Logs:Trouble?
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 31 December, 2004 |
| Who: Aislinn, Kassima, Lanisa, M'tri, Satiet, V'lano |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 26, Month 9, Turn 1 (Interval 10) |
 |
| Your location's current time: 10:57 on day 26, month 9, Turn 51, of the Tenth Pass. It is a autumn morning. You head towards the western side of the bowl. Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr(#880RJs) Standing on the western side of the bowl, the high crownlike spires of the Seven Spindles on the north wall tower magestically above the roughly ovoid bowl floor. Near you, a large boulder stands, placed almost exactly in the center of the bowl. This side of the bowl is busy with the constant flow of residents and visitors around the entrance to the living cavern to the southwest and the lower caverns to the west. To the north, the large opening on the upper wall leading into the hatching grounds catches your eye. Directly below it, the ground entrance to the same area seems almost tiny. Northwest, the weyrs belonging to the junior queens of High Reaches are accessible from a short set of stairs and a path of carefully laid black marble leads from them to the entrance to the living cavern. To the south, a few ground weyrs remain unoccupied, in case any visiting or injured dragons need them. The morning is mostly hidden between scattered grey clouds. It is raining heavily, the water coming down in torrents. It is completely still, no winds blow and the fall air is pleasantly warm. The ground beneath your feet is wet from the last storm. Views: Junior Queen Weyrs Contents: Daikoth Lysseth Voldrath(#13674JVae) Obvious exits: LIving Cavern Lower Caverns Hatching Grounds Ground Level Guest Weyrs Eastern Bowl Floor Bowl Floor "Charmed, I'm sure," the dark-haired girl in the trio of teenagers that makes their way across the bowl remarks. Dryly even. "You've heard then, that I'm supposed to give my regards to him, like.. well you know." Left unsaid, but insinuated in the uptilt of a brow, Satiet's chin lifts smugly. The blonde at her side blinks, shaking her head once the implication hones in and cautiously she voices, "You shouldn't say that kind of thing, you know, Sat. It's likely to come bite you in the arse later." Joilin is leveled a cool stare, fingers lifting to dismiss the other two girls, "Come get me when you're done mucking. I wouldn't want to keep you from your chores." Leaving her companions at the entrance to the galleries, the raven-haired girl takes the steps up with prim aloofness. You walk through the tunnel, emerging in an enormous cavern. You walk up a short flight of steps into the galleries. In the Galleries of the High Reaches Weyr Hatching Grounds(#510RJas$) Kassima takes this confirmation that the eggs have not previously been seen as a cue to point towards the incredible, incomparable ice egg and inform the bluerider, "See that one? 'Tis going t'Hatch a giant orange chicken. Which Volath will then eat. I for one plan t'be here t'see it, though 'twould be anyway as a matter of course--between it just being a Hatching and their being Volath's progeny. Have you any thoughts or marks on what egg might Hatch which color?" Ah-hah. Her true reason for egg-gawking with her Wingmate, revealed. "Probably a good notion, that. Although, y'know, I'm nay sure I can guess how Volath would take being insulted by Daikoth." HRW-Bowl> In the bowl, to the west, Speak of the devil. Rubbing weary eyes, V'lano trods on past Lysseth with a mumbled "G'morning pretty girl" as if it's utterly normal to see her there; he even raises a hand as he passes her forequarters to wave, completely unawares as to whether she's even got an eye open. Trod trod trod, muttering softly about whiny dragons. Not the green, presumably. No, one out there on those sands he's headed for. V'lano strolls up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl. V'lano has arrived. At the top step, Satiet pauses, her thoughtful gaze dwelling on the eggs and the two parents on the sands. She tips her head forward, chin grazing her collar in a mocking show of respect towards the two dragons and their progeny, before curiosity slants her gaze towards an all too familiar voice. She looks almost too delighted at seeing the Telgari greenrider, if the brightening of her eyes is any indication - or she's had one too many already this early in the day. "My," she begins congenially, "I didn't expect visitors so close to the noon meal. Doesn't your Weyr miss you on occasion, ma'am?" Boot heels clack against the ground as the slight girl makes her way towards Kassima and M'tri. A nod is afforded the bluerider, along with a thinly voiced greeting, "Morning, sir. Reaches duties to your Weyr." On the sands, A single greenish eye cracks open on the bronze head which lies outstretched on a weary, limp neck, chin rutted in the sand. Whirling slowly, the narrow gaze follows the arrival of its dark-haired rider, the head rocking by tiny increments slightly to the side to allow the following of V'lano's arrival from the top of the stairs toward the rail. His waterfall-laden wings raise and fall with the expansion of a sigh within his great ribcage, resulting in a low whuff through his nostrils. When the upblown sand cloud settles, the egg-sire seems asleep once more, eyes shut tight. M'tri When standing at his full height, M'tri is hardly menacing; he only raises to about five-feet-eight, give or take a bit. His build is slender and fluid, his movements infinately more suitable of a serpent, even if nothing else is. His body is lean muscle, rather than the frequent mountainous bulges of a man of broader frame. His skin, while not extremely pale, has only a hint of brown to it, not sunlight induced but natural. Chartruese eyes of the lightest tone contrast elegantly. His hair is thick and dark brown nearly to the point of being black, and has a natural curl that is neither ungenerous nor kinky. It's simply messy despite any of his attempts to make it look like he's not just rolled out of bed. His face has acquired a lean look to it, with a slender nose and an everlasting sly grin. This grin, which always reaches his eyes, gives him semblance to a sleight-of-hand artist. His smile is an all-together different thing. When he smiles, he does not look conniving, but bright and trustworthy. Black breeches are slung on his waist, held up by a slim black belt with a shiny brass buckle - as if Daikoth would allow anything less than shiny. A well-fitting tunic of the same, stain-concealing brown clothes his upper torso, tucked into his breeches, marginally wrinkled. The entire outfit is worn and hand-me-down by appearance, with reinforced seams and plenty of patches here and there where the colors make slight variations to the rest of the clothing. To complete his outfit is a pair of solid and sturdy black boots which rise to mid-calf and halt where he's tucked in his breeches and removed an overlay to cover the laces. Looped over his right shoulder is the two-toned knot of a Telgar rider. Threaded through this knot is a thread of sober, dark blue; a blue that is rippled through with lighter tones of cerulean--a perfect depiction of his lifemate's coloration. The patch on the opposing shoulder of the brown riding jacket proudly proclaims his position in Thunderbolt. M'tri is 18 Turns, 8 months, and 6 days. Kassima Kassima is a woman gifted magnanimously by genetics: one would likely guess her to be younger than her actual age thanks in part to high cheekbones and a brow lines dare not touch, and metabolism and height have both dealt a good hand in her slender 5'10" build. Her fine-boned features are framed by a black river braided and confined, allowed free only in the wayward forelock; there, it threatens to dangle into canted eyes the color of emeralds in shadow. A shrewd glint lightens these even when mirth does not, and the well-shaped brows above lend eloquence through their mobility. Kassi seems to be in excellent health and condition. She is strong and fit, with enough tan to suggest time spent in warm climes recently; shadows may sometimes ring her eyes, but they shine for all of that. She currently wears a shimmering black blouse and black slacks that have become careworn in their Turns-long service. Two pouches and a long dagger hang from her ornamented belt; the glints of metal at her fingers (+detail available) suggest that she likes jewelry. On one shoulder of her exquisitely crafted riding jacket is the black and white knot of a Telgar Wingleader, with a thin cord of red to honor her Benden Weyr origins and a strand of grey-green to show the color of her lifemate, Lysseth. The patch on the other shoulder identifies her as the leader of Thunderbolt Wing. V'lano Tousled, sometimes fly-away curls frame a sun-drenched face made rough over the bridge of the nose and above generous brows from much time out of doors. Dark eyes framed by lashes too long for a young man's face express every little thing that comes into his head, saving him the trouble of much talking. His nose is a little narrow, but the even, smooth lips beneath it are not unpleasing, and a frame of smoothly curled hairs in the brackets of his mouth sets it off to advantage. His hands are slender and as expressive as his eyes, softened by much time in dragon-hide oil. He appears to be somewhere in his early twenties. A tunic of undyed linen flows loose over his sinewy arms and even chest. Its pale fabric makes a swath down his torso, framed on either side by a cardigan sweater left open, woven in a dark sienna yarn. Trousers of coarser fabric tuck neatly into boots of harder leather, both likely chosen for ease of motion and cleaning. A fleece-lined wingrider's jacket graced with the badge of Telgar's Icewind wing provides footing for the simple rider's knot run through with a bronze thread. M'tri's face splits in a sly grin, the kind that says he knew the entire time it was going to come to this. "Kassi, you know that one day, someone like me - maybe it will be me - is going to beat you in this betting thing, and I am going to take every shiny thing you own and line my weyr with it so that Daikoth is finally satisfied, and you will be poor in an empty weyr, without any pretty jewelry, and only one bummish outfit. And Lysseth's unconditional love will be all that keeps you floating." Pause. "That one's going to be a brown," he says with a point at the Off to Oz egg. Satiet's approach earns her a thorough looking-over and a wrinkled nose. "Telgar's duties. But I am no sir, trust me." Lanisa meanders up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl. Lanisa has arrived. The words of a little green bird outside have Kassi turning towards the Galleries entrance in good time to see that Satiet has arrived, though it's doubtful--rather doubtful--that this is the person she was looking to see. Nevertheless, her greeting is cordial enough: "Candidate. G'day. The Weyr longs and pines for m'presence, 'tis true, but I am evil and cruel and live t'leave it in a constant state of heartbreak. This is Satiet, M'tri. One of the Candidates." Addressing the bluerider means she's distracted further from her look-about by the need to assure him, "You shall never take all m'shiny things! You may dream of it; may quest for it; may scheme and plot and plan for it, but you shall never be successful, and you shall *never* have m'fine gowns all for yourself. You'd stretch the lines terribly." Now she's free to follow the direction of Volath's attentions, and call a greeting accompanied by a warm, broad smile: "Vel--I hear you've been flattering m'dragon again." "She'll just have to get more jewelry then. - And it's the only way to handle her, Kassima." This is the murry observation of a cotton-headed bronzerider, fists to his eyes several steps down the aisle. Boots accustomed to the depth and length of the Reachian gallery stairs, V'lano just keeps moving despite the fact that, when he pulls his hands away from his face and knocks crumbles of sleep-salt from his knuckles off against his trousers, his eyes look as though he's no more able to see than they were when squeezed shut. "Duties from Reaches and Telgar and all their queens, 'specially the one out there, Candidate, riders - " He's repeating what's necessary, with sleepy embellishments, without even seeing identities other than the presumed Kassima until he's almost to the Thunderbolt wingleader's side. There, the appearance of the pale-eyed young man he shared barracks with twice suddenly registers on his face, and there's an abrupt straightening of shoulders and widening of eyes, the effort to look alert. "M'tri," he blurts, obviously. "...Welcome!" "Your knot says otherwise. Sir." Already set apart from her reply by a breath, additional emphasis marks the title as somehow special. Or slyly cruel, given the speaker, it's more likely the latter than the first. "Satiet," she repeats, studying M'tri intently before allowing a flattering smile to curve her lips. "Telgar must have something sweet in the waters to produce such good looking riders," a look over her shoulder includes the arriving V'lano into this eclectic grouping. It's only after she settles herself into a seat, adjusting the line of her trousers in a more comfortable position, that she remarks upon Kassima's words, "You must leave hearts strewn in your wake. It's a pi.." but once the bronzerider comes closer, her words trail off to accord him a sardonic look of greeting. "Morning, sir." "Does the weyr really need more shiny things? I mean, think of all the extra dusting and polishing that would go with adding Kassi's collection to the lot." There's clearly a teasing glint to the bluerider's gaze as Lani makes her way up the steps and moves towards the other Telgarians. She pauses to look over the clutch and grins, "I like all the grey ones, Vel." She would. The candidate only gains a long look before a slight smirk of as grin slides across Lanisa's face, "You don't have a bronze, he's not interested." M'tri laughs at V'lano, tipping off a nod and a, "H'lo, bud. How's the pickin's here? Do all the candidates have sense like this one? How 'bout the rest of the bronzers? Will they be hard to win over?" Satiet earns herself a scrutinizing look, but a grin nonetheless as he decides, "Well, if you want to call me sir, you can. But I'll tell you, it's not the waters. This right here is good breeding." He wags a finger at her in mock scolding, which quickly dissolves into a wave to Lani. "You don't have a bronze either." Kassima only laughs, and sets her as-yet-unopened wineskin on her lap so as to leave her hand free for attempting to catch one of the bronzerider's, and, should she do so, tug in an invitation for him to sit beside her should he like. "An expert in m'dragon already, is it? Has she been giving you trouble, that she needs t'be handled? Come sit with us. We're *visiting*." Ah, stating the obvious. Such a pastime. "You look tired," is observed in more of a murmur, a thread of concern running through it. The concept of more jewelry gets a grin though; of course it does--and then she agrees to Satiet, deadpan, "If'n you think they're stunning, you should only see M'tri's husband. Hey, and speaking thereof! Sort of. Lani! Join us too?" "She does, I promise." This is directed to Satiet; V'lano looks heartbroken. Assuming that your definition of 'heartbroken' is muzzily sleep-deprived beneath an exterior of faint, good-host shock. Shock doubled by Lanisa's arrival, though a moment later something visibly clicks in his head and his shoulders round a little in relaxation. "Lani - sa," he hesitantly greets the newest addition to the Telgari Invasion Commission. "Do you really? I suppose you've heard, then - Josilina loathes them. She hasn't been spotted out here with paints yet, but she blames Volath - me - for them all." The bronzer turns incrementally toward the sands to give the dragons there, and their suspicious offspring, a somewhat rueful look. Aside, for the Thunderbolt riders, he notes, "The candidates, I don't know. Strict rules here." That's a warning, and it's shared with Satiet herself through a dark flicker of a gaze. "And I'd watch careful which bronzers you choose, too - maybe Kassima could suggest better guesses than I." He manages a weak wink for the wingleader while trodding toward her spot, seeking a place to put himself down. Aislinn strides up into the stands from the entrance to the bowl. Aislinn has arrived. Kassima's observation of the bronzerider sharpens the set of Satiet's eyes, pale blue eyes glittering like ice chips as she turns to regard V'lano again. But it's only momentary, the sudden relief brought by a gracious smile that widens until it threatens to spill over with it's affability for the sire's rider. "The weyrwoman wanted me to convey my regards to you, sir. Lhiannonth's that is." As if there were any confusion as to whether the subject of the comment was Matheny or Josilina. Tilting her head towards M'tri, overt flirtation on her slender features, she muses aloud, but not to the bluerider, nay. It's to Kassi the words are sent towards, "It's not just the men that are attractive, ma'am." Lanisa's arrival causes just one twitch of her nose, uncertainty splayed along her creased forehead at the newly arriving bluerider's last comment. "I thought I was the exception to all the rules, Trii? Or does this mean I'm being cast aside as your mistress for the lack? Mayhap I'll just have t'barrow Tear, would that do? I'm not sure Tisi will approve, but Da doesn't need Tear all the time, eh?" Riiight. "Oh aye. Trii's husband is something to behold." Lanisa backs Kassi up without pause, "Don't mind if I do. Duties and all that." She sketches a slight flourish of a bow V'lano's way, followed by a teasing grin, "She -still- on about grey eggs? Is she blaming it on Telgar bronzes in general yet, or not made that connection?" For Satiet, Lani just gives a smile, much like the feline that got in the cream. Aislinn sneaks in, and immediately shifts her gaze over to the eggs. With a broad grin, she leans forward a bit to see any that she might have missed before. The sound of other voices catches her attention momentarily, and automatically she says 'duties' to the riders that she's not familiar with. To Satiet, the girl waves with a warm smile. "Hey there!" Ais ignores the little she had heard upon entering, and focuses once more on the eggs. M'tri shrugs slowly, agreeing, "I think the grey are nice. At least they're not pink," he adds with a grin that has too much wattage to be genuine. "Or orange. If they're Volath's fault, I thank him, kindly." There's a frown to replace the fake grin as he regards V'lano's warning, then, "Maybe I'll stick with the bronzes at Telgar. I could never betray you all..." There's some time to ponder over that, for sure. "My husband is positively striking. Woman's hearts simply stop at the sight of the pair of us...it's amazing." Yet nothing is said for the looks sent between Satiet and Lani; instead, he leans back and makes himself more comfortable in his seat, stretching his legs in front of him. Kassima grins again for this portrayal of heartbreak, because she must, and says only on the subject of Candidates, "Rules which are interpreted in interesting fashion by certain individuals, I'm sure." Rather droll, that. "As far as bronzeriders go, M'tri's already recruited M'rek into the harem; that's nigh the extent of 'Reaches bronzeriders I know, these days. Most of m'visiting-time here has been spent with one in particular." There's room to her other side, which she gestures towards in welcome a moment before slanting Satiet a look that's purely, simply amused. "Mmm-hmm. I'm certain the Telgar women thank you for that. You haven't met Lanisa, have you? M'tri's mistress and the one who tends t'chop off any hands that get too close t'his--well, but 'twill let her speak for herself: Lani, this is Candidate Satiet." The new arrival gets a friendly nod of greeting too, and a smile to go with it. "Duties to the 'Reaches and her queens. Ah, Trii, you surely don't whistle the quaint regional melody there. I've heard that women just throw themselves at your husband, every chance they get, and collapse in little swoony puddles." "Uh, thank you. Her regards? I... should come here more," the bronzerider admits with an audible pang of guilt in his low voice, flicking an equally guilty glance toward those eggs again. The conversation draws him back, however, and he settles into the spot made for him. "We don't discuss Telgar bronzes," V'lano leans forward to inform Lanisa with a droll smirk. "I'm afraid the name of any Telgar bronze except mine has been completely and temporarily dislodged from my memory. I swear," he frets affectedly, raising fingertips to his temple to denote being touched in the head, "I'm worse than a dragon these days." He raises a hand in greeting to the newer candidate arrival, then turns a faint frown on Kassima. "M'rek, M'tri's harem. Does M'tri have any idea whom else's as well?" He dares a look at the bluerider in question, obvious concern for the man he shared candidacy with on his sunned face. "Yes, I'm a candidate, as everyone likes pointing out, as if the white strand on my shoulder wasn't enough indication." Satiet replies snidely, another once over given Lanisa before a toss of her hair indicates the conclusion she's drawn of the female bluerider. The seat near Kassima is given another glance, blue gaze darting towards Lanisa, allowing the other bluerider time to find a seat closer to the greenrider. Instead, she stretches back against the railing, a flicker of boredom caught in her eyes and then abruptly turns to observe the eggs. "The plain white one, like the snow that dusts the seven spindles. A bronze." Showing that she was listening all too well earlier in the conversation, an incautious look tossed Lysseth's rider. From her position, she then slips into the seat next to V'lano, hand drifting to brush invisible dust from his shoulder, "I'd a favor to ask you, sir. But perhaps this isn't the right moment to speak of such things, and.." her blue gaze briefly clouds as she glances at the gold on the sands, "I'd be afraid to interrupt you in your evening -- sleep." But a small smile fashions for the man, followed by a fluid rise to her feet. "But I best be off for now. I hope you enjoy your stay at the Reaches, sir, ma'ams." Aislinn's arrival is given a quick grin, before the girl ambles out with a jaunty whistle on her lips. "Nothing like a good grey." Lanisa says as she slides into a seat, "I was never much good at rules. Or maybe I was too good at them, eh?" She considers a moment and nods, "M'rek's really the only Reaches bronzerider I know as well, and seeing as how he's in the harem already." She dips a shoulder, adding on with the almost mention of what she guards, "I'm not half so good with a knife as his husband though. But working on it." She giggles then, for V'lano's comment, "I'm not surprised with that. Probably safer that way. Sorry we didn't get buy sooner though. It is a handsome clutch." At the new greeting, Lanisa gives Aislinn a nod of her own just before Satiet is given an amused grin, "Nice to meet you, I'm sure." You walk down a short flight of steps and head out through the entrance to the bowl. From the sands> In the galleries, Aislinn steps a closer to the group, and waves back at V'lano, slightly bowing afterwards. She leans against the railing, and once more smiles at Satiet as she passes. Ais considers being polite, and introduces herself out of the blue. "Sorry to interrupt anything. I'm Aislinn, candidate here at Reaches. It's nice to see you all here." She puts on a crooked smile, and observes the riders with a careful eye... From the sands> In the galleries, Kassima snorts in open and unrepentant amusement and aims a light nudge of her elbow towards V'lano's ribs, probably in response to his claims of brain-softening. "Oh, as *if'n*. Who else's?" Black brows dart upwards; she shares a glance between bronzerider and bluerider. "You think M'tri would particularly object to the lady brownrider?" Ah, but now it's her eyes' turn to darken, though she keeps her expression carefully controlled, willfully pleasant, until Satiet has departed, at which point she murmurs, "I daresay that's going t'be an interesting favor. And I daresay that that one's itching t'have a formal complaint lodged about her by an out-Weyr personage if'n she doesn't treat visitors with more care." It's Lanisa her eyes flick to as she says this. "But never be minding. You like the grey eggs particularly, Lani? Oh, oh, you're nay interrupting. Kassima," she says to Aislinn, indicating herself. "Green Lysseth's rider, riding for Telgar. Pleasure t'make your acquaintance." From the sands> In the galleries, M'tri seconds, "Little swoony puddles indeed!They're more like a lake, when they've all finished thier swoony puddling.And then, gallantly, always he throws down his jacket for my sake, so I cancross said lake." Insert a completely smitten sigh here, and a couple dreamy,starry-eyed bats of the lashes at nothing in particular. Satiet's bet,however, draws him back out of his acting for the sake of watching herclosely, almost warily, sitting forward and steepling his fingers before hisface, his elbows on his knees as he watches the Candidate go. "M'rek *is* theonly Reaches rider in my harem. Where else is he?" the bluerider inquires ofV'lano, searching that concern with classic playfulness, a fleeting shadow ofconcern in his own eyes, likely brought about by V'lano's. From the sands> In the galleries, "Wait," V'lano says, brows furrowing; he stands abruptly, as if he'd follow Satiet's departure, but something suspiciously dark shadows his eyes, turning them from loam to jet. Wearily, he sinks back into his seat, angling for space a little closer to the greenrider's side. He does cheer a little at Lanisa's flattery, of course. "I thought so, but - well. I'm not even supposed to mention Josilina back at home, so she says, though I have - a little bit. Haven't seen a hair or hide of -him,- though." He skates a glance toward Kassima, then M'tri, looking to see if they catch the identity of that emphasized pronoun, and for clarity he notes, "The other Telgari bronze." As if there are only two. He absently waves Aislinn closer, returning her introduction with his own: "V'lano, rider to the great lump down there. The bronze one." He jerks his head vaguely sandsward and tacks on, "Telgar's duties," although that part's perhaps becoming slightly repetitive. Although having welcomed someone new into the conversation, he lowers his voice for Kassima and M'tri to note: "-Lady-, Kassi? Was that the one we saw at the Lounge? Because were that she, maybe so. All I know," and this is a little louder, fit for public consumption as he straightens from his conspiratorial lean, "is every time -I- see him, it's either at a flight or in trouble. The former's been better so far." Warning completed, the bronzerider falls silent. From the sands> In the galleries, Aislinn beams at Kassima and V'lano, shifting it over to the others as well. "Pleasure to meet you, Kassima ma'am. And pleasure as well to meet you, V'lano sir. Even though we haven't rightfully met, it's neat to see you hear as well!" Her eyes move over to M'tri and Lanisa, that last comment being directed towards them. With a jump Ais remembers that she never finished her chores. "Erm...I'm really sorry to go right now, but I have to finish something." A final wave, and she heads out. From the sands> In the galleries, Aislinn walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the entrance to the bowl. From the sands> In the galleries, "Lady brownrider?" Lani asks, then raises another question, "She always like that then?" She adds a nod, "Aye, that sort of foggy looking one is nice." She grins again to V'lano, after watching the exchange between him and Trii, "Da would be amused I think. If he knew that." If she had a farther greeting to Aislinn, it turns to a simple wave as she departs. From the sands> In the galleries, The combination of V'lano's whispers and the second Candidate's departure leaves M'tri blinking stupidly at the sands. It's not a good look for him. So, he upholds it, echoing Lani's, "Lady brownrider? Why do I get the feeling I don't want to know her better?" From the sands> In the galleries, Kassima watches the standing, the sitting, and the stander-sitter's expression with increasingly open disturbance, and upon V'lano's relocation extends an arm to slip around his waist, offering a tentative half-hug. "There are some favors she has nay right t'be asking," said quietly. Then it's back to the conversational tone. "--J'len? I haven't seen much of him either, of late. Probably t'be expected since I don't spend quite so much time at home. 'Tisn't that Lady, nay, nor the... nay-lady with the boots, I promise you that. He mentioned once t'me that he has a brownrider paramour here, is all. He's nay a bad man by any means." Still, she mulls for a moment. "He does get into trouble, though," she adds at last. "The trouble isn't always of a... benign sort. Bitran trouble. She certes always seems it, Lani," said of Satiet, before she waves after Aislinn with a grin and a wryly amused, "Wonder if'n I could convince that one nay t'be ma'aming me? Nice Candidate crop, though. And Trii, you *do* flatter your husband so. I'm sure he appreciates it ever so much, and will likely swoon himself, once he hears of it." From the sands> In the galleries, The bronzerider slinks into Kassima's embrace, wedging his elbow out from between them to return an arm curled around her to return the favor - though the flow of comforting seems primarily to benefit V'lano. Lowly, he murmurs to her, "Don't worry. She's ... whatever she is, but I've no reason to believe she's seeking anything I can't do. It was that she's spoken to the weyrwoman that - well." More, perhaps, that she brought tidings from Josilina than that there was an exchange at all, but the dark-eyed Telgari shrugs off the concern after a long, calming breath. Followed by a low giggle. "No, not J'len," he grins, but does not clarify who. A stretching of neck helps him point out an egg or two himself: "I am rather fond of the one she's all but buried, and of the streaky one with the orange." From the sands> In the galleries, Lanisa gives a light shrug, "How much trouble can she cause anyway, eh? If she doesn't want to be sent home for rule breaking or some such. Unless she's from here of course." She sends a glance towards Trii and then just listens to bits of the rest, "Ahh. If he's that much trouble, then it's no wonder Trii wanted him for the harem." The eggs get another look then, "Can't see the buried one too well. And where is the...Ahh, I see it now." From the sands> In the galleries, M'tri chuckles, watching green and bronzerider sidelong and the eggs moreso. "How do you know that one's going to hatch a giant orange chicken, Kassi?" he asks as a brief subject change. "I like that one. The one with the yellow at the bottom. And because I like it, it shall be blue, Kassi." From the sands> In the galleries, Kassima nestles herself against V'lano's side, tilting her head briefly so that it rests on his shoulder; if she has any shame about behaving so in front of her wife, she certainly doesn't show it. "The phrase 'spawn of a wher' comes t'mind," she answers with a moment's low and rueful humor. "She might have said that more t'bother you than aught. But are things all right?" Her brows take their second jump of the afternoon as she adds, "Nay J'len? Well, now I'm intrigued. Methinks she's from elsewhere, Lani, but as far as trouble goes--" She hesitates, then settles for a moment's shrug. "Mayhaps you're right. Could also be for the liquor that Trii wanted him. You've sampled a flask, so y'know what I mean--why, Trii, because I'm omniscient, hadn't you realized? I'm actually *nay* sure about the orange part. That," she freely confesses, "is but a theory. The chicken however is only too obvious. Will you tell Vel that Volath shouldn't eat his chicken-son? Because I don't think I'm getting through--and that one? That's a green." From the sands> In the galleries, "That one - right." V'lano points a little more to help out with the identification of the streaky one, then groans, eyes rolling. "The chicken," he moans ruefully. "Not the chicken. Kassima, I've told him and told him, but he's maintaining there can be no chicken child of his, and that we're all ridiculous, and if a giant chicken hatches out there it's because some giant chicken came and laid an egg among theirs. So he's entitled to snack on it." This is all in good fun, however put-upon and weary-seeming the bronzerider makes out. He gives the greenrider a squeeze and turns his head to peck the top of her jet-braided head, then unrustles himself in preparation to get up. "I'm just starting to be awake enough to realize I need to eat. Excuse me a bit - M'tri, Lanisa, good to see you! You have to come more often, or at least when the shells crack. To settle your bets if aught else." A merry grin, for that part. From the sands> In the galleries, "Well, the liquor would certainly have been a draw... So which was it Trii? A drink from the flask? Or the trouble potential?" Lani asks with a grin for the other bluerider. Then looking out over the eggs, "A giant orange chicken. Well I'm sure Volath would know, hmm?" She glances up then to nod, "Good to see you too. And I'll do that, come back for one or the other." From the sands> In the galleries, M'tri,shaking his head, chuckles at V'lano's complaint. "You know, that dragon of yours is smart. I don't think he'd spawn chicken either. And if I saw an orange chicken, I'd eat it too." He shakes his head, relaxing once more and adding for Kassima, "I don't think you're right." As V'lano rises, he earns a lazily executed salute in replacement of any sort of exertion to accompany the bronzerider's departure. "Aye, I'll come at least to settle my bets. It was good to see you, V'lano." To Lani: "I did it because I can't turn down trouble." Sigh. From the sands> In the galleries, "Well... he might have a point, at that, or we could be back t'Lhiannonth's tempestuous affair with poultry," Kassima has to allow, after all due thought. Which is to say, not much. "In that case, is there any chance he might save Lysseth a drumstick?" She's smiling as she tightens her embrace in turn, lifting her head to try and bestow a kiss on his cheek before he can make his escape. "See you later, mayhaps?" she offers. "And you just *know* that Trii's dying t'do me out of weyr and home on the gambling. You heard him: he's after all m'jewelry and every shiny thing, and even the Gather gowns, which probably should disturb me. Or disturb Lani. One of those." Her eyes sparkle with far too much humor when turned on the bluerider pair. "Personally, I still think it might've been M'rek's bald head he was drawn to. Care t'place marks on the matter, M'tri?" Pause. "The matter of that egg, I mean. Nay the matter on what drew you t'M'rek. You've unfair inside knowledge there." From the sands> In the galleries, "Oh, I'm sure he would." V'lano emphasizes his certainty of his beast's understanding of his shelled offsprings' identities with a soft, disbelieving snort - but there's a fond grin around the sound. He crooks his neck to accept Kassima's kiss, the curve of his mouth softening at the affection, then finishes stooping out of the seat into a stretching stand, hands at the small of his back. "Well, you'll have trouble in scores if that's your pick," he points out, though the dark concern's drained out of the words, leaving them just a jibe for M'tri's apparent taste in bronzeriders. -This- bronzerider finishes his stretching and turns around to tell Kassima, "Of course. You know where I am, and if you don't, I'm sure someone does. And he'd try to save her a morsel - but mind you, Lhiannonth might have a taste for chicken after all these days out there in the heat herself." He winks, then heads up the steps and out to the bowl after a quick wave. |
Leave A Comment