NorCon MUSH - User contributions [en]

Logs:Holding Up

2015-07-04T18:36:43Z

Paislie: Created page with "{{Log |who=I'dro, G'vri |what=G'vri checks in with his... friend. |where=Weyrling Complex |involves=Fort Weyr |day=25 |month=2 |turn=38 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |gamedate=2015.07...."

{{Log
|who=I'dro, G'vri
|what=G'vri checks in with his... friend.
|where=Weyrling Complex
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=25
|month=2
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.07.02
|quote=Are you breaking up with me?
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon I'dro oh-look-shoes.png, Icon g'vri.jpg,
|log=Of all the weyrlings, I'dro is the one G'vri has been specifically avoiding spending any one-on-one time with. He hasn't been outright avoidant otherwise, doing his duties as an assistant weyrlingmaster as necessary, but being alone isn't something that he's trusted either of them with, evidently. Tonight is different, though. The bronzerider waits until Nasmaeth is asleep before approaching I'dro, asking for a few moments, then turning to lead the way to somewhere not exactly private, the sofas in the weyrling complex, but private enough for a conversation. "How have you been holding up?"

Real privacy would be suspicious, wouldn't it? Of course, no need to worry: I'dro is almost prim about how he keeps a safe distance about following, about not sitting down so close. Back straight, hands on his knees. How is he doing? He certainly doesn't look any worse for wear. Maybe the first few days he might have let such fine details as shaving go unnoticed, but since then, despite the work, he's somehow managed to go back to perfectly neat clothes, perfectly perfect hair. It's meant, of course, that personal grooming has eaten up the lion's share of his tiny amount of free time. Although he's done a very good job at keeping his shirts clean, he hasn't done quite as good a job at keeping them in one piece, and a number of them seem to bear scars of this ordeal, slashes across clean fabric mended with careful little stitches. While Nasmaeth isn't being kind to his wardrobe, this doesn't yet seem to have required any Healer attention. He's at least letting her walk on her own feet, now, most of the time, but they always wind up in that sort of proximity when they aren't up and about. Maybe the stiffness of his posture is just the strangeness of this sudden solitude. The long and wistful look at G'vri, that's absolutely no different than if she were to be there, and he's been terrible at being subtle about them. He catches his lower lip in his teeth for a moment. "She's growing so fast, but still a bit hard to imagine her ever being as big as all the grown-up greens, her having that far to go. She sleeps like a baby, but it doesn't feel like having an infant in my head." No transition from that, just abruptly into: "Are you breaking up with me?" Though at least those words are quieter.

"She will," G'vri assures the weyrling. It's awkward. He knows what he's saying, of course, it's just saying it to ''I'dro'' that makes it awkward for him. It's not a dynamic he was entirely prepared for. But he's trying. Or he would be, moreso, if he didn't seem so surprised by I'dro's abrupt question. "What? No. I--" He's clearly not sure about that question ''or'' how to answer it. Were they even in a relationship that would require breaking up from? "I just wanted to know how you were doing with everything. It can be... stressful."

Yes? No? Maybe? It's not like even I'dro seems terribly sure about this question once it's past his mouth. At least that means there's no recriminations for G'vri's answer. "It is. Stressful. Two weeks is exactly enough time to realize that there are no rest days anymore, no real chance to relax, and won't be for a long time yet." It's a good thing, really, he's not being expected to parent an actual child, given how weary he manages to sound at the notion. "You would have been younger. Is it easier when you're younger? I'm just this big bundle of exhaustion and nerves and feelings and I'm not allowed to do anything useful to blow off steam."

"It gets easier. And harder. Then maybe easier again." Is he being comforting yet? "I was fifteen," G'vri agrees with some amount of sympathy. "It was easier then than it would be now, I think. I hadn't ''been'' with anyone yet. But I'd still... you know." He makes kind of a crude gesture with his hand. He'd started doing ''that'' by then. "Is she the sensitive sort?"

"She doesn't seem to care," I'dro admits. "Or at least, I don't think she cares. I worry about her waking up, but it's not like I don't think about it when she's awake, so I don't see why that'd be different. I keep trying to explain it to her like she's a toddler when she's in my head and is clearly fully aware of--" He cuts himself off, there, rubs at his face with one hand. "You know." Rather than elaborating. He's started to relax in his seat, but every now and then he gives a glance around like there's something here to get caught at, rather than just perfectly ordinary conversation. "It was weirder, at first. It's starting to feel more normal. Not being alone with thoughts like that."

"Tovriath didn't care very much. He encouraged me sometimes. Not... by myself. He thinks that's pointless. But before we were allowed with other people. He knew it was something I wanted to do. It didn't until we got our own weyr, though." But G'vri doesn't tell the story of how he lost his virginity. In fact, he slouches back into his seat and lifts a hand to rub over his face. Better than looking at Sid the way he was there for a moment; heated and longing. "Are you getting on well with the other weyrlings?"

A flicker of smile, but I'dro quickly ducks his eyes away from that look, and focuses instead on his suddenly-interesting fingernails. "Good," once there's a question to pay attention to instead. "I think. No, good enough. So many of them are so young, I thought I'd feel more out of place, but it's not so bad. I sometimes end up feeling... protective? Maternal." There, that's a real smile that time. "They're all babies that need a little fussing over, now and then, maybe. Helpful that I know my way around a pair of scissors, that sort of thing. Maybe I was hoping for different sorts of friends, but this'll do."

G'vri has a smile for that, too. "You'll probably make a good assistant, you know. Once you've become a full-fledged rider yourself. But you'll make friends, one way or another. It helps when you're in a wing, sometimes. If you get along with your wingmates. This doesn't last forever. You might even miss it once you've moved on." It's hard to tell if he's being entirely serious or not, granted.

"I'm not worried about it. Not anymore." I'dro's smile turns coy. "Are you worried about it? Are you worried about me?" These are clearly rhetorical questions, since he's not even pausing for an attempt at an answer. "You know, I don't mind a little fussing-over myself, now and then." It seems like a prelude to something else, but abruptly his tone shifts. "I should get back, before..." Before mistakes are made? "Before she wakes back up."

The bronzerider might have answered, or tried to, if given the chance. But he doesn't seem keen on going back to it once I'dro's moved on. G'vri starts to smile at the rest, but as soon as the weyrling suggests it's time to go, he sits up in his seat again to lean his elbows against his knees. "Right. Probably a good idea. Just-- if you need anything, let me know, okay? She can speak to Tovriath whenever you need."
}}

Logs:Out of Hand

2015-06-26T23:31:34Z

Paislie:

{{Log
|who=Paislie
|what=Lilah's keys to the stores are 'misplaced.'
|where=Lilah's Sanitized Watercolor Weyr, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=11
|month=2
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.06.26
|mentions=Lilah
|type=Vignette
|icons-new=Icon paislie.png,
|log=She stood in her sister's weyr, calm despite her less than wholesome intentions. Paislie owed Lilah a lot for her part in helping her find a place at Fort, for giving her at least the opportunity to make it impossible for her to return to her husband. And this was how she was repaying her. She should probably feel guilty. She didn't. This was the right thing to do. Lilah would understand.

Pulling her coat more firmly around herself, Paislie lifted the keys to the stores from their home and put them into her pocket. Her calmness dissolved somewhat as she turned to leave, her breath more shallow, adrenaline putting her on edge as she stepped outside and made her way to the rendezvous where she'd hand them over. She hadn't considered how they might be put back yet. Maybe she wouldn't have to deal with that part.

"Don't lose them," she said firmly as she passed the keys off. Then she turned away. It was out of her hands now.
}}

Logs:Out of Hand

2015-06-26T23:29:23Z

Paislie: Created page with "{{Log |who=Paislie |what=Lilah's keys to the stores are 'misplaced.' |where=Lilah's Sanitized Watercolor Weyr, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Weyr |day=2 |month=11 |turn=38 |IP=Inte..."

{{Log
|who=Paislie
|what=Lilah's keys to the stores are 'misplaced.'
|where=Lilah's Sanitized Watercolor Weyr, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=2
|month=11
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.06.26
|mentions=Lilah
|type=Vignette
|icons-new=Icon paislie.png,
|log=She stood in her sister's weyr, calm despite her less than wholesome intentions. Paislie owed Lilah a lot for her part in helping her find a place at Fort, for giving her at least the opportunity to make it impossible for her to return to her husband. And this was how she was repaying her. She should probably feel guilty. She didn't. This was the right thing to do. Lilah would understand.

Pulling her coat more firmly around herself, Paislie lifted the keys to the stores from their home and put them into her pocket. Her calmness dissolved somewhat as she turned to leave, her breath more shallow, adrenaline putting her on edge as she stepped outside and made her way to the rendezvous where she'd hand them over. She hadn't considered how they might be put back yet. Maybe she wouldn't have to deal with that part.

"Don't lose them," she said firmly as she passed the keys off. Then she turned away. It was out of her hands now.
}}

Logs:Maybe Something Pretty

2015-06-07T16:24:09Z

Paislie: Created page with "{{Log |who=Isidro, Paislie |what=Isidro briefly, unintentionally corners Paislie in stores. |where=Stores, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Weyr |day=4 |month=13 |turn=37 |IP=Interval..."

{{Log
|who=Isidro, Paislie
|what=Isidro briefly, unintentionally corners Paislie in stores.
|where=Stores, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=4
|month=13
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.06.06
|quote=Everyone ought to have a few pretty things.
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon Isidro look-at-this-face.png, Icon paislie.png,
|log=Since Paislie usually avoids the dinner rush in the living caverns, dinner time is kind of the best time for her to be doing something other than eating. Like working. Sort of. She's in the stores, anyway, at the end of an aisle looking through a stack of folded clothes with enough care not to make a mess of all of it while she does so. Whether she's doing this for herself or for someone else, she has a very small pile of not-folded clothes on the ground by her feet.

Normally, the dinner rush is exactly the time Isidro would be in the living cavern, or at least the kitchen. But even the kitchen staff get days off, and evidently he's spending his down in stores. With clothes. What a coincidence! He's got a whole armload of stuff already, which has not stopped him from continuing to wander and look at things that seem to be interesting in some fashion. No matter whose part of storage they might be in. Coming upon someone of approximately his own age, no reason not to be all smiles and casual pleasantries. "Looking for something pretty?"

The petite redhead is usually more aware of her surroundings, but it speaks to how invested she is in finding what she's looking for that Paislie seems startled when Isidro speaks. She jumps, looking over at him with wide eyes and then looking the other way that just so happens to be a dead end. Her eyes end up looking at the clothes when she answers, "I'm... I just... looking for clothes." Never mind that that was already pretty obvious and that she makes herself sound like she might have a stutter.

"Well, yes, I assumed." Isidro, not so oblivious as to miss the obvious! "I was hoping you might be looking for pretty ones, because it would be a pity if you were looking for something hideous. I realize that it's a subjective standard, but clothes should make you happy, shouldn't they?" All smiles. All smiles and teeth. He might not have registered that she's uncomfortable--why shouldn't he be a pleasant surprise rather than the alternative? "I mean, I think I'm awfully pretty, but the chances you were looking for me here would be pretty slim, since you've never met me. Isidro. That's my name... do you have a name?"

"No," says Paislie, simple as that, giving Isidro another glance before she looks down at the little pile near her feet. "I'm not looking for anything pretty, I mean. Just... clothes. I'm..." She seems to keep an eye on him out of the corner of her eye even if she's avoiding looking at him directly now. "My name's Paislie." If there's a slight inflection of uncertainty in her voice, it's probably not that she's unsure of her own name, anyway. There's a look past him, down the aisle and the freedom beyond, as she says, "I can go. Let you look through them in peace."

A brisk head-shaking--there might be a gesture to go with it, but Isidro realizes before actually doing it that this is going to lead to his armful tumbling to the ground. Bad plan. "I think I have everything I need, really. Well--not everything I need to feel generally satisfied with the state of my life and existence as a general concept, but in terms of clothes. If I can get some tailoring done. Everybody here is enormous." There's something a little more rushed about this. Has he noticed her glances? "Everyone ought to have a few pretty things. I'll leave you to it." Yes, evidently he has, backing out even as he finishes that sentence.

Whether it's his demeanor or the interesting way that he talks, Paislie is starting to look at Isidro a little more like he's possibly an only slightly untrustworthy person and not someone she ought to be completely terrified of to the point of panic. She doesn't attempt to tell him he should stay, though, offering a demurely polite, "Thank you," with a matching hint of an anxious smile as he excuses himself. Paislie probably won't linger here long, admittedly, in case someone scarier decides to come along.
}}

Logs talk:Good Listeners

2015-05-28T01:28:57Z

Paislie: Comment provided by Paislie - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Good Listeners]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Paislie (21:28, 27 May 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

I really enjoyed this scene and getting to see Paislie around a girl closer to her own age rather than around more authoritative figures or men. It was fun!

Logs:Not One Hundred Percent Sure

2015-05-18T18:33:00Z

Paislie: Created page with "{{Log |who=G'vri, Isidro |what=Bronzerider meets stork. |where=Stores, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Weyr |day=28 |month=10 |turn=37 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |gamedate=2015.05.17 |quot..."

{{Log
|who=G'vri, Isidro
|what=Bronzerider meets stork.
|where=Stores, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=28
|month=10
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.05.17
|quote=Nothing's broken or severed, so I'll probably live.
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon g'vri.jpg
|log=It's been four days since Fort's solitary junior queen was caught by not-G'vri's bronze. In that time, he's acquired both a knot and a weyr, and it's the latter of those that has him here this afternoon. He's currently picking his way through one of the junk rooms and he's trying to be careful right up until there's a minor crash, a yelp and then he's cursing in pain at whatever managed to cause it.

In other news, lunch today happened without a hitch, and dinner should be similarly smooth sailing, shouldn't it? At least, it will be if Isidro can find what he's been sent down for. At present, all he has is a hastily-written list--a list that gets folded up and tucked into a trouser pocket right after the cursing starts. Even if this is the entirely wrong part of storage, he seems to make it to the scene very quickly, to hover there like a particularly solicitous stork. "Is everything all right? Are you hurt? Would you like some help?" If storks smiled with teeth. If Pern even has storks, toothy or otherwise.

The Southern, or formerly Southern, bronzerider looks up from the inspection of one thick hand and several red fingers, brows knit together in a way that makes him look both upset and very serious. "Nothing's broken or severed, so I'll probably live." He pauses to actually look at the other man, sizing him up and ultimately looking uncertain as he asks, "Do you think you could help me lift this stuff off of the desk under here?" This stuff is an overturned table that should probably have four legs but only has three and a half, and a bunch of random other things on top of it.

"You're sure?" Isidro's approach does nothing to make him seem less birdlike--or maybe it's not so much bird as lizard? Quick, possibly a little skittish, bending to look at the hand without actually reaching to touch it. But if there are nerves at play, they're not so much as to drive him off. Straightening, he peers at the contents of the table. "Sure. Absolutely. No problem." Though, of course, his way of doing it involves moving the smallest things off one-by-one before progressing to anything heavier, perching them on whatever flat place they fit, whether or not they're any more stable than they were originally.

"I'm fine," will be G'vri's final answer on that particular matter. With a sigh at the injury, he brushes his hand against the thigh of his pants like he could so easily brush off the pain, and shakes his head at Isidro. "I can do ''that''. Just help me lift the table off and over there and then you can be on your way. What are you down here for?" The question is conversational as he gestures for the slighter man to take the other side of the table. The side that has fewer things on it. Nice guy G'vri.

There's a long and withering look. Or at least withering; Isidro seems to have trouble with holding it. "Are you trying to crush toes, too? Fine, crush yours, but I'm not smashing mine. Someone has to have some good sense, here." Which is why he manages to move one more thing aside--and then basically just shoves the rest over towards G'vri and away from his own precious feet. "I'm supposed to be getting another bag of flour up to the kitchen. It's fine. Still haven't found the man with the keys. Or the woman. It could be a woman, couldn't it? I forgot to ask."

G'vri manages a sound that hovers somewhere between amused and impatient. When the table is finally lifted up and set down where he wants it, away from the broken desk he's claiming, there's the sense that he probably could have managed the whole thing himself if not for the awkward size. "Thanks," he says as he makes his way back toward the prize. "I know the headwoman is, in fact, a woman. Not sure about any of the keepers of the keys. I was gonna look at some furniture, but I got distracted with all this, so I think I'll settle with linens and this for now." This, the desk, is patted with one hand before he starts trying to move it away from its neighbors.

The bronzerider could have managed the whole thing alone? Isidro is struggling with even just the half. At one point it drops far enough that some of what was sitting on it slides a good bit in his direction before he's able to right it. Could be a cue for his own cursing, but nope. Breathless, sure, but smiles again once it's safely deposited. "There! There we go. Do you have a plan for moving it? Even with drawers out--" The slight young man gives it a worried look. "I don't know I can spare the time." Time, right, that's clearly what's lacking.

"Well, I--" G'vri has to think about that, looking at the desk. "I'm sure there's someone around that can help me get it into the bowl." He won't even joke about recruiting Isidro, evidently. "Then it's just a matter of strapping it to Tovriath. And then getting it into the weyr. It'll be fine. We move furniture around all the time, right?" Or maybe that's exactly how most of the furniture in this particular room got here in the first place? He stares at the desk for a short while, then seems to remember himself all at once. "Fuck. Right. I'm G'vri. Thanks again for helping..." Space for name here. "Saved me a lot of time."

"Isidro." The s is sibilant, a hiss rather than a buzz, carefully so, like he's done a lot of introductions in the past few days and is at some pains to make sure that name sits right in the mouths of strangers. "I'll see if I can find you a better helper on my way out. Lots of things I'm good at. That's not one of them." Big smile. Teeth. At which point he's turning and to make his way back out, pulling the piece of paper back out of his pocket as he goes. It's a try for confidence, that falters just slightly, a craning to look back: "Do you happen to know which way dry goods are from here? I've gotten turned around."

"Isidro." G'vri repeats it, almost a question to see if he's gotten it right. "I appreciate it." His attention returns to the desk as soon as the slighter man starts to turn, but he looks back up at the question. "I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I think it's that way," there's a gesture. "You'll probably need a key, though, and anyone with one of those should know exactly where everything is. Except for sweaters that fit properly." There's a touch of dry humor in the last. "Good luck." He might need it.

The smile there is smaller--but brighter? More genuine. "Imagine I'll find somebody. If not--well, if you never see me again, remember me fondly!" With that, once-more-unto-the-breach style, Isidro sets off for this adventure in pantry-supplying.
}}

Logs:Eliyaveith's Second Flight

2015-05-18T01:49:41Z

Paislie:

{{Log
|who=Lilah, R'hin, C'stian, G'vri, A'rist, V'ros, Alida{{!}}J'dain
|what=Eliyaveith finally rises, gets caught as they always do.
|where=Northern Bowl / Lilah's Sanitized Watercolor Weyr, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
|day=24
|month=10
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.05.16
|quote="And yet, ''here'' I am."
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon lilah.png, Icon lilah eliyaveith flight.jpg, Icon r'hin.jpg, Icon r'hin leiventh.jpg, Icon a'rist ouch.jpg, Icon a'rist lynner bringit.png, Icon v'ros looking up.png, Icon v'ros zmeyth zmey.jpg, Icon g'vri.jpg, Icon g'vri tovriath thumbsup.png,
|log=Dragon> There is no subtly to the way that Eliyaveith's flame seeks out his cool winds, an unmistakable golden glow even to the flicker of her thoughts. << It is almost time, >> she tells him without hesitation, not caring what he is doing or why. ''Come'', is the silent command from the queen who so rarely commands, not a suggestion. << She will want him. I may want you. >> (To Leiventh from Eliyaveith)

Dragon> He resists; tries to, at first. ''She'' is not his queen. The elusive bronze is not so easily caught, nor lured; when she nears he skitters away, though the beat of something dark and hot rises within the stirring of frigid winds slowly heated by her flame. (To Eliyaveith from Leiventh)

Dragon> Eliyaveith's focus is only drawn more intently on Leiventh as he resists, unexpected certainly and enough to catch her attention now as she allows heat to linger there. << No, >> she asserts as he resists. << Come. >> (To Leiventh from Eliyaveith)

Dragon> A moment of stillness falls, and all wind dies. And then, abruptly, High Reaches winter winds turn into a hot desert scourging, heated and intent and focused on ''her'', as she wishes. There is no neat order to his thoughts, like the wind they scatter this way and that, pulling in a thousand different directions all at once, though beating darkly throughout. (To Eliyaveith from Leiventh)

Dragon> The molten fire of Eliyaveith's mind pours over the Weyr, any softness of the queen lost in the scorched heat that focuses on those bronzes and browns in ''her'' Weyr. ''Her'' dragons, whether they are or not. << Be ready, >> she will warn, however, as she watches over the Bowl below. (To local dragons from Eliyaveith)

Dragon> An odd combination of intense interest and casual dismissal radiates from Tovriath's presence as he watches the queen from his claimed territory on the rim. He's ''been'' ready since there was something to be ready for. (To local dragons from Tovriath)

Rain continues to pour over the Weyr, making today a sodden, grey thing. But the rain does little to extinguish the glow along Eliyaveith's molten hide, the wetness doing little to drive the queen inside today as it normally would. Instead, she is wide awake and alert, her intent focus over the Bowl below her from where she sits perched, alone, on the sunning spot. And then, suddenly, there is a heat that flows over those bronzes and browns that have been watching her, encouraging them to ready themselves.

Flushed, drawn by her dragon's warning as well, Lilah steps out from her weyr onto the junior ledge that connects to it. She wears only the plain, threadbare grey uniform, as if in defiance of what a goldrider ''should'' wear on such an occasion, a scrub brush forgotten in her hand as she lifts dark eyes to where her queen waits, ready and tense.

Another bronze appears, low over the Weyr. Whatever exchange is made with the watch dragon happens quietly and undoubtedly quickly, for the hook-nosed High Reachian is soon settling in the bowl. Leiventh seems unbothered by rain, his rider perhaps ''less'' at ease, a moment's battle played out in the stillness of the pair, before R'hin begrudgingly slides down to the ground, boots splashing in the rain. His clothing is awkward at best for betweening, thin material of his dusty, ill-fitting coat rather unsuited to the stature due a Wingleader. His expression taut, if nothing else the stalk of his path across the puddles in the bowl bespeaks his mood well enough, heading directly for the junior ledges. Leiventh, left the winner of whatever battle played out, turns head inevitably Eliyaveith-wards.

Dragon> By habit alone, Leiventh is nowhere near showy enough to make his presence felt, nor to flex his mental muscle in the face of adversaries -- normally cold winds heated by Eliyaveith's flame, the High Reaches bronze could pass unnoticed amongst the voices of the local population. (To local dragons from Leiventh)

Dragon> The bloom of brightness brushes against Leiventh's thoughts as he looks towards her, ''pleasure'' matching the heat of Eliyaveith's mind as he wins. << Yes, >> is a soft encouragement, a touch of pride in finding him ''here'' like she wanted. (Like Lilah wanted? It doesn't matter anymore. They both are pleased.) (To Leiventh from Eliyaveith)

Dragon> To local dragons, Lythronath has been alert since entering Fort airspace. That alertness is slowly turning itself into readiness, a sharp and pressing intensity, not pinpointed quite enough, not yet, to manifest into words. But it's ''there''. He's there. And not leaving.

Dragon> To Lythronath, Eliyaveith's attention draws naturally to the foreign dragon there, a testing flicker of flames against the dragon's mind. Does it remind him, much, of another golden queen, or perhaps it doesn't, but it's there all the same in interest.

One more joins the eagerly awaiting crowd, as Liesanth drops rather abruptly from his weyr ledge above, coming to a stop in the mud with his wings outstretched. The excitement of the scar-backed young bronze is almost palpable; as always, competitions -- races, chases, anything where he can potentially win and show he is the Strongest or the Fastest or the Most Clever -- have his temper up. His rider, however, is nowhere to be seen at first. It takes several minutes before C'stian arrives from the dragon infirmary, pulling on a coat with a somewhat annoyed look. Flights wait for no one's errands, it seems.

Dragon> To Eliyaveith, Lythronath doesn't test back. It's no test. It's a hard press of focus, an invasion, sharp as his teeth and claws. << Eliyaveith. >>

Surprise flickers across Lilah's expression even as R'hin starts in her direction, her fingers tightening on the scrub brush as she watches the wingleader. "I didn't ask her to--," she starts, unable to continue as Eliyaveith rumbles a low noise and pushes herself off of the sunning spot, as if the one piece of the puzzle that she were waiting on has fallen into place. The queen isn't a graceful, agile one; her path towards the feeding pens is cut simply but with the power that is offered through her large build.

Dragon> << Yes, >> identifies the queen, some measure of indignation rising by that invasion even as her flames draw hotter. But there's a challenge that meets it, a silent one that marks that invasion as unwelcome, ''unless'', ''unless''--. (To Lythronath from Eliyaveith)

Dragon> If there is any further resistance, by dragon or rider, it isn't apparent in the reaction -- a white-heated flaring of light, an unceasing movement that isn't reflected in his physical presence. He is here; she is here. He is pleased at her pleasure, and there is an anticipation in the crouched, ever-watchful form of the statuesque bronze. (To Eliyaveith from Leiventh)

Two struggling figures appear from the lower caverns, high-tailing it towards the junior ledges, both of a similar height and coloring, but that might be where the similarities end. It's V'ros that's trying to fight the superior hold his friend has on his riding jacket, trying to jerk his shoulder away, to no avail. "If you don't.. fucking.. let go, A'rist.." is growled low, in an unusual-for-him dangerous tone, that's undoubtedly attributed to the skulking brown at the other side of the bowl. He looks a little wild-eyed, and close up, reeks of liquor.

Dragon> Zmeyth stays on the peripheries, with the smoldering smoke of low burning bonfires and the subdued, subtle buzz of multiple whispering voices. (To local dragons from Zmeyth)

R'hin's pale, intent gaze is unwavering on Lilah, jaw tightening visibly at her attempt to dissemble; ''he'' doesn't look when she cuts off, but he doesn't need to; he can undoubtedly feel it through Leiventh if nothing else. "And yet, ''here'' I am," he mutters, fingers clenching. Leiventh doesn't launch aloft, just yet -- waiting until ''she'' feeds first, waiting to take account of his competitors; who can say. The familiar voice jerks the Wingleader's head around, and a scoffing laugh breaks free as he sees V'ros and A'rist.

Ferrying one of those (damned) Southern weyrfolk back from said Weyr after a quick family emergency, bronze Sekuth's rider finds himself nearly ejected from his lifemate's neck (that poor passenger, too!) when the scent and sight of glowy Eliyaveith lure him into the upcoming flight. Quick as a lumbering hulk like him can do, once those pesky humans are away, he's hurling himself into the pens with a merry growl, and picking off the nearest of Fort's bovines for a quick pick-me-up blood snick-r-snack. Looking like he would prefer to beat his head against a wall rather than be here, tall and thin and quiet J'dain silently sizes up the competition while trotting towards the main group of gathered riders.

Dragon> Flame is drawn to smoke, Eliyaveith's heat slowly licking at the edges of Zmeyth's subtle thoughts as he stays there on the peripheries, curious. So curious to find his intent. (To Zmeyth from Eliyaveith)

A'rist, indeed, has a wiry strength to him. It keeps hold of V'ros, until they're well into the bowl, until the young bronzerider has made eye contact with his dragon. It wasn't permission that Lythronath was waiting for, and it's not permission A'rist gives. But after that look, the fiery-winged dragon is in the air, seeking out a beast for himself, no mind to waiting. A'rist then gives V'ros a hard shove and release, glaring at his best friend, and taking his own course. It coincides with that of other riders, but A'rist doesn't walk ''with'' them. And he doesn't speak, either.

Tovriath bugles from his position on the rim, amber-bronze wings mantled, ready to drop into the bowl more than trying to show off. Once Eliyaveith heads for the feeding pens, he's in a quick descent to follow her. G'vri takes longer to appear from the inner caverns, accompanied by a Southern brownrider who looks similarly distracted, but more surprised, by the impending flight. "I told you it would be soon," he says to her, sounding more smug than he might actually intend.

Dragon> << ''Lythronath.'' >> Dropped amidst the flame, exulting in her indignation, barreling through that challenge as he takes to the wing. (To Eliyaveith from Lythronath)

Liesanth tracks Eliyaveith's progress into the feeding pens with an attention focusing on the obsessive. The young bronze is already half-crouched, his wings outspread. He will not, it seems, miss even a /moment/ of the chance to fly, not this time. In contrast, C'stian seems to be trying hard to focus on the competition instead, as he makes his way over to the rest of the crowd. "Here we /all/ are," he remarks a little dryly to R'hin, as he overhears the other man's remark.

R'hin's laugh draws Lilah's gaze from the wingleader to trace where he looks, instead. Apparently, the sight of the two dragonriders doesn't amuse her nearly as much, since it only draws the etch of a frown onto the goldrider's lips. Perhaps it's the pair that does it, or C'stian's dry remark there, that has her turning on a heel and striding back into the safety of her weyr and away from them all. She doesn't even wait to see her dragon pin down a herdbeast, though her focus is kept on Eliyaveith as she struggles to force the queen to only draw in that warm blood.

A'rist's shove almost sends V'ros to the ground, but he manages to catch himself and jerk on the front of his jacket, straightening the lines, at the same time. His glare isn't wholly for A'rist, but all of the other dragonriders making a beeline for Lilah too. He might even notice Savannah's wingleader, amongst the horde, but just now isn't the time to be paying respects or shaking hands; mostly doling out dirty looks and paltry smirks. Zmeyth is eager enough, his prowling of the far end of the bowl coming to a halt when the queen rises and makes her way to the feeding pens. Quickly, he follows, latching onto the first beast he hurtles into, and blooding with devilish delight.

Dragon> << Lythronath, >> repeats the queen, burning the name between them. It isn't acceptance of his invasion, more of an acknowledgement of whom she faces. (To Lythronath from Eliyaveith)

Dragon> In response, the buzz of voices dies down and the sound of barely-crackling fire takes precedent, pairing his smoke perfectly; he doesn't need to be ''loud'' to get his point across. His attention is solely hers, his mind set ablaze by her flames. (To Eliyaveith from Zmeyth)

Leiventh is deft and precise in his blooding; he expends little energy to hop the fence and select a suitable buck, using the weight of his body to quickly kill the creature, before blooding. A second soon follows, chosen by grace of the poor luck of the bawling animal to be streaking near enough for him to strike at. His rider isn't near as focused on the blooding, a snort from R'hin answering C'stian's remark. "This is ''your'' Weyr, not mine," he growls in an undertone by way of response. He's quick to follow in the junior's wake, his stalking posture doing little to dispel his claim, despite his words.

Dragon> Soft encouragement brushes at the bare edges of Liesanth's thoughts, encouragement in her brother, as always. Even now, Eliyaveith can't help but do that. (To Liesanth from Eliyaveith)

C'stian's exasperation only seems to grow as Lilah stalks off; the bronzerider crosses his arms in front of him, and grimaces at the goldrider's retreating back. "I see her mood's not improved," he mutters, more to himself than those nearby. When R'hin growls and stomps off, he turns to follow as he adds, "And apparently contagious." Liesanth, however, could care less for his rider's moods; he bloods one of the smaller herdbeasts quickly, and with only half his attention as his focus remains on Eliyaveith.

Lythronath's first beast is gore, a pronouncement of presence and purpose, a warning. The second beast... is also gore. Because he can. It's not as efficient, but it's quick. There's a third to follow. There's carnage left behind. A'rist has clenched his teeth, and has his hands out at his sides, fingers splayed, tense. He looks over his competition. He looks for the goldrider. And then he looks back out, toward the feeding grounds. Shakes his head. Closes his eyes. Re-grits his teeth. "Bad idea," is snarled, whether V'ros is nearby or not to hear him.

J'dain's silent, withdrawn countenance gives away no hints of the inner heat his more intrepid lifemate is currently provoking, hazel eyes sweeping just a hint nervously over Lilah's retreating form before he dares to follow the group of other bronze and brown riders on her tail. The more he hears the talk, watches the 'walk' between the other participants, the less he wants to be here. Too late, buster brown. Beyond the humans, Sekuth impales another, large bovine, and gleefully settles down to sucking it dry of most traces of blood, while the massive bronze rumbles and mantles his prey. Whirling, red eyes rarely fail to focus on showy, glowy Eliyaveith...and soon he's gliding down a wherry, ripping its head near-off before suckling eagerly from the stump of its neck. Delicious!

Dragon> The zephyr of Liesanth's mindtouch is filled with eagerness, anticipation, and the confidence -- as always, misplaced or not -- that he will make his sister proud. Another competition, another chance to prove what he can do, and this time -- as with every time -- the belief he will win. (To Eliyaveith from Liesanth)

A beast is blooded with little focus because it's all on the gold. Tovriath ignores the other males except to rumble when one gets too close to his claimed space before promptly ignoring them again. It's unimportant. G'vri nudges his companion and gesture for her to follow him along the wall of the bowl toward the weyrs where they'll find Lilah's.

The inside of the weyr is spotlessly clean, not a thing out of place or sitting out except for that single scrub brush that Lilah has placed on her table; it even smells of a soapsand cleaning solution, as everything shines subtly through fresh cleanliness. She retreats entirely to her own private quarters, with it's neatly made bed and continued whiteness, though once she's there, it seems the goldrider doesn't know what to do next, yet. Eliyaveith, of course, does not have that issue. She bloods and watches, a certain gaze there on Lythronath's gore and a lingering look over Leiventh. She finishes and stills for a moment, continuing to observe ''her'' bronzes and browns, before she finally launches herself, with a heavy and powerful beat of wings, into the air.

There isn't much inspection or indeed, interest given the weyr other than a cursory glance by R'hin as he passes inside. Even the bed only gets the barest of glances, the Reachian bronzerider's attention instead fixed on Lilah with an intensity borne of either anger or lust, or perhaps some combination of both. His fingers are curled into balls as he strides up to her, exhaling a breath as he rocks back onto his heels, before he deliberately turns away. Leiventh has no such hesitations; his third beast is quickly dispatched and drunk, leaving a mess of sprayed blood only as he launches skyward moments after Eliyaveith.

Looking as bulky and perhaps even as 'ungraceful' (cad!) as Eliyaveith might on the ground, Sekuth also sweeps his broad wings in a massive downstroke to fling himself skyward after the queen, only his roar of challenge to all the other males in the pack allowing the 'stumped' carcass of his last wherry to fall from his mouth, where it lands awkwardly upon a rising brown...who shakes it off and hisses angrily at the Southern bronze. Idiot! Or was that planned? Inside Lilah's personal weyr, J'dain keeps to one of those pristine walls, planting his long back lightly against it while looking all around at a place he'll likely never see again. At least it keeps him from perving over Lilah, or wrinkling his nose in disdain at the other riders gathered here with him. Still, the weyrwoman's hair holds a silent allure for him, and hazel eyes seem to return to those locks over and over, like a metronome...while within, half his brain is already with his ascending lifemate.

In contrast, C'stian pauses rather deliberately to examine the painting on the shelf; possibly this is done with some degree of genuine interest, but more likely as a way to avoid another confrontation with Lilah herself. If so, it doesn't work terribly well as a distraction; he finds his gaze continually drawn towards Fort's redheaded junior queen. Meanwhile, the instant that he sees Eliyaveith take to the air, Liesanth crouches low and /pushes/ himself skywards with as much energy as he can possibly muster. This time, however, he does not attempt his usual trick of gaining altitude at the beginning so as to drop down on others later in the chase; the strategy has not availed him well in the past, and so he simply sets his sights on the gold and moves to pursue more directly.

Once they arrive, G'vri and the woman he came with stand together, either seeming very interested in the weyr itself. His gaze is more focused on Lilah than the brownrider's is, but they're speaking quietly to each other regardless of where the Southern bronzerider's attention seems to be. As soon as Eliyaveith takes to the skies, a powerful stroke of his wings sends the whiskey bronze after her with a bugle of eager, lusty enthusiasm.

Lythronath lifts with a roar; it's harsh, it's borderline unhinged. His mind is jagged as he beats his wings. A'rist is barely into the weyr when he digs one of his claw-hands into the wall. It's hard to say who sees whom first; Lythronath Zmeyth, Zmeyth Lythronath, A'rist V'ros, V'ros A'rist... but that tension. That restlessness. It erupts, just after Lythronath has managed to gain some altitude on some of the other chasers. It's an attack, on his part. It's a yell, on A'rist's. Two 'Reachian dragons tangle and fall, two 'Reachian riders never make it fully past the entrance to the weyr, and the results... well, those will have to be seen once wings and dust and maybe punches have settled.

R'hin isn't the only one whose expression flicks with a mingle of anger and lust, especially where the wingleader turns ''away'' from her. Sparked by her dragon's drive, Lilah suddenly has something to do; that is, ''she'' walks pointedly away from R'hin as well and towards G'vri. He seems to be chosen more at random than on purpose, but the goldrider wraps her fingers into the front of the man's jacket and brushes a kiss over G'vri's lips. Hello, there. It cuts off, of course, at the sound outside the weyr, startling her though the fight of the foreign bronze and brown deters Eliyaveith none. No, Eliyaveith has certainly learned from her maiden flight, not ''allowing'' any to get close to her as she spins one way, and then the other as soon as any of them seem to adjust, climbing ever higher.

In the tangle of dust and wings and movement, it's difficult indeed to discern what happens on the way down to the Reachian pair. Too, it's near impossible to see what happens that Leiventh's near-silent presence suddenly becomes a white-hot, lancing light, and moments later he's heading all-too-fast for the ground. R'hin notices, of course -- he can't not -- the way Lilah moves away, and there's a press of lips, balled fingers tightening further. He rocks on his heels a moment, even taking a step before his eyes go distant, and a sharp exhale expels, staggering back a step, before he rockets out the door.

When Lilah walks over to grab G'vri, C'stian can't help it; his hands clench into fists and tension sets into his shoulders, telegraphing just how incredibly badly he wants to walk over and /punch/ the other rider, enough so that the ruckus outside barely draws his notice. Unwilling to make a retreat, he starts to pace the area, pointedly trying -- and failing -- to ignore the almost-kiss. Outside, his bronze is equally unwilling to pay attention to the fall of competitors; he refuses to let himself be distracted. If they're tangled and injured, then that's simply two less who Liesanth has to defeat. He has eyes only for the gold he pursues single-mindedly.

Don't worry about him... but maybe don't come too close either. That's the ambivilent expression upon quiet J'dain's saturnine, bookishly handsome features while he observes the reactions Lilah has to R'hin and G'vri, his adam's apple bobbing a bit in his long throat as he gulps once, hazel eyes widening. It's not the look of untried youth, or of a prude, but a mix of a man both entranced by lust, yet fearing to drown in it...and so seeking to hold himself as aloof as possible. Again, good luck...for Sekuth is flying into the fray like a piledriver, his hugely muscled form steady on the go as he observes Eliyaveith's youthful moves with delight and eager want. His joy in pursuit, however, doesn't stop the Southerner from glancing a shoulder into a competitor, or practically running down a smaller brown, after the bronze has gained more airspeed. Damned aggressive driver! Back with the weyr, R'hin's sudden leavetaking on that note of potential pain has J'dain both concerned and triumphant.

G'vri is surprised, to say the least, by the lips against his, but he seems pleased by the attention, too. Even the scuffling of the Reachian riders doesn't completely remove the grin from his face when it distracts Lilah from him. The brownrider he came in with is looking at the goldrider with a strange mixture of annoyance and lust, though, as if she can't decide whether she wants a kiss, too, or if she's jealous. Either way, she doesn't actually say anything. Tovriath ignores the Reachians as much as his rider does, hanging back far enough that he doesn't waste energy on trying to follow Eliyaveith turn for turn, but close enough that he'll ''hopefully'' be ready to turn up the speed when the time comes.

No one else gets a kiss; not with Lilah's distraction growing only sharper as R'hin disappears. She doesn't remember to draw away from G'vri, either, for all that her dark gaze lingers on that door, her hand still clutching the man's jacket there as knuckles go white for a moment. Eliyaveith has certainly climbed higher than her last flight, lasted longer, and there is a rush of exhilaration in the young queen for that fact alone. ''She'' is in control, this time; not her rider or her chasers, but the queen herself as she continues to climb as high as she can until her energy starts to wear out. Even this gold's strength does not last forever, and she twists to look behind her (in what is likely a bad move on her part) to see who is still with her.

Liesanth's lust has boiled over to C'stian entirely, and the Hematite wingsecond's pacing brings him closer to Lilah and G'vri almost unconsciously. Outside, Liesanth is certainly still right with Eliyaveith; the scarred bronze has continued to follow the gold with single-minded determination, utilizing none of his usual 'clever' tricks. In many ways, this has worked better for him; being smaller for a bronze, and having spent literally turns engaging in endurance races and 'who can fly higher' competitions, he's been able to keep gaining altitude at a relatively consistent rate. As he spots Eliyaveith flagging, he gathers his strength to hurl himself foward in a burst of excitement, heedless to the other dragons around him. Victory -- and the prize -- is almost within his grasp!

Helloooo Eliyaveith! He's just as tired as she is, but with the youthful gold's look over her shoulder comes a burst of longing, thus momentary speed from hulking Sekuth, the bronze nearly threatening to run her over in his gasping need to reach the queen before everybody else. Keeping his claws out of the mix, frontal digits go for a grasp at the female's shoulders while he seeks to foul her wings with his own, a strangled croon more than-inviting her to << Join me... >> Down on the ground, J'dain first crosses long arms over his chest, then soon enough flings them wide open with a start as his lifemate goes for the grab, his now-open features only partially seeing Lilah as he stagger-steps towards her and G'vri...the latter a mere, small obstruction to him. Pardon me, interloper. A sudden, firm *bump* of his tall, though thin frame is offered to G'vri's to convince him to move off from the redheaded woman. At this point, he doesn't even notice C'stian.

The Southern bronzerider doesn't seem to mind Lilah's hold on his jacket very much, but his brownriding friend is already stomping out after the other handful who are leaving now that it's more obvious who are still contenders and who aren't. G'vri doesn't attempt to regain the goldrider's attention and he keeps his hands to himself, but whether it's because that's the sort of guy he is or because he's lost in his dragon isn't very clear. He barely even pays attention to J'dain. But then, the redhead moved on ''him'', not the other way around. Tovriath surges forward with the last, powerful remnants of his energy stores when Eliyaveith glances back. He wants her and, as far as he's concerned, he'll have his neck and tail twined with hers in short order.

Too late Eliyaveith realizes her mistake, and if it were for skill alone, Tovriath would certainly catch her as she falters. She even seems to briefly consider it, before the queen changes her mind at the last moment (as is her prerogative). Sekuth's invitation isn't considered, since he is as foreign as Tovriath, before she practically throws herself into her bronze brother's grasp and the familiar. Lilah's fingers tighten, briefly, on G'vri's jacket before they fall away and she steps towards C'stian, any lingering worry for the wingleader who has left erased in the moment.

Foreigner! Damn it. With Eliyaveith all but hurling herself into her brother's grasp, she manages to evade Sekuth's grasp, the Southern bronze giving a disappointed growl as he just partially furls his wings to fall away, down, towards the Bowl, where his now-retreating human half beats feet. It'll be back home for them, and then a long soak in the ocean...plus a cold shower for J'dain.

Once it's obvious that another has claimed her, Tovriath breaks off with a roar of frustration. His rider is more gracious. G'vri watches Lilah for the moment where her fingers tighten, and then he turns to leave once she's released her hold on him with none of the same frustration of his lifemate. No doubt he'll find someone else to ease the tension. Maybe that friend of his who's probably mad at him now.

When Liesanth's surge of victory -- and lust -- touch him, any last thoughts of the ongoing stalemate with Lilah are chased from C'stian's mind. With a wordless growl he steps forward to take her shoulders, pushing her back towards the wall of her weyr.

Under her dragon's influence, there is nothing cold or stale between them, not as Eliyaveith twines with Liesanth far above them and it drives Lilah to ''need'' C'stian in a way that she never has before. Later, there will likely be some awkwardness, some sharper words that come so often from the goldrider, but right now, she is his, completely.
|Categories=FTW Clutch 32 Logs
}}

File:Icon g'vri tovriath thumbsup.png

2015-05-18T01:48:01Z

Paislie:

Logs:Better Options

2015-05-18T01:45:41Z

Paislie:

{{Log
|who=Lilah, G'vri
|what=Lilah wants more than two options, but also complains about having none?
|where=The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=17
|month=10
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.05.13
|quote="I'm open to hearing more if you have something else in mind, though."
|weather=Thunderstorms have rocked the area off and on all day, retreating at times to let lighter skies dominate, but soon enough the clouds thicken and darken again with rain pouring down, thunder growling and lightning bolts flashing.
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon g'vri.jpg, Icon lilah drinking.gif
|desc=Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and
frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly
in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque
glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements;
round-backed booths carved from stone, lined with deep, terra-cotta
colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a
subtle red shade. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of
smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into
the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain.

All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the
massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the
ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all,
having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A
curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of
glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a
sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain
has become an elegant place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with
their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and
fancy desserts.
|log=Lightning flashes in the skies, rain pouring down from the skies, yet Eliyaveith doesn't retreat away to the shelter of her own weyr as she normally would, instead claiming a spot on the highest part of the bowl, claws dug into stone and the blanket heat of her mind pressed over the Weyr possessively. She has singled out Tovriath for the moment, her gaze drawn on the foreign bronze in ''her'' Weyr with an intent study. Her rider has retreated to the subterranean bar, not exactly away from curious murmurs and prying eyes, but at least with a drink in her hand as she has claimed a booth to herself. Her jacket has been shrugged out of, leaving only the rather plain grey clothes of her old uniform, with hair thrown off her neck in a messy bun. She watches her drink, rather than the room as she normally would, without hides as she would normally be working on.

Tovriath is quite pleased to be the focus of the heated queen's attention, poised where he is across the rim from her. There's no challenge to her possessiveness. The Southern bronze doesn't want the Weyr, he only wants ''her''. G'vri is less focused than his dragon, ''because'' of his dragon, but his steps bring him to Lilah's booth, pausing there to speak instead of inviting himself into her company. "Weyrwoman. Do you mind if I sit with you awhile? The boys've been less friendly since, well, I guess you probably know." There's an airy gesture with the hand holding his glass, and a pleasant, boyish smile if she bothers to look at him.

Lilah's lips twist into the hint of a frown at the sound of someone's voice, but as that dark gaze lifts to the Southern bronzerider, there must be some part of Eliyaveith's attention that seeps into the goldrider's defensiveness. She tips her chin in a simple nod, her fingers tightening subtly around her wine glass. "I don't know that ''sitting'' with me will make them anymore friendly," she points out, however.

"Not sitting with you won't make them any friendlier, either. And better me than one of them, I expect." G'vri's grin remains, though it turns toward self-deprecating at the expense of his fellow bronze- and brownriders. "For you, anyway. Is she treating you well?" He moves to slide into the other side of the booth carefully, giving Lilah time to change her mind if she so desires before he's settled enough to take a drink.

"Are those my only two options?" challenges Lilah to the foreign bronzerider, her dark gaze sliding over him in a weighted study that seems very much a mimic of her dragon in this moment. "I don't get a third?" There is a hint, there, perhaps, of buried humor and interest in the goldrider, as if she is ''looking'' for an answer that will impress her as she lifts her glass of wine to her lips.

"I'm fairly sure that there are as many options as you can possibly think up, weyrwoman. But I liked the idea of this one. I'm open to hearing more if you have something else in mind, though." There's humor in his voice, if distracted by Tovriath's attention to the Fortian gold. G'vri sets his glass on the table, no doubt whiskey.

Lilah's brow curves upwards at G'vri, her finger tapping on her own glass as she takes that slow sip. Her only answer is a dismissive, "I am fairly sure I have no options, do I?" But the drag of her gaze over the bronzerider lingers, catching herself only belatedly to sweep a look ''away'' and towards the rest of the cavern to see who might be watching. "Eliyaveith is the one who gets to choose."

G'vri doesn't seem concerned about who else might be watching, his attention focused only on the woman across from him. It's a casual attention rather than intense, though. "They can't choose anymore than we can. Not entirely. That's the fun of the chase, isn't it?" That's probably meant to be rhetorical. He must know the basics of her lifemate's flight history, after all, given the nature of Southern and Fort's relationship.

"If you're the chaser, maybe," Lilah replies lightly, dark eyes returning unerringly to G'vri to meet his. A pause, before she asks bluntly, "''Are'' you planning to chase? Or is he, I should say, but I'm sure you could stop him if you wanted."

The Southern bronzerider laughs, reaching to pick up his glass again for another drink. "It's... ''difficult'' to pull his attention away from a proddy queen once he has his sights set on her, weyrwoman. If Fort doesn't close the flight," and something in his voice suggests that he presumes they both know that's unlikely, "I have no reason to stop him." It means G'vri is planning to chase. "Would you rather I did?"

Lilah's lips twist into a sharper smile at G'vri's question, or perhaps at his answer, but she only answers dismissively, "You or another one; it doesn't matter. There's really no difference to me, is there?" It likely isn't any secret that she has no weyrmate or that gossip does not connect her in particular to any one rider. "Would you stop him if I ''did'' ask?"

"If it's what you wanted, I would ''try''. Of course I would." It's what G'vri can offer, perhaps lacking total control over who his lifemate ultimately chases. "But since it makes no difference to you, you aren't going to ask me to stop him, are you." The words are formed like a question, but lack the inflection of an actual query.

"It doesn't make a difference to ''you''? That he could catch a foreign queen and if she doesn't--." Lilah doesn't finish ''that'' sentence, allowing it to hang heavily between them as she watches the bronzerider, before continuing, "There will be people who will blame you and him, even with her history. Just because you are foreign."

"Tovriath is a proven sire," G'vri assures her, factually more than proudly. "If he were to catch her and she failed to produce a clutch, I doubt it would harm his reputation as such more than reinforce the consensus that she may be barren. And, in that case, it would be better for your Weyr to blame a foreigner than one of their own, wouldn't it?" It's almost like he's given this some sort of thought before now.

Lilah's brows curve sharply upwards at his answer, her next challenge holding an edge to it as she questions, "So, it is better that ''he'' catches so that you can ''prove'' her barren?" There is a twist of those words, a flicker of darker emotions in dark eyes as they rest on G'vri. Surely-- this is just because of her dragon.

There's patience in G'vri's smile when he answers Lilah, "If she's ''going'' to be proven barren, it's better that he catches, sure. Or that any other foreigner does." He starts sliding out of the booth, then, back up to his feet. "Whatever the case, I'm sure the best bronze will be proud to catch her. But, if you'll excuse me, weyrwoman, I think it's time I drag him back to his weyr before there's no hope of me sleeping in my own bed tonight." At least it means he's probably not trying to get into hers.

A hint of surprise catches in Lilah's gaze as G'vri moves to leave, as he excuses himself and perhaps that he's still ''smiling''. "I will ensure that she lets him leave," she offers simply to him, but she ''will'' watch him go.

"I appreciate it," says the young bronzerider, offering Lilah a casual but respectful salute before he turns to go with no lack of confidence in his steps.
}}

File:Icon g'vri.jpg

2015-05-17T21:10:49Z

Paislie:

G'vri

2015-05-15T06:45:32Z

Paislie:

{{Profile
|picture=G'vri.png
|body={{wysk}}

== RP Logs ==

{{NewLogs |name={{BASEPAGENAME}}}}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Mentions}} | }}

{{#ifexist: {{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments | {{:{{BASEPAGENAME}}/Comments}} | }}

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{{Character-Categories}}

File:G'vri.png

2015-05-15T06:45:10Z

Paislie:

Logs:Surprise Visitor

2015-05-09T23:36:31Z

Paislie:

{{Log
|who=Lilah, Paislie
|what=Paislie drops by, surprising her sister
|where=Lilah's Sanitized Watercolor Weyr, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=11
|month=8
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.04.22
|quote="My husband is not a good man, Lilah."
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon lilah.png, Icon paislie.png
|log=Lilah's weyr is quiet this evening, as the goldrider stays home from Dice. There is a packed bag by the entrance of her weyr but no invited guests, only a pot of klah to drink rather than alcohol this evening. She still has work to do, plenty of hides covered in perfectly aligned numbers and names, arrays of information that she pours over even if she can't be at Dice. Her glows are lit, spilling light onto the ledge beyond, and Eliyaveith is watching her rider work, awake and alert.

Since she wouldn't know her way to any other entrance than the one she was told was Lilah's from the bowl, that's where Paislie appears. She's carrying a bag not unlike the one she ends up standing by as she tries to peer at the weyrwoman's living arrangements before she feels obligated to announce herself. Or before the dragon or whatever else gives her away.

That dragon gives her away before Lilah can even look up from her hides. A golden head swings around to peer at the ledge even before Paislie steps into the entrance of the weyr, Eliyaveith's rumble of greeting paired with a more curious sound as she takes in the young woman. And then she stretches out her neck to sniff at Paislie, breathing over her and taking another deep inhale. That is when the weyrwoman looks up, with her view obstructed by Eliyaveith, before she tells her dragon, "Stop that." And to the person, "Ignore her. Can I help you?"

Paislie gasps just slightly at the dragon's head coming closer to her after that rumbling. She's no doubt aware of tone, having grown up in a beasthold, but that doesn't change the fact that dragons are large and intimidating; gold dragons even moreso. There's only a stunted squeak, no words forming around an anxious thought, before she finds her voice to offer ''some'' sort of answer, if not a very good one. "Lilah?" Help?

Lilah pushes to her feet even as Eliyaveith noses gently at Paislie, a happy noise, that pairs with a look from the goldrider at her dragon in confusion. "What are you--." But then Eliyaveith pulls away, though her gaze doesn't leave the young woman, and allows her rider the first glimpse of the young woman unobstructed. And she stops right where she stands, fingers finding the table as an anchor point even as she returns, "Paislie?"

The younger redhead looks worried and ''tired'', but the former could have everything to do with Eliyaveith. Paislie seems to relax just enough to notice when the queens head draws back and she can see Lilah again. She hesitates, though, offering a weird, sad quirk of a smile, staying where she is. "I just... I wanted to tell you I was here." So here she is to tell her that. But there's concern as she waits for some sort of obvious reaction as to how her presence will be taken.

Lilah doesn't move to close the gap either, a stillness that mirrors her sister as she takes in the younger woman with the weight of dark eyes studying her. It's only after Paislie has spoken that the goldrider questions, "''Why''?"

It's a fair question, but considering it makes Paislie's lip draw in between her teeth and her brows dip expressively, she's not sure how to answer it right off. "I couldn't go home." ''Home''. ''Their'' home, where they grew up, before Lilah left. "I couldn't stay with Gishran. I need help, Lilah, and I don't know where else to go." Her lip quivers. She might start crying, but she's trying so very hard not to. "Tell me you won't send me away. Please?" ''Please''.

"They will come looking for you," is Lilah's first thought, though that look of almost tears does bring the goldrider closer. But she stops before she ''quite'' reaches Paislie, her fingers lifting instead to gesture to her bag. "Here, take that off and I will get you klah," another gesture of fingers towards the pot on her table, "and... I need you to tell me what happened. Why you can't go home."

"They don't need to know I'm here." Of course that doesn't mean they won't find out. Probably even sooner rather than later. But Paislie can't think about that right now. She's ''here''. Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag when Lilah draws attention to it, but she nods, taking a few steps past the door and pulling it off to be set aside. "I want to leave him." Gishran. Her husband. Simple.

"Have a seat and tell me what happened," Lilah coaxes gently, worry and confusion reflecting only subtly in the goldrider's expression as she studies her sister a moment more. But then she turns away to pour another cup of klah for her.

Paislie eyes a seat before she moves to settle herself down on the edge of it. It's a nervous thing, no doubt, she doesn't want to get too comfortable. "My husband is not a good man, Lilah. I can't stay with him. I can't go back. I ''won't''. If I go home, they'll just send to him again." Because she's apparently tried that already. The look she gives her sister is plaintive.

"You're married," is a murmur as Lilah discovers it, though surprise is only a slight thing. Instead, she only watches Paislie all the closer, a soft curve of her lips into a sad smile showing a hint of regret. But it disappears quickly, almost too quick to catch as the goldrider settles herself back at the table. "Why are you ''here'' though? After everything I did--." She stops herself, before starting more carefully, "The Weyr will take in whoever chooses to come here."

The question of why she's here after everything-- It makes Paislie frown at her sister. "What do you mean after everything you did? After leaving me there, I suppose I could be upset about that." But that's history and there are other things for her to be upset about now. "You didn't do anything wrong, Lilah. It was an ''accident'', wasn't it?" If she were entirely sure, she might not have to ask, even rhetorically.

Lilah's chin only tips in an answer, though her gaze searches Paislie for something. Whether she finds what she wants or not is unclear, but she continues with, "Stay here in my weyr tonight. I will find you a place tomorrow." A pause, before she continues carefully, "Don't tell anyone yet, about your marriage. Promise me, Paislie. At least until I can figure out how to make sure they won't come force you home."

"Are you sure? There's no one--?" That she'd be keeping from coming over? The idea seems to make Paislie a little anxious. "I won't tell anyone, Lilah, I promise. They don't even have to know that I'm... that we're... you know...." Related? "You'll help me leave him, won't you? You ''can'' help me?" Her hazel eyes cut toward the dragon who greeted her on the way in. The dragon who gives Lilah her status now.

"No," is said in simple answer, a tightness to that on Lilah’s part even as she glances to Eliyaveith as well. "I will help you. I just need time to figure out how, exactly. I know an ex-Harper--." But she cuts off the thoughts that are racing ahead to instead focus her attention back on her sister. "Gossip will spread faster than anything here in the Weyr. I wouldn't be surprised if half of them already know about your arrival, that you came to find me. We'll have to tell them we're sisters and give them something."

Paislie chews on her lip while she listens to Lilah, but she nods to acknowledge that she is in fact listening because her gaze only flickers back to her sister briefly. The idea of gossip spreading doesn't sit incredibly well, but she can only say, "Okay. Okay, that's fine." She seems nervous, but it's fine. She hasn't even touched her klah. "Thank you, Lilah," she adds after another moment, finally focusing on her sister to give her a more genuine smile. The sort that still dimples her cheeks like when she was so young.

It's that smile, those dimples, that finally have Lilah reaching out to clasp one hand over Paislie's, squeezing briefly with a quiet assurance of "It will be fine." But she pulls away quickly, never having been an extremely affectionate person, before she adds in a lighter note, "Would you like to meet Eliyaveith, then, more formally?" And she will introduce the two of them, and also make sure that Paislie is settled as comfortably as possible in the weyr, including fetching for more blankets as needed.
}}

Logs:Weather-tensed Mealtime

2015-05-09T23:35:34Z

Paislie:

{{Log
|who=E'dre, Lilah, Paislie, Kaelige,
|what=A diverse group sits for a brief meal
|where=Living Cavern, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=27
|month=8
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.04.28
|quote=Well, they ''are'' Hematite.
|weather=Summer, strange, overcast
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon e'dre.jpg, Icon lilah.png, Icon Kaelige.jpg, Icon paislie.png,
|desc=>---< Living Cavern, Fort Weyr(#513RIJMas$) >--------------------------------<

Fort's enormous Living Cavern is a vast, echoing space, with deep set
windows carved into the outer wall to let in light and fresh air. Large
enough to house the entire human population of the Weyr with plenty of
room to spare, the most common use of the living cavern is as a communal
eating and gathering space. Long tables with benches usually line the main
part of the cavern with a table set aside for the Weyrleaders on a raised
dais, as well as other smaller tables set along the walls for quieter
dining. Tapestries depicting historic moments in the Weyr's history and
scenery from the coverage area decorate the walls and lend the space a
warmer feel than bare stone.

To the east, a large doorway leads out to the Bowl, with a sturdy metal
door that can be closed during inclement weather or Threadfall. The
Nighthearth is tucked away in a little alcove near the door. The large
main hearth is used for cooking and for heat, though chairs are often
pulled up nearby for the Weyr's elderly to enjoy the heat. A swinging door
not far from the hearth leads into the Kitchen that shares the wall behind
the hearth. To the west, a passage opens up into the Weyr's Inner Caverns.
|log=The skies, air currents, pressure - whatever those who 'know weather by our bones' might find as reasons to excuse the climate, or people's attitudes - makes for a grim and somewhat tense living cavern this evening. People are clustered in tight groups, wingmates, residents, everyone seems to be hovering amongst their crowds. Conversations are kept low and there is a clear layer of tension rolling throughout the place. E'dre has settled himself at one of the few tables that has open seating, away from Hematite who has gathered nearer the food. He's picking at his dinner more than eating it.

Smelling just slightly of ripe hay but little else, surprisingly given his otherwise dirty appearance, Kaelige comes in from the tunnels leading to the outside. That grey, dreary, stiffling outside air that so many are avoiding yet either given his disposition or his job or both, he hasn't been. For any paying attention to the nobody that he may be, there's a motion about his shoulder, a chittering as dark wings take off and are dismissed with a flick of a finger. Deeper in the living caverns, his awkward teenage walk is nothing surprising, but he is in no rush passing by the groups in low conversations. And, but moments more, he has his own plate and, soon, intentions for his own seat- "Taken?" Is asked of the rider with a motion at the seat across from him, the teen boy's dingy hood down off his head for once, displaying a messy mat of black hair and unshadowed mischievous blue-green eyes.

Having no cluster of her own to gravitate toward, and seeming somewhat uncomfortable with them in general, Paislie is wandering a little aimlessly through the tables to find a seat that's less uncomfortable than some of the others. It's conveniently near E'dre's table as Kaelige invites himself to a seat that she's starts looking ''especially'' overwhelmed and on the verge of a tearful breakdown. A perfect dinner companion, obviously.

The Weyrsecond has not been known to polite to strangers in the past and today would seem a good enough reason to continue on with that... yet he pauses in his food-shuffling to glance up at Kaelige. He considers the caverns at large and stifles a sigh behind his glass of wine as he nods towards the seat in question. "Feel free," he murmurs and leans back in his chair. It's then that he notices Paislie and frowns for a moment before he shakes his head and clears any sign of aggravation from his features. "You can sit here too." E'dre apparently knows how to be nice.

Kaelige sets himself down almost at the same time as the Weyrsecond gives his okay, as if he was not really waiting for it. It's also done with little grace, elbows placed on the table in time with the thunk of the plate itself. A meatroll is picked up within those motions, somewhere, and is picked apart bit by bit as if finding just the right tidbit to actually put in his mouth. "Thanks." Delayed. Very delayed. Paislie is looked at out of the corner of his eyes, a slight smirk following the assessment and then growing. "Ah, sure, welcome." Sarcastic, and as if it's been his table too. "I heard its not so fun in the skies lately." Said not looking at E'dre, but with obvious intention towards him.

The petite redhead glances over at the voice, between the older and younger men, and then away as though maybe she can suddenly find somewhere else to sit. But since nothing immediately comes up, Paislie turns toward the table with a quiet, "Thank you, sir," as she sets down her plate and sits with a timid sort of tension making her seem a little stiff. She doesn't look between the two again, but makes a point of starting to pick through her food.

It isn't from outdoors that Lilah comes, but rather from the swinging door that leads to the kitchen. Any jacket or warm weather gear has obviously been misplaced, at least for now, with only a sleeveless red shirt in soft cotton over dark pants, hair caught up in a messy bun. Whether she was expecting to find Paislie here or not, that is who the sweep of her dark eyes lands on, only briefly catching E'dre and Kaelige at the edges there, though she strides full steam ahead towards their table regardless, wiping still damp hands against pants as she does.

Kaelige could not find a worse approach with the Weyrsecond who finds that delayed response and sarcasm more than aggravating. E'dre downs the rest of his wine and is pouring more instead of replying. He is /trying/ to remain civil. "Weather's not prime for flying, no. Smaller dragon's are easier in the turblance than the larger." That's offered like a snippet of education and blandly tossed towards the younger man as the brownrider focuses in on Paislie. "You're welcome," he answers with a small smile before he sips more of his wine. He turns then and spies Lilah as she approaches. He manages to down the rest of that wine and is reaching for more. "Evening, Lilah."

Picking at the meatroll continues, a few select pieces managing to be eaten. Eventually the remainder is placed back down, his fingers dusted together to rid them of the crumbs. A mug of klah is collected and held in his partially gloved hands as Kaelige watches E'dre curiously, taking in what he says with a nod but not further pushing his luck. Perhaps he isn't so stupid. Or maybe he is, the smirk isn't wholly lost. To Paislie, he turns more of his attention. "Keeping busy?" Lilah's approach isn't missed, and his mug is raised just so past his nose with another nod of greeting. "Ma'am."

Paislie keeps her head down. One might get the impression that she'd have rather taken her food back to wherever it is that she's sleeping than eat in the crowded caverns, but here she is anyway. Hazel eyes lift uncertainly to look at Kaelige, perhaps not sure if it's her he's speaking to and perhaps hoping it isn't. She offers a weak smile and opens her mouth to answer, but the greetings to ''Lilah'' make her turn to look at the goldrider instead. She looks ''so'' relieved that she might be on the verge of crying all over again. This time there's a small smile, at least.

The slide of Lilah's gaze over first E'dre and then Kaelige will have to do as acknowledgement of their greetings, a brief thing before the full weight of her attention focuses on Paislie with a worried question of, "Are you ok? One of the kitchen assistants said--." That relief is likely what cuts off the rest of her sentence, the goldrider only nodding. "Nevermind. I hope you don't mind if I join you, Weyrsecond," despite not having food as she moves to take the seat next to Paislie. She doesn't ask Kaelige's permission, but she does finally offer an added, "Kaeli-- e, wasn't it?"

"Not at all, weyrwoman," E'dre replies blandly as he slides his untouched food further on the table. It might seem as if he's passing that untouched meatroll Lilah's way. He glances at Kaelige and then Paislie. He certainly was not going to start asking their names but he seems to be attentive to Lilah's queries. He finds a good place to be is behind his wine cup as he watches the group that's gathered around him.

"Whatever you want it to be." Kaelige says oddly in response to the weyrwoman, fingers tapping the mug in something between amusement and consideration. If the weather's done anything to him, he hides it well. It almost seems as though he has no intention of correcting her as he takes another sip of a beverage too warm for the heat. "Kaelige." Is settled eventually, before watching the terrified-appearing Paislie with more subltety than before, more curious of the answer between the two that look similar enough.

"I'm fine," she's quick to tell the other woman, even if it's said in that way that might mean she isn't but doesn't want to actually say as much one way or the other. "Really." Paislie seems somewhat more relaxed when she goes back to poking at her food now that there's someone more comfortable for her here.

"Good," is all Lilah murmurs, content to let that answer stand except that she bumps her shoulder lightly against Paislie's, just the hint there of contact between the two. If E'dre's intention is to offer the food to the weyrwoman, she doesn't accept it, but she does look thoughtfully to that bottle of wine, so briefly. "Kaelige," she will accept and repeat. Maybe this time she will remember it correctly. "I take it you have a long night ahead of you, staying up with the runners?"

"Don't those creatures sleep at night?" E'dre asks, clearly ignorant (or pretending to be) over the hubsandry of runners. He finishes off his wine and notices Lilah's glance. From the faint flush to his cheeks, he's likely had more than one glass of wine. He glances towards Paislie and tilts his head in an inquisitive manner. "Do you work in the stables too? I'd.., well, neither of you are people I seem to know." He looks to Kaelige then. "I'm E'dre, brown Wroth's, Weyrsecond and," he grimaces before he adds, "of Hematite." Now formally introduced he rises and retreats back towards the tables of food and drink to gather more supplies. He returns with a platter of cakes that he sets down on the table and a clean glass that he settles in front of Lilah. Without her asking, he pours her a glass from his 'skin and settles back in his chair. Rather than speak further, he turns his attention towards the caverns and narrows in on the group in the corner of Hematite riders to glower at.

Kaelige shrugs, noted further by the rustling of his long sleeves, "Nothing long about it. Just another night." Is dismissed, "The foal you helped deliver is doing well. A little filly. The mare took some coaching, but all's well now. Another went last night, foal's sickly." He's eyes never really seem focused on his own thoughts as he shares what he's willing to share, but interested more encompassingly on the group. E'dre's question is given a moment as he looks across at the Weyrsecond, studying. Then, lightly and with another shrug, "They're funny things. When nights' quiet and nobody's lookin, they think that's the best time." Certainly not the most eloquent way of putting it, but he's a bit rough in total. "Pleasure to meet you, Weyrsecond." It's hard to tell if he's completely serious, there's always that off tone, but he does tip his head again as if he means it. "Somethin' the matter?" He asks after E'dre returns to glower at his fellows.
"Change in weather can set the mares off," Paislie speaks up slightly and with a small, if uncertain, interest in the runners. E'dre's more direct question makes her look at him, then down at her food, shaking her head. "No, sir." But when he gets up, her gaze finds him again to watch for several moments while she can do so without him knowing. There's a glance to Lilah when her attention comes back to the table. "You helped deliver?"

There is a hint of surprise traced in Lilah's features as E'dre offers her that glass, but she doesn't turn it down. Instead her fingers drape possessively over it, though she doesn't exactly ''thank'' him. "Mm," is the softly dismissive noise that she makes to the information about the foal, no real concern there except for the flicker of something almost like guilt in dark eyes at Paislie's question. But she answers quietly, "I do, sometimes." It is Kaelige's question that brings her attention back to E'dre.

"Just keeping my eye on some assholes," E'dre quips, tearing his gaze away from Hematite's table to look back at his own rag-tag group. "I forgot that they're giving birth or something," he continues, shrugging his shoulder. Somehow more wine has found itself in his glass. "Lilah has a talent for healing," he shares towards Paislie in a more normal tone, any semblance of snark or attitude gone as he rubs at the back of his neck. "Some of us get to use our talents even after we've Impressed." He refocuses his attention on the quieter girl. "What do you do here then, miss? If not help with the runners?"

Kaelige sets the mug down to return to messing with his plate, as if some hidden treasure lays within the massacre he makes of the rolls following the meatroll. For a boy his size obviously still growing, there isn't much on it. "More trouble than usual?" Is asked, though as if not expecting an answer, "Talent indeed." He gives, as likely a support for E'dre's comment and a wayward compliment of his own. "That time of year." He adds, somewhat unnecessarily, and slipping into something of a quiet as he listens and chews.

"I... I know," says Paislie in regards to Lilah's healing abilities, finally sounding vaguely confident about ''something''. But it disappears in the next moments because she doesn't seem sure how to answer E'dre's further questioning. "I don't-- I..." Paislie looks at Lilah, clearly seeking the assistance of an answer, whether she just doesn't know or can't find her voice to give it herself.

"She is assisting me, for now. This is my sister, Paislie," is Lilah's firm answer even where Paislie hesitates, dismissive of any further prying as she lifts her glass to her lips. It's only afterwards that she adds an offhanded, "Well, they ''are'' Hematite." Who are all assholes, her tone implies.

"Oh," E'dre seems surprised by that acknowledgement of relationship between the two women. "Well, siblings are always welcome here. I wis--, oh /no/," the Weyrsecond growls and pushes away from the table. The laughter from Hematite and general atmosphere seems to have pushed the Weyrsecond up from his chair. "I can't, anyway.. nice meeting you," he nods to Paislie, looks to the Kaelige and adds, "Keep those creatures birthing or alive or whatever.." He shrugs, brushes his hand through his hair in an aggravated gesture, and abandons his food and remaining wine as he stalks out of the caverns.

Kaelige no longer stares at anyone in particular, which might help Paislie's shyness, but he's acutely aware of the changes in his periphery and is privvy to the dismissiveness Lilah offers in regards to the one now deemed a sibling of the former. "To you, the same." Kael gives the Weyrsecond, but with a low enough voice the rushed brownrider may likely not catch it. And the boy wouldn't be offended. "I'll do that." Is said more to the weyrwoman and her sister than anyone. "Now, I suppose. A pleasure," As the boy stands, there's an (unfortunately) awkward short bow given to Lilah but encompassing Paislie too. "As always." There's his characteristic smirk, and a thumb and forefinger take his hood to pull it over his head. A deposition of the plate to its appropriate place, and he moves with full intent to lose himself amdist the crowds.

Paislie gives both man and boy a brief smile as they take their leave. And then it's only Lilah who will see how much more relaxed she is once they're gone. It will make her a little more open in talking to her sister while she continues picking at her plate until one or the other will have to be on their way.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs:Lilah's Sister

2015-05-09T23:24:05Z

Paislie: Created page with "{{Log |who=Hattie, Paislie |what=Paislie is intimidated by the Weyrwoman. |where=Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr |involves=Fort Weyr |day=4 |month=10 |turn=37 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |..."

{{Log
|who=Hattie, Paislie
|what=Paislie is intimidated by the Weyrwoman.
|where=Commons Cavern, Fort Weyr
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=4
|month=10
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.05.09
|quote=There's more to being a rider than Impressing.
|weather=Thunderstorms
|mentions=Lilah, Nehmet
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon Hattie.png, Icon paislie.png
|desc=Spacious but not as large as the Living Cavern, the Commons serves as a
communal gathering space for the Weyr's residents. A collection of tables
and chairs are arranged around the cavern, with some tall stools tucked
under a counter carved into the eastern wall. A motley collection of
braided rugs in Fort colors are spaced through out the cavern to delineate
the arrangements of seating, while several large hangings blunt the chill
of the stone walls. Niches carved up near the cavern's ceiling hold
regularly spaced glows that are kept fresh weekly while a fire is left
perpetually lit in the hearth regardless of season, providing both warmth
and additional light. Before this hearth is arranged a large, leather sofa
and a pair of matching armchairs. Many residents settle here to work,
study, or socialize at different times of the day, though it tends to be
most active in the early evening.

The Commons also serves as a hub to reach other parts of the Weyr: the
Nursery is located across from entrance to the Resident's Quarters and the
corridor to the Workrooms, with the Lavatory situated between the two. The
Candidates' Barracks and the Classroom bracket the archway leading back
out to the Inner Caverns.
|log=Afternoon thunderstorms have kept more people in the caverns than usual, making those who are usually here a little more cramped. Fortunately lunch time keeps quite a few of those people in the living caverns while Paislie is left, one of a handful, to her own devices in the commons. She's sitting in one of the arm chairs in front of the hearth, a bag at her feet with a jar of lotion balanced on one of her thighs while she rubs it meticulously into her dry hands.

Given the recent storm that just didn't seem to want to end and all the damage it caused, even a slightly more manageable bout of thunder and lightning has managed to set many on edge, the Weyrwoman among them. From the direction of the nursery, she leads by the hand a young boy who can't be much older than five turns, his features similar enough to hers to mark him as her son, and begins to guide him towards the hearth and a large chair opposite Paislie. When she reaches her chosen seat, she pulls him into her lap and just holds him, while he burrows in at her side. A brief once-over of Paislie prompts, "You're the one they're calling Lilah's sister." No other greeting.

Little attention is paid the woman and boy who sit across from her as Paislie gazes, lost in thought, at the fire in the hearth. It's not until Hattie speaks that her attention snaps back to the present with a start and she's looking at the Weyrwoman with wide-eyed uncertainty, bordering on embarrassment. A timid smile of flickers over her expression, glancing at the boy more than the woman. "Yes, ma'am. Paislie." The name is a suggestion more than anything. This probably isn't the first time she's been referred to as Lilah's sister.

"Hattie," the goldrider supplies, perhaps needlessly. "Elaruth's. This is Nehmet." Hattie briefly tips her head towards her son as she wraps her arms around him more securely, seeking as much comfort from the contact as she offers. "Well met, Paislie." Manners are maintained, though there's a wary edge to her response, as she continues to watch the young woman across from her. "...Are we to expect any more of your family?" It /sounds/ like an idle enquiry, yet the intensity of her focus belies the lightness of the question.

The smile Paislie has for the boy is less timid and more genuine. "Hello," she says kindly, but her focus doesn't linger on him for too long. "And you," is returned to the Weyrwoman, glancing up at Hattie's face before her hazel eyes fall down to the jar. "I don't think so, ma'am," is her only answer to that question while she puts the lid in place and leans down to settle the lotion in her bag. "Probably not even to visit," she'll allow with just a hint of melancholy, drawing up one foot to tuck under her other leg.

"I'm sure that we could arrange transportation if you wish to visit them," Hattie supplies just a little too quickly, though her voice remains even throughout that seemingly well-intentioned offer. "At least one wing per day is assigned to transport, if you ever find yourself wishing to ask." She tilts her head a little, then, in a lower voice, adds, "I would suggest asking your sister, but..." She leaves off there, adding no explanation, and adds only, "She's busy," a few moments later, a touch flatly.

"No, no," returns Paislie, also a little quickly, eyes jumping back to Hattie. She's still trying to smile, but it's strained. "That won't be necessary. I don't foresee myself needing a ride anywhere anytime in the near future. But I won't distract Lilah, ma'am, I can assure you." Whether she's misunderstanding the implications there, the younger redhead seems sincere about it anyway.

"My concern isn't that you will or are going to distract her." Hattie could probably sound more reassuring about that, but she simply states it like a fact, cool-edged, then ducks her head down to rest it atop Nehmet's for a little while. "Anyway," she says eventually, "you'll forgive me if I don't keep track of who traipses in and out of her weyr, so I'm not certain whether you're staying with her. If you'd like your own room, that can be arranged. You'd probably have to share, but not with more than one or two others."

Paislie shifts somewhat uncomfortably in her chair, glancing down at the hands in her lap as she picks at one nail with the other. She doesn't look up when she says, "I'm not staying in Lilah's weyr, ma'am. I have a room. And I've been working where I'm needed for my keep." She doesn't sound defensive, exactly. It's more earnest, if uncertainly so.

"I'm glad that Shevena's arranged that, in that case." Not that Hattie /does/ sound terribly glad about it, but she continues to maintain that much of her manners. "I'm a little surprised that she hasn't roped you into working at Dice, though I'm not sure that it's the first place I'd want any of my sisters working." The corner of her mouth twitches in what's not really a smile. "But I imagine at least one of them would have a fantastic time there." The Weyrwoman shrugs one shoulder. "Is there anything you need that hasn't already been arranged?"

Another smile pulls at Paislie's lips, not anymore sure now than she has been since Hattie first acknowledged her. "She-- well, I don't think I'd like working there very much. Too many..." she trails off, glancing at the boy and then back down at her hands before shaking her head. "I don't think I need anything, ma'am. But thank you." After a beat, though, she asks, "Will the eggs be clutched soon? Is it very hard to get Searched for them?"

Hattie's gaze goes a little distant, like she could be checking on an answer about the eggs, but she surely can't be requesting a timeframe, despite replying, "Within the next few days, I expect," more gently than before. "Any day, really. Elaruth's certainly more interested in the Sands than she was a while ago." The boy in her arms looks up at mention of the gold, but he doesn't do more than stare up at his mother. "...If you truly want to Stand for her clutch... I suggest you think it through and make sure that you understand what it would mean. Then, if you're sure... you come and ask me. Fair?"

The more gentle words are enough to make Paislie's smile a little less skittish. She nods along as Hattie explains the dragon's interest in the sands, and then for her suggestion. "I'll think about it. Thank you, ma'am. Only." There's another pause here. She catches her lip between her teeth thoughtfully, then asks, "It would only mean possibly Impressing, wouldn't it?"

Hattie delivers a shallow nod in response. "Possibly Impressing, and being chosen by someone who will accept you unconditionally, but someone you might not be able to accept so immediately and without reservation. And once it's done... it can't be undone." She glances down at Nehmet as she says, "There's more to being a rider than Impressing." He listens, rapt, regardless of the fact that he's too young to grasp exactly what she means. "I would never want Elaruth to have chosen someone else, and I'm sure most riders would tell you the same of their dragons, but I think they'd also tell you it's not always easy."

Paislie listens. Whatever confidence she might have gained in the idea is trembling again as she nods. "Of course not, ma'am. I don't expect it to be easy. But even if it's harder than anything I've ever done before," and she sounds doubtful that it would be, "it would be better than going home." Again her hazel eyes settle on the boy. "Is he your oldest?"

"They are worth it," Hattie declares without a trace of doubt. "What hardships there are... no matter what you think at the time... they're worth it." Her focus absents itself for another few moments, and when it returns she's moving to get to her feet, Nehmet scrambling from the chair with her. "My youngest," she says fondly, reaching to secure his hand in hers. "My eldest is apprenticed to the Starsmiths." Pride there, but that same, warmer tone. She hesitates before excusing herself, pausing to request, "...Do me a favour? If any of your family visit... let me know?"

There's a mild fondness in Paislie's expression when Hattie talks about dragons the way that she does. And it's still there when she speaks of her children. She smiles more openly, enough to deepen her dimples, empathetic of that pride, but it's the last question that really pulls her to focus and she glances up at the Weyrwoman. "Of course, ma'am." If Paislie seems just a little relieved by that thought, it could just be that the intimidating woman will be taking her leave soon.

"Thank you." Just as she offered no proper greeting, Hattie doesn't supply a farewell, though she does give another nod that could serve as one. "Come on, sweetheart," she murmurs to her son as they move off. "Let's go and see what's happening in the kitchen while we wait for the rain to stop." And the thunder. And the lightning. Their progress across the commons is quick and, soon, they're out of sight.
}}

File:Icon paislie.png

2015-05-09T23:20:11Z

Paislie:

Logs:Candidates' Fate

2015-05-03T04:23:25Z

Paislie: Created page with "{{Log |who=Hattie, Lilah |what=Eliyaveith clutching seems unlikely. |involves=Fort Weyr |day=17 |month=5 |turn=35 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |gamedate=2014.07.28 |mentions=Elise |ty..."

{{Log
|who=Hattie, Lilah
|what=Eliyaveith clutching seems unlikely.
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=17
|month=5
|turn=35
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2014.07.28
|mentions=Elise
|type=Update
|log=As time passes and the dragonhealers establish that it is highly unlikely that Eliyaveith will produce a clutch, even a late one, focus begins to swing towards the fate of the Candidates currently occupying the barracks. While a trio of those young people have already been dismissed and returned home for complaining loudly about Eliyaveith not being a ‘proper’ queen and their having been brought to the Weyr under false pretences, many of the rest are determined to stick around. Ordered by the Weyrwoman, the Headwoman and her staff have collected back in the Candidate knots and found room in the dorms for those who wish to stay, though some of the former Candidates have woven white knots of their own, unwilling to let anyone forget /why/ they’re at the Weyr at all.

All those who have chosen to stay have been invited to Stand for the next clutch, whenever it may be. Some are already beginning to turn hopeful gazes to Aedrielth, and even Elaruth, yet one or two continue to gaze forlornly at Eliyaveith whenever she can be sighted.

Fort’s practice of bringing in Candidates before clutches are laid has never been a problem in the past, but this time…
}}

Logs:Spies and Meltdowns

2015-05-02T23:37:22Z

Paislie: Created page with "{{Log |who=M'vyn |what=M'vyn is a spy! |involves=Fort Weyr |day=22 |month=8 |turn=35 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |gamedate=2014.08.27 |type=Update |log=Those that have known greenrid..."

{{Log
|who=M'vyn
|what=M'vyn is a spy!
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=22
|month=8
|turn=35
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2014.08.27
|type=Update
|log=Those that have known greenrider M’vyn, or Journeyman Morvyn, may have always found him rather difficult to interact with. He spent his entire candidacy ignoring those around him – and, on that note, he spent the majority of his weyrlinghood avoiding his classmates. Some may say that he was occasionally nice, but those were rare moments. Brooding. Speculative. And prone to asking pointed questions that rankled many, M’vyn has made no friends since coming to Fort.

Gossip is not often believed and those who witnessed M’vyn’s forced admittance to the infirmary may have embellished things. Or maybe… they didn’t. Eye witnesses claim that they saw M’vyn tackled to the ground leaving the council room and hauled off under forced restraints to the infirmary. Elsyth’s distress was surprisingly less than one may have thought for her rider’s treatment. This may hint at the gossip being false… or could it be that Elsyth and her rider truly are not a real dragonriding pair?
}}

Logs:Quick Transfer

2015-05-02T23:06:32Z

Paislie: Created page with "{{Log |who=I'nis, N'muir, Nala |what=N'muir transfers I'nis to another Weyr without consulting Malachite. |involves=Fort Weyr |day=23 |month=8 |turn=35 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |g..."

{{Log
|who=I'nis, N'muir, Nala
|what=N'muir transfers I'nis to another Weyr without consulting Malachite.
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=23
|month=8
|turn=35
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2014.08.28
|type=Update
|log=Day 23, month 8, Malachite found itself rather suddenly without one of its wingriders. Sometime in the middle of the afternoon, I’nis and his blue Drasyth were ordered to pack up and leave the Weyr, forced to transfer to another Weyr. Given how agitated it made Malachite’s Wingleader, the general consensus is that N’muir didn’t consult anyone about his decision and didn’t warn the wing’s top dogs before yanking one of their wingriders out from under them.

While the Weyrleader remained tight-lipped about the whole thing, I’nis very clearly laid blame on bluerider Nala before he and Drasyth went on their not-so-merry way. Is this another case of N’muir’s Boys’ (and Girl) Club getting whatever they want?
}}

Logs:Elaruth Rises in her Eighth Flight

2015-05-02T22:55:25Z

Paislie: Created page with "{{Log |who=Hattie, N'muir |what=Elaruth rises unexpectedly. |involves=Fort Weyr |day=22 |month=9 |turn=35 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |gamedate=2014.09.05 |mentions=Lilah |type=Updat..."

{{Log
|who=Hattie, N'muir
|what=Elaruth rises unexpectedly.
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=22
|month=9
|turn=35
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2014.09.05
|mentions=Lilah
|type=Update
|log=Dawn of day 22, month 9, just as moonlight was giving way to sunlight, Elaruth rose in a sudden flight with no prior warning of her being proddy at all, though some may have noticed a very faint glow to her hide the evening before. Certainly nothing had seemed different about Hattie, who is usually left a distracted shadow of her capable self, and rather than maintain her usual watch over her Weyr and its bronzes and browns, Elaruth spent most hours of the days before settled on her ledge and cuddling with Bijedth whenever the opportunity presented itself. Looking back, perhaps it’s no surprise that it was Bijedth who caught her for the fifth time, for, this once, the senior queen seemed to have favoured him from the start.

The /whys/ of it all being so out of nowhere are just beginning to be contemplated, but one suggestion being made is that it’s Eliyaveith’s failure to produce a clutch that has led her dam to instinctively try and ‘fix’ things. Recent queens of the Fortian line may rise frequently, but rarely, if ever, so without warning, and for a queen who normally displays all the signs of a gold soon to rise, Elaruth’s behaviour is not in keeping with her usual self. Are Eliyaveith’s failure to produce eggs and Elaruth’s out of the blue flight signs that something is wrong with Fort’s queens?

At least the flight brings no political change with it, and the Weyrleaders are most definitely still Weyrleaders.
}}

Logs:An Heir for Astivan

2015-05-02T22:38:41Z

Paislie: Created page with "{{Log |who=Astivan, Darcy |what=Lady Darcy is finally expecting. |involves=Fort Hold |day=28 |month=9 |turn=35 |IP=Interval |IP2=10 |gamedate=2014.09.07 |type=Update |log=It t..."

{{Log
|who=Astivan, Darcy
|what=Lady Darcy is finally expecting.
|involves=Fort Hold
|day=28
|month=9
|turn=35
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2014.09.07
|type=Update
|log=It turns out that it’s not only Fort’s senior queen who is expecting, for at the end of month 9, news from Fort Hold is that Lady Darcy, Lord Astivan’s wife, is finally expecting their first child. It’s been a good while since they were married, so long in-fact that many had started to question Darcy’s ability to conceive, and this news has been met with a three day celebration to be held at the Hold. Perhaps now that Astivan has an heir on the way, he’ll turn his attention to better management of his Hold and care of his wife, rather than looking for ways to engage the Weyr and his holders in blame tactics.
}}

Logs:Fractious Candidates

2015-05-02T22:28:58Z

Paislie: Paislie moved page Logs:Fractious ‘Candidates’ to Logs:Fractious Candidates

{{Log
|who=Hattie, N'muir
|where=Eliyaveith's Candidates want to make sure they'll be able to stand for Elaruth's clutch.
|involves=Fort Weyr
|day=3
|month=10
|turn=35
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2014.09.08
|mentions=Lilah
|type=Update
|log=It’s been hardly any time since the flight, but already some of the Candidates Searched for Eliyaveith’s clutch have started to loudly remind anyone who will listen that they’re entitled to Stand for Elaruth’s eggs and should be getting a brand new white knot any time now. One boy – one of the younger ones – was even found camping out in the Candidate barracks, and this is before anyone has been allowed to move (back) in. He’s just about avoided being sent home for being disrespectful of authority, though rumours among the former Candidates suggest that he’s not learnt his lesson and is now organising some kind of sit in. You know, just in-case the Weyrleaders forget their promise. And woe betide any who remind him that it’s an invitation, not a promise.
}}

Logs:Fractious ‘Candidates'

2015-05-02T22:28:58Z

Paislie: Paislie moved page Logs:Fractious ‘Candidates’ to Logs:Fractious Candidates

#REDIRECT [[Logs:Fractious Candidates]]

Logs:Fractious Candidates

2015-05-02T22:21:56Z

Paislie: Created page with "{{Log |who=Hattie, N'muir |where=Eliyaveith's Candidates want to make sure they'll be able to stand for Elaruth's clutch. |involves=Fort Weyr |day=3 |month=10 |turn=35 |IP=Int..."