Virtuapern

RP In the Tavern

2007-08-30T18:29:00.000-04:00

People who live in glass houses...

2007-08-29T13:21:00.000-04:00

(Dagmar's note: I can't seem to find the log in which Dagmar and Odyne meet for the first time - which is a shame, it was good! Anyway, Micafeth threw a stone and it went whistling through the bowl, too close for Odyne's comfort. It seems their acquaintance was destined to be rocky...)

8/26/2007

Odyne
Tall, slender and well built due to turns of working in the Beastcraft. Odyne's thick brown hair is cut short enough to avoid getting into her eyes while she works. Dark green eyes are well set in her face beneath thin eyebrows. Her nose is slender and a little pointed, and her lips are full and round.
She is dressed in clothes applicable for her craft; thick boots and dark pants, a snug fitting shirt and a vest with many pockets. Shee wears the knot of a Beastcraft Journeyman.
Odyne looks to be in her mid twenties.

Micafeth drops her lifemate and the Beastcrafter off on her ledge but, citing a need to examine the internal organs of a wherry, takes off again shortly thereafter. Relaying this, the green's rider adds that "We should have an hour or so before she's done - she's extremely methodical, you know, but still a mess afterwards and I'll have to bathe her. Would you like to come in?" Dagmar is already proceeding towards the weyr's entrance.

Odyne wobbles a bit on her feet as they touch the stone, not at all used to travel by dragon. "Tell me again why we had to come up here for this?" the beastcrafter asks, peering briefly over the edge and moving hastily away from it. She nods, "Yes, in is good," she says briskly.

The Laboratory
This weyr would seem cosy if it weren't for the shelves of beakers and bowls and Faranth only knows what else crowding the walls; as it is, it's almost cramped. Almost. Dagmar's bed takes up quite a bit of room with its four posts and ample pillows, although the clothespress at its foot is negligible. Micafeth's couch is, of course, larger, and proportionately more messy. String, hides, winecorks, needlethorns, dried herbs, weird-looking stuff in bottles - anyone in their right mind would approach it with caution, even a dragon. It's been said before, however, that Mic isn't in her right mind. One area that stays consistently clean is the table and chairs between bed and couch - and the only reason that it's not covered in stuff is because someone seems to have swept it all to the floor already.

Dagmar stops midway through the tunnel without warning as she considers Odyne's question. "Well, I don't suppose we had to come up here to do this, to be perfectly honest. It just seemed like a good idea at the time." Glancing back over her shoulder, she resumes walking. "I apologize if I've made you uncomfortable. I didn't really think about it." The tunnel opens into mess, and the rider literally kicks a path clear through the stuff towards the small table. The small pile of random junk on its surface is summarily swept to the floor. She pulls out a chair and offers, "Please, have a seat."

Odyne eyes the messy weyr with a strict frown, "Where?" she asks in clipped tones, and then makes her way very carefully towards the chair and sits. "As long as I can get back down again," she says blandly.

Dagmar takes the other chair, slinging it around so she can sit on it backwards and fold her arms across its back. "Oh, don't worry, Micafeth will take us." A pause. "Of course, she may be a bit.. messy." The rider has presence enough to look slightly embarassed. "I wasn't thinking about that, either. Oh, I'm so sorry, Journeyman." Both hands reach out apologetically. "But she's so excited about all of this, and it gets all jumbled up in my head when she does that." Now, in her defense, the mess in the weyr isn't gross junk - no old food or dirty clothes. It's just... stuff.

Odyne looks at the rider's hands closely and then slowly reaches out to give them a brief clasp. "What is this project she's so excited about, then?" she asks curiously, while her eyes travel around the room, mentally cleaning things up.

Dagmar stares down at her hands as Odyne's are placed atop them, like she's never seen them before. Bright pink touches her cheeks, but she makes a point to fold them again once the crafter's hands have retreated once more. "Er. Well. You know, that brief conversation we had about flying things?" Oh, the hands are out again, this time to flap a bit to either side.

Odyne nods slowly, a single time as her gaze continues to scan the room with a frown. She shifts in her seat and then forces her eyes back to the rider's face, "Yes, I do recall your dragon endangering a weyr when she decided to throw a rock across the bowl."

Dagmar winces visibly. "It hasn't happened since," her quick, defensive assurance. "But mostly that's because we ran into Journeyman Smith Rivan, and started to talking to /him/ about this - you know, because Mic doesn't often talk about much else. She started going off the other day about hot air - to the /Weyrleader's/ dragon, no less, and the last thing I need is more attention from that old- ah, from our esteemed leader, and..." Puzzlement folds some wrinkles between her brows. "Wait, what was I talking about again?"

Odyne listens to the rider ramble on, sitting there quietly but with a bit of a sour expression on her face, "Hot air," she says. "Rocks, and throwing things. I recall her asking me which things on Pern flew. Is now a time to make that list I offered to draft out for her?"

"No... no... no..." Dagmar waves the suggestions away. "That wasn't it, it was - oh! The list! That would be wonderful, but you didn't really have to come to my weyr to do that. In fact," shrewdness sharpens her face, "I begin to suspect you'd never like to come to my weyr at all. But that's fine. We're here now, and so I would like to ask you if you'd be willing to work on a joint comission." Because she's /just/ remembered that, "I mentioned it to Smith Rivan. He's going to work on models of things that fly."

Odyne glances around the room again and smirks at Dagmar, "Very acute," she says dryly. Then her interest is perked, "Models? Small replicas you mean? Of things that fly? What purpose would that serve?"

Dagmar bobs her head in the affirmative, looking quite pleased until Odyne questions her motives. Always with the sharp questions, this Beastcrafter. "Well, you know, she could study them to her heart's content, spend all of her time examining models instead of asking me if she can cut something up herself, or whatever -- you see, Journeyman Odyne," and now the greenrider becomes abashed indeed, "when she asks me for something, if I don't see any harm in it, I let her have it." She holds her hands up, palms out. "No more throwing rocks, no, not that. But what harm would models be? And Rivan sounded so excited about it."

Odyne frowns, "I don't see the point in it," she says bluntly. "You spoil your dragon far too much. This here is a prime example of what people say when they say women should not be riders." She frowns, "Substituting bad behavior for a less-bad behavior is not correcting the problem." She studies the older woman closely.

Dagmar's jaw drops and she sits bolt upright in her chair. "Spoiling? Spoiling?! Crafter Odyne, I must protest!" Her dark eyes flash and a fierce expression settles into her features. "What is /bad/ about my dragon wanting to know how things fly? Should the search for knowledge about something so intimate to her existence not be encouraged? It isn't her fault that she lacks the full mental abilities of a human being, but she still tries to understand. I am shocked that you find that unsuitable."

Odyne listens to the rider's outburst, and then replies calmly, "You yourself just admitted that you can not say no to her. While my understanding of dragons is limited, my understanding of behaviors is quite extensive. Without the ability to say no, you do not have the ability to control her. I am certain you did not wish her to throw the rock the first time?" She pauses, "but you did not stop her that time. Or could not stop her. Curiosity is one thing, getting everything she wants is quite another. And you have the gall, the presumption to ask me to take my valuable time, and Smith Rivan's time with this frivolous pursuit, when there are true things of importance that need to be done to rebuild Pern? Your selfishness astounds me."

Dagmar jerks to her feet, fire snapping in her eyes. "I was distracted!" claims the rider, waving a hand dramatically. "She did not /ask/ me, Oh, can I throw this rock? She wondered absently, I wonder what this rock will do if I throw it? and I, unthinking, replied, why don't you find out?" It doesn't seem to occur to her that this isn't helping her argument. "I didn't know she would throw the rock right then and there! I happened to be doing some /work/ of my /own/ towards rebuiling Pern, thank you very much! When a curious child picks up a coal from the hearth while his mother is busy cooking, do you censor her, too, for ineffectual control?"

Odyne watches all this outburst with a passive face, "If the child suddenly throws the coal across the room, yes," she replies evenly. She, too, rises to her feet, but not in anger. "Might it be presumptuous of me to ask for a lift down? I feel I am doing nothing to improve your evening."

Dagmar stiffens her features, quashing her anger to coldness. She has, at least, a little control over that. "Then I must assume that you have never had children yourself. I think you are right, Journeyman. Nothing fruitful will come of this. Just a moment." For once, her gaze glazes, and when she 'comes back,' she's frowning slightly. "Micafeth has just made a third kill; she's hungrier than she thought. If you'll - no, no. Don't do that! You can - oh, to the Red Star with it!" No explanation comes forth and she drops to her seat, staring moodily at the wall.

Odyne tilts her head just slightly to the left as she watches the monologue, "She's done something you do not agree with?" she pries, her tone light and deceptively polite.

Booted footsteps chime from the tunnel; a grizzled man emerges wearing dark gray riding leathers with a loop of blue through his knot. "Good evening," greets the man, bobbing his head at Odyne. A faint smile hovers in his gaze when he looks at Dagmar and asks, "Micafeth said you had a guest in need of conveyance, Mara? Sparrowhath and I are happy to oblige."

Odyne looks at Dagmar briefly and then smiles a little at the bluerider, "Please, it would be much appreciated. Just down to the bowl, if your dragon would be so kind."

"Thank you, K'stral." The words grind reluctantly from Dagmar's mouth. With amazingly less rancor, she adds "And thank you for your time, Journeyman. I am sorry we came to such a difference in opinions."

Odyne inclines her head to Dagmar, "I am sorry that I will be unable to help you in this pursuit," she says, and walks out to the ledge to where the man's blue waits.

K'stral sketches a slight bow in the greenrider's direction, and another to Odyne. "If you'll follow me, please, Journeyman?" His eyes stay on Dagmar for as long as they can.

Post-Hatching ... Discussion

2007-08-29T13:00:00.000-04:00

This makes more sense with the Hatching log taken into account. But you get the idea - stupid me forgot to log the main event. :P
...............

The cavern is full of people, congregating in groups small and large. The largest, of course, are around the newly Impressed, and brim over with happy feelings. There are a lot of shiny joyful faces around, but Dagmar isn't one of them. She simply looks bemused as she weaves among the tables to settle at the end of Zephyr. Her plate has been piled high.

Japh doesn't look particularly pleased himself. The Hold handyman straggles at the end of a string of Holders, all following their stomachs to the food. Beside him, once of his gregarious companions is still trying to explain the magic of a Hatching. "Look, did you see their faces when they Impressed? It's sad that we lost a girl, very sad. But look at the Holders that are dragonriders now! Their families are proud of them. Why can't you at least be respectful of that?"

Piea strolls into the living cavern, looking like she's already had a decent amount of wine - enough to make her cheeks flushed and give her more confidence, anyway. Heading straight to the lavishly appointed food table, she grabs herself a chicken drumstick, before settling in with the crowd. "Tho, who won their betth, eh?"

From her seat at the Zephyr table, Dagmar lifts a hand to wave to Piea. Her Micafeth has had an eye on Korsanth, so she's passingly acquainted. And judging by the way her gaze darts suspiciously around the cavern, she wants someone kinda friendly at her back. "Dunno about bets - isn't Tay the bookie? She's a little busy now, I think."

"'m respectful!" Belligerence adds a little weight to Japh's tone, and perhaps he's had some wine as well, because it's more emotion than he'll usually emit. "'m respectful of all kinds a life! But I can't be all happy-go-fun at this when A... when Adr.. when tha' girl's gone, an' missed 'er chance!" Truth be told, he doesn't remember the murdered Candidate well at all. He remembers very clearly that she was murdered, however. "An' as fer Holders 'comin riders, well." He's got sense enough to lower his voice. "Ya seen wha' female riders 're like, na?" Bland gold eyes dagger towards Dagmar. "Who's ta say she weren't a well-behaved Holder girl once? An' now look!"

Piea returns Dagmar's wave, walking - not without a stagger here and there - over to join her. "I made thome without her," she explains, leaning on the chair next to the greenrider and biting into the chicken leg. The rant coming from Japh catches her attention, and she looks at him, a little bleary-eyed. "Och, you're a noithy one now, aren't you?"

Dagmar is the very picture of an evil, shameless greenrider. Indeed, she is. Sitting demurely, fully clad, and even talking softly. She can't help it if her voice is a little throaty. "Aren't you clever. Yes, yes, Korsanth is too." Pausing just a second, she adds, "Why don't you tell him yourself? It's not like you can't talk." Her eyes betray none of the usual rider glaze, but the words don't fit into any conversation but the one in her head. When she leans towards Piea, though, it's clear she's talking to the bluerider. "Ah. Well. I wouldn't. I'd appreciate if it you didnt't, in fact."

Japh just happens to be close enough to the rider's table to catch Piea's vocal opinion. He doesn't catch the glares some other riders are directing towards him, however. "Y'darn right I am. Got reason t'be. Somebody's got t' say it, ain't?" The fellow beside him, not having sampled some of the delicious Tillek flowing freely, is a little more aware that they're guests of the Weyr and that there are many, many honor-conscious riders nearby. "Ah, Japh, I don' think-" "S'right, ya /don'/ think! D'ya remember what /she/ said t' Dylan?" Japh jerks his thumb at Dagmar, everything about him accusatory.

Piea smiles at Dagmar, nodding her head. "It was Korthanth'th idea, of courthe. He'th all for the whole betting thing, otherwithe I wouldn't do it. And thomehow he alwayth knowth who'll take a bet. Got a pathion for markth, he hath." She wavers a little bit, grabbing tightly onto the chair with her chickenless hand. Once steadied, said chicken is raised to her mouth and she takes another bite. Japh is given a frown, and the bluerider shakes her head. "You're daft," she offers, wiggling her chicken in his direction.

"A passion for marks? How very interesting." And indeed, Dagmar sounds analytically intrigued. "I've never heard of such a thing in a dragon before. But then, before I met Mic, I hadn't heard of dragons obsessed with how things work, either. You see--" But she stops mid-sentence, dark brows beetling as Japh's accusations finally get to her. Standing up, she faces him squarely despite his advantage in size. "Look, man. I didn't know he was married. And to be honest, I wasn't thinking about it, either. I admit I wasn't keeping tabs on my lifemate. I apologized. It /certainly/ won't happen again. Our Weyrleader has seen to that." Her lips twist slightly. "But other than avoid the Hold forever, there's nothing more I can do. And it's not like I raped him. Let it go."

Kiala slips in silently, siezes a few bottles of various alcohol-related drinks, and hurries back out before she's noticed.

Speak of the devil. Ol' Scratch walks in, looking like a very pleased Weyrleader. His posse rides his heels, a general air of goodwill pervading them, and numerous nonriders - Master Crafter and some upper echelons of the Holding world - pepper the group. M'an says something that sets them all off in a chuckle, his dark eyes glinting with good humor. Only one man isn't joining in the laughter, and that's bluerider K'stral. He's staring across the room at the tableau of Dagmar, Piea and Japh.

"He thayth not all treathure ith thilver and gold," Piea explains, then shrugs. "Apparently they're made of wood and wakth and other thingth, too, but you can thpend them jutht ath well." The greenrider's response to the holder is watched with wide eyes, which dart back and forth between the two. "I think you're being a little inthulting, you know." To Japh, of course.

At the word 'rape', Japh's face flushes livid red, followed by bleak paleness. It's probably lucky for them all that Piea's interjected remark slowly penetrates his mildly addled brain. Shifting his attention from greenrider to blue, he has to blink several times. "Inthul- insultin'?" The word starts out angry and fades towards surprised. "'m bein' insultin'? Ya really think so?" Behind him, his friend groans and does his best to look very invisible.

Dagmar gets this feeling again. The feeling that she's being watched. It's more than the group of people nearby who are obviously watching this rider-holder byplay. This is a 'I'm burning a hole through your head from across the room' feeling. And it turns out she's right, because a quick sweep shows her K'stral among the Weyrleader's crew. Only, she gets the sensation that the hole he's trying to burn is not through her head at all, but somewhere much lower. "Look, folks, this isn't necessary. If you've got a complaint, sir, please," a sigh, "formally petition the Weyrleader. Piea..." She's not sure what to say the bluerider.

Piea sways drunkenly, waggling that chicken leg at Japh again. "Aye, you, I really think tho." She releases her grip on the chair next to Dagmar and shrugs at her name. "I'll leave you to it, becauthe I think I really need to go lie down now." Waggling the chicken at Japh again as she passes on her way out, Piea also manages to pass M'an, who she offers a sloppy, jaunty salute to. "Good new weyrlingth, thir!" And off she is, out into the bowl.

M'an blinks mid-sentence, returning Piea's salute automatically. "I agree, Piea," he replies, bemused, before turning back to the entourage. He is swiftly swallows into its depths of congratulations and questions. K'stral has detached himself, seeing an opening where the other bluerider has departed and his target been abandoned to the Holder man's attention.

"She thinks 'm bein' insultin'," repeats Japh for a third time, this time addressing his cowering friend. It's an opportunity for the other man to plead his case, "I think she may have a point, Japh. Come on, let's sit and eat. The sooner we're fed the sooner we can head back. Come on." The Hold handyman hesitates. Dagmar is right there, undefended. But there are many people looking on and an older, bulkier rider headed towards them. "Aye, well. Y'd best be carefuller of y'self and y'mate," he growls at the greenrider. "An' of other people!"

Dagmar tamps down a surge of irritation at the criticism of the way she handles her lifemate. In this case, it smarts extra because it's legitimate. "I am taking extra care in that category, I assure you." Her voice takes on a chill in addition to the clinical detachment she adopts frequently when things are displeasing to her. "And if you are unwilling to believe that I have been punished for my -- lapse, please feel free to ask the Weyrleader yourself." Sweeping a hand dramatically, she points out the knot of people where M'an is. K'stral happens to be in the way, but she does her best to ignore that.

K'stral happens to be just beyond the reach of Dagmar's pointing hand, and closing fast. His grizzled features are sculpted into pleasantness, but there is nothing of the sort in the look he gives Japh. Not even bothering to address the handyman directly, he practically sidles up to Dagmar. "Is this man bothering you, Mara?" There's something mocking in the otherwise solicitous question.

One more rider to the equation is too much for Japh. Even in his agitated state, he can figure the odds. But it wouldn't do to back down easily; no, he grunts at Dagmar. "Jus' so, greenrider. Jus' so." If K'stral can ignore him, then he can ignore K'stral just as well, spinning to grab his friend by the arm and practically drag him away. "C'mon. Food an' drink's over here. We kin talk t' the Holder 'bout all this later. /An'/ the Weyrleader, if we have ta." With a parting glower over his shoulder, he moves to the less riderish end of the caverns.

"That man /was/ bothering me," retorts Dagmar shortly, rounding on the bluerider beside her with visible reluctance. "Now /you/ are bothering me, K'stral." A hot anger burns in her eyes, boring into K'stral's so intently it's like she's trying to set him on fire. "I told you not to call me that. Don't make me tell you again."

Krisianna comes up from the lower caverns.
Kiala comes up from the lower caverns.
Krisianna stumbles into the doorway, and SHH'S Kiala, loudly, and quite possibly drunkenly, before whispering, or trying to whisper, "We gotta be carreful 'ere, so we don' ge' caughts."

K'stral's on fire, all right, but probably not in the way Dagmar intends. "Or you'll do what?" The man moves closer, close enough for his wine-perfumed breath to wash over her. "Hmm? What could you do that would make me stop, do you think? Yell at me? Refuse to talk to me again?" He chuckles softly, a lewdly menacing sound.

Kiala nearly falls over her friend, instead looking around at the mass of people to identify who's talking to her. "Whaaa? .. uuhh.. yesshh.." She giggles loudly, her face a furious red as she waves at the other occupants in a innocent manner. Then, hurrying after Kris' once more, it takes a lot of effort for the drunk girl to remain steady.

Dagmar's dark skin takes on a deep rose tone high on her cheeks. "Don't push it, bluerider." Her voice has become utterly flat, her eyes flat and dead as well. "Just don't push it." She pushes him, though, stiffarming away from the winesmelling K'stral and stalking out of the caverns. The place is packed, though, and it takes her a while to escape, even with her steamrolling way. She brushes close to Kiala and Krisianna, unconsciously rough enough to knock an unsteady person off their feet.

Krisianna squeaks and tumbles back, grabbing on to Kiala as the rougher woman knocks into them, and falls flat on her backside on the cool stone floor.

Kiala slips over as her friend grabs onto her clothing, and within a few seconds she's flat on top of Krissi', giggling away from the effect of the alcohol. "Oopsh!" She manages to speak out, before her laughing fit continues.

Krisianna stumbles to her feet, pulling Ki with her, nuzzling her shoulder affectionatly. "Lessgo."
Kiala giggles, climbing onto her feet and stumbling after the younger girl.

The Way We Used To Be

2007-08-28T17:47:00.000-04:00

OOC Note: An old log from '06, pre-Theme shift. Before L'yam and Aoifen started beating each other up over K'rian, this is what life was like... I hope the comchat isn't too distracting, but I nearly hurt myself laughing when I read this. I had to share. - Aoifen

Midmorning in the Weyr. Aoifen is typically, at this time of day, busily engaged in some sort of productive chore. Today that appears to be tuber peeling, of all things. And he's not doing a very good job for once, too busy sighing from the depths of his soul and staring at the slowly accumulating peels.

Lyam wanders in from the bowl and finally makes it to a table after being stopped by one of the caverns women and ordered to clean off his boots. Twice. "C'mon, it's just mud," he mutters before walking in flop down within earshot of Aoifen. "Don't see Fyn getting yelled at to scrape /his/ shoes. There's a lesson for ya," he says in the other boy's direction. "If you don't want to get yelled at about cleaning things up, wear something floral once in a while." Mutter.

Striding in with confident gait, Ari quickly removes her riding cap and unzips the hot wherhide jacket. Dark sweat-drenched curls hang limply and the rider runs her fingers through them quickly in disgusts. "I thought moving back north meant the end of these sharding hot midday sweeps." Plopping down at the Kaze table, she leans back in her chair and props her booted feet up on the meticulously carved wood. "You there," she calls to an obviously distracted Aoifen, "Watch what you're doing. Do you want to slice a finger off?" Lyam is given a wry smirk as she offers, "I have some of Ky'rin's old clothes, Lyam. I bet those would suit you well." Snicker.

Aoifen remains bent over his scrap bucket, painfully working the knife (which must be dull, by the mess it's making from the tuber) through the scrubby skins. At Lyam's grousing he glances over, hardly looking pleased at his friend's presence. It's not in him to be openly rude, though, so he simply shrugs and mutters some vaguely sympathetic reply. Upon hearing the familiar crack of the aging bluerider's voice he jerks his eyes up and the knife down, narrowly missing his digits. A fair-sized hunk of potato drops into the scraps. "Yes, Bluerider Arial." It's the reply of a beaten soul.

Lyam frowns at Aoifen's response, such as it is. "Hey, what's got into you? Look like someone stole your puppy." Pausing, he scratches the back of his head. "Did they?" Arial's words earn a quick and unrepentant smirk. "Watch it, Rider. Don't want him to know you're lookin' in greener pastures, do ya? But before you get your hopes up, I'm not playing dress up with anyone."

"Aoifen, was it," Arial asks the boy. She's always been terrible with names. "Stop that and come here," she commands, her years as a Weyrlingmaster and Wingleader telling in the brisk tone. "You're going to slice a sharding finger off and then I'm going to have to take you to the Infirmary and that's just not convenient." Teenagers, Faranth help her, she seems to be surrounded by them suddenly. Especially cheeky ones who think they can mouth off to her just because their mother's the Weyrwoman. "You're not to my tastes anyway, Lyam. I like my boys to look... well... finished," she drawls, eyes dancing merrily.

Aoifen sighs. Well, it's more like a huff, really, an irritated huff. Giving Lyam a dirty look, he shoves himself to standing and nudges the tuber peels aside with his boot before crossing to the Kaze table. His manner simply oozes sullen, though he keeps his pale blue eyes respectfully downcast as he approaches Arial and stops just out of arm's reach. "Yes, Rider?" So dutiful! So agonized! So adolescent.

[BendenWeyr] Aoifen blames Lyam for this entire situation.
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Wait a second, what'd I do?
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen: You exist. :)
[BendenWeyr] Arial laughs. That's so random I have no words.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen can't blame it on Arial. She's a grownup. It's /obviously/ not my fault. Thus, your fault by default. Wrong place, wrong time, my friend.
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Story of my life.
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: But you're not getting details.
[BendenWeyr] Sabria: Pfft! Adults are /always/ wrong.
[BendenWeyr] Sabria: Most of us here are crazy to boot!
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Which means the rest of us should run while we still have a chance.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen: But where could we go that's safe?
[BendenWeyr] Arial mwuahahas! See, I'm blameless!
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian: I hear Southern's nice.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen thought that was where they sent the old riders to retire. We might be surrounded.
[BendenWeyr] Arial knows this nice, deserted island... >.>

Lyam laughs. "I'll make sure to tell him that's what you think he is," he promises without naming names. The dirty look is noted and acknowledged with a shrug of his shoulders before he goes back to leaning back carelessly in his seat. "Finished, done for, gone and been." Still looking vaguely amused, he watches Aoifen again.

"Now sit," the bluerider instructs. "And tell me why you're so glum?" And who in Faranth's name gave the boy something sharp in his present condition? Solaris is going to get a talking to, if the rider has anything to say about it. Sulky, she knows well, and thus she just overlooks it with a bemused shake of her head. "He?" Ari's eyes narrow thoughtfully as she studies Lyam. "And just which /he/ are you talking about?" There's more than one?

Aoifen can plop his rump on the indicated bench, but he doesn't have to like it. Shifting his weight from cheek to cheek, his eyes from side to side, his full mouth moves towards pouting as he seeks a way out without being disobedient. Being good is so hard sometimes. "I... I'd rather not talk about it, Rider," he mutters finally, his gaze landing on Lyam significantly and then dropping to the floor again.

Lyam reaches out and snags the bucket with his foot before setting himself to peeling the tubers that are left. "The next one," he answers as the bits of tuber skin begin to drop into the bucket and the naked roots are dropped into the bowl. "Might be one of those warnings we post, y'know? 'Stay away from yesterday's stew, watch out for the water from the lower lakes in Spring and Fall, and Arial likes her men all but done for." He begins to whistle once he's done speaking, pretending to be engrossed in his work while the two speak, only looking up once Aoifen has spoken. "Aw, come on, now. That's just not right, nosing into a guy's business like that. Can't you see he's got something on his mind? Probably some sharding female's fault, too, and now you're butting into it."

Arial saw that look, indeed she did. "Lyam, get your privilaged butt over here," she yells at the other boy. "What exactly did you do to Aoifen? I don't care if I have to frogmarch both of you out of here and dangle you from dragonback, you're going to tell me what this is-" She stops, mid-tirade. "This is about a girl?" The weyrwoman's son is given a look that promises retribution before she cracks a grin and leans back into her chair. "Not all but done for," she shakes her head, snaking an arm around poor Aoifen. "I could cheerfully kidnap this one." No wonder Kyrian's got issues. Ari's racing well towards 60 turns and she's making the moves on his friends.

Aoifen groans softly as things escalate rapidly into a complete muck. Half of him is actually rather gratified to see Lyam called to task, even if he's done nothing but be himself. The other half feels incredibly guilty to see his friend unfairly fingered. And then there's /another/ half that simply withers at the mention of female. This is the same half that causes him to jump and squeak as the bluerider's arm slips around him. "Kidnap?" His voice cracks into a horrified soprano.

Lyam looks up from peeling with with a slightly surprised look. "How come it's always got to be my fault?" He asks, dropping the latest tuber into the bowl. "Privileged my a.. er.." Stopped short by the rider's indication that she could kidnap Aoifen, he points a finger at her. "That's just not right, you know that? Not right. Besides, if he's got woman problems- and I ain't saying he does- then how's that gonna help anything?"

"Because probability works it out that if something's wrong, you're at the heart of it," Ari retorts breezily. "Kidnap," she soothes the boy, leaning close to add, "Relax, I have a weyrmate. You're safe." Well, safeish. "Pointing's rude," she sniffs towards the boy. "And I can kidnap who I want to. I've got a long and glorious history of kidnapping my fair share of candidates. Aoifen's just the same, only he's hasn't been asked to Stand. Yet." Peering from one blond to the other, she doesn't look the least bit concerned. "That's why I'm kidnapping him. I'm a woman. I can help him with his-" *cough* "problems."

Aoifen was trying really, really hard not to imagine that Arial might want him in the same capacity as a weyrmate. Her whispered reassurance really doesn't help with that. "I /don't/ have woman problems," is his sudden contribution to the conversation, stubborn and overly emphatic. He uses it as cover to try and lean away from Arial a little bit more. "And I'll be happy to Stand for the Weyr when that time comes but it's not yet." Yeah, that's convincing. He sounds anything but happy about the whole Standing bit. The only thing making him happy right now is that Kyrian just showed up. "Kyrian!" Distract your mother! Please!

Look, someone's set off fireworks in the back of the lower caverns! Oh wait no, it's just Kyrian and his gawd awful clothing. What's frightening is that they're obvious hand-me-downs of good quality, which means that someone else here actually did dress that badly too. Maybe Arial really should have fostered the poor boy out, might have developed a sense of fashion a little less... flashy. "Shells mom, are you at it again? Sometimes it makes me wonder if you and dad switched dragons." Though the thought of a proddy Arial is probably too frightening to contemplate.

"You're gonna scar him for life. Woman problems don't mean he needs to get la.." Backtracking just a little for Aoifen's benefit, Lyam lets himself be distracted by the rider's other words. "Not always." Not that he sounds very convincing. "Kyrian, do something. Make her get all ... mom or something, will ya? Look, Arial, Kyrian's here. Shouldn't you be pinching his cheeks and making coo noises?" Yes, he knows he's just digging his hole deeper.

[BendenWeyr] Lyam gives up on staying out of trouble. It never works, anyway.
[BendenWeyr] Arial: That was you trying to stay out of trouble? o.O
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: I didn't say I was good at it.

"I'm just trying to help out." Ari's so misunderstood. Still, she doesn't release the poor weyr boy, but instead pulls him in tighter as he tries to struggle away. "You know that your father's the only guy for me. Well, outside of flights that is." Giving Lyam a curious look, the rider just rolls her eyes. "Kyr doesn't let me pinch his cheeks any more." Yes, there's definitely a sulky note in the bluerider's voice. And then she flashes a wicked gleam. "Hey Lyam, c'mere." She'll pinch a cheek all right.

Yeah, Lyam. C'mere. Give the wicked she-spider some other prey to wrap up in her evil web of weird rider menopause symptoms. "I- I, uh, I appreciate the offer, Rider, but I really... I really don't need any help," assures Aoifen with a weak smile as he twists and squirms in her grip. "I really gotta finish those tubers, uh, I promise I'll pay attention to my chores..." His eyes grow wider and wriggling, though still subtle, more frantic as it becomes clear he isn't going anywhere anytime soon. Help! his face screams at his friends.

[BendenWeyr] Arial: Hey! Okay, that's it... so kidnapping Aoif now >.<
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Aoif? If it means anything, I'd really like to get you out of this but my need to do that is overwhelmed by my instinct for self preservation.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen sighs. That's okay. I guess I'll just have to take one for the team, as usual...
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: That's the spirit.
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian: Better you than me.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen is so going to remember this next time you guys need help.

Kyrian stays just out of reach with practiced ease. That and thankfully his mother only has two arms. "Thanks guys, throw me out as bait will you? Nuh-uh. Your turn to see what I have to put up with all the time!" The scowl that he's been cultivating since he hit his teens has given way to an outright smirk. Kyr doesn't let his mom do that whole babying thing anymore, out of sheer desperation in not wanting to end up as the Weyr's biggest sissy. His new plans include not being thrown to the wolves...er, greenriders. Still, these /are/ suppose to be his friends. "Mom? Really, he uh... doesn't need that kind of help. I'm sure we can figure out things for ourselves." Eventually.

Lyam looks up from his stolen chore and smirks yet again. "I'll pass on that, thanks. Kyrian, you aughta be ashamed, not letting your old mom pinch yer cheeks." The last tuber is dropped and he snaps his fingers. "Y'know, there's nothing that says this is a /girl/ problem, Rider. Might be just the opposite. This is a Weyr, you know. He might be pining after some caverns boy or pretty young rider." He's so helpful.

"Lyam just finished up those tubers for you," Ari all but purrs towards the captive boy. "Isn't he a nice friend? A bit of a troublemaker, but there's hope for him yet. He just takes a little too much after his father, is all." And she's still not letting, go, nope. Aoifen can struggle as much as he likes, but she's got turns of tossing firestone sacks behind her. "Okay, just what kind of help do you boys think I'm offering here?" Ari's getting this strange feeling that they're thinking on two different wavelengths. "I know where you live, Lyam." And she can send greenriders to his weyr, too. Don't think she can't. "Look, all I want to do is talk to the boy." Why is that so hard to believe? Oh wait, it could have something to do with the fact that she still hasn't loosened her grip.

[BendenWeyr] Aoifen [to Lyam]: You are so lucky that I'm a nice boy.
[BendenWeyr] Lyam is just trying to help!

"Yeah, a real nice friend," growls Aoifen in a tone he didn't know he could produce, kinda gravelly and hoarse. Oh, maybe that's just Arial's arm around his neck doing that. "I don't have girl problems! I don't have boy problems!" That may be a lie, considering the deathglare he shoots Lyam. "I don't have /any/ problems and I don't need to talk. Honest, Rider." Rutching around til he can semi-face the bluerider, his greyblue eyes get big and honest in his pale, awkward boy's face. "I just.. I just stubbed my toe before I came in and it hurt so I was distracted." Yeah. The ol' toestub excuse. Works every time.

[BendenWeyr] Aoifen develops a crush on you just for that.
[BendenWeyr] Lyam reconsiders his mom's offer to send him to Smith.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen is a pretty, nice boy. *flutters lashes*
[BendenWeyr] Arial: See Kyr, if you helped, Aoi'd be fluttering his lashes at you. -.-
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: It's not too late, Kyr.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen loves the dark hair/blue eyes combo.
[BendenWeyr] Arial's son has adorable dark hair and blue eyes. ~.~
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian panics! <.< >.>

Kyrian turns his scowl on Lyam. "Oh please, I'm not 5 turns old anymore or something, if she wants to pinch someone's cheeks, Dad's always willing." Less commented on that the better. "Look mom, he just clumsy ya know? Stubbed his toe, happens all the time." A slight pause. "Don't offer to kiss and make it better either." He fakes a whisper to Aoifen, hand cupping over his mouth. "Just relax and get it over with, you can pretend it didn't happen later."

Lyam stands, walks over to Kyrian and tosses a companionable arm over his shoulders. "Aw, what's the matter with a little motherly affection?" Reaching up, he gives the young man's cheek a light pinch before ducking away and standing closer to the table he'd been at. "Seriously, rider, maybe he can work this out on his own. Haven't you heard it's better for a person to volunteer the information when they're ready? You might make it worse by trying to make him talk before that."

Well, you can't make teenagers talk. If Kyr's taught her nothing else, that's a lesson that's been driven home time and time again. Releasing Aoifen with a quick shrug, Ari quirks up her lips and arches a delicate brow. "Yeah, stubbed toe." As if she's never heard that one before. "Look Kyr, just because I send greenriders after you doesn't mean that I'm looking for a harem myself. You're scaring the poor boy." Oh wait, no that was the bluerider, wasn't it? "Fine, fine, you boys work it out amongst yourselves, but if you damage my son't pretty face, I really will drop you two off on a deserted island." She's done it before, she'll do it again. Rising laconically, she stretches and then heads out towards the bowl and her lifemate. "Play nice boys. Remember, deserted island."

Aoifen's jaw drops. He's freed, finally, but all he can do is stare at the retreating bluerider with confused indignation. Deserted island? he mouths, brows contracting to a bewildered furrow. "Deserted island?" he repeats softly, turning to look at first Lyam and then Kyrian. And his voice begins to rise. "What on Pern did /I/ do wrong that I get threatened with a deserted island? I was just minding my own business trying to get work done! Did I do anything? Did I say anything? Crackdust!" And with that last expletive split out from fury-flushed face, he springs up from his seat and stalks over towards the tuber pot, yanking it off the floor with stormcloud expression.

Kyrian gets a bad case of flushing from chin to hairline, hopefully after the cheek pinch and not from finding Lyam's arm over his shoulders. "Shardit Lyam! How about we switch moms for a week and see how it goes." See if he likes having a parent making such suggestions. Kyr's been in a slight state of panic for a week straight now. Now that the coast is clear, he goes to settle at a table and find something to eat. Well lots to eat, he's been something of a bottomless pit for the past turn. "Ya didn't have to do anything Aoifen, usually being in plain sight is enough to get picked on." Or in Kyr's case, he's just hard to miss in his clothes.

Lyam sits again, smirking at nothing in particular and shrugging at Aoifen. "You didn't have to do a thing, Aoif. That's what women do, they try to get into your problems and fix 'em for ya and once they get their foot in the door..." His hands are raised to signify defeat. "You can't let 'em know you have any sort of problem whatsoever. Your problem is that you're too sharding nice. It makes you a prime target." A thumb is pointed in Kyrian's direction. "Not like Kyrian, here. He gets 'em all with his hard to get routine. Ask me, being tossed on an island where they don't try to meddle in your business..." Looking over at their brightly dressed companion, he snickers. "Yeah, sure. We can trade. I give you fifteen minutes around Mizuth before she's after you just like she was Fynly."

[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Of course, what he doesn't think of is that Arial and all of the problem women would still be able to get to any island they wanted. >.>
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian: And cuts off our routes of escape. >.>
[BendenWeyr] Arial snickers... having a dragon is a Good Thing ^.^

"I'm too /nice/?" Aoifen snorts, complaining over his shoulder all the way as he storms into the kitchen with his finished task. "Too nice? And here /I/ thought that nice was, well, nice..." His voice dies as he disappears, then returns with him, and yeah, he's still ranting. "This wouldn't be a problem if /you/ guys were nice, too. But I guess /that/ wouldn't be 'cool', would it?" Sourness saturates his tone and punctuates each click of his bootheels as he slouches over to the table, now holding an old hide, a quill, and ink.

[BendenWeyr] Aoifen never thought of dragons as escape pods.
[BendenWeyr] Arial: See, now I bet you want to Stand >.>
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen was always willing to Stand! If Weyrwoman Lyllya asked, that is.
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Good, she can ask you and leave me out of it.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen thought you were all gung-ho about Impressing?
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: And then I saw what it was really like. You know how women are trouble? Dragons are chick magnets.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen: Even greens?
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Even greens.
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian: Yep.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen: Hmm. You could go for boys instead.
[BendenWeyr] Arial coughs and points at her son. >.>
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Man, Kyr, is she your mom or your pimp?

Kyrian rolls his eyes, brushing some of his long hair out of the way before grabbing for some of the usual snacks available at all hours. "It is not a routine, it's just pure survival. So I certainly do not /get/ any of them." That matter doesn't seem to trouble him half as much as his mother on general principles. "Being nice is one thing, being a pushover is another. Gotta watch your guard at all times or you get nabbed like earlier." And sometimes even the dragons nab you. "And that deserted island might seem like a good idea, except you can't get away. And those greenriders can fly out, we can't."

Lyam tips his chair back against the table, reaching over to snag something from a nearby plate even though he made no move to get something when he came in. That cookie definitely belonged to someone else. "Like Kyr said, there's nice and then there's push over." Kyrian earns a half grin. "You might wanna look to that, it's not working out quite the way you expected, I don't think."

"I'm not a pushover," insists Aoifen, placing his writing materials on the table and slipping onto the bench. Carefully uncapping the ink, he meticulously smooths the hide out and dips the nib. "I just happen to take my duty very seriously, and my duty is to be respectful to the dragonriders at all times." A righteous nod punctuates his sentiment, accompanied by a little flourish of the pen; then he dips the quill and begins to write, hunching over the vellum. "I'm sure your mother has our best interests at heart, Kyr. And I /know/ your mom does, Lyam. She is the Weyrwoman, after all."

[BendenWeyr] Arial: See, Aoif gets me. It does a mother's heart proud. *sniffles*
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen is, in fact, a prissy boy. Shh, don't tell Tomi.
[BendenWeyr] Arial thinks Kyr should be more prissy... hang out with Aoif more!
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Face it, Ari, you're a fedora and some bling away from Pimp.
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian: -_-
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen knows this nice dark corner in the baths...
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian: To hide in? o.o *innocent stare*
[BendenWeyr] Arial bahs, I'm no pimp. I don't charge ^.^b
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen: Yeah... yeah... to hide in.
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: So you just want your son to be a floosey? (Can we use that in male context?)
[BendenWeyr] Arial: I'm just trying to help him ease into adulthood >.>;;
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: By wedging him in with a sledghammer. Wow, I've changed my mind. Being the Weyrwoman's kid isn't so bad after all.
[BendenWeyr] Arial has Kyr's best interest at heart, really ^.^;

Kyrian shifts uneasily, but appeases himself with another treat, flicking crumbs off the front of his rather vividly dyed shirt. "Duty, yeah right. I saw you struggling there when my mom got her claws on you. If you were /respectfully/ acquiescing to her wishes, you'd be off on some island right now." He fakes a shiver. "Her idea of 'best interests' and mine, simply are not the same. I love my mom, really, but sometimes I wish I had some siblings, spread her attentions out a bit. See, Lyam's lucky there. He's got lots of brothers."

Lyam rolls his eyes. "Yeah, so everyone's always reminding me." Shrugging at Aoifen, he inspects the cookie before taking a bite. "Look at it this way, it's your duty to be polite, but it's also your duty to stand up for yourself. Show some initiative, make the weyr proud you come from it." Looking over at Kyrian, he begins to chuckle. "Why don't you ask mom to adopt you? I bet Mizuth'd just love to design clothes for ya. Look what she did to Fynly."

The industrious scratching of quill on hide comes to an abrupt halt. Aoifen lifts his head and glances over his shoulder, barely-there eyebrows contracted in a tight bunch. "Are you saying I don't make the Weyr proud?" His lower jaw juts forward slightly. "What kind of initiative am I supposed to show? Bad fashion sense? Flippancy towards Riders?" Chilly eyes go from one chum to the other. Whatever vtol got caught in his riding cap keeps buzzing, louder and meaner.

[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Wow, Kyr, I think we touched a nerve.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen: My toe just really hurts ;)
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian: He needs to... lose some frustration?
[BendenWeyr] Arial: Geez, teenagers >.<
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen eeks. Don't say that, your mom might come back!
[BendenWeyr] Arial: All this angst, if you'd just listen to me... >.>
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: I think you're right, Kyr. We need to take him out, get him drunk, and toss him in with some of the lower caverns girls.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen eeeeks!
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen is just a late bloomer, okay?
[BendenWeyr] Arial oohs, yes! Do that! Maybe toss Kyr as well >.>
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian: >.> I'll be a tosser, not a tossee!
[BendenWeyr] Arial: Pity... though, you will be drunk. You might accidentally toss yourself ?
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen eyes Arial. You're not planning on getting us all drunk, are you?
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: You know, this conversation is going into a whole nother place for me..
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen: That would make for a great story, actually.

Kyrian waves off Lyam's suggestion, "Like I don't have enough clothes to choose from? My closet is full enough." No pun intended. He just doesn't know how to put things together, too many turns of his dad's influence there. The man had atrocious taste in clothing. "Hey now Aoifen, a little touchy there aren'tcha? Lyam didn't mean anything by that, I'm sure. You seem a little tense though, something up? Besides yer stubbed toe?"

[BendenWeyr] Arial ponders... hrm... alcohol... teenagers ~.~ Mwuahahaha!
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian: Great, Lyam's mind is going into a bad place, I just know it.
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Run, guys.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen: Lyam's mind /leaves/ the bad place?
[BendenWeyr] Arial pshaws. Lyam's mind is always in a... see, I adore you, Aoif XD
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen: Just... adore from afar, ok? ;)
[BendenWeyr] Arial really does think you boys have the wrong idea about her. T.T

Lyam rights his chair and coughs into his hand, though that might be to stifle a laugh. A look goes to Kyrian before his eyes settle on Aoifen. "Not so touchy, I didn't mean anything bad, it's just that if you don't want to be manhandled..er... womanhandled like that, you need to put your foot down's all. Flippancy towards Riders... it's /Arial/. Besides, Kyrian's fashion sense isn't bad, it's just malformed."
OOC: Kyrian says, "More like retarded. :P"

[BendenWeyr] Arial: Hey, what do you mean... it's /Arial/?! >.<
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Take it as you will.
[BendenWeyr] Arial: That's it... I'm so dropping you in the middle of High Reaches come wintertime >.<
[BendenWeyr] Lyam remembers to stash some wine on his person to keep him warm.

Aoifen grits his teeth, causing the muscles at the corner of his jaw to flex visibly in his thinning face. But Kyrian looks so unassuming and actually half-concerned that he can't stay mad at him for long. Yeah, he is too nice. "Yeah... I mean, nah, not really. I'm just... " Shrug. "I dunno. Don't you guys ever just feel... like the world's just... " He waves a hand, splattering ink about. "Ah, shardit." Somebody's forgotten napkin makes a good wipe-up. "And I don't know about you, Lyam, but I can't think of her as 'just Arial'. Just like I can't think of your mom as anyone but Weyrwoman Lyllya. The only rider I feel comfortable calling by name is Aunt Sie... and then she's still Aunt Sie, not just Sie." Don't even ask about /his/ parents.
[BendenWeyr] Arial: Don't worry, I'll stash Kyr to keep you warm ~.~
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian: ...
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen [to Arial]: You're scary, lady.
[BendenWeyr] Arial is not! I'm misunderstood is all >.>
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Hard to misunderstand a pimp.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen: Hmm. *considers* Nope, you're definitely scary.
[BendenWeyr] Arial: Honey, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Wait until Search rolls around. Mwuahahaha! XD
[BendenWeyr] Lyam has to go in another round, sadly.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen is running away, too. From Arial, mostly.
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: He's learning.
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen [to Lyam]: Is this what you meant by showing initiative?
[BendenWeyr] Arial: Feel free to run, it just makes catching that much more fun XD
[BendenWeyr] Lyam [to Aoifen]: Yes. Mostly.

Kyrian gives such a careless shrug, eating one more treat before standing, not the sort to stay in one place too long. "Like the world is what? Out to get us or out there for us to grab? Nah, I don't put much thought into any of that." Responsibility isn't something that has really grabbed a hold of Kyr yet. "Don't be so stuffy though Aoifen, plenty of time in the world to be adults later." He just huffs at Lyam. "It's undeveloped, I just don't care. If the shirt's clean and it fits, that's all that matters right?"

Lyam stands, too, leaving the remnants of the cookie on the table to be taken care of later. "You know what I think? I think people are a general pain in the ass, but letting them walk on you isn't the way to deal with it." Kyrian earns a broad grin. "You just keep tellin' yourself that," he answers before heading off toward the bowl. "I got a few more things to do, but think about it, Aoif."

OOC: Lyam says we get him drunk and toss him to the lower caverns for a while. n.~
OOC: Aoifen is frightened, yet intrigued.
OOC: Lyam will just have to challenge you two to a drinking game next time.
OOC: Aoifen oh mans. That will be hilarious.
OOC: Kyrian facepalms.
OOC: Lyam will hand Aoif off to the lower caverns and drag Kyr to a weaver with some fashion sense.
OOC: Aoifen says, "Sure, that's where you /say/ you'll be dragging him..."
OOC: Kyrian >.>;;
OOC: Lyam says, "Hey, just because everyone else and their mother in this place is a perv..."
OOC: Kyrian says, "It means you're one too? Help! I'm surrounded!"
[BendenWeyr] Arial: Hey, I resemble that remark!
[BendenWeyr] Lyam: Yes, yes you do.
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian: That's right, Tentacle Monster.
OOC: Aoifen isn't a perv!!
OOC: Lyam says, "The word's 'yet'. "
[BendenWeyr] Arial: Keep it up, boy-o. I'll feed you fellis and put you in T'on weyr -.-
[BendenWeyr] Aoifen: .... ... Tentacle Monster? *fear*

Aoifen makes a completely incredulous face at Lyam's retreating back, then swings over to look at Kyrian. "So being polite to your mom is letting her walk all over me?" Apparently it's a lot easier to be a doormat that he realized. "Whatever," he finally decides, a grunt of disgust. "I'm gonna finish this somewhere where people aren't constantly ragging on me for being a nice guy." Standing, he swipes all of his correspondence material and saunters off, tossing a "Seeya, Kyr," over his shoulder.

Lyam pauses long enough to glance back at the others. "Meet in the game room after chores? We can hide from the scary woman and play this new card game I learned." Of course, it involves wine but he's not saying that. No. He's just going to walk out to finish his work.

Weyr Life Is Complicated...Or Smelly?

2007-08-28T15:34:00.000-04:00

(Log from before the Theme Shift, set several turns earlier. A new visitor comes to the Weyr and meets the Bad Boys of Benden.)

Living Cavern
The domed ceiling of Benden Weyr's living cavern is ever filled with a warm and friendly ambiance. Several ventilation shafts open up at the ceiling to allow the passage of fresh air inside, formed from the natural crevices of the ancient volcano, while the walls are brightly decorated with accented designs from colored cements used to fill in cracks in the stone. The living cavern is filled with stout, highly carved tables where riders and Weyrfolk work, talk, and relax. The hearths are always lit and pots of stew and klah are always available, though the klah supply drops dramatically in the mornings. Trays of food are brought in by the drudges every so often, topped with meatrolls (covered so that the firelizards don't get them), bubblies, and other treats.
You see Lost here.
M'sia and Eolin are here.
Obvious exits:
Tunnel Lower Caverns Kitchen Game Room Bowl

Eolin wanders in from the lower caverns, looking freshly bathed with hair still damp from being thoroughly washed. He's evidently been out in the bowl, because he has his net with him, too, as well as some supplies to mend it. Wonder of wonders, he's even got clean clothes on. Yay!

M'sia is relaxing as she nibbles on a meatroll, brow creased in thought.

Lyam has connected.

The boy trudging in form the weyr tunnel could not appear more different, dusty, tired looking,
and sadly smelling of runners is Kyrian. 'Fresh' in from chores in the stables it appears. "Quit ya caterwauling! I'll get you something to eat already!" the teen grumbles to the two firelizards clinging to the shoulders of his filthy and somehow nearly blindingly garish looking tunic. "Gluttons, you're old enough to find your own food." Despite his words, the tone is gruffly affectionate and likely far too indulgent to his little charges. "Oh hey, don't mind me. I'll be in and out quick, soon as these greedy guts are fed." He'll probably put most people off their own food with his stench.

Eolin has himself a seat not too awfully far from the hearth, but as of yet doesn't go for food. He yawns, stretching his arms up over his head and wrinkling his nose as a mouthful of Kyrian wafts by. The blond coughs into his hands, pinching his nose in a most girlish fashion. /Ew!/ "Agh, you smell awful! What /is/ that?" Not the most..erm..polite, is Eo. "Uck!"

M'sia looks up, blinking a little. "What happened here?" She calls out, raising an eyebrow.

Kyrian makes a quick conference with a disgusted looking drudge, quietly pleading for a bowl of scraps to be brought out rather than contaminating the kitchen by walking into himself. The firelizards creel impatiently at the delay, causing him to shush them with a rather embarrassed look on his face. Turning towards the others in the cavern, he flushes red. "Ah, sorry, sorry. It's muck I'm afraid. I'm just a tad clumsy and well..." The stable is not a good place for a bit of slip and slide. "I swear, I'm heading to the baths soon as the 'lizards get fed."

"What the shell's all that noi... Oof, Kyr, you been rollin' in the wrong hay mounds or somethin'?" Lyam waves a hand in front of his face as if to ward off the smell. "Oi, you starvin' those 'lizards of yours?" Never mind that his own are going on as if they hadn't seen a scrap in days. "Now look what's started. Pretty soon every flying stomach in the Weyr's gonna be down here lookin' for a hand out." Pausing to look at Eolin, he smirks. "Nothin' but some runner shite, it'll wash off."

M'sia blinks and crinkles her nose. "That's alright.. just be careful.."

Eolin sticks his tongue out at Kyrian, drapping his net across the table top and leaning over it with a needle and extra twine. The 'lizards are eyed with growing apprehension bordering on annoyance. "Why would anybody want one of those things?" Make it stoooop. Too noisy! Poor blushing Kyrian. Annoyance flickers to uncertainty, and Eo runs a hand through his hair. "Well..I mean, I didn't wanna be /mean/ about it or anything..but..man, that's bad."

Kyrian greets the returning drudge with a heavy of relief. Though careful not to draw too deep a breath himself. It's bad when you smell enough to disgust /yourself/. "I haven't rolled in the hay since..." Since getting drunk with Lyam? Ahem. "I think I would have prefered the 'hay' actually." At least he managed to wash off his hands before coming back inside, grabbing a handful of tidbits and shoving a morsel into each creeling open maw surrounding him and the older bronze that wings in from the dark niches above the cavern. "There food, now shut up already." he grumbles. Giving Eolin a quick glance, he shrugs slightly which springs off more irritated and irritating sounds from the young gold clinging there. "I got my first one foisted on me by my mother. These two were more or less accidental." Enough stray nests to be found in a Weyr after all that such things happen.

OOC: Eolin says, "Roll, roll, roll in ze hay.. ^o^"
OOC: M'sia hehs.
OOC: M'sia sorries... I'm going to have to hit the hay.
OOC: Eolin says, "Not ze hay! ;_; *huggle* Night M'sia. :)"
OOC: Kyrian says, "The hay was at least comfy. ;) Night M'sia."
OOC: M'sia hugs and pats before hitting the hay.
M'sia has disconnected.

Lyam reaches out to the bowl without so much as a word, then motions for the drudge to bring another. "Not enough she tries to foist everything human on you, she's gotta start with the 'lizards, too? Y'know, if you don't feed 'em straight off they take wild, right? Don't suppose you had the heart to do that, though." Never mind that he has his own. "They're a nuisance when they're young, but the can be right handy if you train them right. Just look at my mom's. ...well, that brush chewing brown of hers aside. They carry messages all over the place without inconveniencing a rider or waiting on a runner."

Eolin shakes his head. "But they're still obnoxious." And they break his toys. Sniffle. He starts working on the rips in his fishing net, wrinkling up his nose. "Sounds like more trouble than useful.." Maybe Eolin's just jealous. Who can say? Cobalt blues eye the squawking beasties with distaste before he leans over his project once more. Pick..stitch..grumble. Okay, it was NEVER said that mending nets was interesting. And he doesn't have a flittering stomach to fill. Haa.

Kyrian rolls his eyes as he continues to feed his charges who have thankfully quieted as they become far too busy eating. "I know, I had snacks with me, next thing I knew these two latched onto me and you know how it goes. Most of the time they're not so bad. Just when they're hungry, they're awful. And don't start on my mom. She might hear you and show up or something." He shivers as if in terror before grinning sheepishly at Eolin. "Seen you about lately. Don't think we've met formally though. I'd offer you my hand, but I think now's not a good time. I'm Kyrian, son of Ky'rin and Arial." Poor kid.

Lyam grimaces as his finger is taken for meat by the green perched on his left arm, which leads to a firm scolding by the gold on his right. "Sharditall, it was an accident, keep it down you annoying females," he orders gruffly before nodding at Eolin. "Oh yeah, I'm Lyam." He leaves off his parentage for the moment. "Say, why're you mending nets in here, anyway? Never mind why you'd have a net at all in this place. Plan on catchin' stray weyrbrats?"

Eolin nods. It's the least he can do, after all, and Kyr's gesture is appreciated. "Eolin," he offers, but does not react to the two names. Hasn't met them yet perhaps? As is likely. "And..there are some really nice fish out in the lake. I was trying to catch a few and some of /them/.." He glares at the jabbering 'lizards, "..ripped it up stealing my catch. So I'm trying to fix the damage." A pause. "My father is Gorrim, and my mother's Unya. They're back in Ista." He grins slyly. "But they are useful for other purposes."

Kyrian gives a wistful smile. "All the way in Ista?" He makes it sound like he's fantasizing or something. "Yours let you come all the way up here?" Here's a boy who's perhaps watched over by his mother just a little too much. "Don't suppose they want a fosterling or two right?" He winks as if just jesting, though a strained tone in his voice suggests that it's not entirely a joke. "Sorry 'bout your nets though, some folks here don't train up theirs well at all, even if they're weyrfolk."

Lyam snorts. "Forget fostering, that's just as bad. Look, you better be careful who sees you usin' a net in that lake. Fishin's fine and all, but the weyrlings bathe there, so they try to keep it clean. There's a beach better for that outside the Weyr. I'll show it to ya sometime. Kyr's right about the 'lizards, though. You gotta have time to keep up their training and there seems to be a real lack of that in general here."

Eolin eyes Kyrian curiously. "Yeah, all the way in..Ista.." Uhm? "I don't..know..if they're accepting fosterlings.." Eo glances toward Lyam. "Nobody told me about the lake..I'll keep it in mind." He lays the mending down, folding his arms in front of him. "Just seems like a lot of work..the lizards, I mean." Then back to Kyrian, and he tilts his head, looking puzzled. "Hey..wait. What do you even, even if they're weyrfolk? Holders aren't that bad!"

Kyrian blinks for a moment, pausing in his feeding long enough that the firelizards complain and forces him to resume. "Eh, what? Oh!" He flushes again, expression startled. "No, no. I meant that you'd think weyrfolk being around dragons and oodles of firelizards would know how to train theirs better, but it's not always the case. Don't get me wrong, I mean both of my parents were holdbred before they Impressed." Weyr blood doesn't run that strong in him, at least that's what Kyrian thinks. He gives Lyam a brief look. "Yeah, guess fostering won't work. Still, think we can get far enough from here on our own though?" The last being said in a near conspiratorial whisper.

"They ain't bad, but like Kyrian said it's just that weyrfolk are around dragons all the time. You'd think they'd have better sense, that's all. ...besides, my parents are craftbred." Kyrian earns a broad grin. "Just leave it to me. I got two plans and one of 'em's bound to work, right?" This, of course, is said as low as possible before a yelp signals that he's been nipped at again. This time it's Sierra signaling that she's had enough, thank you.
OOC: Lyam claims his pose. >.<

Eolin studies the two, succeeding only in looking more befuddled. "Uhm..why do you want to leave?" Does he really want to know? For now Eolin's not paying any attention to his net, because he's becoming more interested in the conspiracy. "What're you gonna do?" He offers a tentative smile, one of those can-I-come sort of things.

Kyrian takes a careful look around before ducking his head low, speaking softly over the sounds of firelizard chewing. "Oh there's a bunch of reasons. Mostly... shall we say, parental pressure and imminent doom as in a certain future restrictive lifestyle." Sometimes Kyrian can get a little carried away with his words, his father's influence surely. "I believe the plan is just to get as far away from here as we can manage. And soon."

Lyam pokes a thumb toward Kyrian. "His mom's a real piece of work, between trying to toss him at anything with a pulse and threatening to toss him onto the sands. My mom's as good as decided that's what she wants to do with me and I want no part of it. You see these full grown dragons and their riders and think it's all travel and glory, but I've seen the work that goes into it." His head is given a firm shake. "You can have it. So, in two days I need to return some runners to one of the outlying Holds and Kyr's gonna help. Should take three days to get there, at least, and three days back assuming we can hitch with one of the traders. I'm to send word if that's not possible so we can get a lift, but..." The trailing off of the sentence says that he has other plans.

[BendenWeyr] Lyam just airs all of Kyr's business.
[BendenWeyr] Kyrian: Lyam just lacks subtlety. ;D

Eolin stares at the two, one eyebrow raised high. He chuckles, shaking his head. "It seems like you both are a piece of work..which means his mom's got to be scary." But then there is Kyrian's comment. "How is being a Weyr resident restrictive? Man, you should try living at a Hold." He scoffs and folds his arms behind his head. "Nothing but work, work, work, and you can't do anything because they're watching you all the time. No privacy, no nothing. At least here I see people doing whatever they want...and the riders can fly! How hard can it be to have a dragon? They feed themselves, and all I see is them kinda laying around sunning all the time. Doesn't look like much work to me..and everybody pays attention to you. Man, some of the weyrgirls, it's all they do is follow riders around." /Smirk/. "Not bad."

Kyrian gives a sharp laugh in reaction to Eolin's view of weyrlife. "Privacy? In a Weyr? With every firelizard and dragon sticking their noses into things? Ain't no such thing here, believe me. And doing anything we want?" He looks down at his filthy state and wrinkles his nose. "You think I was mucking the stables for /fun/? I know you probably think we weyrfolk are an odd lot, but trust me, we're not that different." He nods over at Lyam, likely agreeing to his plan on getting away for a few days. Or longer. "As for the work with a dragon, you've obviously never gotten roped into oiling them. Scrubbing floors is easier. At least it's /flat/. A dragon goes on forever and they /complain/." As for the 'attention' riders get, Kyrian just makes a face. "Just trust me, it's not all it's cracked up to be."

Lyam holds up his now free hand to fend off the newcomer's reasoning as well as give himself time to stop laughing. "You got a holdbred view of the Weyr," he informs. "Ever have to wash a dragon? Oil it? Clean out its tail when its stopped up? How about the weyrlings? You think those dragonets feed themselves? They sure as shells can't between to do their business and who do you guess cleans all that up? Not to mention all of the other work that needs doing around here, even I don't get out of it and I'm the Weyrwoman's son."

Eolin pulls a skeptical face. "Well, if it's not that different everywhere else, then why leave?" he asks, gesturing to Kyrian with angular fingers. This one's yours. "You might as well stay. It's not that great /outside/ the Weyr..." Eyes slip to Lyam, brows furrowing together. "Chopping meat's not that hard...I've been doing it since I got here." He's got the blisters to prove it! "Labor's no big thing." Perhaps he doesn't realize that there's that whole...smell factor. Then again, he is a fisherman's son. "It can't be /that/ hard." HA.

Kyrian continues to feed his little trio, even though bellies are becoming notably distended by now. "Everywhere else might not be so different, but once you've Impressed, you can't just go and change your mind about it. Like if say someday you don't want to be a fisherman anymore, you can go do something else if you really wanted to. If you're a rider. That's it." He gives the other two boys a rather uncertain look. "I just don't know what I really want to do yet, or if I really belong here." He's not really much like either of his parents, other than some glaringly obvious traits, like taste in clothing. "And Lyam's probably gonna always hear about how his mom's a weyrwoman and have folks wonder if he's gonna do as well as that. Nevermind if we want to or not."

OOC: Eolin says, "People wonder if Lyam wants to be a weyrwoman? ;)"
OOC: Lyam says, "Nah, Kyr'd make a much better Weyrwoman than me. "
OOC: Kyrian :P

Lyam nods at Kyrian's words. "And if we do get tossed onto the sands and don't impress? Or don't impress what people thought we would? No thanks. I'd rather be sent off to a craft. Anyhow, it don't matter if you agree or not. That's our view of it and we'd rather have none of it, so that's the plan. Well, one of 'em, but if I hear you've gone blabbing and we get stuck here, I'll see to it that you get the worst end of Weyr life possible."
Eolin has the grace to look nicely indignant. "I'm not a blabbermouth!" He slaps a hand on the table, sticking his chin out defiantly. "And anyway, I'd like to see you try!" He must have a short memory as to /who/ he's dealing with. "Bet you couldn't even." He glares down at his net and the work that still hasn't been done. Siigh. "The Weyr's not bad, anyway."

OOC: Kyrian says, "Oooh Lyam being all manly and threatening. ;)"
OOC: Lyam flexes.

As the current badboys of Benden, these guys have a reputation, probably one unknown to Eolin though. "Exactly, with two rider parents, I wouldn't want to be anywhere near here if I get left standing on the Sands afterwards. I'd rather not be out there in the first place. I wouldn't mind going off to a craft either, rather than get stuck with every odd job in the weyr. I'd even consider going to my dad's old Hold or something." Except he heard they were nuttier than the folks here in Benden. Great choices he's got. "And don't underestimate Lyam, for your own sake. Tis obvious ya haven't heard what he did to Aoifen." That bit gets a smirk.
OOC: Kyrian says, "So sayeth Kyrian. :P"

Lyam laughs. "Good you're not or I'd have as good as a target with the way you stick that chin out." Mention of Aoifen earns a bit of a smirk, but those are beans he's apparently not going to spill right now. "Well, good luck on your net. I got things to do before I get caught slackin'. Remember you volunteered to help with them runners, Kyr. I'll tell your mom it'll do ya good to get out amongst holder girls, bein' from a Weyr and all."

OOC: Lyam has to go hit the hay. The stuff's being abused all around tonight. n.~
OOC: Eolin hugs! Thanks for the scene!
OOC: Kyrian snugs!

Eolin blushes and grits his teeth, hands flexing into fists, but it probably wouldn't be a bright idea to go for the weyrwoman's boy. He snorts and turns his attentions to Kyrian, scowling. "Yeah, well, crafting's not all that great, either. You should try being a fisher." As much as he loves the craft, there's a lot of resentment there. Or maybe he's just mad Lyam threatened his manliness. Sniff.

Lyam leaves for Lower Caverns.

Kyrian finishes up feeding his brood and gets up from the table, leaving the empty bowls for the drudges to rescue later. "I'm sure it's not fun and games, don't worry there Eolin. Just keep it all hush hush and I'm sure we can all be friends here." He gives the other boy a careless grin and a wave before turning towards the lower caverns and more importantly, the baths. "I'm going to go soak this stink off, see you around!"

OOC: Eolin says, "Awww bye. *huggle* it was fun ;)"
OOC: Kyrian says, "Unless you wanna follow me into the bath, but that might be taken the wrong way. ;)"
OOC: Eolin grins! Unfortunately, no...I'm very tired. I need rest. ;) *snug* See you around.
OOC: Kyrian snugs! ^^ It was fun!
OOC: Eolin says, "It was! I look forward to more. :)"
Eolin goes home.
*** Thank you for playing - See you next time! ***

Just What The Healer Ordered

2007-08-27T20:26:00.000-04:00

People: Dagmar and F'ox
Plot: F'ox stops by the Infirmary for Kizokuth's sake and gets an interesting diagnosis.

There is a touch of greenery at the Weyr. Winter is just releasing its grasp, so any sort of green might seem a welcome one, but no - this is a Weyr. No green (that is not dragonkind) allowed. Perhaps this is why Dagmar stands just outside the ground weyr, head tilted to the side and her gaze locked on tiny sprouts pressing up through the inimical ground right by its entrance. Her hands are shoved deep into the nearest set of pockets on those pocketful pants, fingers twiddling visibly inside; the rest of her is stock-still, and her expression is puzzling.

Kizokuth wings down from above the bowl, landing with a backwash of flapping wings, landing before the infirmary entrance with an annoyed croon. His rider slips down the straps along the bronze's side and lands on the ground with a thud of boots. "Easy there Kizo." F'ox intones as he stops by the dragon's foreleg and frowns worriedly towards the infirmary entrance. "Hail! Healer?" he calls over to the woman, eyes going to the knot on her shoulder and hoping he's addressing the right person. "A moment of your time?"

Nothing like the insistent gush of dragonwings to break up a good reverie. It's the dust in the eyes that does it. Or perhaps Dagmar responds best to the hail of her Craft, swinging around on heel with one arm upflung to shield her face while the bronze settles. "My time is your time, bronzerider," she offers truthfully, assuming a readier stance. Her dark eyes graze the other's figure, brows flitting together only momentarily. "How may I assist?"

Kizokuth's head comes down to rest on the ground along with the rest of him, eyes a glow with agitation. "It's him." his rider says with an abashed sigh, gesturing further down the foreleg to the giant claw on the ground beside him. "Cracked the talon there on the first digit after a bad landing." F'ox appears almost as embarrassed as his dragon. "He says it doesn't bother him much, but I don't want to take any chances." He looks back at the dragonhealer and grimaces. "I know it's not precisely life threatening, but it's been worrying me."

"I'd rather you worried, rather than not. Even the smallest wound can become life-threatening, and with two of you on the line, better safe than sorry, neh?" Cocking a brow, the greenrider doesn't really half-smile, but that's the impression of the upturned corner of her mouth. Maybe it's too early for smiles. "Will you ask him if I may examine it?" Dagmar is perfectly correct and professional, until a breath later when she must apologize with true rue: "I'm sorry, bronzerider, I'm afraid I can't remember your name right now."

F'ox looks a little abashed at his own manners, though he at least can claim that he was preoccupied with his dragon's problem. "Oh, I'm F'ox and this is Kizokuth." He pauses and glances significantly back at her, "And your name healer?" he asks with a wry grin despite his worry. "Go ahead and take a look, that's why we're down here." The dragon extends his foot carefully as not to knock anyone down with it accidentally.

Dagmar speaks over her shoulder, already dropping to a crouch beside the proffered talon. "Ah. Yes. F'ox and Kizokuth. My apologies for the lapse." Compact, competent hands reach out and probe gently at the ragged talon, her lips drawing into a purse that, given the lines by her mouth, is a staple of her thoughtful look. It takes a prodding from the absent Mic to mind her: "Oh, yes. Yes, I'm sorry. I'm Dagmar, Micafeth's." Her eyes find the rider again. "Does this hurt?" as she presses down at the joint of talon and nailbed.

>> I bespoke Kizokuth with: Micafeth's voice comes with the scratch of many quills on much parchment, a background of whispering. It adds intrigue to an otherwise bland tone. << Got a pain, do you? >> <<

The dragon rumbles, a loud sound at this close range, but he doesn't flinch at the touch. "He says it stings a bit, but doesn't hurt much." his rider answers, but then whispers lowly, "He doesn't like to admit to pain though, kinda stoic that way." Obviously F'ox is of the opinion that his dragon is being obstinate. "And no apologies, I can't say that we've come by the infirmary often." They're a good pair, not prone to accidents or carelessness.

>> Kizokuth bespeaks Micafeth with: Kizokuth's thoughts are like the wind rustling over open plains, gentle but cooling and refreshing. << It is but a minor irritation. My rider makes too much of it. >> Or so he insists. <<

Dagmar mmmhmms a few times, touching here, and then there, but with nowhere near the same pressure. "And how long ago would you say this happened?" Her touch lingers at the cuticle, steadying herself as she spins on a heel to look upwards at the bronzerider with an expectancy far too blase to be creditable. There's a considering look in her half-lidded eyes that is out of place with a dragon.

>> I bespoke Kizokuth with: Micafeth's scratchings pause, making her words sound oddly lonely. << He only does it for love of you. Tell him not to worry, >> and the scrape and dot resumes, << mine will see to it. >> A hen's self-satisfied churr touches the end. <<

"It was just yesterday, right after morning sweeps. He was landing at the ridge wall over Fort Hold when I felt him slip." F'ox frowns slightly before continuing. "He insisted he was fine of course, but I noticed that he refused to land with that foot down." The bronze grumbles, but doesn't move his claw away. "He can be like that, proud fool." It is with a note of affection though as the rider reaches out to the giant head beside them, stroking the massive eyeridge.

Dagmar's eyes narrow further, her lips drawing even closer together. "He's not landing on it still?" she presses, turning back to stare, hard, at the crack in the claw. "Hmm. Hmmmmmmmmm. I don't see any outward signs of infection, and as it's only been a day, it's likely to still be tender. Nevertheless," the woman pops to her feet without any preamble, "I'd like to bathe it in redword and put a bit of 'weed on to ease discomfort."

>> Kizokuth bespeaks Micafeth with: Kizokuth's thoughts whip by at first, a gust of irritating dust before it does away once more. <> The bronze is obviously a proud creature, cool and solid like a strong pillar, but about as unbending. <<

>> I bespoke Kizokuth with: Micafeth clucks softly, encountering an unforseen tidbit in the usual farmyard scratch. << Every little problem? Are there many? >> Nothing but curiosity colors the question, slightly clinical, like an echo of her lifemate. <<

F'ox nods agreeably to the healer's list of treatment, "It sounds good to me. Would do the same to a bruised hoof on a runner." He stares back up at his dragon. "No, I'm not comparing you to one you big ninny!" He grins wryly at Dagmar, shrugging. "I was a herder apprentice before Kizokuth came along." That's the explanation anyway. "I thought for this I'd leave the treatment to an expert though."

>> Kizokuth bespeaks Micafeth with: Kizokuth snorts mentally, the sort of gust that blows leaves off of a tree. << No, there are not many. Honest. >> The dragon's own affection for his rider comes as a sense of bemused tolerance. <<

"I'm flattered that you thought of me." It's so deadpan that one could easily believe Dagmar took it as a compliment indeed, her face hidden as she swings towards the supply shelves. Returning with two buckets, though, shows a broad grin easing the previous tension of her lips. She sets about cleansing her hands and then Kizokuth's wound with commendable efficiency, wiping away the redwort before applying the numbweed. "This should be fine," she repeats. "If it's still paining him in two days, come back." Pausing to look the bronzerider over again - there's nothing subtle about it, either - she's driven to add, "But there's no need to wait that long if you get bored."

>> I bespoke Kizokuth with: Micafeth's feathers are ruffled by the wind. <> her droll reply. <> <<

F'ox watches carefully, as if to learn for future reference. Nodding at the instructions he was about to turn back when he blinks for a moment and glances at Dagmar with just a slight bit of surprise. "Oh, and do you have a treatment for that as well then?" he asks archedly, also in a rather deadpan manner, but his eyes give away his amusement.

"I have a cure for a good many things," replies the greenrider somewhat archly, repacking her supplies with practiced ease. "Boredom is a common complaint for grounded riders. I've had to devise any number of remedies to satiate idle hands." Even if it occasionally started the tongues to wagging.

>> Kizokuth bespeaks Micafeth with: Kizokuth would probably stare with a bit more interest if the green were actually nearby and if the humans weren't watching. <> Rather than watching from above on the ledges. << And would you remember me more as well? >> <<

>> I bespoke Kizokuth with: Micafeth presents the hazy picture of her ledge, just a short dragonlength from the entrance to the ground weyr. She, however, is not on it. <> A sense of motion. <<
Micafeth arrives from Ground Weyr.

F'ox smiles almost lazily, watching the green emerge from the ground weyr. "Am I grounded then? Or is Kizokuth's problem greater than I had feared?" He pats his bronze when the dragon grumbles once more, insisting loudly on the mental level that he is indeed just fine. "And what would you recommend most?"

>> Kizokuth bespeaks Micafeth with: Kizokuth watches indeed, lying still but for the twitch of his russet dipped tail. << And now that you've seen me, do you approve? >> he asks as he makes his own assessment of her looks, one based on draconic preferences and not human standards. <<

Dagmar eyes the arriving green with an almost detached interest. "Not at all, F'ox. Boredom is not solely the province of grounded riders, after all. Who do you know that wouldn't crave a hand of dragonpoker or round of Harper's Tale every now and again?" Leaving him to ponder that for a moment, she reshelves her supplies with her peculiar economy of movement. It's not really graceful, per se, but contained as if apt to break free at the next possible chance. "As for the recommended treatment, well." She turns once more to face him, arms folding across her chest and weight thrown to her off hip as she stares at him. "That depends entirely on the rider."

>> I bespoke Kizokuth with: Micafeth takes her time, approaching the bronze boldly and circling about him once, head cocked, examining minutely. << Hmmmm. >> That is an exact echo of Dagmar's tone. Or perhaps the rider echoes the dragon. << Does my approval matter? >> Again with the analytical tone. << Or is it enough that I remember? >> <<

F'ox leans against his dragon's side, as the great bronze holds almost as still as a statue while the green circles around them. His eyes unfocus slightly as if holding a mental conversation for a moment. "Ah, I'm not a bad hand a dragon poker, though with games of chance it is the dice that I find most entertaining. The outcomes of such random pairings can lead to quite interesting results." He smiles that good ol'boy smile at Dagmar, curiosity evident in his gaze at the healer's almost challenging look. "I would have to wonder just what you would recommend then, in my case?"

>> Kizokuth bespeaks Micafeth with: Kizokuth wonders if this is how the runners at the Gathers feel like when the buyers come to examine them? Something his rider joins in with sometimes, but it's probably not quite the same situation. << Your approval is not necessarily a requirement, but it may make matters more amicable, one supposes. >> the bronze replies rather dryly. << However, being remembered is not undesirable. >> <<

Dagmar's arms unfold, her hands sliding down her waist and around her hips to prop, palms down, on her lower back. The pose has the effect of arching her spine, thrusting her chest outward and upward. It would have more of a seductive impact from a more buxom woman, perhaps; on her it just looks confident, even agressive. Her gaze is level, locked on those gold-spattered eyes, and slightly warm. "For you? I'd alternate treatments. Several sessions of one-on-one interaction, with some group therapy for variety."

>> I bespoke Kizokuth with: Micafeth has no idea what runners feel like. Nor does she care; they don't fly. <> she will easily admit. << And I think I shall remember. But I would know more if I were to see you airborne. >> The fingersail of her wing closest to the bronze flicks out and wavers. <<

F'ox looks unfazed by the aggressiveness, having long outgrown being intimidated by the fairer sex. Arms folding over his own well defined chest, made to look only bulkier by his riding jacket, he manages a small chuckle. "It sounds like an interesting treatment, it might take a great deal of time though. Is there room on your schedule for so many visits?" Though the group therapy probably wasn't meant to sound as uh interesting as it might have been construed.

>> Kizokuth bespeaks Micafeth with: Kizokuth's tone is beyond proud, it's entirely self confident, and yes even just a little arrogant. << If you saw me in flight, there would be no forgetting afterwards. >> He states it like a fact, not quite smug, but just as full of himself as a bronze may be. He's caught golds in the past after all. <<

Dagmar's mouth turns upwards in a definite smile, slyly flavored though it may be. "I always make time in my schedule to take care of those in need of treatment. It's my job - I am a Healer, after all." Some of the more hidebound of her Craft might argue on the difference between treating dragons and their riders. But they're not here and she is. "Should you find yourself in such need, bronzerider, please do not hesitate to bring the matter to my attenion."

>> I bespoke Kizokuth with: Micafeth evinces the desired effect: rapt interest. << Oh really? >> It sets the coop a-bustle with clucks and croons, a constant babble infusing her voice with energy. <> <<

F'ox will try not to take the obvious tactic of hurting himself in interesting places and then going to find treatment. With his luck, he'll end up with someone else manning the infirmary and scare himself back to his own weyr. "I will look forward to your most excellent skills and beside manner." he says with a smile but then pushes away from Kizokuth's side, thumping the bronze with a closed fist. "Unfortunately, I do have some duties to attend to at the moment." Giving Dagmar a lazy salute, he climbs back up the riding straps to his seat up above. "Till later healer, Dagmar."

>> Kizokuth bespeaks Micafeth with: Kizokuth gives signs of just a little eagerness himself, but then less so when his rider climbs up. << It seems you shall get a chance to see sooner than I had believed. >> The bronze takes off quickly with a powerful leap of his strong hindquarters, the motion takes his rider by surprise, wringing a yelp out of him. << See you later... in the skies. >> <<

Dagmar loops a hand over Micafeth's headknob as the green dips her muzzle lower, giving her rider the side of her jaw to lean against. Both females watch the bronze and his lifemate rise, Dag lifting one hand in response to F'ox's salute. Oddly, it is only in the direct company of her lifemate that Dagmar's manner takes on some sensuality, the curve of her body inherently inviting where it is applied to milky green hide.

>> I bespoke Kizokuth with: Micafeth's attention is tangible, her large facets scintillatingly deep sapphire and voice laced with further intrigue. << You can rely on it. >> <<

Hatching Disappointments But Promising Future

2007-08-24T23:04:00.000-04:00

Plot: Vivia and Rivan get caught up in post-Hatching festivities.

A hatching is always quite the event, and this was Rivan's first chance to see one in many turns. And he also went, of course, to cheer on Vivia. Sadly she didn't find a lifemate on the sands, so the Smith made an effort to find her after the feasting and drinking and dancing. He recalls that sometimes the Weyrleaders and older riders would offer stories of their multiple times on the sands before Impressing to offer solace to those disappointed. So it didn't make sense to find her *right away*.

But now, the young man had gone to poke his head into the Candidate Barracks. Seeing nobody, he checked the Game Room, Kitchens, and Living Cavern. So now it's on to the Weyrfolk Dorms in case she's already moved her things. He's not really tipsy, just a bit on the relaxed side from a drink or two had between songs.

From out of the dorms comes a gowned figure, pelting out of rooms unsteadily. It is indeed Vivia, looking far different than she had in the days before the Hatching. Wearing a pale rose and lavender dress, hair bound with ribbons, she looks rather different than the candidate in the dark brown and black uniform, or even the pale trembling figure that stood on the sands. Maybe it’s the bright flush on her cheeks and the slightly panicked look in her eyes. Glancing back over her shoulder at whatever it was that drove her out of the dormitory, she becomes even more flustered as she continues down the corridor without looking where she is going or if there is someone in her way…

Rivan would have to say the majority of the difference is the rose and lavender dress.. and ribbons. That's certainly a look he's not used to seeing and his eyes widen with surprise when he sees her come stumbling out of the dorms. The fact that she's flushed might be expected since wine and spirits flow a little freely during these events. But the panic and fluster isn't. Nor is the lack of attention she's paying to her surroundings - even he knows her better then that. "Hey there, Miss Vivia. What on Pern are you running from?" he wonders, with only a tiny bit of a drawl when he tries to nab her arm on her way past him.

Vivia gasps in surprise, hair fluttering about her as she whips her head forward to see who she nearly ran into. Wide startled amber eyes look up into Rivan’s as she stares with trembling lips for a moment before she manages an answer. While her cheeks are indeed flushed, there is no slurring to her soft words, though she does speak a bit slower and carefully than usual. “Rivan? Oh thank Faranth it’s you.” Gesturing back towards the dorms with a flustered waggle of fingers, she somehow manages to blush even harder. “I just had to get away… everyone’s celebrating and I..” Words die away as she drops her gaze to the floor. “I didn’t feel quite up to that.” Whether or not she wanted to Impress before, it’s always a disappointment being the one left behind. “They’re holding a private little party in the dorm. I think some of the girls in there are… quite inebriated.” Always the diplomatic one isn’t she?

Not quite able to help himself, the Smithcrafter lifts a piece of lavender ribbon to look at it. His expression is somewhat bemused until Vivia begins her explanation. "I don't think anyone would blame you for being a bit disappointed at the way things turned out." he points out, steering her down the corridor to the crafting area. Nobody is working, really, so there won't be anyone gawking at the prettily dressed and flustered holder girl hanging about the Smith area. An eyebrow quirks next, and the lad clears his throat a bit. "Quite inebriated? That doesn't seem like something that'd make a young women such as yourself try and flee the scene. So why don't you tell me what happened." His tone suggests there's hardly anything that would surprise him considering his upbringing.

All her life, people have often examined Vivia like a doll, petting her on the head or exclaiming over her golden hair, quite used to that really. So why does Rivan’s similar gesture make her feel so decidedly odd? Surely it must be the wine. Yes, that must be it. She allows the older boy to guide her away to the crafter’s hallway, a little unsteady on her feet which is a rather perturbing sensation to say the least. Stumbling slightly, she grabs hold of his arm and lists against him. “Oh! Sorry, I feel rather clumsy at the moment.” She means drunk, but is trying very hard not to show it. “Today was very disappointing. The Weyrwoman says I may stay of course, so I’ve moved back to the dorms.” As if that hadn’t been obvious enough. “But yes, there was a lot of wine being passed around and then the girls… Krisianna and Kiala were kissing!” She exclaims that last bit a little loudly. Thank goodness the place is disserted!

Nobody would think too much of seeing the two wandering the hallway all tangled anyway, so Riv drapes an arm around her unsteady frame to help keep her upright until he can get a chair under her. She obviously doesn't drink a lot - again, not entirely surprise. "If I didn't know better Vivia, I'd say you were in the cups by now." He's half there, so it's definitely not meant as censure of any kind. "Oh good - I'm glad you'll be staying. We can raid the kitchen more often and perhaps.." He voice trails off and ends in what sounds suspiciously like a cross between a snort and a choke. "Kissing, were they? Not to be too blunt but you'll find that's not as uncommon in the Weyr as the Hold. Though certainly a bit.. well, Krisianna's rather young. And I had the impression she was interested in boys." But again.. Weyr. Lucky for Vivia she hasn't been caught in an area where a proddy greenrider and the chasing dragon's 'mates are gathered. Well, that and he's not heard Valen's part in this saga yet.

Vivia blushes again, nodding slightly. “I’ve had a few cups, it tasted strange at first, but it got better.” Ha, doesn’t it always? She tucks her face shyly into Rivan’s side, which is ironically in itself a bold move on her part. “But yes, they were kissing. I mean I’ve heard of such things, but they’re both Holdbred and quite honestly I thought they were interested in boys too.” Particularly as Krisianna had been heard voicing her anguish over ‘losing’ Aoifen to K’rian. “And there was a new fellow too, guess he’s a friend of theirs. Valen I believe they said his name was. I think he had a few cups as well and he was sitting kind of close to me. I don’t know, he made me a little nervous so I had to leave.”

Letting Vivia have the chair he normally uses, Rivan helps Vivia sit down - a bit of a blush on his face after she'd tucked her head towards his side. And she's quite a bit more inebriated then he is, so he tries to take that all with a grain of salt. Until mention of someone making her nervous comes to light. "Valen you said his name was?" Yep, someone will be remembering /that/ name. "I can certainly have a talk with him about making you feel that you had to leave." Not that she asked, or even so much as hinted that he should do so. He's also a little puzzled at his own reaction - is it a bit of jealousy? Or protectiveness? Both unexpected.

Vivia sits down with a little sigh of relief, it is certainly easier than staying on her feet when her head feels ever so muzzy. However, she doesn’t quite let go of his arm, a clinging gesture made bold by the wine’s influence. In one day, most of those she knew in the Weyr are now all ensconced in the weyrling barracks, but she is left an outsider. Only Rivan is her comfort here, a steady presence in this still nearly alien place. “No, no. That should not be necessary.” She never the less blushes again. “It was just me I’m sure.” Though what else might a drunken lad have thought while sitting next to a pretty vulnerable girl? Course, technically speaking, the said might be said of Rivan at the moment. Looking back up at the journeyman, she blinks slowly for a moment as if a thought had only just crossed her mind. Reaching up with a free hand, she runs her fingers along the smith’s jaw in a curious yet somehow innocent gesture. “Did you forget to shave or something?”

Being of the same gender as Valen, Rivan could probably assure Vivia that it wasn't just her. But unlike the other lad at least, he's doing his best to reign in any improper thoughts. Taking advantage of a drunk young lady isn't exactly encouraged no matter where you were raised. That's why when she makes note of the unshaven jaw line he turns a little red in the face and grabs her hand. The intention being to pull the hand away from his face, but it doesn't quite seem to happen. Quite an interesting tableau they make like that. "No, I .. ah. I decided I'd let some of it grow in a bit. Kind of scruffy right now I'm sure." He's a boy - he's oblivious to whether she's actually being innocent or not. So he'll err on the side of caution - only cause she's had a few drinks. "Uhm - hey, I should show you the new comission I'm working on!" Yep, distraction from the strange girls, Valen.. and his jaw. That should be safe!

Safe isn’t half as fun though, is it? Vivia isn’t as quickly distracted as Rivan might hope, at least not when her hand is clutched in his and their faces so close where she can study his features to her satisfaction. Being half drunk though, makes act a little less reserved than usual, which is oh such a bad thing where propriety might be concerned. Her other hand comes up on the other side of his face, thumb brushing lightly along the growing shagginess. “Scruffy? Maybe just a little. I think it’s cute.” She says with an unconscious croon to her voice, but luckily for Rivan’s sensibilities, being drunk also means having the attention span of a ferret. “Oh you’re working on something new? What is it?” It might have helped though, if she let go of his face.

Well, it's settled that he's keeping the bit of beard now that he knows what Vivia thinks of it! Of course, he's also a little nervous about their current situation so he's starting to get that 'watchwher in the daylight' expression. "It's a... well, it's a..." Aw, shard it. He may just be no better then Valen after all, which will make it much more difficult to punch the guy in the face. But Rivan leans forward anyway and since she's already looking 'up' at him, is easily able to give her a light kiss on the lips. "You certainly are a temptation, Miss Vivia." he mutters with a bit of a sigh. "I'm doing a comission - an armband. It'll even be part of my Sr. Journeyman project."

Now wouldn’t Valen be darn surprised if Rivan did go and put him down? However that’s not the thought in Vivia’s head as she receives her first kiss. Amber eyes fly wide open, just when did they close in the first place? Her startled expression is classic, surprise forming an oh with her lips. Thoughts fly like startled firelizards as she tries to track the conversation that he hides behind. “Commission? Yes, of course, you said that a moment ago.” A long moment ago to her, before she’d been kissed. Her cheeks blush again, “Sr. Journeyman, so soon? That’s quite impressive… Rivan.” She murmurs his name as she makes a decision in her head, like any girl plotting and planning with little hint of warning to the oblivious menfolk. Throwing caution to the winds, she lets her hands hold his face in place as she rises out of the chair just enough to kiss back this time, and not a light indecisive kiss either. Isn’t it a good thing that she’s not a Candidate anymore?

"Not really all that impressive." Rivan protests, thinking that he's safe. "It's really only a small part of a larger project and..." Uh oh. This oblivious manfolk is indeed -very- oblivious. He suddenly finds his arms full of former-candidate Vivia, being quite well and thoroughly kissed. Like any young man with a smattering of hormones at all he pulls her closer and deepens the kiss. All while alarms are ringing merrily in his head and good intentions begin to drown like thread in water. Or is that smolder? No wait - drunk! She's had alcohol! His mother would surely feed him to Epionth for breakfast if she knew what he was doing right now. Dad on the other hand, would pat him on the back. "Vivia... you've had a lot to drink. Maybe I should get us both some klah." Or ice water. This said once they break apart enough for him to get a word or two in edgewise. "Or, you know.. we can go to the Living Caverns. It should be more quiet now, but there'll still be a few people milling about."

If Rivan’s mother would have conniptions over this, Vivia’s father is likely to go up in flames if he knew his daughter was out kissing some crafter instead of being a good little puppet waiting to be married off. But do you know what? Right now Vivia doesn’t give a damn. Clasped to the smith’s front, the girl feels ever so warm and comfortable, for all her racing heart. That fogginess of wine is clearing up pretty quickly, with it some of that liquid courage, but Vivia hangs on to Rivan’s tunic. The line has been crossed and she has no intention of going back to that dreadfully confined existence she knew before. Bad luck there Rivan. “I haven’t had that much.” Or so she insists. “I don’t want to go back to the living caverns, they’re all celebrating still. Having a wonderful time and talking about all the new riders.” She loses the smile she was wearing a second before. “I don’t want to think about that. I know it wasn’t surprising that I didn’t Impress, but it still hurts.” The girl isn’t going to cry is she? That is a rather formidable weapon in the female arsenal. Having faced rejection out there already, she’s clearly not going to take a second one well.

Is this what a wherry trapped in the feeding pens feels like?? Clearly Rivan is a bit startled at this sudden turn of events, but he's still fairly sure that Vivia's had too much to drink when it comes to making a decision that could lead to a whooooole lot of trouble for a Holdbred girl in the line of succession. Even if distantly in the line. "All it means is that your lifemate wasn't on the sands this time, and there's clearly something special about you that had you in the candidate barracks in the first place Vivia." He's not chiding, but trying to be reassuring. And really, he's not rejecting her. Just.. you know... trying to be something other then your typical weyrbrat or womanizer. "I just don't want you to be horrified tomorrow when you wake up with a hangover wondering what in Faranth's name you were thinking kissing some crafter boy." Life was sooo much easier when he had every intention of being a flirtatious cad just like S'ran used to be.

Well if Rivan’s a wherry, it’s a good thing that Vivia’s no dragon coming to drain him before a flight. Not blood anyway. Ahem. Drunk or sober, it’s likely that the holder’s daughter isn’t thinking about the line of succession right now. Unless it has to do with extending it, but no she’s truly not trying to think about those consequences right now, whether or not it might have repercussions later. “They said that, about one’s lifemate not being on the sands this time.” She sniffles slightly, hiding any possible tears by tucking her head into his tunic again, muffling her words a bit. “I’m not stupid you know, it’s a pleasant platitude, but even I know there are plenty enough people who Stand and never Impress at all.” She slowly looks back up at Rivan, those doe-like eyes beseechingly seeking out his. “You’re not just some ‘crafter boy’.” She says in that sweet dulcet voice, “You’re the only one who’s been a real friend to me while I’ve been here.” Heaven forbid she turns on the real charm here. “I… don’t want regrets later either.” Only she means it in a different way than he did. “I don’t want to someday find myself stuck back at Boll wishing I got to live life a little before they lock me up again behind Hold walls.”

Rivan finds himself toying with the ribbons in Vivia's hair again when she ducks her head -- that must be what they're -really- made for. Distracting hapless young men while women use their sneaky feminine wiles. "Of course you're not stupid. But there are also plenty of people who Stand a number of times /before/ Impression. Best to think about that later, though." Now, since he can't exactly send her back to the weyrfolk dorms and crafters with rank have a small measure of privacy - he makes a suggestion that sounds much less honorable then he intends. Plus, he's probably also still a bit on the clueless side. "Why don't you stay with me for the night - unless you feel comfortable going back to the dorms again. I'll throw a wherhide blanket on the floor for myself and be more comfortable then I was as an apprentice."

If girls did not dress up to find a mate, what reason would they have to encumber themselves with silly ornamentations like ribbons anyway? The trap was baited and looks like Rivan fell for the lure. Shaking her head, Vivia makes it known quite plainly that she does not wish to go back to the crowded dorm right now. Surely the motion rubs her cheek against his tunic, taking comfort and no doubt some delight in his near presence, warmth, and the reassuring smell of /man/. “Alright, let’s go back to your place.” His bed. Let’s see just how strong his resolve will be then, because he’s delusional if he thinks that she’s going to sleep in her gather gown. (What, wrinkle all that lace?)

Blasts From The Past - Post Firelizard Hatching

2007-08-24T21:15:00.000-04:00

(Actual firelizard hatching removed from the log due to sheer amount of spam. Available upon request.)

Hidden Valley
Despite being so close to the cold regions, there is surprising lush greenery and warmth. The warmth, it can be guessed, is due to the geothermal vents that release steam into the air from various fissures scattered around the valley, also providing the concealing cloud cover above. From here, caves entrances can be seen, and rocky outcroppings line the grey walls of mountain, perfect for the winged denizens to perch upon. The shore of the lake is soft volcanic black sand, the waters of the lake chill, but not bone-chillingly so, heated by the fires of heart of Pern.
The calm, pleasant weather of late autumn sees a hive of activity as people and animals prepare for the monsoons of winter that are to come to the southern continent. Buildings are lashed and boarded and much of the fauna starts their annual trek south to more peaceful climes.
Diar is here.
Obvious exits:
Sky Trail Lakeshore

Diar is sitting perched on one of the rocks, eyes closed and seemingly asleep. He's keeping away from that sharding 'lizard hatching in case one of the stomaches decides to chase after *him*.

Fynelox comes dashing up from the lakeshore, and oddly the usually quiet and taciturn boy is...shrieking his head off. Something slimy and green is clinging to his shoulder and shrieking just as loudly. "Ahhhh!!!! Git away! Git away!!"

OOC: Diar ROFL!

Well, okay. Diar /was/ asleep. He's not anymore. Jerking away with a snort, he leans up, blinking towards Fyne in confusion, and calls out, "What in Faranth's name-- Fyne? What's wrong?" His soft tenor voice is concerned, and confused, still slightly sleep-fogged.

Fynelox starts running in circles around the rock his brother is on, still yelling and sobbing at the same time. "Git it off! Git it off!" the youngster screams, his 'assailant' flapping her wings excitedly and hissing. The less flighty Neko is on his other shoulder, chirping almost happily in contrast, wings also spread but just to help with balance in this case as his humanpet wobbles about.

"Shards..." Diar slips to his feet, and grabs for the 'slime', his brow furrowing, "What in Faranth's name...did you impress this beast? It looks as bad as mine...let's hope she doesn't like chewing firestone, too..." Then she'd be worth. Faranth Forbid.

On his next loop around the rock, Fyne latches onto his brother, still crying and shrieking, matched by the green thing from hell with talons stuck into his tunic. Slime hisses at Diar and bobs her head, half dried egg goo still dripping off of her wings as she flaps, splattering. She snaps at fingers reaching for her, then tries to back away, ending up half lodging down the back of the poor boy's tunic. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!"

Unable to prevent a laugh, he murmurs, "Take off the tunic!" As he speaks, he reaches around, and pats the boy's back, trying to dislodge the squawking green, his voice half-amused, half-concerned. "Just take off the tunic, she won't have anywhere to hold on, then." Unless she goes for his pants, let's hope she doesn't.

Fynelox tries to peel off his tunic. It needs to be washed pretty badly anyhow. Neko makes a disgusted sound and takes off to perch on a rock. Slime on the other hand is tangled and heaved along with the garment as the boy manages to get it off and tosses it aside. Scratches on his shoulder is all he's gotten, but the tear streaked face and the trembling shoulders says far more. "She's scary and she won't leave me alone! I wasn't feeding her! I was just eating stuff at the party and she dove at me and and and...*sob*"

"I'm afraid she's decided to go and Impress you." It's pretty obvious, after all. Shaking his head, Diar digs into a pocket, and pulls out a handkerchief. Carefully, he begins to clean the young boy's scratches, then wipes at his tears, "Just relax, Fyne, it'll be all right. Hopefully we can get your Neko to keep her in line. If not, I'll ask Molten to. /He/ will, if he has to burn her to do it..."

Fynelox pauses in his crying (thank goodness) at the mention of impressing. Is that what it was? With Neko it was a much calmer moment and not to mention he wasn't as scary as Slime is. That's at least the name that the youngster is starting to think of her as she manages to get her head out of his tunic, trailing the last of the goo over the cloth as she peers up at the boys. *Hiss* "Ahhhh!!" Sadly, the boy runs around to the otherside of his older brother and clings like a limpet. "AHHHH!!!"

Again, Diar can't help but laugh, handing the handkerchief over to Fyne, behind him. Shaking his head, he murmurs, "Just relax." He heads towards the "Slime", and grabs Fyne's tunic, tossing it behind him. Kneeling to look at the green, he says, "And what're you going to do, little one?"

Bad idea.

That's probably Slime's cue to leap up and bite Diar on the nose. *Hiss!*

Diar sends Molten winging off his shoulder.

As the green leaps at Diar, Molten *hisses* and glares at the green. It's the battle of the stares, even as Diar staggers back, just avoiding losing half his nose, "Ack!"

More shrieks from Fyne, "She's scary!" the boy yells, half hiding behind the hanky. Of course that's when the green backs off from Diar and goes fluttering back at /her/ humanpet, looking vicious and monsterous for all her tiny size, which sets off the boy running again, the green taking to air and following. *GLOMP* He ends up attached to his brother's leg, green firelizard diving in to land in his hair. You can see Neko laughing his little bronze ass off can't you?

OOC: Diar certainly is laughing *his* arse off.

"And that she is." With this Fyne leans to Diar, and Diar laughs, "Ack..." He looks to Molten, and asks, "Can you /please/ get rid of her?" Molten hisses, and flies towards the girl, and with a loud squawk, lets out some flame. Unfortunately, the green is in Fyne's hair, and /Diar/ acks and pulls Fyne away, though perhaps it scared the green. Diar says to the bronze, "NOT /THAT/ WAY!" Damn pyromaniac 'lizard.

Fynelox yips with fright, Slime shrieking back at the bronze, then dives around the boy's head and wraps herself about his neck. From under his chin, she hisses at Molten, tail tightening it's hold. "*gurgle*" That's when Neko decides that enough is enough. After all, if Slime kills Fyne, who's going to feed him? The bronze zips in to land carefully on the boy's shoulder, making persuasive chittering sounds to the green who loosen's her hold. Fyne gasps, going from slightly blue to back to normal. His hand comes up and pulls the green off his neck by the tail and he dangles her out in front of him. "You nearly choked me!" Her tail wraps about his wrist, her claws latching to his arm and sets him off screaming again as he tries to shake her off. "AHHHHHHH!!!" Back to square one.

"Damn Lizard!" Diar reaches out to divest Fyne of the 'lizard, but Neko beats him toit. Frowning as the 'lizard latches onto his arm, Diar reaches out, again trying to grab it. Of course, Molten takes a hand, and starts chasing them, trying to ... well ... char the green. Poor Green. Not. More likely, poor Fyne.

Fynelock starts running again, with another shriek as Molten comes in for another flaming pass. "We're not thread! Stop flaming!" the boy yelps, ducking as he takes off trying to dodge the nutty bronze. Neko's about ready to give up the pair as a loss, particularly as Fyne trips and goes flailing to the ground. Incidently he lands ontop of Slime. *squish* The sudden silence from the once shrieking green brings panic to the boy's face as he rolls back to his feet and scoops the dazed firelizard up into his arms. "Ack! Did I kill her?"

Trying to stop Molten, Diar calls out, "Stop! Stop, I say!" The bronze lets out one last thread of flame, then slips back to land on Diar's shoulder, /glaring/. It's now that Fyne falls, landing on the green, and Diar slips towards him, kneeling, "I don't know, get up and see?"

Fynelox prods the quiescent green carefully as if he expects her to suddenly explode in his face. Which she does. With a fury of flapping wings and creeling like a banshee, the dazed green awakens and latches back onto the one thing she has bonded to. So the boy ends up with a psychotic firelizard once again wrapped around his head. "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" It's going to be an interesting life with this one around. "Diar!!! How do I stop her????" Maybe if they like stuff her full, which the boy didn't get a chance to since he took off running, then she'd be too sleepy to be such a terror. ;)

Perhaps. Diar will actually think of this. After a bit. But for the moment, he reaches out and tugs. Tugs again. Which will probably piss off the psychotic green. Finally though, he manages to think of this, and digs in his pack, coming out with a small wrapped bundle, "Feed her this." He quickly gives it to Fyne in case she attacks *HIM*.

Fynelox takes the bundle from his brother, frantically unwrapping it to find what he hopes to be the usual firelizard scraps. "Feed her? I want to get rid of her!" Too late Fyne, too late. He figures that if at least her mouth is stuffed with food, then she can't be shrieking in his ear. Still, when he shoves the food in her face, she's taking bites without nipping him. She's not../mean/. Slime's just a nutty little monster. He was right though, it quiets her down. "Whew." Sure enough, once all the scraps are gone, she yawns and goes limp around his shoulders. A soft almost..purring sound emulates from the firelizard and Fyne peers at his shoulder warily. "I didn't have this much trouble with Neko!" he protests, the bronze in question agreeing as he flys in and perches on the boy's other shoulder. "Ow! Watch the nails, I don't have my shirt on." This is probably the most Fyne has ever spoken in one afternoon.

Probably. Diar shakes his head, and says, chuckling, "I think you're in for a surprise. Just wait till Master Lasarah sees you with /that/ creature." Voice amused, he stretches, and murmurs, "We'll have to clean your shirt and jacket, so you can go between when we return to the Hall."

Can you imagine Lasarah trying to deal with a teary eyed Fynelox who comes running up to her with the psychotic green? It's just as well the boy found his brother first. Leaning against his sibling, the boy nods, going back to being quiet again. "It's all messy." And not just from firelizard goo. He's just not a very neat eater, which is how Slime zeroed in on him in the first place. ;)

Diar chuckles softly, and murmurs, "That we will..." Shaking his head, he gestures with a hand, "Let's go." He turns to follow, and help Fyne wash his clothing.

(End)

Cleaning & Conversation

2007-08-22T18:05:00.000-04:00

8/6/2007

Dagmar & Zasey have been cleaning the Infirmary when Kiala comes in. Micafeth has a small conversation with Cairth.

Zasey glances around again. "If you say so," he mutters, shrugging. If that's how Dagmar cleans, then there's not much he can do about it. "You mean these?" he says, walking over to the gauze. "Do you want me to unroll them all the way, or just check the outside?" Unrolling it would be a pain though, so he assumes she just wants the surface checked and (after washing his hands) starts putting the bolts where the greenrider had indicated. Dagmar's final comment gets a glance from the candidate. "What was that?"

Dagmar goes back to rummaging through her box, which might contain something small and hard, given the way it rattles. "Just the outside is fine. If there doesn't seem to be any breach, they're probably fine." Rattle rattle. Rummage. "A hah!" He might as well not have spoken; either she didn't hear his question, or she's deliberately ignoring it. "Found it!" Out of the box she pulls a long, slender glass tube. "Wouldn't do to lose that. So what do you like to do for fun, Zasey?" So much for coherent conversation.

>> (Fort Weyr) Micafeth's voice always comes with the scratching and scraping of quill on hide, or perhaps the shuffle of hen's feet on the henhouse floor. Today the accompaniment sounds somehow triumphant. << Hot air. >> <<
>> (Fort Weyr) Cairth contradicts in steamy tisane flavours. << No. It's winter out. The air is definitely not hot. In fact, >> pauses he for considering, <> <<
>> (Fort Weyr) Micafeth's talons scribble rapidly. << No, no, you daft wherry. Not the air outside. The air in our bellies! It's hot. >> <<

Zasey goes through a few of the rolls of gauze that look alright before finding one that definatly looks suspicious. "So something like this?" he asks Dagmar, showing the bolt to the Dragonhealer. Eyeing the tube, Zasey asks, "What's that for?" With his limited knowledge in all things medical, he of course has no clue what purpose a glass tube could serve. "Oh, this and that. I usually spend my free time helping out around the Weyr... I guess that could count?"

>> (Fort Weyr) Cairth has to consider that one for a moment. He broadcasts the sensation of air rushing into his lungs. << Nope. Still feels cool. >> Silly green. <<

Dagmar wrinkles her nose at the brandished bolt, eyeing the rodent-chewed end of it. "Definitely bad, that one. We'll unwind it and salvage it later. What's what for?" She stands there, holding the tube, until some accidental motion of her hand draws it to her attention. "Oh. That? I have no idea." Reassuring, isn't it? "And what kind of answer is that, help around the Weyr? That doesn't sound like fun, unless by helping you mean helping to raise the Weyr population." And why does she look at him speculatively just then?

>> (Fort Weyr) Micafeth flashes the image of Dagmar rolling her eyes. It's comically effective, since the dragon can't really roll her own. << Try exhaling. That's hot. >> <<
>> (Fort Weyr) Cairth rumbles a bit but does as bid. Needless to say, the results are astonishing. << Yup. Hot. So what? >> <<
>> (Fort Weyr) Micafeth crows triumphantly. << So that's how things fly! Hot air! >> <<
>> (Fort Weyr) Cairth remains quiet for some time. Then, with a waft of nutmeg and curdled milk he replies drily, << And here I thought it was wings. Silly me. >> <<

Zasey nods to Dagmar's assessment and sets that bold asside, returning to his sorting. "You don't? Not even a guess?" Just curious, of course; who knows when it might be useful to have such information? "Well, sometimes there's an odd job that needs to be done. I don't really have a craft or anything so I just help where I'm needed." Dagmar's final comment gets a bit of a frown from the candidate before he grins a little. "No, I don't mean that," he assures her, continuing to sort the bolts of gauze.

"I think it's part of the transfusion apparati," tosses off the greenrider, careflly wrapping the tube in some spare gauze and setting it aside. "I'd have to look at the whole thing, though, to see exactly where it fit in. But really, candidate," and she stops what she's doing to fold her arms over her chest and look at him. "I've never met a young man who thought doing random chores was fun. Do you fish? Do you hunt? Do you sing or draw pictures?" Then one finger waves at him: "And you really should be, you know. The Weyr needs more people. Pern needs more people. We're still very understrength, you know."

Before Zasey could place in a response, the doors of the Infirmary swung open to the sight slightly familiar to Dagmar. Wandering in with a hide in one hand, and a stick of graphite in the other, Kiala was already back to work, running her errands as usual for the stables. However, her previous account of being in the Infirmary was more than enough to distract the girl from reading her list further, as she raises her gaze to Dagmar and Zasey sorting through the things. "Hullo again!" Kiala calls to Dagmar, taking a further moment to recognise Zasey. "And you, candidate boy! Hello!" For once, she seems a lot more cheery than usual.

"The transusion whatti?" Zasey echoes, confusion quite apperant in his voice. Though he probably could figure out what Dagmar had ment, her next question takes his attention. "Well, I -" he begins, though gets cut off by Kiala's entrance. Offering her a nod and a "Hey," he shrugs to Dagmar. "I read some. I solve puzzles when I have the time. Never really enjoyed hunting or fishing very much; they take too much patience." Or that's his excuse, anyways.

Dagmar's mouth tugs up into a little half-grin. "Well, if it isn't my favorite little vomiter. Glad to see you up and about, girl." Her dark eyes sharpen and she cautions, "Now watch your step, all right? We're still working." Zasey she looks at with a new, less predatory interest. "So fishing and hunting take patience, bt puzzles do not, eh? How very very intriguing you are, candidate." Oh, the predatory look is back. "And do you like boys or girls?"

Kiala makes sure to be careful this time, as she gracefully steps over the mess without causing an inch of trouble. "It's good to be back on my feet.. Staring at a spinning ceiling isn't the best way to spend your days after all!" She giggles, finding a nearby table to place her latest order form onto. Once rested, she spins about to face the pair of them, hands on hips in a motherly fashion. "What'cha doin' then? Can I help?"

Zasey looks between Dagmar and Kiala inquisitivly but doesn't say anything. A poor-quality bold gets put in the 'discard' pile before Zasey answers Dagmar. "Puzzles are funner," he tries this time, shrugging. "And yes, they take less patience if you know how to do them." And no, we're not talking jigsaw puzzles here; those don't count. The last question gets a bit of a glare (just a bit though) from the candidate. "Girls, thanks," he answers, setting a good roll of gauze asside. Why does she keep asking questions like that? "We're cleaning," he continues, this time to Kiala. Can't you tell with the mess they're making?

Dagmar is evil. She just doesn't hide it well. "Well, if you're feeling up to helping, Kiala. I don't want you to strain yourself." Hah. She already has a box of something in her hands. "Here, sit on that cot there and sort through these reeds. Take out any that are broken or bent or cracked or otherwise damaged." Glancing sidelong at Zasey, she simply "Hmmmmm"s over at him.

Glad to be of some service to Dagmar, Kiala hurries along and collects the reeds specified. "Anything to pay back for your help." Kiala smiles as her bum rests itself on the cot, and instantly she begins to sort through the reeds at a seemingly speedy pace. ".. I have more orders for numbweed, by the way." The teenager speaks aloud, nodding her head to the hide list on the table, but keeping her gaze on the reeds.

Zasey is almost done with the bolts of gauze. Not surprizing; it doesn't take long to see if something has been bitten or clawed through. He still doesn't inquire as to why it would be a concern for Kiala to strain herself or why the girl feels she needs to pay Dagmar back for something. The Dragonhealer's reaction to his answer makes Zasey glance up at her before returning to the gauze. "That's the last of these, then," he says, finally setting the final bolt in the 'good' pile.

"There's no need to feel obligated, girl. I did what anyone would do under the circumstances. You should really thank your clumsy feet for letting you off heavy duty for a sevenday." Oh, the words may be sharp, but Dagmar speaks in a kindly, if distracted, tone. "Ah. Thank you, Zasey. Would you be so kind as to start on the numbweed buckets? Check to make sure none of the seals have been broken, and then put them on the bottom shelf."

Kiala smiles faintly as she places yet another battered reed onto a seemingly fast-forming pile, taking the moment to glance across first to Zasey, then back to Dagmar. "But if you had been someone else, you might have let me wander off without an examination! I could have collapsed outside in the cold for a good while if you hadn't stopped me." She pauses in her inspection to return her glance once more to Zasey, now curious. "Howcome you're here then? Did the Candidate Master bully you into this?"

Zasey nods to Dagmar, standing to move to the buckets. He shrugs to Kiala. "I'm a candidate; it's my chore for today." 'Riders can push candidates around, after all. Turning to the buckets, he gets to work; with all the buckets that need inspecting he'll probably be a while. He leaves the other to to talk amongst themselves to get the job done faster.

A Sordid Past?

2007-08-22T17:56:00.000-04:00

Plot: Dagmar gets her undies in a bundle over several things.

8/20/2007

A flash of creamy brightness darting amongst caverns denizens is Dagmar, her hair bobbing about her face as she strides determinedly towards her goal. "M'an! Hey, M'an! Weyrleader!" One arm upraised to her mouth, cupping a few scrolls, she calls across the busy room stretchted to tiptoe to see above the crowd.

M'an should be easily discernable, thanks to his height and his bright silver hair and the fact that several people are always clustered about him, trying to get his attention. Most of them, however, aren't so forward as to shout across the room at him. His brows gather sternly as he sweeps the crowd for the brash one, growing even more ominous as he sees who it is. Rather than raise his voice, however, he beckons the Dragonhealer across the cavern.

Dagmar's eagerness only grows as she notices the Weyrleader beckoning and she practically steamrolls through the cavern. "Hup, sorry, excuse me, look out." Weyrbrats dash out of her way, Aunties cluck their tongues, and some of the other women look peculiarly both peeved and sympathetic. Anyone paying attention to the murmuring gossip might catch the words 'pity,' 'shame,' 'keeps trying', and even 'suntouched'. The greenrider takes no heed; she's too busy elbowing her way past M'an's cadre. "Sir, you need to see this."

The sternness does not abate from M'an's face; it's clear that whatever the woman is bringing before him, it had damned well better be important. K'stral, ever at the Weyrleader's side, glares fiercely at Dagmar with no attempt to hide the expression. "What is it, Dragonhealer?" inquires the bronzerider, his deep voice impassive.

Dagmar is unfazed, patently ignoring the bluerider's glare and staring up into M'an's eyes without a hint of trepidation. "I felt that you should look at these figures, sir. We've just reorganized the supplies and look at the amount of redwort on hand. The numbweed, too, bears looking at."

M'an hasn't relaxed his expression yet. If anything, he starts looking a little perturbed as well as stern. He takes the hides and glances over them casually, and the little tic starts over his left cheek. "I see what you're saying, Dagmar. But why have you brought this to my attention, rather than the Weyrwoman's?" Clearly, he has not forgiven the rider for her transgressions at Fort Hold.

For the first time, Dagmar seems to take stock of her surroundings, dark eyes gliding around the cavern slightly narrowed. Leaning in towards the bronzerider, she lowers her voice to conspiratorial. "Because I don't know /why/ it's gone. Believe me, Weyrleader, we keep close stock on who uses the supplies, when, why, and how much. There's nothing in the records to explain this." It's a fastidiousness one wouldn't expect from her, given her cleaning technique. Then again, it's probably been an established protocol since before her time.

"You suspect that someone has appropriated the supplies?" M'an sounds skeptical rather than concerned, his expression smoothing into mild disbelief. The only sign that he may be taking her seriously is the continued throb of that left-sided vein.

Dagmar gives the barest of nods. "Unless they have been misplaced," like somewhere outside of the Weyr, "I can think of no other explanation, sir. I'd like to conduct a Weyrwide search for them, sir. It's always possible they've been inappropriately relocated." Her tone makes it clear that she finds that unlikely, but is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

M'an abruptly offers the scrolls back, face gone inscrutable. "Talk to the Weyrwoman, Dragonhealer. She should be able to help you with organizing the search. But I don't want to hear about this again unless you are utterly sure of what has happened to the supplies." The Weyrleader's gaze narrows piercingly. "Do I make myself clear?"

Dagmar finally seems to get the hint, or perhaps she's just letting her own exasperation show through. Exhaling in a sharp sigh, she looks away from that searching gaze. "Crystal, sir." Her eyes flick back to him and she even salutes, straightening her spine.

M'an nods and turns away without further preamble, reaching for the next set of problems to come to him. K'stral, oddly, lingers behind the Weyrleader, the grizzled bluerider setting his jaw as he stares down at the dragonhealer.

Dagmar's eyes stay on M'an's back for a long second, their dark depths roiling. About to turn away herself, she catches sight of K'stral. Disinterest leaps to her face, unhidden. "And what do you want, bluerider?" Her voice sounds almost bored, barely tolerant.

K'stral smiles, and it's not a particularly pleasant smile. While not overtly threatening, there's something wolfish about it. "Going about making trouble again, Mara? I'm not surprised. It's been, what, about three months since Micafeth last took to the skies?"

"I've told you not to call me that. You have no right." The mask of boredom drops from Dagmar's face, and her features sharpen. "And you know I am not making trouble. I take my duties too seriously for that." She takes the slightest step backwards, putting physical distance between them.
The bluerider laughs shortly. It's not humorous at all. "Aww, still harboring feelings for E'veran, are we? Feeling a little remorse? You should be over it by now, Mara. After all, how many have marched through your weyr since? Two dozen? Three?" Leaning forward, K'stral lifts his hand to trail a rough finger down the side of her face. "Want to make it one more?"

Dagmar jerks her head back and twists away, actually hissing at the man beneath her breath. "Go bend a tail, K'stral. It's none of your sharding business, you know that? And it never will be. I don't care if you were the most potent man on Pern - not that I have to worry about that. I'm sure your dick is as shrivelled as your sense of honor."

K'stral laughs again, harshly, as she pulls away from his touch. A sneer enters his voice, cocksure. "We'll just see about that, won't we? You'll have to convince your lifemate to fly a little faster this time if she wants to evade Sparrohath - but I'm betting she won't want to."

Dagmar juts out her chin, eyes flashing, and spins on heel to stalk out of the room.

Things That Go Bump

2007-08-22T17:48:00.000-04:00

Plot: Dagmar meets Kiala under less-than-ideal circumstances.

8/5/2007

The Infirmary is a mess. Well, part of it is. The part cordoned off for Dragonhealers. A long rack of shelving has been emptied, apparently haphazardly, to the floor. In the midst of the mess stands Dagmar, a roll of hides in one hand and a handful of reeds in the other. She's frowning at the empty space between them. "That just doesn't make sense, my dear. Completely illogical. How can you suggest that one follows the other?"

Kiala
Straightened, waist-length hair in tones of fawn reaches down to cover the teenager's proportioned shoulders, with a lengthened fringe brushed aside to hide one of her pale blue eyes which were hinted with grey. An oval-shape face, with slightly protruding cheekbones holds the gaze of the young woman, who can be distinguished by a thin scar running along the left side of her lower jaw, past her chin and trailing midway down her neck. The girl's form is thin, surprising for her height, which would be considered below average. Her skin is fair, hinted with slightly rose tints upon each cheek which could redden remarkably in certain conditions, showing off her nature to be easily embarrassed, or easily infuriated.
Dressed in a tunic produced by via tanned hide, accompanied by similar trousers, thicker around the upper leg to cushion the legs when riding. A fur-trimmed, sleeved jacket covers the tunic for colder weather, and is also worn with a set of thick, fur-lined boots. On each hand are similar fingerless gloves, composed of the same material as the footwear.
Kiala looks to be in her late teens.

Dagmar
A strong square jaw embodies the spirit of determination that infuses Dagmar's solid form, her body densely built as if to cram two people's worth of drive into one average-sized woman. Dark chestnut hair falls across her broad forehead and down to her shoulder in softly feathered waves, matched by elegant arching brows that, along with the thick lashes of her dark uptilted eyes, provide most of the femininity in her features. Her nose is on the long side, though not sharp, and her cheekbones, while high and wide, lack refinement. A few wrinkles make their appearance on her sundarkened skin, primarily around the corners of her eyes and mouth, with one furrow between her eyebrows to show how much time she spends thinking. The most impressive swells on her torso are her biceps, her womanly curves superceded by an abundance of muscle.
Double black and brown in a single loop with a long tail and two tassels, threaded through with a green ribbon: she's a greenrider and Dragonhealer at Fort Weyr.
Creamy leather sheathes her in shades of eggshell and ivory, the different colors barely perceptible as they marble over the swells of her muscles and the fainter curves of her breasts and hips. The riding jacket has been embroidered in dark chocolate thread with strange, almost abstract images and notations - they look like Smithcraft technical specifications - scattered randomly across its expanse. Her leggings are more restrained, with scientific jargon picked out along the seams and pockets - and there are many, many pockets. Calf-high boots in the same coffee shade protect her feet.
Dagmar looks to be in her mid thirties.

Pushing through the doors of the infirmary comes Kiala, a hide grasped in one hand, and a piece of graphite in the other. Clearly she's running an errand, otherwise she wouldn't be looking so frustrated. The girl only glances up from the list she is reading to Dagmar, who seems to be the only person in the room at the moment. Not noticing the mass of random items upon the floor as she hurries along, Kiala can't help but stumble in her clumsy ways head-first onto the ground, scattering yet more things about as she drops her hide list and graphite. "Oof!"

"Look at it this way: if having wings-" Dagmar breaks off mid-sentence, jumping slightly at the sound of things scattering and people oofing. She whips around, eyes narrowed, then flaring as she takes in the girl sprawling on her floor. "Here now, what's this?" First order of business: "Are you all right?" She even sounds slightly concerned.

Kiala groans and struggles amongst the various clutter. Her instant reaction is to rub her head, which seems to have taken a good bump, considering by the pain. Still, errands are errands and Kiala can't waste time hanging around when she has work to do. "I-I'm fine.." The girl stutters as she manages to her knees, swaying slightly with the dizziness caused by abrupt movement. Hastily her attention turns to the various things, and she fumbles with her hands, looking for the things she had dropped. ".. Just bumped my head, I'll be fine.."

Dagmar's voice turns into a sharp bark: "Sit down, you wherryheaded fool, and let me take a look at you." Stepping carefully over the items between them, the greenrider motions the girl down again with her hand, dropping to a crouch so that she can look into Kiala's eyes. "We need to be sure you haven't bruised your brain. That can be dangerous."

Wincing at the sharp command issued, Kiala instantly replies by falling back to her seat. "S-Sorry.." She mutters, blinking and rubbing at her sleeve. ".. I just gotta do this work though, otherwise I'll be in trouble." Her gaze instantly drops to the mess on the floor, and her form falls silent, awaiting for the woman to quickly examine her.

"You'll end up in more trouble if you don't let me take care of you. Neither of the Weyrleaders want their people to be injured, and they won't allow any neglect from their subordinates. So." Peering closely into Kiala's face, Dagmar hmms softly. "Look at my finger, please." She raises it to eye-level for the girl, then moves it back and forth slowly.

Kiala blinks slowly, still muttering, "I'm hold-bred anyway, I doubt they'd be bothered..". Still, she slowly raises her gaze upon command to the extended finger, at instant having trouble focusing. As it moved, her eyes attempted to track the finger, but her reactions were sluggish and dull.

Dagmar snorts. "Holdbred or not, you're our guest until we decide to keep you or you decide to go. So hush." Watching the girl's reaction, she clucks her tongue in dismay. "I don't think all the gears are turning as they should be, my dear. Come, have a seat on this cot while I get the Healer for you." Rising, she reaches down a hand to assist Kiala into the cot nearby.

Slowly, the teenager reaches her hand out to grab onto Dagmar's fumbling slightly as her blurred vision and dizziness proves it a hard task. When she finally manages, Kiala gingerly pulls herself onto the cot, swaying with the motion of the ache in her head. "I-I live in the weyr.." She manages, gently rubbing at her throbbing temple. ".. Just hold-bred.."

"There we go. Very good. I'll be right back." And Dagmar is, really. She just goes to the door and hollers down the hallway for a Healer, then she's right back at Kiala's side again. "So you've been accepted as a resident, then? We'll have to make sure you get a knot. Other than the one on your head." The greenrider giggles, as if she hadn't just made a rather tasteless and bad joke.

Kiala waits silently as Dagmar vanishes, only to re-appear moments later back beside her. "Yes.. Resident.." She sways, her hands gripping the cot's edge tightly. The room is still spinning to her, and it doesn't feel good at all. ".. I think.." Kiala suddenly manages, her face rather pale and sweaty, ".. I'm gonna be sick..". The girl raises a hand to her mouth quickly, clasping it to prevent making a mess on the floor.

"Ah- shells-" It turns out it's a good thing that there's a mess all over, because all Dagmar has to do is lean waaaaaaay over and grab up a metal basin. She holds it out over Kiala's lap. "Go ahead, be sick. And as soon as you're done being sick, lie down. You shouldn't be sitting up. Didn't I tell you to lie down?

Kiala quickly grasps the bowl in her lap, and lets loose. It isn't a pretty sight, but it thankfully doesn't last long, to most likely both of their reliefs. Her face still pale as she drops back onto the bed, Kiala's head continues to spin as she tries to take her gaze away from the ceiling and back to Dagmar. ".. T-Thanks.."

Dagmar has a terrible bedside manner; it's just as well she's not a human Healer. "Good aim," she notes, taking the bowl away to empty it. "Go ahead and close your eyes if you like, no need to look at me. You might get sick again." Humor lights her tone, but then the real Healer comes in and she steps aside as the Journeyman gives Kiala a brief examination. "Concussion," he declares. "Rest for the remainder of the day. If you're still dizzy tomorrow, then rest then, too. Light duties for a sevenday after that."

A faint giggle is all that is heard from Kiala at the joke, as her eyes are already closing from the dizziness overcoming her. She isn't impressed at being interrupted by the proper Healer though, despite good intentions, and she is happy to see the back of him. Kiala falls back onto her cot with a sigh of relief, her mind already drifting away from the thoughts of the manual labour she wouldn't need to endure anymore.

Dagmar looks down at the girl, lips pursed. "Well. I should let you be. You need to sleep. And I need to clean up this mess. Sooner rather than later, apparently. Why didn't you watch where you were going, you silly chit?" A thought occurs to her: "And what errand were you running, by the way? I can take care of it for you."

Kiala seems already to be drifting off, but the words that Dagmar speaks manage to come through to her. "Sorry.. I was in such a rush.. My errand was to collect some numbweed for the runners at the stables.." Her eyes remain closed as she continues to drift off into a much deeper sleep. ".. Thanks.." Is the last word the clumsy teenager manages before her form falls victim to a heavy sleep.

"Numbweed for the runners. Hmph. All right. I'll just - " But it's too late; Kiala's already asleep. Dagmar looks down at her with a wee smile on her lips, shaking her head. Then she's off to dig through her pile for some numbweed, humming softly under her breath.

Wings And Things

2007-08-22T16:17:00.000-04:00

People: Dagmar and Rivan
Plot: Dagmar & Rivan meet and exchange a few ideas.

8/2/2007

Rivan
Curly dark brown hair is cropped into a somewhat moplike hairdo atop Rivan's head. It's deliberately rather short and off the neck, presumably to fend off the heat. His resemblance is mostly that of his father though - his face all hard lines and angles, with steel grey eyes that can be hard to fathom. Hard work has kept him fit, but not wiry.
As is his custom, he's currently only wearing a pair of dark brown wherhide pants, a nice light colored shirt that's left untucked. And, a pair of sturdy workboots. If it's cold - maybe a jacket.
Rivan looks to be in his late teens.

Dagmar
A strong square jaw embodies the spirit of determination that infuses Dagmar's solid form, her body densely built as if to cram two people's worth of drive into one average-sized woman. Dark chestnut hair falls across her broad forehead and down to her shoulder in softly feathered waves, matched by elegant arching brows that, along with the thick lashes of her dark uptilted eyes, provide most of the femininity in her features. Her nose is on the long side, though not sharp, and her cheekbones, while high and wide, lack refinement. A few wrinkles make their appearance on her sundarkened skin, primarily around the corners of her eyes and mouth, with one furrow between her eyebrows to show how much time she spends thinking. The most impressive swells on her torso are her biceps, her womanly curves superceded by an abundance of muscle.
Double black and brown in a single loop with a long tail and two tassels, threaded through with a green ribbon: she's a greenrider and Dragonhealer at Fort Weyr.
Creamy leather sheathes her in shades of eggshell and ivory, the different colors barely perceptible as they marble over the swells of her muscles and the fainter curves of her breasts and hips. The riding jacket has been embroidered in dark chocolate thread with strange, almost abstract images and notations - they look like Smithcraft technical specifications - scattered randomly across its expanse. Her leggings are more restrained, with scientific jargon picked out along the seams and pockets - and there are many, many pockets. Calf-high boots in the same coffee shade protect her feet.
Dagmar looks to be in her mid thirties.

It's time for Rivan to take a break from duties and check out some of the nether-reaches of the Weyr. He looks like he's ready for a spelunking trip; complete with basket of glows, a backpack, and a hopeful expression. Not that he'll find much. But he is curious about the construction of his new home.

Ambling from the direction of the ground weyr comes Micafeth, with Dagmar by her side. The rider's hand lies on her lifemate's foreleg as they walk companionably quiet, though give the glitter of the green's eyes and Dag's animated expression, there's probably no silence in their heads. Until, that is, the farsighted dragon sweeps the bowl with her gaze and rests it upon Rivan. Dagmar looks away from her 'mate and hails: "Ahoy, Smith!"

Lost in his own thoughts, Rivan looks up with a bit of a startled expression. But it quickly turns into a polite smile. "Hail, Dragonhealer!" There's a great deal of respect in his voice when he says it, considering the amount of training he knows she must have completed to earn that knot. "How fare you, today?"

"Just smashing, thank you," replies the rider as she and her dragon halt within comfortable speaking distance. While her expression is pleasantly mild, her dark eyes hold a speculative glitter. Micafeth is not so subtle; the facets whorl actively as she ogles Rivan and his gear. "May I ask, on behalf of Mic, what business you are about this fine day?"

Micafeth
Cloudy jade softens the off-kilter lines of this dragon, the soothing mint-marbled color striving to ease the imbalance of her bulbous head and narrow chest and diminish the almost alarming swell of her thick haunches and tailhead. Xanthous cream splashes across her withers, falling in rivulets that encircle her shoulders like tufts of down, while her wingsails bear the long, storm-shadowed impression of primary flight feathers along their eggshell undersides. Her overlarge eyes, bulging out from beneath delicate 'ridges, fairly crackle with intelligence, but the carroty stalks of her headknobs and her cockscomb-red crest mitigate what impressiveness her gaze might bestow and leave her looking slightly cracked.
Micafeth is 14 turns 3 months and 10 days old.

Rivan grins, looking back and forth between Digmar and Micafeth. His smile broadens in fact, before he turns to face the dragon in order to answer. "I'm planning on a bit of exploring, m'lady." he explains, before looking back. "Looking for hidden caves, nooks and crannies.. someplace I might find a hidden gem or two among the rock. I haven't had opportunity like this since being a toddler at Benden Weyr." Hefting his pack a bit so that he can resettle the weight, the smith lad poses the question back. "How about the two of you?"

"Well, we were discussing wings." Dagmar spreads her hands, using them actively as she talks to diagram the conversaion. "Not the Weyr wings, but wings themselves, as mechanical devices. Mic is very interested in flight, you know." The green cranes her neck, wedging her head between rider and crafter to give a distinctly curious exhale. "But now, it seems," says Dag with a slight smile, "that she is very curious about exploring."

"I see." Rivan's expression is slightly quizzical, his head tilted to the side to get a better angle on Mic's wings and wingspan. "And it's certainly not a stretch that a dragon would wish to know the how's and why's of flight. Not to mention a better understanding of how your body works. Perhaps I could fashion a model or diagram for her. If you'd like." he offers, glancing over at Dagmar. "As for exploring, I don't quite know if she'll fit in the tight spaces I seem to find. But you're both more then welcome to try and poke that snout into a cave to look around once I find one." He's obviously very used to hanging around the huge creatures as it were.

Dagmar's face lights, and a delighted croon spills from the dragon's muzzle. "Would you? That would be absolutely fantastic! And do you think that perhaps you could do more than just a dragon wing? Beastcrafter Odyne gave us a list of flying creatures the other day, and I am certain that not all of them have the same anatomy as dragonkind. Perhaps I could introduce the two of you to collaborate on the- what? Oh." The dragonhealer deflates a bit from her excitement, waving her hands flusteredly after her lifemate's derailed the trail of thought. "Er, Mic would love to see a cave." She hastens to add, "And so would I," with a watery smile.

Rivan scratches the back of his neck thoughtfully, pondering his expertise on such a thing before nodding in agreement. "I can't promise they'll be perfect. But I'll do my best. I'd love to meet the Beastcrafter. Drawings will be of immense use so that I can craft something suitable." He reaches out a hand as if to scritch the dragon muzzle, but pauses first and looks at the 'rider for permission. "Alright then. I'm heading clear to the other end of the Bowl. I think it's usually where the wherry's are stabled. Not many people would venture there and the natural caves should be somewhat untouched."

Dagmar flicks her hand, "Go ahead," but Mic has already placed her muzzle beneath the young man's hand, nosing gently upwards into his touch. "Ah, Mic says she wouldn't mind carrying you, if you'd like? It might be faster, and you could get a nice close look at her wings." The rider's fingers fiddle with the bottom lace on her riding jacket, a nervous habit.

Rivan is still young yet, so his enthusiasm shows up rather quickly when he starts to scritch at the offered muzzle. "Wow, that would be great." he agrees, stepping closer to Mic and tapping on her wing gently. "Can you ask her to lift her wing up for me? Getting a look at the underside is just as important as seeing it a'dragonback." Aye, this will definitely put his Smithing skills to the test, but he's relishing the challenge already. "That is, if you're comfortable with all this. I doubt your plans for the day consisted of carting the new lad of the Weyr around to look in musty cave."

Micafeth lingers for one scritch more, then moves slightly away to stretch out one wing. Long and somewhat narrow, the feather-etched 'sail is perhaps one of her most attractive features, and she flicks it open flirtatiously. Dagmar rolls her eyes, tolerantly. "Oh, Mic's all-fired up about it, nothing I can do about it until she gets to at least poke her nose in. Though to be honest, what the two of you see in small dark places is somewhat beyond me." Her mouth twists to make it something of a joke, though it's one of those jokes with more than a grain of truth to it.

"Oh ho!" Rivan teases, looking at Mic's whirling eye facets knowingly. "You like to show off those wings, don't you. Can't say I blame you. They /are/ lovely." Nothing wrong with boosting a dragon ego once in awhile, but his expression turns serious as he studies the wing structure. His mother taught him an inordinate amount about dragon physiology being a Dragonhealer herself. So it comes back to him in bits and pieces. "Alright. I think I've got memory enough to give things a start. But I may need to call on you to show off for me again so that I can sketch if necessary." Doing his best to give a sage nod, he smiles ruefully at Dagmar. "That's quite alright. Not many people share the interest I assure you. The name's Rivan, by the way. Well met."

Living in a bubble... Fort Weyr, 5-1-07

2007-08-20T18:07:00.000-04:00

People: Aoifen & Tomi
Place: The Lava Bubble
Plot: Two old friends get reacquainted

Lava Bubble
The walls of this ancient lava bubble are smooth as glass; black glass. Ragged pillows have been strewn about the floor by previous visitors. It's obvious from the crude carvings on the walls, the pillows, the rickety table and chairs that this place has been claimed by weyrlings Turn after Turn. Glows conviscated from baskets about the Weyr provide soft illumination without giving away this location to others passing by.

There's some nervous throat-clearing and shallow breathing coming from the entrance of the bubble, presaging Aoifen's appearance. He ducks a little as he enters, though the 'doorway' is more than tall enough to accomodate him. Pale blues dart this way and that as he ooks about in some trepidation. The place stinks of 'you shouldn't be here.'

Both the throat-clearing and the shallow breathing is lost on the only occupant in the tiny room as she snores slightly, curled childlike on her side. Her blonde hair's tangled slightly, the curls twisting over each other on her rolled up riding jacket, obvious evidence of her fitful sleep as Tomi groans slightly and twists again, trying to find a more comfortable position. Stone, despite what Haseth might say, does not make a very comfortable bed. Still, the lava bubble is markedly cooler than the constant heat of the Sands, and for that the young weyrwoman is heartily grateful.

Aoifen freezes like a wherry in a dragon's sights as he spots the room's lone occupant, fingers lacing together in habitual worry. Seeing that it's only a dozing rider doesn't help much. Actually, that probably makes it worse, seeing as it's a queenrider and in particular the girl he.. well, the girl... um, this girl he sorta knew well for a little while until stuff happened. Oi. It may not be that hot in here, but you couldn't tell from the way the flush creeps up his neck as he stands and stares for a little while.

Rolling again, Tomi manages to smack her head against a chairleg with an audible thunk. Sitting up quickly, she peers around her blearily as she rubs the sore spot and tries to figure out just what happened. She was sleeping... fitfully, sure, but that still counted as sleep. She glares at the offending chairleg until something causes her to look towards the entrance and a frozen Aoifen. Startled, she drops her hand and swallows once before gathering herself together and smiling at the older boy... man now. "Aoifen," she murmurs softly, warmly.

Aoifen smiles back reflexively, the expression loosening his tense face and making him look, well, happy. "Weyrlady," he mumbles back, pausing a minute before adding, "Tomi." He bets she hates the W-word. The recant brings back the nerves, however, so his hands are busy trying to wring each other's throats as he asks hesitantly, "Are you all right? You, um, hit your head pretty soundly there."

Aoifen is indeed right about the dreaded w-word, as Tomi's scowl when he uses her title first is quick to illustrate. But her smile blossoms easily as he adds her name, rising gingerly in the cramped space because constantly looking up makes her feel like a child. "My head?" A slight throb reminds her that she did indeed smack herself and she flushes awkwardly before admitting, "Guess I still can't stay in one place while sleeping. Aren't you supposed to grow out of childish habits like that?" More often than not, Tomi finds herself turned completely around when she wakes up for morning drills. Rubbing her head again, she adds teasingly, "For a moment I thought that you pegged me with a big rock."

"Pegged you - ?" Aoifen's eyes widen in horror and he begins a barrage of protest. "Tomi, I'd never, ever do that! Never!" It looks like it's going to be real good grovelling, too, until something makes his lips twitch and he comes up with: "I could never throw a rock at you. I mean, you'd beat the fewmets out of me." Hey, it's a joke! Yeah! Yeah? Yeah... um... "Er, do you want me to take a look at that? In case you're bleeding or something. I spend a lot of time with the Healers..." He edges closer, still looming despite her verticality.

For a minute, Tomi was worried that Aoifen would take her seriously, but as his lips begin to twitch, she relaxes enough to tease back, "You'd let yourself be beaten up by a girl? Aoifen, I'm shocked and dismayed. What kind of man are you?" Obviously a tall one, since she still has to crane her neck to look him in the eye. It's not fair, she's hardly grown an inch since her early teens. It's hard to be scary when people constantly confuse you for a weyrbrat. "Bleeding?" Tomi doesn't do well with blood. She never has. "Umm," she looks rather shaky as she nods, "Please Aoifen. I'll even forget about your homocide attempt if you do."

"My fostermum always told me that a proper man let a woman do whatever she wanted," retorts Aoifen primly, not at all phased by his foster's rather revolutionary stance. It's a wonder they let the woman raise children at all. He makes his steps extra-mincing as he approaches the young woman, mimicking a certain greenrider's sashay in hopes of eliciting giggles. That shaky look scared him. "Hold still now," he croons in his soft voice as he lifts his fingers to her scalp and probes tenderly.

"Oh really," Tomi raises an eyebrow at that remark, her lips quirking and then splitting as he does indeed elicit not only one giggle but a whole fit of them. Wincing as he probes her goosebump, her eyes suddenly turn serious as she asks, "Aoifen, what happened to us?" Wistful feelings cascade over her as nostalgia hits and she adds softly, "I miss our friendship. I miss /you/."

Aoifen makes a few hrmming noises, just like the Healers do, though he is markedly more gentle than they might be - always so busy, those Healers. And short-staffed. Makes for pokey fingers. "I think that you'll probably be fi..." Trailing off as what she's saying penetrates his concentration, the lanky man pulls back slowly, taking a step backwards to land himself on a rickety chair facing her. "I... we..." A shrug. "Things happened." Big, golden, sometimes glowy things - he doesn't say it, but it's a reflection in his eyes as he meets Tomi's gaze.

There's something calming about Aoifen and Tomi doesn't think twice about putting herself in his care. Watching his careful examination, she blinks at the sudden loss she feels as he pulls back suddenly. Recovering herself enough not to stagger backwards, sadness fills her as she studies him for a moment before nodding her agreement. "You're right." Falling silent, she glances down at her feet in dismay before straightening her shoulders and declaring, "No, I don't accept it! Why can't we be friends again, Aoifen? What's stopping us?"

Aoifen passes a hand over his forehead and back, ruffling his short hair like the wind in wheat. Eyes dropping to the floor, lines of tension appear in his neck and cheeks and he's silent for a very long moment. When he speaks again, it's jarringly abrupt. "I am," he says shortly, lifting his gaze almost defiantly. "I... I am not handling this well. Any of this." A vague gesture. "All of my friends have become riders, you know? First you, then Ly and Kyr. And I don't know if I even want to be a rider. I don't know what I want at all - shards, I'm not even a Crafter. I'm just 'that tall quiet guy who helps out.' What do we even have in common any more, Tomi?"

Tomi wasn't expecting to hit a nerve, and thus Aoifen's eruption of emotion stuns her momentarily. Compassion wars with frustration, the irony of the situation not lost on her at all. There were many in the Weyr who didn't think that she'd make a good weyrwoman when she Impressed. There are many who still don't, but Aoifen's the first who held the fact that she was a rider against her, everyone else just seemed to want to befriend her because of what they thought she could do for them. "I see," she responds softly, hurt, before balling her hands into fists and raising her challenging eyes to meet his defiant ones. "We have our past in common, Aoifen," she argues, fighting for a friendship that they once shared. "We have what made us friends in the first place." She pauses, studying his face before adding quietly, "I'm still Tomi, still the same girl who stole a kiss."

The memory stabs Aoifen, a dart of pain glinting in his eyes. "I didn't think you'd remember that," he admits, almost grudging. "I didn't see any reason you should, actually." Hands gather themselves into a huddle as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Kiss me, I mean, or even remember you did. I'm... pretty colorless, Tomi. But," with a sigh, "if you've got it in your head that you still want to be friends with a man who bakes bread, changes bandages, cleans up vomit, and other boring stuff like that, I know better than to think I'll get you to change your mind." Shaking his head slowly, a ghost of a grin touches his lips. "You're the most stubborn person I've ever met, you know."

"How could I forget," Tomi chides softly, her eyes dancing at the memory. "It was my first kiss. Everyone knows that girls always remember their first kisses." Feeling awkward still standing, Tomi pulls up another rickety chair and settles into it before admitting, "As for why I kissed you, it's because I never found you colorless, Aoifen. I always admired you, thought that you were so smart. You always knew all these other things that I didn't. And," here the weyrwoman blushes as she admits, "You let me tag along with you and never thought that I was a nuisance. Some of my best memories involve you, Aoifen. You were kind then and you've just shown me that you're still kind now. You're still an admirable person. I suppose we always admire in others what we ourselves lack." At his comment about her stubbornness, Tomi has the grace to look sheepish and mutters under her breath, something about this personality trait being why she Impressed in the first place.

Aoifen's remaining skepticism shows itself in the quirk of his eyebrows. "Well, sure, I know things you don't. If you ever need to get winestains out of a tunic, just give me a call." He spends a fascinating minute twiddling with the ties on his boots, letting the steady pink glow of his cheeks fade a bit. "Gosh, I'm not being very good company. Um. Actually," a soft laugh, "I don't think I'm supposed to be here. This is the Weyrling hangout, isn't it? Why are you sleeping here?"

Tomi wrinkles her nose and flicks Aoifen in the forehead, not holding back with the action. "I was talking about your kindness and modesty, you dimglow," she returns disgustedly only to look sheepish yet again at his question. Turning her gaze away, she admits, "I just wanted to get away for a bit. Being on constant display on the Sands isn't really my cup of klah." Not to mention that the heat makes her rather irritable. Well, more irritable than usual. "Some of the senior Weyrlings showed my class this hideout the first turn of our weyrlinghood. It was always a welcome retreat when things got too hard and we just needed some time to ourselves. I guess I just got in the habit of coming here when I needed to be alone."

Aoifen squinches his face and mouths an 'Ow!', rearing away from her and rubbing his forehead. It's mostly for show, though, as he peers at her from beneath the heel of his hand and listens. His rubs become distracted and the wince fades into concern. "Um, alone? I really shouldn't be here then, if you needed some time to yourself. You should go back to... um.. whatever you were doing and I should go." He's very good with the subjunctive, is this boy.

"No, no, I'd rather be with you, Aoifen," Tomi shakes her head in denial, unwilling to let the lanky boy disappear just yet. She doesn't really believe that their friendship will be that easy to regain despite his words. She's usually confined to the Sands and he's got a rather obvious reluctance to have anything to do with dragons or their riders. "At least don't go just yet. There's so many things I want to ask you, Aoifen." And maybe advice to seek, when their friendship is on firmer footing. "Though actually, how did you find this place?" Tomi had thought that it was just a weyrling secret, though she wouldn't be surprised if others knew. Riders were notorious gossips. This she knew firsthand.

Oh, shards. Just when he'd almost stopped blushing, she has to go and ask. "Well, er," he waffles, now rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "Ahhh, well, I just overheard some riders talking and today I had to drop some stuff off at the Barracks and I thought I'd just look for it on a whim." By the way his eyes are rolling around, either he's watching some glowbugs flit about or he's lying through his teeth. Let's change the subject. "But you really want to spend time with me again, huh?"

Someone's in the kitchen with ... Fort Weyr, 5-1-07

2007-08-20T17:55:00.000-04:00

People: Aoifen & C'ai
Place: Fort Weyr Kitchen
Plot: Fresh bread is a temptation...

Kitchen
Under an elaborately vaulted ceiling lies the perpetual hustle and bustle of the Fort Weyr kitchen. Along the outside wall run a never-ending stream of glowing hearths, culminating at a small alcove-room: the night-hearth, where stew and klah never run-out. From the ceiling edges hang rows and rows of immaculately shined copper utensils, be it heavy cauldrons for the soup or tiny pans for the sauce. Tables of choppings and slicings are diverted from their orderly rows in bumped angles and pathways, chairs littering the space between them.

The early hour and cold weather don't shut down a Weyr's kitchen: the daily bread is in the midst of baking and enterprising early souls can find their spirits lifted against the chill by its quintessentially homey scent. The baker has put Aoif's nimble fingers to work at braiding egg loaf, and the young man seems half-asleep as his hands do all the thinking.

C'ai slips into the cavern, a touch of sleepiness dragging his eyelids down a tad and well... one really cannot mistake the rather rumpled state of both his clothing and his hair -either that or the young man tangled with the wind. But it is his nose that leads him, and a sniffing he will come. "Food?" Perk.

A pale finger lifts from the bread, Aoifen's arm lashing out to admonish a bronzish muzzle that was getting a wee bit too close to the hot cross buns. "Not for you," he says, softly yet very distinctly, without removing his half-lidded eyes from the task at hand.

C'ai blinks, owlishly, and then his voice suddenly sounds a lot like a whiny 3 turn old, "Awh, why not?" Churlish. "I swear I'll only...." His voice draws quiet for a moment, frowning slightly at the one who spoke -with the unbaked bread. "It's not done yet." Smirk. And he wanders about looking for things that are finished. Like maybe some creampuffs, or something.

Aoifen flushes slightly at the rider's response. "I'm sorry, Rider. I was talking to that one." He jerks his chin at Rumpsniffer, who's busied himself with 'sweeping' the floor. "If you're looking for a good breakfast, there're some fresh muffins over there." Yeah. Bran muffins. They put hair on your chest.

C'ai could probably use some more hair on his chest, but he wouldn't be about to admit that. But, his interest flickers over to where Aoifen indicates, eyeing the table, only to wrinkle his nose at what is there. Lips compress briefly, and he gives a glance to the indicated firelizard, "They let you cook with that in here?" Huh. Ah well.

Aoifen's cheeks redden even further, and it's painfully visible on his pale complexion. Whatever jobs he does around the Weyr, it's clear that not many of them take him outside. "I- well- " A few defensive splutters and all he can come up with is a lame, "He's good at keeping the floor clean." The 'lizard in question dimly registers attention and sits back on his haunches to grin up at C'ai hopefully.

C'ai shoots another glance about the room before smirking and wandering towards the larder. "I'll take your word for that," he answers absently. About halfway down the room, his eye catches sight of some pastries or another off to the side, fruit filled. Perfect. With a look of triumph, the rider grabs one and then pushes to sit his butt right up on the counter -with more pastries near at hand. "Eh, whatever."

Rumpsniffer waddles after C'ai with good-natured determination. Eventually they all give in. Aoifen's shoulders have hunched and his finishing touches on his loaf are somewhat sheepish, though as he tucks the ends of the dough under he seals them with a satisfied-sounding pat. Hoisting the tray, he takes it to beside the hearth for rising, one eye fastened briefly on C'ai and his pastry. His mouth opens for a moment and there's an intake of breath as he almost says something - but no. Trap shuts and he mutely finishes his task. Still, he can't help but mumble, "Last night's milk is well-chilled." Gotta get -something- healthy into that scrawny kid.

C'ai wrinkles his nose again at mention of milk. Clearly in 20 turns time this one is gonna have lines there and look right crotchety. But that's then... and this is now, and now he is sure loving this pastry. He waggles a finger at the tray of fruit-filled pastries after noting the look, and he mumbles around his mouthful, "These someone's?"

Aoifen pauses, lacing his fingers together nervously. "N- well, ye- er... somewhat. Not exactly?" Just then someone's very heavy footsteps approach, coupled with the unmistakable voice of the head baker: "Aoifen! Sanjay! Are you boys finished in there? Do you have those pastries for the Weyrleaders ready?" Aoif freezes and his eyes go wide as he looks at the pastry, then C'ai. "Um..."

Theme Shift!

2006-10-12T20:52:00.000-04:00

It's been 50 turns since Moreta's fateful ride and the plague that depleted the populations of Hall, Hold, and Weyr. Outbreaks of plague continued up until recent times, putting yet more stress on an already limping world. The long journey toward rebuilding has been going on for some time, but it will take generations to rebuild areas to what they once were.
Each Weyr has been encouraged to take as many from their own lower caverns as possible for the hatching sands in order to relieve the burden of Hold and Hall, but those numbers hardly seem enough with the large clutches being produced. In order to solve this problem, Fort Weyr has begun to place girls on the sands to fill out the ranks on fighting dragons, drawing ill-favor from those who think women should stay in their place and do their part to produce future generations.
OOC NOTE:VP takes place 50 turns after the events in Moreta. Women are being increasingly kept out of anything aside from marriage in most of the world, but this doesn't mean they cannot be crafters/riders. It's also important to remember that certain crafts do not exist within the theme: Dolphincraft is not available.

Please remember that this is NOT a family or PG/G rated MOO. We deal, as the books did, with adult themes.

Downtime!

2006-08-30T11:01:00.000-04:00

Virtuapern is experiencing some downtime. We anticipate it returning on Aug 31st and apologize for any inconvenience.

Benden Weyr Hatching- Gold Mizuth by Bronze Sameth

2006-07-31T03:22:00.000-04:00

Tomi has snuck in, or at least tried to as much as a newly graduated queenrider can sneak. It helps that she doesn't look or act much like a goldrider, she even refuses to wear a knot. And with that streak of dirt across one cheek, she might as well be yet another weyrbrat shirking her duties in hopes of catching a glimpse of the hatching eggs. "Good timing as always," she comments to her lifemate with a bemused shake of her head. "How do you always seem to know when things are happening?"

F'ox walks in.

N'ico isn't far behind Tomi, though the timing is purely coincidental. With a cautious eye of Campeoth, the bronzerider is quick to catch up with his classmate and insistently gestures toward a few empty seats nearby. "Seems like we're all here to watch, aren't we Tomi."

From the Hatching Sands, The eggs have been in various states of rocking for some time, but show no signs of hatching just yet. Lyllya, already rushing to her dragon's side, looks around. "Well, it had to happen sometime, right? At least you'll be out of the cavern after this."

From the Hatching Sands, T'on rambles onto the hot sands of the Hatching grounds.

From the Hatching Sands, Solaris walks onto the hot sands of the Hatching grounds.

From the Hatching Sands, Moriya walks onto the hot sands of the Hatching grounds.

From the Hatching Sands, Ancair wanders onto the hot sands of the Hatching grounds.

From the Hatching Sands, Kyrian walks onto the hot sands of the Hatching grounds.

M'dan mutters to himself, glancing at a number or copper rings tied to a leather thong on his belt. His attention is directed suddenly to the sands as he hears Lyllya's voice, though faintly. He watches as the candidates enter.

From the Hatching Sands, Piea walks onto the hot sands of the Hatching grounds.

Kaisha heads up to the viewing ledges.

"N'ic," the weyrwoman startles slightly before shooting her clutchmate a rueful grin. "Guess Campeoth has a feeling for these sort of things, too." Glancing towards the gestured seats, the teenager nods and settles quickly before adding nostalgicly, "This brings back memories, doesn't it? And yet, it's so odd to be just a spectator. I can-" whatever the blonde was going to say is suddenly interrupted as the candidates make their way out onto the Sands. "They're such a diverse bunch, aren't they? And look... is that Ancair, from our Weyr?!" Chuckling to herself, the goldrider unapologetically smirks. "Serves him right. He's nothing but a troublemaker."

From the Hatching Sands, Hroswitha walks onto the hot sands of the Hatching grounds.

From the Hatching Sands, Angharad walks onto the hot sands of the Hatching grounds.

From the Hatching Sands, Zasey walks onto the hot sands of the Hatching grounds.

From the Hatching Sands, Solaris manages to restrain the urge to bolt across the stands to find the perfect spot and instead, the girl walks alongside several candidates as the emerge onto the hatching sands. As she approaches Mizuth and Lyllya, she affords both a graceful bow and as the eggs continue to shake, she breaks from the group and stands at the outer edge of the eggs.

"He says that it is our duty to observe each and every hatching,

From the Hatching Sands, The eggs begin to rock in earnest, their dam settling to one side as she watches them and the candidates. "Well, but you can't expect much. They're candidates, dear, they get to wear something other than white once this is over," Lyllya points out. Leave it to her dragon to be all for a change in candidate appearance.

"He says that it is our duty to observe each and every hatching.

From the Hatching Sands, Moriya walks on the Sands, dutifully following the Candidate in front of her. Remembering to bow to Mizuth, and making a graceful leg to the queen, she quickly fans out in the semi-circle, heading for the far wall, ending up next to Solaris at the outer edge of the eggs. The heat from the sands has already caused some perspiration to bead up on her forehead.

"He says it is our duty to observe each and every hatching," N'ico says with a brief glance toward his bronze, who thrums alongside the Weyr's dragons. "Otherwise we'd be at home doing drills."

From the Hatching Sands, More Than Meets The Eye Egg rocks slowly, one way and then another. An epic battle drawing nigh as expectations rise. But then it settles and it's as if it never moved at all.

From the Hatching Sands, Kyrian follows the progression of Candidates out onto the Sands, hovering towards the tail end as far as he can manage without being completely left behind. Showing only a grimace at the heat under the soles of his sandals, he strolls in slowly but does not skimp on paying homage to the towering forms of the watching dragons. A bow to Mizuth in particular and then he's off to hide in the back of the throng of white clad bodies.

From the Hatching Sands, Piea steps out onto the Sands, smoothing her hands over her somewhat rumpled robe, tugging a fallen sleeve back up onto her shoulder. Looking around her nervously, she bobs in a tense bow to both clutchdam and sire, then to each of their riders, before finding her spot near to the eggs. She runs a hand through her messy hair, which is wet enough to suggest she's come straight from the baths, and waits, anxiously biting on her lip.

From the Hatching Sands, T'on stumps over to Lyllya, grimmacing slightly at the heat eminating from below. "Figures. Mizuth must talk to Kyrith too much for her eggs to be ready to hatch right as Kyrith and I were returning from between." He didn't even have time to change out of his riding leathers. So he's a little warm right now.

From the Hatching Sands, Ancair follows the rest like a herd of herdbeasts. All he has to say now is 'mooooo' to make it all fit in. But follow he does, giving a bit of a flutter to his robe to get some air between skin and cloth. Suppose there is something good in wearing a robe. By rote, he gives a bow or somesuch to the gold, and then decides maybe he should go stand in the back. Best escape route direction. At a bump from another candidate, he turns to look at Kyrian, and smirks faintly. "Coward," he whispers harshly.

From the Hatching Sands, Birthday Cake Egg's top begins to crack, then simply slides off. There's a momentary pause, but then a bronzed head peeks through and the rest of the shell flakes away. It doesn't take much time for the stumbling dragonet to make his way toward a young man from Benden Hold. Unfortunately, he knocks the lad over and nearly sits on his lap. "Danceth! C'mon, get offa me!" And so it is that the first Impression is made.

From the Hatching Sands, Melissa picks up Birthday Cake Egg.

Torikan sits, watching the hatching as his duty to the Weyr as one of it's beholden. He sits next to the Lord Holder of Lemos, and the two chat softly, pointing out both eggs and candidates to each other.

From the Hatching Sands, Baby Blanket Egg rocks, but wastes no time in preliminaries.

From the Hatching Sands, Baby Blanket Egg rocks ever so slightly, echoing its previous movements as if it were trying to roll out of the sandy impression that is its bed. Minute cracks form along the shell, giving it a fuzzy appearance that then begins to fall away. The progress is slow at first, then becomes a mighty *CRACK* that splits the shell in half, leaving behind a dragonet that seems to have been caught in the midst of his evening nap.

From the Hatching Sands, Pirate of the Caribbean Blue Dragonet

From the Hatching Sands, Deepest cobalt coats the diminutive 'knobs and blunted wedge-shape of his head, the color interrupted only by a lining of charcoal that surrounds each slightly slanted eye. Spirals of near black trail along his neck, curling about each sloped 'ridge like mystical writing from some far off time, there and then gone again before they can be deciphered. Midnight unfolds along his flanks, where the scribe's hand is seen once again fading in and out of shadow until it is wiped away along the quiet gloaming of his under-belly. His wings appear just large enough to lift his form to the air, their veined expanse shading into sunrise aqua. His limbs are a stocky affair, each paw tipped in scimitar talons that find echo in the slightly curved tip of his ink stained tail.

Torikan adds, since the one egg was impatient and hatched before he finished, his voice raises a little bit as he exclaims to the Lemosian Lord: "Shells! A bronze! Tis a good omen for the Weyr!"

"Each and every one," Tomi raises a brow and then reaches over to offer the bronzerider a sympathetic pat. "Campeoth certainly takes his duties seriously. And with Zinia at Igen now, that's just one more Weyr you'll be visiting in the near future. After all, if my calculations are correct, Aevaleth should be due to rise soon." As should be another certain gold, but this little weyrwoman's deep in denial. "Oh look, bronze first. And a quick Impression too. That's got to bode well. And hmm... that blue. There's something a little effeminate about him, isn't there?"

From the Hatching Sands, Solaris's expression brightens at the first impression, nudging a smaller candidate in the ribs to note, "You know what they say about bronze impressions being first." The rest of her chatter comes upon deaf ears as the other candidate is focused on the newly arrived blue and quickly, Solaris is as well. "He is lovely, isn't he," she mentions, shifting her weight to she is leaning more toward Moriya with the comment.

From the Hatching Sands, Moriya claps her hands in delight as her fellow Benden Holder Impresses to the bronze occupant of the Birthday Cake Egg. "Good for you!" she calls, then focuses on the other eggs. Suddenly, a mighty crack heralds a gorgeous blue dragon. "He's just so, beautiful," she says in awed wonder. "I didn't know they were so beautiful when they Hatch." She aims this last remark towards Solaris, smiling in delight.

From the Hatching Sands, Lyllya grins at T'on. "Well, girls do tend to conspire. I'm sure that she waited until the last possible minute to let Kyrith know. How else to drag you in here in leathers?" She's amused by this, but then a bronze hatches, followed by blue. "Well, there you are. Looks like another interesting group of Weyrlings from the start."

From the Hatching Sands, Kyrian knocks shoulders with Ancair and scowls at the other boy. "Oh really? What, you too busy oggling your impending doom to watch where you're walking?" he growls lowly, barely audible in the large cavern. The back of the crowd should have been far less occupied by this and so he casually reaches out and shoves the other boy further away from himself. His attention is then drawn to the first crack of the shells, making him start a little nervously, letting out a breath as the dragonet finds his victim quickly. "One down."

From the Hatching Sands, Pirate of the Caribbean Blue Dragonet staggers forward like a drunkard, knocking into one candidate only to pin-ball into another. A croon issues forth that seems somewhat slurred as he makes for the ladies. Ah, perfume. Or sweat. One way or the other, these ones are more pleasing to the eye.

The first impression brings a peculiar look to N'ico's otherwise stern features and like many riders, he glances toward his lifemate on the ledge nearby. Tomi's response lulls him back and with a shake of his shoulders, he quietly states, "Yes, Campeoth and I have already talked about that. Hopefully we can just keep to Fort." Although the bronze has other plans.

From the Hatching Sands, T'on looks at the blue. Then he looks back at Lyllya. "Mizuth is never allowed to clutch again." He says, before rubbing his face with one hand, starting to strip his jacket off with the other. "I'm going to go crazy. Maybe I should go down south with Sabria."

From the Hatching Sands, Piea squirms a bit at the hot sand squishing up through her toes. She seems totally absorbed in the fact that she is in the middle of this gigantic cavern, with all these people and eggs. Overwhelming situations call for drastic measures, so she stands where she is and just looks at everyone else.

From the Hatching Sands, Lyllya laughs out loud, forgetting the heat of the sands momentarily. "I'm sure that will put a stop to this mess altogether," she agrees, leaning against her lifemate who is watching the happenings with interest. "Go? Why, T'on, do you mean to imply that you're anything but?"

From the Hatching Sands, Ancair stutters a step to the side, only managing to catch himself on yet another candidate. Naturally, that rather plump gives Ancair quite the look, possibly something of a growl and shoves him right on back towards Kyrian. Mmmmmm, candidate pinballs. Temper, anyone? "The only thing I've oggled lately is that Telgar girl's ankles. Get off, will you? Stop crowding me, Kyrian." Push.

From the Hatching Sands, Pirate of the Caribbean Blue Dragonet staggers just a bit more, landing his nose right into the hem, then under, of Ancair's robe. Staggering back, he gives the most offended look possible for a dragonet before moving on. It's then that he spots it, a bastion of calm in the sea of heat and moving candidates. Or perhaps that's only his hazed perception. At any rate, he's definitely found that special person. Piea.

From the Hatching Sands, "I always thought they'd be...." Solaris throws her hands into the air, unable to come up with the right words, "But still, they are gorgeous, aren't they?" She looks to Moriya, quickly distracted by the blue that is headed toward Piea and as the impression occurs, a small squeal escapes the candidate: "Piea!"

From the Hatching Sands, Bronzed Shoes Egg begins to stir, the sound of cracks forming along its surface echoing through the hatching chamber like far off thunder. It shifts, tilting to the side at first, then begins to fall apart until that which was held captive within is freed.

From the Hatching Sands, African Goddess of Storms Gold Dragonet

From the Hatching Sands, African moonlight dances to a silvered tribal beat along a slender, sylph-like spine, each supple curve hauntingly highlighted with the faint, hazy glow of white gold. Darkness engulfs sensitive paws, midnight tipping each lethal talon, before climbing higher up delicate limbs lightening until it blurs into a burnished, near bronze. Near-mocha accentuates the fey upward slant of her eyes and the exotic curve of her teacup muzzle. Sea-soaked golden sand mottles her prideful chest and vulnerable underbelly, varying little as it dapples over the vast expanse of fragile sails.

From the Hatching Sands, Moriya can't help but grin as the little blue swaggers around the Sands, bumping into the candidates. "Y'know, I get the feeling he's doing that on /purpose/," she remarks to Solaris, wiping absently at the beaded sweat on her brow. "Don't you?" She shifts slightly, the first indication that her feet are beginning to get overheated on the hot Sands, then sucks in her breath as the blue Impresses. "PIEA!"

Arching her brow some more, Tomi casts a speculative glance towards her clutchmate. "You've talked about these things, have you?" One of their previous conversations echoes hauntingly inside her head as she asks, "Just this side of graduation and you're already plotting world conquest, huh?" Smirking, she turns back to the eggs on the Sands and adds under her breath, "Still, if you're planning on waiting for Fort's next flight, you could find yourself waiting a very, very, very long time." Or so she hopes. Haseth's not yet two. She's got at least four months of freedom before her.

From the Hatching Sands, Piea stands stock still, with an expression of complete shock on her face. "What did you thay?" She looks around then down, her blue eyes meeting those of the blue dragonet, before she bursts into tears of happiness and crouches down to throw her arms around her new lifemate's neck. "Oh. Oh I oh, Korsanth!" Through happy sniffles and tear-wiping, she manages to speak the dragon's name once more, so that the rest of the people gathered around can hear. "My lifemate's name is Korsanth!"

From the Hatching Sands, Kyrian hisses quietly, an eye flicking towards the weyrleaders before shoving Ancair back and nearly into the passing blue. "You can have all the room you want up there! Go on closer, no one says you gotta hover back here, git off!" As the dragonet then acquaints himself with Piea, he lets out a relieved breath and manages a cheer for the girl's 'good' fortune.

From the Hatching Sands, Pretty My Little Pony Egg moves ever so slightly, making the ponies dance. After all, what are little ponies if not playful.

From the Hatching Sands, Moriya can scarcely tear her eyes away from Piea's Impression, but she does at last, in time to see the little gold Hatch. "Solaris, look at that lovely gold!" she says, her eyes widening. "I'd say she'll be one who knows what she wants, don't you think?" One of her favourite eggs moves, and she keeps watch on it out of the corner of her eye while she watches to see which way the gold is going to go.

From the Hatching Sands, African Goddess of Storms Gold Dragonet comes forth from her egg nearly standing, her wings outstretched to give them the best opportunity to be seen and to dry. The candidates are looked over with near disdain, but she moves forward to inspect them all. This one? No. That one? Maybe. Up her nose goes as she approaches near where Kyrian stands, shoving her head under the hem of his robe and whuffling. A boy! Stepping back with an offended whuff, she tips her head for all the world as if she were putting her nose in the air and then stumbles off.

From the Hatching Sands, Solaris, though she tries not to, gasps as the gold emerges. Stubbornly, she remains in place, shifting only slightly onto her toes as the heat begins to penetrate through her thick-soled sandals. Her eyes dance toward the remaining shards of her favored egg, though it doesn't take long for her attention to go toward Piea as she proudly announces her dragon's name. "Korsanth, Piea!!!" Hands clasp together before her chest and her eyes warily drift to Moriya. "She is, isn't she, I never imagined them to look like tht."

From the Hatching Sands, Ancair is stumbling once more as he is shoved. He really needs a few more turns on him to be able to hold his own against the older candidate. He nearly falls to a knee, but instead grabs right onto Kyrian's wrist to try to hold himself up. "I'm not going up there! You go up there." So lame. He flickers a glance to the recent impressions, and smirks. And when that gold goes Kyrian sniffing, the boy bursts into laughter. "Not much up there, huh?"

From the Hatching Sands, Back Yard Egg bursts into life, then simply bursts. A plump brown nearly rolls out of the shell and then into a boy from Beastcraft. "Rolth? Get up, you're gonna... wait. His name is Rolth!" B'hal embraces his lifemate, egg goo and all, forgetting the heat under his sandals.

From the Hatching Sands, There is a time when the flights of fancy that young girls possess must fade away into the dust of time, toys of childhood placed on shelves, taken out again with fondness after years pass. But then again, sometimes little sisters break said toys. In this case, the Pretty My Little Pony Egg seems to take a deep, shuttering breath, then cracks and crumples to the ground, revealing....

From the Hatching Sands, Elven Princess Green Dragonet

From the Hatching Sands, Regal curves and elfish grace form sleek lines along verdant hide, creating an image of speed and immortal power. Evergreen fades to smoky quartz at the tip of each neckridge, their gently sloping form drooping ever so slightly as if expressing some hidden sorrow. Her features lose none of their draconic grace for all that they are reduced into pixie-like appearance--Her torso is long, giving her a somewhat waifish appearance that takes nothing away from her fairy tale splendor. Her wings are voluminous, held with ethereal beauty, wan sails dappled with gold like sunlight through leaves that create shifting patterns of dancing light between dark green spars. Limbs that speak of hidden strength have been coated in brilliant emerald, each chalcedony tipped talon echoed by the be-jeweled tip of her ever so slender tail.

From the Hatching Sands, Melissa picks up Back Yard Egg.

"Of course we've talked about these things, don't you and Haseth discuss things..." N'ico stops mid-sentence and eyes Tomi, "Nevermind, sometimes I forget that not everyone is as.... /obsessed/ as Campeoth is." Obsessed is putting it nicely, really. Bronzerider looks to the sands as the impressions continue, nodding approval before looking to Tomi. "Thing is... are you ready for this?" He gestures toward the sands below and smirks.

From the Hatching Sands, Kyrian turns from his little disagreement with the other candidate just in time to get a crotch full of gold dragonet. "Hey! No looking! Shells! Not for you! Git!" The sudden embarrassed flush that flashes over his face counters the rough stammering words, but it turns to the red of anger at his neighbor's laughter. "I have nothing to hide! (anymore) Maybe you're the one who's got something to prove." With that, he reaches over and flicks up the hem of Ancair's robe in retaliation.

From the Hatching Sands, Fireflies in the Evening Egg begins to rock, fissures forming into cracks along its dark surface. Bits of shell begin to flake away, but nothing is yet revealed.

From the Hatching Sands, Moriya stops in her tracks, the gold dragon completely forgotten as a little green emerges from the pretty egg. "Oh!" is all that comes out of her mouth, for she stands stock still, the heat from the Sands seeping unchecked into the sole of her sandal.

From the Hatching Sands, Solaris's eyes widen in horror. "Did she just? She did not?" She nudges Moriya insistently, pointing toward Kyrian as the gold brushes out from beneath his robe. "I didn't know they did that either..." It would seem that today is full of new discoveries and though she drops both hands to her sides, a look of pure disbelief still remains on the girl's face.

From the Hatching Sands, Ancair is rather busily laughing at Kyrian's distress and embarrassment, because... well, it isn't him! He sniggers, and abruptly the world goes white before his eyes, and things get drafty down below. While that is delightfully comfortable, but also leaving him frontal and back flashing the entire cavern. The boy literally squeaks before pushing his robe back down. Bright red in the fact, he immediately turns to try to shove Kyrian as hard as he can. "Fardling dimglow!"

From the Hatching Sands, African Goddess of Storms Gold Dragonet moves on with as much dignity as she can muster. Each girl is looked at and then passed by, though one is raked by an inexperienced talon as the young gold shoves the girl aside. Healers move to the fore to take the unfortunate away, but still the dragonet moves on. This one? No. That one? Shiny, but no.

From the Hatching Sands, T'on looks over the sands, grinning as Kyrian is...put on display. But then Ancair's antics come to his attention, and the Weyrlingmaster starts to growl. "If they Impress I'm going to have no end of peace." He says, glancing first at Lyllya. "And Arial's son or not, if those two don't knock it off, I'm throwing them both off the sands."

From the Hatching Sands, Lyllya turns her gaze toward the bickering candidates, her expression becoming stern. "Give them until they start to put themselves or others in danger. If that happens, toss them into the candidate barracks and they'll be on drudge duty." The last words are said loudly. "For life." Beam.

"Of course Haseth and I discuss things," Tomi refutes quickly, perhaps a tad too quickly to be absolute truth. "It's just... well-" Whatever she was going to say is interrupted by the gold dragonet hatching and her subsequent antics. "Oi, Benden's going to have their hands full with that one," she predicts before turning her attention back to the rider beside her. "Ready for... " Blink. Blink. Flush. "Of course we're ready," she replies hotly, though a telltale flush colors her pale cheeks. "After all, Haseth's gold. This is what she's born to do." Or so she tells herself time and time again. Doesn't mean that she's not in denial about exactly /when/ Haseth will add her progeny to Fort. "Look at those two," she quickly changes the subject, pointing towards the shoving candidates. "D'you think that's just nerves or-" Cut short, Tomi can just flush as she ends up seeing far much more of Ancair than she bargained for.

From the Hatching Sands, "They should really just get out of her way," Solaris imperiously states, "Then they wouldn't get hurt like that." Though clearly inexperienced with hatching etiquette, she stares toward both Kyrian and Ancair, unable to cover the chuckle that spills from her lips though she stops the minute T'on speaks, accentuated by Lyllya's statement. With an almost guilty look, her gaze returns to the hatchlings upon the sands, nervously tugging at the hem of her robe from time to time.

From the Hatching Sands, Elven Princess Green Dragonet steps away from the shards of her former home, turning her graceful neck for a moment and sniffing sadly at the wreckage. It had been such a pretty place to live, but now it is no more. And so she turns back to the array of white before her. She must choose, she knows, but before she gives her heart and her pledge for life, she would like to make sure she can trust the one who she'd give up immortality for.

From the Hatching Sands, African Goddess of Storms Gold Dragonet pauses as her sentiments are echoed in a voice, though she can't really understand the words just yet. A demanding creel as well as a tug that adds to the hands already upon the hem of the white robe is sent upward. Hello? Yes. She's down here. Within seconds, another paw reaches up as if to steal Solaris for her own, which is just what she intends.

From the Hatching Sands, Fireflies in the evening egg begins to shake to a rhythm of its own before toppling over onto its side. A moment of stillness precedes a loud crack that splits the egg in half. It's then that the shell falls away to reveal a dragonet that looks for all the world as if the act of hatching has interrupted a nap.

From the Hatching Sands, Spirit of the Fox Green Dragonet

From the Hatching Sands, Blood red springs betwixt pert 'knobs before curling softly along the base of her delicate skull and sweeping downward to tease the base of her elegantly curved neck. Each expressive eye is limned with this vibrant color, the unique shadow resting coquettishly beneath dainty eyeridges. Fairy-dusted emerald supplies the shimmering backdrop of the masterpiece that is this green, from the delicate lines of her elongated neck to the length of her slender torso and tail, both coated in moon-touched verdancy that only deepens as it trails down her limbs and becomes near-black upon each curved talon. Wings and 'sails take on the appearance of dew drenched spinner's webs, catching and reflecting the slightest light in a rainbow of hues only to be tempered by the presence of each 'spar.

From the Hatching Sands, Moriya glances away from where the green dragonet just Hatched, glancing towards Kyrian and Ancair for a moment - not quickly enough, mind, to view the offending, er, well, anyway, and she just shakes her head. "Does this happen at every Hatching?" she wonders softly, subtly pulling her own robe in so that a crucial fold is tucked between her knees. As the queen arrives, and picks Solaris, there is no doubt and she claps her hands for her friend. "Bravo, Solaris!" Turning back to the sands, she gasps as another of her favourite eggs splits in half to reveal another lovely green dragonet. "Oh!" she says, again transfixed.

From the Hatching Sands, The sands, candidates, and hatchlings all seem to disappear as the small gold approaches Solaris and with an astonished gaze, the girl drop to her knees to cradle the gold's small wedged head. "Yes, I know you, Jahzarath. I know you very well." A moment of recognition hits her as she blinks to those around her and repeats the name in amazement, "Jahzarath!"

From the Hatching Sands, Kyrian only has a moment to stare and snicker himself. "In a hurry were ya, Ancair? Forgot to put something on under the robe? Ha-hey!" He staggers and almost falls over his own feet. "Git over yerself wherry legs!" he snorts, rushing back to elbow the other boy in the side. "You're going to get us thrown out." Oh wait, wasn't that the plan in the first place? Maybe he should have just sucker punched Ancair instead. However he'd like to avoid that whole drudging for life bit. "Just stay away from me. Go watch the gold or something. Supposed to be a momentous time or something." But really, it's hard to concentrate on all the dragonets wandering by when you get shoved around a lot. "Oops, too late. Congratulations Solaris!"

From the Hatching Sands, Ancair immediately puts on his best innocent look. All wide eyes, deliberate deepening of his single dimple, and hands at his sides. Look, the very picture of a perfect candidate. Or something. He turns those big eyes upon T'on, and then Lyllya. But in the next breath he is rolling his eyes at Kyrian, and hopefully under the cover of the other candidates, jabs a finger out to poke Kyrian in the side. You know, just to do it. "Yeah, congrats, he adds rather slowly afterwards after prompting. If you can call getting saddled with a dragon good.

From the Hatching Sands, More Than Meets The Eye Egg still slumbers in the dark emptiness of space, biding its time until the critical moment appears.

From the Hatching Sands, Spirit of the Fox Green Dragonet is suddenly freed, too bad she's not more graceful. Then again, she just woke up, give her a few minutes to get it together. Those minutes, unfortunately, are spent curled up in the remains of her shell as if he weren't yet ready to get out of bed. That near nap is interrupted by a wake up call from her dam and, with sluggish movements, the green begins to search out the ranks of candidates.

From the Hatching Sands, Elven Princess Green Dragonet moves with uncommon grace towards the sea of white, trying to, for the moment, figure out where the faces begin and the cloth parts end. But she first stops at a young man, hiding his face in his hands, terrified that something Awful is about to happen to him. She pokes at him with her tiny, delicate snout, but then moves on, seeking her partner for life.

From the Hatching Sands, Moriya can't decide which of the two green dragonets to follow, so she swivels her head from one to the other, obviously intrigued by the movements of the little ones. No longer rooted to the Sands, she shifts from foot to foot, back and forth, swaying almost hypnotically as she seeks to lessen the burning in her feet. "C'mon, little greens, find your lifemates," she chants under her breath, eager to see who is chosen this time.

From the Hatching Sands, Kyrian has settled down as well, at least keeping to the occasional poke and sandal kick whenever people's attentions are drawn to the antics of the young dragons instead of the two idiot boys in the back. At the very worst, they'll just be rather bruised by then of the evening. "Huh, get a load of that green, still tucked in like she doesn't even know to get going." He shakes his head and has to look bemused at the terror from another boy candidate. He's got the right idea.

From the Hatching Sands, Spirit of the Fox Green Dragonet stops long enough to stretch, but just when it looks like her head might follow the actions of some of her clutch sibs and go under a hem, she stops to yawn. Watch out for those delicates. The movements from the back catch her eye and she toddles back to see what all of the fuss is about. There's trouble, and perhaps she's drawn to it, but then that sand kicking seems interesting. It is, therefore, with a few kicks of her back legs to send more sand onto other candidates that she heads off to the fussing boys.

From the Hatching Sands, Elven Princess Green Dragonet stops at one particular candidate, one who seems to be watching both her and her sister. It is not that this candidate is praying desperately to be the one selected, no, it's that this candidate is so filled with concern for the two dragonets, she wants them to pick soon. Which, for the Elven Princess, is just, true, and fair, to be concerned with others before yourself, to be a king, or in this case, queen, among her own kind, if not dragon kind. And so it is that she croons softly and presses her nose gently against Moriya's chest. She has chosen her lifemate.

From the Hatching Sands, More Than Meets The Eye Egg suddenly shivers with renewed vigor, a surprise attack on the opposition.

From the Hatching Sands, Solaris stands as the sand's overwhelming heat begins to sink in and even the thick cloth of her robe can protect her so much. "Yes, you do need something to eat, don't you Jahzarath?" Excitement tints her voice as she says the name and drapes her arm across the gold's neck, guiding her toward the many bowls of food prepared for the newly impressed. As she walks away, she looks over her shoulder, keeping a careful eye on the two greens upon the sands, pausing to watch as one moves toward Moriya and impresses. "Moriya!!"

From the Hatching Sands, An age-old conflict comes to a head as crimson and azure seems to brighten and then explode as both sides collide in the final battle. A supernova explosion rocks it, shards exploding to finally reveal the dragonet that was nestled within its core. A cherished new life and yet there seems to be something not quite right with him.

From the Hatching Sands, Ravages of the Beast Bronze Dragonet

From the Hatching Sands, Burnt umber sinks into deeper midnight shadows, the true brilliance of this hulking dragon lost amidst the veiling darkness of gloomy fog-enshrouded sails that conceal his grotesque form. Smoky bronze shoulders sit solidly below a startlingly hunched spine almost deformed in its severity, each vertebrae ruthlessly delineated by the wicked slash of mottled ridges. Lighter copper slashes violently across a blunted muzzle that lacks any form of beauty before falling into the shadows of overly exaggerated eyeridges that jealously guard the expressive orbs hidden within their mysterious depths.

From the Hatching Sands, Ancair darts a wary glance around the area, having completely forgotten that... you know... there are dragonets around here, and they are doing this thing called Impressing. He warily eyes the greens, and then flickers a glance to Kyrian. Shuffle. He gives a good kick to the sand to the other teen, and then tries to maneuver behind him. "She's lookin' at you." Warily.

From the Hatching Sands, Spirit of the Fox Green Dragonet is, indeed, looking at Kyrian. In fact, she gives a near insulted cry at the sand being kicked in his direction. As if on a mission to rescue the young man, she reaches out to tug at his robe and bring him closer, crooning with joy. Of course, by tugging on the front of his robe, there's a good chance that the back might just slide up, but who'd be paying attention to such things when an impression is going on? For she has claimed Kyrian as her own.

From the Hatching Sands, Moriya feels the loving touch of the little green, and before she has a chance to think, she is on her knees doing homage to her own beautiful lifemate, hands moving to caress the dragonet as if they have been doing so all of her life. "Oh, Ceridwyth you /have /found me," she says, tears slipping from her dark eyes unheeded, "Is it really you?" For the former holder girl now turned weyrling cannot quite believe that she is linked for now and for ever with the dainty green dragon.

From the Hatching Sands, Lyllya pokes at T'on's arm to get his attention. "Last one. You ready for this?" Is that mocking in her voice? Oh, no. Of course not! She's the picture of niceness and innocence. Yep.

From the Hatching Sands, Ravages of the Beast Bronze Dragonet unfolds from his cramped confines and growls roughly, rather irate with the entire hatching process. His frustration is taken out on a nearby cluster of candidates whom he bowls over with nary a second thought. Bowling for candidates, what fun! And yet, there's an imperceptible feeling that draws him towards another gaggle of white. Not sure what calls to him, what bewitches him so, he markedly limps forward, each movement excruciatingly painful to watch.

From the Hatching Sands, Kyrian grimaces as he gets a bit of sand in his eye, which is plenty enough as he reaches up to rub it out. Looking in the direction of the greens, he resists the urge to scream like a girl or something and yell 'she's coming right at us!'. Distracted by Ancair's movement, he squawks ungainly for a moment as his robe takes a downward yank. All but crashing forward on his knees, there's no choice but to look dead on into whirling eyes and fate is sealed. "Pretty?" K'rian flushes but his hands come up gently touch the green's cheek. "No, you're the pretty one Kitsuneth!" Sucker.

From the Hatching Sands, The Weyrlingmaster sighs softly, glancing at the Weyrwoman with a long suffering look. "Well, I guess I'd better get started sorting out this new bunch." He says, stepping forward across the sands. "Weyrlings, over this way, please. Moriya, would you and Ceridwyth come this way? Solaris? Jahzarath is lovely. Piea, you and Korsanth need to follow me. And Kyrian...would have to Impress. I think it's his mother getting back at me for all those flight's Zyelth lost. K'rian, you and Kitsunueth, this way. And don't worry, tell your new lifemates that we'll be getting them food directly."

From the Hatching Sands, Ancair is immediately scampering away from Kyrian as he is captured! Oh My.... It can happen to anyone! Even idiot dimglows! He falls back a few more steps just to make sure he is well and away from them. He isn't sure whether to mock with laughter or not, mostly because he is rather stunned at this turn of events. "Heh." Weak.

From the Hatching Sands, "Yeth, thir!" Piea complies, raising her hand to her forehead in a salute. "We'll be right over... c'mon, Korthanth, you'll be able to get thomething to eat right now..." She caresses the blue's head, grinning stupidly still from the shock of it all. Korsanth flips his wings before following his lifemate in the direction of promised food.

From the Hatching Sands, Moriya tears her eyes away from her Ceridwyth as she hears T'on's summons from across the Sands. Rising from her adoration of the little green, she gently strokes Ceridwyth's headknobs as the pair head off towards the Weyrlingmaster. To her chagrin, as she takes the first step, her stomach begins to rumble very loudly, in time with the inner churnings of her dragon's digestion. "Ooooo, I can feel that you're hungry," she says to the dragonet. "There's food over there, I promise."

From the Hatching Sands, Ravages of the Beast Bronze Dragonet stumbles forward awkwardly until the feeling solidifies. There. That one. Wait, what's with this weak, stunned attitude. Surely this isn't the one who compels him forward, the ray of hope that will warm his rather dismal existance. This boy. Surely he's not the one. Yet no matter how much he fights it, there's no mistaking that Ancair is indeed the one. Rather put out, the little bronze grabs the hem of his candidate's robe and riiiiiips.

From the Hatching Sands, "She is, isn't she?" Jahzarath doesn't need to remarks as she already overly confident as is but still, the young gold nudges Solaris insistently. "My dear, I know, and we'll take care of that immediately." A usually self-centered Solaris is suddenly very compliant and smiles broadly to the weyrlings about her as she ushers Jahzarath toward T'on.

From the Hatching Sands, Lyllya claps her hands. "Congratulations, weyrlings!" Those left on the sands are ushered toward the candidate barracks with a warm smile. "I want to thank you all for agreeing to Stand. You're all welcome to stay here at Benden should you wish to, but let's go get changed so that we can attend the feast!"

From the Hatching Sands, K'rian is reminded by mental advisement to yank down the back of his robe as he straightens up, smoothing the cloth in a distracted manner. "Yes, you're hungry. Of course, and thanks for the reminder." he murmurs to his dragon as the two of them follow the weyrlingmaster's instructions and move off to the side with the others. Glancing back at another round of cheering, he stifles laughter. "Congrats Ancair."

From the Hatching Sands, Ancair was pretty sure he was gonna get out of this thing with all of his limbs intact and free as a bird or whatever. He was rather hoping on it, but when confronted with a certain dragon, the kid squeaks again, backs up a space as if to fend this thing off, only to hear his robe shred. Oh fardles.... "Seishitsuth...." Beat "I'm gonna need that piece of robe."

From the Hatching Sands, T'on sighs softly, "Figures both of them would Impress." The Weyrlingmaster can't wait to get started on this bunch, yep. "Ancair, congratulations. Would you and Seishitsuth please join us?"

Pre-hatching OOC

2006-07-30T00:15:00.000-04:00

**Note that all of the 'you say's are from Lyllya.

[DragonBait] Kyrian: So a loincloth 'robe' is out right?

[DragonBait] Moriya wolf whistles. ;> Hubba hubba.

[DragonBait] Lyllya: Right. If the dragons want to see it, they'll rip off your robe themselves. >.>

[DragonBait] Kyrian: But it's hot out there... ;)

[DragonBait] Arial envisions much ripping... wait, what rating is this MOO again? >.>;;

[DragonBait] Lyllya: Same as the books. n.~

[DragonBait] T'on: So B?

[DragonBait] Lyllya: XD

[DragonBait] T'on: Like B movie. XD

[DragonBait] Lyllya: Well. When it involves T'on and Arial, yes.

[DragonBait] Moriya giggles.

[DragonBait] Arial: Hey! Never link my name with T'on's again. I feel so unclean. T.T

[DragonBait] T'on: Hehee. You're just trying to hide Zyelth's longing for Kyrith

[DragonBait] Arial: .. uh yeah, that's it. >.>

[DragonBait] Kyrian: If I end up with another sibling, I'm definitely running away from home.

[DragonBait] T'on: If I end up with another child, Sabria will kill me. >.>

Lyllya turns on the OOC. "Ok. Robes. You're going to need to have them on before you go to the sands. If you're going to have someone puppet you, then have it on before you log off so that they'll log on with it in place. Also, no firelizards or objects may be on your person. These are all basics, yes, but you'd be surprised at how many people have been surprised to find out they can't take their firelizard out there with them.

[DragonBait] Arial: ... considering I'm 58, I think that's highly unlikely. >.>

[DragonBait] T'on: Suddenly I feel so young

[DragonBait] Lyllya: Ok. Stop that. ...you're making my head hurt. ;_;

[DragonBait] T'on: When did I get to be early 50's?

[DragonBait] Lyllya: Haha, you're old.

[DragonBait] T'on: Two weeks ago, apparently.

[DragonBait] Arial: Young my ass!

[DragonBait] T'on: I'm 50

[DragonBait] Kyrian: I'm over 18 now.

[DragonBait] Arial: ... you're legal and still untouched. So sad. Such a waste. >.<

[DragonBait] Kyrian: There's nothing wrong... >.>

You say, "In the event that your character does not impress, please return to the barracks where a member of 'Co will meet you. You may ask for the reasons behind your not impressing, but please do not demand answers on the spot. Instead, @send *bs with your question and all of SearchCo will respond to you. You may ask for minor clarifications to whatever answer you receive, but constantly asking for clarifications of clarifications isn't acceptable. Now, that said, questions?"

Moriya listens and nods. :) No worries, gosh, I can't recall how many 'Co's I've been a part of, and that's always the worst thing. :P

[DragonBait] Lyllya: Psst? Ari? Maybe traumatizing him with anything in the Weyr with a pulse wasn't the best approach. >.>

[DragonBait] Arial: I don't traumatize... I encourage. >.>;;

[DragonBait] Kyrian: ...

Zasey says, "No questions here."

Kyrian says, "No attempting suicide by throwing myself off the galleries... unless it's to get away from Arial."

You say, "The basic thing to remember is that throwing a fit or blowing up at 'co doesn't earn you any points if you wish to apply your character to Search again. Even if you go to another Weyr, chances are that the people who served on this 'co will be helping on that one. We're still a small game with a low population, so people tend to double up on their responsibilities. Except for Ari, who's too busy throwing her son at people. *ducks* "

[DragonBait] T'on: Ari, I can't remember, you're not a AWLM, right? >.>

[DragonBait] Lyllya: Well, she could be. >.>

Isa says, "... There's no getting away from your mother!"

Kyrian hides under his cot.

[DragonBait] Arial: I used to be... then I got smart.

[DragonBait] Arial: And oh no, I'm far too old to be an ALWM >.>

[DragonBait] T'on: Good. I don't want you near children. :)

[DragonBait] Kyrian: Is that what they're calling it now? I just thought the term was 'senile'.

[DragonBait] Arial: Don't make me come down there to 'help' you with your robe, Kyrian. -.-

[DragonBait] Kyrian: That's just wrong.

You say, "Oh, and one more thing I wanted to point out. This has come up in past searches that I've been involved with across many games: SearchCo will NOT give out information about the color choices of other Candidates, nor will we give out any other information which that candidate has given us in confidence (This includes, but is not limited to, the information on the candidate questionnaire). We will also not answer questions about why another candidate did not impress or why we impressed another candidate to a particular color or at all. The ONLY information we will share with you is information about your character and our choices in regards to your character. Anyone who persists in asking for information in regards to other players/characters will receive an @guide warning. Once that warning is given and if the player persists, I will simply siteban them from the game for a period of a month. "

T'on says, "As an additional to that, it probably should be noted that all SearchCo mails and so forth are deleted after each Search. Savvy?"

You say, "So, now that all that's been said, any questions? "

[DragonBait] Lyllya: You should come down to help with robes, anyway. >.>

Moriya shakes her head. :) Nope.

Kyrian says, "I think I'm cool. Cept where I haven't actually written a robe desc, but I will."

You say, "Ok, before I offer RP, there's only one more thing on the list. If your character does not impress, please don't badger the players of those characters that do. The staff won't even bother with a guide warning in this case. You'll get one page to stop and, after that, will just be sitebanned from the game for a week. Any player who is comes back and persists in badgering the Weyrlings will be permanently sitebanned until such time as I go through and clear the siteban list again (Usually once an RL year or so). "

You say, "Kyr's gonna go onto the sands in nothing but his unders and a pair of sandals."

T'on says, "I hope he doesn't oft go commando"

Lyllya falls over.

Kyrian says, "Would you go commando if Arial was your mom?"

You say, "AWOL, maybe."

T'on says, "No. I'd join a monastary"

Lyllya adopts T'on out to Arial.

Moriya blinks. Does visiting count as badgering - like, once they can leave the barracks, could I hang out with them then? (I assume we'd not be allowed to visit the barracks, obviously.)

Kyrian says, "I think she means, don't page stuff like "Why did you impress and I didn't?! You suck!!!" etc. ;)"

T'on says, "After one real life week, Moriya."

Moriya giggles. :) Ahhhh, thanks.

T'on says, "We ask that they receive no IC visitors during that period. Helps to cement the bond between rider and dragon"

Moriya nodnods.

You say, "No, no one but the Weyrlings and the WLM staff may be in the barracks. You can have visitors in the training field and you may, as soon as you impress (When your dragon isn't demanding your attention) the LC for meals. This is a busy Weyr, the kitchens don't have time to supply the lounge with more than klah and quick snacks for those on the go. The week of confinement that most games have doesn't exist here."

You say, "However, if someone comes in just to the weyrlings a hard time, or to cause trouble, they'll be escorted out of the area and dealt with in a manner befitting the disruption. If it's OOC griefing, then we bypass guide warning and just ban them for a while. "

Moriya understands.

You say, "If it's IC... Let's put it this way: ICA=ICC. OOCA=OOCC. That's just the way it is."

T'on says, "Bah. Just listen to Lyllya. Id forgotten that we'd changed that rule. Mainly because it's been awhile since I've been required to be truly active as WLM"

Moriya personally loves being a WLM. :> Fun! :D

T'on does too. Else I'd've tried to foist the job off on anyone.

T'on says, "I'm not picky."

You say, "But, as T'on says, the first week is spent mainly in focus on your dragon. You're not going to be taking long walks on the beach with M'right or anything. Your life is rushed. Basically you're tending to a huge newborn. "

T'on says, "One who is often cranky, hungry, and prone to hurt themselves."

T'on says, "And I'm just talking about the Weyrlingmaster. >.>"

You say, "After that you've got a toddler in boot camp. You're not exactly going to be a social butterfly. "

Moriya imagines it is very much like caring for a human child (with obvious differences) - demanding your time constantly, making sure that you get very little sleep, etc. etc. ;>

T'on says, "Sort of, Moriya. With two major differences"

Lyllya nods. "Yep, the difference being that this one cries in your head, doesn't wear diapers, and poos way more than any kid you've ever met.

T'on says, "Well, five really"

T'on says, "This one breathes fire and can fly."

Moriya grins! You should've seen my last one. :>

Lyllya XD

You say, "As for the hatching itself: Unlike Fort, Benden is a new (in terms of being built since our move) Weyr. There's bound to be a few bugs here and there, because this is our first hatching. Bubba and I have worked out as many bugs as we could come up with circumstances for, but we're human (Shut up, T'on. Arial) and it's inevitable that we've missed something. In the event that something does go wrong, just play along as we take care of it. Bubba's a good coder and can think on his ...well... in his computer chair. We'll get it fixed. I also need to rearrange the order of some of the lessons, but the first month stuff is up to date. "

T'on says, "What? Where?"

Moriya recalls a Hatching she ran years ago - an egg supposedly hatched, but you couldn't see the desc, so folks were playing as if the hatchling had poked its' head, paws and tail out of the egg through holes...it was /hilarious/.

Zasey grins.

You say, "Oh yes, and as far as Weyrlinghood goes: Dragons now age at the same rate people do. This extends the OOC period of Weyrlinghood, but offers more of a chance for you to get to play out that Weyrlinghood. Since the lessons are for RP and you get increasing amounts of freedom/privileges as time progresses, there will be plenty of things to do. Benden has an active AWLM as well as assistants and others willing to pitch in and help. "

T'on steals the A out of WLM and makes it an acive WLM. >.>

You say, "Er.. yeah. I don't have my glasses on. >_>"

Moriya wonders if that A is crimson...

You say, "Actually, it's all we got to paint of 'Aaaaah! Run!'."

Moriya grins. That's what it says: AAAAAAAAAAUGHHHH...

You say, "Ok, any questions? And, really, I am done spamming general info at you (I also need to step AFK for a few seconds, but ask away)."

Moriya nopers. ;)

Zasey blinks. AAAAAAAAAAUGHHHH WLM?

T'on says, "Reference to Monty Python's Search for the Holy Grail."

Zasey grins. I love that movie.

You say, "Ok, with that, I can offer some 'we're getting close to the end' RP. n.n"

T'on says, "As can I"

Zasey holds up a sign reading 'The End is Near!'.

Gold Aevaleth by Bronze Cairth, Fort Weyr, VirtuaPern MOO, February 25, 2006

2006-02-25T21:20:00.000-05:00

Hatching Sands
Waves of heat wash fleeting mirages across the burning sands, adding to the unreal sense of age combined with agelessness that breathes within the sweltering air. Cowed by the cavern's stony immensity, the galleries huddle near the bowl entrance, below the tiered ranks of viewing ledges that, come Hatching time, hold the matching ranks of dragons who cascade encouragement and welcome to the young lives that begin here -- /here/ -- amid the sweaty shuffle and grit of whispering sand.
You see Sands Logger, Aevaleth, Heavy and Opaque in the Void Egg, Waters of Nun Egg, Dawn of the Universe Egg, Daughter in the Sky Egg, Dreamtime Egg, Ineffable Heart of Brahma Egg, Life from the Dust Egg, Old-Man-in-the-Sky Egg, Eagle and Crow Egg, Feathered Serpent Egg, Tumultuous Embrace of Ophion Egg, Measuring String of Creation Egg, Creation in the Darkness Egg , Hand of God Egg, Big Bang Egg, Fallen Ymir Egg, Formless Tossed in the Sea Egg, Child of the Creator Egg, and Death of Tiamat Egg here.

From the sands, The dragons are humming, vibrating the entire Weyr with sound that is both pleasant and unsettling. The eggs haven't yet started to rock, but Aevaleth has taken up a position of watchfulness at the edge of the sands as if waiting for something to happen.

From the sands, Cairth's woodsy thrumm rumbles out as loudly as it can without breaking into a warble, poised at his customary place around the outer wall of the cavern. His head bobs and weaves anxiously, eyes coruscating a dizzying blizzard of colors. Standing beside the Weyrwoman, M'an tugs lightly at the collar of his undertunic, already having loosened his dressy jacket to half-open. By the sheen of sweat on his face, it'll be gone before too long.

"Excuse me, pardon me, oh, sorry there, didn't mean to step on your foot." T'san has an apologetic grimace still on his face as he makes his way from the ledges along a row to an empty seat, easing down into it and looking immediately at the sands. His face tells of his excitement, while Hith's hum mingles with the noise that all the dragons currently attending are making.

Balqis happens to be one of those whose foot was stood on, and she gives T'san a little glare. "Hey, watch it, greenrider! There's feet down there!" There's a playful twinkle in her eye though even if her face is stern-looking.

Ushering in a large group of nervous chattering Smithcraft apprentices, Aryion directs them all towards a large empty row, midway up the stands. "Now, we talked about this, we are here to cheer Zeyion on. You are all representatives of both Smithcraft and Benden Hold, so I don't expect any misbehaving. If I seen anyone done /anything/ that we talked about. You will be on forge duty for a month." Grunting, the large Smith takes his seat at the end of the row, blue eyes twinkling as he watches for the candidates to emerge.

From the sands, Edgar walks onto the sands.

From the sands, Taylin walks onto the sands.

From the sands, Tomi walks onto the sands.

From the sands, Zeyion walks onto the sands.

From the sands, Nicon walks onto the sands.

From the sands, Kh'dan walks onto the sands.

From the sands, Liaden walks onto the sands.

From the sands, Myr walks onto the sands.

From the sands, Vaethe walks onto the sands.

From the sands, Taylin steps hestitantly out onto the sands, stopping only once to bow to Sire and Dame as well as their riders before moving any futher towards the clutch. The closer she gets to the growing line of candidates the more sure she becomes, looking almost ready to face anything that happens.

From the sands, Myr steps onto the Sands with a determined expression hiding her nerves. She pauses briefly at the entrance, before the Candidate behind her nudges her forward and she walks with Vaethe towards the forming circle. A bow is made to the clutch parents, and then to M'an and Zinia, before she slips into place near to the gold egg.

From the sands, Kh'dan leads the Candidates onto the Sands, lips curved in a proud smile as he ensures they take their correct places around the clutch before joining M'an and Zinia. "What a group," he murmurs to the Weyrleader, sending him a sidelong glance. "I don't think I've seen this much promise in turns." Rubbing his hands gleefully, he awaits the show with an excited smile. Forty turns old, and right now he looks like a child in a candy shop. Or is that candie?

From the sands, Zeyion takes a deep breath, striding onto the sands, following her friends. Pausing, she completes an elegant bow towards the gold and bronze clutch parents, before bowing as well toward the Weyrleaders. Duty completed, gray eyes glance around nervously, looking for Taylin and Nicon, one hand extended toward each of them.

Balqis takes the stairs down toward the entrance.

Sarika has managed to find a seat closer to the front of the galleries and there she sits, her focus firmly on the sands.

From the sands, Liaden's gait is steady as she enters the sands; there's no shakiness in that slender form, and not a glance for those crowded stands. Her bow is exact, if a little wooden, and she fairly marches for her chosen spot on the sands, face blank, but gray-green eyes sparkling with the suppressed excitement that bubbles just below that pale skin.

From the sands, Tomi is a bundle of nerves. She can't help herself. Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts. A bow of respect is given to both sire and dam and then Weyrwoman and Weyrleader before she shuffles off towards a corner of the Sands, following Taylin, Zeyion and Nicon. With a quick scan towards the galleries, the little candidate tries to locate her mother's beaming face. Big mistake. There's so many people. It's enough to make the little weyrbrat dizzy. The eggs are a much safer target. "Which one is your favorite again," she leans over to ask Taylin nervously, her tiny hand darting out to take the older girl's, trembling even with that everyday movement.

From the sands, Vaethe watches Myr for a second as she bows, then copies her, bowing to each of the clutch parents, then M'an and Zinia. She then follows after Myr, taking slow deep breaths as she walks across the sand.

From the sands, Nicon cautiously steps onto the sands, shoulders tense and drawn back as he preceeds forward with the remainder of the candidates. Upon reaching the clutching parents, he bows deeply, mindfully tugging at his robe to keep it in place before casting a brief glance toward the eggs. His jaws clench nervously, though his expression remains markedly clear of all emotion with the exception of a brief smile toward Zeyion as he takes her hand, extending it quickly to Taylin as they proceed toward the semi-circle of candidates.

Alizriel shifts a little restlessly in her seat, she simply couldn't sit in one place for long periods time like she used to. Her ear twitches slightly as it catches the sound of a familiar voice... Aryion?

From the sands, Edgar takes a deep breath as he steps onto the Sands, looking briefly down at the hot footing, and stops. Calmly, he offers individual bows to M'an, Zinia and to each of the clutchparents. Suddenly, though, his nervousness returns and he straightens up, appearing stiff. He looks over to Myr, trying to force himself to smile.

From the sands, Somehow the humming that shakes the Weyr seems more intense in the Hatching Caverns, amplified by the size of the cavern and the many dragons packing its ledges. The clutchsire stands near the back of the cavern, as has been his wont, although his slightly hunched spine and the bobbing motion of his head betrays something akin to anxiety as he hums deeply, eyeing the Candidates as they aproach his beautiful spawn. The Weyrleader's riding jacket has been slung carelessly over his left shoulder, and he uses his right hand to wipe the sweat glistening on his brow. M'an nods at the Weyrsecond when he leads the potentials in, a slight grin springing up as his eyes meet Kh'dan's. "It makes an old man hopeful," he agrees with the other bronzerider.

From the sands, Tumultuous Embrace of Ophion Egg shakes once, cracks forming along its shell before those bits fall away to reveal a large bronze. No time is lost as the dragonet makes for a boy from Crom with a pleading cry. "His name is Falth!" Satumble, now S'tumble, greets his new lifemate and the ageless scene upon the hatching sands begins to unfold.

Aryion smiles as the candidates emerge, one of the apprentices standing to shout out, "Look its Zeyion!" Cheering emerges from the Smith section, as Aryion adds his booming voice to the high pitched apprentices. "That's my girl!"

From the sands, Myr clasps Vaethe's hand nervously, while she's scanning to see where everyone else is standing. "Ed, are you nervous?" There's at least a blush on Myr's pallid cheeks now, so she doesn't look quite as sick as she did. "Do you want to hold my hand?" And then a squeak is given. "Oh, a bronze! Good luck!"

From the sands, Taylin claps loudly for the new pair "Bronze, that's a good start I've heard." Congratulations are called out before the candidates eyes return to the clutch.

From the sands, Dawn of the Universe Egg trembles in place. The tremble slowly building to a rocking and the rocking to determination. The contents are clearly eager to be free of all encasement. It doesn't take but a few more wobbles and it is done.

From the sands, Dawn of the Universe egg begins to shake, small cracks forming over its surface as it seeks to expand. All motion seems to stop before, all at once, the bits of shell are pushed outward and away, leaving the remnants scattered about the now exposed dragonet.

From the sands, Puss in Boots Brown Dragonet

From the sands, Feline form and grace are echoed in the pert turn of knob and muzzle all dappled in alternating patterns of sand and loam like a harlequin's mask. Dusty amber smudges arched eyeridges against the backdrop of near black that traces his forehead. Blended earthen tones swathe his back and clothe his wings much like a coat of deep brown. The broad expanse of each 'sail carries a streak of gold amidst the fine veining and more stable structure, the color appearing again briefly along the thick length of his tail. His limbs are wiry rather than bulky, but that takes nothing away from the curved danger of the talons that tip each chocolate dipped paw.

T'san grins at Balqis before the first Impression catches his attention. "Bronze! The old rider's eyes are shining with the memory of his own Impression to the green whose clear voice hums even louder in welcome to the dragonets.

From the sands, "Bronze?! Bronze?!" Tomi's favorite egg held bronze. Well, it is a sign of good luck, but... "You were supposed to be a green," she accuses the newly hatched dragon before cheering for the quick Impression. "Well done S'tumble." S'tumble and Falth. A pair to stay away from during weyrling training, for sure.

From the sands, Edgar takes no time to grab Myr's hand and then replies, "Yes, I am and yes, I would like to hold your hand. Thank you." He likes a little bit of comfort to ease his nerves, but he soon forgets about his nervousness when he watches dragonets emerge from their eggs. "Did you see that bronze," he points. "They've already started impressing. Incredible." Now the man's in awe.

From the sands, Zeyion is glancing around, holding tight to her friends hands, when a loud cheer from the stands draws her attention. "Tay, its my dad!" A small wave is cast toward the Smith cheering section, the brown's emergence reverting her gaze to the sands. "Oh.. he's lovely."

From the sands, Taylin turns to look at the stands and misses the hatching of the brown, but she's all eyes when she turns back about to see him " Look Zey, that brown. Isn't he goodlooking fellow."

From the sands, Nicon blinks at the promptness of the first impression, though hardly a moment passes before a brown emerges into view. "Shards, this is.... this is nice." Catching himself at the last moment, he rotates his shoulders briefly, his eyes nervously twitching as he drops his glance to the girl's beside him. "Look at that brown.... nice."

From the sands, Myr turns to grin at Vaethe, "A bronze hatching first is good luck," she explains, before turning her eyes to the brown. "Oh, and look at him! He's a stunner, alright... don't you think so? Ed, Vaethe?" With both of her hands being clasped, she's not free to do much fidgeting - though her feet are moving.

From the sands, Cairth can't help but peal a subdued trumpet to greet his firstborn, and his second, as a strong pair set the tone for the clutch. M'an looks equally proud, his grin widening as the bronze finds a mate with no time lost. "Swift and sure," despite their names, "a good sign. You're right, Kh'dan. I think we can expect great things here."

From the sands, Vaethe clasps Myr's available hand back, and glances over to Edgar with a slightly blank expression. She then looks back to the brown, blinking a little as she studies it, her face slowly falling into a somewhat more relaxed expression.

From the sands, Puss in Boots Brown Dragonet has made an entrance. Standing in the middle of the shells, he crans his neck towards both his parents. A soft croon is given before he examines himself. One wing lifts and is peered at. The other gets the same careful examination. A quick once over of the balance of this body and he is ready. He starts to make a step and stops. Eyes whirl as he considers just what he is looking for. Or perhaps make that a who? Determined steps carry him in one direction as he barrels through any not looking.

From the sands, Tomi's eyes wander to another cracked shell, her eyes widening at the appearance of the dashing brown. "Oooh," she gasps. "Beautiful." And the nerves fade in the pervading heat of the Sands, the little candidate begins the Candie dance. Left. Right. Left. Right. Were the Sands always this hot?

From the sands, Taylin squeezes Zeys hand "He's moving Zey, come this way." yanking on the hand instead of squeezing it now. It's not fear that grabs her, just well not wanting to be in the browns way "Look at him move, I thought they were all shaky and the likes when they just hatch."

From the sands, Old-Man-in-the-Sky Egg begins to shake, the shell falling away to reveal a green with a blunt muzzle that is then used to bump the midsection of a young Harper girl. A squeal of delight issues from the crafter as she announces her new lifemate's name as "Seath," but her name remains unchanged. So it is that Shelie takes on her new life within the Weyr.

From the sands, Edgar bobs his head at Myr, "So I've heard." He then notices the brown and smiles, "He's a looker, alright." He squeezes Myr's hand, though, as the excitement finally hits him. Candidate returns Vaethe's glance and shrugs, not understanding her blank look. His attention is taken away by an Impression, though. "Go her."

From the sands, Zeyion giggles, following as her friend drags her away from the direction of the brown. "Shards.. I'm coming, I'm coming. Nic... you are coming too." As she tugs on the older boy's hand as well.

From the sands, Kh'dan moves away from M'an, coming to S'tumble's side and gesturing for the young man and his new partner to follow. "Congratulations," he says warmly, leading the pair to where a number of helpers wait with buckets of meat for the newly Impressed. "A very impressive young fellow." Then it's back to the Weyrleader's side, curious eyes watching the brown to see where he will go. Well. Until Shelie Impresses Seath, and he's off to lead them to food. At least he gets to move around.

From the sands, "And a green!" Myr's looking more excited by the minute, and her grin's expanding. "Did you see that one? They all seem to know exactly where they want to go already! That's meant to be good... Where d'you reckon that brown's gonna go? Do you think he'll pick a boy or a girl?"

From the sands, Nicon merely stares at the brown, a sidelong glance snapped toward Zeyion as she tugs him away from their position. "What? Why do we need to move," he groans while trodding along, mumbling to himself as he follows the small group of girls.

From the sands, Vaethe stays perfectly still, letting the sands burn her feet as she frowns a little, staring off into the distance. "...Kind of late for speculation at this point, don't you think, Myr?" She continues to study the brown, a slight smirk edging onto her face for just a second.

From the sands, Puss in Boots Brown Dragonet steps on one candidate and stops to peer down at him. This lasts for a split second for the lad is not who he seeks. Recklessly he moves on, wings almost hitting this one and that one has he passes. Time is of the essence. Where is the one he wants? His tail swishes angrily as he stops, surrounded by white moving 'not the one' types. A sudden movement catches his eye and he is off and running again, paying not the least bit of attention to anyone who gets in his way.

From the sands, Daughter in the Sky Egg trembles where it sits, nearly rocking from the mound on which it sits, but then falls still again.

From the sands, Taylin tugs again "Zeyion he's getting faster, let's move." The voice more demanding now, as things become very real. "I don't want to get stepped on that's why Nicon."

From the sands, Edgar shrugs at Myr, "I'm not sure who that brown wants. I'll tell you what, though, he sure isn't polite." Well, of course the dragonet wouldn't be, it's just a baby afterall.

From the sands, Tomi sends up another cheer. "Congratulations Shelie!" And Seath. What a lucky pair. As Taylin tugs Zeyion away from her, and Nicon follows, Tomi trails after the trio. Look, candie conga line. "Where are you going?" Not that she minds heading /away/ from the dragonets. They look awfully big for newborns. And those talons look awfully sharp.

From the sands, M'an frowns slightly, his vigil unrelieved by the necessity of movement, dark eyes locked on the young man who's been knocked about. "I don't see any blood," he comments over his shoulder to nobody in particular. "He looks well enough, just a bit shook. Pouncy thing, that brown. I hope the others are more careful."

Alizriel eyes the young girl from the gallery... Zeyion... yes she could she the family resemblance. Ah, bronze, brown and green! She smiles as Impressions are made, always amazed by the pairings. But what of that sly looking brown? A cavalier for sure. She watches and waits...

From the sands, Kh'dan returns to M'an's side, studying the same young man with complete unconcern. "He seems fine enough to me," the Weyrsecond replies dismissively. "No blood, and he's conscious." Dismissing him with a wave of his hand, he turns his gaze on the brown, following his progress. "Seems like he's got the idea now, at least."

From the sands, Myr squeaks, cringing as the brown dragonet stands on someone. "Oh, Faranth, is he ok? Oh, Faranth, I hope they're not all like that..." She looks at Vaethe, looking kinda confused, "But... Oh, I don't know," she says amicably, shrugging. "He is a bit boistrous, isn't he, Ed? But so lovely looking... I'll bet he's even more of a looker when he's grown up!"

From the sands, Zeyion continues to be pulled along in Taylin's wake, "Shards.. slow down! That brown has changed direction again." A quick glance is given toward Nicon, "You coming?" Reluctantly she plants her sandals in the sand. "Tay.. no more. We need to stay in one spot."

From the sands, Vaethe pose looks over to the candidate who got stepped on quickly, moving a step in his direction as she drops Myr's hand, but as she sees he's fine, relaxes a bit and steps back towards Myr.

From the sands, Daughter in the Sky Egg shudders again, the sides heaving as the ovoid's occupant struggles for freedom. Bit by bit, the effort begins to pay off and if the cracks in the shell are any indication, it won't be long.

From the sands, "No, Vaethe, you need to stay here," Myr says, clinging to the girls hand. "Lookit the gold egg... it's rocking, it's gonna crack soon... we're in the best place here I reckon to attract her over." But even as she says it, she looks more nervous that before, and only just manages to tear her eyes from the gold-tinted egg to watch the brown dragonet.

From the sands, Nicon moves no more, firmly planting his feet in the sands below while maintaining his grip of Zeyion's hand. "Why are you running?" he asks again while delving his feet in the sand to face the emerging dragonets while saying, "There's no sense in running, if they want you, they'll get to you."

From the sands, Big Bang Egg and Hand of God Egg both manage to hatch at once, and equally emerald greens burst forth from the shells to begin squabbling with one another. This goes on for several minutes before two siblings- brother and sister- step forward to attempt to end the argument. In all of the noise, it's hard to tell what names are called forward, but the waters have been calmed for now.

From the sands, Puss in Boots Brown Dragonet barrels through another small group of candidates. The white ones part like foam on the sea in his wake. Skidding to a halt he turns his head in frustration,, for the one he wants won't stay still. Deciding enough is enough, he again pushes aside another small group to find himself staring up into expressive gray eyes. yes, finally! The auburn hair and that elegant touch of white has him enthralled. A friend, a comrade, a life-partner. This and more he finds as he looks at Zeyion.

From the sands, Daughter in the sky egg shudders and shifts in the sand. Cracks form along the details of the shell and then begin to expand as that which is held within works to free itself. A glimpse of golden silk appears and all motion stills before, with a mighty *CRACK* the shell simply gives way.

From the sands, Gift of the Goddess Gold Dragonet

From the sands, Sun-bright gold makes its way over the pert form of knob to touch upon the youthful curve of head and muzzle, interrupted only by darker smudges above and below each eye. Honey hued streaks decorate the delicate curve of her neck and soft slope of ridges to land about her shoulders in a swirl of rich color that lightens over her throat. Imperial silk drapes and falls over the lightly muscled form of her torso, pooling at her flanks and swathing her limbs in patterned splendor that culminates in the trailing form of her tail. Pure white gold can be found in the cape-like expanse of her wings, the color interrupted by a feathered veining pattern that somehow softens the dangerous curve of spar and talon.

Balqis climbs up the stairs from the entrance.

From the sands, Vaethe stares at the brown dragon for a moment, but follows Myr's order, walking back to her side, staring at the brown for a moment longer, frowning as he gets closer to Zeyion, then relaxing as she sees he's impressed. She looks over to the gold, as if waiting for her to walk up to her. Ah, the arrogance of youth. Or Vaethe, whatever.

From the sands, Taylin steps away from Zeyion in time to see the gold hatch, but it's her friend that earns a smile first "Congrats Zeyion, he's splendid." Giving the pair room, Tay looks for a new hand to hold.

From the sands, Edgar opens his mouth to say something to both Myr and Vaethe, but nothing comes out. His eyes were following the brown dragonet, since he was so obvious and he noticed that it stopped at Zeyion. It's a great feeling with the Candidates who were closer to you when they Impress. "Zey," he raises his voice, "he's perfect for you." As he hears gasps, his eyes land upon the newly hatched gold, "Beautiful."

From the sands, Myr squeaks across at Zeyion, "Congratulations!" And then that gold egg cracks. And spills out a gold dragonet. "There she is," the girl exhales, trying to calm herself. "She's so beautiful, lookit her..."

From the sands, Zeyion blinks. Both hands letting go as she falls to her knees, hands reaching up to caress the muzzle of the brown dragonet before her. "Always... together. Iasath. His name is Iasath!" Crooning, the brown nuzzles her hands, the new weyrling giggling happily.

From the sands, Nicon releases Zeyion's hand at the moment of impression, a mixture of joy and dejection racing across his stern features. Gently, he places his hand across her back to nudge her forward, murmuring, "Go Zeyion, he is yours." As he steps back, his eyes drift toward the newly hatched gold then narrow onto the remaining eggs.

From the sands, Tomi had turned her head to watch the newborn brown pounce on some poor candidate, and therefore missed it completely when Nicon stops. "Oof," is muttered as the little candidate bounces off. Stumbling backwards, the excess cloth trips her up and she falls on her rump. Giving the trio a rather dazed look, she can only gasp as the brown goes barreling past her to find his lifemate with Zeyion. "Oh Zey! Congratulations!" And she waits with bated breath for the name. Ohly the gasps and excitement from the other girls on the Sands draws her attention towards the gold egg... that doesn't seem to be there any more. "Oh my," the little candidate gasps forgetting everything else. What hot sand? What ignoble position. There's only the newly hatched queen on the Sands.

From the sands, Kh'dan has to wonder no more. Fixing a bright smile on his face, the Weyrsecond approaches Zeyion, waiting patiently while she and her new lifemate share their first, all-important moments. "Congratulations," he murmurs gently, stretching out an arm to guide them to the side. "Come this way, food awaits your beautiful Iasath."

From the sands, M'an's eyes light up with peculiar pleasure as the brown seizes Zeyion in his gaze. "Excellent," he mentions to Kh'dan. "I was hoping her lifemate was here. I have plans for them in a few Turns." He can barely restrain from rubbing his hands together in glee. He does clasp them together emphatically as the queen hatches, this time finding Myr surreptitiously with his gaze. Oh, he's supposed to be impartial, but what parent can avoid hoping for the best?

From the sands, Gift of the Goddess Gold Dragonet looks about her, a nearly apologetic croon issuing before she takes her first tentative steps away from the remnants of her shell. A stumble sends her unsteadily down the hill, past another hatching egg, and into a group of girls that fall under her weight. Once she's figured out the ins and outs of movement, she steps back with an embarrassed croon and almost appears to bow several times. The sea of white calls, however, and it's time to find the one she was born for.

From the sands, Zeyion blinks, looking up toward Kh'dan. "Yes.. sir. Come on love." Quickly, the new weyrling and her brown make their way over toward the sidelines, collapsing together into a pile, as they watch the rest of the hatching unfold.

From the sands, Myr catches M'an's gaze, and gives him a big smile that shows plenty of teeth. But it only lasts briefly, because those nerves are bubbling up again. Cairth is held in her gaze for a few seconds, before she turns back to the gold and watches her first clumsy steps.

T'san watches the green and brown Impress with a smile, then stares at the gold intently. "Wonder who she'll choose," he murmurs thoughtfully, eyes darting over the female candidates.

From the sands, Taylin winces as the gold tumbles into a knot candidates "Whew, looks like she escaped with out being hurt." A hand reaches out for Nicon along with a smile "Safety in numbers right?"

From the sands, Measuring String of Creation Egg chooses this moment to hatch as well. This time it's a blue that is spilled forth onto the hot sands. Nearly rolling into one of the white clad bodies, he looks up with a stupefied expression and shakes his head. Did he do that? The boy, a young blonde lad from Fort Hold now named N'ap announces his joy in the form of a name. "Sleepyth!"

Aryion blinks, sitting there in silence as his daughter impresses the brown. The smith section erupts around him, first for Zeyion's impression, then for the emergence of the gold. Tears flow down the older journeyman's cheeks, as he simply sits in his seat, watching his daughter... the new browrider.

From the sands, Nicon stumbles forward several steps with the force, albeit meager, of Tomi as she reels into him. "What is going..." he twists his torso to catch glimpse of the smaller candidate as she drops to the fervent stands and, in a gesture quite unlike him, offers a hand to assist her up. "Be careful Tomi, don't hurt yourself," he quietly says while tucking his arms about his chest, dark eyes determined as they fix upon the dragonets.

From the sands, Vaethe frowns a bit as she watch the gold stumble, squeezing Myr's hand just the slightest bit. She glances to the blue for a moment, then looks back to the gold, her expression focused but not quite as certain now.

From the sands, Kh'dan pauses briefly on the sidelines to seperate the again squabbling greens, finally leading one of the 'twins' to the opposite side of the growing Weyrling class. Then it's back onto the Sands again to collect N'ap and Sleepyth, eyes holding amusement as he cups the boy's elbow to keep him on his feet. "Come along," he rumbles, guiding them to the others.

From the sands, Gift of the Goddess Gold Dragonet steps nervously over the sands, looking at each girl with whirling eyes as she attempts to make a selection. This one? No. That one? No. But where? Ever cautious she stumbles along, her talons making furrows in the sands as she cries piteously toward the group in general and then moves ever onward as if on the trail of something.

From the sands, Tomi comes to her senses as the heat once again makes itself known. "Sorry Nic," she offers by way of apology, looking rather stunned... and shamefaced, perhaps? Rising awkwardly with the assitance of the taller Bendenite, she moves over to stand beside him and Taylin, her eyes gone somewhat dreamy as she watches Zeyion lead Iasath off the hot Sands. "Shells, that was unexpected." The little blue's appearance isn't noticed right away, but as Impression is made, the little candidate cheers for the pair. "Congratulations N'ap."

From the sands, Taylin kicks her feet to free her toes of the hot sand while shifting from side to side "Shells my feet feel like their on fire." She's not complaining just stating the facts "Congrats Nap, he's a pretty blue just right for you." Her words are hurried as she turns back to watch the moving gold.

From the sands, M'an nods ever so slightly to his daughter from across the cavern, his expression a little stiff. His attention begs to focus on the gold dragonet, to see just who the Weyr will be looking to as a future Weyrwoman. Yet he's almost afraid to watch. Definitely getting too old for this kind of thing.

From the sands, Iasath croons softly, eagerly nuzzling Zeyion. "Soon, dear. I have to watch and see who else impresses. Don't worry love, it won't be long now." Snorting, the brown drops his wings, sulking but content to be caressed by his new lifemate.

From the sands, Edgar has a feeling that all eyes are on the gold dragon, especially since his eyes are on her too. He can't figure out why, since she's there for the girls. "She just has such pretty coloring," he notes to his 'partners', Myr and Vaethe. The man forces himself to look elsewhere, though, since there is so much still going on. A cheer then comes out of his mouth for N'ap, without him even thinking about it.

From the sands, What's this? Someone just as apologetic? Perhaps not as uncertain, but that can only be a plus. Sidling up to one small candidate, she leans against the girl companionably and croons as if in sympathy for the heat felt from the sands. Her home has been found in the form of a small candidate girl named Tomi.

From the sands, Nicon squints toward Tomi, languidly uncrossing his arms to extend his hands out to both Taylin and Nicon, before noting in a low murmur, "It wasn't expected, we all knew she would impress." There is a hint of hurt in his voice, which he hides with a brief cough before the gold approaches them and as it would seem to be the norm now, Tomi is impressed right besides him. "Tomi, um.....congrats!"

From the sands, Eagle and Crow Egg starts rocking with an intensity so fine it's nearly invisible, the motion visible only in the flecks of sand that shiver away from the shell. The rocking builds swiftly and surely.

From the sands, Eagle and Crow Egg can no longer contain its potential; the shell shivers as if caught in turbulent currents, sky-born tumult left in the wake of plummeting avians. There is a powerful shuddering and cracks appear along implied flight paths, zooming rapidly towards their terminus until the entire egg bursts apart in an explosion that might break the sound barrier.

From the sands, Fey-Touched Prophetic Bronze Dragonet

From the sands, Lines of pewter writhe like arcane script over his bodys compact slenderness, obscuring the brightly polished bronze of his hide. A backdrop of shimmering twilight emphasizes vast wingsails that flash silvery white like billowing fey mists. Ridges do not march but flow down from the wide crown of his head, upon which the trailing edge of each crest is up-curved and inked-dipped as the tip of a calligrapher's brush. His knobs echo the narrow flute of his muzzle; all are rimmed in antique gold. The understated elegance of his form melds well with his uncannily deliberate movements, overshadowing the aberration of tailspades cleft.

From the sands, Taylin claps her hands "COngrats Tomi, she's splendid." Moving further from the new pairing Tayling just manages to catch the new bronze emerging.

From the sands, Vaethe stares at Tomi for a long moment, as if not entirely sure of what's happenning, then grins at her. She then looks back to the new bronze dragonet appreciatively, looking to Edgar for a moment. "...Yeah. Not the strongest spirit, though."

From the sands, Dreamtime Egg takes its own good time in hatching, lazily rocking and cracking as if it had all of the time in the world. Indeed, it would if the dragonet inside weren't insistent upon reaching the world outside. Yet another blue is revealed that stumbles toward a group of candidates and chooses one from amongst the crowd. "Daith!" N'ite calls out in rapturous joy.

From the sands, Edgar quickly looks around to see what most of the Galleries is cheering about. "What happened?" Someone points in the direction of the gold dragonet who is near Tomi. No, is that right? The man almost cannot contain himself, "Tomi, look! The gold! And you!" Someone needs to slap him. He quickly snaps out of it as Vaethe makes a note to him. A glance is given at the newly hatched bronze and he shrugs, "How can you tell?"

From the sands, Tomi just blinks as an unexpected warmth settles at her side. Looking down, her wide-eyed gaze meets the neverending depths of the little queen's gaze and the girl once again drops to the hot Sands. "Haseth? You're name is... Haseth!" Tears stream down cheeks still plump with baby fat as she looks around her. "Hungry, you're... oh or course you are." Rising shakily, she vaguely hears the cheers of congratulations around her. Please pardon her manners, she's just a little stunned.

From the sands, Kh'dan gapes. Really. He can't help it. Tomi? But... Sending an uncertain glance towards M'an, he shrugs slightly and approaches the new weyrwoman, eyeing her warily. "Well, Tomi, congratulations," he murmurs. "How about you and your lovely, ah, Haseth, join us?" With a slightly more easy smile, he motions for her to follow, pausing only briefly to collect N'ite and his blue.

From the sands, M'an passes a hand over his face, smearing the perspiration. He looks just a bit pale, and misses Kh'dan's look completely. Tomi. Oh, Faranth. He pastes a smile on his face for the shocked girl, knowing that she'll miss the nuances behind it in the distraction of her lifemate.

From the sands, Fey-Touched Prophetic Bronze Dragonet remains still for a moment amidst the thoroughly shattered remains of his casing, blinking a few times as he inspects the shards. He knew that was going to happen, but it doesn't make it any less... abrupt. With a little shiver, he carefully raises himself to standing, canting his head from this side to that in a scanning motion.

From the sands, Zeyion watches as the gold snags Tomi as her lifemate, before cheering loudly! "Go Tomi! Haseth? Good name... Oh, there now, Iasath... I love you. But I am happy for my friend." Snorting again, the little brown is content to nuzzle for the moment.

From the sands, Nicon steps aside the newly impressed, a diminutive smirk upon his lips as his eyes drop to Tomi and the gold, the words, "Congratulations," murmured again as the lad lifts his arms anew to cross them across his chest and fixate his gaze onto the bronze that emerges. "Nice bronze," he mentions, shifting toward Taylin as he speaks to stand closely besides the girl.

From the sands, Taylin watches the bronze, head tipping to the left then all the way over to the right as if viewing him from all angels "He's a nice one, timid it seems but well put together."

From the sands, Vaethe shakes her head a little. "No, the gold. Good fit for Tomi, perhaps, but it makes me worry a little...." She shrugs equitably, and watches Dreamtime hatch, letting out a bit of a sigh as N'ite gets him. "...The bronze looks strong enough, actually."

From the sands, Tomi follows Kh'dan quickly to the side, missing completely the rather concerned look as she rests a entranced hand on the little golden neck, a comforting smile quirking up her lips as she reassures the hungry little queen that she shall feast as is her due.

From the sands, Edgar nods, "Oh, I see. That's too bad?" Though, he is sure the gold will be a strong asset to the Weyr. His eyes return to the bronze and nudges his fellow Candidate, "He does look like it. He also seems to almost be picking his person out without having to wobble around." If that's so, the man thinks that is smart.

From the sands, Fey-Touched Prophetic Bronze Dragonet slowly stretches forth a wing, displaying width of misty sail still glistening from the egg fluids. Giving the edge a very deliberate flick, he sends a splotch of goo sailing across the sands, following its flight path visibly with his head and staring, fascinated, as it splatters against a young man's cheek. How very interesting. And yet, not quite right.

From the sands, Life from the Dust Egg rocks quietly in its place on the Sands, not quite ready to shatter, but judging from the cracks mazing across the shell, not far off from that fateful moment.

From the sands, Taylin could almost laugh at the way the bronze is acting but between the shifting of her feet and watching the impressions happen she really doesn't get a chance to "I think he'll either wander over for you or Edgar, either of you would be a good match for him."

From the sands, Vaethe stares at the bronze for a very long moment, then shakes her head a little. "...Guess he takes after Cairth." She sounds a little amused. She glances over to Life from the Dust, watching as it prepares to make it's way onto the sand.

From the sands, Amidst the backdrop of all of this, eggs rock and shells crack. Bronze, blue, and green go in search of their lifemates and the circle of candidates becomes thinner and thinner. A small crowd is now gathered near the entrance to the barracks and the supplies of meat are constantly refilled.

From the sands, Nicon grimaces as the air-borne egg-goo hits upon a unexpecting candidate's face, shifting slightly to accomodate for the gathering heat beneath his feet. Darting back to the bronze, then toward the eggs as they continue to shake, he draws another deep, steadying breath as Taylin's words. "Perhaps, but who knows who the dragons'll will choose." Eyes drift toward Tomi.

From the sands, Fey-Touched Prophetic Bronze Dragonet simply can't see what he wants from here. One forepaw follow the next with well-deliberated steps as he begins to move, passing decorously through lines of white. No, no, no. None of these fit the part at all. But this one... this one is definitely it. Tilting his head back, he sits on his haunches and lets his whirling eyes travel over Edgar.

From the sands, Taylin nods in agreement "Very true, very true. One can never tell what a dragon will find that they want in a certain person." More shifting from foot to foot as she looks down the dwindling line of those still standing before the ever shrinking clutch. "Look the bronze chose Edgar, see I knew it would be you or him."

From the sands, Vaethe blinks as the bronze approaches, then smiles a bit at Edgar. "You'll do well together, I think." That said, she turns her head back towards the sands and watches the eggs, crossing her arms against her chest.

From the sands, Life from the Dust Egg can't hold any longer - it doesn't stand a chance against the titanic forces tearing it down from within. With a last, long shudder, it splits asunder, shards raining all around as from the wreckage struts a bright, brilliant dragonet, announcing his presence to the world with an imperial bugle in his rich, commanding voice.

From the sands, Prince in Golden Armor Bronze Dragonet

From the sands, Dying sunlight gilds bronzen flesh, turning hide from russet to a brilliant, flaming orange. Sunset's rays are captive within velvet hide, giving it a permanently tropical glow but for where twilight's fingers encroach upon the sun-seared stretches to the proud tip of his cobalt-tinted muzzle. Burnished hide sweeps back in growing growing brightness as it traverses the noble head with its deep-set eyes and intelligent cant, glinting almost golden by the time it spirals down long throat to rush across the muscular shoulders. The color lightens to near white where wings meet shoulders, branching off along stays pale as the driven snow while the skin that stretches lightly over the spars is a brilliant autumn hue. From wings on back, sun's light dies, deepening from aged gold to brandy along the tip of his tail.

From the sands, Edgar is only briefly distracted by the Life from the Dust egg, mostly because the bronze is just standing still. Doesn't look like he's planning on going anywhere, right? A fellow Candidate taps him on the shoulder to point at another disgusted Candidate with goo all over their face, "That's gross -" he pauses, almost not able to finish the last word, and falls to his knees, not even minding the scorching Sands. "You moved. And you came to me." Tears begin to flow down his face as he smiles wide and raises his voice, "He says his name is Ercelth!"

From the sands, M'an seems to have recovered from the, ah, surprise of Tomi's Impression, and is now beaming faintly as scores of dragonets and Candidates turn into a sea of Weyrlings. He likes Weyrlings. Every now and again he pauses in his smiling and nodding to search the Sands for Myr, a hint of anxiousness now furrowing his brow as he sees her still Standing. And then the Princely bronze bugles and he must take note: he's particularly interested in these bronze ones, for some reason. Biased.

From the sands, Taylin tugs on Nicons hand "Look another bronze, I'll lay a half mark that he takes to you." See she's pretty sure of herself, "Edgar got his and that one is for you, I'm sure of it."

From the sands, Nicon winces as the heat tears as the pliable fabric of his sandals, a muttered word about hand-me-downs made before he lifts his eyes to catch Edgar's impression. "You were right Taylin, should've bet on it, right?" he remarks with a smirk, his attention immediately upon the newest bronze as it emerges. "I knew that one would hatch a bronze, I could just feel it when I touched that egg," he says, his arms tightened about his chest, "We'll see, I don't think so Taylin.."

From the sands, Tomi looks towards the eggs and dragonets as cheers wildly go up around her. "Edgar! Ercelth!" Looking over towards Zeyion, the little weyrling just beams happily. "Can you believe this Zey? Did you ever think that we'd find ourselves here?" The introductory bugle catches her attention and the girl blinks again. So vocal already.

From the sands, Cairth bugles in response to his son. /He/ knew that was a bronze, too. It's good to be right. Now if only Aevaleth had let him drool on it some more...

From the sands, Zeyion is all dimpled smile now, one arm around her Iasath while the other waves and cheers for the impressions of her friends. "Edgar and Ercelth! Congratulations!" As the newest bronze emerges, gray eyes dart toward Taylin and Nicon. "That bronze is his... I bet." Blinking, she turns toward Tomi, nodding. "I can't believe it..."

From the sands, Prince in Golden Armor Bronze Dragonet steps from the wreckage of his former home, peering down at the shards with only a soft rumble of regret. But now, he is out, and it is time that he stop dreaming and start living the life he was meant to have. With careful, precise steps, he moves away from the shards of the eggs and begins to march towards the dwindling lines of white-ones with unusual grace for one so young. He has a duty to do, and he shall do it, no matter what that rumbling in his tummy tells him.

From the sands, Vaethe frowns a little, glancing over to Myr. The eggs are slowly dwindling at this rate, and contrary to her prediction, the dragonets haven't exactly been all over them....

From the sands, Nicon narrowly observes the bronze as he marches forward with a sense duty much like Nicon's. "Impressive," is all he manages, an approving nod given while he awkwardly shifts in the sands. Finding it difficult to accomodate to the heat, he continues to shift from either foot, though his eyes remain firmly fixed on the bronze.

From the sands, Taylin lifts her chin up "I just know it, I do." Her eyes glance from bronze to the remaining eggs.

Alizriel is startled awake from the shower of pebbles and sand on her head. Her face shines red, brighter than any ruby in her workshop. She honestly wasn't that old yet... was she?! The glint of brazen wings catches her eye. My that bronze is a dashing one.

From the sands, Ineffable Heart of Brahma Egg and Death of Tiamat Egg both hatch within seconds of eachother, spilling their respective contents onto the sands. This time a bronze and a brown move on to find their own lifemates. The brown nudges into a girl who squeels out a name "Hearth?" But C'ndie doesn't have to ask twice, she's found her future. The bronze, on the other hand, announces his own claim with a loud noise that's just a bit off key. "Belth!" There's no uncertainty from T'ako.

From the sands, Tomi motions Haseth closer.

From the sands, Edgar places his hand on Ercelth's neck and motions the dragonet to follow him to where the other Weyrling pairs are. He's so happy, though. "I'll be able to get you some food for that stomach of yours in just a little bit." Once they arrive to the edge of the Sands, he flashes a smile at Kh'dan.

From the sands, Prince in Golden Armor Bronze Dragonet continues that miltary march along the lines, pausing to sniff at this boy, eye this girl, but taking no interest in any of them. No, no, no! This will never do. None of these are what he needs, none possess the discipline, or the strength, to aide him in his duties. Then something catches his eye, a rhythm that matches so closely to his own four-beat gait, and his head picks up, eyes whirling faster as he heads towards the distraction.

From the sands, Seeing that all the eggs have hatched, and only a bronze is left, Vaethe just stares for a very long moment, a slight smile tracing her face. She wipes her face with the back of her sleeve, and bites her lip, glancing over to Nicon and Myr.

From the sands, Zeyion beams as Edgar joins them with his Ercelth. "Oh, congratulations Edgar! He's a fine looking bronze." Iasath croons happily toward his clutchsibs, before butting Zeyion with his muzzle. "Shards, he's getting hungry. I wonder how much longer?" Gray eyes dart toward the bronze, holding her breath, just who is it going to go to?

From the sands, Taylin watches the last eggs hatch, and those hatchlings impress. Looking from Nicon to the bronze, she can now only wait for what she's betting on will happen.

From the sands, Nicon maintains his post as the bronze gathers speed across the sands. Although his eyes widen with apprehension, his face remains clear of emotion bar the barely discernible quiver of his lower lip. "That bronze can move, can't he, he'd be perfect in flights," he remarks, his shaky voice now betraying his stoic posture and quickly, he coughs to cover it.

From the sands, Prince in Golden Armor Bronze Dragonet can feel it, hear it, the cadence of marching. That sound of ultimate duty in the strike of sandaled feet against the Sands. He comes to a halt only a foot before a young man with cropped coppery curls. He pauses for a snort of dismay at seeing this Candidate, this one, in such ill-fitting clothing, but with steely gaze, nudges Nicon in the chest, determined that this is the one for him - despite his appalling sense of fashion.

From the sands, Taylin moves away from Nicon with a smile "See I told you." she whispers, adding "Congrats." Stepping further away, Tayling joins the other candidates still standing though unlike many her face is dry of tears.

From the sands, Vaethe stares at Nicon and the bronze, then follow Taylin off the sands after a moment, her face set stoically, but her eyes watering a little.

From the sands, Nicon tenses from head to toe as the bronze nears, his jaw thrust upwards as he places a firm glance upon the dragon. It begins with a smirk though then rises into an elated chuckle as he unfurls his arms to carefully drap them about the dragon's neck. "Food it is then, my dear friend," he says in a wistful voice, quickly straightening to promptly ask, "Campeoth needs some food, immediately.... please."

From the sands, Kh'dan returns Edgar's smile, then approaches Nicon, pride shining in his face. This one, after all, was a prime catch for Nyrloth. "Congratulations to you and Campeoth," murmurs the Weyrsecond, moving to lead both lad and dragonet from the Sands, to join their fellow Weyrlings at their feast.

From the sands, Zinia steps forward, clapping her hands as the last of her dragon's brood impresses. "Good matches, all," she announces as she glances over the weyrlings. To the candidates left, she motions for them to gather round M'an. "The Weyrleader would like a word with you before you go to join the feast, but I want to thank all of you for your efforts and willingness to Stand."

From the sands, Zeyion was bitting her lower lip, watching nervously as the bronze makes a dash for Nicon. "Yes! Way to go Nic!" Hugging her brown tightly, Zeyion giggles happily as she watches Nicon impress. "He impressed love, he did!"

From the sands, Taylin watches as Nicon joins the others before turning to face the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman.

From the sands, M'an sends his Weyrwoman a satisfied look before stepping forward and gesturing as well. "Please gather around," he asks them - oh yes, though his voice is strong, it is very much a request rather than a command. Of course, it is his Weyr at the moment, so compliance is probably a good idea. Scanning the faces - some blank, some wet, some crushed and a few actually a little relieved, his own expression settles into lines of conviction and compassion.

From the sands, There's a subtle droop of disappointment about those bony shoulders, but you'd never know it from the rest of her: there's a wry half-smile hovering around Liaden's lips, a philosophical shrug, and a grimace as she lifts her scorched feet. She follows her peers toward the Weyrleader, then further off the sands.

From the sands, Taylin moves closer, quiet and more relaxed. Her smile doesn't waver nor does the please expression on her face.

From the sands, Vaethe trails a bit after Taylin, blinking at her pleased expression. "...You're very strong." Her voice is rather soft, not meant to reach farther than her. She glances up to M'an, then looks down at the ground, as if afraid to meet his eyes.

From the sands, Myr steps up to M'an, all bleary-eyed and teary, though she's trying her best to hold it back.

From the sands, Kh'dan waves his arms. "Okay, guys!" he calls to the Weyrlings, gathering their attention. "Let's head home and get your lovely dragonets set up right and proper in their own beds. I assure you, they won't be the only ones tuckered out soon enough."

Alizriel eases herself out of her seat, a hand to massage the small of her back. She waves her free hand in the air in hope of getting Aryion's attention.

Aryion smiles, still sitting there as the weyrlings leave with their new lifemates. Alizriel is finally noticed, a huge grin emerging upon his features. "Aliz! How are you?" A stern look is cast toward the gaggle of apprentices, before turning back with a warm look toward his old friend. "Did you see? She impressed... mine and.. Zeya's daughter impressed."

From the sands, M'an's eyes fall on Myr and something breaks in the back of his eyes for a split second before he wipes it away. The telltale tick in his left temple begins, however, betraying him. Nevertheless, his voice is soft and strong. "It has been a very trying night for everyone, but for none perhaps so much as yourselves. I know that many of you are disappointed, but I must remind you that simply being here is proof that you have the potential to be a rider. Not everyone finds their lifemate the first time - or the second - or even the third." At the last he nods to one of the older candidates, a caverns woman who's been through this a time or two already. "Fort Weyr has been very proud to have you among us. All of you." And now he glances briefly at Vaethe. "And we would be honored if you continued to stay among us. You are welcome to make the Weyr your home for as long as you like, whether you choose to Stand again or not."

Alizriel nods. "Yes, congratulations! She looks like she'll make a fine rider." She smiles slightly as she watches the apprentices mill about. Time goes by so fast...

From the sands, M'an glances over the much-decimated Candidate group again before taking a deep breath and continuing. "Now, however, you are welcome to join the feast in the living cavern. Please remember that those who have just Impressed have been good friends to many of you over the past months, and they still have need of your friendship. The bonds you forge now are not easily forgotten." There's the briefest pause. "I will be available to any of you who would like to speak to me. Now let's get off these Sharding hot Sands."

From the sands, M'an hurries off the burning sands towards the entrance's relief.

Aryion casts another stern look toward the apprentices, a few of them finally getting the message and settling down. "I had heard that you were the Smith up here, but I guess the times I came up to see Zey I kept missing you. I don't know if you heard, but Zeya... months after she left me, right after she had Zeyion in fact, she died in an accident. I only learned a few turns ago about our daughter." Gulping, he glances back toward the sands for a moment, then turns back with grin again. "Anyway.. sad tales for later. How have you been?"

Alizriel frowns in shock and concern. She edges a little closer to place a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Oh... Aryion... I'm so sorry. I guess I was just so busy with the move up here and all, I never heard. It's been going alright for me I suppose..."

Aryion offers her his charming grin, patting her hand softly. "Zeyion came to me about four turns ago, so the hurt is long past. I think even Zeya would be happy by what our daughter accomplished here tonight." Another smith journeyman who accompanied the group rounds up the all the youngsters, ushering them out toward the center bowl, leaving the old friends time to talk. "That's good to hear. There are several people here at Fort I still need to touch base with, you going to go to the party?"

Alizriel returns his smile, the frown smoothing from her forehead. "Yes, I think I will. Faranth knows I spend too much time in my workshop as it is..." She runs her fingers through her hair to dislodge the pebbles that had trickled into it earlier.

The Wisdom of the Elders

2006-02-18T13:20:00.000-05:00

Living Cavern
Flawlessly carved archways highlight the uniform walls that extend upwards into the cavern's near total darkness above. The night hearth abides beside the largest egress, while along the northern span a handcarved staircase ascends into the kitchens. To the east a dais supports the long Weyrleaders' table; smaller table-boards align the walls nearby. The heart of the room is distinguished by gray flagstone flooring, whose skillfully interlocking slabs have been worn level by the passage of countless bootheels through the ages.

It's amazing how dirty weyrfolk can be. Tomi just boggles as she goes from one table to another, scrubbing at spilled food and drink left over from dinner. Is that redfruit juice there? And that spot, Benden white? The little candidate wrinkles her nose as she wipes clear the remnants of wherry stew and crumbs of bread. At some place settings, she just has to boggle. Did food even reach the rider's mouth? Rinsing out her rag in the bucket of washwater she carries with her, she moves on towards the Notus table.

In the postprandial lull, M'an has retreated from the Leader's table and taken up a more comfortable seat near the night hearth. A number of riders come and consult with him there, one at a time or occasionally in small groups; the conversation doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary, and the rest of the weyrfolk barely glance over. In time the visitors dwindle and the Weyrleader is left alone with his steaming mug of nasty-smelling tea and smoldering embers. He appears to like it that way, too.

Tomi saves M'an's table for last, watching the weyrleader out of the corner of her eye as she quickly wipes down her portion of the tables in the Living Cavern. It's just her luck that the Weyrleader chose a table in her section to ponder whatever Weyrleaders ponder while situated next to a dying fire. And as fervently as she wishes, he doesn't seem to be inclined to move. "Weyrleader M'an," the little candidate squeaks shyly towards the bronzerider, trying to remember her manners so as to avoid irritating the big bad wolf in any way. "I'm sorry, but I need to wipe down this table. I'll be quick, sir, I promise." She twists the rag between her small hands, looking rather un-Tomi-like. Where's the bold girl that gets into fistfights with the boys? Or the adventurous weyrbrat that puts crawlies in people's shoes?

It takes M'an more than a moment to respond; in fact, it almost seems as if he's fallen asleep, for he jerks his head back a bit and gives it a little shake before lifting it to blink over at the smallest Candidate. "Hm? Oh." His voice is very soft, as deep as always, and sounds tired - so tired he's not even bothering to hide it. "Of course, Tomi." A long arm reaches long fingers to curl around the mug and draw its noxious contents to his chest, while his other hand seizes the few hides he'd collected from his cronies and underlings. "Please, go ahead."

The little candidate does a quick but thorough cleaning of the wood in front of the Weyrleader first before moving on to the rest of the table. Finally finished with her chore, Tomi drops the rag back into her bucket and makes to leave, only something stops her. For some reason M'an doesn't seem as terrifying tonight. He sounds old, and tired... and old. The lack of spryness that the little candidate is used to has her standing worriedly to the side of the rider as she screws up her courage enough to ask, "Weyrleader M'an, is everything okay?" There's probably nothing that she can do to help, but she feels compelled to offer anyway. It rather frightens her to think that a scion of the weyr can look so incredibly mortal.

M'an is either an indomitable tyrant or a fallible old man, and Tomi can't decide which she wants him to be? That's so unfair. Fortunately, the bronzerider stopped expecting life to be fair a long, long time ago. Again, his response is delayed, making it seem doubtful that she was even heard. But no, after a drawn-out sigh he turns to look at the Candidate. The skewed light from the fire throws his wrinkles into high-relief, makes the shadows around his eyesockets even deeper, so that only the faintest gleam can be seen from their walnut depths. Though it's faint, it does radiate warmth, and there seems to be the slightest upturn at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, Tomi," he says mildly, "Everything is okay for now. Is everything okay with you?" And you know, it sounds like he really wants to know, like your favorite old Uncle.

It's not Tomi's fault, M'an's strict and tossing Candidates out willy-nilly one moment and then quietly pensive the next. She's young and everything's black and white to the little Candidate. Well, everything but the Weyrleader. He seems to stubbornly slip from one category to the other with deceptive ease, an ease that catches the poor candidate off-guard. So before she knows it, she's dropping down with a soft sigh next to the bronzerider and sharing all of her teenage worries. Poor M'an didn't know what he was getting himself into. "No it's not," the tiny candidate replies mournfully, shoulders slumping with her confession. "I don't understand boys, Weyrleader. Why are they so dumb?" Yeah, Tomi claims no fault in her little dispute with her best friend because that might mean that she was wrong. And Tomi hates to be wrong. "I mean, how would Aoifen like it if I went and kissed his friends? I bet he'd be mad. Wouldn't you be mad, sir, if Weyrwoman Zinia went around kissing other riders?"

M'an stifles the sigh that springs to his lips yet again. He thought he'd left teenage worries behind him Turns ago, but recently discovering a daughter has brought home the point that he's completely out of touch with the little devils. In that light, he turns a sympathetic ear to Tomi, propping his chin in his hand and leaning on the arm of his chair towards her. "Boys take a lot longer to grow up than girls do, generally," explains the Weyrleader. He should know, he was one. "I have a feeling that he would be mad if you kissed his friends. But that doesn't mean he's smart enough that you'd be mad if he kissed yours." Now he's smiling openly, if faintly. "And I have to admit that I'm not mad at all when Zinia goes around kissing other riders. After all, I'm old enough to be her grandfather, and who wants to kiss their grandfather?"

Silly M'an should know better than to ask a teenage girl how she's doing. Especially one as vocal as Tomi is. Ah well, perhaps next time he'll think twice before asking how the little candidate is faring. Still, the wisdom that he imparts to the tiny blonde has not gone amiss as aquamarine eyes light up with gained understanding. "Aoifen is awfully immature," she nods her head emphatically. Pot. Kettle. Black. "And he's never been kissed before so I guess maybe he doesn't know about not kissing my friends." Looking much happier than she has for days, impulse drives the little candidate to lean over and give the Weyrleader a quick peck on his weathered cheek. "I'd kiss you like that all the time, sir, if you were my grandfather." She sits in silence a moment and then asks worriedly, "Sir, if someone told you a secret and you accidentally told someone else that secret, do you think that would mean the person who told you that secret would be mad and not want to be your friend anymore? Even if you didn't mean to tell?"

As tender childish lips land on his grizzled old cheek, M'an blinks a few times, and the small smile that had been playing about his mouth grows a little bit. "Well, I appreciate that, Tomi," he says with grave warmth. "I think I envy your grandfather all those nice kisses." On the matter of secrets, he "Hmmmmm"s and thinks a bit. "I think it would depend on what kind of secret it was, and who I'd leaked it to. Sometimes you have to tell secrets to keep people safe." Stodgy Weyrleader, always getting concerned about Pern's seedy underbelly. He needs to lighten up. "But it doesn't sound like it was that kind of secret, if you didn't mean to tell it. I'm sure that if you explain that it was a mistake, and learn to be more careful, they'll forgive you." Pausing, he nods at his own widsom. "In fact, if they're worth being friends with, they'll forgive you. If they don't, then I would find a new friend."

Tomi looks rather disgruntled at the advice. It started out so promising, the little candidate even nodding in agreement a time or two. But then the Weyrleader mentioned finding new friends. "But sir," the weyrbrat counters worriedly, "I'm running out of friends as it is. Risly won't talk to me anymore, but that was okay because she wasn't my bestest best friend. That was Jasen, but then he started kissing Elisabeta and he said he was too grown up to be friends with me. That he had more important things to do. What's more important that having snowball fights with your best friend? But I didn't mind because I met Aoifen and he was a bajillion times more fun than Jasen ever was. Only then he started making googly-eyes at Zeyion and I got really mad and yelled at him. And it was my Turnday, too. And now I accidentally told Nicon that Zeyion likes him and what if she won't be my friend anymore?" Tomi's beginning to believe that she's going to have to go through life friendless. Why did no one ever mention that growing up was so very, very hard?

Oh, people mention that growing up is hard quite frequently, but the young never listen. M'an knows this is so, because he gave up on trying to convince youngsters Turns past. "Ah, you told Nicon that Zeyion likes him? Well." He treats the subject matter with all the courtesy of a major Holder conclave, though fond humor simmers in the depths of his dark eyes. "She may not realize it, Tomi, but if Zeyion really likes Nicon, she'll be much happier in the long run if he knows about it. Because we boys are so dumb, you see, we don't realize that girls like us until someone tells us. And then we can start thinking about whether or not we like them back. So without people like you, to tell us these things and make us realize how dumb we are, people would never get together in the first place." Well, there's always greenflights, but that's not the same.

Why did Tomi ever think that M'an was scary? It's hard to reconcile the very disciplined Weyrleader with the kind soul sitting next to her, so the little teenager gives up trying. Instead, she absorbs his wisdom, letting it sink in and fill her young mind until her bright aquamarine eyes fairly dance with the possibilities. "Yeah," she agrees solemnly, "Boys are dumb. But not you, Weyrleader," she tacks on quickly, eyes widening a little at the little faux pas. "I guess bronze dragons only pick the non-dumb boys because Weyrsecond Kh'dan's not dumb either." Ah, the misconceptions of youth. "D'you think if Nicon Impressed bronze he'll realize that Zeyion's really, really nice and then kiss her? Because when I accidentally told him, he kinda ran away, sir." And Tomi may be young, but she figures that running away is never a good sign.

The Weyrleader pauses a moment here to ruminate on how best to explain young interpersonal interactions to this charmingly naive girl. He doesn't want to think about what his life will be like if she Impresses. "One thing you may not realize, Tomi, is that dumb boys find smart, pretty girls like yourself and Zeyion absolutely terrifying." As she absolves him of this stupidity, he bobs his head in grateful acceptance. "I don't think Impressing bronze will help Nicon get over that fear, unless his lifemate happens to be especially perspicacious. You see, when we're around smart, pretty girls, we boys are suddenly aware of how very stupid we are, and how clumsy and ugly, compared to you. We feel... awkward and embarrassed. Sometimes we run away. Sometimes we pretend not to care. But really, we're just afraid that you won't like us, because we are stupid and clumsy and ugly." He's not entirely certain she's ready for these truths, but there's no time like the present to grow up.

"What do you mean," Tomi asks, wide-eyed and just a wee bit lost. "Nicon's not stupid or clumsy or ugly. I mean, sure he won't go catch trundlebugs with me, but that just makes him boring." And boring definitely wasn't on the list. "And Zey thinks he's handsome, she told me so." Pause. "Maybe I should tell Nicon that, then he won't be afraid!" Beaming up at the Weyrleader, the small candidate looks rather pleased with herself as she sets her legs to swinging in front of her happily. Only to pause. Then ask curiously, "What's per... persm... perspeckmacious, sir?" It's such a big word. Maybe weyrleaders have to know words like that just to impress the Lords and Masters that he has to rub shoulders with.

From the shadows of the bowl a figure emerges, the form of a girl who is not yet a woman. As Zeyion steps into the light of the living caverns, several things are very quickly revealed. Slightly puffy eyes, a thoughtful expression, and hands both stuck in her pants pockets, all clear signs of contemplative thought. Eyes still downcast, this particular candidate weaves through tables toward her destination, the night hearth, anyone and anything in her way for the moment almost completely ignored.

Maybe more Weyrleaders need forty Turns with not much to do but read old records from Landing. "Perspicacious means perceptive, able to see and understand things clearly, especially the hearts and minds of others." M'an shakes his head slightly at Tomi's desire for further intervention: "Part of being successful in interacting with others is knowing when to say things, and how much to say. You've already gotten the ball rolling, Tomi. Let them have time to think about things and they'll start discussing it on their own. They're both good people, so have some faith in their ability to interact with each other. And besides," he breaks into a grin, "if you don't stick your nose in anymore, they can't blame anything more on you." CYA, my friend.

"Ah," the little candidate finally nods her head in understanding. "Wouldn't it be nice if everyone had a permesacious lifemate. It would make things a whole lot easier, don't you think?" Tomi settles into a sulk at M'an's further words, but the weyrbrat has to admit that he's spoken nothing but wisdom up until this point, so he's probably right with his advice to just let things be. "If you say so," she murmurs sullenly, tacking on an almost forgotten, "sir." She pauses as a fierce scowl crosses her features and a little fist balls up. "But if he hurts her, I'm gonna pummel him." Pause. "Sir." The little candidate would like to say more about the bodily harm that poor Nicon would likely have to endure, but her light eyes catch a movement and she turns towards the entrance to the bowl in time to see a rather forlorn Zeyion making her way towards them. Popping up, she rushes to her friend. "Oh my gosh, Zey, are you okay? I'm sure they didn't mean to hurt you, they just didn't know right. And they all felt really, really bad. So please don't cry anymore because your daddy loves you and sends you the best Turnday presents." Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts.

Zeyion was in mid-stroll toward the hearth when she gets rushed by her friend, gray eyes widening as it seems that Tomi is just /there/ before her. A small smile cracks the corner of her drawn lips, her shoulders rising in a shrug. Voice is calm and maybe a touch cool. "Its okay. I... ah... know, it wasn't anyone's fault, except maybe my own for letting something that harmless get to me. I stopped crying right about the time that Nicon found me." A knowing look is cast toward her fellow candidate as she slides by her, finishing her walk toward the hearth to collect a sweetroll and klah. She offers the Weyrleader a respectful nod and a brief, "Evening Sir," before turning back to face her friend. "I /talked/ to Nicon... he told me."

M'an's lips are sealed. "Good evening, Zeyion," he greets the Candidate solemnly, giving absolutely no hint of the conversation which had transpired just prior to her entrance. Settling back into his comfy chair as he is released from explanation duty, the Weyrleader takes slow sips of his ubiquitous, foul-smelling tea as he watches the teenaged drama unfold. It's better than television.

Eep. "Nicon found you?" So the other candidate wasn't hungry after all. And then Zeyion's look and words sink in and Tomi just pales, her features turning ashen with apprehension. "I'm sorry Zey, I really am! I didn't mean to say anything, it just slipped out because he was being really, really dumb and he kept saying stuff and I got mad and it just slipped out." Looking rather scared, the little teenager tries to beg forgiveness. "Please don't hate me, Zeyion. Weyrleader M'an said that it was good that I told him because Nicon's stupid and ugly and clumsy on account of the fact that he's a boy and really, really afraid of pretty girls like you. But now that he knows, Nicon's sure to like you back. And if he doesn't, we just have to hope he Impresses a bronze because that'll make him promiscuous."

Standing there with her food, Zeyion keeps her expression quite neutral as she listens to Tomi. Although the comment about a promiscuous Nicon finally does make the candidate smile. "Oh /shards/ Tomi, I'm not mad at you, I was wondering what you would do. Come and sit down. Bet you were fretting something fierce about it, if you spoke to the Weyrleader." Shaking her head, a twinkle returning to her gray eyes, Zey plops down at the nearest table, waving a mug toward an empty seat. "Nicon and I had a rather, strange, talk. But things are out in the open between us. I am not sure what is going to happen." A bite of the 'roll is eaten followed by a sip of klah. "Oh, that's good, you had one of these yet? Wish I could cook."

If Tomi happens to glance M'an-wards, she'll catch his 'see? everything's working out just like I said it would' expression. He makes no move to enter the conversation, though, instead flipping idly over a few sheaves of paper and thinking very loudly that nothing had better happen, seeing as they're Candidates.

"Shells Zeyion," Tomi complains as she plops down near her friend, "You nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought you'd be really, really mad. I'm glad that you're not, though. What did he say, did he make you cry?" Because if he did, his face is going to have a run in with Tomi's fist. Almost as if on its own volition, the little candidate's relieved gaze drifts M'an-wards and does indeed see the Weyrleader's know-it-all expression. As she ponders just how smart Weyrleaders have to be, she returns her attention towards her fellow candidate. "I don't. All that cutting and mixing and stirring and no matter how much I try, everything always turns out burnt." So hardly worth the effort at all.

Zeyion grins, finishing offer her 'roll in a few more bites, sighing at the taste. "And no, Nicon did /not/ make me cry, I did that all on my own. From /before/..." Offering her friend a shrug, the girl sips her klah, both hands wrapping around the mug to absorb some of the drink's warmth. "I was in the galleries, where we found you that day, ironically enough. It was an interesting conversation, he said that it was a big deal to him since really no one else has ever admitted it to him. I doubt that nothing will come of it," eyes flick toward M'an very quickly, "I mean, I don't expect to impress, I'm sure he will, a bronze or a brown at the very least. Then I'll go back to Benden Hold and he will continue on here." A tired grin is directed toward Tomi, followed by a yawn. "Oh my, this has been an eventful day. I'm headed back toward the barracks. I suppose I'll see you there later?" Finishing up her drink, Zey stands, dropping the mug off in its proper place, a grin toward Tomi, a respectful nod toward the Weyrleader, and the candidate slips back down toward the lower caverns.

M'an may have looked like he was doing Weyrleaderly business, but he had an ear cocked towards the girls. Not close enough to get any details, he does at least note that no screaming or crying was to be heard. As he nods in return to Zeyion's departure, he glances over at Tomi. As soon as her friend has departed, his eyebrows lift expectantly. And....?

"He said it was a big deal?" Well that's promising right? Right? "I wish I had a promiscuous dragon right now," Tomi mutters. "Then I'd know what Nicon was thinking." Blink. "Oh no, no, of course you'll Impress Zeyion," the little candidate counters. "Any dragon would be lucky to have you as a lifemate. Even M'an agrees. He said you were pretty and smart and he knows because he's really smart. He knows all these big words that sound really, really impressive but mean the same thing as simpler words. I want to know lots of words for the same thing too," the little candidate decides. Blinking distractedly as she seems to have gone off on another Tomi-tangent, the candidate waves to her friend. "Yes, I'll be there soon." She just has a little unfinished business. Rising carefully, she makes her way back towards the Weyrleader practically bouncing in her joy. "Oh sir, you were right. She wasn't mad at all! She's really a good friend." Plopping down next to the bronzerider again, she does add a little worriedly, "But Nicon didn't say that he likes her in return. He said it was a 'big deal' whatever that means. Why doesn't he like her, yet? After all, she's really nice and pretty and fun. He's lucky that he caught her eye."

"He said it was a big deal, eh?" M'an nods knowingly, as if something's just been confirmed. "That's very important, if he admitted that. Most boys would rather stick their heads in wherrydung than admit that something's a big deal. It's not considered 'cool.' I would posit that Nicon isn't sure how he feels about Zeyion's attention - remember, she's scary to him - but that it means a lot to him that she would feel that way. You know, it's a big compliment when a girl like Zeyion likes you. You're right, he's very lucky. He may even realize that, and thus wants to proceed slowly, to ensure that he doesn't mess everything up." It's somewhat weird, the way that strategy seems inextricably mingled with politics in the Weyrleader's theories, no matter how innocent the subject matter.

"Really, you think so, sir?" Tomi takes heart in the Weyrleader's words, her face brightening considerably. And then dims slightly. "So I have to wait and see?" Pout. The little candidate /hates/ to wait, and patience certainly isn't her strong suit. It's amazing that she's not a nervous wreck when it comes to the eggs on the Sands, but perhaps that's due to the fact that the girl doesn't really believe that her lifemate is out there, waiting for her. "But I just want them to be happy, sir. And I think that they could make each other really happy." Slumping, the little candidate barely stifles a yawn. Blinking blearily, she rises slowly and covers yet another yawn. "'M sorry sir," she apologizes blearily. "It's been a long day. 'M gonna sleep now. But thank you, sir. Thank you for caring." Tomi's seen, if only briefly, more than one characteristic of a strong leader. Wisdom, yes. But more importantly, caring. With just giving her a moment of his time, M'an's made an ally for life.

"Nothing's more important than caring, Tomi," replies the Weyrleader in a voice that simply aches with the weight of truth. "And I care about this place and the personalities in it - human and dragon alike - more than anything else in the world." A soft smile gentles his words without dulling the intensity of feeling behind them; then one lanky arm unfolds to tousle the little blonde's hair in much the same way she's seen him do to any number of the weyrbrats - though she's the first girl he's done it to. "Now go to bed, kiddo. I want you fresh and perky for laundry duty in the morning."

Secrets of the Barracks... Revealed

2006-02-17T08:36:00.000-05:00

Galleries
The raised platform of multiple tiers sits atop huge natural pillars, smoothed from the passage of countless Turns, to provide seating for visitors come to attend the Weyr's Hatchings. The seats provide uncrowded viewing of the sands' burning expanse, while above, wide stone ledges afford the same courtesy to draconic guests. A lone stairway curves its way down through a side archway to the bowl.

Zeyion
Naturally straight auburn locks are tied up with a leather strip at the back of her head, natural white strips at her temples are braided as usual, wrapping back and around the long runner's tail. Large, expressive gray eyes gaze around under auburn 'brows, set in a charming heart shaped face. Her fair complexion is dusted with the faintest of freckles across the bridge of her nose, sweeping out to lightly smudge across her well defined cheekbones. Rose-hued lips are found below a pert nose, and the barest hint of a pair of dimples can be seen when she smiles. Reaching 5'6 and still growing, her slim, athletic build doesn't yet have all the curves it should, but holds the promise of a nice female figure soon to come.
Gone are Benden's colors, now a single loop of Black and Brown along with one of White is entwined upon her shoulder, indication to all that Zeyion is a Candidate at Fort Weyr.
With her new position secured, Zeyion's attire has changed slightly. Now, a tunic of the crispest white drapes her small frame, clinched at the waist with a worn black belt. Brown pants are tucked into her small black, slightly scuffed boots, and an old, yet cared for oversized black vest completes the outfit.
Hanging upon a thin leather cord upon her neck is a beautiful gold ring. This ring is in the shape of a golden dragon, curled protectively around her egg, a multi-faceted black diamond. A precious item, Zeyion is rarely seen with out it.
Zeyion looks to be in her early teens.

Nicon
Clouded, apathetic eyes nonchalantly stare from the midst of this young lad's chiseled, militaristic features. His usually thick copper curls are precisely cropped close to his scalp to stress his squared jaw and the aloof bend of his thick brows, emphasizing his hawkish regard. Moderate in height for one his age, his scrawny muscles and wiry limbs are those of an unpolished youth although his olive skin, dotted with scrapes and bruises, are that of a seasoned teenager. Despite his haughty demeanor, there is a hint of hope here and there...a smile, a smirk perhaps, upon his thin purse of his lips.
A simple knot of Fort's brown and black encircles his shoulder, a minuscule thread of pristine ivory wound through to identify him as a Candidate for the current clutch.
Smooth, carefully kept cloth covers him, the klah-brown of the thick, cotton shirt neatly buttoned just beneath his neck. His dark, ebony pants are carefully kept at waist's height with a polished black belt and a pair of meticulously shined boot finish off the plain, but practical outfit.
Nicon looks to be in his late teens.

At this late hour of the night, there is very little activity in the galleries, upon the sands the eggs still sit, watched over by a sleepy broody gold. Up towards the very top in one of the darkest corners sits a lone candidate, knees drawn up to her chest, eyes on the sands. Zeyion is fairly silent, tears flowing freely as she fingers the gold ring around her neck.

Nicon ascends quietly up the steps, pausing as he reaches the top to scan the hardening eggs below. His expression is predictably apathetic, not even a hint of interest within his eyes despite the fact that he has to pry his gaze away from the eggs. As he steps through the seemingly endless rows of seats, he finds Zeyion and at once, retreats toward the top of the stairs to stand quietly, unsure as how to approach her.

He might have stepped quietly, but her ears were sharp enough to notice his footfall. Gray eyes dart upward, scanning first the sands before glancing around the galleries. Oh no! Eyes widen further as Zeyion quickly flattens herself against the wall, hands immediately rising to wipe away the tears. Of all of them in the barracks, why did it have to be /him/ to find her. Biting her lower lip, both arms wrap around her knees, chin dropping to one. Eyes on the sands, not on Nicon, stay on the sands.

Nicon steps back to lean against the stairway, his arms forcefully tucked about his chest as he too narrows dark eyes onto the sands. Despite the heat from the sands below a shiver visibly runs down his spine, his discomfort apparent as begins to walk toward the girl, his eyes firmly focused on the ground below as he approaches.

Zeyion chances a glance toward Nicon, wincing ever so slightly as she notices that he is headed her way. Looking back toward the sands, she reaches up to finger her still visible ring, continuing to nibble on her lower lip. Oh Faranth! "I'm sorry I ran out like that, and shouted at Liaden. The, um, topic of discussion got to be a little too much for me." There, see, she can take the first step and start a conversation. Even with /him/. Gulp.

"Tomi explained it all to us, and a little more to me," Nicon says, solid footsteps finally bringing him before Zeyion. "If we would have known, I don't think anyone would have had that conversation." Even Nicon, impassive as he is, would have kept quiet. "Do you mind if I sit down?" he asks, gesturing toward the vacant seats below and beside her, his brows raised expectantly.

Zeyion glances up, nodding silently as she drops her feet back down, one hand waving toward the seat beside her. Voice is low as she replies, "I'm to blame to, I never really told anyone my past. Everyone knew about Da, but not about my mother. I should have said something..." Sighing, the girl's shoulders slump, one hand returning to finger her ring for a moment. She turns back toward him, frowning, "Wait, you said Tomi said a little more to you? What did she say?"

"I didn't know about either your mother or your father," Nicon admits as he drops into the seat and kicks his feet onto the seat before him. "Sorry, I'm just not good with those kind of details, though there were some details I learned about some feelings you have," he mildly states, apprehension building as he continues, his brow suspiciously raised. "Is there something that you need to talk to me about? Something that I need to know?"

Zeyion kicks her feet up onto the row before her, arms crossing loosely over her chest. "Its okay, I am normally fine with it, but, something a while ago just, brought up stuff I thought I had already dealt with." Bewildered, Zey turns studying the guy beside her, regarding him with a rather strange expression. "Feelings I have? Something /you/ need to know, that I need to talk to you about? Nicon, what ever do you mean?" Eyes widen, as a sudden thought occurs. "/Tomi/! You said she /told/ you..." Oh shards! Her tone flattens out, "She told you didn't she. I guess nothing stays secret in a weyr for long." Leaning back, the girl eyes the eggs. "Yea, so it is no big thing, I mean, they are my feelings, and... yea."

Nicon's expression goes from aloof to stunned in one split second; both feet drop from the atop the bench as he leans forward, hands rung through his recently shorn hair. Without looking up from the ground, he says in a voice muffled by his hands, "It's no big thing? It's never just no big thing, it's always something big." Now he looks up, exasperation gone now and replaced once more by his usual cold glare, "For what its worth, she didn't tell me purposely, it kind of just came out.."

Zeyion doesn't know what to be shocked by more, his initial reaction or the exasperation. Concern flashes across her face, one hand stretching out to lightly touch his arm, stopping suddenly. "I... simply can't see how my feelings for you would be such a /big/ deal." Sighing softly, she pulls her hand back to rest in her lap, eyes dropping downward. "I thought something along those lines, I don't believe that Tomi would ever purposely spill a friend's secret."

"It is a big deal and I don't know why." Speechless, he leans back against the bench, his arms drawn overhead to rest behind the nape of his neck. He looks down to sands, distracted, and quietly mentions, "I've never had to deal with this before, that is why its a big deal." Warily, he scans the stands and given they're empty, he leans slightly toward Zeyion, "No one has ever liked /me/ before... or at least, no one has admitted it."

Thank Faranth the galleries are fairly shadowy, because a nice blush has crept up upon the Bendenite Candidate's features. "Oh, well. Yes, I can see your point there." Blink. "Wait, no one has ever said that they liked you before? Oh come on, I'm sure someone has, they just have never admitted it. Shards, girls must have been blind and dumb where you come from." Eyes widen slightly, "I can't believe I just said that." Look at the eggs, yea, the eggs can be stared at.

Nicon snorts, his lips curved into a smug expression. "If they did, I was too busy to notice. Being a guard is all I ever trained for and its all that I ever will be. Nothing else matters besides that," he firmly states, rising to his feet with a cautious gaze that follows Zeyion's to the sands, "Well, almost nothing." Despite the presumptuous demeanor, he does smile, albeit brief as he turns back to Zeyion, "I've got to get back to the barracks to, um.... clean up my cot... but thanks for the talk, I think." Hands tucked into his pockets, he offers a departing nod as he steps toward the stairs, rushing down the many steps that lead back to the weyr proper.

Zeyion can only sit there, nodding silently. He had already moved away a short distance, when she finally speaks up. "You are welcome, Nicon... anytime." Her gray eyes follow his figure as he rushes off, before turning back toward the sands for a few minutes. Silently, and resolutely, she finally stands and makes her own way down the stairs towards the bowl exit.

Secrets Revealed...

2006-02-16T16:39:00.000-05:00

Candidate Barracks
This vaguely rectangular room contains cots, cots, and more cots, which either stand in neat, pristine rows, a clothespress at each foot, or in jumbled confusion, depending on the current residents. Metal brackets mark the smooth walls every four cotlengths, hosting shieldable glows that, when open, shine gentle circles on the low ceiling and worn floor. A desk holds a prominent place at the back of the room, opposite the lower caverns' exit and below the large slateboard that lists the room's 'occupants' and their assigned chores. Beside the slate hangs a wide 'tackboard', pinned full of important notices for the candidates to read.

Myr follows Nicon's progress through the barracks, and offers him a little smile before a, "G'day, Nicon." And then her attention shifts back to Edgar. "You got weeds this morning? Eew, that's not a nice chore. It makes your nails really dirty underneath, doesn't it? And they're just /so/ hard to clean afterwards." Her walnut-brown eyes roll, but then she chuckles. "And yes, Zeyion, I do have gossip..." She looks around the barracks to check who's there, before her gaze falls on Liaden and one eyebrow quirks upwards, questioning. Shrugging, her attention is focused back on Zeyion. "You know that Farmer girl, Paliana, that was Searched? Tall, big boobs, kinda plump? Well, apparently, she'd just given birth to a child right before she was Searched, and she just upped and left it at the cothold she was working in, and it only a few days old! Esmrina told me that." Esmrina being a well-known gossip.

Nicon grunts his response, hardly bothering to vocalize a greeting as he opens the clothepress and hastily deposits his rucksack into it, closing it just as quickly as he opened it. With an exasperated sigh, he drops into his cot, stretching his legs across the full length of it and tucking his hands firmly behind his head; though through the corner of his eye, he keeps a firm watch on Myr as she speaks, only the faintest glimmer of interest visible through his dark gaze and a dark chuckle heard at the girl's predicament. "So what happened to the babe? She's just going to leave it and hope to impress here?" he asks aloud, his gaze now fixed onto the ceiling above.

Edgar nods his head and sighs as he replies to Myr, "I sure did. I'm already feeling sore from hunching over for so many hours." He looks at his hands. Still dirty. "You're right. I thought I scrubbed all the dirt away." Candidate sighs again. "That's so gross." He places his hands on his lap and tries not to look at them. Another odd look is sent Nicon's way, but he turns his attention back to the girl beside him as he shakes his head, "How awful." The man sounds concerned, but he probably shouldn't be, since gossip, is well, gossip.

Zeyion is astounded, gray eyes wide and mouth hanging open. "She /didn't/! Oh how horrible, I knew there was something funny about her, first time I met her the day she arrived. How could a mother willingly leave a child?" Sitting up, Zeyion crosses her legs, scooping up her green to put in her lap, a mixture of horror and repulsion upon her features. "Its not right." Liaden is regarded thoughtfully, one hand sweeping her auburn locks back over a shoulder. "She could have /learned/ to care for it. It doesn't make it right what she did."

Myr shrugs at Nicon, giving him a little smile. "I dunno, I guess she left it with someone to look after it. Well, she must've done. If you see her in the baths, she's got a bit of a tummy that doesn't quite fit with her figure, and she's got those reddish marks, too. What're they called? Y'know, the ones you get when someone has a baby. "I think it's horrid how she's done it... how can she be so desperate to be a rider that she'd leave her baby behind? I mean, she should at least stay with it for a little time, and /then/ give it to a nanny to look after if she can't do it herself."

"Stretch marks, they're stretch marks." Why would Nicon know this? Who knows. Unable to resist the gossip, he rolls to his side, giving Edgar a long look countered with a raised brow before looking back to the girls that are scattered about the barracks. As he bends his elbow to prop his head upon his hand, a grimace turns his lips which parts only as he speaks, "Perhaps it is better then, that a nanny watch that kid. Obviously she doesn't want it, the nanny would be a much better parent, in my opinion."

Liaden is silent for a long thoughtful moment, mild eyes on Zeyion. "Some people could, yes. Not Paliana. What's wrong with leaving a kid with someone you know will take care of it better than you could? Not a thing, that's what." Myr gets a shrug, although it's more friendly than her earlier looks towards the girl. "Not everyone is born to be a mother. There are plenty who don't even like the job." It's Nicon that hits gold, though, and she actually smiles and gestures towards him as if to say: see?

Myr wrinkles her nose and shakes her head at Liaden. "Ok, maybe she's not cut out to be a mum, but she should still take time to bond with the baby, shouldn't she? I mean, just having a baby and then leaving it straight afterwards, that's not right. I know even /my/ mum looked after me for a little while, she didn't give me to the lower caverns until I was nearly a Turn, apparently. I was up in her Weyr, or when she was out, I was with a nanny, but she looked after me mainly. Besides, I don't like that Paliana. I think there's something funny with her head. Like she's a bit of a dimglow or something. I hope that gold doesn't pick /her/... how awful would that be?"

Zeyion sets her green down, and pulls her legs up, arms wrapping around them as she listens to the talk about the motherless child, or should that be childless mother? Gray eyes fix pointedly on Liaden, just the hint of unshed tears around their edges. "And there were some mothers who didn't realize just what they had until it was almost too late. Then when they decided what they truly wanted, the choice was taken from them. It isn't /fair/ to the mother or the /child/!" Realizing what she said, or rather practically screamed in the barracks, Zey bolts. Off the cot, through some started candidates and out toward the living caverns.

Nicon makes a sharp click with his tongue and immediately Senpri glides from his perch just above the entranceway and carefully backwings to land just besides Nicon's feet. Dainty steps are taken as the small bronze toward the candidate's stomach, where he instantly drops to curl into a ball and promptly fall asleep; all the while, Nicon watches the firelizard's progress with a smirk upon his face, an agreeable nod and a wink given toward Liaden. "Exactly, I really think that the babe is better off without her, even in the beginning. Those nannies at Fort are good, they'll love the baby much more than she would have."

Tomi is one of those startled candidates, eyes widening as her friend runs past. "Zey," she calls after the other candidate worriedly before turning back towards the barracks, eyes still wide. "Shells, what did you guys say to her." And yes, she means guys. Tomi casts a withering glare towards Edgar and Nicon, sure that one of the pair is at fault for the Bendenite's dismay. It's nothing personal, but the tiny blonde has hand her fair share of run-ins with the male of the species to be rather bitter towards them at the moment. And poor Nicon and Edgar get to bear the brunt of that bitterness.

Liaden is startled, but relatively unruffled. She spares only a quick, thoughtful, glance for Zeyion's fleeing form before returning her attention to the rest of the group. This time her smile for Nicon is wide. "Better a competent caretaker, even if it isn't the mother, mm?" She scrambles off her bed and heads for the door, tossing only a muttered "tunnelsnake duty" over her shoulder before her features close off into contemplation.

"I didn't say anything." Nicon claims his innocence as he waves his hands in the air, despite the sly smirk upon his face. "She's just being sensitive, I'm sure of it," he concludes, pushing himself up so that he's now upright with his arms lazily crossed about his chest, his dark eyes following Liaden as she departs as well. "Maybe it was something I said…"

"I don't think it was anything any of us specifically said... I think it was the conversation. Wasn't Liaden a nanny?" Myr shrugs, unwrapping the towel from its turbanesque position atop her head and letting her long, damp brown hair fall loose. She holds the towel in her lap, peering down at it and sighing. "Some people can be so touchy... see, I noticed that Liaden was kinda cool towards me when I came in, but /I/ didn't react. Just let it slide over you or bounce off or whatever you want to say. It's better than getting offended at everything everyone says." She gives Edgar's leg a quick pat as she stands up, grinning and sharing a secret little wink with him, before she stretches. "Well, I gotta go return this towel, and I'm gonna go see if there's any of that stew left from earlier. Bye, guys. And I'm not leaving because I'm offended..."

"Oh shells, you didn't talk about abandoning babies did you?" Tomi's eyes widen in horror as she settles on her cot, shaking her head in dismay. "Her mother died when she was just a baby and her uncle and his family raised her. She only recently found her father." Compassionate seafoam eyes once again follow the path the poor candidate had taken as she sighs. "Well, I s'pose it couldn't be helped. You had no way of knowing." And the little candidate would have left it at that, except Nicon had to go and be an insensitive jerk. "She was not," the blonde refutes hotly, rising to the defense of her friend. "And you, more than anyone else, should be extra nice to her. Especially considering that she-" but then Tomi realizes that she's saying too much and her mouth clamps shut as she glares furiously at the former Holder boy.

Even Nicon, who is as compassionate as a clump of thread, gulps visibly at Tomi's explanation. "Oh, shards..." is murmured, a guilty look in his eyes as he turns his head to look anywhere but Tomi as she glares fiercely at him. If he could pick up Senpri and make a run for the door, he would, but that would be the cowardly approach and besides, Tomi has captured his interest again. "Considering that she what....?"

"Considering nothing," Tomi quickly backpedals, wishing that she was better at keeping secrets. She just opens up her mouth and words just tumble out. It's a very bad habit. It gets her into constant trouble. She'd probably be more believable if she could come up with a good cover story, but the little candidate's mind goes blank. "It's something that you need to talk to her about," she finally replies after an awkward pause. "It's not my place to say anything." Nor does the little blonde want to, though she warns with an intense scowl, "But if you hurt her, I'm going to pummel you, Nicon." Ooh, scary coming from a girl who probably weighs 80 pounds soaking wet.

"Considering nothing? That is hardly an adequate answer, what do I need to talk to her about? I don't remember there being a problem? Is there something you need to tell me?" Nicon presses further, almost relentless in his pursuit as he untucks his legs and swings them over the side of his cot, his booted feet landing upon the floor with a solid thud. A brief tilt of his head returns his dark gaze to Tomi, his brow raised, his expression apathetic as usually, though there's that hint of interest in his eyes. "Come on Tomi, you can tell me, we're friends..."

"Absolutely not," the little candidate crosses her arms and looks mulish. Tomi's friends have been abandoning her with a rather disturbing frequency, she doesn't want to give them any more incentive to do so. "You just need to talk to her is all. In fact, if I were you I'd follow after her and see if she's okay. Considering you made her cry and all." The tiny blonde all but snorts her derision. "Boys. Why are you all so stupid?" Pot. Kettle. Black. And then an unreasonable ire rises up in the girl as she asks, "If a girl kissed you would you go and try to kiss another girl? And then tell everyone in that's anyone on Pern that she kissed you?" Because if Nicon would, Tomi's going to lose all her faith in men in general, not just stupid Benden weyrbrats.

Nicon blinks. "What are you talking about girl?... Tomi." He tacks on her name as an afterthought, near-black eyes staring fiercely toward the younger candidate, his arms dropped beneath him as he pushes up to his feet, quickly crossing past his cot and toward Tomi, where he abruptly stops. "Kissing another girl and telling, what does that have to do with Zeyion? I've never kissed her, not that I know of." Unless he was sleepwalking.

"Nonono," Tomi shakes her head. "Not you. Aoifen. He's the wherryheaded stupid dimglow that I kissed and then he told everyone, absolutely /everyone/ about it." As Nicon stands over her, the little candidate rises to stand upon her cot which sadly only puts her at eye level with the older boy. "I didn't say you kissed her, though it probably isn't a bad idea. But only if you don't go around and kiss other girls later, because if you do, I'll knock you well into the next sevenday." Scowl. She's tiny, but her threat is serious. She doesn't care if she gets thrashed in return, she'll make Nicon pay if he ever makes Zeyion cry. "I dunno even know if you're worthy of her first kiss, Nic. She'd be saving it for this boy named Danny."

"Who's Aoifen and why should I kiss Zeyion? First of all, we're candidates, that's not allowed." A stickler for protocol, Nicon points this out with a brisk wave of his index finger. "And.... just because this Aoifen guy did that to you, doesn't mean that all men are like that. I personally wouldn't do that but then..." he quiets and firmly shuts his mouth, the muscles in his jaw firmly clenched and visible as he looks Tomi /almost/ straight in the eye. Nostrils flare as he presses again, "I still don't see what all of this has to do with me."

"Aoifen is... was," the little candidate corrects with a scowl, "my bestest best friend. But now he's not because he's a yellow-bellied, lily-livered son of a tunnelsnake." Tomi can't say enough nice things about the poor Benden weyrbrat. "And just because we're candidates doesn't mean we can't kiss." Pause. "Does it?" The former weyrbrat's not sure how she feels about kissing, but she may want to try again. And making it forbidden just adds that extra oomph to the urge. As Nicon practically stares her down, a rather bold move for the Holder boy, Tomi's mouth opens and closes in shock. And then she finds her voice. "What are you, daft? Do I have to spell it out for you, you sharding dimglow. It's because Zeyion likes you, though Faranth knows why. She thinks your handsome and interesting and other boring stuff like that. Though I don't know what makes you so interesting, you won't even go catch trundlebugs with me." Not that the little candidate's asked, but she just has this feeling that it's not Nicon's cup of klah. Tomi looks huffy and put-out until she realizes what she just said. Clapping her hand over her mouth, she just shuts her eyes in dismay. Zeyion'll never forgive her. Never.

"Well catching trundlebugs is only so much fun...." he casually says, though the wide-eyed stare he gives Tomi completely betrays his nonchalance. Hesitantly, he takes a step back and to the side, almost as if to flee though he remains where he is for the moment. "I'm sure she's just confused, she doesn't really like me, I'm sure of it," is his explanation, continuing on with, "Perhaps I'll talk to her about it later but for now, I really need to get something to eat." And more importantly, get his thoughts together - and just like that, he bolts for the living caverns without a backwards glance.

Sinking down onto her cot, the wind taken out of her sails, Tomi just stares after Nicon with a sense of foreboding. By the first egg, what has she just done? Crawling under her furs, the little candidate wishes she wasn't too old for stuffed wherry toys. She could really use something to cuddle right about now.

Fort Weyr Color Q&A

2006-02-15T08:40:00.000-05:00

Melissa notes that we're OOC for now. No need to use the OOC header. We've decided to make this a question/answer session so that you get the info you're interested in. With the group this small, feel free to just ask your questions.

Zeyion nods, and pulls out the beanbag chair, purple of course, and plops down in it, before passing out the chocolate. Tomorrow is V-day after all. Give Taylin the extra squishy plush chair for comfort.
Candidate Barracks
This vaguely rectangular room contains cots, cots, and more cots, which either stand in neat, pristine rows, a clothespress at each foot, or in jumbled confusion, depending on the current residents. Metal brackets mark the smooth walls every four cotlengths, hosting shieldable glows that, when open, shine gentle circles on the low ceiling and worn floor. A desk holds a prominent place at the back of the room, opposite the lower caverns' exit and below the large slateboard that lists the room's 'occupants' and their assigned chores. Beside the slate hangs a wide 'tackboard', pinned full of important notices for the candidates to read.
OOC Note: Be sure to 'look tackboard' & 'look occupants' for more information.
You see Menace, Zeyion's Cot, Gabby, Finbar, Yuki, and Coca here.
Myr, Taylin, Zeyion, and M'an are here.
Obvious exits:
Lower Caverns
Taylin squizzles down into a feather chair with a lengthy sigh, then begins to ponder "When it comes to Impressions any color, what do you look for in the candidates? Just for future reference."

Melissa shakes her head. "Originality, interest in character, character development, understanding of the game, a certain level of maturity.. but this isn't about what we look for, it's about the colors. :)

M'an feels that the ability to clearly separate IC from OOC, and a certain amount of personal detachment is necessary in any color, but particularly metallics.

Zeyion grins, popping a few M&M's in her mouth, nodding in agreement with M'an. "Okay, I guess start with the big shiny gold. Specifics about riding her, I know that it is 2 turns before she rises, what are I wouldn't say hazards of riding, but, things that in your opinion could potentially develop. Stuff out of the ordinary?"

Taylin muddles something out of her foggy brain.

M'an says, "Out of the ordinary, you mean as opposed to with the other colors?"

Zeyion nods. "Yes, exactly..."

You say, "ICly? Well, there's always the danger of two golds rising at the same time, but whenever a gold is getting ready to rise the other golds leave the weyr. Usually the males know in advance even of the gold or her rider."

Zeyion grins. "ICly and OOCly. What are some of the hardest things about riding a gold, either on this game or another?"

Pwyll ducks in from the lower caverns.

Taylin says, "What are the differences IC'ly and OOC'ly about riding other colors, either on this game or another."

M'an says, "You mean the differences between riding the other colors?"

Taylin nods. That and compared to Metallics. Sorry my train of thought and my fingers aren't working along side each other that well.

M'an waits to see what Melissa has to say about Zeyion's question before answering (since he has no input on what being shiny and yellow is like).

Pwyll can picture M'an shiny and yellow, just not on something shiny and yellow :)

You say, "ICly, gold is a lot of work. Not only do you have to wash, oil, and tend that huge bulk, but you have to tend to the weyr as well. You have to take care of the records, make sure they're in order, coordinate with the Headwoman in making sure that the Weyr 'household' is run properly. You also have to see to the health of the Weyr in general. Making sure that the Healers and kitchens are properly supplied."

Zeyion giggles. Just had an image from a movie pop into my head, from Bubble Boy, the whole 'Bright and Shiny' cult. Sorry... :D *nods to Melissa*

Kh'dan walks in.

You say, "OOCly, it's a whole 'nother kettle of fish. Not always, but often you're under the scrutiny of everyone in your Weyr as well as the candidate group you Impressed with. Why did you deserve it over the others? The magnifying glass descends and those who were certain you were the worst person for the job can start picking apart everything you do. On the flip side, some may try to attach themselves to you as if you've been fast friends forever. There may also be the perception that you're OOCly in charge or know more than the rest, but those are the extremes. The most stressful time for a goldrider on VP should be during a Search cycle, and even then 'co is there to take the burden off. "

Taylin says, "Fishbowl Effect?"

Zeyion says, "Big Shiny effect..."

M'an could show you a Big Shiny effect, but Melissa would kill me.

Melissa shoves M'an into a sock.

aylin deals with Fishbowl to an extent at times on DOTM even though her bond has nothing to do with leadership.

Taylin sits on the rock ontop of M'an.

Zeyion joins Taylin sitting on the rock ontop of M'an.

M'an gets a start on Tay's question: "ICly, the differences between riding metallics and other colors are limited by two things: the dragon's physical capabilities, and the rider's mental capabilities. Ie, the smaller dragons can't ride as long a sweep as a bronze or brown, but they'll be more useful for chasing the errant bits of Thread or reaching more concealed places. As for the riders, the rank a rider reaches depends on their ambition, really. Though of course WW and WL are only open to the metallics. Other than that..."

Kh'dan is already dealing with a fishbowl effect and I just Impressed this gold on Saturday ;P

You say, "And the only job open to goldriders is WW, be it senior or otherwise. You know that you'll never be anything else, so there's very little flexibility."

Taylin nods. It'd be a little odd for a gold to try to teach 'lings how to flame.

M'an shrugs, "And it depends on the WL. M'an, for instance, is not as inclined to put the smaller chromatics in WiL, Weyr2, or WLM positions. He's a biased old fogey."

Kh'dan ehs. Goldriders can make good teachers, on an, uh... damnit, what's that word? Uhm. Not impromptu. Not imaginary... Uh. Informal!

Kh'dan snickers. Informal basis.

Zeyion says, "In addition to that, one last thing about gold, after weyrlinghood there is additional weyrwoman training too correct? ICly?" Blinks at M'an. "M'an is /biased/?"

M'an isn't exactly the paragon of virtue and perfection you've come to expect, sad to say.

Kh'dan says, "Because a homosexual bronzerider is better than a blue or greenrider ;P"

M'an nods at Kh'dan. All he cares about is the size of your... dragon.

Zeyion collapses back into her chair. "No! Say it isn't so!" Luffs da M'an.

You say, "Ooooh yes. Mostly it's more of an Apprentice/Master sort of training. You're drilled in your ballads to make sure that you have a firm grasp of history as well as tradition. You're taught how to handle record and list keeping, and hopefully pick up a grasp of how to deal with people. The latter doesn't always work, though. Look at Kylara. >.>"

Taylin bah---Links. I get booted and recon to a Khard comment.

Pwyll nodnods "Basically the juniors need to know as much as the Seniors about the weyr and tradition and the inner workings. Add to that a dash of politics and a huge lifemate and you have a very very full day."

Pwyll knocks the 's' of Senior.

Taylin says, "Kylara was a disaster."

M'an notes another aspect of IC goldrider life that can be overlooked: dealing with the Weyrleader. They run the gamut from F'lar to T'ton (it was T'ton, right? the stodgy one?) and it's up to the Weyrwoman to find a way to make him work the best way for the Weyr.

Taylin says, "Compromise?"
That is illogical.

Zeyion grins. "Kylara is such a dysfunctional goldrider. Great character in the books." Nods to Melissa and Sarika/Pwyll. "I can't think of much anymore to ask about gold, and I ride bronze else*Mu, what about browns?"

Kh'dan says, "Oh yes. There will be a lot of compromise involved - most of it on his end, not hers. Remember, he can easily be replaced, but you NEVER want to take your Weyrleader for granted, that's how you lose them."

You say, "G'var's stodgy. You just have to learn how to play them, that's all. n.~ Browns are a great middle of the line color. They make great W2s, Wingleaders, or Wingriders. They can't be Weyrleader, but large browns can and do catch the younger golds from time to time. "

Kh'dan can give a very long, very intense lecture on the best way to be a Weyrleader ;) I have, several times :P

M'an's first dragon was a brown. They're very multifaceted dragons, combining stamina and more mobility than bronzes. I like to think of them as something of an anchor for the Weyr, ready to fill in wherever they're needed.

Kh'dan has never been able to play a brown successfully until Abydeth.

M'an erps at Kh'dan. So.. how'm I doing?

Taylin has a brown on PernMush.

Kh'dan says, "Well, as a Weyrwoman, M'an, you're doing wonderful."

Melissa misses brownriding.

Pwyll does too :(

M'an sighs and guesses he's due for a lecture.

Kh'dan pets. You can't be a typical Weyrleader without a Weyrwoman to support, dear.

Kh'dan would go into it more, but I don't think our Candidates really care too much about the bronze side of things ;)

Taylin says, "Why be typical when you can be slightly odd and still keep the weyr running well."

Zeyion scratches her head, "Was it T'ton or R'gul? Anyway. Now, with allowing females to ride brown on VP, with the Thread Plotline coming up, how do you see that effecting a /female/ brown rider. I've always thought the idea of a female brown was cool. Oh no! Its all great!"

Kh'dan shakes his head. Odd isn't always good in a leader-type character.

Zeyion coughs and looks at her WL on Settlers. Grin.

Taylin doesn't mean odd odd just different.

And how does this make you feel, Melissa?

M'an nods to Kh'dan. A leader needs to know how to interact with people and understand them in order to get what needs doing done.

Kh'dan gives a slight smile. Different is normal, these days. But you don't want to be too radical, or quirky, or it affects the whole Weyr. Leaders have far less leeway on personality quirks and temperament than normal players do.

Melissa moves on the the question at hand. "I think it's going to effect female brownriders about the same way that it's going to effect the males in most respects. The females may be effected more in their choices of having children, though. The Weyr can ill-afford to have the female riders grounded due to gravid conditions.

Zeyion ahs. "Didn't think about the childbearing issue. Very interesting."

Taylin nods, me too Zey

Kh'dan nods. While on most games it's common for riders to be popping out babies like mad, canonly, most female riders would take many steps to avoid unwanted, unplanned pregnancies. Then again, no female rider should EVER have an unplanned pregnancy. Since she can, and will often, go between, any children should really be planned. *cough*

Taylin says, "You mean the greenstuff or a quick trip between?"

Zeyion says, "Both would be my guess"

Kh'dan says, "The greenstuff is a game invention. It has no bearing on canon Pern. However, all it takes is a trip or two between to abort."

You say, "Actually, it's mentioned in one of the books. "

Taylin thought is was, my brain is just sloggy when I mentioned it.

Kh'dan eyes. Which one? I searched very diligently for it.

Pwyll seems to recall something about Kylara?

Zeyion peers. "I thought it was as well. Or it was mentioned in DLG."

You say, "It's not mentioned as being green stuff. It's an offhand comment to Robinton's mother about ways to prevent and there is some mention to Kylara. However, it's important to remember that Anne mentions things that magically disappear or change completely later on. "

Taylin says, "Very true."

Zeyion nods. "Very true."

You say, "We have to take what works best for us and let the rest filter through. "

Kh'dan thought there were herbs that could prevent conception, but they were sketchy at best. I can't see that contraceptives would be very canon, since women in the Holds were expected to bear child after child, women in the crafts were expected to be chaste unless married... and popping out bebies, and women in the Weyr were much like Holders.. and there were no female riders except queens.

Kh'dan says, "But that's a debate for another day :P"

You say, "It's mentioned as being used in the weyrs, the hold and craft women aren't really told about it much. Goes against purpose. But, as you said. Ok, any other color questions?"

Kh'dan hmms. Have we discussed blues and greens?

Taylin digs about in her head. "Any thoughts on blues and greens?

Zeyion says, "And later Tia and Mirrum.. bah, can't spell it right. "

Kh'dan says, "Blues. I love blues. To me they are the most versitile dragons, personality wise. Despite all we do, most golds, bronzes, browns, and greens end up with very standardized personalities, based on the books. But blues were very rarely mentioned, and thus we've been able to give them more varied characteristics. They're also damn fun to play."

You say, "I love blue. Honestly, it's one of the most fun colors to play because no one really expects you to fill a certain role. Like any other dragon color, you can go against stereotypes and the best thing is that there's very little stereotyping of them."

Kh'dan bonds with Melissa.

Kh'dan's favorite dragons have been blue - some of them, anyway. And they're so pretty!

Zeyion has seen some amazing blue dragon descs. "Had a good friend who loved her blue, two of them actually. Never thought about that aspect of riding blue. Neat."

Taylin saw some awesome blue desc on PW recently. I had a blue for a short time then the game closed.

Kh'dan says, "As for greens. Well. Greens. They're fast, they're fun, and they're numerous. And what can we say, we all enjoy flights. I think the one thing that irks me about greens, however, is how stereotyped their riders become. Women usually become sex-kittens, and men either do the same, or end up gay... and sex-kittens. And we won't discuss their behavior when proddy ;) But for the most part, greens are very fun, and very necessary, ICly and OOCly. Without greens, we'd have a lot of very frustrated male dragons, and the Weyrs would not be able to meet Thread with any kind of effectiveness."

You say, "Sex kittens until they become proddy, when both sexes become (Pardon the language) stark raving bitches. It's fine if you want to play the stereotype of any color, because those stereotypes do portray an accurate view of some of the riders. But for every sex kitten turned bitchslap there are an equal amount of those who hide in their weyrs when their dragons are about to rise and who are soft spoken or any other range of personality. They're like snowflakes. They're all different. Thankfully they all have higher body temperatures than ice. >.>"

Taylin giggles. Ah yes, fast and furious greens and their numerous flights. Fun, exciting and rather eye opening as well.

Kh'dan grins. Aye Melissa, exactly. Stereotypes are fun - but variety is the spice of life, and we don't need any more T'on's ;)

You say, "No, but he just keeps on reproducing them, doesn't he? XD"

Taylin says, "How many kids did we figure T'on had in the firt turn after he graduated?"

Kh'dan shakes his head. I don't really want to discuss it.

M'an says, "Are there any other questions?"

Taylin doesn't have any at this moment.

Zeyion agrees, "One T'on is enough. Greens are great, I love my greenrider, she is a real enjoyment to play because of the variety. I'm good."

Kh'dan wants to say one more thing: No matter what color you get, don't feel you have to play by the rules as defined by Perndom and the books. I've played flirtatious blues, evil bronzes, bitchy golds, and shy greens. Explore the possibilities! Don't feel that your character's personality limits you to only one color of dragon - choose the colors you want based on what colors you like, not the stereotypes they entail. We can create a perfect dragon - regardless of its hue.

And how does this make you feel, Melissa?

Melissa agrees. n.n "I'd like to wrap by reminding that questionnaires are due tomorrow."

Zeyion grins and nods at Kh'dan. "Very true." A nod goes to Melissa too, "Just wrapping mine up now. One has already been sent in." Hugs everyone. "Thanks! Very informative!"

M'an would like to mention that if only one color will really do, please don't list alternatives unless you'd truly be satisfied with them.

Taylin has hers in, at least I know I sent it to the email addy in the 'nnaire.

Kh'dan nods. There is no shame in going -only. It's much better than putting down multiple colors and idling out because you didn't get the one you really want :)

You say, "Because we want to give you what you really want. Now. Enough of the talk from the old aunties *pokes M'an* Ok, old aunties and the ancient guy. >.>"

Preparing for Thread - Benden Hold - 2/11/06

2006-02-12T23:07:00.000-05:00

2/11/2006
Courtyard
Ancient flagstones pave the entirety of the courtyard, the crevices kept clear of any vegetation that should attempt to take root. The area is well kept, though the passage of time and many feet has worn the area smooth, and surrounded by high walls that lack not for maintenance. The Hold proper looms as the focal point, with smaller outbuildings for utility as well as the use of the small Craft Annex that is the most recent addition.
The nights are growing noticeably shorter as the promise of summer hangs around the corner. Spring has yet to complete its cycle of rebirth though, as the nightly light showers and quickly growing vegetation attest.

Namyste
A net of silk lace and seed pearls captures a wealth of golden hair, pulling it away from her face while leaving tendrils to drift down her back to her tiny waist. Her heart-shaped face is rather sweet, large sea-blue eyes framed by pale lashes, her creamy skin flawless. Her lips, a pale-rose in hue, are bow-shaped, and seem to give her a look of perpetual amusement. Petite, almost dainty, the slight curves and slender lines of her body emphisize her youth and innocence. Barely five foot in height, there's still a promise of impending maturity that hovers about her, not quite yet realized.
Tastefully understated, the deceptively simple cord of a Keroonese Blood Daughter curves its way around Namyste's shoulder, proclaiming her rank without fanfare.
A dress of thin, fine fabric drapes her petite body, long sleeves flowing down her arms to spray out at her wrists in a flare of fabric. The wide collar forms a frame for her swannish neck and delicate shoulders. The pale blue bodice is laced from just above her breasts to just below her navel, where the fabric joins the waist of her flowing skirt. The outer skirt is split in front to reveal the creamy fabric of her underskirt. Roses chase each other up either side of the slit, dark gold thread gleaming against the sky-hued background, while vines twist and turn their way around the hem of both skirts, forming an almost unbroken line. Functional, if stylish, boots peek out from beneath the hem, adorning her tiny feet. Flamboyant and Shocking Snake Hatchling perches on Namyste's shoulder.
Namyste looks to be in her early twenties.

Tiranth arrives from Above Benden Hold.
J'kar slips off Tiranth's back with a sigh.
Tiranth
Velvety brown flows over a head that's just a tad too large and a muzzle just a touch too rounded, blending into richer chocolate and mocha tones as it reaches smallish head-knobs. His torso warms to mocha overlayed with just a touch of cream that carries over onto wings the shade of klah. Faint hints of red touch upon his neck and 'ridges, not appearing again until the faintest hint upon gangly limbs and tail.
Tiranth is 8 turns 3 months and 22 days old.
J'kar
Short, brown locks partially frame this young man's face. He has high cheek-bones and above these are set brown eyes flecked with amber. His brows are straight and rather bushy. He has a thin moustache that is well trimmed and his face is slightly tanned, bespeaking time spent in the sun. He also has a few freckles, giving him a youthful appearance, and his thin lips are often parted in a smile. His body is broad-shouldered and has a bit of bulk about it.
He is wearing a dark, tan coloured tunic that is covered by a vest and a jacket over all that. The jacket is black, and carries Benden Weyr's badge on it in red and black, and has across the entire back the insignia of Kaze Wing. His thick, wher-hide pants are a darker shade of tan than the tunic, and are held up by a black belt with a metal, square-shaped buckle. On his feet are sturdy, black boots that lace up to his knees. He wears a leather thong around his neck with a firelizard motif wrought from iron.
J'kar looks to be in his mid twenties.

J'kar slides off Tiranth with a small thud. Removing his helmet and goggles, he looks around the Courtyard of his former home.

Japh stands with a small group of fellows, mostly his age or younger, who are equipped as workmen and carpenters, or those aspiring to be such. His face is animated as he explains some handy process to the men, enthusiasm lighting his typically nondescript features. At some obscure woodworking joke, the group breaks up into laughter.

Aryion arrives from Outside the Craft Annex.

Japh glances over from his cluster of handyman friends and happens to note Aryion's figure among the crowd. "Journeyman," he calls with cordial respect, cheer still coming through in his voice. "Just tellin' Krisfer an' Ghordis 'bout tha' pipe I brought y' t' other day!" One might note that he is in the corner of the yard farthest away from arriving dragons, which he deliberately does not look at if he can possibly help it.

A group of Smithcraft apprentices emerge from the direction of the Craft Annex, all trailing after the imposing figure of Smith Journeyman Aryion. After giving the apprentices a stern look, they all fall in line talking quietly by themselves as the Journeyman approaches the gathering crowd. Blue eyes land on Benden's Lady, and a deep bow is offered. "Lady Namyste, I have assembled a group of Smithcraft apprentices to assist where ever they are needed. I await your orders, my Lady." His sharp blue eyed gaze is then turned toward J'kar, who is also offered a respectful nod. "Brownrider J'kar, an honor." As his name is shouted out, Aryion turns, the first sign of a smile crossing his features as Japh is spotted, and a hand is thrown up in greeting. "Ah, good day Japh! Send them my way..."

J'kar slaps Tiranth affectionately on the neck and removes his gloves as well. Returning the greeting as he nears the group that includes the Smiths and Japh, he also greets the Lady. "Lady Namyste. A pleasure to see you. Benden's duties to Smith-Hall." This last is directed to Aryion. Japh is also greeted with a smile. "Nice to see you again." He says.

"Benden Hold offers it's deepest gratitude to the Weyrs and Halls for their aide in this endevour." Namyste's smile is warm and welcoming as she inclines her head in greeting to those gathering. "As soon as Fort joins us, we will begin our preparations. I believe Weyrleader M'an has an idea of what needs to be done - or so I was given to understand when this was planned out." She gestures vaugely. "Until the Fortian contingent arrives, I suggest ensuring you have everything you might need and relaxing - for there will be little time for such once we begin."

Kajaith arrives from Above Benden Hold.

"C'mon, lads, thi' way," directs Japh to his companions as Aryion calls them over. This brings him in proximity to J'kar, and a smidgen of his reticence melts away as he realizes that he knows this dragonrider. Or rather, he's seen him before. It's so hard to tell them apart from a distance. "Benden's duties, sir," mutters the handyman, ducking his head respectfully to the brownrider. This is convenient; saves him the trouble of ducking it again to Lady Namyste. Or so you'd think, but it seems he takes special care to lift his eyes and then drop them in her presence. "M'lady," the merest murmur. He'd seem tongue-tied, but he generally does.

Cairth arrives from Above Benden Hold.

Aryion offers Namyste another short bow and excuses himself, blue eyes sparkling at the mention of Fort Weyr arriving soon. His long strides quickly bring him to his group of apprentices, a few hushed words has one or two scrambling back into the craft annex. "Once Ranny and Zandyr return with the tools, disperse them around between you. I want everyone to stay in groups of three, and I will let you know what your assigned tasks are." A few apprentices nod or mumble 'yes, sirs', but once the dragons begin apearing in the skies, all noise ceases. "Look at that," is yelled out from an apprentice in the back, and Aryion turns to see the landing of the Benden gold. "Hey, isn't that the bronze Cairth with Fort's Weyrleader?" Ary's arms cross, a huge grin appearing as his auburn haired daughter is spotted upon the bronze back. "It's Zeyion," is shouted by another older apprentice.

Astride Cairth, "Hello again Weyrwoman," Tomi waves a hand enthusiastically before gulping and turning her head to glance back at M'an. Oh yeah. "My duty to you, your dragon, and Benden Weyr," she adds, her tone much more contained. Well, as contained as one can be when shouting across dragonlengths. The fact that the goldrider probably can't hear her doesn't faze the girl, though. Opening her mouth to say more, the words are torn from her tiny lips as Cairth begins his eager descent. Probably a good thing considering how chatty the little candidate can be at times.

Astride Cairth, M'an's fingers deftly release the Candidates from the riding straps' grasp. He's got important people shmoozing to do, so he needs to delegate a bit: "Candidate Liaden, would you mind taking charge of your fellows for a few moments while I meet with Lord Torikan and the others? Just keep everyone in an organized group until I get back."

Tomi unstraps and dismounts from Cairth.
Liaden unstraps and dismounts from Cairth.
M'an slips off Cairth's back with a sigh.

Astride Cairth, As Cairth comes in to land, Zeyion waves and nods toward the Benden Weyrwoman, not even trying to offer greetings across such a distance. What catches her eye all to quickly however, is the sight of her father at the head of a group of Smithcraft candidates. Beaming, Zeyion throws up one arm waving, yelling loudly, "Greetings father!" Glancing quickly toward M'an she nods, "Sir, may I go and see my father for a moment? I'll return to the group right afterwards."
Zeyion unstraps and dismounts from Cairth.

Kajaith backwings gently as she lands, careful to not send any dust flying around. Her talons grip the earth, as she alights. It takes only a moment for her rider to dismount, her boots barely making a sound. Turning she smiles as the others make their landings. One hand pulls her hair out from beneath her collar as she steps forward to greet those at the hold. "Benden Weyrs duties to you and yours M'Lady." The formal greeting is softened by a warm smile.
Sarika slips off Kajaith's back with a sigh.

Ack. Dragons. So. Many. Dragons. Japh had been looking rather confident - he was in his element, after all, about to lead a contingent of brave carpenters to work for a worthy cause. But now there are giant firebreathing beasts all around him, with their questionably moral riders. Bowing himself backwards away from Lady Namyste, he edges towards the Hold wall. "By the Blood," he mutters under his breath.

Liaden slides quickly from Cairth's back and moves to a relatively clear area of courtyard before raising her voice to shout, "Candidates, to me!" As candidates gather around her, she explains, "The Weyrleader has some business to conduct. We'll wait here until he returns." She's confident with the younger candidates, although she spares a nervous glance for one nearer her age as he joins the group.

Tiranth bugles a greeting to the arriving dragons.

Liaden
Her narrow oval of a face is dominated by a hawkish nose bordering on the too large, mild gray-green eyes, and fair, freckled, skin. Her brown hair is straight and unremarkable, lips generous, but her chin is rather angular and that short frame is bony at best. There are no calluses to mar her delicate hands, but the nails, albeit clean, are clearly and carefully bitten to the quick.
Clean and practical: her trousers are navy and her blouse robin's egg blue, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, wherhide boots worn and comfortable. Sensible, as always, if not overly fashionable.
Liaden looks to be in her mid twenties.

Japh
Japh stands just under six feet tall and looks every inch of it with that perfect posture of his. He's a slim man, not given to bulging muscles but more than bulky enough to etch a living out of the soil, which he's probably done before given the callouses on his hands. He's got brown eyes and a nose and a mouth and a chin and not too much of any of them, except maybe his ears which tend to peep out from under his sandy hair, braided to the tops of his shoulderblades.
A simple knot of violet and red marks him a Benden Hold resident.
He wears a workman's garb, worn canvas shirt in dusted khaki and dark umber trous reinforced with wherhide at the knees. His boots are dusty black and small for his height. A well-kept toolbelt wraps around his lean waist, housing a fine array of handyman's gear.
Japh has successfully acquired a beard, and he frequently runs his fingers through the fine, pale growth.
Japh looks to be in his mid twenties.

Blue eyes sharpen to those apprentices who are starting to drool at the sight of the dragons. "Close your mouths, don't loose your heads lads, we have work to do. Ah, my thanks for getting those, now, stay together in your groups, I will find out what is going on." Turning on his heel, Aryion strides up toward the gathered crowd. A deep bow is given toward Sarika, with a deep "Weyrwoman," and another is directed toward M'an. "Weyrleader M'an, a pleasure to see you again sir. I hope my daughter has been behaving herself." Hooking his thumbs in his belt, he falls silent, awaiting instruction.

Tomi easily follows Liaden over to one side of the courtyard but not before offering Cairth a quick bow. "Thank you for the ride, Cairth," she says with a grateful smile. "That was a lovely ride." Just the **between** part a bit disconcerting. As she gathers with the other candidates, she casts a curious glance towards Benden's young Weyrwoman, Fort's Weyrleader and the Hold's future Lady. It's hard to remember that M'an is indeed a powerful member of the Leadership Council, but seeing the trio together brings home that fact once again to the little candidate. And then she flushes. Silly her, the bronzerider has more to worry about than the behavior of one little Fortian. Relaxing with this knowledge, she grins over towards her peers, excitement once again dancing in her blue-green gaze. "Ooh, this is ever so exciting isn't it? And look, Benden Weyr's here as well. I wonder if Aoifen came to help. Or Lyam and Kyrian." Tomi's wants to give the latter two a piece of her mind.

M'an's eyes rest momentarily on the commandeering candidate, registering approval. He's confident enough in her abilities to stride across the yard towards the gathering of notables. "Lord Torikan," he intones warmly to the Lord Holder (who is there, honest!) "Lady Namyste, we are pleased and honored to be invited to your Hold to help in your Threadfall preparations. I especially appreciate this opportunity to allow our Weyrfolk and Candidates to get to know another part of their world, a world that we will all be working so diligently to protect. And Weyrwoman Sarika, I thank you for bringing not only more help, but all of the expertise that the Bendenites have gathered in the reconstruction efforts at their Weyr." Okay, somebody is getting entirely too fond of making public speeches. "Journeyman Aryion!" Undisguised pleasure is in the Weyrleader's tone. "Zeyion has conducted herself very well, as you might expect. If you don't mind, I would ask you to take charge of the metalwork aspects of the project. I'm afraid at the Weyr we don't have as much experience with that."

"Zeyion!" Liaden calls, waving her fellow candidate over. She eyes Tomi with poorly disguised amusement, although it's kindly, this time. "I'm sure we'll see if they're here soon," she soothes, scanning her group of candidates to be sure all are accounted for.

Sarika's lips curve into a smile "A pleasure to assist M'an, we each must do our duty to protect the holds." Aryion is given a nod "Journeyman, I thank you for your greeting, it is nice to know manners still abound." The Lord Holder is given much the same greeting as his Lady. Turning she waits to hear what plans have been put in place already.

Her boots make hardly a sound as Zeyion hits the ground, eyes dancing between her father and Liaden. Expression changes slightly to one of disappointment, before she falls in with the other candidates beside Liaden, coming up beside Tomi. "I don't know Tomi, they might be here, or they could have gone somewhere else. Yes, this is quite exciting." A bit of a twinkle returns to her eyes, as her friend's excitement is highly infectious. "Look, Da brought out all the smithcraft apprentices! Hi everyone!" Zey waves toward the group of Benden lads, a few offering her grins and several waves.

Apprentices actually drool over dragons? Japh has to see it to believe it. And he sees it, but still doesn't believe it. In fact, people all around him are reacting with pleasure and excitement as the dragonriders mill about. Could it be that he might have to change his opinion? Are perhaps all of the things he's heard at Keroon... wrong? Doubt assails his features as he attemps to make himself as invisible as Torikan.

J'kar eyes Japh's sidling away with a grin. Now nearing Sarika and M'an, he bows to the Weyrleader of Fort. "Greetings, sir. Happy to see you here. Benden's duties to Fort! Anything I can do for you before we start in earnest?" Sarika is offered a smile. "Hello there, ma'am!"

"I hope they've come. Aoif promised to come and visit for my Turnday." Well, actually, he never did. But Tomi informing the weyrlad about the date equals him agreeing to visit. It's all very logical to her. Wait, Aryion brought the Smith apprentices? Studying each curiously, the little candidate peeks up at the older girl and asks impishly, "Hey Zey, is he there? You know, the boy that you told me about." Blink. Oh wait, now Tomi remembers something even more interesting, something she forgot because M'an scared the pants off of her. "Wait, /Nicon/?!" She's a quick one, is this little candidate. Japh, sadly, goes unnoticed by the former weyrbrat. She's learning something new and interesting here.

Aryion beams at Weyrleader M'an, "Aye, I would have had to speak with her if she had done anything improper. She's a good girl, knows her manners. As for the metalwork, leave it to us sir, the apprentices are under my watchful eye, and we can handle anything." Weyrwoman Sarika gets offered another small bow, "Yes ma'am, in some places they do."

"Well met, brownrider," replies the Fort Weyrleader to J'kar with cordiality. "I appreciate your offer. Shall I lay out the general plan for everyone, and then we'll decide who does what?" Looking from Holders to Riders, M'an apparently reads acquiescence there, for he forges ahead. In all honesty, he knows it's a good idea so he's going ahead anyway. Other input can come later. Ah, the conceits of the old. "Work will commence in three stages. The first is clearing away all the overgrowth and other debris at the cotholds. Stage two is repair: making sure the underlying structures are sound enough to support stage three: Threadproofing. Any organic structures will need to be at the very least roofed in metal, and preferably walled as well."

A young boy known for his pranks tries to sneak off the edge of her group, but Lia is ever watchful. "Feryn, where do you think you're going?" She asks, sternly, eyes steely. He rejoins the group with pouting lips, sulking.

Gray eyes widen, giving the Bendenite candidate a rather odd, scary look, before she leans over quickly toward her friend, all but hissing. "/Tomi/, be quiet, or he will hear you." A quick glance is cast in the direction of the Smitcraft apprentices, before Zey turns back to her friend. "He's the the taller one on the back row, with the curly blond hair. And yes, /Nicon/, but that is between /us/ remember?" A rather pleading look is directed toward the younger candidate at those last words.

Sarika flashes one of her rare open smiles to the Smith, dimples flashing as she does. J'kar is given a warm greeting "J'kar! So good of you to help and I've noticed that Tiranth is looking very well."

Japh's path away from the dragons (many of whom are departing or at least going to the fireheights, thankfully) leads him nearer the Candidates. He has no idea who or what they are, really, but his mild eyes come to rest upon Liaden as she herds the group together. Fear of dragons is momentarily forgotten as he contemplates the stern, slight figure rather speculatively.

Sarika
Rich ebony tresses fall straight to shoulder's curve, the deep shade providing contrast to the creamy complexion it frames. Slightly up-tilted at corner's edge, pansy shaded eyes have their unusual colouring enhanced by sable lashes. High cheekbones accentuate a generous mouth and define her small straight nose. Bone structure is delicate, form curvaceous and stature is petite. Her true strength of nature comes through in the way her head is held, the strong stride to her step and the openly direct expression on her face.
Red and black double cords with triple loops and a silver tassel make a striking knot. The golden thread, lovingly entwined within the knot, designates her a Junior Weyrwoman to Benden Weyr.
Black leather polished to a high gleam fits snug to the woman's curved frame. The jacket has been carefully cut, each piece a perfect match to the other. Pale lavender fur can be glimpsed lining the jacket. That same violet hue has been picked up in the cuffs and again in the belt cinched to her small waist. Although petite, her long legs are outlined by the fit of the ebony leather pants. The sleek boots are flat and caress her legs to where they end above the knee. Black with a leather cuff in violet, they are a fitting match to the outfit. Perfectly covered and yet showing her figure to perfection, the only other hint of colour is within the small badge affixed to her shoulder. A gold dragon with wings curved downward, embraces the name of her wing. Seirei.
Sarika looks to be in her late teens.

Aryion
Snowy white hair dashed here and there with streaks of auburn falls to his shoulders, Aryion's one true distinguishing feature. Usually kept tied back out of the way, while hanging loose, it only serves to emphasis the wide breath of his shoulders and arms. A large muscular build with a golden tan indicates that Ary has had a life of labor, lately under the southern sun. Combined with his above average height make him a very unusual sight. Thick, almost blond-white eyebrows are found above his deep-set eyes. A untanned thick band of skin can be discerned upon the ring finger of his left hand, evidence of the recent removal of his former wedding band. Very intimidating at first glance and due to the recent breakup of his handfasting, little cheer remains in Aryion's life now a days, his usual beaming smile and twinkling eyes long gone.
Two cords of Red and White entwine into a single loop, knotted with a long tail. Fixed upon Aryion's shoulder, this knot indicates that he is a Smith Journeyman.
Aryion is wearing a nice, long sleeved tunic dyed a deep blue, almost a perfect match of his eyes. A complicated needlework pattern adorns the cuffs and the neckline, looking quite similar to small dragons in flight. Tight, form fitting black pants with a wide belt and his polished black boots complete the outfit. Morgan is curled upon one of Aryion's broad shoulders.
Around his neck, Aryion is wearing a long silver chain with several things hanging upon it. First, is a silver disk charm, braided 'round with copper, inset with a black diamond in the center. It rests between two matching silver bands, their fine threads of silver web are encirced with flizzen queens, various gemstones sparkling softly from their eyes, they are obviously a pair of matching wedding bands. Very rarely shown, they are usually seen as a lump under his tunic.
Aryion looks to be in his late thirties.

Zeyion
Naturally straight auburn locks are tied up with a leather strip at the back of her head, natural white strips at her temples are braided as usual, wrapping back and around the long runner's tail. Large, expressive gray eyes gaze around under auburn 'brows, set in a charming heart shaped face. Her fair complexion is dusted with the faintest of freckles across the bridge of her nose, sweeping out to lightly smudge across her well defined cheekbones. Rose-hued lips are found below a pert nose, and the barest hint of a pair of dimples can be seen when she smiles. Reaching 5'6 and still growing, her slim, athletic build doesn't yet have all the curves it should, but holds the promise of a nice female figure soon to come.
Gone are Benden's colors, now a single loop of Black and Brown along with one of White is entwined upon her shoulder, indication to all that Zeyion is a Candidate at Fort Weyr.
With her new position secured, Zeyion's attire has changed slightly. Now, a tunic of the crispest white drapes her small frame, clinched at the waist with a worn black belt. Brown pants are tucked into her small black, slightly scuffed boots, and an old, yet cared for oversized black vest completes the outfit.
Hanging upon a thin leather cord upon her neck is a beautiful gold ring. This ring is in the shape of a golden dragon, curled protectively around her egg, a multi-faceted black diamond. A precious item, Zeyion is rarely seen with out it.
Zeyion looks to be in her early teens.

Tomi
Tousled sandy blonde hair frames a small pixie face, her delicate features more feminine now with the lack of dirt to hide them from view. From her pert nose to her obstinant chin jutting out in stubborness, everything about her suggests dainty beauty. Yet there is an air of recklessness that she exudes, from the light devil-may-care twinkle that lights the depths of her uptilted aquamarine eyes to the cheeky grin that tips up the corners of her strawberry-tinged lips. Slight shoulders are set back, holding her upright with a confidence that only the very lucky and young know well. There is little to suggest feminine curves in this boyish frame, puberty coming late to this young teenager.
Placed proudly at a jaunty angle, the Fortian knot of brown and black threads are now intermingled with a new thread of shocking Candidate white. Similar to her old residential knot in size and style, the small addition of a new color seems to set her apart from her old playmates and friends.
Off-white linen slips easily over Tomi's tiny torso, the white lawn fastened easily with criss-crossed threading that ties just below the diminuative hollow between her all too slender clavicles. The faded tunic hangs just above the knees of her washed-out, rust colored trous, a wellworn belt of cracked weyrhide gathering the thin material around her boyish waist. Scuffed boots of Fortian black encase feet that are unused to being enclosed, their weight causing the Candidate to stumble at times, their unaccustomed bulk tripping her up now and again. Kyo perches on Tomi's shoulder.
Tomi looks to be in her early teens.

Liaden is oblivious to Japh's attention, mind too caught up in trying to keep track of all of the candidates. She's expecting them to dart off as her three-turn-olds at the hold do -- as soon, as as far, as they can. She's got her arms crossed against her chest again, although she can't help but crack a smile as she overhears Tomi and Zey's conversation. "Nicon, huh?" She teases Zey, gently.

"What," the little candidate blinks innocently at Zeyion. "It's not like he can hear us. He's all the way over there and we're all the way over here." Still, sound does have the tendency to carry at the most inopportune moments. Lowering her voice to barely a whisper, Tomi peeks over at the Benden lad that the other candidate points out. "He's kinda cute, Zey. For a boy." Blink. "Oh yeah, right." Looking over her shoulder, Tomi casts wary glances around just to make sure the candidate in question isn't anywhere near. "Sorry about that, Zey. But promise you'll tell me more about it later?"

J'kar sweeps a small bow towards Sarika. "I've done my sweepriding duty for the day. There's nothing I'd rather do now than help my fellow Bendenites with the Threadproofing. It's an important job; one that Tiranth and I are very honoured to be able to participate in." M'an is listened to with a nod. "He knows what he's talking about. Good." A smile of approval is fixed on his face. "Tiranth has eaten just this restday." He replies to Sarika's comment about the brown's health. "He's ready to work, as am I." J'kar listens for further instructions from the Fortian Weyrleader.

Zeyion sighs dramatically, as Liaden too pipes in. "I'm doomed." One hand going up to rub her forehead, she shakes her head lightly from side to side before turning a dimpled grin toward her friend. "Yes, of course. Danny is cute, but Nicon is just... I don't know, I can't describe it. /Handsome/." Cheeks blush slightly pink, before she glances around, to see if anyone else overheard her.

Mizuth arrives from Above Benden Hold.

Sarika smiles "Duty first as always J'kar. But it is good you came, you know what needs to be done. All that work we did at the Weyr was good preparation." Glancing around she inclines her head towards first one place then another." It is good to see the Hold proper has kept up, cleaned out any source of trouble. Very impressive." Leaning just a bit towards him, she lowers her voice "Now hopefully the smaller cotholders will cooperate."

Aryion crosses his arms before him, listening intently as the Weyrleader outlines the plan. "Once we get an idea about sizes and shapes for the metal roofs, I'll get word to the hall and we can get them out as fast as we can make them. Everyone is standing by ready to assist as needed." A glance is cast back toward the apprentices, a rather stern look from the Journeyman and they gather back up into their groups, a few however keep glancing between dragons and candidates.

"I would like the most physically able to handle the majority of stage one - stronger folk and dragons, if they'd like to pitch in, removing trees and heavy brush. Those less apt to lift large loads can be put to work on small debris cleanup detail, and the smallest can be used as runners, whether it be tools or messages." M'an glances back and forth from face to face again, and must be all right with the expressions he's reading, for he continues once more. "I'd like to divide everyone up into six midsized groups: if you see here," and from Faranth knows where, he pulls out a map of the Hold's outlying environs, "we can easily separate the inner cotholds into these six districts. One group per district, with a broad spectrum of workers within each district." Glancing at the Smith as he speaks, he asks, "Journeyman, do the Smiths have heavy pulling tools handy here? We brought some chains from the Weyr, but there aren't many."

J'kar glances skywards as Mizuth arrives. He also lowers his voice as he replies to Sarika's comment. "I'm sure the cotholders will soon realise just how important it is. Either that or they'll find out soon enough that the Weyrs were right about Thread. It's not a pleasant thought, but I'm going to do -my- best to protect them, as I know the other riders will. It's up to them." He now crosses his arms as he listens to M'an continuing his instructions. Tiranth, he knows, is up for treepulling duty. How he loves to do that!

Lyllya unstraps before sliding down the delicate expanse of watermarked hide to the ground.

Namyste walks amongst the workers, offering smiles and words of thanks without regard for rank or station. As she approaches the dragonriders, she inclines her head respectfully to both Sarika and M'an, adding just the slightest hint of a curtsy as well. "Thank you very much," she murmurs to both of them in her soft voice. "My lord has long worried how he would prepare Benden for this coming Pass - your devotion to the Holds is beyond compare." With another faint curtsy, she moves on, continuing her rounds.

"Handsome?" Tomi's little nose wrinkles slightly as she looks at the older girl in disbelief. "I s'pose," she grudgingly agrees. "But he's so-" Unemotional. Stoic. "Boring," is what the little candidate comes up with. "Oh, he's nice enough and he says he'll camp out on the StarStones with us so he can't be all that bad, but still..." The blonde girl trails off with a shrug. Perhaps it's because she's so young, but she just can't see Nicon in that fashion. Still, the older girl's words start some unseen curiosity to well up within the little candidate. Zeyion's only one month older than Tomi, but she's Turns ahead in the maturity department.

Kajaith sends a soft croon of welcome to her dam, eyes whirling with pleasure.

Tiranth greets the arriving Weyrwoman and the queen with a chirp, moving over to give them a little more room.

Cairth has done his duty today. He's departing for the fireheights before his lifemate says anything else about uprooting the deliciously beautiful greenery. A crime, it is.
Cairth wings skywards with powerfull wingstrokes.

Aryion nods, grunting in acknowledgement. "Aye, sir, we have several dragonlengths of chain, as well as a few other tools, some even with skybroom handles and the like back in storage. I'll send a few apprentices to go and retrieve them." A quick two fingered wave brings up one of the senior apprentices, whom Ary quickly passes instructions too. With a small nod, the boy dashes off toward the craft annex, and Aryion turns back toward those gathered. Mizuth's landing and the arrival of Lyllya bring a rare smile to the journeyman's face, a deep bow is directed toward both the Benden gold and the Weyrwoman.

"Nicon is a bit young for me," Liaden admits, trying to control a smile that pulls at the corners of her mouth. She relaxes her vigilance, as the candidates seem mostly under control. Lyllya's arrival is greeted with a bow of her head and a murmured, "Weyrwoman," with a significant glance to the other candidates to do the same.

The crowd of dragons has thinned enough that Japh can breathe a little more easily. He lost his companions long ago, they too busy staring at the big shiny beasties to notice their erstwhile leader slinking away like a scaredy cat. Now, however, the handyman takes courage and steps away from the wall, straightening to his full height and tugging down his shirt. He finds the proximity of the Smith Apprentices comforting, and walks somewhat stiffly towards them, follwing their whispers and stares with his own eyes. Why are they so fascinated with the youngsters in white and brown?

Mizuth lands as lightly as a gold dragon can after bugling an announcement of her presence into the sky above the Hold. Once on the ground, her rider unstraps and dismounts, sliding down the length of golden limb to land on her feet. "No, we can't ask them for the flowering ones, Dear, there's just no room. We can go to the orchards later, all right? There's still some in bloom there." The bows and greetings are noticed, and she waves off the former in favor of an informal raise of her hand. "We've come to pitch in as well. I've seen to it that some of the older weyrlings will be helping. Most are on detail to the smaller, more distant areas, but everyone seems to be looking to Benden these days for guidance."

Sarika nods an affirmative agreement to J'kar before moving closer to view the map. Leaning forward, her eyes take in the sections, absorbing each area. "I would assume in areas that have less cotholds, the group there when done should report back to assist others?" She is all about efficiency, but the croon of her lifemate produces a quick head snap in that direction. She returns Lyllya's greeting with a casual wave of her own. Again the map is perused and she has one other question. "The cotholds know we are coming correct?"

Zeyion glances over toward where Danny is called up to her father, a small sigh escaping the candidate as he dashes back into the building. "I don't know Tomi, but one day you will understand." A small grin is cast toward her Liaden, accompanied by a small shrug. A flash of gold and gray eyes are soon distracted by the arrival of Mizuth and Lyllya, recognition flashing quickly upon her features as she whispers to Tomi, "That's Weyrwoman Lyllya. My Da knows her from a really long time ago. Isn't her gold lovely?" A deep bow is directed toward Lyllya, with a respectful "Weyrwoman" accompanying it.

J'kar raises his hand and crinkles his fingers in greeting to Lyllya. "Ma'am." He also peers at the map, getting it orientated in his head. "I should hope they know we're coming. Nothing like seeing scared cotholders running from the arrival of dragons." He snorts. "Which section would you like Tiranth and I to take, Weyrleader M'an?" The brownrider queries.

"Weyrwoman Lyllya," the little candidate greets the Weyrwoman from amidst the throng of Candidates gathered to one side of the Courtyard before executing a little bow. She'd like to say more, but figures that the goldrider's attention would more than likely be claimed by the other Leaders in the area. "Why does everyone say that," Tomi asks with a rather sulky expression. "What's going to magically change in the next Turn or two that'll make me like boys? Well, like like boys," she amends after a moment's thought. "I do like Aoifen. He's fun." If a bit prissy. But she's not allowed to call him that anymore, so she won't. At least not outloud.

"Excellent, Journeyman Aryion. We'll have most of that equipment brought to this area, here," the Fortian Weyrleader indicates an area to the southwest, "where the trees are especially thick. And that is an excellent plan, Weyrwoman Sarika." When the Benden senior queen arrives, M'an's eyes light with a very businesslike pleasure: yet another person who really knows how to get things done. "Weyrwoman Lyllya. Glad you could join us." Nodding to the queenrider, he then asks J'kar, "Would you mind accompanying Aryion's smiths to the forested area I just indicated? And as for the cotholders knowing we're coming..." a touch of a smile begins to play around his lips, "... well, they do... more or less...."

Satisified by the chorus that follows her greeting, Liaden returns attention to the two girls in front of her, although she can offer little more than a kindly smile. "What /are/ they talking about for so long?" She complains in an undertone, standing on her tip-toes to try to see over the heads of all the candidates. She's blocked by too many people being taller than her and sighs in disappointment. Drat being short.

A pair of smitcraft apprentices keep whispering between themselves, glancing over toward the candidate group every so often. "Did you see /her/? She /is/ with them you know. So it is /true/! She did get searched, right from the galleries." The two boys glance over toward where the Benden handyman are nodding toward the candidates. "Journeyman Aryion's daughter, Zeyion, she was searched for Fort back during the clutching. Its all the talk in the hall right now. She's the auburn haired one over there in the group." The black haired youth nods, grinning a slightly skewed grin toward Japh. Aryion glances back toward the apprentices, and they all promptly shut up before nodding toward the Weyrleader. J'kar gets a quick nod, before returning attention to M'an's map to see just where they are going.

Lyllya removes her cap and gloves with something of a smirk. "If they didn't, they do now," she says to Sarika before executing one of her best bows to M'an. She'd courtesy but she's not wearing a dress. "You browns and bronzes to the forested area that M'an indicated. Blues to the lighter scrub and greens mix in amongst as you can be useful," she tells the Senior Weyrlings accompanying before turning back to Fort's leader. "I wouldn't have missed it. Sometimes it takes the force of two Weyrs to get the point across, wouldn't you say? Benden will be glad to help wherever it's needed." With that, she's off with her own dragon toward the trees in need of uprooting.

J'kar nods to M'an's assignment. "Do you want to get started, then?" He asks Aryion. Tiranth shuffles, eager to get to the treeline and start ripping up the greenery. J'kar replaces his gloves, knowing there's thorns amongst the trees and bushes.

"Y' mean miss Zeyion?" Japh stares hard at the group of Candidates, and, sure enough, spots that blazing hair and bright eyes. "By th' Blood," he mutters again, looking slightly bewildered, a little disturbed. "A Candidate for 'em? Like th' whole group? Dragon snacks?" He can't believe it, his jaw going slightly slack. "Looks /happy/ 'bout it, too," he observes, before his view is obstructed by people on the move. Looks like something's happening now.

Sarika chuckles as she catches the look in M'an's eye. That same look is given Lyllya before she herself turns and directs Kajaith towards the treeline. Kajaith is up and moving quickly, eager to get to work. Sari, follows, slapping her gloves against her thigh as she walks. Stopping briefly, holding her gloves in her teeth, she pulls her hair up into a makeshift runnertail before continuing on.

Aryion glances a look back toward the annex, the senior apprentice he sent back in coming out with several other journeymen in tow, carrying all the required material. "Aye, looks like we are ready. Apprentices, with me!" Turning to J'kar he offers the brownrider a nod. "All ready here, lead the way."

"I dunno," Tomi casts a rather rueful glance over her shoulder towards the Leaders gathered around the Benden map. "But I hope they keep talking. The longer they talk, the less work we have to do. Cuz they can't make us work past sunset, right? I hope they end up talking all day. Then we can come back tomorrow too." This is the first time the little weyrbrat's been outside the Weyr and she finds it all very exciting. There's so many new people, like the Smiths and the handyman over there. And new Benden riders as well. But as much as the little candidate scans the crowds, she can't see the one face that she's really looking for. Trying not to let her shoulders slump, she turns back to the conversation with her fellow candidates. Only.. they seem to be breaking up now. "Look sharp girls," she warns Lia and Zeyion just in case the scary M'an comes back.

The leadership huddle breaks as everyone apparently comes to a consensus on what's to be done. M'an pauses amongst the Fortian riders who've stayed, discussing assignments and pointing out areas on the map he carries. Another few minutes pass before he's able to rejoin the group of Candidates that appears to be behaving well. "Candidates," he greets, his countenance and speech bright with the energizing feeling of purpose. "I'm glad to see you all still here and in one piece. Thank you, Liaden." The Weyrleader nods to the ex-nanny. "I'm going to divide you into six groups. Groups one through five will be going with Ch'mer, Nixta, Ar'kiel, Meese, and Ph'tai, respectively. Group six will be moving with me. I hope you all brought your work gloves with you; if not, tell your group leader and we'll get a pair for you." With that, he counts them off by sixes. Zeyion, Liaden, and Tomi all happen to be in group six.

Liaden happily relinquishes control of the group to M'an once more. "I haven't got gloves," she informs him, once the groups break up. "What, exactly, are we going to be doing?"

Everyone treks deep into the Benden Woods, greeted with varying degrees of delight by the cotholders, though the proper degree of respect is given automatically.

"I don't know, it is nice to be back at Benden, if only for a short time. I still haven't spoken with my father you know." A quick glance toward the smithcraft apprentices and Zeyion finally notices the Benden handyman. A wave and a cheerful, "Greetings Japh!" is yelled toward him. As M'an approaches, attention focuses and stays on the Weyrleader. A nod and a salute is given as the candidates are assigned, her gloves being pulled from one of the vest pockets with a smile.

Tiranth ambles forward on J'kar's command, and they both lead the group of Smiths towards one of the areas on the map. A small, male cotholder boy greets them with wide eyes, running into the building to summon his father. The dragon, rider and Smiths are greeted, and a contingent of workers join the group. The brown dragon heads over to the clump of trees and awaits further instruction from his rider. "Right, Journeyman Aryion, was it? Could you please ask your folk to set up the chains to drag away the trees that Tiranth will fell, I will make sure none come down on any of you."

"You're going to be pulling weeds, Candidate," replies M'an blithely as he rummages around in a bag he's magically acquired along the way. "Hmm. Here, try this pair," he offers, holding a worn but still serviceable pair out to Liaden. "The dragons will be helping the heavy-duty workers with treepulling and the like. Most of the rest of us will be tugging up the smaller shrubs, weeds, and turf, clearing up deposits of old timbers, things like that." Glancing down at the slender woman beside him, he grins. "Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

Lyllya tugs on her own work gloves and stands back, motioning for Mizuth to knock over the first small tree of several in the area. "And then we can pile them over there to be chopped, I suppose," she tells her dragon. Being as short as she is, it's probably a good thing Mizuth is a full grown gold. Otherwise people might mistake her for a weyrling. "No, no digging up the sod this time. Not unless we find something worth unearthing. I don't think there's any stone under this bit like there was in that cothold." Not one to stand about while her dragon does the work, Lyl moves off to join in the weed pulling.

"Loads," Liaden replies, dryly, accepting the gloves -- which prove a bit large for her small hands -- with a look that speaks volumes. She eyes the weeds with distaste, loath to dirty herself, then shrugs philosophically and drops to her knees to begin wrestling with a particularly stubborn weed that waves, blissfully unaware, above her head.

Sarika is hard at work with Kajaith. Kaj is taking to tree uprooting like a fish to water. Her excitement though has it's drawbacks. In her eagerness she just tosses the uprooted trees behind her, narrowly missing others working nearby. "Kaj my love. Please be careful. I know they are small to you, but they aren't to others. Just leave them there for the workers to drag off." Her face is glowing from her work, her jacket now off as she pitches in with the weeding. Hair in runnertail, now clad in a violet tank, her muscles bunch as she works. A word and she pauses to confer with a local cotholder, her head nodding. "Yes, we will clear the far area as well. No. It all must be cleared out." The holder while not happy about it, does not argue, instead he directs his own workmen to help with the clearing.

Aryion and the apprentices follow the brownrider and the rest of the group assigned to their particular area, and with a nod toward J'kar, he and several of the larger apprentices begin setting the chains up around the trees that need to be uprooted. "Apprentices, stay clear while we get these trees pulled out, there is still lots of work to be done, and I expect to see everyone working hard."

Life hates Tomi. That's why she's in M'an group. Still, he's got better things to do than worry about monitoring her behavior. And if she tells herself that enough times, perhaps she'll start believing it. "He's got better things to do, he's got better things to do," the little candidate keeps repeating to herself. Blink. "Weeds?" Well, it beats trying to wrestle with trees that are ten times heavier than she is. "Yes, sir. Loads of fun, sir." But if the senior Weyrwoman of Benden Weyr can pull weeds, than who is Tomi to turn her nose up at the chore. "Sir," she all but squeaks at M'an. "Do you have another pair of gloves that I can use?"

Zeyion pulls her gloves upon her hands, nodding toward M'an before setting to work. Weeds have no future life once in Zeyion's sights. "Ah, come on Tomi, you know your lessons, this place has to be plant free. Everyone has to do their part."

M'an creases his brow as Tomi peeps up. "Hum. Your hands are pretty small, Tomi, but let's give it a look..." Rummage, rummage. Paw. Dig. "Ahhh. Well. This is all I've got, I'm afraid." One hand dangles a pair of very well-cared-for gloves. They're small, finely made, and very bright pink, with little flowers embroidered on the back. "Don't know how they got into the workglove bin, but they're there, so we can use them." He holds them out to Tomi expectantly.

Japh lifts a polite hand in return to Zeyion's greeting, then grits his teeth and tucks in to march along in the weird dstructive parade. He has his phobia under control now that work is at hand, and a relative peace suffuses his face, coupled with impending concentration. Work is his bread and butter, and glancing around at the cothold they've arrived at, he can tell it's going to need a great deal of it. Trees he has felled before, so he joins up with a group working behind Kajaith. The end of a group, not working far /enough/ behind Kajaith.

Liaden wrestles with her weed for a good few minutes before it finally pops free from the soil -- and sends her to land on her rump in the dirt with a resounding *thunk*. She's so surprised she just sits there, eyes wide, weed still clutched in her hand.

Aoifen walks in.

Tiranth fells the first tree expertly, sending it crashing to the ground. As leaves and small branches fly, J'kar nods to the Smiths to begin the dragging and piling work. The cotholders step forward, ready with axes to chop the felled trees to pieces to be burnt. The brownrider tells Tiranth to continue carefully with his work, while he helps the others with the dragging and chopping.

Somewhere amidst all the flying dirt and falling leaves and - ulp! - /trees/ sneaks an Aoifen. He doesn't mean to be sneaking, but he's having a lot of trouble avoiding debris while on his mission. No weedpulling for him - not right now, away, though from the dust coating his pale blonde hair and hands, he's done some of that already. Nope, right now his primary mission is to find somebody. "Excuse me," he says to a Fortian Candidate tugging at plants in front of him, "but, um, do you know Tomi? I'm looking for her."

Kajaith has paid heed to Sari, but when she has problems with a particularly tough root, she bugles her frustration. Digging in further she gets the tree uprooted, and with a very hard tug, it gets away from her and over her head it sails. Belatedly she turns to croon a warning. Incoming tree!

Lyllya falls in with the candidates doing a chore she likely hasn't done since she was a candidate, herself. "There's an art to it," she tells the others around her as she grasps an overly large weed with both hands, places her feet apart as if she were straddling a plumb line to draw a bow, and begins to pull. Unfortunately, that weed's roots run deep. As the force exerted upon the plant increases, the ground around the roots gives way and the Weyrwoman is sent thudding back onto her rump. "Obviously that wasn't an example of that art," she complains as she makes it back to a standing position and begins to pat the dust from her rump.

"Don't just sit there, Liaden. Put it on the pile and keep pulling." The rolling bass comes from somewhere above the Candidates head, from the height of the Weyrleader. Who, oddly enough, doesn't seem to be pulling anything. Not even his hair, for once. No, he's standing there nonchalantly, peering thoughtfully at a hide. Barely a speck of dirt on him.

Life really, really, really hates Tomi. The little candidate all but gapes at the gloves. Not only are they pink, but they have flowers embroidered on them. Taking the pair reluctantly, the little candidate looks like she wants to say something but then remembers who she's addressing. "Thank you, sir," is what she finally settles on as a reply. Pink! Shuddering slightly as she slips the offending garments over her tiny hands, she grumbles slightly as she slowly makes her way over to where Zeyion's clearing greenery. Hopefully no one else will see her shame, she'd never live it down. With flowers! Now she's rather happy that she hasn't seen neither hide nor hair of Aoifen today. That would be a fate worse than death. "It's not that I mind helping out," the little candidate mutters. "But were there really no other gloves available?" It Tomi didn't know better, she'd be sure that the Weyrleader had it in for her. /Pink/!

Namyste isn't dressed for weeding, nor would it be appropriate for her to join in, though her intended husband is out amongst the workers, along with his son and one of his daughters. The other two daughters have joined the Lady-to-be, and they circulate through the working crowds, offering refreshments in the form of waterskins and small, bite-sized meatrolls, suitable for taking the edge off of hunger. As the Keroonese girl passes by Tomi, her eyes light up. "What delightful gloves! Very dashing - I must say, you have excellent taste." Beaming at the Candidate, she moves on, offering a waterskin to a tired looking young man.

Liaden looks sourly at M'an and opens her mouth to retort, then shuts it with a snap. She stands up and follows Lyllya's lead, brushing the dust from her rump before tackling another weed with enough force that it immediately gives. Perhaps she's imagining that the weeds are M'an's head, perhaps not. Whatever it is, it seems to be working -- Lia quickly works her way through an entire patch before she slows, anger giving way to tiring muscles.

Japh has been distracted by a question from the hefty Hold lad beside him. Too late he hears the rumbling crash of a tree moving rapidly in his direction, and an expression of horror settles like a mask on his face as certain doom falls towards him. He squinches his eyes shut and waits for the end... the top end of the tree, that is, which lands harmlessly beside him with a soft sigh. "Uh, Handyman Japh?" The Hold lad pokes him. "Um, you can open your eyes now." "Ain't dead?" asks the slender man in wonder, opening up slowly. "Nope," affirms the lad. "Missed you." "Oh," is all Japh can say, turning quite pink.

"Tomi?" The Fortian candidate peers curiously down at Aoifen before scratching his head, a bit dim this one. "Oh ye mean the wee lass that talks too much? She's o'er there, with the pretty one." The older boy returns to his weeding task, rather happy that he decidedly to be manly and do without gloves. Who knows what other atrocities the Weyrleader has in his magic bag?

Sarika has managed to stifle a chuckle at Lyllya's less than graceful landing. Far be it from her to say a word, at least not with others around. A recognizable bugle though causes a quick head turn, just in time to hear the following croon of warning. Standing straight up, her mouth drops open as she see the tree go up, up and then down. Thankfully not on anyone, though poor Japh looks like he just gained a few years. A quick consult with her gold and Sari walks over to the crew. "Kajaith sends her apologies Japh. The tree got away from her. She inquires as to your health?"

Zeyion has paused, stifling a giggle at what happened to Lyllya, behind one dirt encrusted glove. With a grin, she turns back to her own weeds, making short work of them. Tomi's gloves catch her eye, the Bendenite candidate giving her friend a curious look. "Tomi? Did you leave your gloves at the weyr, I don't remember seeing those before."

"Pretty one?" asks Aoifen, a little confused, a little... interested, maybe? He turns around to look in the direction indicated, but flying trees and dragontails and all sorts of weed-rain makes it hard to see. Better move that way, then. "Excuse me," he says politely as he spots another Candidate, this one looks like she's on a rampage. "Excuse me, Candidate. Do you know where Tomi is?" He looks at Liaden hopefully.

Mizuth rumbles something that might be draconic humor as she pauses in her work to go see for herself that Japh is all right. Once she finds the young man, she leans in for a closer look- draconic eye inches from his face before her head turns and a wuffling breath is sent over his hair. Satisfied that the handyman is unharmed, she goes back to work and gives a humored croon to her progeny as she passes. For Lyllya's part, she manages to look mostly unruffled by the laughter aimed at her. Even she would have to admit that it was funny and, with that in mind, she goes back to work. "That's a lesson in how it's not done," she informs the others with a particular glance at Zeyion. "I don't recommend the falling on your duff part."

The Lady Holder is just given a rather blank stare before Tomi remembers her manners. Ducking her head shyly, she replies with a demure, "Thank you, m'Lady." One really cannot rail at a Lady Holder and call her insane, but it's a good thing that the girl's features are well and truly hidden else they'd reveal that the little candidate is indeed doing that internally. Dashing her everyloving dragon rump. They're about as dashing as the flu. Or a weyrlings couch after his lifemate suffers from a bit of indigestion. Giving her gloves a disgusted look, the tiny candidate nods in Zey's direction. "I didn't know we were going weeding." Okay, so she forgot. "And Weyrleader M'an said that these were the only pair that he had that would fit." Oh, the shame of it all. Pink. /With flowers/.

J'kar steps quickly to the side as another falling tree heads in -his- direction. "Hie! Over there!" He calls a warning to the Smiths in it's path. Tiranth looks behind him as the tree falls with a thud, missing the group. He then digs around the base of yet another, brown hide gleaming in the sunlight, muscles rippling as he flings dirt onto a nearby cotholder lad. The lad just stands there as dragon-borne dirt flies onto his head. J'kar calls another warning as Tiranth's tree totters to the side. Chains are brought forward for the trees, and the brownrider, with axe in hand, continues to chop. Sweat is trickling down his face now, and he removes his riding jacket.

Liaden pauses long enough in her rampage to point Tomi out to Aoifen. "There -- the one with the pink gloves, see?" She then returns to weeding, contemplating the bush in front of her -- which is wider than her -- thoughtfully. A moment passes, and she turns to M'an and his pristine leathers with an angelic smile. "Weyrleader?"

Japh's blush deepens with indecipherable emotions as a Weyrwoman approaches him. Sure, he's never met one before, but thanks to Ashore's diligent drilling, he knows what to do when he finally does come face-to-face with one. "My duties to you, your dragon, and your Weyr, my lady," he enunciates clearly, all traces of his Keroonian accent erased by careful practice. His golden brown eyes are downcast, though his spine is ramrod straight. "'m fine, m'lady. Missed," is his official status as he indicates the treetop nearby. Behind him, the Holder lad smothers a giggle, though his head is bowed respectfully. Then the beautiful bulk of Mizuth approaches and the Hold handyman leans visibly away. You can only lean so far, however, without falling over, and when the gold's head descends to bring him to eye-level, he can't help but half-squint one eye while the other stares back. You can read it on his face: please don't eat me. He wants to faint when she departs, but manages to keep his feet. "Erm," weakly.

Heavily muscled forearms are revealed as Aryion has pushed up his sleeves, diving right into the manual labor. A leather strip is soon tied around his forehead, as both a sweat catch, and to keep his white and auburn locks from his face. Blue eyes glance up, just catching the falling tree, and with a barked shout the smiths scatter as it falls. A two person saw is hoisted upon a shoulder as the Smith waves to another journeyman to assist him in starting on the newest felled tree.

M'an shuffles a few hides, narrowing his eyes, holding the hides close to his face, then at arm's length. "Shards and shells," he mutters audibly to himself, "going to have to get me some of those eye lenses... bah.." Shuffle, shuffle, pause; eyes peer over the top of the stack, down at Liaden again. "Yes, Liaden?" His expression is blank and expectant, a touch surprised
as well; he must have forgotten she was there, working so hard.

"I can't get this one by myself," Liaden gestures at the bush. "Could you help me, sir?" If she can just get those leathers a bit dirty, she'll feel better about landing on her rump, for sure. She works hard at keeping her expression neutral.

"Yes, Weyrwoman." A dimpled grin and a quick nod is directed toward Lyllya, before the weed shredding commences once again. "My duty to you and Mizuth, ma'am. My father has spoken of you often, though we have never met. I'm Zeyion, daughter of Aryion and Zeya." A beaming smile, her twinkling gray eyes is given directed toward the Senior Weyrwoman. "My duties to Mizuth as well." Eyes glance over toward the beautiful gold, before another patch of weeds is viciously attacked.

Pink gloves? Aoifen stares over towards where Zeyion and Tomi are. Yes, he sees flashing pink. "That can't possibly be T-..." Oh. "Er, thanks, Candidate." Bobbing a bit - she is, after all, his elder - he scampers over towards the pair, dodging people and dirt clods. "Tomi!" he calls out as he nears. "Tomi! Happy Turnday!"

Sari waves off his formality with one small hand. "Shells and shards man, I thank you but it really isn't necessary. My concern like Kajaith's is that you are fine." Mizuth's examination and resulting approval ease the young Weyrwoman's mind. Kajaith herself lowers her head to examine the man just to be sure. Besides the worried look in her eyes, she gives a soft croon of apology, her breath whuffling his clothing. Sari listens and nods "She is pleased you are fine." Turning on her heel, she gives Kaj a look which clearly states, not again.
M'an eyes the offending bush. "Too big, eh? Yes, I see that one's pretty solidly anchored. All right." Tucking the records inside of his jacket, he flexes his hands and drops into a crouch beside Liaden, wincing a bit as his knees pop. "On three, then?" he suggests, reaching under the branches to get a good grip on the trunk of the bush. "You count."

Satisfied, Liaden gets her own grip on the bush and counts: "One...two....three, pull!"

"Th... thank ye f'r y' concern, m'lady," Japh manages to stutter. All of his various hangups come home to roost as a beautiful yet useful young woman dragonrider and her enormous, beautiful, and useful dragon focus their attentions on him all at the same time. The last one didn't eat him, but there's no telling if this one might, and his gloved hands curl into tightly clenched fists as Kajaith gives him the once-over. Dragonbreath sets the wispy strands of his sandy brownish hair flying, and he half-closes his eyes yet again as the breeze blows over him. At least it doesn't smell bad.

Lyllya ahs. "Aryion, I thought you looked familiar," she says before glancing over at M'an. "Oh my," is her reaction and she nearly moves to help but stops herself short. Elior, taking the opportunity provided by his human's stillness, makes his way to the ground to begin digging about the base of a particularly stubborn weed. He might not be a tree felling dragon, but he can do something. "Nice to meet you," Lyl replies, nodding in acceptance of the formal greeting- It's required, after all. "While we're pulling weeds, it's Lyllya. We can go back to titles when later."

Tomi's back straightens and the girl stills instantly as her name is called by the Benden weyrlad. "Zey," the little candidate side-whispers to her friend. "Is that Aoifen? Is he kinda tallish and blond with bluey-gray eyes and a really interesting mouth?" Because if it is than this is indeed the worst Turnday ever. And she'll blame it all on M'an. M'an and his pink gloves. Speaking of the Weyrleader, she casts a glance for him over her shoulder. Seeing that he's fully preoccupied, she whispers softly, "Don't you think Weyrleader M'an is scary, Zey? It's like he's one of those puppet masters in the plays that the Harpers used to put on for us when we were younger. Like he's pulling all the strings." Point in case, look at Tomi wearing pink. At least there's not a bow in sight.
Yet.

At Liaden's final count, M'an grips the weedybush firmly and gives an enormous pull, bracing his feet against the turf. The still-formidable thews of his thighs flex and strain against the effort, pushing the containment of his relatively relaxed-fit leathers, and the vein that tends to twitch in his temple pops out to say 'Hi!'. The combined might of Weyrleader and Candidate do the trick - they kind of overdo the trick, actually. The bush pops up with groaning reluctance - not enough suddenness to send them on their backsides, but M'an comes abruptly to standing. He has a very odd expression on his face.

Zeyion blushes, realizing that she just repeated herself, but nods enthusiastically toward the Weyrwoman. "Lyllya." Her light dusting of freckles are standing out even more so than normal with the blush. Looking over her shoulder, Aoifen is spotted, and a weed is tossed toward Tomi. "Eh, Tomi, the one you were fighting with is back over there. It /is/ the one you were fighting with, so I am guessing it is Aoifen." A few more weeds is pulled out, as the back of one glove swipes some sweat off of her forehead. "I don't know. I don't think that Weyrleader M'an is all that scary. Have you ever met the Smith Craftmaster Gaederon? I was terrified of me at first, but one I got to know him, he's not that bad. In my opinion, M'an is the same way."

Sarika -was- in the process of turning back to weeding when a certain look in Japh's eyes is noted. Sending a quiet message to Kajaith she pauses before asking the man "Would you like to touch her? She says she would be honored." Indeed Kajaith is silent and careful, her lowered head not pressing, just waiting. Sari's words are soft "She doesn't bite, none of them do. And she doesn't offer this to many." She waits with baited breath to see if Japh will accept the honor from the gold.

Liaden takes one look at M'an's expression and heads for the hills -- or deeper into the woods anyway, until she's out of sight but for the occasional weed that comes flying back to join the growing pile.

"Tomi!" Aoifen skids to a halt, a dung-eating grin plastered on his face. "I found you!" And your little pink gloves, too. He can't help but stare at those for a moment, but he fights to drag his eyes up to her face again before she hopefully notices. "Happy Turnday," he repeats. "I know this isn't the same as coming to visit you at Fort but I hope it's okay, I'm really glad you're near Benden, and I had a good excuse to see you anyway..." His voice trails off as he takes note: Zeyion. The pretty one. Yeah, he's definitely taking notes. "Hi," he says to her, a hint of shyness in his voice. "I'm Aoifen."

Taylin walks in.

Tiranth pauses as the tree he's working on refuses to give way. J'kar is chopping furiously, having gotten his second wind now. Drinks pass by and he takes a cup gratefully and then swings his back into the task.

A few more weeds is pulled and tossed back over her shoulder, Zeyion trying to give Tomi and Aoifen some private space to chat. The greeting startles her however, head turning so quickly that she she showers herself with dirt from that last weed. "Oh, hi, Aoifen, I'm Zeyion. Nice to meet you." A quick glance is given toward Tomi, with a helpless, what do I do type shrug.
Great oogalie boogalies, it is Aoifen. Quickly ripping off her gloves, the little candidate shoves them in her back pocket as she turns to face her friend. "Aoif, you did come after all!" And now she'll try a running tackle-hug because he did remember her Turnday. "I was hoping to see you today, but no matter how much I looked, I couldn't find you. There sure were a lot of people in the Courtyard when we all first arrived. Oh Aoif, this is my friend Zeyion. Zey, this is Aoif-" Pause. Scowl. Whack. She saw that look, she did. Stomping off huffily, the little candidate goes back to weeding, studiously ignoring both friends. She's not sure why she's upset, but she is. So upset that she even misses M'an's pause and odd expression. Boys do indeed suck after all.

Lyllya dusts off her hands and walks over to M'an, careful to hide the concern in her expression. "What's your opinion of the work being done, Weyrleader?" The obvious question of his well being is implied in her words. "And Mizuth suggests that everyone pace themselves. Perhaps a little longer and then a soak for everyone involved? This is the sort of work best done in shifts, anyway."

Japh lifts a forestalling hand, the nondescript lines of his face falling into polite, nervous denial. "Wouldn't dream 'f it, m'lady, 'd get 'er all dirty, shame t' ruin th' lovely thing..." Nevermind that the gold's already covered in clots of dirt and brush. As Sarika confides her lifemate's particularities to him, though, he's forced to change his stance. Politeness dictates that he stroke the hide. "'N honor y' say, m'lady? No, th' honor's all mine, 'm sure." Taking a deep breath, he strips the glove off his left hand and with the utmost care lifts it to place it, featherlight, on the shining muzzle.

She's been here all the time, yes sireee Taylin is just quietly working on weed pulling and collecting like many of the other candidates. Seeing Zeyion is moving further from Tomi and Aoifen, this one moves in closer to the girl "You doing okay?" is offered with a smile as she settles into a quick rythem of pull and toss "Watch your hands for blisters, you don't want to get really bad ones that are hard to get healed up." sage advice from someone who's had them before.

M'an doesn't seem to notice Liaden's precipitous departure. No, he's far too busy standing there for several moments, just looking down at the massive branching weed in his hand. It takes Lyllya's question to snap him out of it. "Hum? Yes. I think we're making excellent progress," he opines, tightness lacing the root of his tone. "The dragons are an immense help. But, as you say, we shouldn't push too hard. I believe a hot soak would be very theraputic for everyone." Very slowly, he tosses his weed onto the pile. Toss.

Aoifen oofs slightly as Tomi's tacklehug jerks his attention away from Zeyion's auburn-and-white locks. His wiry boy-arms wrap around her automatically, but only a split second before he's hugging her back in earnest. "I got you the /best/ Turnday presents," he begins, hurrying to add, "though not as special as the one I got from you, that was really... ow!" Clutching his midriff as her tiny un-pinked hand thunks him solidly, his expression clouds as his best friend stomps off. "Tomi...? Tomi? What? Don't you want to see what I got you....?" Helplessly, he looks around for some explanations. "What'd I do?"

Kajaith is sure to remain very still, but her muzzle does press against Japh's hand just a little. Her eyes whirl with the blue of contentment. After a moment she withdraws and whuffles her approval before returning to her work. Sarika just smiles "Thank you Japh, she is much more assured now that you are fine." A strained tone catches her attention and her eyes drift towards M'an and Lyllya. Sensing something in the Weyrleaders stance, she inclines her head briefly towards Japh. "If you will excuse me? I should see how things are going." Crossing over to the pair she passes by Tomi, the pink gloves standing out. Leaning down she whispers "Careful, don't let Kaj see those. I swear she will demand an outfit to go with them." She gives a mock shudder before moving off. "Did I hear someone say it is about time for a good long soak? I know I'd appreciate it and Kajaith would love a bath. So, are we stopping now or working for a bit longer?"

Lyllya raises her hand at Sarika's question. "I know I could use one. I think my butt's bruising," she admits to those around her with a light blush for her words. "There's a lake nearby that's fed by a hot spring, and I recommend it to anyone who wants to go there." Which keeps the Hold and Weyr baths free of crowds, conveniently enough. "I'll see that some soapsands are brought in." A meaningful glance is sent in M'an's direction. "I imagine that Cairth would love it, complete opposite of the ice lake."

Zeyion glances over toward Tomi for help, but she seems to have vanished from where she was. Aoifen, however, is still there so gray eyes are turned his way. "A word of advice? Go talk to her... /now/! All I have heard was how much she was looking forward to seeing you, and you /looked/ at me instead. If you value your friendship with her, go apologize." Shaking her head, several bits of weed and dirt drift to the ground, before Zey offers her friend Taylin a shrug. "I'm fine, used to this stuff from helping out here around the hold." A nod is cast toward Aoifen and Tomi. "Can you believe what he did?" Leaning back on her knees, the Bendenite candidate finally takes a look around, sighing. "Shards, I didn't realize we had done so much. Oh, look at M'an, something's wrong. His expression is a strange one."

"But.. but... all I did was /look/! Am I supposed to say hi and /not/ look at you?" At once bewildered and irritated, Aoifen tries to puzzle these sharding females out. And then Zeyion abandons him, too, without really explaining what happened. But she /did/ give him advice, and since she's obviously Tomi's friend, it just might work. "Tomi," repeats the Bendenite, this time his voice very quiet and sounding a little scared as he approaches the furiously weeding girl. "Tomi, I'm sorry for what I did," whatever it was, "I didn't mean it, please don't be mad at me because I really wanna give you your presents, I worked hard on them. Well, one of them, other people worked hard on the other one but it's still special I hope... Tomi?"

Taylin can't help but watch Tomi and Aoifen with a smile, oh to be young like that again "It happens, they're young and make mistakes like that /alot/." Looking back at what's been done, Taylin seems astonished now that she takes in what has been cleared away "Hard to believe, didn't think we'd get this much done when we started." Sitting back on her heels, the Fortian candidate ponders the piles of weeds with a yawn followed closely by a grunt as stiffened shoulders are carefully rolled "I'm not gonna be able to move in the morning though."

Grumbling as she furiously pulls up poor defensive weeds, Tomi once again sinks into the 'All boys are stupid' gloom. And she would have merrily stayed there if not for Sarika's whispered words. Eyes widening in horror, she pulls them out of her back pocket and moves to sit on them. The last thing she needs is a matching outfit. And because it would be a gift from Benden Weyr, she'd have to wear it, too. Oh, the horrors. As Aoifen approaches, the little candidate just weeds faster, her face set into a mulish scowl. "You're just like the rest of them, Aoif," the little girl notes disgustedly. "I thought you were different, but you're just like Jasen. So go kiss Zeyion, but I bet she won't kiss you back because she likes someone else." So nyah. "Or Taylin or whoever. I don't care, I don't care at all anymore." Obvious lies.

M'an returns Lyllya's meaningful glance with one of his own, strained and a little peevish on the surface. But his face relaxes slightly and he relents, nodding. "I think you're right, Lyllya. We can't rush this - we'll be at it for a month, I'd wager, at the least." Glancing around, he inhales deeply and then releases a bass bellow that carries: "Listen up everyone! Time to call it quits for the day. Fortians, we'll be retreating to the Benden Lake for cleanup and relaxation. Finish up what you're doing and please deposit your tools and equipment in orderly piles." That finished, he indulges in the briefest of winces. That's... that's definitely going to bother him in the morning.

Kajaith finishes with the last tree she was working on before ambling over to help the brown with a particularly stubborn one. Joining with him, she digs furiously with her forelegs, until the stuck root starts to move a little. Fired up she attacks it with more vigor, feeling it let go. She moves back to allow the brown to finish the uprooting, crooning encouragement.

Lyllya signals for Benden's riders to follow suit and follow M'an's instructions before rubbing at her own back and wincing. "Once you've had a child or two..." She sighs before stretching. "I want a bath and a swim," she tells Sarika, then claps her hands. "Picnic at the lake!" Can't have it be said that Benden doesn't treat visitors and workers well. "I'll take two or three with me."

Aryion grunts, finishing up cutting one of the many fallen trees, as M'an's words are overheard. "Right then, apprentices gather up the tools, yes /all/ of them, and head back to the hall. Good job lads, good job." He passes off his saw to one of the departing journeymen, nodding in thanks. He has some unfinished business to attend to. Blue eyes sparking, he strides across the clearing, hauling his only child up and into his arms. "Didn't think I'd let you go without a hug lass? How are they treating you at Fort? Heard from M'an you are doing good, well keep it up." Hugging her once tightly, he drops a kiss atop her head, before leaning down to grin at her.

"Kiss Zeyion?" Aoifen's tone mingles shock and trepidation. "I'd never do that! I could never do that! I can't go and kiss somebody I don't know!" One hand goes to his cheek in imagined pain. "What if she smacked me?" Then a conversation that Lyam and Kyrian once had about girls comes to mind - he couldn't participate, of course, having no experience whatsoever - and slow realization dawns. "Tomi.. did you really think I wanted to kiss Zeyion? Because I don't. I came here to see you. Look, I got you these," and he rummages deep into his pocket, pulling out a few individually wrapped sweets. "It's Benden's baklava, it's famous, you'll like it - say, what's that?" He stares at the splotches of pink. "Tomi, did you steal Lizardbreath's gloves? I bet she'll have awful blisters."

Tiranth thanks his younger sister for her help, and tells J'kar the tree is ready to be chopped. J'kar and the others make short work of it, and when M'an's call comes to him, the brownrider props himself up on the axe handle and wipes his brow with a kerchief. "Lets go swimming, Tirry! Work well done." This last is said to his fellow tree fellers as the cotholders mingle around drinking water and nibbling snacks that their folk have brought out.

Zeyion swings around, open mouthed at Aoifen's words. "Tay, its worse that I thought." Any other comments are not even heard as she gets hauled up and into her father's arms. "Da... come on, yes, Fort is fine, good food. I plan on it. Thanks for the turnday present Da, it was great." She offers her father a tight squeeze before shooing him off. "Tell Danny I said hi okay?" With a nod, Aryion ruffles her hair and departs back toward the hold, nodding respectfully to those as he passes. Sighing, Zeyion shakes her head. "At least I got to see him." With a grin, the candidate gathers her things and waits for further instructions.
Japh has been quietly absorbing his experience touching a dragon - his first! And a queen dragon at that. Staring down at his fingers, he slides their tips over one another, remembering the silken feel of her hide - so different from what he'd imagined. The Weyrleader's shout brings him out of his reverie, and he looks around with mingled relief and dismay as it's already time for cleanup. "Got t' stop daydreamin'," he chides himself, moving to pick up tools.
J'kar swings up upon his lifemate's back.
Tiranth wings skywards with powerfull wingstrokes.

Sarika nods at Lyllya "I've already had Kajaith bespeak the watchrider. The Weyr is sending suitable picnic food and they will meet us at the lake." Even though young, the hard work causes even she to stretch and wince a little at the aches and pains in her back. Nothing a good soak won't cure though. "Oh, I also asked for a couple of skins of wine. I'm sure there are a few who make use of them?" She doesn't look directly at the Weyrleader, but something in her tone implies that perhaps he might like some.

M'an would love some wine. Or some fellis. Or both. But will he actually take them? That remains to be seen. "Thank you for the hospitality, Lyllya, Sarika." The Weyrleader sounds genuinely pleased and thankful, if not exactly surprised by their largesse. Benden does have a repuation for fine entertainment, after all. Craning his neck, he peers around the newly-opened clearing, seeking out the familiar white-and-brown spots of his current pet herd. Funnily enough, he hasn't actually /moved/ yet.

Tomi eyes the sweeties out of the corner of her eye, tempted, oh so tempted. She even begins reaching for a sweet until the boy mentions the gloves. And now the little candidate gets mad all over again. "They are not Lizardbreath's, they're mine. I don't go around stealing other people's things." Well, not if she's likely to get caught at least. "And I like them, so there." Lies, obvious lies but the little weyrbrat's so irate that she'll say anything as long as it's counter to what Aoifen suggests. At M'an's words, the little blonde rises and straightens out her stiff shoulders. "And I don't believe you. I saw how you looked at her, Aoifen. You were so thinking about kissing." Turning her nose up, she starts towards the other candidates as they gather their tools and deposit them together.

Taylin is about fed up with the younger candidate but this once she bites her tongue and doesn't say a word as she passes Tomi. Poor Aoifen gets a smile just to see what happens as she continues on for a drink, all this work makes one parched "We did well today didn't we Weyrleader?" is asked and stated all at once as she gives a quick bow of her head and moves on.
"I was /not/ thinking about kissing!" retorts Aoifen furiously, ignoring the unbelievable claim that Tomi likes pink in his ire. And it's true. He wasn't thinking about kissing at all. "And I can prove it, too!" Folding his arms across his chest, he raises his voice so that it can clearly be heard by anyone in the nearby vicinity: "I know for a fact that my expression just then looked /nothing/ like your expression did the other sevenday when /you/ kissed /me/!" There, now everybody knows. Live that down, Tomi. "So there. I /wasn't/ thinking about kissing." Aoifen thinks about it a minute longer, then adds, "But if you're so convinced I was, maybe I should! And maybe I should give her these presents, too. You obviously don't want them. Here," he says as Taylin passes, "Want some baklava?"

Lyllya grins at M'an, not bothering with trying to bow. She'd hurt herself. "It's Benden's pleasure, M'an, and our repayment for such industry." With that said, she wanders over to Aoifen and Tomi. "Best to kiss and make up, children. We've swimming to do and a picnic to have. No sense in fussing while you're busy with that." She's a mom, she has argument radar. As an afterthought, she moves to take a package from Mizuth's straps and hands it over to the candidate. "That's the outfit. I hear it comes as a turn day gift." With that, and a smile for each of them, she walks away to pull her gloves back on. "Yes, Mizuth, I now. Bath and swimming, I promise, and you can play with the candidates when we're done. Just don't wear them out. They have chores to do."

"We've gotten a lot accomplished today, Taylin," agrees the Weyrleader to the stablehand, resting one hand on his hip. "More than I had thought." And he doesn't mean just in terms of clearing land - some bonds have been forged today. "Ah, Taylin," he continues, lowering his voice, "would you mind bringing me that stout staff you see over there?" He indicates a straight, firm treelimb, about seven feet long.

Aoifen did not just announce to dignitaries from both Weyrs, Benden Hold, and Smith Hall that Tomi kissed him. Standing stock still as the shock washes over her, red suffuses her features faster than it takes a firelizard to disappear **between** at the mention of the Red Star. Even the tips of her ears burn bright. And then she turns, little hands fisting at her sides as she would have taken a swing at the Bendenite but Lyllya steps in. Looking embarrassed to the very core of her being, the young candidate drops her gaze and refuses to look at Aoifen at all. "Begging your pardon, Weyrwoman, but I'm never kissing him ever again." Ever. And she'd sulk some more, but the goldrider produces a package and hands it to the little candidate. "Many thanks, Weyrwoman Lyllya." Tomi's rather surprised the goldrider remembered the poor state of her clothing. It seems like ages ago to the diminutive blonde. Poor Aoifen still gets the cold shoulder.

Taylin shrugs then nods as she heads for the staff that's been pointed at "I'll see what I can do to get it to you Weyrleader." Upon getting up to it, she judges it's size and with a determined look tucks one end under her arm and begins to the slow process of hauling it back to M'an. After much struggling and panting she stops and looks for empty hands to call upon for help "Umm Aoifen could you help me?"

Lyllya grins over at Tomi. "Well, no one said you had to kiss him. I'd recommend it, but that's just because you'll need practice. Go swimming," she recommends, winking at both before pulling on her riding gloves and helmet and mounting up along with those she's taking to the lake with her.
Lyllya swings up upon her lifemate's glittering neck.

"I'm sorry, Weyrwoman Lyllya," also apologizes Aoifen, deliberately looking extra-adoringly at the goldrider. He can play mean and unfair, too. "I would be /happy/ to help you, Candidate," he replies gravely to Taylin, fairly rushing over towards the older girl to help her with the Weyrleader's walking stick. Oh, the irony: it was how he and Tomi met, arguing over whether or not M'an needed one. A pang causes his scowl to falter for a moment, but then he remembers the slender box stuffed in his trous pocket, and marches stolidly away from the little weyrgirl.

Tomi holds onto her anger, clinging to it like a security blanket because if she lets it go she'll be left with the realization that she just lost something precious. Gathering up her pink workgloves, she keeps her back ramrod straight and soon disappears into a cluster of fellow Candidates, all the white and brown and black blending together until there's no sign of the little blonde. As angry tears start to rise up, the weyrbrat furiously wipes them away. She won't cry. She never cries. And certainly not over a boy, even if he was her bestest best friend.

Egg Touching - Fort Weyr - 2/9/06

2006-02-12T22:17:00.000-05:00

M'an has begun detaching Candidates in smaller groups for the egg touchings, giving each candidate more time and freedom while keeping schedule disruptions to a minimum. As he leads them into the heat, single-file this time, he bows the deceptively quiet Aevaleth. She may look deep in repose, but have a care for the sharp glitter beneath her mostly-lowered 'lids.

Myr bows towards M'an and the clutch parents, taking her time to be respectful enough to not imbue the rath of any of them - after all, M'an /did/ send a Candidate home already. "Good day, Weyrleader, sir," she says with a big smile to her dad, obviously pleased to be back onto the sands. "Would Aevaleth mind if I approach the queen egg?"

Nicon reluctantly steps across the sands, following the overzealous line of candidates as they are sorted into groups. Mindful of his manners, he executes a deep bow toward M'an, then the clutch parents, a proper salute and, "Good day, sir," offered before extending back to his normal stiff-spined posture and sinking behind the eager candidates to stand on the outskirts, his arms firmly crossed about his chest.

"Go right ahead, Myr. Be respectful and cautious as always, however." M'an's tone is even as is proper, but the astute observe would note the proud uptilt of his chin, and the softness around his eyes. Perhaps he's warming up to the idea of a daughter after all. But the Weyr comes before family for this man, so his gaze is quickly scanning the caverns to maintain order... ah. "Nicon, you're not touching any eggs. Is there something wrong?" he asks mildly.

Myr approaches Daughter in the Sky Egg with caution, as advised, but determination, too. Just before she becomes too close, to turns to bow once again to Aevaleth, then to Cairth, before giving the egg itself a quick bob - better to be ovrecourteous than not courteous enough. "Hello again, little queen," is murmured as she reaches out her hand to gently caress the honeyed sides. "What wonders do you hold today?"

Myr just heard: Soaring monolithic thoughts of amber populate a celery-shaded mindscape, as aweing and inscrutable as some massive alien vessel floating in space.

Nicon is particularly grumpy together - must be those midnight chores - though at M'an's inquiry, the holder draws his shoulders back, his entire demeanor altered at once. "No sir, just tired sir," he begins with a shout, mindfully lowering his voice given his current surroundings. Prodded now to puruse the eggs, he stalks along the outer rim of the eggs, stopping at one in particular - the Big Bang Egg - to which he offers an appreciative nod. "Now this one, this one I like," he mumurs to noone but himself as he reaches out a hand to tentatively brush the egg with the tips of his fingers.

"Forever different, aren't you? I like that, you know. It's very interesting... I'm a little like that, you know." Myr strokes the egg as she talks ever so softly to it, crouching alongside it now and resting both palms lightly on the hardening shell, her ear held close as it to hear what's happening within. "I do believe, little queen, that we could be well partnered, if you should do me the honor of choosing me as your lifemate once you hatch."

Nicon just heard: Out of that scintillating darkness stream vibrant pulses of bright silver light, like fireworks in slow motion.

Myr just heard: Silent and self-contained, the oblong shapes coast without comment as their sky slowly deepens to olive.

Though Nicon's expression remains cold and emotionless, his eyes widen and he at once retracts his hand, tucking it beneath the arm that he already had crossed about his chest. Warily, he looks to M'an, mouth agape for the moment. "Um... sir..." he begins, suddenly clamping his mouth shut, a watchful eye kept on the egg as he begins to move toward another, the Creation in the Darkness Egg. As he stands before the egg, he pulls his hand out, tucks it back in, the finally hovers it over the egg's apex; fingers gently, hestitantly, brush the top.

M'an saw those widening eyes, though his own betray none of the delight he's feeling as he watches the boy's brush with dragonmind. "They do that sometimes," he says reassuringly to Nicon. "Actually, a lot of the time."

Myr's own thoughts and reactions are directed towards the little egg, and she looks to be concentrating, with her eyes squinted slightly. "Curiouser and curiouser, little one. For one not yet born, you already know quite a few things, and and impressive range of colors, too..." Her fingers gently run over the curves of the golden egg, getting to know it by touch as well as sight. And then the girl looks around, to be sure no-one else is waiting. As it appears no-one is at this very moment, she lingers a little longer, sighing softly. "Yes, precious one, I do believe I'd be the perfect partner for you. We could soar the skies together... wouldn't that be nice? And then we could go somewhere like Ista to sun for a while, to warm up... Fort can get quite cold, you know. I bet you'd like sunning on Ista's shores..." Mental images of a sunny beach are projected, along with warmth and sunshine.

Nicon just heard: The reflection of weariness, the ache after a long day's work, could be imagined, the touch is so brief.

Nicon is getting used to this: squared shoulders relax as he rolls them backwards, a diminutive smile turning the corner of his lips as he removes his hand from the egg. His next steps are taken eagerly across the sands toward the Life from the Dust Egg, sand scattered beneath his booted-feet as he comes to an abrupt halt to quietly observe the egg for a moment. Then, just like he had previously done, he drops his hand onto the egg, roughened fingers spread across its top.

Myr just heard: The swatch of green keeps darkening, passing from pine to hunter to the depths of the sea green, until it has become black.

"Well, green does seem to be the colour of the day, doesn't it?" Myr chuckles softly, stroking the egg. "Though I hope you liked what I said... sometimes people think of dark colours as being negative, little queen. I've never been to Ista myself, but I've seen paintings of it. It's beautiful, but in a different way to Fort. That's where we are now, in Fort Weyr. You'll love it here, too, once you're hatched."

Nicon just heard: Nothing bashful about this egg: strident tones march across your mindscape, the deep reverberations of a trumpet's call transformed into tactile sensation.

Nicon smiles. In fact, he beams. Doing nothing to conceal the unusual expression upon his face, his fingers splay across the egg once more until he, regretfully, removes them and drops his arms to tuck both hands into his pockets. Shaking his head, that smile still upon his face, he steps back and away from the egg, retracing his steps toward the Big Bang Egg again. Here he pauses in silent observation.

Myr just heard: What the queen will love is unclear; that murky darkness envelops her still. Slowly even that fades.

"Nothing more to say, little queen?" Myr strokes the shell affectionately, giving it a smile. "I'll let you be, then, precious one." She sounds so silly and soppy, that it's no wonder her tone's kept to barely above a whisper, so that only those really close by can hear her. She slowly stands up, gives the shell one final caress, before stepping away and allowing the next female candidate to approach the egg. She makes her way over to M'an, giving him another quick bow. "Excuse me, sir, but there's rumours going around... did Vaethe leave?"

M'an lifts his eyes from Nicon to drop them again on Myr. His expression, generally impassive when discussing delicate issues, actually looks a touch sad, or maybe just old. But no, that hint is gone now, and he looks the same as before. "Yes. Vaethe was dismissed as a Candidate and returned to Harper Hall last night." End of story. No, wait, "I'll be addressing the issue in a meeting in the barracks later today."

Myr's facial expression is a mixture of a few things. "Oh, no," she says. While she's not going to admit there was no love lost between the two of them, she still sighs. "Poor Vaethe. I'd hate to be in her position." Her shoulders droop and she looks down at her booted feet, scuffling the toe of one in the sand. "I'll just go back to the eggs, now then, sir." And so she does, heading towards the Fallen Ymir Egg to gently touch it.

Myr just heard: Oh, this egg is hiding, hiding deep within the dark chilly crevasses of the glacier. Secretive, sneaky, and giggling ever so faintly. You cannot find me.

Nicon remains absolutely stiff as his dark gaze slits onto the egg, examining each and every developing inch. Below lowered lids, he looks to M'an, one brow raised in silent inquisition at the Weyrleader's words. "Vaethe left?" Curiosity brims at his lips, though he returns his gaze back to the egg and merely stares... again.

Myr steps back away from the Fallen Ymir egg, grinning. "That one's quite teasing," she says with a grin to the nearest Candidate, a lanky lad who's been favouring the Hand of God Egg. "But I like it. I like it almost as much as the queen egg... It's a shame you guys can't get to touch it, because she's throwing out some really interesting 'thoughts'. I guess you can call them thoughts, right?" When the lad just shrugs and goes back to hogging his egg, Myr shrugs, too, and decides to go to touch the Child of the Creator Egg.

Myr just heard: Mocha dream swirls across your tastebuds, chocolately rich and comforting.

M'an glances up at Aevaleth as the queen begins to twitch her tall back and forth. "Okay, that's enough," he decides abruptly. "Let's go back to the caverns."