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Logs talk:Unforgiving

2015-06-07T14:19:23Z

Tiriana: Comment provided by R'van - via ArticleComments extension

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==Itsy (01:59, 7 June 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

You're better off without her, Drex. Honestly you are.
==Drex (02:03, 7 June 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

>.<

...I think I have a type. And the type is ''crazyeyes''.
==Edyis (02:07, 7 June 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

Edyis starts taking bets on how long it takes before they kiss and make up.
==Alida (03:15, 7 June 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

Alida actually bets a coin, for once...*watches the who clusterfuck of Itsy/Laine/Drex/Farideh* ;)
==R'van (10:19, 7 June 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

Not even guilty. >.>

Logs talk:The Talk About Babies

2015-06-02T19:15:21Z

Tiriana: Comment provided by Tiriana - via ArticleComments extension

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==Tiriana (15:15, 2 June 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

This is amazing. ''They look like nothing'' omg. I'm dying. XD

Logs:An Explosive Return

2015-05-30T08:00:25Z

Tiriana:

{{Log
|who=Drex, Farideh, Itsy, R'van
|what=The pirates return to High Reaches for the winter. It doesn't-- at first-- go to plan.
|where=Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=8
|month=12
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.05.29
|quote="We came for ''you''. No other reason."
|mentions=Azaylia, Giorda, Irianke, Jounine, Laine
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon drex youknownothing.jpg, Icon farideh displeased.png, Icon itsy scowl.jpg, Icon r'van halo.jpg, Icon farideh roszadyth demure.jpg, icon r'van vadevjiath bw.jpg
|log=It's been a fairly miserable trip from High Reaches Hold, with the road between Hold and Weyr by measures snowed, muddy and uneven. Still, better than going ''dragonback'', even if by the end of the trip Drex's swearing at each unsteady bump has reached sea-storm level proportions. Winter has officially arrived by the time the group arrives at the Weyr, with a few other crew of the Pirate Queen II returning with them to renew acquaintances made during their enforced shore leave. Drex seems heedless of the snow in his joy to be ''out'' of the cramped wagon, yelling something incomprehensible that is probably intended to announce their arrival. It draws a few odd looks, but most people who are out and about in this weather are busy travelling to somewhere else, somewhere ''warmer''.

"Next winter, we'll go to Ista," announces Itsy, shaking snow off of her ever-present hat, heedless of the mess she's making-- or that she may be ''accidentally'' sending it in Drex's direction. Still, she's plainly as glad to be out of the wagon as Drex is, stretching short legs with a few well-placed stomps of her feet, then turning to regard the bowl around her levelly. Her, "Good to be back?" is uncertain, and unconvinced. ''She's'' not glad to be back, not really.

''That'' gets her a ''look'' from Drex, a grunt of displeasure, though whether it's from discussion of ''Ista'', i.e. ''not High Reaches'', or the snow she's displacing over him isn't clear. "Maybe," is all he says, instead. "S'long as we aint stuck in a ''box'' for that long. It makes our ship feel huge." There's a kind of tension in his posture, a restless energy that he can't quite displace, and makes him shift his feet back and forward, like they're still on the deck of the Pirate Queen II. "Yeah," he says, if somewhat unconvincingly. "Thought they'd be..." he's not sure, but whatever it is has him frowning at the surroundings.

"We'll ''sail'' to Ista," is Itsy's answer to all of that, somewhat imperious despite the crooked smile she aims at the other man. "By then, that girl of yours can come to ''us''; we won't need to come back to this dump, not for anything." She's blithe about it, and even about the lack of welcoming committee; her gaze sweeps their surrounds, hands digging more deeply into her pockets. "Where're we headed now? Guess that Giorda person'll want us put to work again." She sounds quietly morose about ''that'' possibility; such a come-down!

There's a slow frown that forms on Drex's face as Itsy speaks, and it's not about ''Ista'' so much as the words that follow. "I thought you ''wanted'' to come." It's on the verge of accusing, eyes narrowing marginally. "Aint forcing ya. Thought you might want to see that girl again." Either he can't remember her name, or he's playing it casual. With an uncomfortable shift of his shoulders, now, he glances at the caverns, frowning. "Guess." He's not so thrilled about that, except, "We know a goldrider now, though. Maybe you can become her assistant. Do her ''hair''." ''That'' makes him chortle, abruptly.

Itsy's grumpiness is probably exacerbated by the trip here; and by such premature separation from her baby (which is to say, The Pirate Queen II). "Not like I wanted to stay at the Hold all winter long," is her answer to Drex, as her arms cross, partially flattening the bulk of her coat. "Better here than there." Beat. "I'd do her hair. Make it pretty like mine, and then she'd not have to waste time with it the rest of the time." It makes perfect sense! "Maybe she can hide us out and we won't have to work at all."

Drex is clearly bemused by Itsy's answer. "Thought you'd want to hang out with your Lord and his ''dog''." But the grumbling passes quickly as he snorts abruptly. "Hide us ''where''? Under her ''skirts''? Maybe you're happy to spend all winter doing her hair. I'll just ''do'' her." Well, yes. Such talk has become the norm on the Pirate Queen II; he hasn't had a Turn yet to moderate his boasting pirate talk back to something likely not to get him punched or worse.

Anyone for miles around can likely see the bright yellow knit cap on Farideh's head, with its floppy pompom that bobs when she walks. She's moving at a slow rate across the bowl, from the lower caverns, hugging a hefty pile of books and hides to her chest. Her eyes are lowered to the ground in front of her feet, her chin resting on the tallest set, but she's alert enough not to bump into the people that walk into her path; once she even stops altogether to offer a smile and a nod to a familiar face. But it's easy to tell, as she's shuffling through the quickly melting snow, that her mind isn't on the pair of pirates nor does she immediately notice their presence, until she's right upon them. It's then, with eyes flicking up from the mushy earth, that she comes to an unexpected and complete halt. Words are a little harder to put together, as they are.

"Don't think they hire whores in this place," says Itsy, blandly, arms crossing just a little tighter as, scowling, she turns her gaze from Drex and towards the distant bowl wall. Really, she doesn't seem to know where to ''start'', so it's probably for the best that Farideh's yellow hat catches her attention, eventually coalescing into Farideh herself. Drex will have to notice her for himself; Itsy simply stares, watching in silence until the goldrider comes to that halt.

"No?" Drex seems surprised. "They do in ''Ista''. Figured they were just a little less... ''obvious'' about it up here. Not the worst job in the world," he's grinning, and even elbows his Captain, though it likely has not much effect through the thick coats of both of them. His brow furrows at the look on Itsy's face, and it's only when he follows her gaze that he finally spots Farideh, too, huffing out a sharp breath. His expression is odd, too: kind of relieved and uncertain and delighted all at once. In that silence, he takes one, two, three steps, hurrying towards Farideh with the intention of lifting her up into a bearhug, books and hides be damned!

The goldrider's eyes keep moving back and forth between the two, with obvious shock and confusion, but the moment Drex starts coming towards her, she opens her mouth -- maybe to protest -- but nothing passes her lips as she's lifted into a hug, except a squeak of surprise. By the time he puts Farideh down, if he does, her cheeks are flushed with color and most of her books and hides have fallen to the ground. Later, she can worry about their conditions; now, she simply looks flustered and stunned speechless by this unforeseen turn of events.

Itsy maintains her silence throughout the Drex-and-Farideh hug, the lifted lines of her eyebrows disappearing into the brim of her hat, though the crooked smirk at her lips is obvious enough. "He didn't tell you," she assumes, mirth audible. "We're stuck for the winter and you need to help us. 'sides, he wants back in your bed; it's pretty much all he can talk about. I even bought a ribbon." Hello, Farideh. It's nice to see you.

Oh, Drex'll put her down, eventually, though not before that squeak of surprise has the scruffy-looking pirate laughing delightedly. He'll definitely need a hair cut, or something. It's Farideh's obvious flustered expression that makes him, finally, stop and take stock of her, earning the sailor's sudden shift of expressioon from joyful to frowning uncertainty. He glances over his shoulder at Itsy, because, well, she's a girl, surely she knows why Farideh is acting all weird? Right? Except, "You aint helping, Cap'n," he growls at her instead. Even if it's all true.

Once her feet are back on the ground, and she needlessly runs her hands over her coat, Farideh bends down to start retrieving her ''things''; inanimate objects are much easier to deal with than people, anyway. "''Stuck''? ''Help you''," certainly has the earmarking of unraveling anger. "You two didn't even say ''goodbye'', you've been gone for almost five months, and now you stroll in and expect me to--" Barely controlling her temper, she stands back up and gives both of them pointed stares, her mouth pressed taut. "Don't you have anything to say to me first?"

Itsy shoots Drex a glance in the wake of Farideh's temper, as if to tell him that this is all ''his'' fault. "You were kinda busy," she points out, a little lamely. "And Devaki was in a hurry. I ''wrote'' to you!" And such a fine letter it was, too. "But whatever. Drex'll bat his eyelashes at Giorda and we'll be fine. We don't need you."

"Uhh." Drex looks, frankly, at a loss, when met with the expectation of saying something, since he's clearly cognizant there's a specific thing she's expecting him to say, and he has no idea what it is. He gives Itsy a look, and it's hard to tell whether he thinks she's helping or hurting. "I said goodbye. We did, before--" and then he's coughing, and there's a fluster of color beneath his tanned features at the memory of the hatching day. "She means, we missed you. ''I'' missed you." He bends to collect one of those wayward hides, adding it to her pile. Clearly, he hasn't been taught that boys are supposed to carry a girl's books. "I got you presents, too."

"You wrote that you would let me know when you made it to port," Farideh points out to Itsy, sourly, leaning to look at the redhead from around her much taller companion. "This is not letting me know that you made it back and--" She sighs, dusting off some of her belongings. "Giorda isn't the Headwoman anymore. Jounine is." She does not, however, indicate whether Jounine would be more accommodating than her predecessor, though she does slant a narrow-eyed look at Drex. "Presents? What kind of presents?" ''Interested'', totally; predictable, definitely.

"But-- you know we made it back." Itsy is bewildered. "Because we're here. And it didn't seem useful to write when--" When they were going to be ''here''. The change in Headwoman is information filed away without comment; Farideh's reaction to the possibility of presents is... well. "He's going to put a ribbon around his dick for you," she comments, blandly. ''Boys''.

Drex doesn't seem that upset, or indeed, that ''interested'' in the change of Headwoman. "Yes, ''lots'' of presents," he latches onto that, because that seems to get the best reaction. "But uh, you want me to give them to you out here? In front of everyone? Don't you, you know, get a place and an office and whatever, somewhere ''warm''? My nuts are freezing... off," he snaps off the last words, as if suddenly realizing he's probably oversharing. Speaking of ''oversharing'', "''Itsy''! For fuck's sake." Way to spoil the surprise!

"I would have appreciated the warning," is all Farideh says, letting the subject drop in the face of the much more troubling topic of Drex's ''presents''. "Are you both ''addled'' in the head? We're in the middle of the bowl, where anyone can ''hear'', and I'm--" She snaps her mouth shut and adjusts her armload of reading material. "Not that what ''we'' do between ourselves is any of your business," she points out, huffily, to Itsy, "but it's not even ''allowed''. I'm still a weyrling. And it's-- it's--" She takes in a noisy breath, lets it out, and glares at them both. "You're both still as crude I can see."

Five months at sea have done nothing for manners, plainly; Itsy is utterly bewildered by all of this, and shoots another glance at Drex. He, too, is bewildering: what? ''What''? "Told you we should've gone to Ista," she says, moody to the point of obvious irritation. "She's too high and mighty for you, Drex. C'mon. Let's go inside and find somewhere to doss down at least. Leave her to her fancy goldrider shit."

The goldrider's words earn increasingly furrowed brow from Drex, very swiftly becoming a dark look as he folds hands across his chest. Instead of responding to Farideh, he replies to Itsy: "I told ''you'' she wouldn't care about a pair of grimy sailors. Too ''important'', now. Maybe we ''should'' go to Ista," he concedes, stomping over towards Itsy, habit making him fall into step with his captain all too easily. "Half the crew've gone to ground and the water'll be mostly frozen over, but maybe we can scrounge up enough..."

There is light snow and heavy angst on this winter's afternoon, as Farideh faces off against Itsy and Drex. Tension fairly rolls off the weyrling, who is standing still clutching a pile of semi-dirty books and hides in her arms, her jaw set as she glares at the sailor pair. "Since when is it ''high and mighty'' if I don't want every rider who knows my name and my face within hearing distance to know who crawls between my legs at night--" One arm flings out at the end. "I doubt Ista will want you, either!" Really, she's working herself up into a nice tizzy at this point; all they need is a catalyst.

Is news of the sailors' return spreading, or is Rafe just that lucky, to wander past now? Raised voices around Farideh aren't exactly unheard of, after all. He stops a few feet back from her, peering around her to the people she's yelling at; his mouth's pulling up into that familiar smirk--now that someone ''else'' is the target of her anger. "Is this a bad time to say hi?"

"Never seemed to bother any ''other'' goldrider I ever heard of," points out Itsy, who-- let's be fair-- only really knows about Irianke and Azaylia before her. But mostly... mostly she's still bewildered and getting annoyed, her voice raised to carry. "Fuck this," she adds, half-turning in a way that implies she's gesturing towards Drex to follow her, only there's R'van, and-- she scowls at ''him'', too. "You're all fucking crazy," she declares. "Let me guess, she's fucking ''you'' instead, now, and that's what all this is about."

Drex is willing to trail after Itsy, right up until she draws attention to R'van and the words that follow. "What?" He's more shocked than believing, though it ''does'' make his gaze flicker towards Farideh, suspiciously. His jaw tightens, and he takes steps in the weyrling bronzerider's direction. "Aint true, is it? Thought you liked ''guys''."

At the sound of R'van's voice, Farideh's head whips around so fast it's surprising she doesn't snap her neck. "Yes," is her sickeningly-sweet answer for her fellow weyrling. "We're ''talking''." ''Talking'' is the understatement of the turn, but she's sticking by her statement, turning her focus back to Itsy, her chin lifting a fraction. "No one has the poor graces to talk about ''their'' sex lives out in the open like some common-- some-- ugh." That frustrated sound is followed by a disbelieving, humorless laugh, as she glances from Itsy, to Drex, and more grudgingly, to the bronzerider. "Him? And me?"

"I'm not having sex with anyone," Rafe answers promptly, once Farideh has made her distaste in discussing it known. "I'm too busy for that, unfortunately, between Vadevjiath, smithing, and now being wingleader. Maybe once we get our weyrs in another month or two. How was your trip? I'm assuming your new ship was finished." He carries on like it's a perfectly normal conversation, and entirely ignores Farideh for the time being.

"He," Rafe, "fucks guys?" News to Itsy, not that it seems to bother ''her'' any; it's not as though she was interested in the first place. Snow is gathering on the brim of her hat again, and by the expression on her face, she's utterly lost... and absolutely ready to be finished with ''everyone'' here, probably Drex included.

The fists at Drex's sides uncurl, slowly, though his obvious jealousy doesn't quite dissipate despite Farideh's reaction and R'van's assurances. Probably because, "What do you mean, ''maybe in a month or two''?" and now, he's looking at Farideh, likewise, accusingly. He'll leave the pleasant discussion of their trip for another time. "Aye, so he ''said''." Or Drex assumed. Or ''whatever''.

Nothing about the situation is funny - not a damn thing! But suddenly Farideh is laughing, softly behind the hand be presses against her mouth at first, and then louder as she dissolves into giggles that she can't quite hide. She doesn't even give an excuse for her laughter, or look at anyone in particular so the blame can be laid at their feet. Maybe all the pressure and stress finally got to her! Maybe she's had a psychotic break! No one will know until she stops laughing, which she hasn't, yet.

"He does not," R'van corrects Itsy with a small shake of his head; he doesn't sound offended, though. In fact, he's easily the calmest of the lot, though he ''has'' only just arrived. "I have not, and I ''probably'' will not, though--I'm not sure I believe in 'never's." Then, to Drex, he adds, with a tilt of his head, "I thought that was self-explanatory. In a month or two, when we have the privacy of our own weyrs rather than the barracks--."

And Itsy? If she was lost before, now she's doubly so. R'van's correction goes by without comment, and whatever exchange R'van and Drex have doesn't even seem to be ''noticed'': she's watching Farideh, and when the goldrider finally explodes into laughter that, it's as if it is an inevitable conclusion. "Reckon they'll hang us for breaking their goldrider?" she wonders.

Apparently Farideh's laughter is enough for Drex on top of R'van's implacable calmness. His expression might well decry ''fuck that noise'' as he turns on a heel and stomps towards Itsy. "Fuck if I know, or if I want to find out," he growls. "Should we try and find the wagonmaster to take us back?"

Farideh doesn't stop laughing even as everyone else talks, or doesn't, though when Drex starts asking Itsy about wagonmasters she holds out a hand, getting out a stilted, "wait". She ''tries'' to calm herself down, truly she does, but it takes a few trials of stopping and starting all over again, until she's only twittering between words. "You're both-- R'van is--" Another calming breath. "R'van isn't ''gay'', he's just ''insufferable''," is perfectly upbeat. "And you're mad because I don't want to talk Drex's--" She draws an imaginary circle in the air, directed towards Drex's pants front. "You show up within a letter, without announcing yourselves, without an apology for running off, without so much as a ''hello, Farideh, how have you been? sorry we had to run'' or a bouquet?" Now, she makes a face, and semi-turns to sweep R'van with a glance. "Well?"

"Well?" Rafe repeats, turning a blank look at Farideh before he makes an encouraging motion to her. "Please, no, continue. All fair points so far."

Itsy's, "''Yes''," aimed at Drex, is only partially forestalled by Farideh's words. "We only just got here, and you were mad with us before we even had ''time'' to say hello," she says, grouchily. "You knew we were going to leave, ''and'' you weren't exactly around to say goodbye to when we left." SO THERE.

With arms folded across his chest, Drex stands resolutely next to Itsy with a nod for his captain, grunting at Farideh's words. "''You'' aint apologizing for Impressing, ''I'' aint apologizing for doing something you ''knew'' we were going to do, what we are born to do, and what we will always do." Her words about R'van have him staring hard at the bronzerider for a moment, taking in the perceived deception with a tightening of jaw.

"I ''guess'' we're going to air it all out, then," Farideh says tightly. Had the circumstances been different she might have been suspicious of R'van's encouragement, but her irritation and weariness is saved for the sailors. "I was ''around''. Impressing a dragon doesn't close you off from visitors. Did either of you even ''try''? You could have written a letter ''then'', and--" Now, she's turning on Drex, accusing. "You said you were ''ok'' with me Impressing. Why do I have to apologize? We talked about it." She makes another face, her arms tightening reflexively around her books and hides. "What do you want me to apologize for?"

R'van still seems faintly like he's ''enjoying'' it, that bastard. He's got a small little smile on his lips as Farideh starts airing grievances, and when he catches Drex staring at him, he just slants a little look back, one brow arched slightly. What?

"We left before the hatching feast even ended," insists Itsy, stubbornly. There's ''no way'' Farideh was free to talk, at that point! ... as far as Itsy is concerned. And, "He's a boy. They're dumb. And ''I'm'' not the one fucking you." So she's off the hook, too. Now, however, she turns to glare at R'van; this is all his fault. Somehow.

"Aye, we talked about it. If you don't have to apologize for Impressing, we sure as shit aint apologizing for ''sailing''." Drex's arms don't unfold, as his chin lifts, "As for ''trying'' -- we came ''here'' instead of wintering at a warm beach on Ista, and you just stared at me like I was something we'd scraped off the bottom of our ship or something." He gives a sidelong look at Itsy and a baring of her teeth, like she's maybe not helping.

"''A letter''," Farideh insists. "I know now that you know how to write. You could have easily written one and handed it to someone to give to me, later. A by-and-by." Except, the redhead isn't off the hook for the rest that easily, as Drex's declarations draw up a whole new slew of issues. "I didn't stare at you like that. I've already said it, but maybe your ears are still full of seawater," so she brings it back slow, "I don't want to air my personal business where everyone else can see and hear it. I'm not just a ''laundress'' now, and everyone is watching and-- I don't know why I have to explain myself. I would have been happy to talk to you in ''private'', not with the whole Weyr as witness." Not even ''coincidentally'', she flicks a look over to R'van, nearly giving him the stink eye.

"My lips are sealed," is R'van's bland answer to that, when he schools his features into something less smirky a beat too slow, in response to Farideh's look over at him.

Mulishly: "Never really gave us the option to talk in private though, did you?" Itsy stands her ground... except for the part where she reaches for the sack of things she must have arrived with, slings it over her shoulder, and says, "We're getting nowhere. Fuck this shit; I'm going to sleep in a real fucking bed." And off she stalks. If she's lucky, the flight weyr will even be ''cleanly made up'', and not... recently used.

"Well then, I guess we're done, since you can't talk to us in ''public''," Drex drawls. His booted heel twists in the snow as he stalks off after Itsy, not looking back.

"You're just--" Farideh makes a frustrated sound, and spins on her heel about the same time the sailors start stalking off to find whatever bed they can, but ''she'' comes to a stop not two steps from her original spot. "Do you think I was out of line?" she asks R'van, though she doesn't look at him; it's implied she's not talking to Roszadyth.. or, herself.

While the other two stalk away, R'van lingers where he is, glancing after them with a thoughtful expression. It's this that Farideh interrupts with her question; his brows go up. She's speaking to him? He has to stop and think about this for a moment, before he steps aside, as if to follow. "I think yelling at them is unlikely to accomplish anything, besides possibly making yourself feel better," he says after a moment. Which is maybe an answer and maybe not.

"She's fucking crazy," Itsy says to Drex, loud enough for her voice to carry. "You're better off without her. Find you a new girl, a better one. Me too." She stalks through the snow, very deliberately not glancing back.

"Don't talk about her like that," Drex growls to Itsy under his breath. Nevermind he's defending the girl they're angrily stalking away from. "Aint her fault. It's this ''place''." His jaw tightens at her mention of finding a 'new' girl; he doesn't argue, but he doesn't encourage either.

"I don't even know what I did wrong. Suddenly, I'm a hoity-toity goldrider, when I don't even ''act'' like Irianke," Farideh mumbles to the other weyrling. It's not likely the loudly thrown insult that makes the brunette turn to assess their retreating backs, but she frowns all the same. "Should I apologize for the sake of apologizing? Do you think I should go after them?" Pause. "''I'' didn't do anything," she reassures him, in case he forgot.

Dragon> Light and texture, warmth and silk, all in the brief span of Roszadyth's gentle ''touch''. << Vadevjiath. >> (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth)

"No, you don't," R'van won't dispute that, though there's a faint hint of that dry smile back in his voice for her lack of Irianke-ness. The latter, though, earns a much more skeptical expression. "Don't ever apologize when you're ''right''," he says, like the very idea is insanity.

Itsy stops, short, turning to ''stare'' at Drex with disgust she makes no attempt to hide. "Makes ''you'' crazy, too," she declares, reaching forward to shove at him. "And her. Never coming back here again. ''Never''."

Dragon> To Roszadyth, Vadevjiath, in answer, is warm seas that creep up that silk, darken its color and stain it with its salt. << Roszadyth. >>

That shove gets more than a glare from the sailor, it gets a low-throated growl. Drex's fingers curl into fists, but... it's ''Itsy'', and after a moment, his jaw flexes amd fomgers relax. "We're agreed on that, at least." The last, he must mean. "Itsy, I aint giving up on her yet. You're her friend, too. We can help fix her." Because she's clearly ''broken''.

"If I'm right, why are they mad?" It's a demand, more than a question, because Farideh ''needs'' to know. "How can they just-- just-- stomp off when ''they're'' the ones who should be apologizing? They left ''us'', they ran off to their stupid little boat, and probably saw many places, and whatever it is sailors do, while we were stuck ''here''." Her mouth stretches thin, and so does her patience. "I sat around, ''hoping'' they would come back, ''hoping'' they wouldn't die, ''hoping'' for some-- thing-- anything, and then they just show up and get pissed off because I don't want to talk about Drex's-- well." An embarrassed look is settled on R'van. "You're just as dumb." ''So nice''.

To that, R'van just shrugs. "Some people don't like being told they're wrong," he notes. "Particularly in strident tones of voice." A little more pointed look at Farideh: yes, that's you. Though, confusedly, he wonders, "What did I do? I would never ask you about his cock." Now he's just being annoying, says that smirk.

That her shove doesn't get a ''proper'' reaction bothers Itsy, plainly, but only for a few moments. She takes a step back, huffing out a long breath that hangs, visible, in the wintry afternoon air. "Can we?" Dubious, she lifts her gaze to study Drex. "She's part of this place, now. Forever. We ain't, never going to be. She's embarrassed by us. ''Ashamed''."

"Aye," Drex concedes with a frown. "Ought to give her a chance, though. She was one of the few in this place that saw us as more than just dirty sailors."

Dragon> Roszadyth is simply ''delighted'', her words bolstered with the heady fragrance of summertime blooms and dusty corners. << Yours is ever kind and reasonable, >> she enthuses. (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth)

All of that is good and well, and Farideh even assumes the expression of someone deeply contemplating. It's his casual question and avowal that makes her look highly scandalized, her face flushing with color. "That's--" Instead of finish her statement, she turns, and starts scurrying after the sailors; dealing with ''them'' is preferred to dealing with R'van, yet again.

Dragon> << Is he?" >> Vadevjiath sounds not quite surprised, but those waters are climbing higher with interest, rising around Roszadyth's touch. << Reasonable, yes, but reason is rarely kind. At least to those incapable of it. >> (To Roszadyth from Vadevjiath)

Dragon> Sweet, patient Roszadyth, she absorbs his words and contemplates them with genuine alacrity, letting the bronze's sea wash against her sunny day. <> she avers. << But he does not practice malice as some nor bitterly rise to the occasion as others. >> Certainly, she's not ''purposefully'' calling out her own rider, but if the connection can be made, it's through no fault of her own. (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth)

Dragon> To Roszadyth, Vadevjiath's consideration leaves the sea where it is, though waves lap against the light she projects, as steady as the tide coming in. << No, he does not do that. He means to ''improve'' our world, and that is painful sometimes; but I ''am'' glad you at least see it for that. >> Equally unstated: unlike her rider.

Is that what he was going for? If so, R'van's succeeded, left looking after Farideh with a slight snort before he sees himself back to the barracks. His work here is done.

Itsy, as Farideh approaches, has her hands on her hips, still staring at Drex as though she's not entirely sure she believes him. "She changed," is what she says, shortly. "She doesn't want us here."

"Maybe." Drex isn't entirely convinced, either, but there's also something wary in the way he regards Farideh as she approaches. Not ''hostile'', just wary. His gaze flickers towards the departing R'van, briefly, then as the gold weyrling approaches: "We leave first thing tomorrow, if you want us gone."

Dragon> Roszadyth's approval is palpable, in the feather-light ''touch'' that resembles a gloved hand, in the soft tinkle of melodic laughter, but she's given her piece and shared her musings with her brother; for now, that is all. (To Vadevjiath from Roszadyth)

The goldrider has the weyrling program to thank for making the distance between her and the sailors close easier than it would have before. She's not even out of breath by the time she comes to a faltering stop, still clutching that bundle of items in her arms. "I didn't say I wanted you to leave," Farideh says with a frown. "That would be-- the opposite of what I want. Why would you think I wanted you to ''go''? I never wanted either of you to leave in the first place." She gives Itsy, with her hands on her hips, a sweeping, thoughtful glance, and wrinkles her nose. "I'm sorry." Obviously, ''not'' taking R'van's advice.

The apology makes Itsy falter; she's already turned her head to look at Farideh, but now she simply stares-- glowers-- and says... nothing. At least she's not pressing the apology?

Drex looks at Itsy first, and takes in his captain's measure. Apparently he reads something in her glowering expression, since he replies to Farideh: "Because you didn't look ''happy'' to see us, and you were yelling at us." A beat. "We were happy to see ''you''. ''I'' am."

"I didn't? What did I look like?" Farideh asks the question to Drex, but she's ''looking'' at Itsy, still frowning at the glower she receives. "I ''am'' happy, that you're back, and contrary to how he acts-- I think R'van is too, ''and''-- Laine. It's been busy and we've all have a lot on our plates, but that doesn't mean we forgot about either of you. That we didn't want you ''back''." Her eyes lift to Drex. "I'm sorry," again.

"We came for ''you''. No other reason." Itsy finally breaks her silence to say that, emphasising the words sharply. But that's ''all'' she seems to have to say: she turns and stalks away all over again, this time the hunch of her shoulders giving a pretty good indication that she doesn't want to be followed.

"You looked like..." but even Drex is smart enough to know not to go there, biting it back with a shake of head. "Don't matter. It's ok. You have to be all... ''goldridery''," the way he says it probably makes it sound more like an insult than he means. Maybe. He glances at Itsy, watching her retreat with a frown. "I should go. We can... talk, when you want. But, you know," he's looking back at Farideh now, stalking toward her, bending to kiss her, muttering at the same time, "I don't give a fuck what other people think."

Farideh's frown deepens and her eyebrows tug together at Itsy's outburst, neither of which changes as the sailor stalks away. "I don't know why she's so--" She stops, and frowns some more, until Drex is kissing her and, after the initial surprise, she's kissing him back. "I'll talk to Irianke and see what we can do. ''She'' has assistants, maybe she wouldn't find anything at all odd if I hired you and Itsy," she says, leaning back to look up at his face; there's wry humor in her voice. "We'll talk-- soon."

It actually makes Drex grin, although maybe it's the fact that she kisses him back. "Soon. I have real presents for you," is all he says by way of promise, squeezing arms around her briefly in a tight hug, before he's walking off in search of his Captain and somewhere to bed down for the night, possibly not in that order.
}}

Logs talk:Pain In The Ass

2015-05-29T00:48:27Z

Tiriana: Comment provided by Tiriana - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Pain In The Ass]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Tiriana (20:48, 28 May 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

You keep taking that nice about me, I might think you like me. :P

Logs talk:Virtues of Growth

2015-05-28T15:02:17Z

Tiriana: Comment provided by R'van - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Virtues of Growth]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==K'del (06:12, 28 May 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

I just have to say: I am loving these snippets of Keysi and Neianth. It's so much fun to see how they grow and change! <3
==R'van (11:02, 28 May 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

I love this, and seeing how their relationship is changing over time, to each other, the people around them, and the Weyr. Such a neat insight!

R'van

2015-05-28T15:00:06Z

Tiriana:

{{Profile
|picture=Rafevan.jpg
|mother=Rikya
|father=Simonin
|siblings=Julson, Povrel, Maliere, Lianen, Hanowar, Breti
|friends=[[Farideh]], [[Drex]], [[Itsy]]
|body=== Description ==
Blond hair, blue eyes, handsome enough to notice, normal enough not to remember. At least Rafevan dresses well, most of the time: he's got enough marks to spare to be a slight cut above the average working man that he would otherwise look like.

== WYSK ==
* Nabol-bred.
* Smithcraft-raised.
* Demolition-friendly.
* Pointy-edged.
* Bronze-riding.
* Ass-hatted.

== History ==
Born in Nabol, Rafevan had a relatively well-to-do upbringing thanks to his family's extensive orchards; even by the Hold's standards, they were quite productive. However, Rafevan was a younger son, not destined to inherit much on his own--and anyway, growing up with a thing tends to make it seem quite boring. So instead of being a farmer, Rafevan apprenticed with the Smiths, and has since risen to the rank of senior apprentice. He's hoping to move further up the rankings in the next couple of years. Currently, he's been most involved in flamethrower and agenothree production. This is what earned Rafevan his posting to High Reaches Weyr, to fill a recent vacancy under one of the Weyr's Smithing masters who has followed a similar specialization. He also occasionally enjoys making things explode. This is occasionally problematic.

Rafevan--R'van--impressed bronze Vadevjiath in turn 37. Weyrlinghood, and a dragon as intense as he is, seems to have subsumed many of R'van's better qualities, or maybe it's just that now all his relationships are in some way professional rather than personal. R'van has continued to work on his Smithing side projects at the expense of building relationships with his fellows, and his grating habit of questioning everything has won him few friends indeed. No time was this made more plain than in the fifth month of weyrlinghood, when he and Vadevjiath were named weyrling wingleader for the month.

== Relationships ==
* [[Farideh]]. Not an admirer.
* [[Drex]]. Not a landlubber.
* [[Itsy]]. Not a lady.
* [[Irianke]]. Not a debtor.
* [[Liandra]]. Not a fool.

== [http://www.16personalities.com/entj-personality Personality] ==

ENTJs' intelligence, strong will and logical reasoning skills are a force to be reckoned with. Be it a minor obstacle or a seemingly impossible task, ENTJs will find a way - or make one. This fearsome determination and intellect allow ENTJs to overcome many challenges.

'''Strengths:''' efficient, self-confident, strong-willed, strategic
 '''Weaknesses:''' impatient, dominant, arrogant, ruthless

[http://kevan.org/johari?name=R%27van Contribute to R'van's Johari Window.]
 [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=R%27van Contribute to R'van's Nohari Window.]
== Soundtrack ==

{{{!}}style="width: 100%;"
{{!}}-valign="top"
{{!}}style="width: 50%;{{!}} '''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBmzzrU3gR8 Black Sails Main Title - Bear McCreary]'''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FdUdvajOp0 The Wondersmith and His Sons - Astronautalis]'''
:''I was born a charming man with silver tongue, pearl teeth''
:''This's never how it's s'posed to end, we're promised all we dreamed''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_x6M3UXq9M Burn It Down - Sims]'''
:''Me I’m just over the line, under the gun, out of my mind
:''Everything in its right place
:''Watch me slice through the night

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQ4mNz3dvnE Off in the Deep - Doomtree]'''
:''I was working on imperatives while they were crafting narratives
:''About who they are and what they do
:''I was on that show and prove

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRMIlyuBrDg Ain't Nobody - Atmosphere]'''
:''Yeah I came to party, but I don't wanna party with you''

{{!}}
'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RezzkpiQ70M The Crow - Dessa]'''
:''You duck some, you take some square''
:''Your luck runs out, you're there in midair''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTmCQNR9OA4 Dimitri Mendeleev - Astronautalis]'''
:''Woke from a dream, hands heavy in cold sweat''
:''Jumped from the bed, snatched the charcoal quick''
:''Sketching frantically upon the bedroom brick''
:''Came together and it fit, like this:''
:''"Give me a lever and a place to stand''
:''And I'll move the world"''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_iveMTyxH4 Avalanche - Nick Cave]
:''I who am on a pedestal''
:''You did not raise me there''
:''Your laws do not compel me now''
:''To kneel grotesque and bare''
{{!}}}

== RP Logs ==

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

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

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

{{Icons}}
|position=Senior Apprentice
|where=High Reaches Weyr
|Has rank=Apprentice
|craft=Smith
|birthplace=Near Nabol Hold
}}
{{Character-Categories
|Categories=Smiths, Greater Pern, High Reaches Area, Nabol, Nabol Hold, Telgar Area, Smith Hall, Riders, Bronzeriders
}}
[[Category:Characters]]
[[Category:Crafters]]
[[Category:Smiths]]
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]

Logs:Kinder Lessons

2015-05-26T06:45:03Z

Tiriana: Created page with "{{Log |who=R'van, Irianke |what=Irianke pries R'van's secrets loose. |where=Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |involves=High Reaches Weyr |day=24 |month=11 |turn=37..."

{{Log
|who=R'van, Irianke
|what=Irianke pries R'van's secrets loose.
|where=Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=24
|month=11
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.05.25
|quote=Do not disappoint me, R'van.
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon r'van down.jpg, Icon irianke.jpg,
|log=One of the pleasurable duties of her rank is assisting in teaching the silver thread dance classes, a task Quinlys has begrudgingly consented to. The latest class has concluded, the weyrlings dismissed and Irianke lingers, her steps light as she dances from one foot to the other, replaying steps and recollecting some fond memory.

And of course, Vadevjiath is there, listening in from his vantage from the back, an intent lurker if there ever were one. R'van waits until the lecture is done before he appears; it wouldn't do to even give the appearance of interest. When he steps into the training room and past Irianke, he greets Irianke with a faintly surprised, "Weyrwoman," like he didn't know she was the one teaching this or something.

Irianke's steps fall still at R'van's approach a sudden warm smile surfacing, one hand still outstretched as if holding onto a partners hand in a version of the waltz. The fingers curl, beckoning for someone to claim them. "R'van. And how is Vadevjiath?" It's the polite question, with an answer that could be easily sussed by Niahvth but isn't.

"He's well," R'van answers with one brief glance to the bronze. "Learning. They are such sponges at this age." When he turns back to look at Irianke, her pose earns a bemused, half-skeptical expression, all the way down to those beckoning fingers. "Are we dancing today, Weyrwoman?"

"If you'd like to learn," says Irianke, though her hand does fall now when it goes unclaimed. It would seem the offer is now expired, in spite of her words. "I don't remember that age well. I've blocked it from my brain, is what a good mindhealer would probably say. I'd hazard I've better memories to fill those spaces with and better lessons learned in kinder ways."

"I never had enough offers to make it seem worthwhile," R'van explains, a touch of apology but not regret in his voice. No dancing for them tonight. As for the dragons-- he casts a quick smile for that, equally rueful. "I suppose that's the benefit of hindsight. For those of us in the moment, still awaiting kinder lessons..."

Irianke laughs lowly, heedless of the other weyrlings who walk past towards the bowl who look over in interest. "You would be surprised at how Impressing a dragon seems to change the outlook of would be dance partners versus that of an apprentice." His return on kinder lessons has the weyrwoman's eyes narrowing. "You have a kind enough weyrlingmaster, you've had kinder masters than you might have found here. Tell me, R'van, why did you flee your craft? Anger? Fear?" She pauses and repeats again, ''looking'' to suss some reaction. "Fear?"

The abrupt closedness of R'van's face is an answer in itself: she's found the one question that cuts through. His lips purse. This time, he cants one look askance at the cavern, empty except for them and Vadevjiath, before finally releasing a breath. "Guilt."

Silence is Irianke's answer. The kind of still silence that ''waits''.

"You recommended me for promotion," R'van says after a moment; he doesn't meet her eyes but the set of his shoulders is still stubborn. "After the cave-in. And while I don't deny my skills were quite instrumental in the end, that was... evening the scales, for a mess of my own doing."

She does not visibly react, perhaps not surprised by this admission or too long schooled in politics to let on about surprise. Irianke nods once, her gaze never leaving R'van's face even if he might not meet her gaze. "Can those scales really balance?"

"To them?" Those in the cave-in. "I doubt it." R'van sounds frustrated about it more than anything.

"Who else knows?" asks Irianke, her voice less neutral, more gentle now.

"No one, presently," R'van answers after a beat, glancing up almost warily then.

Irianke's hands rest, akimbo. "You will never find forgiveness or feel those scales balance unless you confess and you don't want to. It is not my story to tell," concludes the goldrider, her hands releasing her hips and a small shrug ending in a sigh. "Do not disappoint me, R'van."

Irianke's hands rest, akimbo. "You will never find forgiveness or feel those scales balance unless you confess and you don't want to. It may not be wise to share it anyway, though it is not my story to tell," concludes the goldrider, her hands releasing her hips and a small shrug ending in a sigh. "Do not disappoint me, R'van."

R'van, at least, seems to genuinely consider the advice, no brush-offs or arguments for once in his life. The latter admonition, though, earns a small frown at his lips, and then an honest question: "Have I not already?"

"Oh, R''van. Incurring my disappointment is a feat most people are incapable of accomplishing." Irianke's eyes stray to the barracks and then back to R'van, the smile reemerging, lighter though sympathy aches somewhere in her darkened eyes. "Enjoy the rest of your night."

R'van seems not especially relieved by this, though he nods in acceptance of the fact. "Good night, Weyrwoman," he begins, though a hesitation follows before he spits out the next thought. "I'd like, at some point, to discuss my future options in my craft with you."

''Really?'' Really? Irianke's lifted brows say it all, especially in light of their current conversation. It's not precisely a denial of any such conversation, but the slightest shake of her head is filled with quite a lot of patronizing exasperation and the smile that's not a smile is the last thing given R'van before she's exiting the training area.

R'van at least has the grace to look a little sheepish, his mouth twisting wryly now. "Thank you, Weyrwoman," he tells her then, as she's on her way out. And then he's collecting Vadevjiath to finish their evening, too.
|Categories=General Logs, Cave In Plot Logs
}}

R'van/Mentions

2015-05-26T05:07:14Z

Tiriana: /* Mentioned In... Logs */

== Mentioned In... Logs ==

{{RP Logs | name = R'van/Mentions{{!}}Rafevan/Mentions | columns = 3 }}

Logs:Square Holes

2015-05-25T04:05:03Z

Tiriana:

{{Log
|who=Farideh, T'mic, R'van
|what=Farideh and T'mic enjoy drinks after weyrling duties, but R'van ruins it ''all''!
|where=Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=21
|month=11
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.05.24
|quote=""Would it make you feel better, if I were jealous?"
|weather=Rainy. Cold.
|mentions=K'del, Irianke, Quinlys, Z'kiel
|type=Log
|ooc=I probably forgot a pose or two.. but, maybe language and lots of angst-y-ness.
|icons-new=Icon farideh displeased.png, Icon t'mic listening.jpeg, Icon r'van srs.jpg,
|log=Rainfall throughout the day has made the bowl quite a sight, with its divots and puddles, mud and muck. It's the perfect kind of day to hole up in Snowasis after a long day of physical training, lessons, and leadership lessons. To be certain, it's no surprise that Farideh chooses to pick one of the booths along the wall for her impromptu meetup with T'mic, where they can talk (mostly) without interruptions and the catcalls from the game tables. She spreads out her notes on one side, and when the waitress comes to take their orders, asks for a large glass of red wine to start with and an appetizer; just from her order it's easy to surmise that she's both tired and plans to stay for a while. But for now, for T'mic, there's an easy smile, as she plunks one elbow on the wooden table and offers a friendly, "How's your day been otherwise?"

T'mic orders a beer for himself - a rarity for the bluerider, but one perhaps explained by the fact that he's second at the table to order, and well, Farideh did get that glass of red wine after all. Fried tubers for him, not necessarily because he plans to stay, but because he loves them so much; it's evident in his voice and face and the grin of anticipation as the server walks away. A quick scan of the gaming table, before Farideh's voice brings him around. "Otherwise?" And that gets a laugh. "I don't think there's ''been'' an otherwise. Jorrth was flying this morning, though." The grin's there again. "He likes landing in mud. It slides."

"Otherwise-- from the leadership lessons?" Farideh answers with a bright laugh that restores some of the vitality in her round face that's not been there of late. "I've never been particularly ''good'' at saying the right things or reading intentions," she says, letting her eyes trail the movements of a swaggering brownrider for a moment. "Roszadyth has never been happier, I don't think. Not besides the day she Impressed, which is my bias," she muses, good-humoredly, "but flying comes like ''breathing'', to her. It should, of course. I just didn't think she would enjoy it ''as'' much." There's a pause, and she wrinkles her nose in dislike. "What is it with them and mud? ''Mud''."

"Oh," says T'mic. "Well... lots of lessons, I guess. Just the regular ones. K'del was saying how it's only a few more months, though..." A moment of reflection, and T'mic laughs, and shakes his head, and makes a point of easing back in the booth, and heave a big sigh, and let those broad shoulders relax. "Well it's the slipperiness. Jorrth likes dry dirt better, just for ''being'' in, but it doesn't slide nearly so good. I can't wait for him to see snow. Like, the big snow, that piles up."

In the evening, after the typical weyrling drudgery is over and rain stands in the way of outside excursion, Farideh and T'mic have escaped to Snowasis and occupy one of the booths in the back. "A few more months until?" Her eyebrows lift in question, obviously waiting for whatever advice it is that the Weyrleader has given her fellow weyrling. "Snow," is an exhale. "It's coming soon. I so dread all of the snow and the cold and the--" But she's saved the chore of explaining her hatred of winter by the waitres who returns with their drinks and appetizers.

"Few more months, for all the classes and stuff. It's so busy, you know?" It only takes him a moment to realise it's Farideh he's talking to, and there's a soft acknowledgement of, "Guess it'll probably be different for you, though. Or, busy, always, anyway, huh." Oh man, fries. "Oh, they're hot," comes shortly after T'mic's grabbed one and tried to bite it. The fry is removed, flopped over where it was wounded by bluerider teeth.

And just like that, R'van appears with a beer in hand and his ass in the booth with them, without so much as a by-your-leave. Private conversations are apparently for people that aren't him. "I'd suggest you return whence you came," he picks up on Farideh's words first, tone smirking, "but that doesn't seem to have worked so well for Z'kiel already."

Pragmatic, for once, Farideh picks at the fruit plate she ordered and suggests, "You can always quit?" before popping a ripe berry in her mouth. She chews while she listens, and even when she takes a sip of her red wine, her eyes are focused on the bluerider. "Busy, but at least Irianke has time to go to gathers and dances and live her life on the arm of her suitor-of-the-day." She smiles a genuine smile, despite her jealous words. "You'll have time to go ''whatever'' you please--" And there's R'van, with his beer and his smirky-smirk face, and hers twists into distaste. "Rafe."

"We're not gonna just quit," says T'mic, and though it's not exactly steel in his voice ('cause he's still T'mic), his tone certainly doesn't look to leave room for questioning. "Yeah, but you'll get to-" and he's looking up, looking over to the newly-arrived. R'van receives a far more welcoming, "Oh, hey," from T'mic. It's a moment to try at that fry again, which, by the awkward chewing, is still hot, but not prohibitively so anymore. "Nah, we need you here," goes back to the goldrider.

Farideh's question and its subsequent answer earns T'mic a considering look from R'van, his up-nod of greeting slower than the other man's. "T'mic. Farideh," he greets them both aloud before reaching for a fry himself. "Is that the goal, then? Dancing and gathers and suitors-of-the-day? I think I'm failing already. I have no suitors." He makes it sound so pitiful, too.

"It was only a suggestion," Farideh says, eyebrows hiking, though her eyes are picking over the selection of nibble-worthy items on her plate. "Leadership isn't for ''everyone''," and no, the look she cuts to R'van isn't imaginary. "It's definitely an honor that they chose you, but-- do you ever wonder ''why''?" She's back to chin propped on her fist; hazel eyes slanting back to T'mic for his answer, after which her gaze will rake over R'van, accompanied by a sardonic smile. "The ''goal'' is to have a life beyond my servitude to the Weyr. Beyond paperwork and political events and meetings, and search." Almost innocently, she adds, "Don't worry, Rafe. There will be plenty of eligible men lined up at your door soon enough."

T'mic takes another fry, and manages a bite of this one without required pause. The plate is pushed out a little toward the middle of the table, an offer, though his mouth is full, so it's not made aloud. "Yeah," answers Farideh's question. "Edyis said she thought it was about teamwork." Those big shoulders come up, and drop back down. "Made sense to me. How about you?" He pushes his lips together and focuses on his fry, any appreciation of Farideh's remarks suppressed, and any sense of feeling bad on R'van's account directed to the half-tuber in hand.

"Ah," says Rafe, like he knows an answer and thinks better of it. His smile is deliberately bland, and he grabs another fry in the meantime. Instead, "As soon as I can get my own, I hope. The barracks would be very crowded if everyone came chasing me there," he tells Farideh.

"You're definitely the ''nicest'' one out of us all and you don't let things bother you as much," Farideh muses aloud. "I wonder if Quinlys picked you or--" She ends her sentence before finishing her thought, but offers an unconcerned shrug as she picks up her wine glass. "I don't really have a choice. Do I?" A smile transforms her face right as she sets her lips to the edge of her glass, to drink long and lingeringly. "This silver thread only gets replaced by a more complicated knot, eventually," she murmurs, when she's finished. R'van's answer warrants another stretched smile. "How can you expect that they stay away from your ''charm''?" More seriously, somehow ''less'' catty, she idly asks, "What about you? Don't ''you'' want a silver thread?"

"Or?" It's not a pressing need for more information; it's curiosity as to where she was going. T'mic keeps on with those fries, a few more before he's remembered his beer. "Be hard to concentrate," gets tossed in, for R'van's imagined barracks crowd. "Think they'd line up all outside your couch, or think you'd lose some?" Oh right. He has a beer. T'mic has some.

In return, Rafe's brows furrow, like he doesn't entirely understand the question. "No," he answers Farideh, head tilted. "It's a carrot. What, exactly, are you leading? There's no actual thought or innovation to it; they tell you exactly what to do, what to think, and expect that announcing you as leaders will help other people follow."

"Quinlys has assistants. They may have helped make the choices. K'del and Irianke might have had a say as well. Still," Farideh glances from T'mic to R'van, considering, "it's curious that neither of the two bronzeriders in our class got silver threads." She is on the verge of laughingly saying something else to T'mic, but draws back, mouth compressed, as her eyes snap to the blonde-haired smith-rider. "We're setting an example. We're getting practice for the possibility of responsibility in the future," is level, and obviously is taking her an effort not to lash out at him in anger; constrained. "What would you have them do, instead?"

"It's not about leading right now," T'mic enjoins, a little bit over top of Farideh. He waits to explain further, until she's done, "You don't have to follow us and we're not leading anyone any more than we were before. It's about ''us''." And here, he nods, and points a recently gathered fry back over toward the goldrider. What she said.

"An example of...?" R'van prompts, his own tone more patient as he entreats them, glancing between both Farideh and T'mic. "I've seen little enough about teaching people to lead in those classes so far, and plenty about how to ''manage.'' And there's a place for managers and paper-pushers and people with ''responsibilities'', of course, but." But. A pause, another fry and a sip of his beer. "Regardless, it's not curious at all that Z'kiel and I weren't chosen. He'd be at Igen now if he had a choice in the matter, and it should be obvious that my interests don't dovetail with what the weyrlingmaster thinks are the Weyr's interests."

The sense that the bluerider speaks with gets an amiable smile, which dies swiftly when her head turns back towards R'van. "An example of how not to be a spiteful ass," Farideh informs R'van, falsely pleasant. "You're the reason there are silver threads. You can sit here and run your mouth about the weyrling program, but what will you do about it? Will you tell K'del how you feel? Have you told Quinlys? What about Irianke? Do you have a proposed way to change it or do you want to just pick it apart?" There, she leaves it, to finish off the rest of her wine and crane her neck, waving her hand at the waitess-- ''over here''.

T'mic has fallen quite silent, and even manages to develop a look of consternation as Farideh starts listing off those big names. His eyes fall to R'van. He forgets to eat his fries or drink his beer, and instead, stares at the bronzerider at the table. Consterned.

"Am I?" R'van answers Farideh's challenge with a look to T'mic: the bluerider is the tiebreaker here, clearly. As for his plans-- "I haven't, no. I need proof of concept before I speak to the Weyrwoman--" not the Weyrleader "--, and regardless: I don't have issue with the program except in what it purports to do, and the apparent superiority complex its faulty logic produces in certain personalities. Don't you remember, the conversation we had once?" That, to Farideh specifically, as R'van turns to regard her. "Lessa, or Fax?"

"Hm," says T'mic - not right when R'van looks at him, but once he clears up his position a bit - and sits back. And reaches for another one of his dwindling fries. A glance goes to Farideh next. He's still got nothing to say. But he remembers that beer of his again, and even, at one point, casts a strange little look out toward the bowl. Feathers?

"Don't try and put T'mic in the middle of this. He's too nice to call you out on your faults," Farideh says, sitting up straighter, chin lifting. She opens her mouth to speak, and promptly closes it with an audible snap, her lips pursing in obvious agitation. ''Lessa or Fax'', it would seem, she ''remembers'', and isn't amused by his reference. "Isn't it too late for that? Neither of us have any choice except to be a Lessa anymore. You wouldn't get very far trying to be the other, and frankly I don't think the Weyr wants to teach anyone ''how''."

R'van slants a look over at T'mic in response for that sound, just a moment. "Then he's failing even at managing," he answers Farideh's claim then, with bemusement. "You can still be reasonably competent, and entirely forgettable," he adds a beat later, with a shrug. "As I believe we established. I'm sure your program will do wonderfully at that."

T'mic has managed to finish his beer, and most of his fries. R'van gets a look, then. "It's not about ''managing''. And it's not about glory or anything, either. It's about work." With a bit more of an apologetic look to Farideh, "I should probably go do more, or else we're going to get really behind." R'van just gets a passing nod, thoughtful in its way, and not as friendly as the bluerider's norm. And he's off.

The bluerider's departure is sudden, and Farideh looks appropriately startled, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment, but as soon as T'mic has left, she's turning on R'van. "''Great job'', Rafe. You chased him away." She scoffs and has just enough time to plaster on a lukewarm expression for the waitress, who has come back to take their orders; this time, she wants another glass and a shot of something stronger. Obviously, she's forgotten the ''don't get drunk'' rule, or she just doesn't ''care'', which may be the case. Pushing her hair back with jerky, angry movements, she slants the bronzerider a terse look. "Why do you have to make everything a ''trial''? This program, Quinlys' program, has built many memorable riders and the Weyr hasn't fallen down in the meantime."

R'van nods in return to T'mic, watching the other weyrling go before he turns back to Farideh with a frown. "Do you know how to make steel?" Non sequitor: go.

"''Steel''?" Farideh's laugh is caustic, and lacks the usual vibrancy of even her heated words and angry expressions. "You already know the answer to that, and I wouldn't ''want'' to."

"The explanation is long and honestly, somewhat tedious even to me--one of my roommates was specializing in methods of production--but," says Rafe, ignoring her ill humor. "But one of the important parts of the process involves tempering: that is, when you've shaped and cooled whatever you're making, it's extremely hard, but also brittle. You reheat it to make it more pliable, so it doesn't break the first time it's stressed in use." A pause, and he adds, eyeing her drinking for a moment, "This is to say, if your program can't withstand a little reheating from someone who barely knew which way to face on a dragon six months ago, then it's probably not a very good program."

Throughout R'van's speech, his explanations as elegantly put, Farideh keeps glancing around him towards the bar; that waitress isn't coming quick enough. "How nice that you think you know better than the weyrlingmasters, than the weyrleaders. I'll still step aside and let you have my rank, if you'd like," she says, faux-sweetly, plucking another berry off her plate. "If it was someone with the expertise and the understanding questioning Quinlys' decision, I ''might'' agree, but it sounds like you're jealous, of all things. Ask for the stupid thread and get it over with. It's nothing special. It's ''more'' work and you're already ''so busy''."

"Would it make you feel better, if I were jealous?" It's an idle question, mostly, though R'van is sliding to the edge of the booth then, one hand on the edge of the table in preparation to leave. "Because if it does, by all means, continue. It won't change the fact I'm not, or what I'm going to do."

His question startles her out of her apparent dissatisfaction, whatever caustic reply she had crafted next dying on her lips. "Shouldn't you be?" Farideh blinks a few times, before her face registers wariness, her brow puckering. "Leadership roles ''are'' traditionally held, when not a goldrider-specific, by bronzeriders and to a lesser extent, brownriders. Igen sees it that way," she says, contemplating him, and not necessarily noticing his desire to leave. "You don't care to? Is furthering your craft studies ''really'' the only thing you're worried about?"

"Traditionally," and R'van gives the word a mocking edge, mimicking her own tone even as he lingers at the table. "I don't care much for the square hole of that. Maybe once--but Vadevjiath is an opportunity for ''more'' than that."

Some frustration finally leaks into Farideh's voice, her fingers curling into fists when in her lap. "''More''? More than ''what''? You could be ''anything'' as a bronzerider with hard work. A wingleader, a wingsecond, even the Weyrleader if you got lucky."

"You're thinking square holes again," R'van repeats, with just a touch of impatience in his tone now. Catch up, Farideh! "Why not both? Why not wingleader, and master smith? Why not change the whole game?"

This time Farideh is actually speechless, her eyes focused on R'van's face while she grapples for the words to reply intelligibly. "Rafe," has resolve, "when did this become about you wanting to continue to pursue your craft? I thought we were talking about the silver threads and Quinlys' program." She gives her head the slightest shake. "It's never occurred to me that you wouldn't do both. I think anyone with ''eyes'' can see how important it is to you." Her expression is mildly chiding, the tension leeching from her posture. "Are you worried about K'del opposing the idea?"

"We were talking," R'van replies, blowing out a breath; this time, he's the one frustrated. "About the purpose of the program and why I am uninterested in it, namely that it's designed to teach management through current roles--which makes you just as much a follower as anyone behind you. Also, how you're incapable of considering that someone might actually ''not'' be jealous of how special you are." A beat. "K'del?" That breaks his stride; he sounds confused.

Any good-will that Farideh might have had, any sympathy is immediately dashed by his reply and ''she'' points to the outside of the booth. "Get out, ''now''," is constrained but angry, and if he doesn't start moving fast enough she'll try to help by pushing him with hands and shoulder; out, out, out! "You don't even ''want'' to be one of us," she bites out. "I don't even understand why you ''stood''."

Out he goes, just ahead of those pushing hands. R'van's own smile is tight and knowing in answer to that final jab, as he turns to actually depart this time. "Good evening, Farideh."

A farewell would be too kind, and so Farideh only glares after him. Her stare is broken when the waitress arrives with that second glass of wine. She settles into the booth she, now, alone occupies, one arm crossed over her chest, and sips her wine, but can't quite settle enough to remove the lingering irritation from her face. It will inevitably be a long evening pouring over her notes and slogging through emotions, again.
|Categories=Angst Logs
}}

Logs:Broad Questions, Certain Answers

2015-05-23T02:46:29Z

Tiriana: Created page with "{{Log |who=R'van, Edyis |what=Edyis wonders what R'van thinks of certain issues. |where=Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |involves=High Reaches Weyr |day=12 |month=..."

{{Log
|who=R'van, Edyis
|what=Edyis wonders what R'van thinks of certain issues.
|where=Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=12
|month=11
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.05.21
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon edyis.jpg, Icon r'van lean in.jpg,
|log=It is after dinner, and the training cavern is sparsely populated with weyrlings either studying, or enjoying some precious freetime. Akluseth is doing his very best to hold perfectly still while his rider oils and inspects the wing joints and pinions of his left wing, but the twitch of his tail seems a sure sign for trouble in the making.

It's been a long day for Vadevjiath--he's been keeping up with his own regular classes and looming over the afternoon's leadership seminar both. Tiredness makes him more unfocused than usual; Akluseth's twitching tail earns his stare but there's not much actual attention behind it, his eyes and mind unfocused even as he refuses to give in to sleep. R'van, meanwhile, is letting the bronze set his own limits, apparently: while he keeps shooting looks over at Vadevjiath, clearly keeping tabs, R'van is mostly working on skimming through the week's notes again.

"Well so far you've managed not to damage anything, so I suppose that's something. Off with you." Slapping the hindquarter of her lifemate as she slips down the procured ladder. In an instant, Akluseth is in motion, the brown dashing out the cavern entry way and off to the bowl where he can move about freely without the danger of knocking over anything or anyone's notes. Dark eyes rest then on the bronze, and the former smithcrafter reviewing his notes, drying her hands on a towel as she makes her way over. "More Smithcraft notes, or are these from classes?" She wonders peering at them if he allows.

"Classes," answers R'van a beat slow, reaching up to rub at his eyes. The dark circles are starting to show, but then, aren't they for everyone by now?" Vadevjiath doesn't really move when Akluseth runs off; he looks like he's almost dozing where he sits. R'van glances over at him for a moment, considering. "Though I need to get his day's findings to paper before he completely passes out, or we'll have to piece it together in the morning before lessons."

Edyis arches a brow at R'van, "His findings?" She studies the bronze more intently for a moment before claiming an open seat with a purse of her lips. "Must be nice. Akluseth, doesn't have the patience for coursework. It is up to me to remember everything or explain everything." Dark eyes shift back to R'van then. "I have been curious about something..." She trails, in a soft low tone.

"He enjoys it, the mental exercise," R'van notes of the bronze. Though Vadevjiath looks nearly asleep, his rider makes no move to wake him, despite the notes languishing unwritten in the bronze's head. "And he does so hate ''taking'' orders instead." That makes R'van's mouth twist into a wry smirk, just for a moment before his brows go up. It's wordless invitation for Edyis to continue her latter thought.

"I feel his pain," Edyis smirks in reply, to taking orders. It is a beat or two before she takes up that invitation to continue, "What do you think about the purpose a weyr serves, Pass or Interval? The relationship it has to Hold and Hall?"

The question earns a briefly surprised look from R'van, and then he pushes his notes back on the table so he can lean back in his chair. "That's a very broad question," he says then, slowly. "And I can't help but think that--knowing my background and proclivities--you must be looking for some certain answer?"

Edyis dark eyes study him intently, one brow twitches slightly upward at the answer but folding her arms across each other in front of her, she offers a lift of her shoulder in answer. "I try not to get into the habit of asking questions I know the answer to. So while, yes I am looking for an answer, I have no preconceptions of what your answer might be, nor do I know if it would be the one I am looking for."

"Sometimes those are the best questions to ask," is R'van's answer, accompanied as it is by a slight shrug. "How do you judge the answer if you don't know what it ''should'' be?" But he considers her again, lips pursing slightly while he forms a truer answer. "I think the Weyr is shortsighted if it seeks to press all its riders into the mold of Threadfighter, particularly in an interval. A dragon isn't a cage, and treating one as such is wasting your most valuable resources: people who may be better used elsewhere. It's inefficent and backward-thinking."

"I suppose I'm hoping to know the right one when I hear it." She offers with a self-depreciating grin. As he pauses and answers she nods faintly though whether in agreement or acceptance seems unclear. "There is some historical precedent to that if I recall correctly, or at least there was before the comet pass." Long fingers tap in succession against the table pensively. "Elsewhere, now there is a thought. If you would care to elaborate?"

"Is there?" Historical evidence seems unknown to him, though R'van brushes past it easily: not particularly relevant to him, as far as he seems concerned. "Elsewhere," he repeats then. "I should think that's something best determined by the individual himself. With the Weyrleaders' assistance, I'm sure." That last is a little dry.

Edyis tilts her head and shrugs, pulling to her feet then. "Perhaps." She offers, pushing the now empty chair back into the table. "Enjoy your studying." She offers then, making her way in the direction of the barracks.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

HRW:Weyrlings/Month4/Recap

2015-05-22T05:08:04Z

Tiriana: /* R'van */

{{WeyrlingNav |title=Month4}}
== Edyis ==
By month four, Edyis and Akluseth show even more signs of improvement working together. Brief but more frequent glimpses of what happens when the two work in tandem evident. Considerable improvement in attitude might be noted as well.

In class, Edyis is as focused as ever, still taking notes. She is still asking questions that are pertinent to the lesson (and as always genuine questions) during class, and the ones that might derail the lesson (but she still wants to know the answers to) after. Completely focused on the learning. Surprisingly she doesn't volunteer answers anymore, though if this is because she doesn't know them, or is simply holding back is unclear.

If either is disappointed in being left out of the silver thread program, they don't seem to voice it openly or at the very least seem to understand why. Edyis offers to help sometimes with those who have extra work piled on, offering her skills as a copyist for notes, or helping out with oilings on occasion. This offer help is naturally extended beyond those with the silver threads, to anyone who asks or close friends.

Socially the pair seems far more outgoing at this point as well, Akluseth as usual is ever protective of his clutchmates, and not one to put up with bullies or bullying. More evident than this is his sarcastic sense of humor. Still, he remains ever restless, and while a little awkward at first in flight, he takes to the sky like he takes to the water. Most of ''his'' time spent in one or the other, or trying to sweet talk someone into supervising. The physical parts of drills are enjoyable, at least as long as he can stay focused on them.

== Farideh ==

The fourth month of weyrlinghood is an extension of the third. There isn’t any letup in the extra duties, and between the regular lessons, the leadership program, and time spent with her mentors, Farideh seems more distracted than ever before. She doesn’t waste as much of her free time sleeping, but continues to throw herself into her studies and ever-looming future with abandon. Most of her fellows have, and will, notice her ability to mask her emotions better, though the impassiveness with which she responds is mostly unnatural; the best worn facades take time cultivating, after all. Feelings aren’t worn on her sleeve anymore and as such, it’s easier to talk to the goldrider without her typical dramatics ‘’if’’ one can find her when she’s not in the barracks, shadowing the headwomen, or flitting between Irianke’s weyr, the lower caverns, and her dragon’s side.

For her part, Roszadyth is radiant about her new-found ability to ‘’fly’’, from the initial gliding to eventual end result of full-fledged flying. She takes to it easily, and though she seems wont to go farther than she can in the early stages, she resists the urge and follows the heeding of the weyrling staff; that doesn’t stop her from ‘’dreaming’’, from ‘’wanting’’. Everything is new and an adventure, but in moderation, tempered by patience and understanding, to the quickly-growing gold.

When it comes to classes, Farideh ‘’listens’’, but doesn’t make much of an effort to answer questions or supersede her fellows; she’s observant and curious, not overpowering or demanding. She still doesn’t make much time in her busy schedule to bond with her peers, and yet, it’s noticeable that when she ‘’does’’ have time, as little as it may be, she’s interested in listening to their questions, qualms, or tribulations rather than starting fights and instigating tempers. It’s a noticeable shift, but as time carries on, it seems to be behavior that’s going to stay.

== Keysi ==
== Laine ==
==O'nahi ==
== R'van ==

Month 4 marks the leadership selections, and R'van isn't among them. This is probably not especially surprising, considering how little interest he's typically displayed in Weyr matters; what is interesting is that Vadevjiath clearly doesn't share that opinion. However, instead of picking a fight with his rider or sulking over Quinlys's choices, Vadevjiath has taken to sitting in on the leadership classes himself. After a testy confrontation with Kamornth at one point, he at least sits there quietly--unless he's conferring with Olveraeth on the sly. Vadevjiath is an odd combination of instinct and planning, and where he can't figure something out right away, his determination sees him through. But the older he gets, the more a fearsome temper is starting to show through: he's stubborn, territorial, and direct, qualities which may become more offputting than his youthful contentedness. This is especially obvious when he wants to debate his classmates later on on the things they've learned. He's got a knack for convincing others that he's right, regardless of facts.

R'van, for his part, remains ''busy''. He keeps up with actual weyrling classes, and does well in them: he's not especially driven that way itself, but performing well is a habit, something so ingrained in him that he can't ''not'' put in the basic effort necessarily to succeed. He's also, not so secretly, continuing to work on research for his smithing projects, experiments that keep him--and Vadevjiath--squirreled away on their own, in the barracks or outside it, especially as they gain more independence. By the end of the month, Vadevjiath has him helping keep notes on the leadership program, and while R'van won't attend any of the classes himself, he's clearly helping the bronze out: R'van's brain is like Vadevjiath's very own catalog of useful information, a library the bronze is ruthless about utilizing whether R'van wants to or not.

== Rook ==
== T'mic==
== Yesia ==
== Ysaera ==
== Z'kiel ==

Logs talk:Itsy's Authority and Drex's Penis

2015-05-09T18:36:11Z

Tiriana: Comment provided by R'van - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Itsy's Authority and Drex's Penis]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Drex (02:26, 9 May 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

Annnnd... there goes my manhood. :(
==Itsy (02:30, 9 May 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

You offered it to me!
==Alida (02:35, 9 May 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

*sniggers* Alida would whisper near Itsy's ear, "Watch out for the second attempt on her once you start letting a little of your guard down. Almost always one or two who think they can get away with it." ;)
==Edyis (02:39, 9 May 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

It's not like you were using it for anything important.
==Farideh (10:59, 9 May 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

I tried to find a meme to express my feelings on this, but no.

Just you wait.
Just.
You.
Wait.

We're counting down the days.
==R'van (14:36, 9 May 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

We're still on for flamethrowing, right? >.> Just saying, that could be useful. Especially if you have to cauterize anything.

HRW:Weyrlings/Month3/Recap

2015-05-07T23:52:54Z

Tiriana:

{{WeyrlingNav |title=Month3}}
== Edyis ==
Month three marks a noticeable change in Edyis and Akluseth. There are glimpses now, of what the pair could be when they are of one mind, and both seem to have a much more even keel.

The classwork could be the cause, as the lessons become more in depth Edyis becomes more actively engaged, eagerly taking part in classes, though more reservedly. There's still that twitch of her jaw at unreasonable rules, but she's calmer now than before. They also seem to take an active interest in the other weyrlings around them. Edyis is often happy to help those who might be struggling, but not to an unreasonable extent.

The physical side of things is a challenge, as workouts are intensified past what her routine used to be; she gets more tired than usual though Akluseth seems to temper that somewhat. Often there's a pot of klah sitting while she studies. Akluseth is still hard to temper, hard to keep still but they channel it.

== Farideh ==

The third month of weyrlinghood comes with its ups and downs for the gold pair, as par for the course. While Roszadyth is busy spreading her wings - << ''Almost flying''! What a wonderful adventure! >> - and getting know the dragons around her, far beyond the scope of her clutch siblings, Farideh throws herself exhaustively into her new duties. Being ''right'' and ''good'' at these skills seem to be important to her, for all that she swears off wanting to actually lead or runthe Weyr, and spends a great deal of time studying records and penning notes when not otherwise detained by the regular weyrling activities and weyrwoman training.

On the whole, Farideh's brief spurt of energy, after weeks on weeks of being exhausted, dies beneath the strain of these added responsibilities. When she isn't studying, or training, or attending to Roszadyth's needs, she can be found napping-- in pretty much any location, in any kind of awkward positioning. Curled up on her cot? Yes! Sprawled out in the corner? Yes! Hunched over the table? Yes! Basically, while she's busy with her own issues, she's not particularly making any extra time to hang out with her fellow weyrlings; anyone that needs her attention will have to accept it being split between the different pathways her mind is otherwise occupied with.

And that comes with the added benefit of her being way too tired to verbally spar with others. Hurray!

== Keysi ==
== Laine ==
==O'nahi ==
== R'van ==

This is the month the strain starts to show for R'van. His self-mandated long hours are leaving him worn, and while he hasn't resorted to Farideh's rampant napping, he's starting to look like it wouldn't go amiss on him. While he can follow along well enough on the mechanics of drills, especially after the first few exercises, the physicality of it is something he's still having to work harder at--not least because this kind of gruntwork isn't something he enjoys. In his free time, he continues to work on his secretive side projects: pouring over records, writing detailed papers, and disappearing off for his experiments whenever he can. At least it keeps him out of everyone else's way; the close quarters and increasingly frayed nerves of weyrlinghood mean he's been more obnoxious than probably typical. Where he's always had a dry, smug sense of humor, now he struggles not to be just short with others, too blunt and too supercilious by half.

Vadevjiath, meanwhile, is coming into his own--for good or bad. As the weyrling dragons move into more adult exercises, Vadevjiath is beginning to assert his strong will, less the content youngster he once was. He seems to want to play at being wingleader during drills, and won't shy from giving orders to his fellows--whether Olveraeth likes it or not. When they start hunting, their initial attempts inelegant and unsuccessful, it will be Vadevjiath that has a plan to make it all work, and it will be Vadevjiath that musters a crew to take beasts down together. He can be quite brutal about it: while he might use others as pawns to help wrangle beasts in range, he enjoys making the kills himself. Even if he's always generous enough to share with all those who help--and none of those who don't.

== Rook ==
== T'mic==

Month three is, in all ways, a time of growth for Jorrth and T'mic. T'mic clearly loves the harder physical training (although it seems his well-loved little belly will never, ever fully disappear, no matter what kind of muscle he manages to put underneath it), and Jorrth is eager to test his own limits, even though at the beginning of the month he's still the teeniest, tiniest blue in the clutch. However, in the second half of the month, Jorrth hits a sudden and intense growth spurt, and will start catching up to the other blues, and taking on more adult proportions. It also puts an end to T'mic's ability to carry his dragon around; bittersweet for the pair. Jorrth needs oiling twice a day at least, and will be eating to keep up with some of the browns. Yes, there will be thicktail. And yes, T'mic still reminds his dragon to chew his food well before swallowing, even if he is clearly growing up.

Although T'mic has a clear knack for diplomacy, he struggles with some of the concepts in the other more advanced classes. He'll regularly express dismay at how come people can't just treat each other nicely and get along during their politics classes. And he's still doing some catch-up for basic reading, writing, and arithmetic (when he doesn't have to put them off for oiling his lifemate), and his dedication to these studies seems to be slowly overcoming his lack of a natural talent for them. Drills, meanwhile, go ''incredibly'' well for both of them. Jorrth is naturally attuned to the group more than the individual, and teamwork, and so, formations, come naturally to him. His growth spurt means that he's actually a bit clumsier when the drills get more complicated than when they'd started them, but he's as tenacious as his rider, and will put all his attention into perfecting his motions. And the re-perfecting them, when suddenly his legs are longer a few days later. Again and again, over and over.

Most socialisation will occur on the feeding grounds, or while Jorrth is getting his oilings. Jorrth will always do better at the hunt when he hunts with others; even by the end of the month, he won't be all that successful on his own. Still, for all that they are busier now than ever, neither seems excessively stressed by their challenges. Sometimes frustrated at the end of a long day, yes, but not stressed. It's one of their superpowers, it seems.

== Yesia ==
== Ysaera ==
== Z'kiel ==

HRW:Weyrlings/Month2/Recap

2015-05-06T02:41:47Z

Tiriana:

{{#pagetitle: Month 2 - Recap}}{{WeyrlingNav |title=Month2}}
== Edyis ==
Exam results:
*Reading: A+
*Writing: A+
*Arithmetic: B-
*Local History: A+
*World History: A+

 
All that time in the Records Room, and her compulsive need to ''know'' and study pays off in not being seated in remedial lessons. In most classes, she takes extensive and detailed notes in shorthand, but none of it helps much with her people skills. She ''does'' help anyone who asks, but has become more withdrawn, often only in the barracks when required to be. She is keen to follow the letter of the rules, but the spirit of them is something else entirely. There are all the makings of quiet rebellion starting to brew beneath the surface, ''especially'' after haircuts. Classes provide some relief; Edyis is the most engaged in Dragonhealing classes, often talking with the instructors after class when they will allow. Self-defense, however, is a complete and perhaps obvious frustration. Often distracted or struggling to pay attention, strangely when singled out she can usually demonstrate or answer questions effectively, but often she's reading something for another class. It is the etiquette lessons that seem to be the most challenging, (unsurprisingly to some) and often she stays after class to ask questions when the instructors allow.

Akluseth is his usual restless self, often frustrated by his rapidly increasing size that limits the places he can explore. He is beginning to take an interest in his clutch mates and other dragons. The new exercises added into the physical routines has helped with his ability to focus and his sometimes (unintentionally) disruptive energy. His recklessness is most noticeable, sometimes starting an action even before the instructor has finished their sentence. His relationship with Edyis seems to have changed somewhat too, and while he can't explain to anyone what goes on in his rider's head he reacts to her moods more quickly. Often fiercely so.

== Farideh ==

Exam results:

* '''Reading''': A
* '''Writing''': A
* '''Arithmetic''': D
* '''Local History''': B-
* '''World History''': A- 

Much of month two is spent studying and reading, and then studying for more in preparation for the placement exams. Farideh has been adamant about succeeding and not ending up as the last of their class, though the actual results vary in the end. She throws herself into her duties too, and seems to enjoy the morning and evening laps that she does in the bowl. Others may notice she spends less time in the barracks, when Roszadyth is sleeping or otherwise occupied, and more time in the records room or wandering the lower caverns. She isn’t deliberately ‘’aloof’’, but seems to have a lot of things on her mind and bonding with her fellow weyrlings isn’t high on that list.

Roszadyth is as kind and sensible as ever, and seems to be having more of an impact on her lifemate in terms of rerouting her temper. As for herself, she takes her own part with delicacy, not exactly throwing herself into the extra exercises that now include the dragons, but neither does she withhold. She continues to enjoy spending time with and talking to her clutchmates.

== Keysi ==
Exam results:
* Reading: A+
* Writing: A+
* Arithmetic: A
* Local History: A-
* World History: A-

Month one ended in frustration, month two in a sense of self-resolve that may have some heads spinning. Keysi and Neianth appear to have come to an understanding, one in which they’re never seen apart and they simply feed off of each other- to betterment, not detriment so far as was feared by the once-healer since day one. Together, they’ve refocused that energy tirelessly into studying and training to the point where some may wonder if she even sleeps. Her pre-Impression self has returned in full-fury, and the examinations provided little difficulty given her history of travels, and turns within the HealerHall. Her change is not perfected, certainly, and Keysi is still prone to funneling and amplifying Neianth’s impatient annoyance into her interactions with her fellows and superiors. Delayed, she criticizes herself for the things said, but has yet to be humble enough to apologize openly.

She seems to have taken a different approach to the classes than she did initially, while Neianth continues to pursue his own training with over-enthusiasm and doesn’t quit even when the sessions are over- even if his awkwardly long legs and wings make things more difficult than he deems fair. At first, they‘wasted her time’ in her opinion. However, she’s come to realize just because she knows so many things, doesn’t mean she’s too good for it. Even in the self-defense courses that are so painfully basic, she’s polished a couple of the rough and dusty edges of her modesty and has remembered just how important those basics are, in everything. And In a gesture towards Weyrlingmaster Quinlys, Keysi cut her hair herself.

[[Logs:Virtues_of_Growth|See Month 2 Vignette]]

== Laine ==
==O'nahi ==
== R'van ==

Exam results:
* '''Reading''': A+
* '''Writing''': A+
* '''Arithmetic''': A+
* '''Local History''': A+
* '''World History''': A

If it weren't obvious already, R'van's a smart guy. He finishes exams with flying colors, though his history scores certainly benefit from being a local: it's his least favorite of them all. He also may have tried to show off on the math portion, with his own notes written in on higher-level applications than what they'll likely be tested on. Because R'van is also a smart ass, and that's becoming readily apparent as weyrlinghood becomes more of a stressor. He's early to rise, late to bed, often working on his own secretive things: reading well after curfew; taking advantage of Vadevjiath's naps not to rest himself, but to push on with his own personal agenda. While he does well enough in dragon-related classes, he's not tops there: it's just not the same kind of priority. Of course, all this focus on his own business means he continues to be disconnected from his peers, and even the one he's been friendliest with--Farideh--seems mighty pissed at him by the end of the month.

Vadevjiath, for his part, is growing steadily, but it's increasingly clear that Ahtzudaeth and even Lifreyth are outstripping him in that department. He makes up for it in single-minded determination, pushing himself hard--if, maybe, not quite so bullheadedly as Neianth. He doesn't seem to mind his rider's independence, at least, though they seem overall well-bonded. On the physical side, while R'van can keep up with the exercise regime without much trouble, it's not his best skill. He's thoroughly middling in fact, and for the most part content with that: his arrogant competitiveness is reserved for academia. He should probably work on that.

== Rook ==
== T'mic==
== Yesia ==

Exam results:

* '''Reading''': A
* '''Writing''': B+
* '''Arithmetic''': C
* '''Local History''': B-
* '''World History''': C 

As it turns out, Yesia's pretty smart. One of the few who didn't fret about harper exams - "''I'll'' do fine," marked the weeks approaching testing, and a quiet, insufferable gloating came after - her scores earned her quite the reprieve in most cases. She struggles with math and world history, and when the time comes also is not amazing at memorizing dragon anatomy, though she does enjoy playing with the clay and her sculptures are good, even if she can't name the parts. It can be noted that after several negative encounters in month one, Yesia's eased off being so - terrible. This might be somewhat Aeaeth's doing, or maybe she was scolded one time too many, but she can be caught frequently catching herself, biting her tongue, and replacing cruel outbursts and insults with cutting smiles and manipulation of those who haven't already been alienated by her. Some weyrlings don't get much of a break from her reign of terror - caught in her crosshairs, they're likely to continue to feed into mutual animosity. 
For her part, Aeaeth is beginning to balance her internal relationship with Yesia and her external relationships with her clutchmates. Where she was largely disinterested in them in month one, she seems more keenly aware of the other weyrlings' presence, and is certainly more bubbly and interested in the dragon gossip mill, should any of them provide something she deems worthy of sharing. It won't take long before someone realizes this is a bad idea, because Aeaeth is not above ''sharing'' this information, sometimes with the entire class during calisthenics, sometimes just with Yesia, who will use it later as a strategic conversational barb. There is a possibly unhealthy co-dependency brewing between the pair, even if it's hard to tell if someone should address it as such.

== Ysaera ==
== Z'kiel ==

R'van

2015-04-30T01:21:48Z

Tiriana:

{{Profile
|picture=Rafevan.jpg
|mother=Rikya
|father=Simonin
|siblings=Julson, Povrel, Maliere, Lianen, Hanowar, Breti
|friends=[[Farideh]], [[Drex]], [[Itsy]]
|body=== Description ==
Blond hair, blue eyes, handsome enough to notice, normal enough not to remember. At least Rafevan dresses well, most of the time: he's got enough marks to spare to be a slight cut above the average working man that he would otherwise look like.

== WYSK ==
* Nabol-bred.
* Smithcraft-raised.
* Demolition-friendly.
* Pointy-edged.
* Bronze-riding.

== History ==
Born in Nabol, Rafevan had a relatively well-to-do upbringing thanks to his family's extensive orchards; even by the Hold's standards, they were quite productive. However, Rafevan was a younger son, not destined to inherit much on his own--and anyway, growing up with a thing tends to make it seem quite boring. So instead of being a farmer, Rafevan apprenticed with the Smiths, and has since risen to the rank of senior apprentice. He's hoping to move further up the rankings in the next couple of years. Currently, he's been most involved in flamethrower and agenothree production. This is what earned Rafevan his posting to High Reaches Weyr, to fill a recent vacancy under one of the Weyr's Smithing masters who has followed a similar specialization. He also occasionally enjoys making things explode. This is occasionally problematic.

Rafevan--R'van--impressed bronze Vadevjiath in turn 37. Despite this, he seems focused on his studies still, both as rider and Smith, with his equally intense dragon at his side.

== Relationships ==
* [[Farideh]]. Not an admirer.
* [[Drex]]. Not a landlubber.
* [[Itsy]]. Not a lady.
* [[Irianke]]. Not a debtor.
* [[Liandra]]. Not a fool.

== [http://www.16personalities.com/entj-personality Personality] ==

ENTJs' intelligence, strong will and logical reasoning skills are a force to be reckoned with. Be it a minor obstacle or a seemingly impossible task, ENTJs will find a way - or make one. This fearsome determination and intellect allow ENTJs to overcome many challenges.

'''Strengths:''' efficient, self-confident, strong-willed, strategic
 '''Weaknesses:''' impatient, dominant, arrogant, ruthless

[http://kevan.org/johari?name=R%27van Contribute to R'van's Johari Window.]
 [http://kevan.org/nohari?name=R%27van Contribute to R'van's Nohari Window.]
== Soundtrack ==

{{{!}}style="width: 100%;"
{{!}}-valign="top"
{{!}}style="width: 50%;{{!}} '''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBmzzrU3gR8 Black Sails Main Title - Bear McCreary]'''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FdUdvajOp0 The Wondersmith and His Sons - Astronautalis]'''
:''I was born a charming man with silver tongue, pearl teeth''
:''This's never how it's s'posed to end, we're promised all we dreamed''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_x6M3UXq9M Burn It Down - Sims]'''
:''Me I’m just over the line, under the gun, out of my mind
:''Everything in its right place
:''Watch me slice through the night

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQ4mNz3dvnE Off in the Deep - Doomtree]'''
:''I was working on imperatives while they were crafting narratives
:''About who they are and what they do
:''I was on that show and prove

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRMIlyuBrDg Ain't Nobody - Atmosphere]'''
:''Yeah I came to party, but I don't wanna party with you''

{{!}}
'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RezzkpiQ70M The Crow - Dessa]'''
:''You duck some, you take some square''
:''Your luck runs out, you're there in midair''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTmCQNR9OA4 Dimitri Mendeleev - Astronautalis]'''
:''Woke from a dream, hands heavy in cold sweat''
:''Jumped from the bed, snatched the charcoal quick''
:''Sketching frantically upon the bedroom brick''
:''Came together and it fit, like this:''
:''"Give me a lever and a place to stand''
:''And I'll move the world"''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_iveMTyxH4 Avalanche - Nick Cave]
:''I who am on a pedestal''
:''You did not raise me there''
:''Your laws do not compel me now''
:''To kneel grotesque and bare''
{{!}}}

== RP Logs ==

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

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

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

{{Icons}}
|position=Senior Apprentice
|where=High Reaches Weyr
|Has rank=Apprentice
|craft=Smith
|birthplace=Near Nabol Hold
}}
{{Character-Categories
|Categories=Smiths, Greater Pern, High Reaches Area, Nabol, Nabol Hold, Telgar Area, Smith Hall, Riders, Bronzeriders
}}
[[Category:Characters]]
[[Category:Crafters]]
[[Category:Smiths]]
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]

Logs:Debts Owed

2015-04-29T06:50:24Z

Tiriana: Created page with "{{Log |who=R'van, Irianke, Telavi{{!}}Solith, R'van{{!}}Vadevjiath |what=R'van and Irianke resettle their ledger. |where=Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |involves=High Reache..."

{{Log
|who=R'van, Irianke, Telavi{{!}}Solith, R'van{{!}}Vadevjiath
|what=R'van and Irianke resettle their ledger.
|where=Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=27
|month=9
|turn=37
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.04.28
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon irianke frank.jpg, Icon r'van srs.jpg, Icon telavi solith girlofair-solith.jpg, Icon r'van vadevjiath stare into distance.jpg,
|log=Too late for lunch, too early for dinner, Irianke is sitting in a table near the center, the remnants of a quick meal apparent on her plate: a sandwich that was deconstructed and picked apart in distraction. There's work near her elbow, that must have been looked at at one point in the meal, but is no longer. Now, Irianke nurses a goblet of wine and studies the relatively empty caverns in silence.

Sometimes, despite their best efforts, dragons get off a normal schedule. Thus, R'van has some little extra free time post-lectures for the day, and this brings him to the cavern to grab a snack and take advantage of the break. Irianke, alone, stands out among the light pre-dinner crowd, and it's toward her that he heads after a moment of weighing that option. "Weyrwoman." He hovers by a chair when he gets there, studying her. "Mind company?"

It's not news that Rafevan Impressed. This is, however, the first time Irianke has come face to face with the favor that did not go as planned since it happened and the smile that curves her lips is one filled with some sort of broken humor. "Do I have a choice?" asks the goldrider, teasing. "How is that ''favor'' working out for you, R'van?"

"Am I destined for eternal shit-shoveling in the barracks if I say no?" R'van wonders in answer to the first question. His answer to the second is slower in coming, as he seats himself first, busying his hands with slicing the apple he's picked up along the way. "Unexpectedly," he finally decides, with his own wry smile, "for all parties involved. Vadevjiath is well, though. He says Niavth checks in on him sometimes?"

Dragon> She peeks: a hint of cool movement in the summer's thick warmth, fresh as sea air without the salt. (To Vadevjiath from Solith)

Dragon> To Solith, Vadevjiath is drowsing: half-asleep already, but fighting it fiercely; and that breath of fresh air cutting through the headwind of exhaustion is enough to rouse him back toward wakefulness for the moment. He steers into her breeze instead.

"Aye, she does," replies Irianke, reaching for a piece of discarded crust and beginning to nibble on it. "Niahvth enjoys being a mother from the pregnancy to the waiting on the sands to the hatching and the aftermath. She'll forget sooner or later, or realize when they've become adults and fade away. Forget. But," the Igen woman shrugs, that humored and humorless smile emerging again. "She mothers enough for the both of us. For what it's worth," she remarks, "I'm glad you found Vadevjiath, though your Hall must be regretting your decision?"

Dragon> It's not the most constant breeze, most days, but in the moment she sustains it, at once a lift and a lilt; with the latter comes a brief image of a lecturer, not Olveraeth's rider nor her own, ''droning''. (To Vadevjiath from Solith)

"He tells me he doesn't need it," Rafe admits of his dragon, shoulders shrugging, "but the fact he mentions it enough tells me he enjoys it anyway. I expect everyone needs a mother sometimes, even month-old dragons who are already chest-high." ''That'' draws a grimace from him: how quickly they grow at this age. He takes a bite of his apple, chewing slowly. "''I'd'' expect so, but my arrogance has been both well-established and not especially supported by the evidence lately," he admits truthfully in the end.

Irianke purses her lips and looks levelly at R'van. "Shall we dispense the bullshit, Rafe?"

Dragon> To Solith, Vadevjiath sails along those breezes, a pantomine of what he'll one day, not soon enough, do in reality. << Solith, >> he says then. << What are you doing? >> Or what, rather, is she listening to: this unnamed, indistinct lecturer has him questioning.

Wryly, R'van concedes, "It ''does'' seem to be one of your strengths, Weyrwoman. So yes, let's."

"I let you Stand. I pay my debts and I did appreciate what you did for me even if the status quo did not change." Irianke lays out what happened in her terms. "You don't owe me an explanation, but without one I will surmise that you wanted to leverage Standing against the Hall so that they'd fast track your promotion. One, apparently," the goldrider adds, "Seems delayed for reasons I cannot ''quite'' comprehend." Quite, but not entirely. She's a savvy enough politician to have some ideas.

Dragon> Solith, she shares, ''escaped'' and is escaping still: high above the lake and then higher still, the winds cool and familiar as she floats. (To Vadevjiath from Solith)

Dragon> To Solith, Vadevjiath isn't jealous, not precisely, but just for an instant, there's a flash of longing for a thing he doesn't even know just yet. It's burned into his bones already, that desire for the air.

Dragon> She recognizes that longing, somehow, swift-flashed and bright-flashed though it is-- and shares, if ''it'' won't burn him too: how it feels to soar, the winds there and there and everywhere along her sensitive hide, buoyant for the delicate architecture of her wings. The winds ''like'' it when they fly. They'll like it when he does, too. (To Vadevjiath from Solith)

She's not wrong, says the slight inclination of R'van's head. His expression's more bland, though that's likely as telling as anything. "I'm not sure we came out even on the exchange, considering Vadevjiath. Or even which side of the balance sheet to place him on."

"You owe me," states Irianke simply, her dark blue eyes daring him to differ.

R'van does not dare, no, though his mouth pulls up at one corner, almost--not quite--amused. "So I do."

"What's Vadevjiath like?" Instead of calling in that favor now, Irianke asks the bland, inane, ''bullshit'' question that returns them back to polite company.

R'van doesn't looks surprised that she pockets that favor for now; he lets it go himself, in favor of those superficial touches. "Content, generally. Not troublesome," R'van says after a moment, finishing his apple when the subject shifts again. "But when he has a goal in mind... I didn't imagine a dragon being so determined."

"They've their own personalities that sometimes complements but doesn't always." Irianke considers R'van, the public persona of warmth resettling on her face. The nibbled crust is polished off and a wedge of cheese is devoured. "Niahvth was always too bright, too cheerful. I always felt the sun was shining on me when I least wanted it to. Determined? Could bode well for you, as long as your determinations dovetail."

"Vadevjiath is--not that," and R'van's smile is wry for Niavth's sunny warmth: surely Vadevjiath's passed along some idea of the gold's touch with his mentions of her. "But yes, I think our interests are more in alignment than not, probably for the best. I think I'd fear for whatever might get in his way of seeing them through--my own ambitions even, if it came to that."

"Some day," and suddenly it's not so superficial anymore, though Irianke's mellifluous voice is light, "You won't want to keep your secrets from me for your own best interests." Those secrets that drove him to Stand. "Just be sure not to wait too long, R'van. In spite of common belief, my patience isn't limitless. But for now, I'll leave you to getting back to your dragon while I go make sure our new head cook is settling in."

R'van's expression takes a turn for the considering, regarding Irianke across the table for that moment. "I'll keep that in mind, Weyrwoman," he tells her, nodding once. "And--thank you." That much? It's genuine, not even--mostly--begrudged.
}}

R'van

2015-04-29T03:47:13Z

Tiriana:

{{Profile
|picture=Rafevan.jpg
|mother=Rikya
|father=Simonin
|siblings=Julson, Povrel, Maliere, Lianen, Hanowar, Breti
|friends=[[Farideh]], [[Drex]], [[Itsy]]
|body=== Description ==
Blond hair, blue eyes, handsome enough to notice, normal enough not to remember. At least Rafevan dresses well, most of the time: he's got enough marks to spare to be a slight cut above the average working man that he would otherwise look like.

== WYSK ==
* Nabol-bred.
* Smithcraft-raised.
* Demolition-friendly.
* Pointy-edged.
* Bronze-riding.

== History ==
Born in Nabol, Rafevan had a relatively well-to-do upbringing thanks to his family's extensive orchards; even by the Hold's standards, they were quite productive. However, Rafevan was a younger son, not destined to inherit much on his own--and anyway, growing up with a thing tends to make it seem quite boring. So instead of being a farmer, Rafevan apprenticed with the Smiths, and has since risen to the rank of senior apprentice. He's hoping to move further up the rankings in the next couple of years. Currently, he's been most involved in flamethrower and agenothree production. This is what earned Rafevan his posting to High Reaches Weyr, to fill a recent vacancy under one of the Weyr's Smithing masters who has followed a similar specialization. He also occasionally enjoys making things explode. This is occasionally problematic.

Rafevan--R'van--impressed bronze Vadevjiath in turn 37. Despite this, he seems focused on his studies still, both as rider and Smith, with his equally intense dragon at his side.

== Relationships ==
* [[Farideh]]. Not an admirer.
* [[Drex]]. Not a landlubber.
* [[Itsy]]. Not a lady.
* [[Irianke]]. Not a debtor.
* [[Liandra]]. Not a fool.

== [http://www.16personalities.com/entj-personality Personality] ==

ENTJs' intelligence, strong will and logical reasoning skills are a force to be reckoned with. Be it a minor obstacle or a seemingly impossible task, ENTJs will find a way - or make one. This fearsome determination and intellect allow ENTJs to overcome many challenges.

'''Strengths:''' efficient, self-confident, strong-willed, strategic
 '''Weaknesses:''' impatient, dominant, arrogant, ruthless

[http://kevan.org/johari?view=r%27van Contribute to R'van's Johari Window.]
 [http://kevan.org/nohari?view=R%27van Contribute to R'van's Nohari Window.]
== Soundtrack ==

{{{!}}style="width: 100%;"
{{!}}-valign="top"
{{!}}style="width: 50%;{{!}} '''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBmzzrU3gR8 Black Sails Main Title - Bear McCreary]'''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FdUdvajOp0 The Wondersmith and His Sons - Astronautalis]'''
:''I was born a charming man with silver tongue, pearl teeth''
:''This's never how it's s'posed to end, we're promised all we dreamed''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_x6M3UXq9M Burn It Down - Sims]'''
:''Me I’m just over the line, under the gun, out of my mind
:''Everything in its right place
:''Watch me slice through the night

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQ4mNz3dvnE Off in the Deep - Doomtree]'''
:''I was working on imperatives while they were crafting narratives
:''About who they are and what they do
:''I was on that show and prove

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRMIlyuBrDg Ain't Nobody - Atmosphere]'''
:''Yeah I came to party, but I don't wanna party with you''

{{!}}
'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RezzkpiQ70M The Crow - Dessa]'''
:''You duck some, you take some square''
:''Your luck runs out, you're there in midair''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTmCQNR9OA4 Dimitri Mendeleev - Astronautalis]'''
:''Woke from a dream, hands heavy in cold sweat''
:''Jumped from the bed, snatched the charcoal quick''
:''Sketching frantically upon the bedroom brick''
:''Came together and it fit, like this:''
:''"Give me a lever and a place to stand''
:''And I'll move the world"''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_iveMTyxH4 Avalanche - Nick Cave]
:''I who am on a pedestal''
:''You did not raise me there''
:''Your laws do not compel me now''
:''To kneel grotesque and bare''
{{!}}}

== RP Logs ==

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

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

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

{{Icons}}
|position=Senior Apprentice
|where=High Reaches Weyr
|Has rank=Apprentice
|craft=Smith
|birthplace=Near Nabol Hold
}}
{{Character-Categories
|Categories=Smiths, Greater Pern, High Reaches Area, Nabol, Nabol Hold, Telgar Area, Smith Hall, Riders, Bronzeriders
}}
[[Category:Characters]]
[[Category:Crafters]]
[[Category:Smiths]]
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]

HRW:Weyrlings/Month1/Recap

2015-04-28T02:29:21Z

Tiriana:

{{#pagetitle: Month 1 - Recap}}{{WeyrlingNav |title=Month1}}Sometimes, it's hard to keep up with exactly what is going on with other PCs, and, even when we know what is going on, it's not always easy to know how much of it we might have ICly noticed. This page is designed to provide a place for to lay out anything other weyrlings (and the weyrling staff) might know about what is going on with your character. If you've written a vignette that you think sums things up, feel free to link to it. Otherwise, you can write a few lines, a paragraph or two, or even nothing at all (this is wholly optional).

A new page will put up each IC month.

Any questions, just ask!

== Edyis ==
These two struggle from the very beginning, and it quickly becomes clear that they are opposites. Those who know Edyis might quickly recognize the memory lapses and constant distractedness whenever Akluseth is awake as abnormal behavior. Akluseth promises to be trouble from the onset, often (unintentionally) disruptive during lectures. He doesn't stay still for very long, and usually takes at least two reminders to do something before he gets distracted again. Where the pair does well, is in the physical conditioning, Edyis doesn't have to change much in her usual routine and Akluseth while awkward, enjoys the direct challenge of physical exertion. Practice, however, is another matter entirely.

== Farideh ==

The first month of weyrlinghood is a trying one, and while for the most part it doesn’t appear as though Roszadyth and Farideh are having issues with separation, willpower, or agreement, it ‘’is’’ apparent that there’s ‘’something’’ brewing underneath the surface. Farideh has ups and downs: happy one day, sad the next, mad another, or simply brooding. Everything is overwhelming and new, from the light calisthenics to the added pressure of impending placement exams and Harper lessons; not to mention the upcoming months of even harder training.

They keep mostly to themselves, Farideh in her self-absorbed way and Roszadyth in not wanting to intrude into the lives of her siblings. When they ‘’do’’ socialize, it’s both distracted and weary, and they’re not long in excusing themselves altogether. Left to her own devices, when Roszadyth is sleeping, Farideh will often find someplace in the bowl (patio ledge, lakeshore, etc) to retreat, to get away from the constant buzz and flow of the barracks. From an outside perspective, it could look as either the gold pair are taking their newfound roles with ease, or that the once-laundress is scattered.

== Keysi ==
The pair are quickly notable to be one and the same- mirror images of each other at the core. Every action they do is a play off of each other to do it better than the last time, or perhaps faster than the other weyrlings. Every day is a challenge to be stronger than yesterday. The physical training comes easy to them, even if Neianth's impatience is an explosive thing when he can't do everything perfectly the first time. It is clear, however that Keysi herself is not excelling at this first month of weyrlinghood. Her biggest struggle is separation, in which at first she doesn't even try. Those who know her can see emotions she's never shown before, simply reflections of Nei's tumultuous personality. The once studious and work-focused girl has been neglectful of duties and shown an absentmindedness that makes even simple interactions difficult. Her second issue remains even harder to overcome- the forgetfulness of Neianth's age as their physical limits are pushed far more rapidly than this first month of growth should allow.

== Laine ==
Lucky: Laine and Lifreyth’s sleep schedules align to one another within the first few nights. Unlucky: that schedule doesn’t quite match up with what’s expected of them. The two are slow to rouse in the morning owing to late, late nights (usually spent together on Lifreyth’s couch) and, like clockwork, both dragon and weyrling return to the barracks for a nap in the early afternoon as soon as lessons permit.

But despite increasingly off-kilter sleep patterns, the two are attentive at lessons and answers come readily from Lifreyth and Laine--albeit far more slowly from the latter… almost as though prompted. And, like several of their clutchmates, separation of selves poses a challenge. Laine’s complaints seem to revolve around how ''superfluous'' and ''unnecessary'' she finds the exercises to be--and it becomes more apparent as the month wears on that she’s simply ''unable'' to distinguish between them. Separation comes in starts and stops, with evident reluctance on Laine’s part to even put in the work.

Towards the end of the month, those who are in close contact with the two may come to realize that it’s ''Lifreyth'' who’s the driving force between the pair, feeding his seemingly boundless, perceptive energy back into his lifemate: dazed, Laine’s just caught up in his wake.

==O'nahi ==

== R'van ==
Despite R'van's apparent disinterest in anything dragonriding prior to Impression, he and Vadevjiath have made a surprisingly solid pairing so far. Separation of their feelings hasn't been an issue, and Vadevjiath isn't an outwardly needy dragon in general: he keeps to schedule, he doesn't cling, and overall he gets into far less trouble than his clutchmates. Truthfully, Vadevjiath seems more content than anything, lacking his more curious siblings' taste for sticking their noses where they may not belong. He's too serious, too focused, with a optimistic doggedness to him: he's not the biggest, not the most coordinated, not the ''best''; but he's determined and makes steady progress.

R'van is easily one of the most educated among the clutch, owing to his apprenticeship with the Smiths: no stress about exams and placement tests here. He's still somewhat aloof, more focused on his dragon than his fellow weyrlings; Vadevjiath's one quirk is his physical possessiveness of whatever he deems his, and R'van himself is tops of that list. Those who encroach on either of their spaces will find themselves facing the ire of a bronze who postures much bigger than he is. Excepting the leg up his education gives him, R'van is as solid but unexceptional as his dragon: he's smart, which serves him well, but he's completely new to this life unlike many of the others. And while he might not slack, exactly, he's certainly not pushing himself nearly as hard as he likely could. While he's clearly still tired at the end of the day, same as anyone, he weathers it with only a little more snappishness in his typically dry wit. If there's one thing to be said for apprenticing, it certainly prepares you for terrible hours and shit work at the bottom of the food chain.

== Rook ==

== T'mic==
T'mic doesn't remember much of the hatching. Hesitating before going in, something about a wandering brown, the gold hatching, and then it's just Jorrth all the way down. The first few days, he'll have been utterly surprised and first-time-happy for each and every other weyrling he's met in the barracks, whether they impressed before or after him. By day two, he'll have made note of the faces who ''aren't'' there. Throughout the first two weeks, he'll be a little surprised every time anyone than Jorrth calls him T'mic, and may even have tried to correct them with his departed 'o'. T'mic's a bit more his old Tomic self when Jorrth is asleep, though something is clearly not properly aligned in their sleep patterns, and T'mic isn't always retaining much of what's said to him in these times. The big guy's exhausted. Exhausted, and completely and utterly smitten with his blue Jorrth. Jorrth's own enthusiasm to see and know (and headbutt and play with) everything is enough to power the both of them through the constant oilings and roamings and discoveries. How long it will take before T'mic can maturely reflect on how much his life has changed remains to be seen.

== Yesia ==

Surprising some, Yesia took well to the demands placed upon her by Aeaeth in the first month, proving she's got the ability to be adaptable and willing to take on challenging tasks, provided they are something she ''wants'' to do. The newly Impressed pair did not get any more sleep than their peers (less, maybe, because she insisted on rising earlier if only to brush and style her long hair) and Yesia had ''plenty'' to say about some of the weyrlings' assigned tasks, but for the most part what she has told the weyrlingmasters directly holds true: Impressing Aeaeth did not change her routines or her abilities; she just had to accommodate the chatty green, a thing she did very willingly.

Aeaeth, for her part, is a clingy and very emotionally needy dragon. Lacking as Yesia is in the friends department - and with Paz and Olrina both on blues, engaged in a completely different sense of camraderie that omits her - feeling like she played a pivotal and necessary role in Aeaeth's life out the gate was good for the greenrider. It can be noted, however, that as the month passes, Yesia's patience with Aeaeth is mercurial at best. She sometimes goes from being extremely calm, smiling at the green obligingly, to snapping aloud at her over something. This could be cause for concern, if it's witnessed by the staff; however, probing or talking to the green will suggest she's not worse for having been treated thus, often forgetting anything even happened happened, or forgiving the incidents immediately. She's likely to make excuses for her lifemate's behavior, blaming it on stress or sleepiness or even hunger...but it can be noted she always tells these with the ribbons of color that indicate she might be concealing the truth, both about her feelings and about Yesia's motivations.

== Ysaera ==

== Z'kiel ==

Logs talk:Another Weyrling Altercation

2015-04-27T16:46:58Z

Tiriana: Comment provided by Tiriana - via ArticleComments extension

<noinclude>Comments on [[Logs:Another Weyrling Altercation]]
----- __NOEDITSECTION__</noinclude>

==Faryn (01:49, 27 April 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

I know I ''just'' posted this, but I have to say I am astounded at their bitchface icons.
==Edyis (02:33, 27 April 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

R'van's is my favorite after all the bitchface icons. XD
==Alida (03:42, 27 April 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

Oh dear. *snickers* Good thing Alida (and maybe Jo, too) weren't at the table with them at this discussion. Talk about inciting further rebellion... ^^ ;)
==Tiriana (12:46, 27 April 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

Yep that is exactly R'van's face. XD

Logs:Duty v. Happiness

2015-04-27T05:48:29Z

Tiriana: Created page with "{{Log |who=Tiriana, Saliqa |what=Tiriana and Saliqa argue their duties. |where=Stables, High Reaches Weyr |involves=High Reaches Weyr |day=24 |month=12 |turn=21 |IP=Interval |..."

{{Log
|who=Tiriana, Saliqa
|what=Tiriana and Saliqa argue their duties.
|where=Stables, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=24
|month=12
|turn=21
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2010.02.08
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon tiriana narcissist.png
|log=There's a light threat of snowfall outside, decorating the air but never staying long. But with its natural roof, the stables remain clear. Of snow. As for the rest, here's Saliqa. Far from the common room that has become her sanctuary, she's worked up and disheveled from a day's labor. She's drowning in somebody else's much too large shirt, which is somewhat tamed by her usual tight vest, and then a little more by the heavier long-sleeved covering over that. This isn't much of a jacket though, and the growing cold is surely seeping through. However, this isn't her biggest concern. Instead, she's just working on the rhythmic movement of shoveling and displacing used hay at a level of concentration that likely means if she stopped to think, she'd stop working entirely.

When things aren't going well, most people know to watch out for Tiriana. But the stables, now--there they know enough to pay her little mind on the occasions the Weyrwoman visits. Today's one such day, and Tiriana herself is dressed not much better than Saliqa herself--though at least her clothes all fit. She strolls down the center aisle aimlessly, pausing to say hello to a few runners who stick their heads out for her. The people, she's more willing to ignore, though one familiar-but-not-in-this-context shape earns a longer long at the stall door, as Tiriana stops to eye Saliqa herself.

Gloved hands readjust on the handle of the rake as Saliqa pauses long enough to let out a visible puff of breath into the air. With her fancy skirts replaced by heavy breeches, she's even less her usual shape, but clearly recognizable enough. It isn't for several more seconds, all filled with working that hay, that the girl becomes slowly aware that she isn't so much alone with the animals anymore. Straightening as proudly as possible, she turns to face Tiriana. That it's the Weyrwoman there has her stopping just short of reaching up to fix her hair. She's wearing those dirty gloves, after all, and her hair's at least hidden underneath a loose knit cap. "Good day, ma'am Weyrwoman." As if they were sitting to tea together.

Tiriana's brows lift up as she regards Saliqa working so, and she lifts a hand in greeting a moment later. "Good day," she repeats almost reflexively; what else would you say to such a greeting. But a beat later she's recovering herself, shaking her head to dismiss the surprise; and then, "What are you doing here?" she wants to know.

There's a little suggestion of a smile at the corner of Saliqa's mouth when she's greeted in turn. But the question has her stepping back up to that hay load. First she gives it, then the neighboring stalls, a cursory glance. "Well," she answers, following a sniff she vaguely regrets afterwards, "I'm digging out the old hay before the day's runners return so they'll have new to stand on during the night."

"Really." Tiriana's answer falls flat, something that she could figure out for herself as it is. She crosses her arms and leans a shoulder against a post idly, her manner relaxed still rather than falling back on more formality. "I gathered that. I meant more: why are you here?"

"I thought you might, but it'd be rude to assume," Saliqa replies easily, though with the general air of someone using an excuse for excuse's sake. She gets another grip on the tool, bending slightly into the work, which at least shows good form. Even if she has no muscle. "Ah, well, let's see... I could be showing my appreciation for the We-- oh bother." Coming up, she rubs the exposed bit of her hand against her forehead then waves it in the air, "I'm filling in for another girl."

"You could," the Weyrwoman begins dubiously. But she doesn't much fall for that, either, as she gives Saliqa a skeptical look when the younger girl gets back to shoveling. "Put your back into it; it's not hard. --Why... would you be doing that? Filling in." Questions upon questions!

"Because," it's heaved out on the same breath Saliqa releases as she hefts the next load up into the cart that'll eventually take it away. Her back is quite into the work, reflexively at the Weyrwoman's command, but also to compensate. "I got the impression that, before coming here, she'd never seen the other end of a runner before. She wasn't suited. She was unhappy." She pauses to eye the woman, "It seemed /nice/."

"And?" That seems to have little enough bearing on Tiriana's feelings on the matter. "Nice is all well and good but I doubt she's getting more suited sitting around on her ass while you do her work for her. And aren't you holders always going on about how we can't do what makes us happy, and not do what doesn't, and please Faranth, think of the children!"

Saliqa is forced to pause another time in her work simply to more politely stare at the Weyrwoman during her impression of holders. "Apologies but, no, ma'am. I don't particularly want anyone to be unhappy. I believe in doing your duty, and in doing so, finding happiness. I've been raised by certain standards and I've so far found them to be true and wholesome. And I happen to think quite fondly on children. They're our future."

Tiriana shakes her head. "Duty's not happiness," is her opinion on the subject. "Fact is, seems like it's more often than not unhappiness. I mean, that's sort of what it means: doing something you have to do because it's 'right' even if it's not what you really want to do. If you're actually doing it 'cause you want to, then it's what you want to do and not a duty." She nods firmly: perfectly logical to her, it is. The children part earns a snort, though, still, and she mutters, "Kids."

"But isn't it good to do what's right?" is posed back, Saliqa curling her fingers absently around the shovel, her thoughtfully narrowed gaze putting more stock into her answers before she gives them. She speaks with the same assurance, however. "I can want to do my duty, and do right by my family and my future home. By doing my duty I make myself respectable and productive, and therefore I am happy with myself." She does not nod but crosses her arms, palms braced against either side. "Pardon my asking, ma'am but are /you/ happy?"

"Sure. I guess if you're so desperate for approval that you're willing to call that sad excuse of doing your duty happiness," Tiriana answers, blunt as she can. The latter question, though, surprises her enough that she straightens, eyes the smaller girl a long moment. "I'm happy," she answers finally. "I've got a good weyrmate, not to mention Iovniath. And it's a load of crap that everybody keeps trying to tell me we can't do certain stuff because it's too dangerous--I'd be up there fighting Thread if there was any left, and my duty to sit around and let her lay clutches one after another be damned."

The hands tug at those sleeves, straightening them, as Saliqa wiggles her shoulders into a mightier pose. Whatever illusion might be that she gains any height from this is short-lived. Despite the agitated set of her mouth, she delays retorting to that blunt challenge long enough to hear the answer to hers. Now, her pose doesn't weaken but her cheeks puff out in annoyance at a different target. She forces the breath out. "As the matriarch it would be your responsibility to nurture new life. So, if she were pregnant... But the rest of it seems like a load of," there's a demonstrative gesture at where she's been working, "I mean, are Weyrs now /so/ backwards that they've skipped right over the part where women are /just/ as capable, if it weren't their solemn responsibility to see to the home?"

"She's our only queen," answers Tiriana. Her shoulders lift in a faint shrug. "They don't want me getting her killed off before we can give the Weyr another. Preserve the line, and all that. I expect if we had a good Reachian junior, they could care less if I offed myself, but until then--. Iovniath doesn't care, of course: she might not like having to rise and clutch and tend the eggs, but she'd rather do that than fight and anyway, she loves the idea of establishing her dynasty. So we do our duty, but that's not what makes us happy."

"That makes sense..." Saliqa admits for the opening of it, apparently using the time Tiriana talks to calm herself back out of that huff. "But that other seems odd a bit," she decides on, after a long silence following the admission, "If you want to fight and not raise a family, wouldn't that be what she desires as well? You are, I mean... all muddled about in each other's head." It's a less romantic way to look at it, but the girl's hesitance, so opposite from her proud boasting, is clearly from ignorance.

It makes Tiriana frown so, her forehead furrowing up as she regards Saliqa. And then she laughs, just for a moment, and rolls her eyes. "She's not /me/," she says, as though this were obvious. "Faranth help us. We're nothing alike, really: she's all fake-nice and schemey, and me, I'd just rather punch something and have done with it. It's the only reason we work, I think. I mean, not that we don't fight sometimes anyway, but can you imagine what we'd be like if both of us were as manipulative as her, or just plain ornery as me?"

"Yes, but--" her entreaty not quite strong enough, Saliqa allows the Weyrwoman finish instead, pulling her head down for that breach in etiquette. Her eyes peek out behind half-closed lids when she quips, "Well, I'd imagine you'd be twice as manipulative or twice as ornery." A wry answer, she doesn't stick to the attitude; she still doesn't bait to giving an opinion of Tiriana. Hefting the shovel up, she makes a leap back in the conversation, rather, "And, anyway, just because it doesn't, doesn't mean it shouldn't. But, if you don't mind me saying, there's a very odd way about how your leadership is chosen anyhow, and that could be it."

"Exactly." And Tiriana looks a little smug at the thought, until Saliqa has the nerve to question the Weyr's ways again. Her expression darkens swiftly, chin lifting. "At least we make our leaders prove something, even if it's just that you can beat out everybody else to have sex. Your lot--/you/ just have to get born and somebody throws a whole damn Hold at you."

"Leaders prove themselves with their actions," Saliqa returns evenly, waving a hand distantly in the air, perhaps towards some unseen destination. "Actions /outside/ the bedroom which, as it turns out, are also vaguely important to how the world is run." There's more there-- it's right at the tip of her tongue. But, scrunching up her nose, she sucks it all in. She rocks backwards on her heels, slipping a step behind her. "/However/, as a representative of my people... I will not enter stupidly into a debate over things which I do not know. I apologize for so gracelessly spouting my mouth off."

"And? Have I not proven myself? My Weyrleader?" She'll even throw his name into the ring, so eager is Tiriana to argue the point. "You have to get the spot somehow before you can prove yourself able for it. And our dragons are good enough judges of character to handle that part; we can do the rest. Having Iovniath choose me for her rider is not nearly so--capricious, as just trusting that being born to a Lord is good enough." The latter remarks of the girl earn only a sneer, as Tiriana straightens up and prepares to take her leave. "Good," she says shortly.

Saliqa stands as proud and pretty as if she didn't know she was wearing breeches and holding a shovel off manure-covered hay. A gracious bob of the head follows Tiriana's ending note. "Good day then, lady Weyrwoman," she announces, flouncing a bit as she makes to turn around and apply to the work that's due. As sweet as pie, she leaves it at this: "I'm very glad to hear that it works so well. It reflects on your people, after all."

Tiriana's narrowed eyes seek an insult there somewhere, but not finding it readily enough, she instead just sniffs and offers another almost formal, "Good day," as she turns and stalks away again.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs:The Clash

2015-04-27T05:40:48Z

Tiriana: Tiriana moved page Logs:The Dash to Logs:The Clash: new level of stupid: misreading 'cl' for 'd' and rereading log repeatedly trying to figure out what's dashing about it x.x

{{Log
|who=Tiriana, Teris
|what=Teris tries to talk nice about K'del after Tiriana's spying mission.
|where=Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=11
|month=13
|turn=21
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2010.02.14
|mentions=K'del
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon tiriana disdain.png, Icon teris.jpg,
|log=The rain has turned at last to snow as night falls over the Weyr, and those who wouldn't brave the downpour are now rushing about to get home before it turns into a blizzard. Not so Tiriana, who lingers at the side of the bowl, leaned on the edge of the Weyrleader's ledge with her arms crossed as she eyes across the way, to where the side of the bowl and the hatching caverns loom.

The rain was definitely a no go for Teris. Except, really, she doesn't have any huge reasons to be out in the snow either. She has boots and a big jacket but her blonde head is bare to the chilly air as she makes her way to wherever she's going or wherever she's been. "Weyrwoman?" she queries when she notices and nears Tiriana, sounding vaguely concerned more than actually wanting anything.

"You need a hat," is Tiriana's brilliant observation; she herself reaches up to touch her own, a brilliantly pink toboggan currently smushing her hair down. That sage advice delivered, she takes a harder look at Teris, frowning now and letting her brows draw together too. "What are you doing over here, anyway?"

"I have a hat," Teris notes. She's just, obviously, not wearing it at present. She does take a moment to take in Tiriana's hat, then her gaze moves past to the ledge toward K'del's weyr. Her head gives a small shake as her blue eyes return to the Weyrwoman and she says, "I was just out for a walk. What are you doing?"

Tiriana eyes Teris again, skeptically this time; but in the end, she shrugs and moves on without worrying about it too much. The glance past her to the Weyrleader's weyr, though, does earn Tiriana's own glance backward that way. Her mouth settles into a thin line. "I'm just enjoying the snow," she says, rather currently. "Cooling off, after I went by to see Iovniath."

Ignoring the way that Tiriana glances back, Teris settles her gaze on the other woman and one brow hitches upwards curiously. "Cooling off?" is what she focuses on. "Is something the matter?" She looks away toward the general direction of the sands before looking back. "Or just the actual heat? I don't really care for it myself."

"No, just--" Tiriana huffs a breath, visible in the freezing air. "Faranth, she won't shut up. What if it's not big enough. What if there's not a gold. What if all of them come out fucked up like Isforaith did?" She shakes her head, pushes her hat back off her eyebrows a little way. "She wasn't bad about the flight this time, but shells. The clutching part? And it's not like you can fix it now, if we did fuck it up somehow."

"Of course it will be big enough," Teris says like some sort of expert on that particular subject. "Anyway, I'm sure everything will be just fine. You're not worried about any of that stuff, are you?" Clearly Teris expects Tiriana to be a little more reasonable than her dragon appears to be.

Tiriana opens her mouth and then stops, lower lip setting sharply. "No," she says, suddenly rather waspishly. "And anyway, like I said. Nothing we can do about it. We were screwed or not months ago when she let Cadejoth catch her again. Now we're just stuck with that."

"Perhaps she likes being the smart one," Teris offers, quite clearly not having any idea really what she's really going on about with this dragon stuff. But that certainly won't stop her from saying whatever comes to mind on the subject. "I haven't found out anything interesting about him, you know. Except for his poor taste in love interests."

Surprise crosses Tiriana's face as Teris changes the subject; she turns to eye K'del's weyr again. "Oh. That," she says. She eyes her assistant, the weyr, her assistant. "Well, that's not helpful at all. We ''knew'' that. What good are you, really?"

Teris' eyes narrow slightly at that last there, her jaw setting into a tighter line and back straightening underneath that heavy coat she's wearing. "Did it occur to you that there's not really anything worth finding out, Tiriana? It's not as though I want to defend him, but it could be worse."

The setting of Teris' own expression is not lost on Tiriana. She stares for a long moment, and then--disregarding entirely the other woman's questions, she demands, "Are you ''falling'' for him?"

"Shards. ''No''. Of course not," Teris returns with an emphasizing shake of her head. "Don't be ridiculous." She doesn't look very happy for the accusation, either. "Why does it have to be that anyway? Why can't it just be that I don't think he's as awful as some of them?"

Tiriana does not like one bit convinced. "You are, aren't you," she challenges, arms crossing back again as she straightens up from leaning on the ledge wall. "Because. He's an idiot. An incompetent, whoring idiot. How could ''you'' sink that low?"

"''No.''" Teris repeats that in a very firm manner like she thinks Tiriana doesn't quite know what the word means. "He may be an incompetent, whoring idiot but he's never pushed himself on me." And that, apparently, counts for something. "Anyway, if you want to know what's going on, maybe you ought to just talk to him, hmm? Since ''I'm'' not good for the job." Her voice is nearly as chilly as the air around them.

A snort, and Tiriana shrugs. "If you say so," she says, cool herself. She turns to hop up the short steps to the ledge proper, and pauses there to look down at Teris. "That's why I have you, to do the shit I don't feel like bothering with. Though, if you're not up to the task--. Well. I'm sure there's plenty of other willing people in the Weyr," she sniffs.

Teris watches Tiriana closely, certainly not getting anymore relaxed about this exchange. "Of course I'm up to the task. But you shouldn't pretend that you've got a line of people just waiting outside of your door to take over for me." Possibly bold of her to say so, but she doesn't seem to care at the moment. "Have a good night, Weyrwoman," she says, moving to turn toward the direction of the caverns.

"There's always someone," Tiriana retorts, perhaps more stung than she'd like. At any rate, she does not bid Teris goodnight before she turns and stalks inside to her weyr.

Work will be fun tomorrow, huh? Teris doesn't stalk but there is a certain stiffness to her gait as she makes her way along the bowl's wall. Pity the poor fool that gets in her path along the way.
}}

Logs:The Clash

2015-04-27T05:39:35Z

Tiriana: Created page with "{{Log |who=Tiriana, Teris |what=Teris tries to talk nice about K'del after Tiriana's spying mission. |where=Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |involves=High Reaches Weyr |day=11 |month=..."

Logs:Saucy

2015-04-27T05:32:04Z

Tiriana: Created page with "{{Log |who=Tiriana, Vinque |what=Tiriana and a trader reach an accord. |where=Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |involves=High Reaches Weyr |day=20 |month=13 |turn=21 |IP=Interv..."

{{Log
|who=Tiriana, Vinque
|what=Tiriana and a trader reach an accord.
|where=Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=20
|month=13
|turn=21
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2010.02.16
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon tiriana gloating.png,
|log=Though there aren't any eggs on the sands yet, still Tiriana loiters by their entrance, in the bare patch of ground that holds out against the snow. There, the ground's wet and muddy, but the steady snowfall can't quite stick; too much warm air wafts out of the hatching cavern. The Weyrwoman, though, looks like she's had more than enough of that, and she takes up a position to one side, where she can take advantage of the winter air to cool off flushed cheeks and damp hair.

A cart of things is usually not too quiet, and today's no exception. Vinque has just such a cart, pushing it in front of him, slowly and steadily through the snow. Metal and wood clatter against each other from within the cart as he pushes it over the snow, bundled up warmly as he is. Apparently he's been in the cold for some time, since his face is red with windburn. A couple of people approach the man with the cart, goods are exchanged for marks, and the merchant bids the the buyers farewell. Despite the cold, he smiles as they depart. His gaze turns to the Weyrwoman as she exits and bows low and respectfully to her. He's a little further away than would be comfortable to call out a greeting, but he does offer his respect nonetheless.

The procession of cart and buyers does draw Tiriana's attention, and she watches while the people purchase and pay and then move on again before she leaves the sands behind entirely to approach the bowing Vinque and his goods herself. Her greeting is not nearly so charming as his acknowledgment, though, as she opens with, "What /are/ you doing?"

If Vinque is offended by the greeting, he doesn't show it. Infact, he remains quite charming nonetheless. "Greetings to you, Weyrwoman," he offers. "What am I doing? I am but a humble Trader, seeking to turn goods into marks this cold winter night," he explains. "It's so much easier to keep moving and keep warm."

Tiriana is impervious to such niceties, her expression remaining at best skeptical as he launches his spiel. She's too busy peering at his cart, his goods, to really listen too closely. "That's true," she concedes to the last. "So what are you selling, then?"

There's nothing illegal, immoral, or fattening in the cart (though likely only none of the latter because it probably wouldn't survive being out in these temperatures). Just mainly supplies and tools, some small articles of clothing -- scarves, hats, gloves, and the like -- and small trinkets of various make. They're all of reasonably good quality, so there's no danger of badly-made goods making their way into High Reaches. Well, not from Vinque, anyway. His response to Tiriana's question is a smile and, "Only small items, ma'am. Small but good, quality items."

Not above reaching and inspecting the items hands-on, Tiriana seems determined to check everything and approve it before she continues on her way. "Mmhmm," she says, peering back at the youth again. "And who are you, then? What trading family? I didn't think we had any here now, really, what with getting snowed in on the ground now."

Vinque doesn't seem to mind the inspection; few of the goods are delicate enough to break when dropped. "My name is Vinque, ma'am," he offers, bowing once more, this time with a flourish. "My mother and I work independent of the larger trading families. We offer quality goods at a modest price, without unnecessary raising of price. We work places where others wouldn't. Just because there's snow, doesn't mean the need for goods has ceased." He maintains his easy smile as he speaks.

Tiriana runs a hand over a few last items, then leans idly against the cart, elbow propped up on it as though it's hers and not his. "Can't say as we're too fond of traders around here, after what happened with the last group that thought they could just stay here," she says slowly, flicking one hat with a finger as she eyes Vinque. "And independent traders--sounds even sketchier. Who's your mother?"

Vinque's smile finally fades a little, and he tilts his head a little. "My mother's name is Lavinia," he offers easily. He doesn't object to the elbow-leaning. Or really to the questioning. "I understand your suspicion. And there's really nothing I can say that will make you any less suspicious. I can, however, assure you that all these goods are quality goods. And that my mother and I do move around. But with the current lack of traders here, she and I thought it might be a good idea to concentrate here, so we could still get goods to workers here. I won't lie, we were also hoping to turn a profit. But if it will help more than just us...."

"You're right there," Tiriana says of her continued suspicion, though she does smirk at least at the thought. Breezily, "Yeah, yeah. You just want to help the people, and if they happen to lose all their marks in the process, well. It happens." She snorts, shakes her head, and eventually just shrugs. "And where do you get all these goods? Or is that some kind of trade secret?

Vinque chuckles. "Well...I do try to keep my prices fair," he defends. "Granted, I don't exactly give them away free...but I /do/ have to buy them, so to stay in business, I do have to charge marks for goods." Where did he get them? "The source of my goods /is/ a bit of a trade secret, yes...but I'll tell you anyway." He winks conspiratorically, as if he is indeed imparting a great secret to her. "Crafters' apprentices will make goods for practice that are generally of decent quality. But they may not be able to actually use them, themselves. So I take them off their hands, for decent prices." He smiles.

Tiriana, lifting her brows at that explanation, straightens up and smoothes a hand over her shirt beneath her open coat. "Well. If you can't tell the Weyrwoman your secrets," she agrees dryly. "Then, you probably shouldn't be in my Weyr. Vinque, huh? And Lavinia. Are you planning on staying here through winter, then, or am I going to have to send one of my riders out to dump you wherever you're headed next?"

Vinque finally gives up the ghost of a smile, huffing an exasperated sigh. It seems he's getting a bit irritated now. "...All due respect, Weyrwoman," he begins. His tone is level and even. "But if my being here at /your Weyr/ is so objectionable, I will gladly leave right now, the need for goods with all that construction going on notwithstanding. Furthermore, I can send word along that High Reaches doesn't /need/ traders here, and I can surely stem the tide coming here, so to speak...."

The bite in Vinque's words makes Tiriana laugh, apparently pleased with riling him up. "Oh, really. And all the families of Pern are going to take the word of one kid and his mommy?" she wonders, cocking her head. "Oh please, don't go. However will we manage without you? --You should milk those guards for more, and the miners. Faranth knows the Reaches ought to take back some of what's rightly ours."

Vinque doesn't seem riled at the comments, actually. He has more friends than just himself and his mother. But he has a feeling Tiriana will only give more snide comments. Obviously she's been a pain in the backside for a while, and probably knows all the angles to it. "Well...none of this was bought at Reaches," he states evenly. "So...begging your pardon, /ma'am Weyrwoman/. But I will take my wares elsewhere, since traders are so unwelcome here." He bows once more, with that flourish, and then places himself to push his cart once more. "Forgive my intrusion into /your Weyr/. I'll try to pass the word along, about how /utterly choked/ with traders High Reaches is, hopefully that will improve things some." Afraid of offending her? Nope. "And with that? I take my leave." He makes to move the cart towards the exit to the bowl, Weyrwoman still leaning on it or not.

"I'll make a deal with you," Tiriana says, as Vinque turns to go, though she does step back to let him pass with his cart. She's still grinning, undaunted. "Those guards, the miners--they keep looking at us to supply them with extra stuff, even though that's not part of our arrangement. Stuff for them, stuff for their convicts, just because we have our stores and there might be a little extra," she suggests. "So, I'll sell you our surplus, if you'll sell it on to them. And then when they come bothering me for more crap, I can say we don't have any, why don't you try those traders?"

Vinque pauses a moment, to think. He makes a show of really thinking about it -- really thinking hard. Just to annoy Tiriana, since she seems like the impatient type. Passive aggressive much? Maybe. Nonetheless he finally responds to Tiriana's proposal. "Hmm...that /is/ an interesting bargain," he admits. "A very saucy and delicious offer indeed." Well, maybe not /quite/ that good. But he's doing this to gently prod the Weyrwoman's nerves now. He gives a smile, and tilts his head. "That sounds like it would be a good opportunity for all involved -- you get rid of surplus items, the guards and miners get the items they need, and I make marks." And the Weyrwoman gets to continue to badmouth the traders with impugnity! See? Everybody wins! "All right, I'll take you up on that," he agrees.

"Saucy," Tiriana turns this word over in her mouth, and by her smirk seems to decide she likes it. "No fleecing my people. Sell them your stuff, fine. But don't go milking them for marks on what they could have just got from stores for free," she adds in one caveat, with a stern look that's just a little too smug to be convincing. "The guards, though? Well. Take 'em for everything they've got, far as I'm concerned."

Vinque raises a hand, shaking his head. "I wouldn't dream of fleecing anyone out of marks," he replies. "Turning a profit is one thing, but marks made through malicious means are not the kind of things I want lining my pockets." He winks. "But I will remember your instructions. All of them." He smirks in return.

"Good. You do that," agrees Tiriana, quite pleased now. "I'll leave you to your trading then, Vinque," she says as she herself turns away, toward the caverns again. "Iovniath wants me. Again. Good night," as any words that follow trail into dark mutterings on the parentage of her own dragon.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Alts:Tiriana

2015-04-27T05:25:14Z

Tiriana:

{{Alts
|alt1=Tiriana
|alt2=R'van
|alt3=Chauncey
|alt4=Derecho
|alt5=Garrick
|alt6=Gr'kaif
|alt7=Jaques
|alt8=L'sen
|alt9=Raum
|alt10=Riahla
|alt11=Rorkes
|alt12=I'daur
|alt13=
|alt14=
|alt15=
}}

R'van

2015-04-27T04:14:59Z

Tiriana:

{{Profile
|picture=Rafevan.jpg
|mother=Rikya
|father=Simonin
|siblings=Julson, Povrel, Maliere, Lianen, Hanowar, Breti
|friends=[[Farideh]], [[Drex]], [[Itsy]]
|body=== Description ==
Blond hair, blue eyes, handsome enough to notice, normal enough not to remember. At least Rafevan dresses well, most of the time: he's got enough marks to spare to be a slight cut above the average working man that he would otherwise look like.

== WYSK ==
* Nabol-bred.
* Smithcraft-raised.
* Demolition-friendly.
* Pointy-edged.
* Bronze-riding.

== History ==
Born in Nabol, Rafevan had a relatively well-to-do upbringing thanks to his family's extensive orchards; even by the Hold's standards, they were quite productive. However, Rafevan was a younger son, not destined to inherit much on his own--and anyway, growing up with a thing tends to make it seem quite boring. So instead of being a farmer, Rafevan apprenticed with the Smiths, and has since risen to the rank of senior apprentice. He's hoping to move further up the rankings in the next couple of years. Currently, he's been most involved in flamethrower and agenothree production. This is what earned Rafevan his posting to High Reaches Weyr, to fill a recent vacancy under one of the Weyr's Smithing masters who has followed a similar specialization. He also occasionally enjoys making things explode. This is occasionally problematic.

Rafevan--R'van--impressed bronze Vadevjiath in turn 37. Despite this, he seems focused on his studies still, both as rider and Smith, with his equally intense dragon at his side.

== Relationships ==
* [[Farideh]]. Not an admirer.
* [[Drex]]. Not a landlubber.
* [[Itsy]]. Not a lady.
* [[Irianke]]. Not a debtor.
* [[Liandra]]. Not a fool.

== [http://www.16personalities.com/entj-personality Personality] ==

ENTJs' intelligence, strong will and logical reasoning skills are a force to be reckoned with. Be it a minor obstacle or a seemingly impossible task, ENTJs will find a way - or make one. This fearsome determination and intellect allow ENTJs to overcome many challenges.

'''Strengths:''' efficient, self-confident, strong-willed, strategic
 '''Weaknesses:''' impatient, dominant, arrogant, ruthless

== Soundtrack ==

{{{!}}style="width: 100%;"
{{!}}-valign="top"
{{!}}style="width: 50%;{{!}} '''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBmzzrU3gR8 Black Sails Main Title - Bear McCreary]'''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FdUdvajOp0 The Wondersmith and His Sons - Astronautalis]'''
:''I was born a charming man with silver tongue, pearl teeth''
:''This's never how it's s'posed to end, we're promised all we dreamed''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_x6M3UXq9M Burn It Down - Sims]'''
:''Me I’m just over the line, under the gun, out of my mind
:''Everything in its right place
:''Watch me slice through the night

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQ4mNz3dvnE Off in the Deep - Doomtree]'''
:''I was working on imperatives while they were crafting narratives
:''About who they are and what they do
:''I was on that show and prove

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRMIlyuBrDg Ain't Nobody - Atmosphere]'''
:''Yeah I came to party, but I don't wanna party with you''

{{!}}
'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RezzkpiQ70M The Crow - Dessa]'''
:''You duck some, you take some square''
:''Your luck runs out, you're there in midair''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTmCQNR9OA4 Dimitri Mendeleev - Astronautalis]'''
:''Woke from a dream, hands heavy in cold sweat''
:''Jumped from the bed, snatched the charcoal quick''
:''Sketching frantically upon the bedroom brick''
:''Came together and it fit, like this:''
:''"Give me a lever and a place to stand''
:''And I'll move the world"''

'''[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S_iveMTyxH4 Avalanche - Nick Cave]
:''I who am on a pedestal''
:''You did not raise me there''
:''Your laws do not compel me now''
:''To kneel grotesque and bare''
{{!}}}

== RP Logs ==

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

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

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

{{Icons}}
|position=Senior Apprentice
|where=High Reaches Weyr
|Has rank=Apprentice
|craft=Smith
|birthplace=Near Nabol Hold
}}
{{Character-Categories
|Categories=Smiths, Greater Pern, High Reaches Area, Nabol, Nabol Hold, Telgar Area, Smith Hall, Riders, Bronzeriders
}}
[[Category:Characters]]
[[Category:Crafters]]
[[Category:Smiths]]
[[Category:Greater_Pern]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Area]]
[[Category:High_Reaches_Weyr]]

Logs talk:Breakdown

2015-04-26T16:27:19Z

Tiriana: Comment provided by R'van - via ArticleComments extension

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

==R'van (12:27, 26 April 2015 (EDT)) said... ==

dun dun DUN :D

Logs:The Nature of Convicts

2015-04-26T07:20:15Z

Tiriana: Created page with "{{Log |who=Tiriana, Tiriana{{!}}Iovniath |what=Tiriana and Iovniath deal with news that convicts are being searched. |where=Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr |involves=High Re..."

{{Log
|who=Tiriana, Tiriana{{!}}Iovniath
|what=Tiriana and Iovniath deal with news that convicts are being searched.
|where=Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=27
|month=13
|turn=21
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2010.02.23
|mentions=K'del, Phara, Berit, V'nian
|type=Vignette
|icons-new=Icon tiriana procrastinating.png,
|log=<< Tiriana, >> said Iovniath, and underneath her cool voice, Tiriana could sense her worry as something instinctive, that she didn't need words or even feelings to know. It knotted her own stomach as she worked her way across Iovniath's hide, rubbing oil deep into it to protect it on the scorching sands.

''Yeah?'' She tried to keep her own reply even, unfussed.

<< Fierfanth has a candidate. >>

''So?''

<< It is one of the miners' workers. >> Iovniath shied away from the cruder 'convicts.' Tiriana froze mid-stroke.

<< Cadejoth has ordered them not to, but--Tiriana, it is a convict. They wish my children to have criminals for riders. >> There was something in her voice that Tiriana thought might be tears, if she were human.

''Well. We won't let them. We'll lock them in the mines if we have to, never let 'em out. They don't get nowhere near the eggs, now or ever,'' she answered, fiercely.

<< It will not work. >>

''Of course it will work.''

<< No, Tiriana, it will not. If my children want these people, they will have them--or they will have no one. >>

"They'll have whoever the hell we give them," Tiriana said, huffing out a breath. She resumed oiling, but in sharp, jerky motions now. "We'll get plenty of other people, even if we don't sort out this shit with Balen. We'll get plenty of people, let them touch the eggs, and the hatchlings won't ever know there was anyone else who could have been out there."

Gently, Iovniath turned to lean her cheek against her rider, her mind a slow snowfall.

<< It is not for the dragons that we touch eggs. It is for you, so you can meet us first, and be ready. We already know you, as we know our names, before we ever emerge. >>

Another snort, skeptical, but Tiriana worked to slow her motions and leaned back against Iovniath's nose, letting the gold support her.

<< I would have known you, even if you had not been there for me. I would not have settled for Zibeth's, Bennath's, anyone else's, just because they touched me and you did not. So my children will want who they will, and if that is these prisoners, then they must have them. >> But Iovniath did not sound happy about it, still.

"Maybe they won't want them. Plenty of people don't impress; maybe just because they could doesn't mean any of our eggs would be dumb enough to pick them. Or, you know, dragons aren't evil, like these people, so--."

It made Iovniath laugh, not quite cheerfully, but laugh all the same: a tinkling crystalline sound.

<< Do you ever think, how close we are to them? >> and Tiriana understood 'we' really meant 'her.' She bristled.

"I'm nothing like them."

<< And how many have you beaten? >> the gold asked, bemused; Tiriana's annoyance only cheered her more. They made a perverse pair. << How many have you insulted, and assaulted? How many Weyrs have exiled us, and how many would not take us in at all? >>

''That's different'', but she was sulking now.

<< But you are still mine. I do not care what they think of my choice, even if you are unthinking, and vulgar, and sometimes cruel. >>

"Thanks."

<< Humans have their rules, >> Iovniath continued, choosing to ignore her rider then. << They want to put everyone in boxes: you are a lady, or a rider, or a convict, but you must be one of those, and not anything else. And perhaps we dragons do, too, but we also know that sometimes a convict is a Weyrwoman, and perhaps someday she may be a lady as well. But-->> and here her voice grew wry, indulgent, as she pushed against Tiriana, <>

It made Tiriana smile, too, faintly, and she shoved back, though only Iovniath's willingness to play along made the gold's nose move at all.

"You want I should tell K'del or you?" she asked.

<< We will... let him sort this for himself. He does not need us watching every move, you know. Cadejoth is a fool, but a well-meaning one. >> Her voice was faintly fond, echoing a little the rattle of chain as she thought of her mate. << He will think of our children as I do. This is his burden, as Balen is ours. >>

"I'm not groveling," warned Tiriana.

<> said Iovniath. <>
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs:We Don't Talk

2015-04-26T06:46:00Z

Tiriana:

{{Log
|who=Tiriana, Teris, Z'yi{{!}}Isforaith, Tiriana{{!}}Iovniath
|what=Weyrwoman and former assistant catch up. With bonus Isforaith cameo.
|where=Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Area, High Reaches Weyr
|day=13
|month=1
|turn=22
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2010.02.23
|mentions=K'del, Cyrra, B'tal
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon tiriana peachy.png, Icon teris unwell.jpg, Icon z'yi.jpg,
|log=In the first weeks of the new turn, the eggs are only just beginning to harden, the shells still damp-looking and dented, yet to firm into shape. Iovniath still hovers over them all, turning each meticulously, arranging them anew every morning, just to highlight different denizens of the clutch for the onlookers who can't stay away. And often, Tiriana is somewhere near, on the sands oiling the drying hide of her gold, or working quietly in one corner of the galleries. Today, it's the latter.

It's not terribly often that Teris visits the galleries. They're just a reminder of what she's gotten herself into, after all. But she's here today, looking worn and tired and picking out dirt from her nails as she wanders up the stairs slowly enough that she doesn't really have to watch where she's going all that much. A quick scan, however, spies the Weyrwoman and Teris hesitates like she's not sure what she ought to do now.

It's not Tiriana who notices Teris arriving, but Iovniath: the gold's eyes, half-lidded, track the familiar woman, and she must alert her rider. That, or it's just a coincidence when Tiriana stretches and straightens and looks at Teris, her mouth pulling into a frown. She hesitates a moment, uncertain herself, before she finally lifts a hand to hail her former assistant.

There's still a moment or two before Teris returns an acknowledging, greeting sort of gesture. She glances toward the gold out there on the sands, at the eggs with her, then she starts moving quietly toward where Tiriana is settled as her gaze comes back to the other woman. She doesn't sit right away but as she nears she offers, "How are you holding up?"

Her part done, Iovniath returns attention to her eggs, turning a couple more, then curling herself up against the largest among them, that bright gold one which she can't quite bring herself to leave with the others. And Tiriana, for her part, taps her pencil on her pages, watches a moment, then lifts her shoulders to shrug at Teris. "Fine, of course," she answers, shortly. "Why shouldn't I be?" A beat, and more gently, she adds, "You?"

"I didn't mean that you shouldn't be fine. I'm sure you're doing perfectly well. Just thought I'd ask," Teris says and once she gets to that comfortable conversation distance, she settles herself down carefully and lets out a little sigh. "I'm sore," she admits after a moment, looking toward the sands again rather than at Tiriana.

"Oh," says Tiriana. And she doesn't seem to know what to say to that afterward, frowning a moment longer. She twiddles the pencil a little more, then gives Teris a funny look. "You're /sore/? From those chores?" she asks, staring a little. "Faranth. What are you going to do if you impress? You need to work out more or something."

"I haven't had to work out," Teris says, almost not actually to Tiriana but just saying so with a slight emphasis on the 'had.' She considers the rest for a moment, then there's a small laugh under her breath. "You know. I don't think I've actually considered the possibility that I might. Going through the motions. I mean, I know I could. But." But her voice trails off as she leans forward just slightly to rub a hand over her calf before she ends up leaning her elbows on her knees.

"You should," is the Weyrwoman's suggestion. "Haul some firestone, go running, something like that. Don't get you soft little people. Just sitting inside, pushing papers." As she's doing now, but decidedly unenthusiastically. Finally, she just sets all that aside and leans back against the next row of gallery seats. "Do you... want to? Or is it just--why would you even do it, if it's just motions?"

"I've been messing with firestone all day," Teris almost very nearly whines that but catches it before it hits that certain pitch. "I still think I prefer that over the stables. I still have a blister," she tilts her hand where it's actually healing. It gives her a chance to think about the rest for a moment and then she shrugs. "I do want to. This all seemed easier when I was younger, though. No one can really tell me I can't now," she offers with a small, slightly satisfied grin. "Well, I suppose you could. Or K'del." But they haven't.

Tiriana rolls her eyes. "Baby," she says, with a sniff. "They'll toughen up by the hatching, at least." She twines her fingers together across her stomach, is quiet for a moment before she lifts her shoulders a faint bit. "Always figured, by the time I hit twelve, I'd be on the sands. Have Iovniath. Wasn't ever going to ask to stand, though--wasn't going to sink that low."

Teris rolls her eyes, too, but only for the first word. She doesn't, however, protest it. "I guess that means you won't give me a break on any of that then, huh." It doesn't even manage to come out as a question. She already knows the answer. "I stood once. And then-- it was just easier not to after that. But B'tal did it. It can't be that hard." Sibling love is an odd thing.

"Not one bit," is Tiriana's smirking answer to that, unnecessary though it is. "My sister did--well, half-sister, anyway. Blue." Beat. "We don't talk." She frowns again at that, then leans forward and stands. "She's itching /again/," she compains as she turns to trot down the stairs to Iovniath's side. "I'll be back."

Dragon> To Iovniath, Isforaith is sparking electricity, ZING ZING ZING. Like a dinger on a game show; he's a winner! << Mom, I GOT ONE. >> A proud image of a man in convict's clothes, overimposed by that of a white knot - and all around, Rome is burning around the 'scape, an eternal conflagration.

Dragon> It's not excitement, exactly, in the muted snowfall of Iovniath's touch, but there is a weary sort of pride nonetheless. << Very good, Isforaith, >> she tells him. << You will get him settled well, I trust? >> (Iovniath to Isforaith)

She doesn't roll her eyes again but there is a little sigh when what she figured would be said is actually said. "It would stand to reason that--" But Teris cuts herself off when Tiriana announces the gold's problem and she nods, falling silent as she watches the other woman head down the stairs to her dragon. The blonde sits back, stretching out her legs forward and tilting her head back against the seat behind her.

Dragon> To Iovniath, Isforaith would likely not tolerate snow from any other source, but from this one, it's welcomed. << Of course, >> in that rumbly indignation that is so remniscent of his lifemate; << He will do us good. Like the others! >> The.. plethora of others. Isforaith has taken this on as some sort of private crusade, and a half-fancied daydream carries across the mindlink unthinking; all of the mini Iovnejoths with riders /hand picked/ by Raith.

Dragon> To Isforaith, Iovniath indulges that vision patiently, with more snow around the edges. << Congratulations, my Isforaith, >> is all she says.
}}

Logs:We Don't Talk

2015-04-26T06:43:35Z

Tiriana: Created page with "{{Log |who=Tiriana, Teris, Z'yi{{!}}Isforaith, Tiriana{{!}}Iovniath |what=Weyrwoman and former assistant catch up. With bonus Isforaith cameo. |where=Hatching Galleries, High..."

{{Log
|who=Tiriana, Teris, Z'yi{{!}}Isforaith, Tiriana{{!}}Iovniath
|what=Weyrwoman and former assistant catch up. With bonus Isforaith cameo.
|where=Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Area, High Reaches Weyr
|day=13
|month=1
|turn=22
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2010.02.23
|mentions=K'del, Cyrra, B'tal
|type=Log
|log=In the first weeks of the new turn, the eggs are only just beginning to harden, the shells still damp-looking and dented, yet to firm into shape. Iovniath still hovers over them all, turning each meticulously, arranging them anew every morning, just to highlight different denizens of the clutch for the onlookers who can't stay away. And often, Tiriana is somewhere near, on the sands oiling the drying hide of her gold, or working quietly in one corner of the galleries. Today, it's the latter.

It's not terribly often that Teris visits the galleries. They're just a reminder of what she's gotten herself into, after all. But she's here today, looking worn and tired and picking out dirt from her nails as she wanders up the stairs slowly enough that she doesn't really have to watch where she's going all that much. A quick scan, however, spies the Weyrwoman and Teris hesitates like she's not sure what she ought to do now.

It's not Tiriana who notices Teris arriving, but Iovniath: the gold's eyes, half-lidded, track the familiar woman, and she must alert her rider. That, or it's just a coincidence when Tiriana stretches and straightens and looks at Teris, her mouth pulling into a frown. She hesitates a moment, uncertain herself, before she finally lifts a hand to hail her former assistant.

There's still a moment or two before Teris returns an acknowledging, greeting sort of gesture. She glances toward the gold out there on the sands, at the eggs with her, then she starts moving quietly toward where Tiriana is settled as her gaze comes back to the other woman. She doesn't sit right away but as she nears she offers, "How are you holding up?"

Her part done, Iovniath returns attention to her eggs, turning a couple more, then curling herself up against the largest among them, that bright gold one which she can't quite bring herself to leave with the others. And Tiriana, for her part, taps her pencil on her pages, watches a moment, then lifts her shoulders to shrug at Teris. "Fine, of course," she answers, shortly. "Why shouldn't I be?" A beat, and more gently, she adds, "You?"

"I didn't mean that you shouldn't be fine. I'm sure you're doing perfectly well. Just thought I'd ask," Teris says and once she gets to that comfortable conversation distance, she settles herself down carefully and lets out a little sigh. "I'm sore," she admits after a moment, looking toward the sands again rather than at Tiriana.

"Oh," says Tiriana. And she doesn't seem to know what to say to that afterward, frowning a moment longer. She twiddles the pencil a little more, then gives Teris a funny look. "You're /sore/? From those chores?" she asks, staring a little. "Faranth. What are you going to do if you impress? You need to work out more or something."

"I haven't had to work out," Teris says, almost not actually to Tiriana but just saying so with a slight emphasis on the 'had.' She considers the rest for a moment, then there's a small laugh under her breath. "You know. I don't think I've actually considered the possibility that I might. Going through the motions. I mean, I know I could. But." But her voice trails off as she leans forward just slightly to rub a hand over her calf before she ends up leaning her elbows on her knees.

"You should," is the Weyrwoman's suggestion. "Haul some firestone, go running, something like that. Don't get you soft little people. Just sitting inside, pushing papers." As she's doing now, but decidedly unenthusiastically. Finally, she just sets all that aside and leans back against the next row of gallery seats. "Do you... want to? Or is it just--why would you even do it, if it's just motions?"

"I've been messing with firestone all day," Teris almost very nearly whines that but catches it before it hits that certain pitch. "I still think I prefer that over the stables. I still have a blister," she tilts her hand where it's actually healing. It gives her a chance to think about the rest for a moment and then she shrugs. "I do want to. This all seemed easier when I was younger, though. No one can really tell me I can't now," she offers with a small, slightly satisfied grin. "Well, I suppose you could. Or K'del." But they haven't.

Tiriana rolls her eyes. "Baby," she says, with a sniff. "They'll toughen up by the hatching, at least." She twines her fingers together across her stomach, is quiet for a moment before she lifts her shoulders a faint bit. "Always figured, by the time I hit twelve, I'd be on the sands. Have Iovniath. Wasn't ever going to ask to stand, though--wasn't going to sink that low."

Teris rolls her eyes, too, but only for the first word. She doesn't, however, protest it. "I guess that means you won't give me a break on any of that then, huh." It doesn't even manage to come out as a question. She already knows the answer. "I stood once. And then-- it was just easier not to after that. But B'tal did it. It can't be that hard." Sibling love is an odd thing.

"Not one bit," is Tiriana's smirking answer to that, unnecessary though it is. "My sister did--well, half-sister, anyway. Blue." Beat. "We don't talk." She frowns again at that, then leans forward and stands. "She's itching /again/," she compains as she turns to trot down the stairs to Iovniath's side. "I'll be back."

Dragon> To Iovniath, Isforaith is sparking electricity, ZING ZING ZING. Like a dinger on a game show; he's a winner! << Mom, I GOT ONE. >> A proud image of a man in convict's clothes, overimposed by that of a white knot - and all around, Rome is burning around the 'scape, an eternal conflagration.

Dragon> It's not excitement, exactly, in the muted snowfall of Iovniath's touch, but there is a weary sort of pride nonetheless. << Very good, Isforaith, >> she tells him. << You will get him settled well, I trust? >> (Iovniath to Isforaith)

She doesn't roll her eyes again but there is a little sigh when what she figured would be said is actually said. "It would stand to reason that--" But Teris cuts herself off when Tiriana announces the gold's problem and she nods, falling silent as she watches the other woman head down the stairs to her dragon. The blonde sits back, stretching out her legs forward and tilting her head back against the seat behind her.

Dragon> To Iovniath, Isforaith would likely not tolerate snow from any other source, but from this one, it's welcomed. << Of course, >> in that rumbly indignation that is so remniscent of his lifemate; << He will do us good. Like the others! >> The.. plethora of others. Isforaith has taken this on as some sort of private crusade, and a half-fancied daydream carries across the mindlink unthinking; all of the mini Iovnejoths with riders /hand picked/ by Raith.

Dragon> To Isforaith, Iovniath indulges that vision patiently, with more snow around the edges. << Congratulations, my Isforaith, >> is all she says.
}}

Logs:Post-Rescue Relief

2015-04-26T06:39:04Z

Tiriana:

{{Log
|who=Taikrin, Tiriana
|what=After the convicts have been rescued and safely ensconced in the infirmary, Tiriana comes around to bash some heads in.
|where=Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=25
|month=1
|turn=22
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2010.02.27
|quote=Does this crap happen a lot? Faranth, you'd think a bunch of miners would know how to build a damn tunnel. It's not hard, not like they haven't been doing it hundreds of years already.
|mentions=K'del, X'en, Sh'drian
|type=Log
|icons=taikrin.jpg, tiriana.png
|log=For Tiriana, there's been lots of yelling in the aftermath of the cave-in, although at least most of it hasn't been done in the infirmary. Yelling at K'del, yelling at miners, yelling at poor random bystanders... You get the picture. Now, there's no yelling, only waiting: waiting for the handful of convict-candidates to come around. Now, Tiriana has arrived at Taikrin's bedside, and if the hurt girl's asleep, she's content to wait for her to wake up, too. And if she's already up, well.

Taikrin is awake! Well, sort of. More like dozing with her eyes cracked open, really. She's just aware enough of her surroundings that, as the sound of footsteps come near to her bed and then stop, an eye cracks open to catalogue the visitor. It's a testament to her frame of mind (and fantastic drugs) that it takes a full five seconds for realization to set in and Taikrin to pop until full awareness. She even makes an abortive jerk upright, though she only makes it an inch or two off the bed before jostling be-slinged right arm and falling back with a hiss of pain. "Uh." Taikrin's voice is still hoarse, despite all the time now free of the cavern. "Uh. Weyrwoman?"

"Shouldn't move," says Tiriana, as though Taikrin hasn't figured that out for herself by now. She herself is pulling up a chair and sprawling into it, stretching her long legs out in front of her. "That's me," she agrees with the latter then. "And--Taikrin, s'what they said?" Her brows lift as she doublechecks on that front, then blazes on ahead. "So. What happened down there?"

"Uh. Taikrin. Yeah." A swipe is taken at her bleary eyes with the non-bandaged hand, and then through her poorly-shorn hair. "Not s'pposed t'get up, yet. Healer said somethin' 'bout ribs. Uh. Ma'am." She subsides, though she doesn't look precisely comfortable with addressing Tiriana while flat on her back. "What, you mean a'fore the ceiling came down on our heads, or after? 'Cause I ain't real clear on a lot of the after."

All that unkempt hair is just eyed for a long moment, Tiriana's lip curling in distaste; but she doesn't say anything about it. Instead, "How long until they let you out again? And, any of it. All of it." That's in answer to the latter question, as Tiriana leans forward again, frowning now. "Where it went wrong, that stuff."

"I dunno, said he was gonna take another look in a coupl'a hours. Maybe t'morrow. Not gonna be swingin' a hammer fer a bit, though." Taikrin pauses, then, forehead wrinkling with the effort of rememberence. "I'm... not sure. Me an' Xeo were patchin' up part of the inner wall, an' it kept flakin' off. An' then there was a crack an' the beam came down an' then the rest of th' roof. Lots'a screamin', lots'a dust. Hard t'see anythin' for a while."

"Not any more," is Tiriana's firm answer on hammer-swinging. "At least not until after the hatching, if I have to take a shovel to the miners myself. The fuck were they thinking, sending /our/ candidates down somewhere like that.

"Not any more," is Tiriana's firm answer on hammer-swinging. "At least not until after the hatching, if I have to take a shovel to the miners myself. The fuck were they thinking, sending /our/ candidates down somewhere like that." Agitating herself up again, she stands, pacing a few steps around the bed and back. "Does this crap happen a lot? Faranth, you'd think a bunch of miners would know how to build a damn tunnel. It's not hard, not like they haven't been doing it hundreds of years already."

Taikrin draws back further against the bed as Tiriana rises, wariness vying with exhaustion on her pale features. "Well, dangerous business, mining. We figured that's why y'all had, uh, our sort doin' it. Ma'am." Her gaze follows Tiriana's progress back and forth in the way a gazelle would track a lion's. "Happens in the new tunnels, sometimes. Used t'work in the mines, when I was little. My da lost his leg in a crash like this'n." The shoulder of her good arm lifts in a shrug, fatalistically. "Happens." A pause, then: "We ain't goin' back t'diggin'? Even if we got time left?"

"Well, yeah, but that was /before/," Tiriana says, waving a hand about as though that makes that statement any clearer. "We can't go sending pieces of candidates out there, missing like all their limbs and with their skulls caved in. Iovniath won't have it, not for her eggs." And that earns a firm little nod, her mouth set as she leans against the foot of the bed and eyes Taikrin. "If you don't impress--which you won't--," she only belatedly seems to remember that notion "--you can go back. Until then... we'll work something out."

Taikrin, strangely, does not seem terribly reassured by Tiriana. "Ain't gonna lose this one," she is quick to assure the Weyrwoman as she ever so gently taps the casted-and-slinged arm with her free hand. "Healer says it'll heal up okay, in a few sevendays." Well, perhaps more than a few sevendays, but Taikrin is ever the optimist about this sort of thing. Hah. "Weren't thinkin' I was gonna, ma'am, promise, only it seemed..." Her voice trails off with a faintly sad note, and she stares vacantly into the middle distance for a beat or two before continuing on with a little shake. "Uh. How, uh, how soon is it they're supposed t'hatch, anyways? Uh, ma'am. I only got six more sevendays on me, see, so..."

"That little?" Tiriana seems surprised by that notion, head tilting slightly. "Oh. Well. It'll be... a while yet, before they do. A couple of months, spring sometime. So... maybe you'll be free by then." That's a strange thought there, and Tiriana shifts her weight and finally ends up perching on the end of the bed itself, making herself at home. "What are you going to do then? Stay here and stand anyway? Or just--run for it first chance you get. Because we're not going to stand for more criminally behavior, you know. We're not like that." Beat. "Mostly."

"Got a bed here, got food, got honest work." Taikrin lifts her shoulder again in a shrug. "Got nowhere else t'go. Figured I'd stay here. Didn't reckon it'd be so far out, though." The wariness returns full-force, though, as she adds, "If that's okay, ma'am. Ain't plannin' on doin' nothin' exciting. Had enough excitement, me, t'last a good while." There's a ghost of a smile, then, that flickers across her face for just a moment. "'Sides, don't think I'm gonna be hittin' no one fer a while.

"There is that," agrees Tiriana, though she still sounds a little skeptical about Taikrin's sincerity. Still, she slides a little more on the bed, getting comfortable but at least not sitting on the convict's feet. "Good. Then you'll stay, and stand, and then--we'll find something for you, I suppose. Really it's not like--Iovniath says, if it wasn't for her, they'd have thrown me down there, too. In the mines." It's... kind of sympathizing. Mostly just awkward, as she shrugs after this admission. And adds, quite helpfully, "You got two arms, y'know."

Taikrin's gaze lowers to her blankets, and when she speaks her voice is colored with embarrasment. "Ain't gonna be no bother," is her continued assurance. She goes quiet, though, as Tiriana mentions the mines, and as her full attention re-focuses on the Weyrwoman, it's with wide-eyed astonishment. "That ain't allowed, is it? Dragonrider, doin' mine work? S'dangerous!" Well, obviously. Perhaps she's missed the point.

"That's... why I said 'if it wasn't for her'?" Tiriana looks confused herself, peering at Taikrin. "If I hadn't impressed. I mean, Faranth. Already got myself exiled from one Weyr even with her, right? Iovniath figures I've assaulted more people than all you convicts together, but I think she's kidding there. I don't know, I've never actually counted." And now she frowns thoughtfully, eyes her hands a moment like she's going to start ticking victims off on her fingers right there.

"Oh. Y'mean... after. Uh, right." Taikrin squints, briefly, as if that would make things clearer. "You... really?" A hand swipes across her eyes again, but when it drops her expression is still dazed and confused. "Y'really... with th'fighting? I heard, but--" Apparently she thinks better of spreading rumor, because she breaks off that sentence abruptly. "I mean-- really? But yer so, uh... uh... respectable."

"But what?" That has Tiriana's interest now, her mouth quirking into a pleased smirk to hear herself talked about so. Even if it's not stuff that most people would be pleased to have said about them. "Wait, I am? I'm not respectable. Faranth." The thought seems to scandalize her, makes her nose wrinkle up so. "/Iovniath's/ respectable. I'm a bitch. Used to get in lots more fights, back growing up--my daddy's a Weyrleader, or he was, anyway. So nobody messed with me. And now... Nobody really wants to try me at all, except the Lords and Iovniath insists I can't beat them to a bloody pulp." Sad. She sulks over this, too.

"I, uh, heard..." Taikrin's reluctance is obvious, but given Tiriana's lack of apparent immediate violence, she continues. "Heard y'liked a good tussle, sometimes, maybe. Had a, uh, good cross. Uh. Ma'am." Perhaps it's the drugs, or perhaps the stress of the last day, or perhaps Taikrin has finally cracked because a crooked grin spreads, rather abruptly, across her face. "Had a real good one, me, 'till all this mess. My left ain't so good."

"It's a damn good one," Tiriana agrees, smug to the last as she folds her arms over her chest, studies her nails. "My left's the good one; I'm left-handed, and all. You should work on that, never know when you'll need to use it. Not that I'm that great with my right, either, but, you know. Could still hold my own, I think, if I have to." There's a long, frowny pause then, before she ventures, "Should try sparring with me sometime or something. Faranth knows nobody else would, except somebody who's already proven to be a criminal."

"Well, I ain't usin' my right, now, so, maybe--" Taikrin frowns down at her left fist with such intensity that it might very well contain the secrets of the world. Or, at least, secrets for how she arrived at this strange junction. "Once I'm up, that, uh, might be nice. Been a while since I got t'do an honest spar. Mostly just been quick one-twos on the guys what get ideas. Ain't no talent in that." It apparently doesn't occur to her in this state that attempting to hit the Weyrwoman might not be the brightest of ideas.

Tiriana snorts at that, conceding, "Yeah, once you hit about fifteen or sixteen, they all outgrow you, pretty much. So then you just have to sucker-punch them, which is maybe not quite so honorable but it works pretty good still. You should have seen me get K'del, this one time." And her expression is almost dreamy at that memory. Poor Weyrleader. "They let me teach a self-defense class, last group of weyrlings. That was--not as fun as it sounds, actually, because too many of them were idiots and /girls/." Bad word, that; her disgust with the weaker sex--nevermind it's her own--is evident.

"They ain't honorable, most of th'time. S'only fair." Taikrin is wise to the ways of how to beat up boys, indeed. "Never learn, neither." A quick bark of laughter meets Tiriana's reflection on the weyrling class. "Can't teach a girl nothin'. Too soft an' pretty t'get their hands dirty. Don't know how they don't go gettin' themselves carried off right an' left." Very, very gingerly she props herself up a bit against the top of the bed, her face screwing up into an only very moderate grimace, and only for a moment. "Maybe some of them girls could use it, now. Some of those guys what got put in ain't so--" Common sense does finally seem to make a grab for the reins, though only enough to interrupt that sentence before she continues a bit more judiciously, "Some of them girls could use a lesson'r two. Ain't got no idea 'bout life, them."

"Right?" It makes Tiriana huff a mildly annoyed breath out at her fellow females. "Idiots. Couldn't stand up for themselves if their life depended on it. I mean, okay, so maybe my daddy was a Weyrleader and now I have Iovniath, but that doesn't mean it's been just /easy/. And anyway, I can still handle myself, if I have to," says she of the silver spoon. And only then does she seem to remember that Taikrin is supposed to be recovering, and the Weyrwoman adds, rather solicitously of her, "You should probably sleep more. Or something. That's what the healers always say, isn't it? Sleep and drink lots of fluids and that stuff."

"S'important, bein' strong enough t'protect yerself. Most important thing." Taikrin nods sharply at this -- perhaps too sharply, given the following hitch in her breath. "Life ain't never easy." Despite herself, she slumps back against the headboard, her body betraying exhaustion that she's now loathe to give in to. "Slept like fifty hours in that cave," Taikrin mutters. Which is quite a feat, given they were only trapped for thirty one. "An' another fifty when they dosed me after we got out."

"Exactly," Tiriana agrees, quite readily with that statement. Even so, she's standing now, smoothing down the front of her shirt as she straightens. "Still, should rest. And I probably got more crap waiting on me, too--damn assistant went and got herself searched, too. Not that I actually /need/ her or anything, but." She flounders only a little, shrugging it off. "Anyway. I'll let you know, you and the rest of them, about chores instead. For when you're up and moving around again. And if the miners start giving any of you candidates--" candidates! not convicts! "--shit about going down there again, just let me know."

Taikrin allows herself to slip back down the bed, unable to stifle a jaw-cracking yawn despite her best efforts. "Guess so." There is, in fact, a healer finally making his way back down towards where Taikrin's bed is located. "Lookin', uh, lookin' forward t'bein' up again. T'chores what ain't underground. Uh." She pauses, eyes darting back and forth as she searches for words, until finally: "And, uh... thanks. Uh. Weyrwoman. I will."

Tiriana, quite pleased with herself, "Bet you are. And--of course." The last is a little bit more self-conscious, accompanied with an awkward smile like Tiriana's not quite sure how to contort her lips into that feature. But she manages, in the end, as she steps away to let the healer do his work. "See you around, then, Taikrin."

Taikrin's expression remains more than a little dazed as she calls after Tiriana, "Uh, see ya, I guess. Weyrwoman." And then the healer with his prodding hands commands all of her attention as he begins the potentially lengthy process of treating all of the convict-candidates battle wounds.
|when=Day 25, Month 1, Turn 22
|categories=
}}

Logs:Worse than a Criminal

2015-04-26T06:32:01Z

Tiriana: Created page with "{{Log |who=Brenoran, Tiriana |what=Tiriana does a good deed. Sort of! |where=Tiriana and R'uen's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |involves=High Reaches Area, High Reaches Weyr |day=19..."

{{Log
|who=Brenoran, Tiriana
|what=Tiriana does a good deed. Sort of!
|where=Tiriana and R'uen's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Area, High Reaches Weyr
|day=19
|month=1
|turn=22
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2010.02.25
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon tiriana beret.png
|desc=The Weyrwoman's weyr begins as a narrow corridor from the complex, a wooden door blocking it off from the drafts there. A side hall and another door lead to the ledge, while the weyr itself opens up at the back into a lushly appointed chamber.

A small dining area is set to one side: a well-made table and chairs with clean lines, and a cabinet that holds glasses and spirits, mostly hard liquors instead of wine. Past the dining setup, a large couch of soft gray marks the living area, flanked by more dark wood endtables and another pair of chairs, one velvety crimson and the other black leather. A white fur rug covers the stone floor in front of the granite hearth, its mantle kept clear but a fire almost always stoked up. The Weyrwoman's cluttered desk is to one side of it, well-stuffed bookcases to the other.

At the back, a separate chamber opens into sleeping quarters, dominated by an impressive four-poster bed with white sheets, deep red quilts, and a collection of dark furs for added warmth. A couple of big wardrobes hold clothes, with another dresser for assorted storage. A full-length mirror stands in one corner, near the bathing chamber marked off with a clean white curtain. It's filled with sundry bath salts and other toiletries, each in neat little jars.
|log=In the afternoon, her first convict is slated to arrive, and Tiriana waits restlessly. She's not patient at the best of times, and today is likely not even that, as she paces from the door to her dining table and back again, waiting on the guards to drag in her first victim.

Maybe she was hoping for him to be dragged in, but Brenoran walks of his own accord though he is indeed escorted by those very same guards the Weyrwoman was awaiting. A clearing of the throat of one of the guards announces their presence if the sound of footsteps on the stone might not have been enough.

When Brenoran arrives with the guards, Tiriana stills her restive behavior, stopping by the table and leaning her weight against its side, arms crossed. "You can go," she tells the guards, and they hesitate a long moment until she glowers at them. Then they go, hovering just outside the weyr, and Tiriana and Brenoran are left alone. "Well?" she begins.

Brenoran glances towards the guards and when they leave he stands up a little straighter. "Weyrwoman," he greets with a slight nod. That one word, her 'well' catches him however and after a second or two filled with a blink and a touch of confusion he turns it right back on her. "Well?" she was the one who wanted to see him after all. Not the other way around.

"Yes, well," Tiriana affirms with characteristic impatience, as though Brenoran is supposed to know exactly what she means and go from there. She clarifies, at least, in the next beat, "Well. What do you have to say for yourself now?"

"Well.." Brenoran starts again, attempting to figure out where to go next with the conversation in that short space before things are explained. Or perhaps not so much explained but somewhat elaborated upon. "Dunno Ah got anythin' Ma'am," he replies.

A huff of breath, and Tiriana slides further up on her table, letting her legs swing idly. "Have a seat," she suggests, with a jerk of her head toward the one at the end of the table. A pitcher of water, glasses, and a plate of snacks are set up there. "Nothing? Nothing at all? Not 'oh, yes, Weyrwoman, I'm so thrilled for this chance and I won't let you down'? Or maybe 'I'd rather die smushed underground than have one of your flying beasts inside my skull'?"

A glance towards the seat suggested and after a brief pause Brenoran moves to it, sliding down into the chair. The snacks and glasses are noted, but not reached for. Not yet anyway. Who knows what's in there given her. "'Pose all that'd work, but no, ain't really got nothin' ta say. Ain't my choice Ah impress or what. Figure its a chance fer meh ta get somewhere, so if ya an' the weyr think Ah'm worth it, well Ah'll work hard. 'Preciate the chance."

"Not us that you have to impress--well, not really," says Tiriana, with a more reasonable shrug. "Already caught some dragon's eye; just got to catch a hatchling's and--we'll go from there." That earns a frown, thoughtful though it is; and then she says, "You're the one with the sister."

Brenoran raises a brow at all that, but for the time he keeps any words he might have to himself. Safer that way generally. "Like ya said Ma'am, we'll go from there." That's his theory on it all at any rate. Work hard, do his best, and hopefully it'll take him somewhere other than the mines. That last statement causes him pause however, but after a moment he nods only once. "Yes 'm Ah gotta sister."

After a moment of perching there on the table, Tiriana straightens again and seats herself like a normal person, opposite Brenoran. The water and the snacks are both pushed toward him, albeit with relatively little real interest. "And where is she now?"

Brenoran watches in relative silence, but as that question is asked he shakes his head. A look down towards his lap as if that might give some insight. "Dunno. Ain't heard nothin'. Got caught," she knows that part at least, "An'..." Shrug. A touch of indifference on the surface perhaps, but what's really there in his manner is failure at taking care of the girl.

"I see," with a level look at Brenoran again. Tiriana's fingers tap on the table a moment, thinking; then, "And it never occurred to you to go looking?"

"Ain't had much of a chance," Brenoran replies. "Asked bout 'er, but..." There wasn't so much he could do. At least not without causing more problems for the both of them if he were able to track her down.

"But you what. Figured that was good enough?" The Weyrwoman's tone turns skeptical, and she leans back in her chair, even tipping it up on two legs. "You asked; that's all you could do. Or you figured somebody'd pick her up, and do Faranth knows what with her, but hey, at least you're free--of her, anyway. Because I can't say I'd ever leave /my/ sister on her own, and then have the nerve to just shrug and claim, 'I don't have anything to say for myself.'"

Brenoran shakes his head, "No." That's not what he meant. But how to say what he means is coming to him. He's not one who's so much for words after all. "Ah ain't happy bout it," he retorts, a flare of anger touching his voice. "But wasn't nothin' Ah could do stuck in the mines."

"I don't buy it," Tiriana answers, just a little smug. "There's ways, still. Letters and friends and all those sorts. And hell, don't you criminal types always have underground connections? The sort of people who can make stuff happen?" She cocks her head, eyes Brenoran up and down one more time. "And it's not like you're stuck down there anymore, anyway. What's your excuse /now/?"

Brenoran swallows somewhat hard at that. A flare of nostrals at the mention of criminal types. "Ah ain't a criminal." Really, one slip up does not a criminal make. At least in his mind. "Have ta have someone ta write to," problem one with that situation, and problem two, "An' now well... dunno where ta start even. Not like Ah can get outta her so easy anyway." Winter is not the easiest season for travel, and apparently he hasn't though of requesting help from a rider.

"Please," scoffs Tiriana. "If nothing else, there's harpers. They all know each other, and if anybody's seen some random kid, it'd be one of them. And you're in a whole Weyr full of riders, too, so you're going to have to try harder if you want an excuse to hold water. --Are you actually going to eat anything or was that just a wasted gesture?" She nods toward the food laid out before him.

"Ah..." Brenoran starts, trying to find words to fix the hole he's fallen into. "Ain't tryin' ta make excuses fer no one, least me."

But Tiriana's on a roll now, and breezes right past Brenoran's attempted explanation. "Well, duh. There are no excuses. Either you're out there looking for your baby sister, or you're a--well. Worse than just a criminal, I figure," she says.

Brenoran frowns, his gaze flicking from Tiriana down to his fidgeting hands. "Ah.. Ah hate ta ask it of ya," he starts, looking back up to address the Weyrwoman as seriously as he can. "But.. Ah would like ta look for 'er, if ya'd be willin' ta lend a hand..?" Maybe? Hopefully?

And that, it would seem, is the right answer, as Tiriana's mouth curves into a slow, oh-so-smug smirk. "Guards," she hails them, waiting as they are just outside; they come running, as though they expect one of the pair to be bleeding out or something. "Brenoran," and the Weyrwoman gestures broadly to the candidate, "is going to talk to the harpers. Now. --And for Faranth's sake, take this too. Do you /want/ me to get fat or something?" And the plate of snacks is shoved rather desperately at said convict.

Brenoran blinks first as the guards are called for. "Oh, um... thank ya," he says, turning back to Tiriana, all seriousness in his voice. "Ma'am," he nods as he finds his feet. "Thank you." Again. A hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his lips. "An' um... no," he shakes his head. Safe answer there and he reaches for the tray, set to take it with him even if he'll not be the one to eat it. At least he can get it out of her way.

With her treats shoved off on the convict and his guards, Tiriana steps back and looks quite pleased with herself. "Good," she tells him. "Now go. And--keep me updated, of course. I'm watching you convicts, you know." And she tries to look stern, but it's hard even for her to be that and quite so self-satisfied, too. Good deed for the week, done!

Brenoran nods again by way of acknowledgement of her words. "Yes Ma'am," he replies. "Be sure ta let ya know," he assures, another "Thank ya Ma'am," added before he turns towards the door to be escorted out and off to speak with the harpers. And look, they both managed to remain civil through the whole conversation this time.
|Categories=General Logs
}}

Logs:Beautiful Naked Eyes

2015-04-26T06:12:46Z

Tiriana: sob i am failtiriana

{{Log
|who=G'stav, Saliqa, Tiriana
|what=Gustav and Saliqa face off. Tiriana judges.
|where=Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=3
|month=2
|turn=22
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2010.03.01
|mentions=R'uen
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon tiriana making face.png,
|log=Sometimes, Iovniath has to leave the sands. Sometimes, but not happily, and not for long, as evidenced by the quick roll in the lakewater that seems to constitute her bath today, a rarity for the normally fastidious gold. "Come on, go to the baths and let me give you a real one already," whines Tiriana from the shore. "That's not cutting it. I see gristle in your teeth still!" Which prompts Iovniath to take a little more time with her efforts, bathing herself as best she can. But still not wasting time letting Tiriana do it.

It's getting later in the day, so he's probably done doing all of those annoying chores and work that the weyr has candidate's doing. Gustav strolls along the bank of the lake, bundled up and hat pulled down tightly over his head. The sight of one gold rolling around in the lake is certainly enough to catch his attention and he lifts his chin, directing his gaze that way even as he continues walking on towards Tiriana. "Evening, Weyrwoman!" He calls out cheerfully, pulling one hand out of his pocket and waving enthusiastically at her.

The voice hailing her is ignored for a moment, Tiriana more interested in glowering at her dragon; but then she has to look around, eye Gustav, wave to him, turn back--then realize just who it is. "Oh, Faranth. Of /course/ they searched him," she grumbles, before turning back to look at him again and call a louder greeting. "What do you want?"

"Me?" Gustav puts his hand to his chest. "I just wanted to wish you a wonderful evening. See how you were!" A slow grin starts to work it's way up his face. The next, "How your more dangerous than a convict pumped with booze weyrmate was." He doesn't comment on that other thing about searching, even as he looks past her to Iovniath in the lake. "Am I interrupting a precious moment?"

"My... weyrmate? R'uen?" Tiriana sounds very confused about this, even scratching her head over it (and then adjusting her hot pink toboggan when she messes it up). "He's not dangerous. At all. /I'm/ the dangerous one, you know." The very fact he doesn't seem to realize this earns a narrowing of her eyes, and she crosses her arms. "Interrupting? ... No." Her inability to lie betrays her. "She's just being--" A hand waves at Iovniath, who is unconcerned, and doing quite well on her own, really, heedless of the freezing water she's broken the ice all around to get to.

"He's not dangerous? Excellent! Good to know for my future ventures in wooing you." One hand comes up and he tick-tocks it back and forth. "You never said anything about you being a threat to my life if I recall. The last time I saw you and we had a lovely conversation at that cute little table in the Snowasis, you said that you'd get your /weyrmate/ to kick my ass." Just then he frowns, looking uncertain. "Though, you may have threatened to hurt me too." The hand waving breaks his line of pseudo-flattery-hitting-on, "Anxious? To return to the sands?"

"Oh, I'll hurt you," Tiriana drawls to that, smirking as Gustav's uncertainty sets in. "R'uen? He knows he doesn't have to, because if you piss me off enough to get him involved, you'll already be dead." A firm nod backs up that statement. She's loitering on the lake, taking a break from yelling at Iovniath, bathing in the icy water, to instead face down Gustav, with a flat look for all his flattery.

"Oh, I expect that you will. I also expect that I'm going to like it when it happens." Gustav settles a pair of expressive brown eyes on her and lifts his 'brows. Suggestively. She may have just implied that she was going to kill him dead, but he's him and seems to be in no way worried about his impending doom at this moment. He shoves his hands into his pockets and gives the area around them a good look around, "You should get a drink with me."

And what a nice note to walk into; because that's what Saliqa does, all bundled up to avert the wintry weather, with a colorful silken scarf she hasn't displayed before. It's not a need to show off this new fashion that compels her, though. Probably. She picks her way through the building snow and towards the lake with a purposefulness that allows her to get rather close to the conversing two before she notices them -- and notices that dragon. Purpose comes up short, as do her paces. Hearing that last of Gustav's, one can only wonder if she's about to become witness to something.

Tiriana, snorting, "Not as much as I will." It's a cheerful thought, or so says her grin at it--though it freezes at his latter suggestion. "I should /what/? What the hell. /Why/ the hell would you ever think I would be interested in havign a drink with you?" Saliqa, for the moment, is not noticed; Tiriana's too busy staring aghast at Gustav.

"Hey, your enjoyment is more important to me than my own. After all, I'm merely a man. And as everyone with even a smidgen of common sense knows, men live to serve women. That's where we derive our primary satisfaction." By the way, I have a bridge to sell. "What's there not to be interested in? I'm taller than you. I have a nice shoulders, good direct eye contact. I don't smell, I know how to shave. I can add two and two. Really, what's /not/ to love about me?" Oh, is that sound of muffled feet in snow? He must have decent hearing because it's enough for him to turn his head in Saliqa's direction. While not someone he knows personally, her face is at least familiar. "Hello!"

Initially ignored, Saliqa was able to absorb some of the words carrying over to her, but, called out to, she is forced to quickly push away her more candid expression for friendliness. His face is also vaguely familiar and she takes this as enough invitation to properly close the distance between them-- all the better to talk without shouting. "Hello, then! Sir, ma'am Weyrwoman." A bob in each of their directions, though the gaze lingers on Tiriana with the wariness of one waiting for a reaction.

"Well. That's true," Tiriana has a hard time arguing with the purpose of men as Gustav explains it. "Kid, if the best thing you have to say for yourself is you're taller than me and you can shave--well. That's true of a fair portion of the men here. Including /my/ R'uen." Pointed look. And then, Saliqa arrives to join them, and Tiriana slides a glance her way before nodding by way of greeting. "Hey," she says.

"I didn't think I had to point out all the other things. They should be obvious to your beautiful naked eye." Gustav waves his hand in the direction of his face. Hello, look at me. But he's distracted from being utterly shameless by Saliqa's greetings and closing of distance. "Miss, I guess. I've seen you around before." The previously gesturing limb is used again, this time to point in the direction of the main weyr. "You know, doing chores and other types of things."

"Beautiful naked eye?" Saliqa can't help but echo in complete disbelief, her investigation diverted from Tiriana to now study Gustav's own seriousness saying that. At the admission of familiarity, though, she daintily holds out fingers to him. "It's Saliqa. Indeed, we've seen each other. And I hope it's not rude of me to interrupt. Or to interject," not that this will stop her from plowing forward, "But I believe a man proves himself by doing what he says, and not the other way around."

Tiriana rolls said beautiful eyes. "And they're the only thing that's going to be going naked anywhere around you," she tells him dryly. But it's hard to get mad at something that clueless, and so she just shakes her head and turns to Saliqa. With a gesture to the man, she says, "Do something with him." Which apparently the Cromite's statements qualify as, to judge by Tiriana's smug, "Yeah!"

If there was ever a person who didn't need an opportunity to be more dramatic, it's this one. Between one quick look from Saliqa to Tiriana he turns and drops down to his knees in front of the other candidate. Taking up the kneeling stance of someone begging, "Please do something with me? Teach me the ways of proving myself worthy?" His big brown eyes are practically pleading with her. If he could produce tears at this moment, he probably would. Fortunately for everyone else he's not /that/ skilled. Otherwise it would be most difficult to tell if he's really being serious or not.

The display elicits a short squeak from Saliqa as she jumps to turn and face this odd behavior, her hands grasping in the air tentatively before they begin to trail to her waist. Confusion turns to skepticism with a little twitch of one eyebrow. "N-Now what are you doing? Don't do that, get up." Her commanding tone is tainted with an edge of whine. "I think you're being silly, and, if you're not, this is the wrong way to start." A glance at the Weyrwoman. For... help? Approval?

"He's all yours," says Tiriana, quite smug now that she's pushed her harasser off on a poor innocent bystander. "Faranth knows the rest of us are tired of him. Besides, you're a lady, aren't you? If you can't fix him, Faranth knows none of the louts around /here/ can. Right?"

"You're a /lady/?" Ding ding ding. We have a winner. "I'm coming to you, my lady! For advice and guidence to turn myself into a better man! So that I can woo the beautiful Weyrwoman Tiriana away from her not-so-frightening weyrmate!" So he's not entirely distracted, just redirected. At the wrong way to start his eyes go big and wide, hurt almost. "It is?" He asks in quiet, tremulous voice as he gets to his feet in a most unsteady fashion, head hanging low.

Saliqa mouthes the word 'mine' to Tiriana with wide-eyed incredulity and an added question mark to give it that flare of how baffled she is. Then, voice and gaze lowering confidentially, she leans towards the other woman, "'Fix him' is not a very nice way to say it..." Though it may be accurate, she's deciding, by the way Gustav goes on and then staggers to his feet. After a couple of seconds, the thus burdened lady adopts a look of determination as those hands at her waist turn into fists propped against it. "In the /first place/," she declares, "a 'better man' doesn't aim to court a taken woman!"

Iovniath has emerged from her bath to glide her way back to the sands, leaving their heat to dry her; her rider hardly notices now. She's too busy dusting snow off a rock-top so she can perch there and cross her legs, watching the pair of candidates. "That would be a start," she drawls to Gustav, with a Look. "If you're really so great, maybe you should shut your mouth and let all those great attributes do your talking for you. /R'uen/ doesn't have to go bragging about all the time hoping some girl will talk to him, and he still got /me/." As though she's the best prize ever.

"R'uen? Is that what his name was?" Gustav asks as he turns to cast a look over his shoulder at Tiriana. There's something about the quirk of his smile, just a hint of the next question to come. "Why haven't we ever seen him? Where is he? This mystery man?" When he turns back to Saliqa it's with a conspirator's wink that he flashes her. One that hopefully the goldrider won't be able to see before he continues lamenting at the poor, possibly confused? candidate. "But! What if I want to court a woman and I think she's just /pretending/ to be taken? Shouldn't she at least give me a chance before she makes up an excuse, shouldn't there be some decorum regarding this? Tell me, my lady."

Saliqa notices the movement of the gold, sort of. Rather more like, she /wants/ to but the constant banter of the other two is still holding her focus. She stands there, still posed importantly, like a tiny judge as gaze shoots between woman and man. Catching that wink only sours her previously indecisive expresion; Gustav seems to have similarly condemned himself to the Cromite's disapproving look now, too. "It's rude to lie," she allows, but then, "But it's worse to imply a lady is lying, just for game. And if she's not giving you a chance, sir flirt, entertain the possibility that you're doing something wrong."

"She's winning," says the de facto judge of this debate. Tiriana even points at Saliqa, just in case Gustav is too dumb to figure out just who she could mean. Apparently Tiriana thinks so. "You're going to have to up your game; she's smarter than you. And right, but really, she only has to be /one/ of those to win."

Even a man like Gustav can have these moments where common sense and sanity are allowed to check him. But don't get used to this. "You do have your points. It's /not/ right to claim someone is lying just to get a rise out of them. I'll apologize immediately, my lady." Really, don't get used to it. Turning away from Saliqa he approaches Tiriana on her boulder-pedestel. "Ma'am. I apologize for trying to shamelessly pick you up for sinful, sexy reasons. I apologize for implying that R'uen wasn't a real person. I hope in your heart of hearts that some day you can forgive me."

Maybe Saliqa was feeling empowered by Tiriana's comments, or maybe she was expecting more of a fight; either way, she blinks rapidly in surprise as Gustav takes off to go do just... well, whatever he's doing. She keeps in her spot to watch what happens, lips only jutting out unhappily but silently at the description of his 'reasons'. Oh, and to mutter, "At least he used 'ma'am'..."

Tiriana's brows lift up at Gustav's approach, and she straightens a little more, very queenly as she looks down (well, up literally, but you know what I mean) on Gustav. "Sinful, sexy reasons," she repeats, and tries very very hard to look superior and lofty. But there's the hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth all the same. "Maybe, someday. As long as you don't ever let it happen again, understand me?"

"Oh, /thank you/, Weyrwoman. I'll never do anything like this to you again." He clasps his hands together in joy at her benevolence towards him. He turns then to Saliqa to beam proudly at her. "Was that good, my ladyship? Can you help guide me through this candidacy? To make long lasting friendships and to stop the convicts from threatening to kill me?"

Saliqa's arms slip from her waist to cross her chest in self-satisfaction at the interaction. However, as soon as the attention's on her again, she momentarily regrets that decision. Instead, her weight shifts dramatically to one side to keep up the haughty attitude in one way or the other. "If you meant it..." She ventures warily, fixing Gustav with a studying look exaggerated by the way she bites her cheeks to prevent an impromptu answer. "It'd be mean of me to turn down a request for help... so, of course." A hand pops up, wagging a strict finger, "But the moment I think you're not taken me seriously enough, you're out!" Sniff. "And I'm not afraid to stomp on your toes."

"Good!" And Tiriana has hit upon her solution then; her hands clap together as she stands. "Then you'll be in charge of him, and making sure he behaves like a normal human being. I'll hold you responsible if we have any more... incidents." Maybe she's serious, maybe not; but she's smirking now and turning to head toward the weyrs across the bowl, leaving the two of them to deal with each other. But, a step later, she pauses and looks back, eyes Gustav again. "Though," she tells not him but Saliqa, "if he /did/ mysteriously end up in the tunnels as somebody's bitch... Well." And she beams at the man, then turns to saunter her way on off.

"Yes my ladyship, ma'am, lady." Gustav swears, holding his hand to his chest. "I hearby swear that I will follow the... I have no idea what your name is." This stops him dead and he blinks at Saliqa, confused for a moment. "I'm usually very good picking up names." When Tiriana is making comments about turning him into a bitch he turns around to make a witty retort of some sort, but seems to think better of it this time. Admitting outloud, "That's enough for tonight, probably."

Off to a good start. Saliqa's eyes make a bid for the sky briefly before she replies, "It's Saliqa, sir. You were a bit too busy being sinful to hear it, I suppose. Or give me yours." She shuffles once or twice, unsure of what she's gotten herself into, but Tiriana's parting comment does get a round 'o' of reaction. "/That/'s not right to joke about." Even if Tiriana may not have been joking. Then the girl side-steps to really consider Gustav: the new charge. Well... "Let's be first frank with each other, now that we're alone-- do you do that on purpose, to her?"

"Gustav, ma'am." Since they're going to keep up this titles thing for awhile it would seem. He quite properly holds his hand out to her, prepared to give what looks like a real greeting. "No, it's not. But someone like her doesn't really think twice about saying awful, crude things to another person. Does she?" He asks with a questioning raise of his eyebrows. As she's side-stepping he turns appropriately to face her, "Being franked? I do. I do it to anyone that I'm not particularly fond of. Have you noticed that everyone here is very angry?"

"I thought so," is Tiriana's gloating over-the-shoulder reply to Gustav, as she takes her leave of them.
}}

Logs:Beautiful Naked Eyes

2015-04-26T06:10:54Z

Tiriana:

{{Log
|who=G'stav, Saliqa, Tiriana
|what=Gustav and Saliqa face off. Tiriana judges.
|where=Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=3
|month=2
|turn=22
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.04.25
|mentions=R'uen
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon tiriana making face.png,
|log=Sometimes, Iovniath has to leave the sands. Sometimes, but not happily, and not for long, as evidenced by the quick roll in the lakewater that seems to constitute her bath today, a rarity for the normally fastidious gold. "Come on, go to the baths and let me give you a real one already," whines Tiriana from the shore. "That's not cutting it. I see gristle in your teeth still!" Which prompts Iovniath to take a little more time with her efforts, bathing herself as best she can. But still not wasting time letting Tiriana do it.

It's getting later in the day, so he's probably done doing all of those annoying chores and work that the weyr has candidate's doing. Gustav strolls along the bank of the lake, bundled up and hat pulled down tightly over his head. The sight of one gold rolling around in the lake is certainly enough to catch his attention and he lifts his chin, directing his gaze that way even as he continues walking on towards Tiriana. "Evening, Weyrwoman!" He calls out cheerfully, pulling one hand out of his pocket and waving enthusiastically at her.

The voice hailing her is ignored for a moment, Tiriana more interested in glowering at her dragon; but then she has to look around, eye Gustav, wave to him, turn back--then realize just who it is. "Oh, Faranth. Of /course/ they searched him," she grumbles, before turning back to look at him again and call a louder greeting. "What do you want?"

"Me?" Gustav puts his hand to his chest. "I just wanted to wish you a wonderful evening. See how you were!" A slow grin starts to work it's way up his face. The next, "How your more dangerous than a convict pumped with booze weyrmate was." He doesn't comment on that other thing about searching, even as he looks past her to Iovniath in the lake. "Am I interrupting a precious moment?"

"My... weyrmate? R'uen?" Tiriana sounds very confused about this, even scratching her head over it (and then adjusting her hot pink toboggan when she messes it up). "He's not dangerous. At all. /I'm/ the dangerous one, you know." The very fact he doesn't seem to realize this earns a narrowing of her eyes, and she crosses her arms. "Interrupting? ... No." Her inability to lie betrays her. "She's just being--" A hand waves at Iovniath, who is unconcerned, and doing quite well on her own, really, heedless of the freezing water she's broken the ice all around to get to.

"He's not dangerous? Excellent! Good to know for my future ventures in wooing you." One hand comes up and he tick-tocks it back and forth. "You never said anything about you being a threat to my life if I recall. The last time I saw you and we had a lovely conversation at that cute little table in the Snowasis, you said that you'd get your /weyrmate/ to kick my ass." Just then he frowns, looking uncertain. "Though, you may have threatened to hurt me too." The hand waving breaks his line of pseudo-flattery-hitting-on, "Anxious? To return to the sands?"

"Oh, I'll hurt you," Tiriana drawls to that, smirking as Gustav's uncertainty sets in. "R'uen? He knows he doesn't have to, because if you piss me off enough to get him involved, you'll already be dead." A firm nod backs up that statement. She's loitering on the lake, taking a break from yelling at Iovniath, bathing in the icy water, to instead face down Gustav, with a flat look for all his flattery.

"Oh, I expect that you will. I also expect that I'm going to like it when it happens." Gustav settles a pair of expressive brown eyes on her and lifts his 'brows. Suggestively. She may have just implied that she was going to kill him dead, but he's him and seems to be in no way worried about his impending doom at this moment. He shoves his hands into his pockets and gives the area around them a good look around, "You should get a drink with me."

And what a nice note to walk into; because that's what Saliqa does, all bundled up to avert the wintry weather, with a colorful silken scarf she hasn't displayed before. It's not a need to show off this new fashion that compels her, though. Probably. She picks her way through the building snow and towards the lake with a purposefulness that allows her to get rather close to the conversing two before she notices them -- and notices that dragon. Purpose comes up short, as do her paces. Hearing that last of Gustav's, one can only wonder if she's about to become witness to something.

Tiriana, snorting, "Not as much as I will." It's a cheerful thought, or so says her grin at it--though it freezes at his latter suggestion. "I should /what/? What the hell. /Why/ the hell would you ever think I would be interested in havign a drink with you?" Saliqa, for the moment, is not noticed; Tiriana's too busy staring aghast at Gustav.

"Hey, your enjoyment is more important to me than my own. After all, I'm merely a man. And as everyone with even a smidgen of common sense knows, men live to serve women. That's where we derive our primary satisfaction." By the way, I have a bridge to sell. "What's there not to be interested in? I'm taller than you. I have a nice shoulders, good direct eye contact. I don't smell, I know how to shave. I can add two and two. Really, what's /not/ to love about me?" Oh, is that sound of muffled feet in snow? He must have decent hearing because it's enough for him to turn his head in Saliqa's direction. While not someone he knows personally, her face is at least familiar. "Hello!"

Initially ignored, Saliqa was able to absorb some of the words carrying over to her, but, called out to, she is forced to quickly push away her more candid expression for friendliness. His face is also vaguely familiar and she takes this as enough invitation to properly close the distance between them-- all the better to talk without shouting. "Hello, then! Sir, ma'am Weyrwoman." A bob in each of their directions, though the gaze lingers on Tiriana with the wariness of one waiting for a reaction.

"Well. That's true," Tiriana has a hard time arguing with the purpose of men as Gustav explains it. "Kid, if the best thing you have to say for yourself is you're taller than me and you can shave--well. That's true of a fair portion of the men here. Including /my/ R'uen." Pointed look. And then, Saliqa arrives to join them, and Tiriana slides a glance her way before nodding by way of greeting. "Hey," she says.

"I didn't think I had to point out all the other things. They should be obvious to your beautiful naked eye." Gustav waves his hand in the direction of his face. Hello, look at me. But he's distracted from being utterly shameless by Saliqa's greetings and closing of distance. "Miss, I guess. I've seen you around before." The previously gesturing limb is used again, this time to point in the direction of the main weyr. "You know, doing chores and other types of things."

"Beautiful naked eye?" Saliqa can't help but echo in complete disbelief, her investigation diverted from Tiriana to now study Gustav's own seriousness saying that. At the admission of familiarity, though, she daintily holds out fingers to him. "It's Saliqa. Indeed, we've seen each other. And I hope it's not rude of me to interrupt. Or to interject," not that this will stop her from plowing forward, "But I believe a man proves himself by doing what he says, and not the other way around."

Tiriana rolls said beautiful eyes. "And they're the only thing that's going to be going naked anywhere around you," she tells him dryly. But it's hard to get mad at something that clueless, and so she just shakes her head and turns to Saliqa. With a gesture to the man, she says, "Do something with him." Which apparently the Cromite's statements qualify as, to judge by Tiriana's smug, "Yeah!"

If there was ever a person who didn't need an opportunity to be more dramatic, it's this one. Between one quick look from Saliqa to Tiriana he turns and drops down to his knees in front of the other candidate. Taking up the kneeling stance of someone begging, "Please do something with me? Teach me the ways of proving myself worthy?" His big brown eyes are practically pleading with her. If he could produce tears at this moment, he probably would. Fortunately for everyone else he's not /that/ skilled. Otherwise it would be most difficult to tell if he's really being serious or not.

The display elicits a short squeak from Saliqa as she jumps to turn and face this odd behavior, her hands grasping in the air tentatively before they begin to trail to her waist. Confusion turns to skepticism with a little twitch of one eyebrow. "N-Now what are you doing? Don't do that, get up." Her commanding tone is tainted with an edge of whine. "I think you're being silly, and, if you're not, this is the wrong way to start." A glance at the Weyrwoman. For... help? Approval?

"He's all yours," says Tiriana, quite smug now that she's pushed her harasser off on a poor innocent bystander. "Faranth knows the rest of us are tired of him. Besides, you're a lady, aren't you? If you can't fix him, Faranth knows none of the louts around /here/ can. Right?"

"You're a /lady/?" Ding ding ding. We have a winner. "I'm coming to you, my lady! For advice and guidence to turn myself into a better man! So that I can woo the beautiful Weyrwoman Tiriana away from her not-so-frightening weyrmate!" So he's not entirely distracted, just redirected. At the wrong way to start his eyes go big and wide, hurt almost. "It is?" He asks in quiet, tremulous voice as he gets to his feet in a most unsteady fashion, head hanging low.

Saliqa mouthes the word 'mine' to Tiriana with wide-eyed incredulity and an added question mark to give it that flare of how baffled she is. Then, voice and gaze lowering confidentially, she leans towards the other woman, "'Fix him' is not a very nice way to say it..." Though it may be accurate, she's deciding, by the way Gustav goes on and then staggers to his feet. After a couple of seconds, the thus burdened lady adopts a look of determination as those hands at her waist turn into fists propped against it. "In the /first place/," she declares, "a 'better man' doesn't aim to court a taken woman!"

Iovniath has emerged from her bath to glide her way back to the sands, leaving their heat to dry her; her rider hardly notices now. She's too busy dusting snow off a rock-top so she can perch there and cross her legs, watching the pair of candidates. "That would be a start," she drawls to Gustav, with a Look. "If you're really so great, maybe you should shut your mouth and let all those great attributes do your talking for you. /R'uen/ doesn't have to go bragging about all the time hoping some girl will talk to him, and he still got /me/." As though she's the best prize ever.

"R'uen? Is that what his name was?" Gustav asks as he turns to cast a look over his shoulder at Tiriana. There's something about the quirk of his smile, just a hint of the next question to come. "Why haven't we ever seen him? Where is he? This mystery man?" When he turns back to Saliqa it's with a conspirator's wink that he flashes her. One that hopefully the goldrider won't be able to see before he continues lamenting at the poor, possibly confused? candidate. "But! What if I want to court a woman and I think she's just /pretending/ to be taken? Shouldn't she at least give me a chance before she makes up an excuse, shouldn't there be some decorum regarding this? Tell me, my lady."

Saliqa notices the movement of the gold, sort of. Rather more like, she /wants/ to but the constant banter of the other two is still holding her focus. She stands there, still posed importantly, like a tiny judge as gaze shoots between woman and man. Catching that wink only sours her previously indecisive expresion; Gustav seems to have similarly condemned himself to the Cromite's disapproving look now, too. "It's rude to lie," she allows, but then, "But it's worse to imply a lady is lying, just for game. And if she's not giving you a chance, sir flirt, entertain the possibility that you're doing something wrong."

"She's winning," says the de facto judge of this debate. Tiriana even points at Saliqa, just in case Gustav is too dumb to figure out just who she could mean. Apparently Tiriana thinks so. "You're going to have to up your game; she's smarter than you. And right, but really, she only has to be /one/ of those to win."

Even a man like Gustav can have these moments where common sense and sanity are allowed to check him. But don't get used to this. "You do have your points. It's /not/ right to claim someone is lying just to get a rise out of them. I'll apologize immediately, my lady." Really, don't get used to it. Turning away from Saliqa he approaches Tiriana on her boulder-pedestel. "Ma'am. I apologize for trying to shamelessly pick you up for sinful, sexy reasons. I apologize for implying that R'uen wasn't a real person. I hope in your heart of hearts that some day you can forgive me."

Maybe Saliqa was feeling empowered by Tiriana's comments, or maybe she was expecting more of a fight; either way, she blinks rapidly in surprise as Gustav takes off to go do just... well, whatever he's doing. She keeps in her spot to watch what happens, lips only jutting out unhappily but silently at the description of his 'reasons'. Oh, and to mutter, "At least he used 'ma'am'..."

Tiriana's brows lift up at Gustav's approach, and she straightens a little more, very queenly as she looks down (well, up literally, but you know what I mean) on Gustav. "Sinful, sexy reasons," she repeats, and tries very very hard to look superior and lofty. But there's the hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth all the same. "Maybe, someday. As long as you don't ever let it happen again, understand me?"

"Oh, /thank you/, Weyrwoman. I'll never do anything like this to you again." He clasps his hands together in joy at her benevolence towards him. He turns then to Saliqa to beam proudly at her. "Was that good, my ladyship? Can you help guide me through this candidacy? To make long lasting friendships and to stop the convicts from threatening to kill me?"

Saliqa's arms slip from her waist to cross her chest in self-satisfaction at the interaction. However, as soon as the attention's on her again, she momentarily regrets that decision. Instead, her weight shifts dramatically to one side to keep up the haughty attitude in one way or the other. "If you meant it..." She ventures warily, fixing Gustav with a studying look exaggerated by the way she bites her cheeks to prevent an impromptu answer. "It'd be mean of me to turn down a request for help... so, of course." A hand pops up, wagging a strict finger, "But the moment I think you're not taken me seriously enough, you're out!" Sniff. "And I'm not afraid to stomp on your toes."

"Good!" And Tiriana has hit upon her solution then; her hands clap together as she stands. "Then you'll be in charge of him, and making sure he behaves like a normal human being. I'll hold you responsible if we have any more... incidents." Maybe she's serious, maybe not; but she's smirking now and turning to head toward the weyrs across the bowl, leaving the two of them to deal with each other. But, a step later, she pauses and looks back, eyes Gustav again. "Though," she tells not him but Saliqa, "if he /did/ mysteriously end up in the tunnels as somebody's bitch... Well." And she beams at the man, then turns to saunter her way on off.

"Yes my ladyship, ma'am, lady." Gustav swears, holding his hand to his chest. "I hearby swear that I will follow the... I have no idea what your name is." This stops him dead and he blinks at Saliqa, confused for a moment. "I'm usually very good picking up names." When Tiriana is making comments about turning him into a bitch he turns around to make a witty retort of some sort, but seems to think better of it this time. Admitting outloud, "That's enough for tonight, probably."

Off to a good start. Saliqa's eyes make a bid for the sky briefly before she replies, "It's Saliqa, sir. You were a bit too busy being sinful to hear it, I suppose. Or give me yours." She shuffles once or twice, unsure of what she's gotten herself into, but Tiriana's parting comment does get a round 'o' of reaction. "/That/'s not right to joke about." Even if Tiriana may not have been joking. Then the girl side-steps to really consider Gustav: the new charge. Well... "Let's be first frank with each other, now that we're alone-- do you do that on purpose, to her?"

"Gustav, ma'am." Since they're going to keep up this titles thing for awhile it would seem. He quite properly holds his hand out to her, prepared to give what looks like a real greeting. "No, it's not. But someone like her doesn't really think twice about saying awful, crude things to another person. Does she?" He asks with a questioning raise of his eyebrows. As she's side-stepping he turns appropriately to face her, "Being franked? I do. I do it to anyone that I'm not particularly fond of. Have you noticed that everyone here is very angry?"

"I thought so," is Tiriana's gloating over-the-shoulder reply to Gustav, as she takes her leave of them.
}}

Logs:Beautiful Naked Eyes

2015-04-26T06:05:35Z

Tiriana: Created page with "{{Log |who=G'stav, Saliqa, Tiriana |what=Gustav and Saliqa face off. Tiriana judges. |where=Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |involves=High Reaches Weyr |day=3 |month=2 |turn=22..."

{{Log
|who=G'stav, Saliqa, Tiriana
|what=Gustav and Saliqa face off. Tiriana judges.
|where=Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=3
|month=2
|turn=22
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.04.25
|mentions=R'uen
|type=Log
|log=Sometimes, Iovniath has to leave the sands. Sometimes, but not happily, and not for long, as evidenced by the quick roll in the lakewater that seems to constitute her bath today, a rarity for the normally fastidious gold. "Come on, go to the baths and let me give you a real one already," whines Tiriana from the shore. "That's not cutting it. I see gristle in your teeth still!" Which prompts Iovniath to take a little more time with her efforts, bathing herself as best she can. But still not wasting time letting Tiriana do it.

It's getting later in the day, so he's probably done doing all of those annoying chores and work that the weyr has candidate's doing. Gustav strolls along the bank of the lake, bundled up and hat pulled down tightly over his head. The sight of one gold rolling around in the lake is certainly enough to catch his attention and he lifts his chin, directing his gaze that way even as he continues walking on towards Tiriana. "Evening, Weyrwoman!" He calls out cheerfully, pulling one hand out of his pocket and waving enthusiastically at her.

The voice hailing her is ignored for a moment, Tiriana more interested in glowering at her dragon; but then she has to look around, eye Gustav, wave to him, turn back--then realize just who it is. "Oh, Faranth. Of /course/ they searched him," she grumbles, before turning back to look at him again and call a louder greeting. "What do you want?"

"Me?" Gustav puts his hand to his chest. "I just wanted to wish you a wonderful evening. See how you were!" A slow grin starts to work it's way up his face. The next, "How your more dangerous than a convict pumped with booze weyrmate was." He doesn't comment on that other thing about searching, even as he looks past her to Iovniath in the lake. "Am I interrupting a precious moment?"

"My... weyrmate? R'uen?" Tiriana sounds very confused about this, even scratching her head over it (and then adjusting her hot pink toboggan when she messes it up). "He's not dangerous. At all. /I'm/ the dangerous one, you know." The very fact he doesn't seem to realize this earns a narrowing of her eyes, and she crosses her arms. "Interrupting? ... No." Her inability to lie betrays her. "She's just being--" A hand waves at Iovniath, who is unconcerned, and doing quite well on her own, really, heedless of the freezing water she's broken the ice all around to get to.

"He's not dangerous? Excellent! Good to know for my future ventures in wooing you." One hand comes up and he tick-tocks it back and forth. "You never said anything about you being a threat to my life if I recall. The last time I saw you and we had a lovely conversation at that cute little table in the Snowasis, you said that you'd get your /weyrmate/ to kick my ass." Just then he frowns, looking uncertain. "Though, you may have threatened to hurt me too." The hand waving breaks his line of pseudo-flattery-hitting-on, "Anxious? To return to the sands?"

"Oh, I'll hurt you," Tiriana drawls to that, smirking as Gustav's uncertainty sets in. "R'uen? He knows he doesn't have to, because if you piss me off enough to get him involved, you'll already be dead." A firm nod backs up that statement. She's loitering on the lake, taking a break from yelling at Iovniath, bathing in the icy water, to instead face down Gustav, with a flat look for all his flattery.

"Oh, I expect that you will. I also expect that I'm going to like it when it happens." Gustav settles a pair of expressive brown eyes on her and lifts his 'brows. Suggestively. She may have just implied that she was going to kill him dead, but he's him and seems to be in no way worried about his impending doom at this moment. He shoves his hands into his pockets and gives the area around them a good look around, "You should get a drink with me."

And what a nice note to walk into; because that's what Saliqa does, all bundled up to avert the wintry weather, with a colorful silken scarf she hasn't displayed before. It's not a need to show off this new fashion that compels her, though. Probably. She picks her way through the building snow and towards the lake with a purposefulness that allows her to get rather close to the conversing two before she notices them -- and notices that dragon. Purpose comes up short, as do her paces. Hearing that last of Gustav's, one can only wonder if she's about to become witness to something.

Tiriana, snorting, "Not as much as I will." It's a cheerful thought, or so says her grin at it--though it freezes at his latter suggestion. "I should /what/? What the hell. /Why/ the hell would you ever think I would be interested in havign a drink with you?" Saliqa, for the moment, is not noticed; Tiriana's too busy staring aghast at Gustav.

"Hey, your enjoyment is more important to me than my own. After all, I'm merely a man. And as everyone with even a smidgen of common sense knows, men live to serve women. That's where we derive our primary satisfaction." By the way, I have a bridge to sell. "What's there not to be interested in? I'm taller than you. I have a nice shoulders, good direct eye contact. I don't smell, I know how to shave. I can add two and two. Really, what's /not/ to love about me?" Oh, is that sound of muffled feet in snow? He must have decent hearing because it's enough for him to turn his head in Saliqa's direction. While not someone he knows personally, her face is at least familiar. "Hello!"

Initially ignored, Saliqa was able to absorb some of the words carrying over to her, but, called out to, she is forced to quickly push away her more candid expression for friendliness. His face is also vaguely familiar and she takes this as enough invitation to properly close the distance between them-- all the better to talk without shouting. "Hello, then! Sir, ma'am Weyrwoman." A bob in each of their directions, though the gaze lingers on Tiriana with the wariness of one waiting for a reaction.

"Well. That's true," Tiriana has a hard time arguing with the purpose of men as Gustav explains it. "Kid, if the best thing you have to say for yourself is you're taller than me and you can shave--well. That's true of a fair portion of the men here. Including /my/ R'uen." Pointed look. And then, Saliqa arrives to join them, and Tiriana slides a glance her way before nodding by way of greeting. "Hey," she says.

"I didn't think I had to point out all the other things. They should be obvious to your beautiful naked eye." Gustav waves his hand in the direction of his face. Hello, look at me. But he's distracted from being utterly shameless by Saliqa's greetings and closing of distance. "Miss, I guess. I've seen you around before." The previously gesturing limb is used again, this time to point in the direction of the main weyr. "You know, doing chores and other types of things."

"Beautiful naked eye?" Saliqa can't help but echo in complete disbelief, her investigation diverted from Tiriana to now study Gustav's own seriousness saying that. At the admission of familiarity, though, she daintily holds out fingers to him. "It's Saliqa. Indeed, we've seen each other. And I hope it's not rude of me to interrupt. Or to interject," not that this will stop her from plowing forward, "But I believe a man proves himself by doing what he says, and not the other way around."

Tiriana rolls said beautiful eyes. "And they're the only thing that's going to be going naked anywhere around you," she tells him dryly. But it's hard to get mad at something that clueless, and so she just shakes her head and turns to Saliqa. With a gesture to the man, she says, "Do something with him." Which apparently the Cromite's statements qualify as, to judge by Tiriana's smug, "Yeah!"

If there was ever a person who didn't need an opportunity to be more dramatic, it's this one. Between one quick look from Saliqa to Tiriana he turns and drops down to his knees in front of the other candidate. Taking up the kneeling stance of someone begging, "Please do something with me? Teach me the ways of proving myself worthy?" His big brown eyes are practically pleading with her. If he could produce tears at this moment, he probably would. Fortunately for everyone else he's not /that/ skilled. Otherwise it would be most difficult to tell if he's really being serious or not.

The display elicits a short squeak from Saliqa as she jumps to turn and face this odd behavior, her hands grasping in the air tentatively before they begin to trail to her waist. Confusion turns to skepticism with a little twitch of one eyebrow. "N-Now what are you doing? Don't do that, get up." Her commanding tone is tainted with an edge of whine. "I think you're being silly, and, if you're not, this is the wrong way to start." A glance at the Weyrwoman. For... help? Approval?

"He's all yours," says Tiriana, quite smug now that she's pushed her harasser off on a poor innocent bystander. "Faranth knows the rest of us are tired of him. Besides, you're a lady, aren't you? If you can't fix him, Faranth knows none of the louts around /here/ can. Right?"

"You're a /lady/?" Ding ding ding. We have a winner. "I'm coming to you, my lady! For advice and guidence to turn myself into a better man! So that I can woo the beautiful Weyrwoman Tiriana away from her not-so-frightening weyrmate!" So he's not entirely distracted, just redirected. At the wrong way to start his eyes go big and wide, hurt almost. "It is?" He asks in quiet, tremulous voice as he gets to his feet in a most unsteady fashion, head hanging low.

Saliqa mouthes the word 'mine' to Tiriana with wide-eyed incredulity and an added question mark to give it that flare of how baffled she is. Then, voice and gaze lowering confidentially, she leans towards the other woman, "'Fix him' is not a very nice way to say it..." Though it may be accurate, she's deciding, by the way Gustav goes on and then staggers to his feet. After a couple of seconds, the thus burdened lady adopts a look of determination as those hands at her waist turn into fists propped against it. "In the /first place/," she declares, "a 'better man' doesn't aim to court a taken woman!"

Iovniath has emerged from her bath to glide her way back to the sands, leaving their heat to dry her; her rider hardly notices now. She's too busy dusting snow off a rock-top so she can perch there and cross her legs, watching the pair of candidates. "That would be a start," she drawls to Gustav, with a Look. "If you're really so great, maybe you should shut your mouth and let all those great attributes do your talking for you. /R'uen/ doesn't have to go bragging about all the time hoping some girl will talk to him, and he still got /me/." As though she's the best prize ever.

"R'uen? Is that what his name was?" Gustav asks as he turns to cast a look over his shoulder at Tiriana. There's something about the quirk of his smile, just a hint of the next question to come. "Why haven't we ever seen him? Where is he? This mystery man?" When he turns back to Saliqa it's with a conspirator's wink that he flashes her. One that hopefully the goldrider won't be able to see before he continues lamenting at the poor, possibly confused? candidate. "But! What if I want to court a woman and I think she's just /pretending/ to be taken? Shouldn't she at least give me a chance before she makes up an excuse, shouldn't there be some decorum regarding this? Tell me, my lady."

Saliqa notices the movement of the gold, sort of. Rather more like, she /wants/ to but the constant banter of the other two is still holding her focus. She stands there, still posed importantly, like a tiny judge as gaze shoots between woman and man. Catching that wink only sours her previously indecisive expresion; Gustav seems to have similarly condemned himself to the Cromite's disapproving look now, too. "It's rude to lie," she allows, but then, "But it's worse to imply a lady is lying, just for game. And if she's not giving you a chance, sir flirt, entertain the possibility that you're doing something wrong."

"She's winning," says the de facto judge of this debate. Tiriana even points at Saliqa, just in case Gustav is too dumb to figure out just who she could mean. Apparently Tiriana thinks so. "You're going to have to up your game; she's smarter than you. And right, but really, she only has to be /one/ of those to win."

Even a man like Gustav can have these moments where common sense and sanity are allowed to check him. But don't get used to this. "You do have your points. It's /not/ right to claim someone is lying just to get a rise out of them. I'll apologize immediately, my lady." Really, don't get used to it. Turning away from Saliqa he approaches Tiriana on her boulder-pedestel. "Ma'am. I apologize for trying to shamelessly pick you up for sinful, sexy reasons. I apologize for implying that R'uen wasn't a real person. I hope in your heart of hearts that some day you can forgive me."

Maybe Saliqa was feeling empowered by Tiriana's comments, or maybe she was expecting more of a fight; either way, she blinks rapidly in surprise as Gustav takes off to go do just... well, whatever he's doing. She keeps in her spot to watch what happens, lips only jutting out unhappily but silently at the description of his 'reasons'. Oh, and to mutter, "At least he used 'ma'am'..."

Tiriana's brows lift up at Gustav's approach, and she straightens a little more, very queenly as she looks down (well, up literally, but you know what I mean) on Gustav. "Sinful, sexy reasons," she repeats, and tries very very hard to look superior and lofty. But there's the hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth all the same. "Maybe, someday. As long as you don't ever let it happen again, understand me?"

"Oh, /thank you/, Weyrwoman. I'll never do anything like this to you again." He clasps his hands together in joy at her benevolence towards him. He turns then to Saliqa to beam proudly at her. "Was that good, my ladyship? Can you help guide me through this candidacy? To make long lasting friendships and to stop the convicts from threatening to kill me?"

Saliqa's arms slip from her waist to cross her chest in self-satisfaction at the interaction. However, as soon as the attention's on her again, she momentarily regrets that decision. Instead, her weight shifts dramatically to one side to keep up the haughty attitude in one way or the other. "If you meant it..." She ventures warily, fixing Gustav with a studying look exaggerated by the way she bites her cheeks to prevent an impromptu answer. "It'd be mean of me to turn down a request for help... so, of course." A hand pops up, wagging a strict finger, "But the moment I think you're not taken me seriously enough, you're out!" Sniff. "And I'm not afraid to stomp on your toes."

"Good!" And Tiriana has hit upon her solution then; her hands clap together as she stands. "Then you'll be in charge of him, and making sure he behaves like a normal human being. I'll hold you responsible if we have any more... incidents." Maybe she's serious, maybe not; but she's smirking now and turning to head toward the weyrs across the bowl, leaving the two of them to deal with each other. But, a step later, she pauses and looks back, eyes Gustav again. "Though," she tells not him but Saliqa, "if he /did/ mysteriously end up in the tunnels as somebody's bitch... Well." And she beams at the man, then turns to saunter her way on off.

"Yes my ladyship, ma'am, lady." Gustav swears, holding his hand to his chest. "I hearby swear that I will follow the... I have no idea what your name is." This stops him dead and he blinks at Saliqa, confused for a moment. "I'm usually very good picking up names." When Tiriana is making comments about turning him into a bitch he turns around to make a witty retort of some sort, but seems to think better of it this time. Admitting outloud, "That's enough for tonight, probably."

Off to a good start. Saliqa's eyes make a bid for the sky briefly before she replies, "It's Saliqa, sir. You were a bit too busy being sinful to hear it, I suppose. Or give me yours." She shuffles once or twice, unsure of what she's gotten herself into, but Tiriana's parting comment does get a round 'o' of reaction. "/That/'s not right to joke about." Even if Tiriana may not have been joking. Then the girl side-steps to really consider Gustav: the new charge. Well... "Let's be first frank with each other, now that we're alone-- do you do that on purpose, to her?"

"Gustav, ma'am." Since they're going to keep up this titles thing for awhile it would seem. He quite properly holds his hand out to her, prepared to give what looks like a real greeting. "No, it's not. But someone like her doesn't really think twice about saying awful, crude things to another person. Does she?" He asks with a questioning raise of his eyebrows. As she's side-stepping he turns appropriately to face her, "Being franked? I do. I do it to anyone that I'm not particularly fond of. Have you noticed that everyone here is very angry?"

"I thought so," is Tiriana's gloating over-the-shoulder reply to Gustav, as she takes her leave of them.
}}

R'van

2015-04-25T05:16:03Z

Tiriana:

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2015-04-25T05:06:36Z

Tiriana:

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