, maybe." And maybe Chielyth will turn into solid gold! ...But she doesn't. "She wants me t' play with her," he continues with a nod. "Thanks for... for watchin' her, an' everything. Bein' here."

"Any time," R'uen grins. "And keep me posted. And if you want to talk or something, you know, just have her give Zaiventh a yell or come by. Whichever." He makes it sound totally reasonable. "Don't worry about Phara too much. Focus on yourself and her. Do what you have to do." With the weyrling ready to tend his lifemate, the weyrleader shifts his weight, ready to leave them to it.

Come by. Drop in on the Weyrleader. Kai nods anyway, like this -is- an entirely reasonable idea, and heads off to join Miss Splashy in the lake, leaving Rev to his beer-drinking and rock-supporting.

Very Respectable

Sun, 05 Apr 2009 19:16:18 GMT

Who: Hattie and R'uen
Where: Lakeside
What: Just a little discussion about flying fists while the dragons play in the water.

Late afternoon is not the time for lunch. But when has this ever affected Hattie, who, as always, has decided that the dinner hour should be shifted to later rather than the more traditional midday. She must have done something good in class, for she's been given the next couple of hours off, not that it's possible to tell from the way she stares intently at the book in her lap. A meatroll held between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand looks more and more like it's going Elaruth's way instead of Hattie's, for the little queen reaches... reaches some more... and whilst her rider moves her hand away, eventually she's leaning backwards and falls flat on her back in the sand, only for Elaruth to swipe the meatroll anyway. A good thing Hattie's laughing.

Zaiventh arrives on the scene first, though really it's more of a fly-over, since he comes in low over the beach and backwings right into the water. R'uen is a good bit behind; walking is so much slower that way. It seems like he's come just to be an audience for the bronze, since he's not dressed for dragon-scrubbing. Also, he looks to be healing, bruises turning more and more yellow every day. Now, seeing Hattie and Elaruth on the sand, Rev adjusts his path to head toward them, greeting with an easy smile and an offhanded, "Afternoon."

Bennath is hanging out near the gardens where his rider is, but Elaruth's down there and that's exciting enough to draw his attention when Hattie starts laughing. The blue lifts his head to rumble at the little gold and then, oooh, Zaiventh! The bronze also gets included in that rumble.

Weyrleader. Almost upside down Weyrleader with the potential to loom. There's no way Hattie is going to manage scrambling to her feet without throwing sand everywhere or looking stupid, so she stays right where she is on the sand and even offers a salute from there. "Afternoon, Sir." But those bruises aren't right whichever way she looks at them. "...Dare I ask?" she hazards, now making the effort to sit up very slowly and deliberately. Having tracked Zaiventh's progress into the water, Elaruth is distracted at the last moment by Bennath's rumble and she leaves off tormenting her rider to greet both blue and bronze with her odd-pitched cry.

R'uen comes to a stop far enough away that his shoes aren't likely to kick any accidental sand in Hattie's face - that's no way to treat a lady after all. That she salutes from her position makes him grin a bit more and the question she asks is one he's heard plenty over the past few days. "Dare away, but the answer is particularly interesting. I asked for it and I got it handed to me." He pays little mind to Zaiventh now, and really, with other eyes around to give him attention the bronze hardly seems to care. He bugles brightly at both Bennath and Elaruth and continues rolling around in the water.

Bennath likes water! Does Elaruth like water? He's only too pleased to leave watchdog station and turn to hop-flap towards the water where Zaiventh is. Play?! The humans can do whatever, he's going to go get /wet/.

"What, your ass?" Hattie quips, right before she remembers who she's talking to. Oh look, sand! "What sort of state is the other guy in? Or was it a girl? Did you get beat up by a girl? ...Sir." And then she's on her feet, book in hand. Hattie glances away from a study of R'uen to see Elaruth barrelling straight for the water after Bennath, though by the time the young dragon's momentum catches up with her, long limbs tangle and she more flops into the water than arrows.

R'uen is more willing to forgive her for remebering herself than forgetting herself. He just laughs at her quip. "It does seem that way. The other guy, I'm sorry to say, looks much like I do." Which would probably make the other guy T'rev, since he's also been wandering around in a similar condition. But Rev doubletakes. "You think I'd beat up on a girl? Hattie, I'm wounded. Really." He makes the appropriate face, too, pouty-lipped, and puts a hand over his heart. It only lasts a beat. "What are you reading?" And Zaiventh, with sudden bodies careening toward him, ducks under the water, leaving only a ring of ripples where he was last seen.

Bennath sticks his head out to nudge Elaruth back to her feet. So helpful! Then he ducks his open mouth into the water and blows a whole gout of water at the little gold before taking up a second mouthful to lay in wait for Zaiventh to reappear, his rear end wriggling in excitement.

"Hey, I never said that, I said did you get beat up by a girl," Hattie insists, playing along. "Except that's not really any better. Well. If a girl wants to brawl, I say let her, but that's probably just me." She waves the book around in the air for a moment and returns it to her side. "Self defence. I figure it can't hurt to know the process in your head before you have to do it. And, well, the biology bit is interesting. Knowing where to strike and what it does." Elaruth just about manages to get a 'thank you' nudge back at Bennath before she's covered with water. Charming! She spins quickly to generate a wave that's sent back at the blue by her pouncing in the opposite direction, to try and pin the vanished Zaiventh between them for when he reappears.

"Well, I don't get into fights with girls. Better?" R'uen corrects himself for her approval, easy grin ever-present. "I can't imagine just standing there, letting yourself get beat on by anyone. That would be pretty messed up." He does clarify, "Not -you- you. You know what I mean." But then his eyes narrow thoughtfully at Hattie. "I don't think I'd have pegged you to be the fighting sort." That's before she even swings the book around. Her subject of study appears to be quite illuminating for the man. "Ah, seems like throwing punches is on everyone's mind these days." He shakes his head, bewildered. Meanwhile, was that Zaiventh out in the deep water or just a really big fish grazing the surface? Eitherway, there are ripples now headed directly for the little gold.

"Much, Sir," Hattie dutifully responds, trying to smother a grin of her own. "Me neither. Fighting, I mean. Don't think I'd be a heck of a lot of good in a fight if I'm honest, but we have to learn. At least the mechanics of it is engaging. Faranth knows how she'd react if I threw a real punch anyhow." She in the water, who eyes the ripples and attempts to follow them back to their source, gold hide vanishing all at once beneath the surface. "Forgive my asking," her rider continues, "but who else is contemplating beating up on others?" If Hattie's eyes keep going distant, all that there is to show for it is the odd few moments of rapid blinking every so often.

"I'm not much good at it myself," R'uen chuckles, pointing at his own face as evidence. "I'm not sure that the self defence stuff really came in handy either, but it wasn't that sort of... party." Hattie looks to the lake and so Rev's glance is compelled to follow. With the ripples heading toward Elaruth and Elaruth heading toward the ripples, what she's most likely to experience is Zaiventh surfacing from beneath her, like a island rising under her paddling feet. "It's not really... like that," R'uen answers her, turning back, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Not people wanting to beat up on each other, just wanting to throw punches, far as I can tell. I think everyone's just antsy with the seasons changing and everything."

"So I can take it that you're the example of what we're /not/ supposed to look like at the end of a brawl, should someone try for one?" Hattie teases, trying all the while to look ever so innocent. It's not a good act. "I think half my class want to swing for someone some days," she sighs out. "Me included. Not to hurt anyone, just to... I don't know, we're locked down from doing just about everything, it's gotta come out somehow." Elaruth keeps paddling and finds that she's not getting anywhere, so paddles faster - go, feets, go! - until she touches bronze hide. A faint bleat of alarm and she makes to leap from Zaiventh and back into the water with an awkward flap of her wings. When she surfaces, it's with a blue-green gaze and a butt of her head aimed at the bronze.

"Yes, exactly. Or something like that. Wait, is that the same as being a bad example?" R'uen wonders, lashes narrowing sideways at her, that smile echoing the playfulness of her feigned innocence. "Yeah, I think that's part of it. It's tough, needing to just relax but always worrying over someone else," he adds with a look toward the lake, where Zaiventh has surfaced, dumping the little gold into the water and squinting his lids at all her flapping and splashing. She might attempt somethig of a head butt, but he noses her back end to change her trajectory. And he snorts out a challenge to her. R'uen smirks at the two dragons and turns back again. "I've commissioned a punching bag for you guys. Seems like a better idea the more I hear. Might just save some one from a bloody nose."

"No, no..." Hattie responds, that adopted air of innocence making her voice light. "We'll call you a... teaching aid. Suffering so as to give us an example and a warning in one." Blink. "Right?" Cue the stupid grin. "Punching bag? Sir, I think I could hug you. But don't let W'ton ever hear that." The look Elaruth shoots Zaiventh just screams, 'but I'm only little!' And yet, once she's righted herself and flipped her wings back, she charges to pounce, wave generated before her by her scrambling and paddling.

"Teaching aid. That sounds very good. Very respectable. Not at all like a Weyrleader who ran off and acted like a punk a kid," R'uen says, the grin turning puckish. A brow cocks for the mention of W'ton. "Does he object to hugging? That's a new one." Zaiventh rumbles richly for the little gold's look and this time he lets her run right into him, making a big show of how she bowls him right over. He even flails his tail around for extra splashing.

"Of course not, you would never do that," Hattie declares, now trying for the oh-so-solemn face. Were it not for it being overdone and the sparkle in her eyes, it might have worked. "Oh, no, I'm just kidding," the weyrling waves the remark off. "If I go round hugging other guys, he might get jealous or worried or something," she jokes. The book gets tucked under her arm. "Just hope there's no punch-ups over wanting to use the punching bag! We could be the first class to be reduced to that." Elaruth: triumphant. The little queen rears back and flaps her wings a few times: look at me, aren't I fierce? But then she has to check that Zaiventh is okay and sets to nudging gently at him to make sure he's intact.

"You and W'ton, then?" Not quite expecting that, R'uen's brows arch upward and while he tries not to laugh, it breaks out anyway. Which probably isn't all that flattering. Zaiventh, instead of responding when she nudges, just lets himself sink in the water, pretending to be lifeless.

"Hey, watch it, I ain't afraid to kick you when you're down!" Hattie warns, any hurt prompted by that laughter mostly hidden by her pretending to advance on R'uen a pace or two. When she relaxes, she sighs again. "But... yeah. Something, anyway. Made a promise. We're not breaking any rules." She waits; adds a, "Sir," in there again just in-case. Her gaze goes out to Elaruth, who keeps nudging and nudging at Zaiventh, then her paws start at it too. She shivers from nose to tail and looks mournfully back up and across the shore.

"Sorry, sorry," R'uen gets out, shaking his head. "Nothing like that. Just surprised is all. Good for you." He sounds, however, a bit more lighthearted than heartfelt. But then he puts on a stern face, as real as her innocence and solemness, "Rules. Good." That's all he feels the need to say on that, though. "He's playing a trick on her," he says of Zaiventh, just in case Hattie doesn't know already. "Terrible of him." Rev might not wear that unfocused expression, but it's clear he's saying something to the bronze and out in the water, Zaiventh resurfaces with a spread of his wings, a vertiable 'tah-dah!'.

There's no reproach from Elaruth, far from it, instead she watches with obvious relief, and with a bit of splashing all but flings herself at Zaiventh to make sure he's there. Yes, he's there, and she touches her nose to him to confirm it again. She just breathes for a little while, then all of a sudden hurls the biggest wave she can manage at him and scampers off, peering over her shoulder to see if he'll follow. Hattie's relief is even more obvious than the gold's and she wipes a hand over her face. "Sorry, I was expecting a crisis of epic proportion there," she admits. "Right. I'm going to return this whilst she's enjoying herself." The book is yanked from under her arm. "I'm sure I'll see you about, Sir."

Zaiventh cannot help but be a little touche, and not just by Elaruth's nose. He turns his big head to touch her too, totally fooled by her apparent relief and thus, totally splashed. He trumpets out his surprise and lifts his wings high to make himself all the more frightening as he chases her through the water. Surely he could catch her, overtake her - that wouldn't be a problem at all - but he lets her keep the lead instead, eyes whirling in vivid shades of amusement. R'uen's been watching the whole thing, perhaps almost as anxious as Hattie to make sure Zaiventh doesn't accidentally cause some last emotional scar. But everything seems peachy and he laughs with satisfaction to see his lifemate so tricked. "I'll see you around," he says too. "Good luck with your studies," is tacked on as he pulls a hand from his pocket to shake a fist. Then he turns for the nearby rocks, likely to sit and play audience for a while longer, though he also pulls a hide from his back pocket. Everyone has studying to do.

Ah, Weyrlinghood

Thu, 26 Mar 2009 17:34:08 GMT

Who: B'kaiv and R'uen
Where: Baths
What: R'uen goes to properly introduce himself to his new mentee, but if B'kaiv wants to think he's in trouble, Rev will let him go on about that a bit.

Hot Springs, Fort Weyr

The hot springs are contained with a high domed cavern, the walls perpetually glistening with a combination of condensation and mica. Steam hangs on everything, lending a soothing and dreamlike quality to the entire experience. In the center is the main pool, which is vaguely kidney-bean shaped, and large enough for a few fully grown dragons to lounge in comfortably and easily reached by the archway from the bowl. Three smaller pools, more suited for human use, are clustered near the entrance leading toward the inner caverns. Also located near the inner cavern entrance are a set of shelves, fully stocked with pots of soapsand and towels for those without the foresight -- or means -- to bring their own.

While the dragon pool is a natural creation, the human pools are the result of Ancient ingenuity and have been constructed with hewn steps and seating. The water in both pools is hot, but comfortably so, and are a perfect place to bathe young weyrling dragons or for residents to relax after a long day of work.

Obvious exits:
Bowl Inner Caverns

B'kaiv's hip-deep in the smallest of the pools, scrubbing grimly at a covering of blood, muck, and other please-don't-identify-them substances. Mostly they're on Chielyth, but the man's face is splattered with them as well, just starting to soften and trickle under the omnipresent steam. "Dunno what you thought you was doin'," he mutters to the little green, who wriggles like a sulky child under the attention.

There's no real reason for R'uen to show up in the baths. He looks perfectly clean, he has no change of clothes with him, he has no dirty dragon that needs scrubbing. What he does have is a purpose completely unrelated to getting washed. He strolls in with his hands in his pockets, wearing his tailored coat and trousers, his spiffy white shoes. His eyes scan across the space, but the young man with a baby green isn't hard to spot. He heads in their direction. "B'kaiv." It's like hello.

Those spiffy white shoes are almost like a magnet: they draw both Kai's eye and a sardonic snort before he turns back to the grime. The Weyrleader's words jerk his attention back, though, and not to the shoes, but to the other man's face. He gapes at the Weyrleader for one second, two, before remembering enough to shift the rags into his other hand and give a salute. "Weyrleader." And in case that wasn't enough, "Sir." Chielyth wriggles and sighs - so put upon! - so Kai soothes her with a touch, still warily watching R'uen.

"What?" R'uen asks, eyebrows pulling in when he's met with that, well, that look. He rubs at his scruffy jaw, maybe there's fluff or food stuck to him or something else embarassing. "Do I have crap on my face?" He eyes the weyrling. "Of course, you should see yourself." Please-don't-identify-them substances and all.

B'kaiv's, "No, sir," turns into a shoulders-hunched, defensive grunt at the reminder of his general cleanliness (or lack thereof). He splashes water on his face, turning the don't-ask into sad discolored trickles; splashes again and most of them are gone. Mostly. Resigned, "You come t' talk t' me 'bout... what I done this time, I guess." Not that -he- wants to talk about what he did. He wants to wash the don't-ask off Chielyth, even if she wants to blow bubbles and make splashy splashy with her wings.

With the young green displaying splashing tendencies, R'uen keeps his distance from the pool's edge. After all, he looks good. And now that he's sure there's nothing random stuck in his shorn beard, both hands are in his pockets again. For a beat he watches the weyrling and frowns thoughtfully. "Do you want to tell me your side?" Yes, that's exactly why he's here. Exactly.

With the dubious cleanliness of the water coming off Chielyth's wings, keeping spiffy white shoes well clear is probably wise. Kai's answer is a terse, "No," but after a few seconds, the rest bursts out anyway, halting and angry. "Don't see why she had t' go t' the sharding /Weyrleader/ 'bout it. Ain't like I'm gonna. She just got t' rub it -in-. Gonna do what she tells me, a'right? You can ask th' Weyrlingmaster or anybody." Scrubity scrub, and if he's attacking Chielyth's muck a bit intensely, the green hasn't complained yet.

"What, exactly, do you think she's rubbing in?" R'uen wonders. He rocks on his heels a bit, lets his glance slide around the space, lingers for just a moment on that pretty blonde aross another pool. "I'd like your view of things, if you have one."

B'kaiv's jaw juts. For a few more seconds he neither looks up nor responds, but eventually... "She thinks she's better'n me. Prancing..." He squeezes out the rag a little too firmly and Chielyth protests even though Kai's knuckles were white on it, and not her. There's a mumbled, "Sorry," as he wraps his arms about her, heedless of the mess, closes his eyes against the day. Perhaps his deep, even breaths will be familiar to the other man, but even if not, when a handful of them pass and he straightens again, his voice is more under control. "All I want is her t' stay away from Chielyth. Sir."

"The prancing bothers you?" Rev cocks a brow. "That's your problem?" He's teasing a bit, there's a touch of a smirk there on his face, but it fades rather respectfully when the weyrling comforts his young lifemate. "What's she doing to Chielyth?" he asks more seriously.

B'kaiv's face is all smeared again, but he doesn't seem to care. Or notice. Just like the teasing. "Thinks she knows everything." But there, his voice has gone tight again. "Settle down, you," he growls, and catches one of Chielyth's wings; she subsides and cranes her neck around to watch him sluice water, making interesting patterns over her interesting patterns. "--Dunno. Gonna do something, though. She'd /like/ to." If Kai weren't there like a protective thundercloud.

R'uen looks skeptical for all of that, undaunted by the young man's surly demeanor. "She's going to do... something. Cover her with muck? Break her wing?" She's covered with muck and having her wing mandhandled now, after all. "It might be a long life if every know-it-all gets you so riled up," he laughs.

The weyrling's shoulders hunch again at the laughter, and he doesn't look back at the other man. Not for love nor money. "Used t' be I could just beat the crap outta 'em," he complains. "Or they'd only be around a day or two. But she's got t' be in the sharding...!" He swallows the rest of it, scrabbles after another pair of 'calming' breaths. "That's my side of it. You gonna tell me I'm wrong, too?"

R'uen listens; he's good at that sort of thing. "Can't say you're wrong. You haven't really... said anything. Other than that she frustrates you and you can't deck her." He frowns again, a thoughtful, considering sort of expression. "You sound like you could use a drink." He even eyes the green as if considering how wise it might be to allow a little rule bending.

B'kaiv has a laugh of his own, a breathy, disbelieving snort. "/Could/ I." -Now- he looks back at R'uen, all frustrated eagerness and incredulous hope. "Ain't had nothin' but ale for... shells. Too long. Before her." Who, one wing clean, extends her other, all ready for Kai to wash. "An' don't get me started 'bout getting. Uh." His words crash right into the Chielyth's presence, and finally tiptoe through the detour of, "Spending time with a girl. Anyway, T'rev said the Leaking Cavern got all... frilly."

"I don't know that it'll do much, but..." Rev slips a hand from his trouser pocket to inside his coat, pulling out a small metal flask. "Don't tell on me," is added when he hands it over. "That other thing, yeah, not helping you out there." The getting. B'kaiv is on his own with the getting. "Yeah, the Leaking Cavern is... not what it was. Still serves, though. That's all I really need." He gives a shrug, but he's not one to get too worked up about frilly.

B'kaiv says, "No, -sir-!" with the first real enthusiasm he's shown all evening. He shoots a look over his shoulder, but the haze keeps most prying eyes away, so he wades over to accept that offer, shoot Chielyth a wary look, and take a pull. Afterwards he scrubs the mouth clean on an elbow, only realizing after the fact that this may not have been the most sanitary of choices. A look 'round brings only Chielyth, dirty rags, and bath water into view, so he offers the flask back with a wry, "--Sorry."

"Hope it helps," R'uen laughs, taking the flask back and repocketing it after he takes a nip for himself. "That can't help much," he adds, a quick thumb toward the blonde still lingering in the farther pool. She's not a bad looking lady, no not at all. And she's not doing anything to hide it, either. "You leave a girl behind when you left the sands?"

"Thanks," Kai adds after the fact, but before he returns to bathing the green, who is nearly free of muck by this point. A look shot at the blonde and he snorts again, doesn't bother to hide his grimace. "It ain't, no. Just tryin' real hard not t' think about it. /Real/ hard. Thinkin' about lots of snow and ice instead." He frowns at a wing, helps Chielyth dunk it and sluices water to rinse. "No. Well... sort of. But... not really. --Su," he tacks on to the end of that babble. "Sulisah. Only I ain't never said nothin', and neither'd she. Candidates, y'know?"

"Sulisah?" R'uen repeats, an eyebrow going up. "The vintner girl? Huh." He keeps the chuckle down to a breath. "Just met her. Nice girl. Have you seen her? You know, since? She's still around and all. Of course, seeing her might just, you know, not be snow and ice."

B'kaiv nods, nods again over at the larger dragon pool. "Earlier t'day, after Chielyth gone and bounced int' my desk. She's why Chielyth's been askin' about mountains an' snow balls all t'day." He snorts again, this one wryly affectionate, and lays a hand on the green's back. "An' why this one decided t' see if she could make snow dragons, only there weren't no snow."

R'uen laughs outloud this time, bowing his head, giving it a shake. "When I was a candidate there was a party, yeah? And this red dress... And damn if I didn't see that red dress every time I closed my eyes all through weyrlinghood. I wasn't the only one, either. If I didn't know better, I think she did it on purpose." Ice and snow indeed. "Think she'll be waiting for you?"

There's another snort from the weyrling before he backs up, casting an eye over mottled and wriggling green dragonhide. "Yeah. Glad I didn't see nothin' like that, only." He sends another look to the blonde, lowers his voice anyway. "She were wearin' a shirt, plenty long, yeah? Only she forgot it were white, and Chielyth was splashin'...." He breaks off with a back of the throat groan, tips a crooked smile up at R'uen. "Dunno. Maybe. Hope so. We're supposed t' go t' First Day t'gether. Maybe dance, if Chielyth don't mind."

R'uen has to laugh at that as well. "So you're looking at nights lying in your cot with that damn white shirt in your head. I pity you, man. I've been there, but... It made me glad for all the hard work, being bone tired. Took the edge off." And after a moment, "So all this shit with Phara, you're just frustrated. Thing changing, thing you can't do, things you can't do and need to do and all that. And she won't let up?" That brow lifts again to see if he's got it right.

"Yeah," half rueful, half wistful. "Only until she's asleep, it's snowballs an' blizzards. --G'wan," he adds, and helps Chielyth scramble out of the pool with a grunt. "Yeah, somethin' like. I told her off back before I got searched and she ain't never been able t' let it go. So she had me runnin' stupid errands... gah." He shakes it off, levers himself up to sit on the edge of the pool, scrubs at his face. "Got told by th' Weyrlingmaster and T'rev t' just... swallow it, you know? For her sake." /Her/ is Chielyth, indicated by a sideways jerk.

"You told her to back off... before you got searched? What was she on about then?" R'uen is a bit distracted though, watching Chielyth get out of the water. "I don't know what you did to get her feathers ruffled," he says with a sigh, turning back to B'kaiv. "But they're right. You've got to figure out how to let it go. Be the good weyrling, find some way to burn off the frustration. And well, what I came down here for is that I've been assigned as your mentor." He quirks a grin. "So if things get real shitty, you can come by and blow off some steam."

B'kaiv says, "Shells, I don't remember no more." He scowls at the drippy muck in his hands, leans forward to splash water on his face until it runs clear. Chielyth tips her head up to the bronzerider, chirrups and plops her butt down, her tail slithering through the spilled water. "Yeah, do that with T'rev some." He tilts a considering eye at the other man, snazzy clothes and all. "Wouldn't'a figured you for a braw... --Wait, mentor? /You/? For -me-? Ain't you supposed t' be... dunno, with Y'nolek?""

"Guess you got lucky," Rev chuckles at B'kaiv's surprise. But, even more entertaining, "T'rev lets you smack him around, huh?" Oh that does amuse him. Positively tickled. "Nice deal, huh?" he says to the green, as if she's likely to find this as funny as he does.

"He don't let me do nothin'," Kai denies, wary once more. "An' it's just sparrin'. Rules an' everything." Because rules are important. Chielyth trills - /she/ thinks so! - and stands to whuffle around those snappy white shoes. They look a lot like snow, after all. After a second Kai admits, "There were a list." Presumably announcing the mentor program. "I just. I ain't real good at reading. Sir."

"In this sparring, are you coming out on top?" R'uen asks. Nay, maybe he hopes. Because that makes it all the funnier. And he grins down at Chielyth, "He's good in a fight huh? You like that in a guy?" It's teasing, playing, flattery, whatever. He flashes the green a winning smile. "Like those?" He turns his foot for her apreciation and turn his attention to the weyrling once more. "Well, you'll get better. Could always exchange letters with Sulisah. Might make it really worth your time to learn." It's an idea, at least.

"...Sometimes." Oh, there's wariness aplenty from the greenrider, his earlier camaraderie hidden under that veil. "He's fast, but I'm stronger." Kai has no reason to loiter in the baths any more; he pushes himself up and goes to get a towel, keeping one eye on Chielyth. "She says how come you got snow on your feet. And huh. Maybe. She was tellin' me about this book she been readin'. Wanted me t' read it. Guess I could ask her about it, in them letters?"

R'uen lets it go, this entertaining notion of T'rev and B'kaiv throwing punches. Though maybe, just maybe, there's a little glimmer there of, well, damn that sounds cathartic. But, back to his shoes. "Just leather," he tells the inquisitive girl. "Just white leather." And then, "Letters from the girl you like sounds a good bit better than lessons. Ask her about it." With B'kaiv done with the washing, Rev steps back a bit; he doesn't have much reason to linger either.

Chielyth stre-etches out her neck to try and steal a taste, a lick, a bite of those snow-feet, keeping one eye on R'uen all the while. Her tail dances and her mind, should Zaiventh be listening in, is twinkling merrily. "Yeah, that's a good idea," says Kai from under a towel where he's scrubbing away. "She wrote me already. Long as - long as I can find someone t' take 'em, I guess, but I could ask T'rev, yeah?"

Oh no. You don't walk around looking so swanky as Rev by not taking mighty fine care of your nice duds. And that means no dragon tongues and certainly no dragon teeth. He takes a quick step back from that eager mouth. "Not for eating. Just for looking at," he tells her. "To take them?" He's not following that part.

B'kaiv says, "Huh?" and emerges, red-faced, from the bit of terry. "They ain't for eating," he seconds, and though Chielyth huffs in dismay, she comes obediently over to be dried. "The letters. Somebody's got t' take them t' her, yeah? Ain't much of a letter if I just walk up and slap it in her hand or nothin'. Gonna do that, might as well just talk."

"I don't know. I guess if you want T'rev as your courier..." R'uen shrugs. "Seems like there's always enough people running around that you can hand stuff off to just about anyone. I guess it depends on what you plan on putting in the letter." That cocked brow teases at the sugggestion. "Anyway, I don't mean to hold you up here. I just wanted to check in with you, see how it's going. Mentor things."

B'kaiv ohs like he hadn't even thought of that. Maybe he hadn't. "You ain't holdin' me up, sir. But thanks for comin' by. An' thanks for the... you know." There's a nod toward the put away flask, in case he doesn't. "You wanna come watch me an' T'rev spar, I'll ask him t' tell you. We only do it when she's good an' asleep."

"I might indeed," R'uen answers, seeming rather genuine about this interest in the sparring. "If I'm around and I've got the time..." He's game. And he taps his jacket, silent acknowledgement for the sharing of illicit booze. "She's a pretty little thing, B'kaiv. Looking good," he adds with a smile and tip of his head toward Chielyth. For the green herself, "Keep him out of trouble, huh?" And then it's a salute, the friendly sort, for both of them before he start off.

It's all part of my plot

Fri, 20 Mar 2009 17:30:47 GMT

Who: Phara and R'uen
Where: Star Stones
What: Sitting around and talking about unruly weyrlings and such.

Spring is nice. The ground way below might be a bit damp and the breeze still has a nip to it, but the sun is up and the sky is blue and R'uen is sitting up on the star stones, looking a bit sweaty with his hair and shirt all damp and his cheeks still flushed from whatever it is that has his warmed up. He lounges back against Zaiventh's burly side, sips from a flask and watches the goings on of the Weyr below.

Phara and Bennath have had a similar idea as the Weyrleader, soaring out of their high ledge straight out towards the Star Stones. Phara has embraced the spring weather with enthusiasm, her white dress blowing around her calves when she dismounts carefully from his back. "R'uen?" she says with curious delight as she approaches the bronze and his reclining rider. "What are you doing up here?"

R'uen watches the blue's approach over the upward tip of his flask, brows lifting when he sees what Phara's wrapped up in, particularly as she climbs down. "What's all this? Look at you all gussied up," he teases warmly with a broad smile and the jerk of his chin. "How are you doing today?"

Phara glances down at her dress and runs her hand over it with a little shrug and a grin. "Oh, well, you know. It's just something. It's warmer and all." She flushes and comes closer. "Doing alright. How are you doing?"

"Looks nice," R'uen adds in, his grin brightening when she flushes. "I'd ask you to sit, but I don't know if your dress would benefit from some time on an old dirty rock. Plus, I don't know how close you want to get; I'm pretty ripe. Good day, though, for being outside."

Phara snorts and shrugs out of her riding jacket, laying it daintily on the rock and lifting her eyebrow at R'uen. Better? Equally dainty, all for show, she sinks down onto it, curling her legs under and spreading her skirt modestly over her knees. "Well thank you. It's all part of my plot to make B'kaiv bite his tongue. Especially if he bites the whole damn thing off." She winks at him. "Aw, man, I'm not afraid of a little ripeness. You forget whose wing I flew in."

"A right lady!" R'uen laughs when she spreads her skirt just so. "What's this about B'kaiv? He doesn't know you're a real girl or something?" It's a guess. He takes another swig from the flask, but there's no scent of alcohol to add to that sweaty man aroma.

Phara shakes her head. "No, I'd say he's all too aware of it, and it bugs the shells out of him that I spit and swear and drink and fight like a man. Don't know what his sharding problem is, right? So, I figure, hell, if he wants a woman, I can be a woman." She pokes at her breasts thoughtfully and adds cheerfully, "You know, that's what these are for and all, right?" So much for being a lady. "Not sure why he'd rather listen to a soft woman than a strong one, but if it gets under his craw so much, I got plenty of dresses and I like pretty things, and I can be a woman like, I dunno, Ed."

"Now, I know you're not the prissy sort, but I can't say that I've actually seen you spitting, swearing, drinking or fighting so much that I'd not call you a girl." Not that R'uen doesn't look a bit surprised when she goes poking her boobs. "So you're trying to be girlier for one of the weyrlings? Is that some sort of weird role model thing?"

Phara makes a face. "I'm doing everything I can to get him to listen to me. His green got all upset, and Deke asked me to get some food cut up for her to hold her over while B'kaiv finished the job. But, you know, I'm happy to do it, but I don't do something for nothing. I asked him to help me put some models together for the anatomy class. And he told me /no/, R'uen." She rubs her fingertips across her eyes. "Well, he said I wasn't a lady, but I was still a woman and he couldn't hit me but he sure as hell would wipe the walls with me if I was a man. So I gave him a choice. A seven of confinement to the Barracks and mucking duty. Or he could pick a challenge and if I won, he'd shut his f---ing mouth. If I lost, I'd leave him alone for the rest of the turn. He took the punishment." she shrugs and sighs. "Don't know what to do about him, so I'm just going to try stuff til something gets through to him."

"Weyrlings don't get to say no, Phara. Did you get away with crap like that when you were a weyrling?" R'uen interjects that much, his brows drawing together as he listens to the situation. "I don't think dressing up is going to earn you any respect either. They should respect you no matter what you wear. Shit, if turn up in the barracks dressed up like a great big wherry, they should still respect you, yeah? And I don't think making deals with them where you leave them alone for turns is much of a plan either. How are you supposed to train him if you're leaving him alone? Sound like you've been digging yourself a hole."

Phara shakes her head. "No, Rev, of course I couldn't say no. Are you kidding? Jantha told me to give him pressups if he kept mouthing off to me. But he wouldn't do that, either. And yeah, I could go get Deke and V'rel and let them take him to task... but. I don't know, R'uen, don't you know how bullies work? You give them one little in and it'll never be the end of it. And just from what I know of him... I think somewhere deep inside that stupid meaty cranium of his is a gentleman who was raised to respect and listen to ladies. So maybe that's where I'll get with this. And if not..." A laugh. "Well, I like wearing dresses anyways, and it won't kill me to stop swearing and drinking and threatening folks when he's within hearing and seeing range, yeah?" She sets her chin in her hand and frowns. "What would you do?"

"So you're saying he's a bully and you can't give in. And then you give in by wearing a fancy girly dress so that he'll respect you." R'uen is trying to follow, he really is. "I understand liking to wear a dress, and if that was the reason, I'd be all for it." After all, he's taken plenty of flack, particularly in his younger days, for wearing rather nice clothes. There was someone who used to tell him he was gay all the time, which Phara might remember. "I don't know what the magic is to deal with bullies. Confine him to the barracks? Punish all of them and let the rest of the class pressure him for you?"

Phara's mouth curves into a smile. "Oh, no, Rev. Trust me, this is just a step to the ultimate goal of crushing him into insignificance. I'm not giving into anything, perse.. If I was giving in, I'd just let him go on spitting in my face, as it were." She thinks about this and shrugs. "I think that if push comes to shove, Jantha might be getting an official recommendation from me that B'kaiv isn't acting as befits a rider, and therefor should not be allowed to continue with rider studies. I hate to punish Chielyth that way, but at this point I don't see him being a good representative of Fort."

The confused pinch of R'uen's brows slowly turns to a bewildered, curious lift. "I'm... not sure I'm following. What exactly are you planning to... do?" He idly starts rotating the flask in his hands, around and around.

Phara blows out a breath. "I don't know. Didn't I just get done telling you that? It's just sorta... what I'm flying with. If he reacts better to me if I just act more like a lady, fine, whatever. if he doesn't, then I don't think I lost anything in the process. I just know that I've got to do whatever I can to get on his good side or this is going to be a long, miserable Turn for me and I appologize in advance if I beat him senseless." Because she just might. "Just needs to be taken down a peg. If he listens to me, he'll get to know me. And then maybe he'll like me." That comes out significantly more pitifully than all of her big talk before.

"Phara, you're better than all this. Better than dressing up to make some guy like you." R'uen shakes his head, a half-smile half-quirked to the side. "I understand not wanting to be the sort of weyrlingmaster that teaches through fear or whatever, but you don't have to be buddies with all of them. Knowing that they have to take orders whether or not they like a person is kind of... an important part of being a rider. Right? I mean, the point is for him to learn, understand, all of that."

Phara glances at Rev and gives him a snort that clearly says she doesn't believe him about being 'better' but listens. "Yeah, but you haven't offered me a solution on how to make someone who won't listen obey me. I'm not exactly intimidating, you know. Never really could be." She's just Phara, silly and whimsical and not very good with people.

"I told you. Punish the lot of them. No one's allowed out of the barracks until B'kaiv shapes up. Or everyone has to run extra laps until B'kaiv does what you ask of him. Being unpopular can make people reconsider their actions." R'uen gives a shrug. "You know him better than I do. No one said it would be an easy job. Ask Jantha to step in. Ask D'kai. Heck, ask me or Cirse, but don't let him make you dance for him, you know? That's not who you are, either. You fight and talk back. Why are you rolling over for this guy?"

Phara shakes her head. "It just won't work if somebody else intercedes. He'll never listen to me if I don't win it from him. But I'll try it. Punishing the lot of them, if it comes to that." She draws her knees up and rests her chin on them, crossing her ankles. Her mouth tugs down and sigh sighs and says oh so quietly, "I don't know, Rev. I've been asking myself the same thing since I met him six months ago."

"Is it just him? I mean, are you having this sort of trouble with the rest of the weyrlings? Is it just him?" R'uen wonders, letting his gaze slip down toward the bowl and what shapes by the lakeshore might be the weyrlings in question.

Phara snorts. "One of them's an arrogant ass, but I can handle him." She lifts a pebble and sends it spinning off into the air. "It's just him. I can't put my finger on it. He just... defeats me every time. I don't /like/ people having the kind of power over me he's got. And it takes everything I have not to just do what he says and fight back instead." Her head turns and she glares at Rev a little, as if it was his fault she's just said too much and given herself away. And then again, perhaps it is.

"Shit, Phara, he's a weyrling, what kind of power-" But Phara keeps talking and so Rev starts to understand. And he starts to frown. "Maybe you should just keep your distance from him, then. Until you get ahold of yourself. Just let the other weyrlingmasters deal with him. It sounds like he makes you... too distracted to do the job well."

Phara laughs bitterly. "I'm not distracted, Rev, but I don't think I was doing the job either way. That's perfect, I'll just give him exactly what he wants. Great learning experience. Let's teach him that if he's a big enough asshole, is just disrespectful enough, if he tells his boss enough to go away, it'll just happen. /Brilliant./" Another pebble goes spiraling out into the open bowl air, describing a graceful arc as it falls. "I think you're full of bullshit as much as I am."

"Well, maybe it's a lesson he'll learn from someone else. What do you really hope to accomplish from getting dolled up like this, though? I mean, you do look lovely but it's not like you're showing up for a date," R'uen points out with the incline of his head and a brow raised in hope. "Everyone's full of shit. It's not often that a person knows the right answer for sure." He drinks from his flask again. "We all make mistakes."

Phara sighs. "I like wearing dresses, Rev. I dress like this during the summer anyways, so it's no skin off my nose. You wouldn't have blinked twice if I hadn't told you, and nobody else will either cuz I'm not letting them in on the secret. I hope to accomplish a foothold in. He's not going to /get/ it from anyone else. He just don't listen, it's gotta be from me or it's not going to stick. There's no proof for it anyways if it's someone else. He'll just go on ignoring me and we won't ever know if he learned it until he's sent into the wings and it becomes a problem again and then what can we do?"

R'uen shakes his head. "Phara, you're taking nonsense now. I think you're making too much of a deal about all of this. Making it all too important. Why do you think you're the only one who can talk to him or work with him or... make him listen?"

Phara shrugs her shoulders. "Because I'm the only one he gives shit to. Just think about it. If you had a problem with someone, would you learn how to deal with them by talking to your best friend? Has being your friend made it any easier for me to get along with Tiriana, for example?"

"That's a totally different situation and you know it. We're not talking about friends. We're talking about a messed up weyrling who's life just got turned upside down and a weyrlingmaster who'd rather get dolled up to prove she's a woman for him than bitch slap him across the face when he's a snot to her. I don't know how to make heads of tails of that other than to suggest you take some time away from him so you can get some perspective." Rev gives her a rather imploring look and lifts an arm to put it over her shoulders. He is not smelling fresh. "But, for the record, I think that if I asked the you and Ti to be civil to each other, for me, you'd do it."

Phara sighs. "I did bitch slap him, Rev," she mumbles. "I screamed in his face to sit his ass down and he walked away from me. I'm out of options. and I can't just punch him. Jantha would have my head." She lets him put his arm around her and leans companionably into his side. Stinky or no. "Of course I would. It's her who doesn't play nice. I'm always nice to everyone." She is!

R'uen lets out a bright laugh. "You did, did you? That sounds more like the Phara I know than one who puts on her frillies to gain respect. You know, the girl who used to throw plates at people's heads when she'd run out of options." He gives her shoulder a tug. "I don't know what the right answer is. I don't know him well enough to have any idea. But I think this is eating at you more than it should. And affecting you more than it should." Affecting how? He flicks at her white skirt hem for starters. "Give him some space, give it some time. Maybe you'll come up with something. Or something will change. Or, you know, ask Jantha what she'd like you to do and follow her orders. You're not on your own here." But, he adds in, "Ti would behave if I asked her to. I -have- brought her home to my mother, after all."

Phara makes a face. "Faranth, you still remember that?" she groans, planting her face in her hand. "I was a different girl back then, Rev, you know? Well... a little different." She laughs and sighs then. "Who knows. I just want to deal with this on my terms, I guess. He's not going to be a weyrling forever. Some day.." And an eyebrow arches. "Tiriana, behave? I don't think those two words go together. Did your Ma like her?"

"We were all different back then, I think," Rev reassures. "Someday what?" But her question distracts him, at least somewhat. "She does so behave. I mean, she might not ever come off as the most refined creature you could meet, but it's not like she punched my mother in the nose or anything. My mother likes her. My brothers and their wives life her, some more than others. I think even my father likes her, though it's hard to tell. But my mother bakes her cookies. I'm supposed to go home to pick them up before I head down to Ierne to visit her. Ti's there for some... training thing." But he doesn't forget entirely: "Someday what?"

Phara thinks she's off the hook, whoo! Yes, yes, family, interesting, nod, nod. Oh. Damn. "Someday he won't be a weyrling. Someday he's going to have to answer to someone he might not like. And he can't just tell them off or switch wings because there's always going to be someone you don't like."

"That day is a ways off, yet. And people aren't like busted wagons. It's not just a matter of kicking them here and oiling them there and then they're all fixed and rolling forward again. Ease up. On both of you. Put some distance between you. I think it'll help." He gives her another squeeze. "Were you an uppity weyrling?" R'uen asks her with a smirk growing. "You weren't still throwing plates when you were in the barracks, were you?"

Phara shrugs. "Mellow enough, I think. Bennath keeps me pretty happy," she admits. "I got most of my wildness out with you guys. Grew up a little. Cooled off."

R'uen doesn't say anything to that. It seems, instead, he's gotten distracted while looking at her, watching her with a sidelong gaze that's just a wee bit skeptical about something.

Phara glances back at him and her eyebrows lift. "You're either thinking about kissing me, or you're not saying something you're desperately dying to say. I /highly/ doubt it's the first. So you might as well spit it out."

R'uen can't help but break out in a boyish laugh for her guessses. "Wondering what you're thinking about, actually. You know, about taking my advice. Wondering, too, if it would actually help at all."

Phara smiles lazily and reclines her head back into his shoulder with a sigh. Lazy. "I'm not going to listen to a damn thing you've said, because I'm stubborn and determined to do it my way, even if it's wrong. Cuz sometimes we have to make mistakes in order to learn something." And then that grin she gets when she's up to no good spreads across her face. "And, you know, wondering if anyone will ever like /me/ enough to take me home to their family even though I'm crusty and disagreeable."

"At least talk to Jantha. Any maybe go to the healers, because only someone who's suffering some sort of brain maladie would willing put their face there." So close to his stinky armpit. "Crusty and disagreeable," R'uen repeats with a musing little laugh. "I don't think you're that bad, you know. Stubborn and impulsive, maybe." He looks at her again, skepitcal once more. "Last time we talked you said you didn't want a... something to take you home to mama?"

Phara makes an abashed face. "I can't decide. Sometimes I do. But sometimes I don't. It just depends. I want both. Somebody I can love forever, and the freedom to see other people at the same time. I'm greedy." she shrugs and laughs and says, "Oh, trust me. I've rolled T'rev when he smelled much worse than you. Though I would recommend a bath... and one for me too."

"I think," R'uen starts, slowly, after some thought. "That if you really love someone, you don't need that freedom. Just don't tell anyone I said that," he tacks on half-jokingly, his eyes playfully narrowed and his grin wrly quirked. "I was planning a bath. Run, cool off a bit, have a bath. That's was the plan."

Phara smiles indulgently, "I don't think you were made to stray, R'uen. Some people aren't. I've never seen anyone but Tiriana turn your head, anyway. Me..." she shrugs. "Don't think I could give myself to anyone that freely. Just not me."

"There were girls before her, you know," R'uen points out with a smirk. "And, well, I'm not dead - I still notice when a girl is hot. It still crosses my mind. Maybe I wasn't made to stray, but I don't know if there's anyone alive who never has a moment of temptation though." Rev shakes his head, "But it's not worth it. Not even a little."

Phara gives Rev another one of those 'yeah right' kind of looks. "Uh-huh. And I'm the Weyrwoman." She chuckles. "For you, no. Tiriana would eviscerate you...and worse."

R'uen laughs brightly. "You know I'm not afraid of her, right?" All that eviscerating doesn't scare him one bit. "Anyway, now you're looking for a man to bring you home to meet his family. Someone to make your own family with. I have to say, Phar, that sounds like a proper relationship. You know, the old fashioned sort."

Phara makes a face at Rev. "You're the one who needs to see the mindhealers. Tiriana. Hmph." And she laughs and then sighs heavily, drooping. "Have you ever known me to have my mind made up? I don't make decisions, hon. What I want today I won't want tomorrow. So, you know, don't take anything I say seriously."

R'uen will laugh goodnaturedly for the crack about Tiriana; it's not the first he's heard, nor is it likely to be the last. But for her self-dissection, his grin spreads wide and he tips his head sideway toward her. "I've been noticing that about you," he return conspiringly. "And I pity that poor weyrling."

Phara lifts her eyebrows innocently. "Why?"

"Because what you want changes every day, dear," R'uen repeats for her, eyes laughing even if he keeps the chuckle from his voice. "How's he ever to keep up?"

Phara rolls her eyes. "I don't think he wants to keep up, or ever will. As long as I can get through and out of this. A turn, Rev, just a turn." She sighs. "And then I only have to deal with him if somehow Bennath catches Chielyth." Faranth forbid.

"I doubt it's as bad as you say. You're just... wrapped up in it right now. Which is why I said..." R'uen looks at her pointedly. "Let it rest a while. And don't fret about Chielyth. Maybe she'll prefer browns." He gives her a cheeky grin and reclaims his arm. "I think I'm about ready for that bath. Before I stink so bad that Zaiventh gets dizzy flying me back down."

"You don't stink that bad," Phara mumurs with a smile, sitting up. "Hey Rev?" She watches him, even if he's not looking. Hopefully he isn't looking. "If you and Tiriana hadn't gotten together.." She pauses, changes directions, grins cheekily, "Am /I/ hot?"

R'uen gets to his feet and tugs at his shirt to free it from his skin where sweat has adhered it. And then he offers a hand down to her. Maybe he wasn't -looking-, but he hasn't been exactly looking away either. "When we met," he thinks back. "You were like fourteen. You were cute and kind of crazy. You're still cute and kinda crazy," he adds in with a playful, devilish grin. Of course, that might not be the answer she's looking for.

Phara takes his hand and pulls herself to her feet and then bends to lift her jacket, flapping it to dislodge the grit. "I was too young back then, and we were already candidates and you were with Tiriana by the time I grew up a little. Cute and kinda crazy," she says with a little remoseful laugh. "I suppose that's as much an answer as a no would be." She smiles up at him and throws him a mocking salute. "Enjoy your bath, Weyrleader."

R'uen bend to snag her jacket too, useless since she's doing so already, but the intention was there. "That I will. Enjoy the good weather, huh?" He returns her salute with one of his own. "Weyrlingmaster," he calls her. "Good luck with B'kaiv. And take some space," he half-orders with his salute turning to the wag of a finger. And then he's mounting up and Zaiventh is moving away to launch.

Projects

Fri, 09 Jan 2009 19:50:25 GMT

Who: Rhodya and R'uen
Where: Lakeshore
What: Rhodya runs into R'uen relaxing by the lake, and jogs his memory about the time they met in a bar. Then they gab about shoes.

A ways back in the bowl, beyond where the foot-traffic is still pretty busy, beyond where the lights of tunnels and caverns spill out into encroaching dimness, beyond those tunnels, the living cavern and kitchens are dealing with the last stragglers of dinnertime, busy with clean up and also cleaning around those who like to eat until they're too stuffed to move and linger at the tables for conversation. And yet all of that is removed from here, the lakeshore, on an evening growing crisp and clear and dotted with pale stars to the east as the sun dies in the west. The traffic overhead has died down too, but a large dark dragon is making lazy circles in the sky and on a rock by the shore, with a thermos in hand, sits his rider, gazing out across the still water.

There's enough light left to see by, but Rhodya still comes across the bowl with a small glowbasket in hand. She crosses the bowl with measured steps, rather than her usual long stride: a lazy walk at the end of a tiring day. Her path takes her directly towards the lake, but when she sees a lone figure sitting out there already, she's careful to pause a good distance away so she can squint at him. "Care for company, stranger?" she calls out a few moments later.

With the lake so quite, the careful steps might just make enough noise for R'uen to hear, but if he does it's hardly a moment before her voice announce Rhodya's presence. He turns his head, expression hidden by darkness at this distance, but the easy welcome in his voice should be clue enough. "Sounds fine by me," he returns with a jerk of his chin and a shift to the side to make more room on the really quite spacious rock. "Does my company have a name?" Since he can't quite make out who it is that approaches.

As Rhodya plods closer, her big loose sandals flop quite audibly indeed. "Name's Rhodya," she says, lifting the glowbasket up to her face to illuminate her features. "And you're-" she tips the light down, then blinks. "Oh! Rev, right? We met before." She tilts her head and gives him an odd look, evaluating him all over again.

"Rhodya. Yes," R'uen answers as if he totally remembers who she is. Maybe he does. Maybe it's not all that important whether or not they've met before. With the glowlight on her face, he scrutinizes that odd look, considering whether or not to comment. "Have a good day?" Seems a nice place to start the small talk.

"Long one," she answers. Shifts her weight. Silence. Then she splits a huge grin and the awkward moment pops like a bubble. "Shoot, Rev, I had no idea you were Weyrleader or nothin'. That night in the Leaking Cavern? Somebody points you out at dinner a few days after and I'm thinking, what? That ain't no Weyrleader R'uen. That's Rev!"

His smile is obvious, a ripple of entertainment in his tone. "Revuen. If that explains it." Not that R'uen will apologize for any misleadings. "Am I terribly unWeyrleadery?" Which is, of course, a very Weyleadery word to use. But he cocks a brow and doesn't bother to put on any airs.

After Rhodya bends down to set down the glowbasket, her hand takes a detour on the way back up to give R'uen's shoulder a friendly pat. "Nah, not /terribly/," she teases. She picks her foot up the ground, lifting it like a flamingo so she can pull her sandal off. "Just wasn't expecting the first people I'd meet in a bar would be a Weyrleader and a Wingleader. How's that for luck?" The sandal plunks onto the rock.

R'uen doesn't move around nearly so much, no setting stuff down on the ground or messing with sandals, at least not at the moment, so he'll watch her instead, his brows pulling together. "Were you this tall before?" It takes a moment. A few beats. "Right! We met at the Leaking Cavern. You were with T'rev, right?" Aren't they all. He take up her discarded sandal then, just to tap tap it's sole against the rock idly.

Well, Rhodya's less tall now than she was about a minute ago, before she took her platform sandals off. The soles thunk solidly against the rock, and Rhodya watches him investigate them with a hint of self-satisfaction. "Pretty good, huh? Made those myself." She stretches, then shoves her hands into her pocket and smiles out over the lake. "Yeah, you, me, and T'rev. Guess y'all didn't get a chance to see me standing, but I promise ya I've always been this tall. Even without the shoes." She wiggles her bare toes.

"I'm gonna skip the line the broken ankles, since I'm sure you've heard it," R'uen shares. But he will give the sandal another look, another tap, now that he knows more about it. "You made these? Really?" Tap. Then he gets his paws off her shoes. "Were you new then? To Fort? When we met?" He can't remember.

Rhodya meets him halfway, welcoming the things he does remember with enthusiasm and good cheer. "Now it's comin' back to ya!" she exclaims, beaming at him. "I'd just come in from Igen, I think it was a sevenday before that. Seems like an age ago, now, I've got so comfortable here." Her smile changes direction, sweeping to take in the familiar bowl and by implication the whole weyr as she turns her head. Pointing her thumb into her chest, she adds, "Leatherworker," hopefully adding details to help those memories come back. "I especially like making shoes, so, yep, those are some of mine."

When she says she's comfortable, R'uen lets out a laugh. "Now you're just stealing my questions. I'm supposed to ask how you've been settling in, if you like here and all. You're ruining my routine." But then shoes have him thinking, have him repeating the word thoughtfully. "Shoes." That word. And he's sizing her up all over again. "Work much with dyed leather? You know, colors outside the usual tan, brown, black?"

Rhodya, spreading her hands out to him in a helpless shrug. The damage is done! She can't give him back his routine. But the shoes question brings a shake of her head. "Naw, 'fraid I don't dye my own stuff." The hands she just held out to him are corroborating evidence, free of the dark stains that usually haunt tanners. "I can work it fine if somebody else does the coloring, but it usually costs less to get the same person do the whole work. You lookin' to get some shoes or just curious?"

"Both." And with a flash of a smile, "Always." R'uen glances down at her hands, maybe more at her wrists actually, and up again. "So do you have some contacts then? People who do good work with colors? Good prices and such?" But the questions don't end there. "Are you working on anything new?"

Rhodya grins when he starts drilling her, and it only broadens the more questions he asks. "I sure do, and if you want, I can recommend some good people to make the shoes for ya. Prices are usually good, long as you don't mind losin' the prestige of a craft stamp on your boot." She chuckles. "Now, me, I just finished my big projects. 'Course I always got something - you know, a cobbler never sleeps - but I just finished three sets of shoes this week, so I'm in a bit of a breather."

"Do you do original designs, though? You know, new stuff, different stuff?" R'uen wonders. He also, just to keep things light, uncaps his thermos and takes a few hearty gulps. His eyes flick overhead, where Zaiventh is diving only to pull up again and climb. "What were your big projects?"

Rhodya's gaze follows R'uen's, and after Zaiventh's dive it trails back down to the lake for a few moments. At the end of all this, she finally sits down, folding her long legs carefully underneath her. "I try to do new stuff. Different stuff. Like to think I succeed," she tells him, tipping her head to the side in order to shoot him a grin. "Lot of my stuff's at the behest of somebody else, so most of the time it's just... a shoe, but nicer-feeling. Not that I don't take a lot of pride in tooling the insides to fit a person's foot just right, 'cause I do - I take a whole lotta pride in that - but it ain't something you can show off. Tell you one design I really liked, though, was this pair I did myself a turn back. Pair of platform sandals, but I took a wedge out of the heel and stuck a big fat spring in there instead. Spring's just for show, and doesn't actually move when you step on them, but they're pretty darn cute."

R'uen is nodding along, a nod in all the right places, a show that he's listening, understanding, his expression attentive. But when she gets to the spring, those nimble brows shoot up again and his mouth spreads to a smile just a beat before he laughs brightly. "Ok, Rhodya, I don't want springs in my shoes." Just a tip, just in case she's ever working on a pair for him. "So you want to be taller, huh? All these..." he picks up the sandal on the rock beside him, hefting it about in his hand. "Tall shoes?"

Rhodya laughs, dipping her chin to rest comfortably between her knees. "You asked what I'd worked on, not what I'd make if you asked me to. I wouldn't un-man you none." She watches him dangle her sandal of the day, a decidedly less revolutionary design than the one she was just described. She smiles. "Somethin' like that. Kind of a story behind it, but to keep it short, I hated being so tall when I was a kid, and my Papa's solution was to put me in big shoes. That way it's something you flaunt, see, instead of something you hide away from. It worked," she concludes with her brightest smile.

Unmanned? "Indeed not," Rev chuckles easily. "Of course now I'm envisioning shoes with springs coming off the toes, like toenails gone horribly wrong. So... no spring," he instructs again. As for her being tall and platformed and heeled, "Makes sense. After all, it's not like you aren't tall without the shoes. Once you're tall, you're tall, I suppose. Might as well wear whatever shoes you like." He'll even give her a once-over look, and smile that brightens along with hers. And then, like a lamp gets lit in his brain, "Hey, how long would it take you make a pair of winter boots?"

"No spring," Rhodya repeats obediently, through her chuckling. Her attitude cools briefly during that once-over, and she turns her head to ignore it pointedly, but the warmth returns as soon as he's finished and the transgression is quickly and painlessly forgiven. "Uh, depends how fast you need 'em. I could bang out a pair in just over two sevens, if there's a rush on it. Otherwise, four or five is more like it. How soon's it get cold here?"

"Well, we've got a while. I was thinking of Reaches, actually. And now I'm wondering if she wouldn't like a great big furry boot or something maybe a bit sleeker with a heel," R'uen muses, letting his glance slip upward to where the idly flying dragon is becoming little more than a moving section of blotted out stars, a shadow in darkness. Except now Zaiventh is also coming down to land on the rocky beach not far away. "I'm thinking something really furry inside," R'uen continues. "Maybe a bit about the cuff, too. Warm. And real fur."

Rhodya's lips purse as she absorbs the information and - you can practically see the gears begin to turn in her head - starts visualizing potential designs in their first stages. She doesn't even seem to care about the large bronze dragon landing near her. "That's no problem, I can do that easy. Now, if it's somethin' you're gonna tell her about, then send her by me for a fitting and we can work out what kind of heel she wants, and what colors. If it's a surprise - and I've done surprise shoes before, it ain't no worry - I'll draw you up a couple of designs based on what you tell me 'bout her and you can choose what you like best." Rhodya sets her hands behind her, leaning back and sending him a grin. "And then you go offer the lady a nice relaxing foot massage while you sneak her measurements."

"Dark for her, I think. Dark brown or black. Though if the fur wanted to be something else, that would be fine." Now R'uen is running his knuckles along the scruffy line of his jaw, mouth slightly ajar and eyes slightly narrowed as he considers these details, and other more distant. His reverie is interrupted by the bronze's rumble and R'uen slips down from the rock. "You get some sketches together, I'll try to get some measurements. Agreed?" Between him and the dragon, departure seems shortly in order.

Since he's picking up to go, Rhodya makes preparations to do the same, though of course she'll be going by foot. She hooks her sandals together in the fingers of one hand and wraps the other hand around the handle of her glowbasket. "Agreed. I'll look into the fur thing for ya, and see what the trappers're recommending. Oh, and I'll get ya some measuring tape and instructions on how to measure the foot right. Tomorrow or the day after - quick as I can." She smiles.

"Maybe I can get a print of her foot or something, would that do?" He's hardly waiting for the answer, though. She'll have to call it out because now R'uen is stepping away from the rock as the dragon nears and then climbing up onto the bronze shoulder. "Have a good night, Rhodya. And not too much of a hurry. After all, you did just finish some big projects." He might wink at her then, from the dragon's back, or maybe his smile is just cheeky enough to have the same effect. Either way, the bronze moves off, giving Rhodya plenty of space before he spreads his wings and takes to the sky again, this time with purpose more direct than those lazy circles.

Call after him she does, insisting, "It ain't hard - just measure the foot!" Rhodya gets to her feet as R'uen goes towards his dragon, and even though Zaiventh moves away on his own, she still puts some extra distance in to make sure she doesn't get any kickback from his wings. She can't wave, since both hands are loaded down with stuff, so her "G'night!" will have to do.

OOC: Across town at Fort High

Thu, 13 Nov 2008 04:07:28 GMT

Across town, at a rival high school, is a boy named Rafe. He comes from a middle-class family, very close and friendly. Though they'd all like to see him go into the family business, Rafe has other aspirations.

He used to play soccer, not so much for the love of the game, but rather for the sense of camaraderie with the team. However, his own interest in music eventually led him to a different crowd and now he's more likely to spend his afternoons practicing with his band, in which he sings and plays guitar.

Rafe is the sort who frequents thrift stores and always seems a little over-dressed for school, though it -is- in a thrift store kind of way. He's not afraid to wear a tie and vest, or an odd colored velvet jacket, whatever has struck his fancy. He manages, somehow, to pull it off, likely through his somewhat unassuming confidence.

He's a good guy, friendly and steady with widely varied connections. While he gets his work done, he isn't particularly driven; generally just a B average student. He's more interested in socializing.

He's had a steady girlfriend forever but she goes to another school. Most of the guys rib him for being totally whipped, but she's hot and she puts out, so they cut him some slack.

Breakfast with the Famous Fiorella and her 'Uncle'

Sat, 08 Nov 2008 16:02:34 GMT

Who: Fiorella, T'rev and R'uen
Where: Living Cavern
What: Havin' breakfast, talkin' about parenting and wings.

Ah breakfast. It's brought R'uen here, and now he's got a plate of eggs, a couple of biscuits and a mug of klah. Breakfast. Spotting the back of T'rev's head, he starts in that direction, pulling a chair out with the toe of his boot. "This seat taken?" There's a second glance for the young girl; he's noted her.

Fiorella nods. "Yeah, I'm only nine. I might not have the experience, but I had a good teacher and I learn quickly." the girl grins. And she's nice, if she doesn't win she can pout! "I did." she replies, still grinning. "And then I got the best one." Which means easiest of course. A bright smile is turned towards R'uen at his arrival.

Well, with no objections, R'uen drops into the seat, sets his meal on the table. "So you must be the famous Fiorella." It's something like a greeting. He flashes her a smile just a moment before his mouth become too busy receiving a hefty forkful of eggs.

Well if he's heard of her and knows her sister, Ella is rather hard to miss. "I don't know that I'd say famous." the girl replies, smile beaming on her face. "But that -is- my name, so I must be. Unless there's another one that I don't know about. "So who are you?" comes the inevitable question of curiosity. Of course she's seen him around from time to time, but seeing and knowing are two different things.

Mouth full, T'rev just kind of bobs his head for Rev's request, chews a bunch. "Mornin' R'uen," he says when his mouth is clear. "And yeah, you're a fast learner, Ella, but he's still ... well you'll see when you meet 'im," the wingleader explains. The toast-and-pear combo is set down and he reaches for his mug of klah, takes a few more swallows. "This here's R'uen, Ella. Th'Weyrleader."

Fiorella smiles, "It's nice to finally meet you..." she starts, catching a few of her peers heading in behind the riders. "But I have lessons starting." she adds, excusing herself with a wave.

Who are you. That question is met with a little chuckle, a shake of R'uen's head. T'rev answers for him, but there's hardly time to follow up when the girl goes dashing off. He watches only a few steps of her leaving before turning to the wingleader with a brow cocked and a smile teasing. He doesn't bother using any words.

More klah. T'rev needs more klah. And he drinks, swallows, grins helplessly back at R'uen and shrugs his shoulders. "At least she's goin' t'lessons," he notes once his mouth is clear. Brown eyes follow the girl out and return to the Weyrleader. "How's things?"

"Yeah? That's at an 'at least'?" Very promising. R'uen is still smirking. But then, more lightly, "Things are going okay. Staying out of trouble, I think." He pauses there to break a biscuit and pile eggs in like a sandwich. "How about you? Trouble treatin' you well?"

"Heh. Yeah. Them she don't skip so much," T'rev answers, breaks off a bite of toast, eyes R'uen's plate. "Your breakfast looks better'n mine. I think I want eggs n' bacon now," he notes, nods about trouble. "Yeah, that. And now she ain't runnin' away no more, yeah."
"Don't know if there's bacon over there, but the eggs were going quick," R'uen remarks with a point of his fork back toward the serving table. "Running away, huh?" He frowns a bit, then stuffs his face some more.

"Yeah, they hadn't put 'em out when I went through before, just porridge," T'rev notes and pushes up to his feet. "Yeah, didn't you do that when you were her age?" the wingleader asks curiously, then lifts a finger. "Hold that thought." And he ducks into the line quickly to load up another plate, comes back with a large amount of bacon and some of the eggs. "There. Better. I got drills t'run in a bit!"

"Think I did run away, but, you know, it was mostly just hiding somewhere in the Hall. Which my mother knew, having dealt with two boys before me," R'uen reminisces. "Any particular reason for her running off?"

Sitting to his eggs, T'rev picks up his fork, starts to dig in. "Yeah. I got a good ways down th'road when I did it, Gramps came after me with th'wagon," the wingleader says with a chuckle and nods. "Yeah ... she overheard someone sayin' she was a burden. Didn't wanna be." That's offered over more seriously. "She was in the hatching grounds, so she didn't get far neither. Spent th'mornin' combin' all the roads outta the Weyr though. Tell you, I was right relieved t'find her right here."

"How long was she missing for? Gone a while? Wait.." R'uen's brows tug together. "Was it her that I heard about? There was some commotion about a kid. I figured it was, you know, the usual stuff. But so things are going well with the two of you? Enjoying that whole daddy role?"

"Most of a day," T'rev elaborates, poking his fork into some bacon and bringing it up to his mouth for a bite or two. "Yeah. That was Ella. Gave me a turn s'what," the wingleader says with a shake of his head. "Other'n that yeah, goin' fine." The last earns him a long look. "Guardian." He says after a moment. "Or uncle. She calls me uncle."

"Uncle," R'uen repeats with a little nod, a sip of his klah. "I'm glad to hear things are going well. And I heard she's got a foster mother here, too? How's that work out for you? You know, sharing responsiblity with... she a friend of yours or something?"

"Yeah. Thanks Rev. Yeah, set that up pretty much right away. S'how it works and all," T'rev answers with a little shrug. "I can't mind her all day long. S'good to know she's with someone who cares and she likes." That last bit earns a shake of the wingleader's head. "Nope, got recommendations from th'Headwoman and let Ella pick. I had veto though."

R'uen shakes his head with another chuckle. "Some life, huh? The way some weyrkids grow up, it's no wonder Tiriana thinks my family is disturbingly normal." The eggs are disappearing, biscuits too. "So you're running off to drills soon, huh? Wing's looking good?"

"I dunno, seems pretty good t'me, someone's always around, but you got a lot of time that's your own too. Not all that different from how I grew up really. But I guess th'waystation's a little uh ... different than most." T'rev has more klah, his own plate rapidly emptying between conversation. "Yeah. Mornin' drill after early sweeps. Wing's doin' pretty well, yeah. Got a couple of riders need to work together more, but we've got our weyrlings about blended in."

"I prefer the morning. Get it out of the way, leave the day free." Not that this isn't something R'uen has very likely said in the past. "Hey, has Virgil been doing alright? I don't know how much time you spend with her outside of duties and all."

"Yeah, I like gettin' the drills out of the way, just a little rough after a dawn sweep s'all," T'rev says as he finishes off the last of the contents of his plate. And then he goes back to finishing up toast and fruit. "Gil? In drills yeah, she's fine," the wingleader says slowly, picking at a toasted crust. "We talk sometimes."

"Good, good." R'uen's reply has that distracted note, the sense that he's answering, but meanwhile his thoughts have drifted elsewhere. And he's slow to come back, even the chewing is slow. "Well anyway. Good that everything is going well. You know, aside from Fiorella disappearing for a while there. She's all settled back in?" Slight change in subject.
Fiorella has connected.

That distraction earns a look from T'rev and he pops the toast into his mouth. "She was having a tough time for a bit but I think it's better now," he adds and then nods about Ella. "Yeah. We had a good talk, Ella n' me. Got it worked out."

"Yeah." That's for Gil's trouble, its apparent dissolution. It's the sort of response that is a rather translucent veneer and the presence of Stuff underneath is probably quite clear. Not that R'uen is going to comment any further. And there's also a, "Good," for all the things going well with Fiorella. "Seems like you've got life pretty much in order." He settles back in his chair, plate cleaned and now just the klah to enjoy.

Again, a steady look from T'rev, though he doesn't press the Weyrleader for more there. It's entirely possible though that he's filed that away for future investigation. The wingleader piles up his used plates, just crumbs left on the toast one and curls his hand around his mug, leaning back as well. "Mostly," he agrees with R'uen's statement, looking across the cavern as it packs full of people and the meal hour hits its peak.

Fiorella makes her return to the living cavern sooner than one might think after her departure for lessons. She's not the only one of her age group either, though she is the only one who winds her way through the tables to find where T'rev and R'uen are still sitting. "Still have room for me?" she inquires cutely, hands clasped behind her back as she rocks back on her heels just a bit.

R'uen slowly takes to watching the influx of people as well. Or maybe he's just staring in that direction while he thinking. "I want to see her happy, you know? I mean, I want to see everyone happy but Gil, sometimes I worry about her." Maybe he's watching the flow of people for the blueriding sprite. Instead it's Fiorella who come out of the crowd. "Have a seat," he smiles readily to the girl. "T'rev's been saying all sorts of nice things about you."

T'rev nods at R'uen's remark. "Yeah. I hear you, Boss," T'rev says lightly. The moniker meant as a fond tease, likely. "I'll check in on her again. Because ... well yeah." He looks around briefly. Apparently 'not getting into it here' is the nature of that look. T'rev takes a sip from his mug and eyes Ella with some suspicion as she re-surfaces but smiles too. "Are you ditching?" he asks her directly.

"Of course he was." Fiorella grins as she flops herself into an empty seat. Would there really be anything other than good to say about her? "No.." the girl shakes her head, seemingly put out that T'rev would even ask that of her. "Something came up so they moved lessons back for today." And indeed somewhere the harper who's usually teaching at this time is deep in conversation with someone on some apparently pressing issue. Teaching after all isn't his only duty here. "Besides, do you -really- think I'd come find you if I was ditching? Pul-ease."

"Girl's got a point," R'uen concedes with a tip of his mug. And ye, he caught that look, that 'not getting into it here look'. He doesn't seem to have any reaction, but maybe that's just some heartfelt agreement. Instead, he turns his attention to Fiorella. "I hear that you're pretty good about your lessons. Is that true?

"Why not?" T'rev asks of Ella, grinning over at her. "Not like I'm gonna yell at you or nothin'. Just means more catchin' up later. At least you already know how t'read real good though. Wouldn't get stuck like I did." Apparently that remark wasn't really intended as a correction. "So. If y'ain't got lessons this mornin', want to come ride drill with me, see what a rider's life is all about?"

Fiorella nods. "Pretty good I guess. I mean I go to them and everything.." she replies before narrowing her eyes on T'rev at his remark. "You're sure you wouldn't get mad at me for ditching?" she inquires. Don't give the girl such ideas! Beat. "Really?! I could do that?" Yep, she doesn't get excited or anything.

R'uen tries to hide it, but he does seem just a wee bit baffled by the interactions between T'rev and Fiorella anyway. "So you don't care if she skips her lessons and runs around all unsupervised, but she goes missing for the better part of a day and you're beside yourself." He lets out a chuckle, shakes his head and lets that one go. Anyway, now the girl is getting all excited about the prospect of drills. "It's not often I see someone getting excited about -that-."

"It kinda pays for itself, goin' or not goin'," T'rev says with a shrug. "So no, not /mad/ but I'd be /disappointed/," he clarifies the wingleader clarifies, tips his mug up for another long drink. "And yeah, why not? We ain't flamin' today. So it'll just be crazy flyin' and we got safety straps for that."

Its the prospect of it all really. She hasn't and they're letting her be involved. "Why not?" is the question Fiorella directs towards the weyrleader. "It sounds fun." she adds, "Flying and all." Chances are she'll tire of it quickly. As for disappointment, it earns a look but the girl refrains from comment.

"By all means, be excited." R'uen's certainly not complaining. "Most riders just do it often enough that it doesn't stand out much. Like lessons. If you'd never been, it would probably seem pretty interesting but when you do it all the time it doesn't get you worked up too much." He shrugs, and tips the last of the klah from his mug and into his mouth. "And now I should be getting some work done before my own drills. It was nice to finally meet you, The Famous Fiorella." He even gives the girl a rather stately nod.

"Just think of it as another part of learnin' about th'Weyr," T'rev tells Ella with a grin for both her and for R'uen. "I should get goin' for drills too. Ella - go get your jacket, okay? I gotta put an extra safety on Mec for you."

Fiorella nods. "It was nice to meet you too." she replies with a bright smile, holding back a giggle. Famous. Yes, that will do nicely. "Okay. I'll meet you out in the bowl in a little bit then?" is the half question sent towards T'rev as the girl moves to get to her feet, waiting for the answer before hopping off to retrieve said jacket.

R'uen gets to his feet with the rest of his party, and he even piles T'rev's dishes on top of his own to haul off. "You guys have a good time," he offers the two of them with a jerk of his chin and a flash of his smile. Then he's off.

"Okay, bowl in five," T'rev tells Ella and blinks as Rev takes his dishes," the wingleader looks up at the weyrleader and grins. "Thanks Rev," he says simply gets to his feet and tosses his own jacket on, then retreats out to the Bowl to lead drills.

You don't have any friends?

Tue, 14 Oct 2008 03:47:43 GMT

Who: Berit and R'uen
Where: R'uen's weyr
What: R'uen is just trying to get some work done, but apparently Berit is starved for something approximating friendship.

R'uen sits at his desk, chin propped on his hand, a pen idly following along under a line of texton the record scroll. Reading, not writing.

On the first day of winter, one might expect snow, but today is rainy and cold; miserable by most accounts. But not miserable enough to keep the Weyrwoman ensconced in her own weyr, cozy in front of a hearth and surrounded by her fine, inanimate furniture. She jogs up the steps leading to the Weyrleader's weyr, and ducks under the covered portion of the ledge, mumbling about the rain and shaking off the frigid wetness clinging to her skin and clothes. It takes her a handful of seconds to remember where she is, to follow the wall to the entrance of the weyr and peek her head in, green eyes wide and searching. There he is, reading from a scroll with a pen in his hand. Announcing herself might be too formal, so she steps within and clears her throat delicately instead; here I am!

R'uen turns his head before his eyes leave the page. That happens a beat later, his hand then growing still. He flicks his gaze over her, over the signs of cold and damp. "What's up?" Not that he's making any more to stand and greet her.

How nice of him to welcome her in and offer her something to dry off with; today Berit does not seem to mind, instead walking directly towards him with what could best be described as an amicable expression. "Oh, I was.. I had some free time and I thought I would see if you needed help with anything," with a helpful smile, as if her perfunctory response was not fake enough on its own. She tries to look beyond his shoulder at the scroll, and her fingers link together. "What are you reading?"

"Reports about Boll," R'uen answers, noting the friendly expression without an ounce of belief registering in his own. "I don't need any help, but thanks." He turns back to his scroll, adjusts the pen in his hand, but before he can start reading he asks, "Anything else?"

"No." And it would seem like that would be her cue to leave, but Berit has other ideas. She strolls away, only to inspect a few of the maps hanging on the walls. "Did the Headwoman give you these?" is the question posed, as her hands re-link behind her back; she looks the picture of inquisitive interest, scanning the images with genuine curiosity and a hint of admiration.

"They were here," R'uen claims. But, seeing as how his guest appears to be staying, and more importantly, badgering him with questions, he drops his pen, lets his chin rest more heavily on his hand. He waits. There's surely more coming.

Moving between two of the maps, seemingly unperturbed, Berit comments, "Really? I had been here when it was W'don's and I do not remember them." She shrugs the misnomer away and walks away from the wall, zoning in on the leather couch. Prim as always, she perches on the end of one of the seat cushions, allowing her hands to roam over the worn surface. "Is this all they could accommodate you with?" Her eyes lift to R'uen in question.

With her moving around behind him, 'this' is a rather mysterious thing. R'uen turns to glance over his shoulder at her on the couch. "I like the couch." And he sighs, whatever is that's brought her here, it appears it will be taking a while.

Like an old, worn-out couch? This is new and unexpected. Berit amends her words, shifting around where she sits and looking at the various imperfections. "I suppose.. it is.. it is very sturdy.." is all she can bring herself to compliment on it, and so she folds her hands in her lap, looking around the weyr. "Do you like it here, then?"

Aw, she's poo-pooing his couch? R'uen is so hurt. Really. Wounded. He turns back to his scroll, takes up his pen. "Yep."

"And there is nothing we can do it make it more comfortable? Pleasant?" Berit prods helpfully, a tad too cheerfully, with a touch of desperation in her voice. She wants to know the answer, does not drag her eyes away from him as she anxiously waits.

"Perfect just like it is," R'uen answers. Since he's not looking, all her anxious eyeing is lost on him. In fact he seems to be making progress on his work again. He turns a page.

"Oh. Alright." Perfect as is; no changes; nada; that means her attempts are up, but she does not leave just yet. Berit stays where she is, the toes of her green flats scuffing the floor beneath the hem of her gown and her fingers fidgeting maddeningly with one another. She watches the doorway for a while, apparently satisfied with the silence and his reticence to speak.

R'uen, having no idea what has brought about this visit, or why it continues, finally gives up and sits back in his chair. "Something you want to talk about?" he asks her without looking back.

Regret streaks across Berit's face, still unbeknownst to the back-turned bronzerider, but she looks no less ashamed to be speaking the words aloud. "No. I.. I did not want to be alone." She falls silent again, switching her attention back to the doorway. Unspoken, or yet unanswered, is why she came to R'uen for company.

"And you don't have any friends?" R'uen asks, turning his head again, at last, to glance at her. "T'rev? Your little sister? Zibeth?" Wait, she's looking at the doorway? He looks there too, for what he has no idea.

While the doorway is intriguing in and of itself, her eyes come back to rest on R'uen as her chin lifts with a little show of leftover pride. "You do not have to say it so blatantly, but yes. I have no friends." She moves her arms up, folding them over her chest, because now she has something to be defensive about. "And you know where Zibeth is and what she is doing."

"Could go sit with her," R'uen points out, ignoring her defensive response to his observation. "Nice and warm there. I'm sure she'd love the company." Since she doesn't have any such companion in Zaiventh who, while not here, is not there either.

The defensive posture relaxes somewhat. "No, I know, I should.. I do, but it is not the same." Berit rolls her eyes, but not at him. "Every time I go, someone wants to talk or asks me to do something, or Zibeth is fretting over the eggs and then I fret. It just.." she stops, dropping her gaze to her lap, "It is not the same as before. It is not the same now." Her mouth works, and then she looks up at him accusingly, "I know you are going to say something mean now, so out with it."

"Sorry about that," R'uen interjects, polite but without much feeling, while she discusses the drawbacks of time in the galleries. Then, now? He'd probably say sorry for all that too, but she's glaring at him. And he snorts. "Yeah, 'cause I'm so mean to you." He's not even defensive, just idly submitting to the visit.

"What are you doing right now?" Berit points out, quote oblivious to her own mistakes and mishaps, but she will amply point out her grievances against him. "You are always mocking me with that.. that.. arrogant look." She drops her accusing glare after that, sighing and rubbing her closed eyes with her finger tips. "I should not have come, but I thought.." Her eyes open again as her hands move away, and her voice is flat, "I was wrong, obviously. I shall never get along with *you*."

What's he doing? R'uen tips his head toward the desk. Duh. And as for the rest, he sits patiently while she speaks, while she rubs at her face and throws nasty looks and accusations his way, while she gives up and feels sorry for herself. He still doesn't seem particularly moved by any of it. He folds his arms across his chest, lifts a hand to scratch at his nose. "Could try being nice. You know, all the time, not just when you want something."

"I have been nice! I have tried many, many times." Berit shoots him a petulant look from beneath furrowed brows. "I have, you just, you probably never noticed." She sounds adamant, but the next glare she shoots him holds a little less fire and a little bit of uncertainty. "I have." Besides, "Are you saying if I was nice you would be nice too? I hardly believe it." And she tries to stare him out of countenance to prove it, stuck out jaw, pursed lips and all.

R'uen merely shrugs. "Then don't bother." It's not like she has to believe him. But as he sits there, impassive and quiet, he starts to wonder, "Exactly how did you think this was gonna go?" Because now? Now he's amused.

Amused grates more than other emotions would, and Berit re-tightens her arms over her chest. "I thought we could pretend." She looks at him across the room speculatively. "Pretending is better than nothing and even if you ignored me, at least I would not be alone," which explains why she stayed earlier when he clearly wanted no part in a conversation.

It comes after a few moments of silence. "Sure." Sure? R'uen gives a shrug. "You sit there, read or something. Knit yourself a hat." Not that she has those occupations with her at the moment. Maybe he means she can fetch them if she wants. He looks, though, toward the entrance. "Unless you're afraid of the doorway. Then I guess you can just sit." It makes no difference to him.

Acceptance comes as a surprise, widening Berit's eyes and she exclaims near-happily, "Really?" She looks excited, and this all over an invitation to sit on his couch and be ignored, but there are yet more questions to be asked. "I can go.. I can get something.. or do you have.. a book? Or something that needs mending? Or polishing? Or organizing?" Because, clearly, those are her strong suits above all others. "Or, I can sit."

"I doubt I have anything you'd want to read," R'uen says with a laugh in his breath. "Go get something to occupy yourself. You can sit here a while if you really want to." Seems that's all he feels the need to negotiate, the bargain is struck. He turns back to his paperwork again.

"Ok." Berit stands up, sits down, and stands back up again, more than a little unsure; what if while she is gone, he changes his mind!? She picks up her skirt and slants him a smile. "I will.. I will be right back." And she goes, hurrying out the way she came, back out into the rain, presumably to get whatever it is she seeks and then to come back to enjoy quality time with the Weyrleader.

And would you believe that when she comes back R'uen is right where he was when she left him? Right there at his desk with the scrolls and papers. Except now there's also a glass of whiskey, but maybe that was there before.

A notebook and swatches of cloth accompany Berit back, one tucked under her arm and the other shielded inside of her hand. She sits back where she was before, unmindful to his whisky glass but happy enough that he has permitted her audience. "I will not make a sound, truly," is offered, perhaps already breaking that promise, but who is counting? Her sketchbook is flipped open to a page filled with half-finished designs, and that is what absorbs her attention.

R'uen just lifts a hand, a lazy gesture of 'whatever' in the air as he continues his work without looking up.

Toes scuff together, as do knees, the fidgeting continuing as Berit scrutinizes the sketches already on paper; her movements are not so silent, given the wornness of the leather against the satin of her dress. She picks up her drawing stick and poises it over the book, but it never meets the line it is supposed to. With a frown, she looks up at R'uen (or his back as it were), and flips to a fresh page.

R'uen takes a sip of his drink and reads on. Eventually he, too, turns a page.

For such a hoity-toity miss, Berit takes being ignored fairly well. She uses the opportunity to size the bronzerider up from the back, her fingers acting as a scale for approximate shoulder and waist width, which she scribbles down on paper once she has the ratio. Other measurements will have to be estimated, since he is sitting down, but a lot can be created using a clever imagination. Her pencil strikes the paper in a fresh line, marking the extensions and lengths; unknowingly, he is being drawn in some capacity.

It is inevitable that R'uen's currently reading material would come to an end. And so that record gets put out of the way. But before he pulls out the next one, he finally spares a glance for Berit. One look, the book, the pencil, the way Berit looks up at him so frequently; she's drawing and he knows it. "How's it coming?" he asks, that idle amusement back.

Distractedly, her eyes leave the paper to look up at him again, this time in response and not reference. "I would say it is coming along well." Berit puts another mark on paper and lifts her hand, staring down at her newest sketch. "I cannot say that I am as good at drawing men's fashion as I am at women's," she states ruefully, but on the positive side of things, "I think you would look good in green." Her fingers graze the penciled-in lines, and she smiles. "Maybe cucumber."

"Just don't get confused and put a dress on me," R'uen requests. "I know I'm pretty, but I'm not pretty like that." He's about to turn back to his study, but certain questions to arise. Important questions. "The outside of the cucumber or the inside?"

Why, that would be heresy! Berit cannot help the quirk that lifts her mouth though. "Pretty? Whoever described you as pretty? I do not think your face quite round enough or your lashes long enough to be called a 'pretty' man, no." She touches the paper again, smudging intersecting lines. "Is it not a matter of manly pride that you would rather be called handsome anyway?" As to that color, she tilts her head to the side, examining her drawing. "The inside. I think you can handle pastels well, whereas other men cannot."

"Pastels huh? Pretty colors?" He's entertained again, by her account of him, mostly. Looking back at her with brows barely lifted. He smirks. "You can call me handsome if you like." But so far he doesn't have any particular objection to the cucumber.

"Pastels are not necessarily pretty colors. It depends on your skin tone and your features, and yours," Berit explains, looking between the sketch and the Weyrleader, "are quite right for pastels. T'rev, for instance, looks better in rich shades and jewel tones." She taps the paper, and prepares to say something more, but that statement about 'calling him handsome' makes her brows elevate. "Ahhh, I think you wear dark colors too often."

"I do have a pink vest," he illuminates for her. "What, exactly, do you think should be cucumber?" R'uen wonders, a finger flicking at himself, encompassing all parts of clothing.

"Pink," Berit will elaborate, "is not one of the pastels that will work for you, unless.." Tapping her pencil against her sketchbook, she squints hard at him. "I think something blue-based." Not that he will know what that means, but that is what she supplies, coupling it with a grin. "Shirt. I would match it with a navy pant." She lifts a sardonic expression to him, propping her chin on her fist. "I doubt you would like that, so perhaps white."

R'uen makes a face at that. "Anything special about the shirt or just... a shirt?" His picks a bit of fluff off his sleeve; nothing like talking about clothes to bring out that touch of fastidiousness about him.

Berit gasps and hugs the sketchbook to her chest. "Why are you making a face at that! Cucumber and navy is quite splendid, and I am less partial to white myself. Black is too bland and tan is predictable. Unless you would rather walk around in screaming orange shorts?" Her brows rise again, this time to stay for a while. "I think.. a scoop neck and simple." She slants her book down to take a peek at the sketch again. "That would look best on you."

"I like a button-down, myself. Collar." Since she's designing. "No tan. What about charcoal?" But then R'uen's brows draw together and he makes a face, chuckle humorlessly. "What are you doing?" Chances are he's not asking about the sketch.

"A button down is so very predictable." Unbelievable are the words coming from the girl who wears dresses no matter the occasion, but she says them, curling her fingers around the edges of her sketchbook. "Charcoal is too close to black and also very bland. I still say navy, or yellow." Berit's smile slowly subsides and her gaze drops back down to the page. "I am sorry. I said I would be silent."

R'uen curls a lip at yellow. "No yellow." He sits back again, legs stretching out under the desk, hands dropped to his lap. Relaxed, easy. "Why did you come here?"

Relaxed, Berit is not. "I told you why I came already," in a soft voice that hardly translates across the space. "I wanted company. I wanted.. I am always alone, unless someone wants something or they have paperwork to give me or I have to go over numbers." She sets her chin on the top of the book, precariously balanced. "Sometimes I do not even feel like a person. I should not have disrupted you though."

R'uen considers that, eyes narrowing slightly as he watches her set her chin on her book. His mouth quirks again. "Were you expecting a party to walk through the door?" He glances toward the entrance, just as she did. "Today your turnday or something?"

"So just lonely?" R'uen asks, ignoring all her talk about silence. "No family? Clutchmates? Sounded like you and T'rev are pretty close, him taking on your baby sister and all." There's a skeptical edge in his voice, but his posture remains calm, affable even.

"Lonely" earns him another petulant look as she drags the pencil down from the ribcage, forming the side of the hip. "I am not allowed to see most my family anymore and Sunniva went off to the Reaches for some profane reason." Berit does the same to the other side of the figure, using approximate scale. "I hardly ever see Paige either and I see the others when I can. Which is not often to never." About T'rev, she snorts, very unladylike. "T'rev is an ass."

"Why's he an ass? Too many girls in his life?" R'uen could ask about the rest of it, but he doesn't. He doesn't touch it. He does, however, smirk a bit.

That stops her pencil moving outright, and Berit cocks a dark eyebrow at him. "I do not know how many women he has, had, or will have in his life nor do I care. That much is his business." She resumes, dragging the line further to form the side of the leg. "I do not care much for those who meddle where they should not, try to undermine those who have authority over them, and fake being a friend. It is quite simple, really." Does he not see?

"Yeah, well, I'm not much fond of meddlers myself," R'uen says, a twist of a smile. "You talking about your sister? I thought that whole thing was your idea,"

"Ella." Back to the other side, drawing the extension of the leg. "I am not sure why he felt the need to meddle. He does not understand the circumstances or the consequences, but he charged in like some kind of valorous suitor on a snowy white steed." She brushes away pencil residue. "I could have slapped him, but that would have looked bad in public."

"So why did you let him?" comes R'uen's simple question. But really, his relaxation isn't complete; he reaches for his glass, takes a sip and settles back again. Better.

There is an easy answer for that, really there is. "I did not know how," Berit answers, perhaps too awkwardly truthful. "He kept on about it, and on, and on, and tried to make me feel bad for wanting to send her back home." She sighs softly, looking down. "I did not know what to say after a while. 'No' did not work, so I stuck him with her. I had hoped that he would get exhausted. She is quite a handful, but now he says he wants to be her 'father'. I suppose he forgot that she had one and her mother is also quite alive."

"Guess you were just to close to all of it," R'uen says, acquitting her of some portion of guilt or responsiblity, but laying it on her, too. "Doesn't seem right to me either really. Listening to him talk about it... Well, I know what you mean by meddling."

"It is too late now. I know my brother will never take her back anyway. We will both just have to live with what we have done," Berit replies without much emotion, her pencil strokes getting longer and thicker. "I know now what an ass he is and how ungrateful. I shall refrain in the future from giving him any quarter. How is that?" Green eyes flick up, but she is very serious.

Maybe he's picked up on her seriousness, respecting it without ridicule, or maybe, just maybe, they're really having a conversation. Either way, R'uen's only question: "Ungrateful for what?"

Scrubbing her cheek with the backs of her knuckles, Berit says, "For my friendship? For my time? As you say, I have no friends, but I have, before. I at least know what a friend *should* be like, if I have never seen the qualities in any of mine." She leaves a trace of pencil smudged where she rubbed. "What kind of a friend does that? He fought awfully hard for what I did not want and he.." Her eyes briefly drift closed and she grounds out, "..said some hurtful things. I cannot believe that a true friend would do such a thing. I feel embarrassed and stupid." With her chin almost resting against her chest, she looks at R'uen. "And I am not sure why I am telling you this."

R'uen may have asked why a few minutes ago, but now he seems rather less interested. "So it's just about Fiorella? Would you rather see someone else taking care of her?" His expression for that is less than hopeful. And he explains himself, "Just... wonderinf it there's anything to be done. For your piece of at least."

Sketch, sketch, sketch. "Just about Fiorella? Why I am mad at him?" Berit does not look up, just keeps drawing. "I would prefer that she was home, being taught by the best harpers straight from the Hall and learning all the necessary things to be considered educated. I would prefer that she had real family to spend her time with, and our mother. Instead, she is running around here like a hoodlum, sick, with countless of children that had touch and been Faranth knows where. Nothing can be done." She shrugs and starts doing an arm extension. "She has a foster mother. It is not as though he is in complete charge, save for seeing her occasionally, and I hear consistently and stability is important to children."

"Well," R'uen replies, the smile returning, slow and steady. "I didn't grow up in a Weyr myself, but I hear kids do manage to turn out alright. And if you want better harpers here, seems like it's in your power to make that happen, yeah? Or at least to try." He takes a sip of his drink, maybe, just maybe, a little satisfied.

"But here is not where our sisters and brothers are, and not our mother either. Our father is dead. I would want to be by her if I could be." Berit starts drawing in draping, the shadows and highlights. "We have good harpers. Harpers who sing, harpers who dance, harpers who write and read, harpers who specialize in mathematics, harpers who specialize in history, and even harpers who specialize in art. I cannot think of a better selection, but teaching to one child and teaching to twenty at one time is a lot different."

R'uen's head tips, considering these things. "Is her foster mother any good?" And, along those lines, with more of a frown, "How are your marks? You might be able to pay a little, get her some extra tutoring. Your sister, not the foster mother." Just in case there was confusion there.

Finally, something gets her attention and gets her to stop drawing. "I have not.. met her," Berit says, as if just realizing that fact, and the warning bells are going off. "I have not even met her." She covers her mouth with a hand, unmistakably dumbstruck. "I have.. I have really never met her, R'uen." She shakes her head slowly, unsatisfied with the knowledge, and stands up; her sketchbook falls to the floor, her pencil rolling after it. "I should.. I should go.. I should really go find her."

R'uen's dark eyes go wide with Berit's sudden standing, not to mention dropping her things. However, he's certainly not going to stand in her way. "Well go," he tells her emphatically. "Go, go now," seeming to get caught up in all her urgency. "Go find out something about this woman who's raising your sister. Make sure she's a good sort." He's standing, drink set aside. "Don't worry about your book, I'll get it back to your weyr. Go on and find her."

All she can manage is a jerky nod, a look of profound gratitude, and she picks up her skirts, hurrying out as if something was nipping at her heels.

Knickknacks for Paddywack

Tue, 30 Sep 2008 15:15:57 GMT

Who: Paige and R'uen
Where: Stores
What: Hunting for warm clothes, knickknacks for Paddywack and baby dragons.

Stores, Fort Weyr

Just off of the living cavern is a short tunnel that leads to the cavern complex of the stores, which consists of several caves of various sizes. Stairs lead further down to the darker, cooler caves which house root vegetables, dried herbs, cooking supplies, and row upon row of meat hung up on hooks. The upper level is devoted to everything else, with one cavern devoted entirely to clothing -- much of which might need mending to be useful -- and bedding, while another contains dragonriding supplies like straps, riding leathers, and oil. Other things that can be found here would be furniture, toys, basic supplies for crafters and anything else that folks in the Weyr might need to do.
Everything is neatly organized to the point of anal-retentiveness, ensuring that anyone can find what they're looking for as quickly as possible. Stores workers are usually on hand for those who don't know where to find what they're looking for.

Contents:
R'uen
Obvious exits:
Kitchen Living Cavern

Late afternoon it may very well be, breezes tending toward cooler outdoors and weyrfolk, finishing up their chores for the day, but Paige is secreted away somewhere on the main level of the storage caverns, having planted herself in one particular cave an hour or two earlier. Rustling around in several bins, head occasionally disappearing into one while she hunts for something that's proving elusive, she's at least got a motley collection begun at her feet; some pieces of blue-green cloth, sticks of cinnamon, a chipped piece of shell that looks as if it was once part of a piece of jewelry.

R'uen, it seems, was buried in some other section of the stores and now he comes meandering along the aisle with a bundle of socks in one arm and a sweater hanging over the other. Dark eyes set on Paige from behind and maybe it's her bin diving that quirks his mouth, or the very weird collection of things at her feet, but the Weyrleader smiles to himself as he approaches. He clears his throat quietly.

Engrossed in her quest, Paige is undoubtedly startled by the throat-clearing noise; a little yelp of surprise heralds her emergence from the bin, pale eyes wide. " -- R'uen-sir, " she manages to get out, if a bit breathlessly. "Yer havin' better luck'n I am, I hope." Perhaps just then noting that he's carrying socks and a sweater, she adds with a small grin, "Sure looks like y'did."

R'uen has a ready grin for the surprise in her eyes. "Socks," he tells her, barely a turn of his torso to draw attention to the arm full of them, just in case his enunciation should be questionable. "Without holes in them." That part's important. "So what are you looking for? What finishes the haul of... cloth, cinnamon and... what's that last thing? Part of a shell?" He's glancing down at her feet now, looking like he might consider nudging at her collection with the toe of his boot; while the foot does shift, it doesn't come anywhere near actual contact with her new belongings.

"Ain' got time t'mend yers no more?" jokes the young greenrider, tilting a thoughtful look down at the bin whose depths she was previously exploring. "Oh, um. Lil thin's, " she answers vaguely about her odd collection, smile quick. "I been tryin' t'put t'gether a - gift basket o'sorts. Gotta be lined with the cloth, and decorated with the shell and anythin' else I can find. There's gonna be cookies in the middle, too. Cinnamon ones. So there's gotta be cinnamon." See, it all makes perfect sense!

"I'm better at patching holes than darning them," R'uen admits, but then for a brief beat her accent seems to baffle him. His mouth twists to the side, eyes narrowing his focus as she speaks. But yes, yes it does make perfect sense. "Oh, gift basket. Who for? Anyone I know?"

Paige's expression grows a tad shy, but her face just lights up when she says simply, "S'fer P'draig." A small hand darts out to add a miniature, wooden spoon to the collection. Something else seems to occur to her just then; little side-steps bring her further around the bin so that he can easily access it, too, if need be. "I ain' in yer way, am I?" she asks then, hesitant.

"P'draig. Weyrlingmaster. The one who moved to Ista?" R'uen recalls, or recites, it could go either way. "A little spoon for.. retrieving the bits of cookie when they fall off in his glass of milk?" His brows go up, she's moving out of the way. "Oh, no no. I can get around you. I just thought I'd stop and say hello. I can leave you to your hunting though, if you want. I don't mean to interrupt. Well, not much anyway."

"The very same, " confirms Paige brightly, peeking down at her motley assortment of items, pleased. "Bits o'cookie? Naw, s'kinda - they're all s'posed t'be lil sentimental thin's, " she admits at last. "The spoon's there 'cause he's a baker, " she explains tentatively while peeking back up at him. The other items probably have meanings attached to them, too, but she isn't as forthcoming about those. Or, perhaps she's just more engaged in reassuring him that his presence isn't a bother. "Oh! S'awful nice o'ya. Y'ain' interruptin', not at all. 'Less y'needed t'talk t'me 'bout somethin', " you know, all official-like. And whether that's the reason for his interrupting or not, she continues. "Yer afternoon been goin' good?"

"A spoon because he's a baker." He says it in a tale-telling sort of way, like the start of some fabled story: once upon a time, she gave him a spoon because he was a baker. R'uen adjusts his sock-filled arm, a pair, tied together, dangling like they might fall. "Awfully nice of -you-, putting a gift basket together. Special occasion? Turnday or whatever?" He sets his hip against the side of the bin, settling in for at least a moment or two. "Or is it something private. Don't let me pry." And he means that. He's just as willing to answer her question. "The afternoon's been good, yeah. Successful so far. I figured, winter coming, it might be time to stock up a bit on warm things to wear."

"I, um, I dunno when his turnday is, " Paige confesses with a little flush. Well, that rules out that occasion. "I jus' wanted t'make him somethin' nice. S'been three months." Milestone occasion, then. Still, she glances over at his aforementioned socks again, chin bobbing in a series of nods. "Oh, o'course. Dun ferget somethin' warm fer yer head, too, when it gets colder. Hat'sre great thin's t'have 'round. -- And Zaiventh's doin' good?"

"Not that then," R'uen says aloud. And whatever guesses he could have for that three month milestone remain unspoken, questions unpressed. "Hats," he says instead. "Do you knit? Crochet? I can't help you look for anything, can I?" he tosses out as well. "Zaiventh's well. Proud of himself, though that might be a bit of an understatement. It wouldn't surprise me if Tiasheth got an earful sometime. She's luck if she's avoided it. She's well?"

Paige shakes her head briefly, moving a few items aside in the bin that clatter lightly against the walls to root around for something else. "Naw, I dun know how t'make m'own stuff. I jus' make do with whatever looks warmest in stores. Picked somethin' out las' winter with Berit. I 'spect it'll do plenty fine fer 'nother few turns. Plain hats seem t'last the longes'." Amusement colors her next words, mouth twitching into a cheery grin. "If'n she's gotten earfuls, I ain' heard 'bout 'em. She's doin' real, real good. Awful excited 'bout the idea o'Zaiventh and Zibeth havin' lil'uns. More children fer her t'play with, " she explains, chuckling.

"More little ones?" R'uen repeats, brows up appreciatively though something in his expression is still reserved. "Little ones like... kids? I don't suppose she's had a lot of time with weyrlings; she's still pretty young herself." Finally that dangling sock slips free and the space it leaves has a few more pairs tumbling out of his arm. So now R'uen is bending to collect them when he mentions, "It's pretty wild to think about. That's he's... making dragons. Weird."

"She likes kids, " Paige says plainly, as if that weren't already obvious. "Helped a whole mess of 'em build sandcastles down by the lake. And they like her, too. She likes the idea o'anythin' tha's small and young and growin', I reckon, though she hasn' had no time with other weyrlin's yet. S'why she's so happy t'know that he and Zibeth're gonna have lil'uns." Watching him fetch socks for a fraction of a second, she bends down to assist him with the retrieving. "Can' 'magine what tha's like, " she says after a moment, thoughtful. "I bet 'tis excitin', though. He's a'lookin' forward t'it?"

He cants his head to the side, "Does she like plants too? Baby animals? Thanks," added in for her help. R'uen adds the socks to the top of his armful. "Need a bag or something, before I scatter socks across the bowl. Maybe I can cram them in my pockets." And as for making baby dragons, "He's looking forward to it. Goin' on about how next time there will be more. Sands so full of eggs there's hardly room for them to hatch." He rolls his eyes and stands again to try wedging the socks into the pocket of his slim-cut pants.

"Adores 'em, " Paige assures him, getting to her feet after he gets to his. "Maybe y'can find a lil bag 'round here t'put 'em in?" she suggests, renewing her search efforts. "S'gotta some spare lil'uns 'round here, somewheres." There's a little grin for his elaboration on Zaiventh's outlook, a laugh escaping her. "S'awful lotta eggs. Poor Zibeth." Or whichever queen gets to be so lucky.

"Yeah, poor Zibeth," R'uen says with a touch of sarcasm. He doesn't linger on it. "I think I can get most of them in my pockets," he updates, though now that he's got some stuffed in his pants, he's already starting to look a tad ridiculous, socks hanging out at his hips from awkward lumps. A few more get stuffed in his jacket pockets as well. "Well, I imagine when the time comes for the eggs to hatch--the real ones, not the endless sea of them Zaiventh imagines--she'll be hanging around the barracks all eager for them to poke their little heads out."

"Y'sure?" And Paige glances up from her search, only to have to stifle another giggle with the socks that are adding odd lumps in his pockets. A triumphant noise later, she produces a small basket from a different bin, offering it to him. "S'lil too small fer me t'use fer cookies, but maybe y'can bundle up the socks 'round each other and stack 'em in there? Or the ones y'can' get in yer pockets." For the idea of Tiasheth hanging around the barracks, eagerly awaiting the emergence of weyrling dragons, she beams. "I'm sure she'll be. Already thinks 'tis an awful good idea."

Small though it may be, R'uen looks quite pleased to receive the basket, to pile what socks didn't fit in his pockets into it; now he's lumpy with a basket of socks. It's a picture. "I'm sure they'll be just a curious about her," he says. "Tiasheth," he adds, a grin so cheeky he might just wink. But he doesn't. "Good luck with your gift basket. I hope P'draig appreciates all your hunting." He puts fingertips toward his forehead, 'toward' because the basket on his arm makes it a touch awkward, and gives her a rather playful salute.

Paige's smile for him is bright, hopeful. "Thank ya, R'uen. I jus' hope he likes it." To his playful salute, she fires off a well-executed one in response, though her expression belies its seriousness and relegates it to a similar sort of playfulness to match his. "Good luck gettin' back with all them socks, sir." Apparently, she thinks he needs it.

R'uen gives her a careful bow, neither socks not sweater dislodged, and with that he turns to head off toward the exit, leaving Paige with some privacy while she continues gathering those personalized trinkets for the former weyrlingmaster.

Weyrling Graduation

Sat, 30 Aug 2008 15:27:49 GMT

Who: Berit, K'dai, Gitana, Nerine, P'draig, Paige, Sunniva, T'mic, Tadi and R'uen
Where: Lake Shore
What: There's a fancy pig-roast for the newly graduated weyrlings. R'uen gets a dance with Gitana.

Lakeshore, Fort Weyr

The lake's shore is a broad crescent of golden-hued sand, stretching from the southwest wall near the feeding grounds and arcing toward the southeast and overlooking the blue waters of the lake. Where the lake deepens, that water turns a murkier blue-green, hiding an untold number of perils in its depths. It is an oft-used location for dragons seeking a place to sun or for residents and riders who feel a need to take a stroll; the sand is generally kept pretty clean and while there are no shells, there are periodic bits of obsidian and other volcanic stones to be found if one feels like picking around.

Late afternoon sunlight, rich and golden casts a warm glow across the lake as the party for the weyrlings starts to kick into gear. P'draig's down by the fire, poking a long-handled fork into the side of a pig, juices running down its side. Dishes of all sorts line a long trestle table, everything's being served buffet style tonight and the scents of good things to eat permeates the air. Tiki torches have been thrust into the sand and soil around the lake, lending a cheery atmosphere and the Weyrlingmaster laughs as Ph'lyp scurries up with round eyes to ask if the pig is done yet. "Soon, Ph'lyp, soon!" he promises.'

A green well-familiar to the weyrlings settles on the lake shore, preening and arching at the gathered dragons and keeping an interested eye on the festivities. She scarcely pauses to let her rider dismount; the man gives her a laughing pat before jogging over to the party, coming up behind the carvers with their wickedly sharp knives. "We've got great timing," he says to the Weyrlingmaster, grinning across the table at the eager faces lined up to eat. "What can I do to help?"

Paige eventually moves to claim some meat for her plate, digging in with relish and happily greeting familiar faces as they show up. She's content to eat, converse and eventually dance; after all, skirts are indeed for twirling.

P'draig tilts a look over his shoulder at T'mic and grins, not missing a beat with the carving. "Go get two plates and load up. Save me some stuff, because I'm going to be carving for a little while," the Weyrlingmaster tells the Istan greenrider, and leans back far enough to drop a kiss onto his cheek before returning his attention to the partly carved pork roast. More and more weyrlings, residents and riders make their way down to the shore and the harpers start tuning up off a little ways beyond the torchlight as the sun drops lower aiming for sunset, casting their light into sharper relief.

Nerine absently smoothes the fabric of the dress, moving to pile food on her plate. She smiles as she notes T'mic and P'draig's exchange. "Thanks P'draig this all is fantastic." She grabs an empty seat at one of the tables.

R'uen comes lake-wards, hands in his pockets and his stride lazy and long. As he nears though, he can't help but breathe in deeply and close his eyes just a bit for the fantastic aromas of food in the air. A glance around, however, has him in a sea of mostly unfamiliar faces and so instead of diving right in, he lingers around the edges for a little while longer.

What a pretty day and what an elaborately-dressed pair of sisters. Berit and Sunniva are walking arm-in-arm, both wearing dresses that constitute as more formal than is needed for the cookout. They appear unfazed by their appearances, and lean their heads together as they talk in low voices in the typical way that young girls do. "I think your dress is horribly adorable, Sunni, so stop fussing. Truly." Berit laughs and squeezes the other girl's hand, but slips her arm free as they get closer to the crowd. "I think we arrived a little late. I hope no one minds," she says, looking around, perhaps searching for familiar faces.

Where there is food there should be music and where there is music? Why there is dance of course. What better way to enjoy a night away from the caravan than where there is a large gathering of people near food? The lithe dancer steps eagerly, pausing near a figure at the edge of the group. "If you don't mind me saying so you seem a bit nervous?" She grins flashing the slight space between those teeth.

"Go get him some food," the Istan grouses good-naturedly, offering Nerine a smile as she passes through. "You'd think we were weyrmated, or something." But off he goes after his kiss, swinging wide to the end of the line. ...Where there's a R'uen hanging about looking uncertain. T'mic gives the bronzerider a wide grin and jabs his hand at the man, saying, "T'mic, Aath's, Ista. You've got a face I'm not familiar with. What do they call you?"

"You do not think it is too-" a hand flaps, helplessly, "-inappropriate," Sunniva settles on with a fretful curve of her mouth, absently reaching over to fuss at Berit's hair. She's already fussed at her own plenty for now, even though it's simply up in an elegant coil of a bun. A glance is likewise given to the crowd and Sunni soon finds her lower lip caught in her teeth. Thoughtful. "Oh, no. It is perfectly acceptable to show up a little later; far better than being too early," is offered reassuringly to her sister.

Not a girl for pretty dresses and parties, dancing, or any of that. But rather, sitting by the food and happily sampling everything. Tadi moves easily to the tables, slipping past any that just linger without movement. A plate is taken and she takes some samples quickly before moving off to the side to watch the dancers. A curious look and a wrinkle of her nose before the dressy Beri and Sunniva are eyed. A glance to her own garb, before she shrugs it off, to watch the dancers again.

"No such thing as late for a pig roast, unless there's no pig left!" P'draig calls over to the sisters from his spot where he's carving, knife flashing a little in the ruddy light. Ph'lyp's made it up to the head of the line and is happily waiting as slices of the meat are laden onto his plate by one of the cooks. "Sir, this just smells too good," he says with a little sigh and then trots off with G'ben and D'bor to perch on a log and dig in.

Nerine smiles, "You'd think, but hey your both growing men, you need your sustenance." She teases light heartedly. A glance goes to the two unfamiliar faces at the edge of the group, and a stifled laugh at the familiar worried chitter of Berit's sister escapes. "How fares Ista T'mic?" She returns herself to the conversation, only occasionally scanning for someone who is apparently not yet arrived.

R'uen's brows go up when a dancer draws near, but he flashes a notably less gapped smile back at her. "Don't mind you saying it but I'm not feeling particularly nervous," he tells her, taking a hand from his pocket to scruff at the back of his neck anyway. And then there's T'mic in front of him, offering a hand. And so he'll get one in return. "R'uen. Zaiventh's. Fort. All the way from Ista for a tropical dinner? I'd think you'd have plenty of these on the island." His grin might not be so wide at the greenriders, but it's just as affable.

T'mic flashes the dancer an appreciative once-over. "Who could be nervous with you around?" Then he's exchanging grips with the not-nervous R'uen. "All the way from Ista for him," he corrects, jerking his head toward the table with the pig on it. Or maybe one of the people behind it. Or getting served from it. "And we do - we going to see you at one of them? --Evening, Nerine," he adds. "Just fine, thanks. You and Zerith doing well?"

A happy grin is beamed at the Weyrlingmaster, before Berit turns back to her sister. "Inappropriate? Why ever would it be inappropriate? I think I have never dressed down for a party in my life, and I do not believe you have either. Do you want to start *now*?" Aghast, and then the planes of the young goldrider's face smooth out as she gives Sunniva a puckish smile. "I think we should have spent a little more time dressing our hair, then. I do not believe it is considerable enough time to be considered formally late, but too late to be considered on time." If she caught that one.

Gitana grins, "then forgive my misinterpretation of hanging on the edges of a perfectly good party." She offers a graceful performers bow and a grin. "I am Gitana, Of the Kereiv Dance Troupe, at your service R'uen." She grins, giving the Istan a glance in kind. "The same could be said of you two fine gentlemen, I sincerely hope I am not intruding on this lovely event."

"I scarcely know what is appropriate to these sorts of affairs," Sunniva exclaims, glancing down at the ground. Sand. It makes her shudder. "Perhaps I ought to have gone with something floral." Faranth knows /why/, but that's Sunni. Her nose wrinkles delicately at Berit and she sniffs gently. "Well, perhaps we ought to have, but we are here now, so I suppose it will have to do. And we are /fashionably/ late, dearest sister, if that is more suitable." P'draig is waved to, as are a few other familiar faces, each wave paired with a polite enough smile.

Someone, it seems, has been through the Fort stores, and returned with clothes to prove it. D'kai's looking particularly pleased with himself as he strolls towards the party, hands in his pockets and a grin on his lips. For a moment, he lingers on the fringes of all the excited, happy, pretty, people, though he's soon drawn in by the tantalizing smell of that roasting pork. Little Ph'lyp is clapped on the back as the bronzerider nears the roast, the shorter boy stumbling just a bit while loading up his plate, and Deke grins down at the greenrider, reaching above and around him to snag a plate and work on filling up /that/.

R'uen looks past T'mic toward the table with the pig and lifts a brow, but barely starting to chuckle. It is interrupted though, by Gitana's introduction. He gives her a deep nod, an easy grin. "An honor, I'm sure. So it's your job to lure people out into a dance, is it?"

Tadi watches as she eats, those who chatter and dance. Stuffing her face, almost, without restraint to sample what she has gathered. Occasionally, she moves food aside with disagreement to the taste. Idly, her gaze travels to the cooking pig and then to T'mic. Chuckling, she trails to get in line for the pig while still nibbling on the bits on her plate. D'kai is eyed silently as he fills his plate, looking to see if he nabs something she has missed in her rush to fill the plate.

Nerine laughs brightly, and blinks a little confused at the conversing between Sunniva and Berit, but she nods back to T'mic. "Zerith does well, she's probably out a ways from the shallows. She has her own ideas of what a good time is." Nerine spots D'kai and waves offering a whistle of approval. "You do look sharp D'kai. That cousin of yours around too?"

"I'm sure you've never intruded anywhere in your life," T'mic puts in to Gitana with a sidelong grin sent to the bronzerider. "--Hey, there's Deke. Enjoy your dancing," that to Gitana, "I expect to see you at Ista," R'uen, and to Nerine as he passes, "Most of 'em do." Then he's jogging through the crowd - slowly, but a jog all the same - to fall into line behind the lanky D'kai. "Hey, you. How's Mikhuth? That a new knot I see there, bronze /rider/?"

"Stop being such a sourpuss, Sunni. There is not much more to this than, say, a summer's festival or a turnday party. What would you wear to those?" And on the end of her words, Berit looks down at her own knee-length dress, then back up at her sister. "I think you worry overmuch. You should enjoy yourself. There is dancing.." She turns that way, watching in an idle way. "There is food." But they both know their appetite are lacking in that quarter. "Who knows, you might have the best night of your life, Sunni," she says, hands on her hips. "Might make some new friends."

P'draig works steadily. The line is long and getting longer. The cooks load up plates as people pass and as he carves, P'draig is actually saving little bits aside here and there, apparently for himself and the staff. "Here you go," he says to Neala as she steps up with Saryan. "You two fill up your mouths and try to be nice now, you hear?" he tells both 'mean girls' with a wink and then serves up the next customer. He pauses now and then to lift a hand to wave back to those greeting him until they're basically down to the bones on much of the pig and the platters are set out for people to help themselves at the end of the buffet. Those bits Paddy was saving are shared out and he moves to re-join T'mic, eyes bright. The sun drifts even lower, the shadows deepening while the torches brighten and the music kicks up in earnest as more dances swing out onto the 'floor'.

Hmf. Sunniva's brows lift briefly as she pulls back a step to better appraise her sister. "Well, I did have that lovely-" wait, no, that one didn't get sent. She trails off, glancing away. "Dancing on the sand is an invitation for absolute disaster," is her conclusion, then her gaze goes to the food, then to Berit with a mildly amused 'you have to be joking' look. But, in that glance, she catches sight of a familiar face and she can't restrain the urge to wave a bit and call out, "Oh, there is D'kai!" in part to inform her sister and to try to get the young man's attention. Make new friends? Have the best night of her life? Those go completely in one ear and out the other ... or over her head. Either way.

Grin, grin. D'kai's got a great big beaming smile to encompass the whole party, and he swivels his head this way and that to see what familiar faces he might spy in the crowd. Nerine - P'draig - Berit - Sunni! They all receive a wave, a nod, and the last a jaunty tip of his hat and a wink. Deke's feeling fiiiine. He's quick to snag choice pieces from that roast, but the voice behind him has him twisting his head and directing that cheery smile T'mic-wards. "Hey, yourself! Mickey's great, we're both great - we're real riders now, Mic!" Wooo! And he can't resist turning, just a little bit, to show off that flashy new knot.

Gitana grins wildly. "Amongst other things I imagine, though I've yet to find a partner who could keep up." There is another smile and dark eyes survey the scene She gives a smile to T'mic, "Perhaps not, but it does no good to be rude to my gracious hosts." Hearing the harpers strike up a wilder tune a grin slips over her features. "Would either of you gentlemen care to dance?" She does not wait for a reply but moves immediately to the dance floor, the bangles tinkling as she moves to the dance floor. She catches a brief glance at Sunniva and laughs. "Dancing is fun no matter where you do it dear heart, t'would do you good to try." She offers the girl a wink, waving to D'kai as she is lost to the rhythm of the dance out on the floor.

The Istan says, "I know. I see," and reaches up to tap Deke's shoulder. "Congratulations." As the brownrider comes to join them he tosses a grin over his shoulder and gathers up a plate to hand back. He had that ready, really. "--Oh hey, Paddy - didja see D'kai's shiny new knot, there? What wing's lucky enough to get you?" The last to the bronzerider, of course.

Laughter comes easily to Berit at her sister's revelations; these are the things she has missed. "Whatever is wrong with dancing on the sand? Do you not enjoy the feel of sand in between your toes?" But her lips twitch, for she knows of the truth of that, and a mirthful look is leveled on her sister. She opens her mouth, and has to close it as her sister calls out, a bit shockingly, to D'kai. Blink, stare. "Do you.. do you *know* him?" Her dark brows lift as she turns fully to face Sunniva, hands still planted on her hips. "D'kai?"

P'draig shares out those choice tidbits he saved. Some for his plate, some for Mic's and a bit of crispy-something-yummy for D'kai. The Weyrlingmaster squints at the indicated knot and beams. "Congratulations, D'kai." And he nudges T'mic lightly with his shoulder. "One more down," he says audibly but in a nudge-nudge-wink-wink way. "Won't be much longer now 'til you're all tapped and free of me," he says with a merry laugh.

R'uen is a touch surprised to be expected anywhere, but gives an agreeable sort of nod to the Istan. However, then the dancer is making her fine offer. The bronzeriders gives one more longing look at the roast pig sitting just over there, smelling so delicious, but he quirks a grin for Gitana. "Sure, let's have a dance. But just a short one. Else I might pass out from hunger and you'll have to catch me. Might get awkward," he teases and follows her to the dancefloor, offering his hand.

Nerine giggles, "Who's free of whom I wonder?" She gives a suspicious look to P'draig. "We all know you're the one itching to be rid of us." A good natured smile crosses her lips as she stands to sit on the lake shore.

Shudder. This time, it's far more apparent, with Sunniva hugging herself. Gitana's words earn a sharp shake of her head, disgust briefly touching her features at the very idea. Her attention quickly returns to her sister, green eyes widening. "Oh, /no/. Berit, you know better," she chides in her typically ineffectual way, hands on her hips in a reflection of her sister's posture and chin lifting a bit. That posture abruptly shifts, with her straightening, hands folding before her and mouth twitching just a little before she answers with, "Yes, I know him. We danced at the Gather -- I looked for you, but-" well, the Gather was very large and she was just one person. Her forehead creases. "Why?"

Tadi snags her piece of pig, settling herself down in the sand near the dancers to watch, curiously. The movement of the feet, the swaying, the sound of the music. Rather than, attempt to join in or practice, she simply sample the pig curiously as she listens to the conversations amusing herself with the chatter rather than joining in quite yet.

Gitana accepts R'uen's hand with a grin. "Of course it would be terrible of me to monopolize your company to the point of starvation." The steps are easy but there's a sort of leap to the way she moves, the coins at her belt singing with each step. "See now, this I think is much nicer than watching wouldn't you agree?" she lets a merry laugh loose. "Better than just standing and watching any day."

Nerine slips away from the group, perhaps the noise is too much for her but then again maybe she is off to meet someone.

Sister looks at sister, lips curling upwards in a wayward smile. "I *do* know better, just you see." Berit imitates this time, linking fingers in front of her dress. "I think you should give it a try, in the least. There is no harm is trying something new. Who knows, you might have a change of heart." Yeah right, but she pastes on a sunny show for smile that abruptly dwindles at the truth just revealed. "Danced.. with.. D'kai?" Her chin tucks in, her green eyes serious. "Do you realize who and what he is, Sunni?" Only a subtle narrowing of her eyes is noticeable. "He is not the sort *you* should be dancing with." That said, she turns and starts searching.. presumably for D'kai, her mouth pursed with displeasure.

T'mic asks quite reasonably as he takes a bit of crisp skin, "How many left now?" and nudges Paddy right back, using his elbow to best advantage. "Who's been snapped up? And what does Mikhuth," no nicknames for him, it'd seem, "Think of being a real rider? Or hasn't it sunk in to him yet? --Here," he adds, nodding to a quieter section of crowd away from the tables, "Should be able to talk there, yeah?"

Oooh, crispy-something-yummy. D'kai's /favourite/. Just like - ooh, what's /this/? He's still moving on down the line, filling that plate, though he does pause in stuffing his face to reply, "Flint! Flint. T'rev got me. Thank you, sir." All spoken around some of that pork, of course. So maybe it was 'Sht'hrev' that tapped him, who knows? The bronzerider pauses a beat, shuffles all his cutlery and plate to one hand, and raises his arm to wiggle his fingers to greeting to the dancing Gitana. Er, Gitana and R'uen. The salutation's passed on, regardless, whether or not she sees it, and he continues, finally reaching the end of all that food and appearing quite forlorn for a beat or two. Berit's displeasure is thus far evaded, and he's still cheerily replying to T'mic, "Oh, he's just so happy. The both of us! We've freedom, finally."

"There is plenty of harm in it," is Sunniva's crisp reply. "I can hardly afford to lose a good dress due to slipping and falling or something equally terrible." One hand settles at her hip, the other free to flutter dismissively in the air at the latter topic. "Well, yes." Her eyes narrow, mouth pulled briefly to one side. "And I do know who and what he is, sister dear; I am not blind or /stupid/." Not that the implication was made directly, but such is her perception. That brief flare of annoyance is quickly smoothed over, much as her skirts are smoothed down with both hands. Oh. But then Berit is move and the elder sister hastens to follow, skirts hitched up just a little to avoid the sand that will inevitably creep into her sandals. "No, no, /no/," is hissed after Berit; Sunni can all but see where this is going and it will likely end in tears. Oh dear.

R'uen is not nearly so flamboyant on the floor as his dancing partner, but he keeps up well enough without embarrassing himself too badly. "I can't say I've had a dance very recently. I never did get to take my turn on the floor at Benden. Were you there for the midsummer gather?" he asks, making light conversation as they move around the dance floor.

P'draig finishes getting his plate put together and nods, giving Mic the rundown as the amble for that spot.

Gitana shakes her head smiling at her partner. "Unfortunately that was one we missed, and mama being so fond of Benden Red too" She laughs, "We just made it to fort a few Seven days ago, but I admit I don't remember you from last year's visit."

"Well that's because I wasn't here then," R'uen explains, lifting Gitana's hand so that she might take a twirl beneath it. "I just moved here. Well, not -just- anymore, but recently enough."

Oh no, not that. Berit turns from her searching to mildly stare at her sister. "I hardly think you understand the circumstances and the consequences. Hardly." She fluffs out the gossamer folds of her dress and, with purposeful strides, angles herself in the general direction of D'kai. Assuming her sister will follow, she speaks as she walks, "No, what? No, he has no alternative plans than being your 'friend'? No, he has not tried anything other than dancing or thought about it? No, he will not influence you horribly? I think you can save your breath for later, Sunni." It is an unusual bout of putting her foot down for the goldrider, but she looks determined as she works her way through the crowd, only losing sight of her target a few times.

Mic continues cheerfully enough, "I know I was happy to be tapped, finally, even if my Weyrlingmaster ended up being my Wingleader." He's gotten over his problems with Weyrlingmasters now, it would seem, from the arm he has about P'draig's waist. Of course, now he can't eat anything from the plate he's holding in the other, but such are the difficulties of life. "That's a problem you don't have at Fort, anyway. --And T'rev, huh? I know him. Good guy. I think you two'll like flying with him. S'from Telgar, you know. Originally."

Gitana smiles, "that explains it then I guess," Her eyes drift only momentarily to Sunniva and the other woman but they are dismissed with a shake of her head. "How are you finding fort so far? Is it to your liking or do you miss home?" she asks her full attention on her partner.

D'kai's still oh-so-blissfully unaware of Berit's impending wrath, and the infrequent glance he does spare over his shoulder tends towards Sunniva and less on her storming younger sister. "Oh, I'm happy, I'm happy!" As if T'mic couldn't tell. "Oh, you know him? Yeah he seems - great. Real nice. Still kind of trying to - you know, merge those Telgar and Fort riders together." The bronzerider nods, as though T'rev's business, by association, becomes his business. And he just /smiles/, dreamily. And eats.

The elder is, of course, obediently following the younger, her tone mild and plaintive as compared to the brief outburst. Of course, it is unusual enough that she's actually pursuing this matter, rather than simply let it go. "Berit, /please/. He is an absolute dear and has not done anything untoward in the slightest. Honestly, he has been a great help for me here, so please do not do anything rash," perhaps she might be better served saving her breath. It doesn't seem to matter that much to Sunniva, who is now trying to hasten her steps to attempt a subtle interception. Unfortunately, she's too focused on Berit to try to warn D'kai in some fashion. Alas.

"Both," R'uen says to Gitana with a touch of emphasis. "I do fine Fort to my liking. And I miss home. Miss a lot of things. How about you? Is there anywhere you call home? More than other places?"

Steady, if by slow degrees, Berit had been gaining ground towards her fellow, former weyrling, until an unlikely obstacle steps into her path. She finds herself staring at the large form of Cirse, the Weyrwoman, of all people, and she is momentarily taken aback, her attention diverted. Words are exchanged in low voices - maybe a matter of importance - before the taller woman turns to leave and the younger goldrider follows, shrugging her shoulders helplessly as she passes by Sunniva. D'kai is saved for now, and her sister is saved further embarrassment, as Cirse and Berit walk away from the party, one tagging behind the wiser.

Gitana nods and laughs. "Home is a bit of a foreign concept to me, at least the way other people perceive it." The music slows and she glances to the tables. "I should feed you after stealing you away for a dance." She notes before continuing. "Home's been wherever we make camp, Its my brother and sisters and dancing and music and the quiet of the night, and the sound of the flute and fiddle. " She laughs a little "Its a bit silly really," She smiles.

"I kinda gathered," the Istan drawls up at D'kai, his grin never faltering. "So - is he giving you tomorrow off t' recover from the party? --Is he here?" The thought strikes him and he goes up on his toes, then grins at himself and hip-bumps P'draig. "Oi. You two trees. D'you see T'rev anywhere? No point in me straining when I've got -you- two here."

Tadi finishes off that plate of hers, watching the pairs dancing with curious young eyes. Or rather, the feet are watched with a studious glance and a furrow of her brows. Then, she looks up at the dancers themselves, studying the whole picture. Blatantly, she turns her head to look directly at the riders who are chatting still. Eyeing them all carefully.

P'draig nibbles on bits from his plate, listening to the exchanges between D'kai and T'mic. "Hm? No," the Weyrlingmaster leans upward shakes his head. "Nope, but there's a lot of people here." Paddy reaches up to tousle at Mic's hair then moves aside a little to sit, get to work on his food in earnest. Out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of Tadi. "Good dancers, aren't they?" he directs towards the girl.

"Actually," and D'kai suddenly turns a bit round-eyed at he thought, "Last we talked he said drills're an hour before dawn tomorrow. So I shouldn't, ah, celebrate too hard." Sigh. And Deke's miraculously saved, by Cirse of them all, though unwitting of that whole exchange. He looks over, just in time to watch Berit tailing away behind the Headwoman - and Sunniva, alone! Well, that won't do. He motions to her, happily, but not before he obligingly does a quick once-over of the crowds. "Nope," he affirms, shortly after P'draig, "Don't see him." And Tadi gets an ingenuous smile and wiggling little wave.

R'uen frowns faintly, a thoughtful sort of expression. "No, I understand that. A bit at least. I've been back home and it's the people there that I miss more than anything. And they aren't there anymore. So, when I say miss home, it's really more of missing... the past. More than the place." But oh, he won't be dissuaded from food; a quick step out of the dance and he's gesturing a hand for Gitana to lead the way toward the tables.

Berit's distraction and departure is observed with a twinge of concern on her features; concern that rapidly dissolves once the younger has turned to move away. Relieved, Sunniva's shoulders slump and she lifts her hands to rub at her face. Food is glanced at in passing, but that is passed over with scarcely more than that fleeting look. Ah, but there are the danc- wait. D'kai's motioning snags just at the periphery of her vision, but it's incentive enough for her to hasten that way. "Oh! D'kai, how have you been?" is queried, though she's quick to add a warm, "And hello, sirs!" to both P'draig and T'mic, despite the former evidently moving away.

Gitana gives a suprised smile at the response. "I imagine you do then," she tilts her head studying a moment, smiling before leading back to the tables. She gives a wave to D'kai but he's off. She grabs a plate handing one to the rider and keeping on for herself. "I imagine after they all learn what a charming dancer you are this place won't take too long to feel like home."

T'mic winces for D'kai's impending pain. "Shells! You want me to go talk to him?" He sends P'draig off with a beam but doesn't follow the brownrider immediately; instead he uses the unexpected freeing of his hand to start picking at his delayed meal and keep talking to D'kai. Just then Sunniva joins them, and Mic quickly licks off his fingers and shifts his plate to the other hand before offering the clean one to her. "Hello yourself, miss. T'mic, Aath's. That's a lovely dress you're wearing."

Tadi quirks a brow, letting out a soft grunt of agreement before speaking. "'Suppose. Looks hard, though." A point at their feet, "wouldn't know how to get my feet to follow along.." Slowly, she grins before shrugging. "Must take a lot of practice not to fall or step on the other person.. Or they're just lucky?" D'kai gets a look as he smiles, but, slowly her lips curl almost mischeviously and her hand lifts to give a wave of her own. Sunniva is given a curious look as she approaches D'kai, then slowly she draws her attention back to the dancers.

"Well that's mighty kind of you," R'uen chuckles for Gitana, taking a plate positively heaping with ham. "Can you even believe how good this smells? Do you move around from festivity to festivity mostly? You probably get a good deal of these feasts, huh?"

There is a small laugh as the woman catches the girl's observations, turning from her plate long enough to address her she grins. "It does take practice, but that is nothing compared to the dancing in the caravan." That wild smile is turned to her dance partner for the evening. "Sometimes, but actually it has been a little rare to see feasts like this. With that rouge fall a while back a lot of folks were in pretty bad shape." She glances down to the plate piling it with delicious tidbits. "I'm also used to quite a bit more work before I earn my feed." She laughs.

"Awh," Shaking his head slightly, Deke lifts a hand to touch lightly at his hat, follow the brim with his fingers, and then lifting the hat entirely as Sunniva nears, though his words are still directed to T'mic, "Nah, it's fine. That's what I get for being tapped, eh? And no one needs to see me celebrate quite that hard, anyway." He chuckles, ducking his head. Tadi's return greeting is almost missed for that dip, but he quickly modifies that to a nod and pleasant smile. "D'kai, bronze Mikhuth's." And then, to Sunniva, "Good! As always. And you?" Quickly enough, D'kai's attention returns to his plate: and though he remains part of the conversation, he's quiet enough, simply enjoying the evening. Once he hour turns late he excuses himself - drills tomorrow!

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, T'mic," Sunniva replies dutifully with a smile, taking the offered hand with one of hers. A brief glance down to her dress is given, her smile uncertain for a moment before it settles a bit more comfortably. "Do you really think so? Thank you!" is stated with a bit of a curtsey. "Berit suggested it, but I was not so sure it would be suitable for something like this." D'kai is spoken briefly with before he excuses himself, her disappointment manifesting only in a funny downward quirk at the corner of her mouth.

"Some dances are hard and some are easier," P'draig tells Tadi with a grin. "It's just a question of practice, learning to do it right," he pops another bite of roasted pork into his mouth and chews carefully. He looks over as D'kai heads off, one hand lifting in parting greeting and he watches T'mic for a moment, amusement quirking the corners of his mouth upward, then he looks back towards Tadi. "Could teach you in a little bit once I finish eating?"

"A beautiful dress for a beautiful lady," the greenrider assures Sunniva, nodding D'kai a farewell as the taller man moves off. "So you know Berit?" He glances back at P'draig but doesn't catch the other man's eyes; still, he nods invitingly toward where the brownrider sits. "Want to go sit? Or are you in a dancing mood?"

"Well, I won't tell anyone that you've been shirking your duties," R'uen conspires with the tip of his head. "And I'd expect there aren't many people who see a feast like this one too often. Except maybe folks at Ista or Boll. Do you get down to Boll much?"

Tadi blinks a Gitana, nodding her head slowly as her brows furrow again in slight concentration. "I see.." Not one for patience in practicing, she almost shrugs it off before P'draig is offering to show her. A glance towards her own feet before she looks to the rider with a laugh. "I'm sure my feet will stumble a lot. If you'd put up with that, I'd like to learn. I don't think I'll be good."

There's just a faint blush at the compliment, with Sunni dipping her head in wordless appreciation. She fusses a bit at a section of lace, glancing sidelong to T'mic with, "Well, yes. She is my sister," though one wouldn't know it by their respective temperaments. The offers given are quickly considered, "I- I could not. Dance, that is. The sand," should suffice as explanation enough, as far as she's concerned. Her nose wrinkles, daintily. "Sitting would be lovely, though"

"I'm the Weyrlingmaster," P'draig notes with a chuckle. "For several months out of every turn, I have baby dragons doing their business on my feet. I think I can handle your toes." He winks over at the girl and works on through the rest of the food on his plate, then pushes it aside, wipes his mouth with his handkerchief and sticks it back in his pocket, rises to bow and offer his hand with overt formality. "P'draig, brown Jekzith's at your service for a dance." The faster tune that's been playing is winding up and something more mid-tempo is starting up, gitars and pipes mostly.

T'mic's eyebrows go up, and he turns toward the seats rather than the dance floor, offering his free arm to Sunniva. "I didn't know she had a sister. You're... the younger? And you don't have to worry about the sand," he adds with a charming smile sidelong. "I wouldn't let you fall. But if you'd rather sit for a while, that's fine with me too. We can talk for a bit before your older sister gets back."

Gitana smiles, "That's probably true, I've been to Boll a few times, but I've never seen Ista, for that I think you have to sail or ride dragon back and I've never done either." Her mouth quirks into a half smile, listening perhaps absently to the conversations around her. "My siblings love hunting on the beaches of Boll for fire lizard clutches, me I prefer runners, but then I may be biased." She smiles, and suppresses a giggle at Sunniva's explanation. "So where did you hail from before Fort, and before you became a rider?"

Tadi grins, nodding her head, "well, I imagine it'd hurt more for them to step on your feet than my harmless non-taloned ones." Laughing, she glances up as he bows in his greeting. Scrambling up from the sand, she does an awkward curtsey-bow. "Tadi is my name, sir."

"Younger?" It takes a beat for that to parse and then Sunniva's shaking her head, a few coils of hair being displaced. "Oh, no. I am the older of the two of us," she explains, casting a quick, almost coy kind of smile his way. "But, thank you. You are quite the flatterer, T'mic." That offered arm is taken gingerly, her fingertips resting just on the inside of his elbow. A glance is given to the dancers, her lips pulled into an unreadable line. "I do not think she will be back. Perhaps, after a little while, I might be coerced to dance." If she can get the sand out of her sandals.

R'uen's brow go up. "Never on a dragon? Of course, I can't say I spent much time on them myself before I impressed." He crams a few forkfuls of ham into his mouth, before continuing on. After chewing and swallowing of course, hastily. "Telgar. I impressed at Telgar. From the woodcraft originally. If anywhere is home..." Woodcraft. "Do you get up that far? In your travels?"

"Well met, Tadi," P'draig says politely and reaches for the girl's hand to lead her onto the space cleared for dancing. "Okay, so we'll start out with an easy one," the Weyrlingmaster says and then turns not to face Tadi, but to stand alongside. "Watch my feet," and he sketches out a simple two-step that can fit into most dances so long as the beat isn't in 3/4 time. "Okay, now you try it side-by-side, then we'll try face-to-face."

Mic leads Sunniva away from the dancers, dropping P'draig and Tadi a nod and grin as they pass. "I wouldn't've guessed you for being older. And what's that they say? 'It's not flattery if it's true'?" Deliberately or not, he takes P'draig's abandoned seat and hands Sunniva into it, only then taking his own ease. "Well, maybe after a little bit I'll see about - how'd you put it? Coercing. It's better when everybody's willing, though."

"Well met." She chimes in return, taking his hand gently and following the Weyrlingmaster carefully. As he stands beside her, she watches his feet as directed. A curious quirk of her brow before she attempts to mimic the movement, stumbling quite easily despite the simplicity of it. "Mmf.. My feet don't agree." She points out, letting out a bit of laughter despite the frustration that shows.

Gitana smiles, "I never made it to the wood craft, my older siblings did though, Marko even did a stint in the Smith craft, before he was kicked out that is." There's a smile there. "I'm actually one of the younger ones, this is my first year performing with the troupe. My Older sister is absolutely incredible" She smiles to Sunniva and then to the green rider she's with. "Better hold her to that, that one's got a dancer's spirit. She just doesn't know it yet. " She glances back to R'uen "I hope you find home here,"

"Try it again," P'draig says patiently and repeats the sequence of steps a little more slowly this time, looks over at her stumbling feet. "Sometimes it's actually easier to just let the music carry you off too. Not think about steps."

"Oh?" There's just the slightest lifting of her brows at the saying, even as she takes the offered seat with well-trained grace. Sunniva's hands fold in her lap and it's only then that she realizes she's failed to give a proper introduction. "/Oh/, I am so terribly sorry. My name is Sunniva." Better late than never, right? Her gaze drops to her folded hands, then lift with a puzzled look directed to Gitana. "Well, I do like dancing but-" Back to T'mic again, this time with, "Well, I- it is just that I rather dislike the sand. Were it anywhere else, it would not require coercion."

"Well, I look forward to seeing some excellent performances then," R'uen grins. And he's about to say something else when a rider calls out to him. His brows go up and then he turns an apologetic smile to Gitana. "Looks like I'm being summoned. It was good to meet you," he tells her, gathering up his plate to make his way over to his wingrider, the words 'settle a bet' wafting through the noise when he arrives.

Tadi frowns, watching his steps as he slows it down. "I doubt I have.. What's it called? A sense of rhythm.." Chewing on her bottom lip, she attempts to sway along with the music rather than to force her feet to listen. A stumble but, better than before. Repeating, her feet slowly begin to fall into the right pace.

"Sunniva? It suits you." Mic's manners may not be as polished as hers, but they're more than adequate for the occasion. He glances back toward the dancing, eyes lighting on Tadi and her taller partner to watch them for a few steps before it's back to Sunniva with another smile. "I wouldn't let you fall. Even if I had to pick you up and carry you. You can't weigh much more than a firestone sack."

P'draig nods as he watches, "There that's better, and actually, here," the Weyrlingmaster looks up and over, seeking T'mic out and he lifts a hand to wave the greenrider over. "We'll demonstrate a little and then we'll take a whirl, that way you can see how it works, both leading and following."

Gitana smiles, and too stands to leave. "You've all been excellent company but I am afraid I must take my leave." She offers Sunniva a wink, "Enjoy the night" and with a clinking noise she departs.

Keeping clean prevents sickness

Sat, 30 Aug 2008 15:13:30 GMT

Who: Berit, Phara and R'uen
Where: Hot Springs
What: Taking a bath of course.

Hot Springs, Fort Weyr

The hot springs are contained with a high domed cavern, the walls perpetually glistening with a combination of condensation and mica. Steam hangs on everything, lending a soothing and dreamlike quality to the entire experience. In the center is the main pool, which is vaguely kidney-bean shaped, and large enough for a few fully grown dragons to lounge in comfortably and easily reached by the archway from the bowl. Three smaller pools, more suited for human use, are clustered near the entrance leading toward the inner caverns. Also located near the inner cavern entrance are a set of shelves, fully stocked with pots of soapsand and towels for those without the foresight -- or means -- to bring their own.
While the dragon pool is a natural creation, the human pools are the result of Ancient ingenuity and have been constructed with hewn steps and seating. The water in both pools is hot, but comfortably so, and are a perfect place to bathe young weyrling dragons or for residents to relax after a long day of work.

Contents:
Phara
Berit
Obvious exits:
Bowl Inner Caverns

It is a moderate day, and both Berit and Phara are in one of the smaller pools, whilst Zibeth lounges in the largest pool. At the moment, the goldrider has elbows resting against the side of the pool, her curls tied up in a headscarf and a towel wrapped around her torso. "Is there something wrong with it? Do you need extra pillows? How about rugs? Anything at all I can help you with." She gives the other girl a vacuous look.

Phara is sitting across from Berit, sunk down to her chin in her bathing suit. The flat, unfriendly look she gives the goldrider is unmistakable. Shee sits up a little higher as Berit lists thinks. "You're a git." She says finally, boredly. "There's nothing wrong with it. I know where stores are if I need something."

R'uen comes into the cavern looking like a man who needs a bath. His shirt is wet with sweat, his hair is all damp and spiky, there are beads of perspiration still clinging to his forehead--if a person was close enough to know, he smells like he needs a bath, too. Now he's stepping out of his boots when Phara's 'you're a git' comment reaches his ears, and then he's turning a glance over his shoulder to see who the git is.

"What, exactly, is a git?" Berit's expression remains vacuous, her green eyes hinting at no inner curiosity or sarcasm. She lifts one shoulder in a dainty shrug, and starts to readjust her towel. "If you want to go there yourself, fine, but the Headwoman wants me to extend the help if anyone needs it. I thought I might be helpful." Shifting back, she lets her gaze rove elsewhere, over the shelving unit and the nice fluffy towels, past the sweaty dragonman.. oh, what was that? Green eyes narrow, and she blows out a light breath, greeting idly, "Hello, R'uen."

Phara snorts in amusement but doesn't answer. Likely, she has no actual definition for what a 'git' is. "Well, I don't need it." She says, and lets her eyebrows raise haughtily. When Berit greets the bronzerider, she glances over, looking decidedly more pleased with the turn of events - until she actually /sees/ him. "Oy, you're not going to put all your man gunk in here with us, now."

Oh, the git is Berit. A blank looking Berit. R'uen lifts a puzzled brow at the expression the goldrider is giving Phara, but then a narrower one turns on him. It puts him at ease, Berit making that face at him; he chuckles lightly, shakes his head and goes back to his undressing. "I am," he calls without looking in answer to Phara. "Just try not to think about that fact that it's already full of man gunk from countless hordes of men. Most of whom aren't as handsome as I am."

The 'I don't need it' gets a passing glance as Berit's eyes swing away from the undressing bronzerider; modesty goes a long way in keeping that in check. "I am not adverse to your joining as long as we do not walk out of here smelling as bad as you likely do coming in." Her fingers flick over the water, gaze following their progression. "Handsome." Green eyes go rolling, her mouth pursing, and she slants a look over at Zibeth.

Phara sighs in suffering as she leans back into the water, "Rev, you just gave me the most awful thought of how many people have copulated in here. I'm so glad they clean these things." The shudder she gives is dramatic. Unlike Berit, she doesn't look away or even try to hide that she's watching him. Leering, even, just to make him uncomfortable probably. "Handsome indeed. Except that mole on your right butt-cheek. Unsightly, that." Joking, of course.

"You hope they clean them. Have you seen it happen? How long do you think it's been?" Then R'uen is joining them in the water with an extra special smile for Berit. "I wouldn't dream of making you smell bad, ma'am. If such a thing could even be possible." He doesn't seem at all ruffled by Phara's staring, but he does say "Har har," for her mole comment.

"I am fairly confident that they clean them on a weekly basis, if not more frequently. Keeping clean prevents sickness, and preventing sickness prevents potential death. Or so I am told." Berit glances up from the surface of the water, eyeing each of them in turn. That answered that, apparently, but she frowns at the bronzerider for his smile and flattery. "Right." She starts to sidle to the left, holding an arm against her towel. "It has been nice, truly.." And she starts to look around for an easy exit that will not compromise her too much.

Phara snorts, "He'd have to get close enough to you to make you smell." She points out to Berit, as if the girl is that dense. "You know, you were supposed to start turning and looking for a mole that isn't there. I've never looked at you close enough to know if you had one there or otherwise." She watches poor Berit in amusement, "Leaving so soon, dear?" She drawls, letting her cheek loll into her hand as she props her elbow onto the edge of the pool.

"My, you're a handy sort," R'uen says with an impressed lift of his brows for Berit. Ok, so the whole impressed thing is just for show, and when she goes to leave, he isn't paying any attention anymore. So her sidling is unnecessary; he's busy scrubbing. But while he's busy, well add for Phara, "Yeah, because spinning around trying to look at my own ass is real smooth. Just because I'm good looking, doesn't mean I'm an idiot." He scrubs a sponge in his armpit and then goes reaching to smear it on the bluerider's arm.

"There is a party tomorrow." As if that could answers all questions. Berit braces her hands on the outside and pulls herself up, and finally, wet towel and all, she is standing on her own two feet. "Do enjoy yourselves," she offers with a pleasant smile and a little wiggle of her fingers. On the way out the door, she grabs a red bag and another towel, and leaves with a speed that she might not usually be known for. Like something is chasing her heels.

Berit strolls out into the bowl.
Berit has left.

Phara squeals in disgust, trying to steal the sponge from him or at least flail her arms wildly enough to avoid being slimed. "That's so gross, how could you do that to me, pick on Berit!" Though Berit is already fleeing and thus can't be smeared with Rev-funk.

He doesn't pursue too vigorously, just making to slime her and getting all that squealing and flailing seems to be enough of a reaction for R'uen and he goes back to scrubbing, chuckling at her. "So why is Berit a git?"

Phara grimaces, settling just outside of arm's reach and glancing at him with frank appraisal. "She's stuck up. Still can't just let go and blend in. It's not like she's the first Holder to be a rider. Faranth, I bet more than half of the riders in history came from Holds. But she's the only one prancing around like she's better than everyone." She huffs a sigh. "I don't want to talk about it though."

"Well, not like she's just like everyone else either. Privileged and all. Still privileged. Not ever going to blend in." R'uen just gives a shrug. "Can't say I know anything about who she was before impressing, though. You were a candidate with her though, weren't you?" He soaps up his hair. "Fine, don't talk about it."

Phara shrugs. "I guess." She concedes without feeling. "She doesn't even /want/ to help. She's just doing it cuz the Headwomman told her to." She sighs and wiggles her fingers in the water. "Need any help or anything?" It's a lame, half-hearted offer

"Can't fault a person for doing their job, can you?" R'uen counterpoints with his jaw set to the side, a noncommittal response. And then he dunks himself below the water, coming up a moment later and running his hand through his hair to see that the soap is out. "I don't really know her, myself. She doesn't seem to like me much." And he's utterly unbothered by that, too.

Phara scowls at him. "You're totally defending her," points out the bluerider, folding her arms beneath her breasts and watching him without actually looking at him. "Well, that's another bad point for her. I don't see why she wouldn't, when you're clearly awesome." A slight quirk to her mouth ruins her otherwise angry look.

Where did that sponge go? R'uen fetches it from the edge of the pool to rub it under his arm again, even if he's clean now. He narrows his eyes all threatening-like and then just lobs the sponge at her. "Clearly." But with that, he's climbing out of the pool and padding wetly toward his towel.

Phara ducks the sponge and looks after him, slightly confused. She lunges for the edge of the pool, hauling herself up after him. "Hey, wait. Are you mad at me?" There's an edge to her voice to indicate her worry.

"What?" R'uen blinks, towel around his waist without excess drying, since Phara seems rather intent on him. "No, of course not," he laughs. "I was teasing." And once he's got the towel tucked securely, he heads toward her again at the pool's edge. "Don't worry about Berit. She doesn't seem all that bad. Doesn't seem like she punches at least," he points out with a smirk. "You okay?"

Phara rubs her forehead lightly, looking up at him shyly from under her fingers. "I suppose there is that, and it's a good thing. You seem to have a think for goldriders who punch, and I think you'd scare poor Berit clear away." She winks and nods her head, "I'm okay, yeah no worries."

"One of them at least," R'uen will admit with his smirk still lingering. Goldriders who punch, that is. "Next time I'll just grab your head and stick it right in my pit," he decides then, making as if he might do it right now, hand going for the back of her head and everything. But he aborts without any real intention. "I don't know why she'd be scared of me. She doesn't seem to have any trouble bossing anyone around," he says of Berit, then as he heads back toward his things for proper drying and then some dressing. Both are done quite fastidiously.

Phara groans, "Oh shard it, no." She protests. "My brothers used to do that to me." She makes a gagging sound and then follows after R'uen to trade her wet bathing suit for dry clothing and sighing, "Probably because you won't let her boss you around. I have sweeps. I should get to that." She reaches out to squeeze his arm if he'll let her and stuffs her feet into her boots. "Catch you later."

He does let her, and he catches her hand while it's there to give it a squeeze back, offering her a warm smile as well. "Good luck with your sweeps," R'uen tells her. "I'll see ya around."

Tappings

Fri, 29 Aug 2008 23:47:21 GMT

Who: Paige and R'uen
Where: Inner Caverns
What: R'uen hunts down a surprised weyrling and taps her.

Inner Caverns, Fort Weyr

The inner caverns are a winding system of relatively well-lit tunnels and tubes, both natural and manmade, all composed of dark granite. Many are still a bit rough around the edges, save for those that are most frequently used. Small stone nooks and niches are perfect for keeping baskets of glows within easy reach. The caverns are generally swarming with activity, though people rarely linger; that's what the living cavern and the commons are for, after all.
The commons cavern is oriented just a turn away from the living cavern, with the crafter's workrooms located a fair bit further down another tube. The hot springs are located betwixt the two. The Leaking Cavern, while located in a rather out of the way locale, is easily found by following the sound of clinking glass and conversation. If one follows the tunnels straight through, they'll find the way out of the Weyr and to the road that leads to Fort Hold.

Contents:
Paige
Obvious exits:
Commons Cavern Tunnel Crafters' Workrooms Hot Springs Leaking Cavern Living Cavern

It's been a somewhat drizzly afternoon, filled with intermittent bouts of rain that send people scurrying about during the dry periods to accomplish various outdoor tasks. Among them, weyrlings make runs and take care of errands; Paige, having finished a shift of elevator duty, is making her way through the inner caverns to head vaguely for the stores, expression thoughtful if rather absent, much like her automatic greetings and salutes as she ducks and weaves around people heading up and down the stairs.

With the drizzle and all the people hiding out from it, a recently transplanted bronzerider would hardly be notable as he stops to speak to this person and that on his way through the caverns. Except, when someone is saying your name repeatedly, that's the sort of thing that catches an ear. And that's what R'uen is doing: stopping here and there and asking, "Do you know where I might find Paige?" or "Have you seen Paige?" or "Did Paige come this way?" And so on and so forth.

Paige pauses long enough while letting a group of weyrbrats pass toward a side hallway to catch some of R'uen's queries - or enough, at least, to gauge that he's probably looking for her. At any rate, she aims a salute in his general direction and a polite, "Wingleader, sir." G'ben, passing by on his way to the hot springs, is quick to follow the other weyrling's example, nodding at the older man before reaching his destination.

"Paige! Ah ho, success!" R'uen tips a quick nod of thanks to the latest person that he's stopped to question, even if they didn't actually have a chance to help, then he's trotting toward the greenrider. Instead of saluting, he offers his hand, "I don't think we've actually met, right? R'uen. You -are- Paige, right?" he laughs easily.

"Dun reckon we have, " Paige replies after a moment of hard thought, giving the bronzerider's hand a glance before reaching out to take it. Her handshake is light, but steady. "S'me, last I checked, " she offers with a small smile. "Nice t'meetcha, R'uen." Then, momentary confusion. "Uh, what can I do fer ya, sir?"

"Well, being Paige is an excellent start," R'uen grins at her, returning her handshake with his own more firm. "Means I can stop chasing you all over the caverns." The smile with that is so cheeky, he might just wink at her. But he doesn't. Instead: "I hear I get to fly with you. If you'd do Obsidian the honor. I'm a bit new to it myself so..." So they can be new to it together? He lifts his brows, though, because there was a question in there somewhere.

Paige lets her own smile dimple just a tad. "Oh. Well, uh. Here I am." But then she's blinking up at him at his next words, astonished. "Fly with ya? Y'mean - in yer wing?" Befuddled, this one is! Mouth working soundlessly for a long moment, she finally manages to squeak out an, "Okay, sir." A moment later: "Er, I mean - 'twould be an honor t'fly with yer wing, sir." Nod, nod, nod.

"Here you are," he interjects with agreement, and then R'uen will just wait while she goes through the ranges of astonishment and befuddlement, patient and smiling in return. "You did expect you'd be flying with a wing at some point, yeah? It's not -too- much of a surprise, I hope. Because if it is... well, weyrlinghood here isn't like it was back at Telgar." He can't help but chuckle a bit at all her nodding. "You'll do it then? Good. Might'a been awkward if you'd said no." And then he starts fishing through a pocket.

"Naw, jus' - s'all seems kinda sudden, s'all, " Paige points out tentatively, pale eyes riveted by the motion of his hand going through his pocket. Unconsciously, one hand lifts to touch her weyrling shoulderknot, acceptance beginning to brighten into cheerful excitement.

"Was I supposed to..." No, it's not in that pocket. R'uen frowns and switches to the other side, now looking a little dubious about his luck with is secret pocket-contents. "Was I supposed to offer a bouquet? Take you out to dinner first? Could get a drink if you like... Ah, got it." And what he's got is a rider's knot and the brown and black wingpatch of Obsidian, now offered to her.

Paige's expression gradually breaks into a grin once she takes the wingrider's knot, fingers running over the cords before a hand slides up to replace her old knot with the new. "Naw, I jus' - didn' reckon it'd all be a'happenin' so soon, I guess, " she clarifies, shaking her head briefly. "Thank ya, but y'dun gotta do tha'. 'Tis an honor enough t'get asked into a wing."

"Did you think you wouldn't get asked? There isn't something I should know, right? Like, you're afraid of heights or your lifemate... Tiasheth, right? She does fly, right?" R'uen's teasing her, stuffing both hands in his pockets now that they're empty. "Did you want the drink? Because the offer really is on the table." Questioning brow lifted again.

Paige opens her mouth to protest, promptly shutting it a scant second later once she realizes that he is, in fact, joking. "Well, uh - guess I could use a lil spot o'tea, " she admits, grin softening into a more gracious smile. "Thanks, sir. Wingleader. Er, R'uen. Wha' do I call ya now? Do I gotta salute?" She does it anyway, just in case.

"A spot of tea!" R'uen puts a hand out, as if it might sweep in behind her and usher her forward, but it stays a respectful distance as his other hand spreads out to invite her toward the living cavern. "You can call me R'uen. And... when we're on duty, I'll take a salute but otherwise..." The rise and fall of his shoulder says he doesn't really care. "So do you take cream and sweetner?" And off they go to share a drink.

Mess

Mon, 25 Aug 2008 00:15:15 GMT

Who: Tiriana and R'uen
Where: Ti's place
What: N'thei got Ti all plastered and now R'uen gets to clean up the mess.

e evening, after N'thei has left, Tiriana has not moved from the couch. She's curled up there now, on her side with her knees pulled up to her stomach and one arm curled under her head, face turned in against it. The bottle's still there, with what little's still in it untouched; the smell of liquor's all over and around her.

R'uen is taking off his flight jacket before he notes the smell, and then he turns to eye the couch, the table and the bottle. "Hey," quiet as he heads over to look down at Tiriana all curled up. He drops to a knee in front of her, "Bad day?"

Tiriana doesn't look up when R'uen comes over; she does twist away, burying her head further in the couch arm. It muffles her voice, though most of her response is just a groan as she burrows in. The most distinct thing? "Gon' puke."

R'uen's brow go up. "Ok, don't move." He'll move, to fetch the chamber pot. "Alright, if you didn't really need to throw up a minute ago, you might need to if you put your face in here." Not that he has any idea what may or may not be under the lid. And he doesn't really want to know. He leaves it closed, sets it down and reaches for her shoulders. "Can you sit up?"

With another miserable groan, Tiriana heralds the pot's arrival, as though just thinking about it makes her feel worse. A shake of her head is a definite no to the latter question. "Don't wanna." Childishly, she twists her shoulders just a little, a half-hearted attempt at avoiding him that soons gives up as she rolls over and finally blinks blearily up at him: greenish, with her eyes red and face all splotched and puffy from the crying.

Finally seeing her face, R'uen frowns more sharply. It's never good when pretty girls go splotched and puffy. But he eases her up, steadying her by the shoulders until it seems like she might stay upright when he lets go. Then he picks up the pot to put it in her lap. "Just don't take off the lid yet. Let me get a.... rag... first." This is now how he'd expected to spend his evening.

She stays, more or less, though she slouches down and leans until she's tucked into the couch's corner again, propped up by that. "'M not," Tiriana answers, with another little shake of her head that has her clutching the pot more tightly. She squinches her eyes shut, too, as though that helps any. "'M fine." Except she's totally not.

"You just said you were going to throw up," R'uen reminds her from wherever he is behind the couch. There's a little sound of water and then his boots carrying him toward her again. He drops the damp rag from behind her, letting it sit on the cushion at her side. "Ok." Leave for her to start her puking. He busies himself with trying to gather her hair away from her face.

Tiriana doesn't just yet, at least, though she keeps her hands firmly on said chamberpot just in case. Glancing down at it, she raises her head just enough to let him get her hair loose before flopping back, listless. "You have to go fuck N'thei up," she informs him then, with a small turn of her head to try to look at him. "Beat the--beat the shit out 'im."

"Yeah?" R'uen can't help but let out an empty laugh at that. "So you want to see me get killed? Take the lid off. Get it over with. You'll feel better." But he does corral a few tendrils of her hair from her cheek with a gentle finger. "What did he do?"

"Don't wanna," insists Tiriana, still stubborn even as sick as she might feel. "Go, go kill 'im in his sleep. Don't care how. This," the latter is answer to his question, a miserable little self-pitying answer. "Did this."

"We'll deal with N'thei later," R'uen placates, bending a little so that his words can sooth closer to her ear. "Are you gonna tell me what happened?" Still holding her hair, he frees a hand to slip behind her shoulders and try to get her more upright again, more positioned to use the pot.

Tiriana lifts her shoulders faintly. "I never," she says. "Played I ne--" The end of her explanation is lost, though, as the moving about finally sets her off; she can barely get the pot open fast enough to throw up in it, and not get it all over the couch, herself, or R'uen. There is, fortunately or not, not a lot of solids, no dinner or anything, to go with the liquor, though even after she's got up what she can she dry-heaves a couple more times, shuddering.

Needless to say, R'uen holds her hair back while she vomits, his head turned away so that he doesn't have to see any more of it than necessary, and when it seems like she's gotten most everything up, he reaches for the rag and wipes its cool dampness across her face. He'll patiently wait to find out what happened. "You okay?"

Tiriana, pushing the pot away when she's finally finished, swallows with a grimace and shudders again. The cool cloth has her relaxing just a little bit, enough to lean back into him again and close her eyes. Rough-voiced, and still miserable-looking if not quite so green, "We played I never. To get to know each other."

He does laugh. Just a little. Just a short breath of a chuckle from his nose. "I see," R'uen answers her. vomiting apparently through, he lets her hair go and slips a hand from behind her, easing her against the couch so he can come around and take the chamber pot a bit further away. "I'm guessing he won? Did you get to know him?" Hardly the outrage she wants.

"Tie. It was a /tie/," Tiriana stresses that word. "He was shit-faced, too." Left to lean into the couch again on her own, though, she protests, fighting her way back upright to watch him anxiously. "He lies. He said... said..." She struggles to remember. "Said he never paid for sex. 'N' got all he wanted."

R'uen takes a seat beside her and pulls her against him so that she doesn't have to bother with holding herself up any longer. The rag brushes over her face again. "Well, as long you don't know first hand, I can't say I care much what he does. It was a tie?" Dubious. "So why were you crying?"

"Wanted me to go fuck a girl, too." Somehow, she's still just a touch hopeful, underneath all the redness and tiredness, that that will get a rise out of him. She collapses over sideways onto him, though, sprawling clumsily out with her head against his shoulder. "Tie," once more with feeling. And, "'Cause he's a /bastard/." Which threatens to start her up sniffling again, which leads to, "I have to--" and a desperate look around for where that pot got to.

"Well you might yet someday," R'uen says with a small shake of his head. No rise on that point either. What will get a rise is her search for the pot; that has his pushing her up so he can collect and provide it for her, hurried. "Maybe you should hold onto this for a while."

Tiriana takes the pot back with a miserable little sound, but after a few seconds of being very still and swallowing with effort, she apparently manages to bite down on the urge again. "At least he said it was a shame," she sniffs then, which is apparently better than R'uen's calm acceptance.

There's really very little point in arguing with someone who is too drunk to sit up, so R'uen continues to leave her bait lying where it is, not that he has a tendency to do much else even when she isn't drunk. "Do you think it's a shame? Is there some pretty girl here at Reaches who's caught your eye?"

Tiriana lifts her shoulders in a half-hearted gesture, and she reaches to set the pot down beside the couch (and the mostly empty bottle) in unsteady fashion. Then she can slide back down and sprawl out on the whole couch safely. "No," she tells him. "Don't know many, anyway, 'n' they're all--." Another tired shrug.

R'uen watches her resettle on the couch and sprawl across so much of it. "Well what does it matter what N'thei thinks about it then?" He stands there for an awkward moment, not entirely sure what to do with himself, and then he takes up the bottle and moves to lift her legs so he can take a seat with them across his lap, rub idly across her ankle. And he takes a drink. "You should have stopped playing," he says with a heavy exhale, more like he's telling an imaginary Tiriana than actually attempting to have a conversation with the one semi-conscious beside him

"Matters," she insists, but without much fire to it. Tiriana turns to lean her face against the back of the couch again. It muffles her voice when she tries to explain, "Matters 'cause-'cause. It just does. Shut up." Her comebacks haven't improved for the drunkenness, and she doesn't muster anything but a "mmph" for his latter remark, if she even hears.

"Because you want him to think you're tough. Strong." But even as R'uen says the words, he rolls his eyes to the ceiling, scanning upward thoughtfully. He brings the bottle to his lips again. "Nevermind, Ti. You should go to sleep."

Well on her way already, Tiriana doesn't answer this time either, but does draw her knees up into her protective little ball again; shortly she's finally drifting off to sleep, or passing out, or something. In any case, she's out for the night.